#*digs a hole and disappears for the next few years*

[justgayrevolutionnaries]

The sun, the stars and everything in between

My gift for @fructidors for the @drinkwithme-exchange ! I chose to write for Enjolras and Jehan, with maybe a bit of Triumvirate and Jehan/Grantaire friendship because I couldn't resist. I hope you enjoy !

Find it on ao3 or read below for those who prefer tumblr

1826

It was not that Enjolras distrusted rich people. He just couldn't stand them, and would rather forget that he was one himself.

So naturally when Combeferre pointed out to him a student he had met at la Sorbonne, who seemingly had no trouble with paying the monthly fee asked of him by the school, he couldn't help but at first consider him with the usual level of scorn he felt when looking at anyone coming from the higher classes.

He was soon to be proven wrong, however, for the young man turned out to be everything but what Enjolras expected.

His hair was longer than what was socially considered conventional, he spent hours looking at anything and everything with a thoughtful look on his face and seemed to be taking more interest in the sky than in the world of men. Enjolras immediately had him pinned down as a Romantic- which wasn't necessarily a good thing, since he couldn't help but feel irritated toward people who, in his eyes, spend their lives contemplating the world in melancholy but doing nothing to change it.

What really caught Enjolras's attention, however, was when he overheard the Romantic talk to a group of other students in a café often used as a gathering point by- well, young students. It sounded more like he was delivering a poem than properly talking, actually, seeing how smoothly the words were coming out of his mouth. And those words were explaining the misery of the world- and of orphans. From what Enjolras could hear, the young man was deeply affected by the fate of orphans in Paris, and seemed more than willing to act about it.

After that, Enjolras felt more than willing to talk to the redhead, even though Combeferre had been begging to introduce them for weeks. It actually seemed surprisingly easy to approach him- maybe it was the way he always looked at everything with a dreamy look on his face, or maybe it was the way Enjolras sometimes found his eyes fixed on him at gatherings, as if he was studying Enjolras or looking for something specific in him. The point was, he seemed nice. And maybe easy to talk to. Maybe that was why Enjolras found himself walking toward the young man's table at the café, forgetting he usually had no idea how to start conversations.

"I liked what you said earlier," he said bluntly. As the other looked up at him in surprise, he felt the need to elaborate : "your poem, about the night and, um, orphans. I really enjoyed listening to it."

"Well, thank you. If is not my best, but I was kind of proud of it, so I figured… why not share it with the class ?"

He had an awkward smile, much to Enjolras's surprise- for some reason he had expected him to be very laid back, like Courfeyrac, another one of his friends, but it turned out the redhead was about as talented as Enjolras to start a conversation in a decent way.

After a rather awkward moment Enjoras was wondering what he was supposed to say next and silently cursing himself for trying to start a conversation without Courfeyrac there, the poet held out his left hand for the blonde to shake, while his right one was busy trying to extract what looked like an old smoking-pipe from his pocket. He had to take out various items, including three rocks of various shapes and what seemed to be peacock feathers (Enjolras decided not to ask) before he found what he was looking for and could focus back on Enjolras.

"Jehan Prouvaire, at your service. Does it bother you if I smoke ?"

"Not at all" answered Enjolras, somewhat amused by the manners of the young man. "Jehan, huh ?"

The other waved aside with a nonchalant look. "Mere fantasy of a poet. You can call me Jean, or even Prouvaire if you like. Do you happen to have a name, or am I expected to find one for you ? Because I have multiple ideas that would quite suit you. Did you ever consider-"

Enjolras thought it wiser to interrupt him there. Not that he disliked listening to the other man, who actually had a very soft and pleasant voice, but he was afraid of the kind of nickname the eccentric redhead thought would fit him.

"That will be quite unnecessary. I am Enjolras." He said, finally reaching out for Prouvaire's hand. "I am glad to make your acquaintance… citizen."

The last word had escaped his mouth after a second of hesitation, carefully watching Prouvaire's face for his reaction. He was not, however, expecting the small laugh that came out of his lips.

"I am only amused by your carefulness. Do I look much like a royalist to you ?"

Enjolras felt the pressure on his stomach untighten. He had witnessed the unconventional behavior of the young man and heard the way he talked of the world around him, and he actually would have been very surprised if such a man turned out to be anything but a supporter of freedom- but again, one never knew. For the first time he found himself smiling genuinely at him.

"Not really. And I shall admit, I am rather happy you aren't. I would have been very disappointed to find out I was wrong about you."

"I shall be happy to have proven you right, then," the poet, who at this point was surrounded by a cloud of smoke, answered with a mocking reverence.

***

1828

He didn't know exactly what Prouvaire was doing here. Despite openly having political opinions that answered more or less those of Enjolras, the poet had never struck him as what he would call a fierce revolutionary. Not that Enjolras was unhappy to discover he had misjudged him, he was always more than content when a new friend joined their group. It was just that he suspected the poet of dropping by the café only to try and meet people who were as interested as him in studying in detail a play of Corneille, the appearance of a new constellation or the shape of the clouds.

While Enjolras was wrong in that the poet was indeed one of the most helpful members, and certainly the one that cared most about doing everything he could to help others, it was true that Jehan wasn't helping by always choosing to sit near one of the newest members of the group, whose only purpose in life seemed to be to empty as many bottles of wine as it was humanly possible.

As a matter of fact, when Enjolras happened to overhear one of the conversations taking place at the table in the corner, the two men always seemed to be talking of any imaginable subject except for the revolution.

"... must have been nice to be one of those gods living on Mount Olympus", Grantaire was currently saying. "To spend your days to eat, drink and contemplate the world- what more could one possibly ask of life ?"

Prouvaire reflected thoughtfully : "The greek gods, huh ? I have always found it quite nice that Apollo was for them not only the god of the sun, but also the god of music. After all, isn't music a way to bring light and warmth in our lives ?"

"What I like about those gods is that they seem to live on, even today, in some of us. For me, I guess I shall be Dionysus, for obvious reasons." Grantaire gestured vaguely at his body, as the poet threw him an amused look. "You can be Apollo if that pleases you- would it only be because you are such a strong defender of poetry in our world, and you can play the lyre."

"The harp, actually," Jehan interrupted him with an offended tone, "and I am surprised the comparison did not arise from my ability to brighten your life a considerable amount."

Grantaire made a disdainful gesture while rolling his eyes to the sky.

"The harp, the lyre… same difference to me. If I touched either one, all I would get out of them would be an atrocity that would so gravely offend one of your music gods that they would probably-"

He stopped abruptly when he noticed that Enjolras had left Combeferre and Courfeyrac to argue on their own on the other side of the room and was making his way toward them.

"I should probably leave now" Grantaire muttered, and before his friend could stop him he had grabbed his coat and made his way through the (extremely) crowded room to the door.

He had probably sensed that Enjolras was not in a mood to be nice with him- and he had been right, since as soon as the blonde reached the table where Jehan was left alone, seemingly wondering whether or not he should run after Grantaire, his first words were : "Do you ever wonder why the man even bothers coming here- does he at least have fun annoying all of us with his meaningless talk ?"

The words probably came out way more rude than he intended to and he immediately felt guilty of it- Jehan hadn't really done anything to deserve this.

"You should give him more credit, you know" Prouvaire said absently, his eyes still fixated on the bottle his friend had left on the table without even bothering to finish it.

Enjolras turned to him, not even trying to mask his irritation. "What should I give him credit for ? Being here ? Those meetings are for serious matters. Everyone here genuinely cares about our revolution, about helping people, fighting for them. Everyone here believes in something better that keeps them going. Grantaire doesn't believe in anything, save maybe wine."

"Doesn't he ?" There was a thoughtful look on his face, as if he hadn't been expecting Enjolras to say that. "You know… sometimes I wonder."

Prouvaire got up, most likely to try and catch up with Grantaire, leaving Enjolras to wonder what he had been trying to say.

***

1830

Prouvaire was vaguely aware that he and Enjolras were the only people left in the café, and that all the others had left when it had started to get dark. He was also vaguely aware that his friend had been talking for a while, most likely about what the better place to build a barricade would be or Courfeyrac's latest idea to find ammunition- sometimes a few words reached his ears, such as "strategic area" and "take back their freedom".

But he was only vaguely paying attention to all of this, because he had spent his afternoon in the café doing what he did best- living in his own world and writing endlessly. For some reasons the ideas were flowing to his mind today, and he had covered countless sheets in scribbled words, unfinished verses and distracted doodles. But now he had been stuck on this verse for a while and did not like it.

At this moment he heard Enjolras clap his fingers and ask, in a voice that seemed worlds away from him : "Prouvaire, do you really find me this boring ?"

The sarcasm passed unnoticed as the poet, not looking up from the sheet in front of him and seeming incredibly focused on the quill in his hand, managed to let out enough words to communicate like a normal human being. .

"I think I need your help, actually." Paying absolutely no attention to his friend's sigh, he added : "Can you find a good synonym for "loyalty" ?"

Surprised at first, Enjolras's look was quick to soften and since he knew that it would be useless to try and blame Jehan, and was not even willing to, as he felt a kind of tenderness where the soft nature of the poet was concerned, he chose to be helpful and answer the question.

"Faithfulness ?" He suggested. "Devotion ?" As if his own words had brought a new idea to his mind, he frowned and added "things I wish more men would have."

Jehan was about to answer that "faithfulness" had too many syllables for what he was trying to do, but surprised by the bitter tone, unusual in the usually passionate voice of his friend, he managed to get out of his bubble and looked up to find the blonde staring into space, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Well, that sounds like an optimistic thought coming from you. What do you mean by that, if I may ask ?"

His friend sighed and opened his arms. "I don't really know myself. I guess sometimes I feel like I have lost faith- we are doing something so important here, but we have no guarantee of anything. No guarantee that what we do will change something, no guarantee that the men will have the heart to come and help us in this fight. I know I shouldn't think that, because I believe in our fight, but I can't help it."

Prouvaire interrupted him with his soft voice, putting a hand on the other man's arm : "why shouldn't you ? It is normal to have doubts, you know. But as long as you remember what you are fighting for, those doubts can not stop you."

Enjolras let his head fall back with a thoughtful look in his eyes.

"I envy you, you know."

The poet glanced an intrigued look at him.

"Before I consider myself flattered, I am going to need you to elaborate. You are really looking quite weird today, Enjolras."

"You always seem to be so optimistic, you know. About pretty much everything- the flowers in your garden, the friends you meet, the fact that any of this-" he gestured with a bitter look at the empty tables surrounding them, "has a chance to ever succeed. This is why I admire you, and with you all the poets. You know how to find hope in the smallest things, be it a ladybug in a garden or a burnt-out candle."

"But you seem to be quite the poet yourself, my friend."

Enjolras merely shook his head, although his friend's suggestion had managed to bring a smile to his lips.

"I leave such activities to those worthy of them. I fear one couldn't call anything I do poetic- all I ever do is talk of revolution and mythic battles, and you can not call me a poet for merely writing speeches."

"You are wrong here. I have seen how you always have your way with words. It is why they admire you, you know. People such as our friends, Grantaire, myself… everyone. Unlike so many people, you know the power of words and how to use it. Maybe it seems to you there is no poetry in your thoughts, but I can assure you your speeches and your ideals inspire me as much as any poem of Dante or anyone else could. And this is a compliment, really."

Enjolras, whose only reaction to this had been to smirk at the mention of Grantaire, had to admit softly :

"If you say so my friend. I suppose I can trust your opinion on those matters. As long as you do not ask me to start smoking the pipe or write what you would consider a poetic verse, I am fine with being considered a poet in the way you mean it."

Jehan burst out laughing at this.

"Don't come and give me ideas. And I am sure you would love it, by the way."

***

1831

"I can not believe I got out of bed for this. Did we really have to be there this early ? The night hasn't even fallen yet" Courfeyrac complained.

"You didn't have to come, then" Combeferre replied mockingly, which earned him a scandalized look from the former.

It had been Prouvaire's idea, unsurprisingly- to spend the evening in the Luxembourg garden so they could look at the stars. There were only four of them, Prouvaire, Combeferre, Enjolras, who was there half willingly and half because the first two had threatened him or dragging him to a ball later if he did not come, and Courfeyrac who could not possibly imagine not being involved in an evening between friends. Grantaire had been invited as well, but for some reason he did not elaborate on, he had refused to come.

"You know," Courfeyrac reflected, pensively looking at a flower he had picked up a few minutes ago, "I have always wondered why you poets always enjoyed looking at the stars so much. I am not saying they are boring, but to look at them your entire lives… what do you find in them that we," he elbowed Enjolras in the ribs,"mere mortals, don't ?"

Jehan let out a small laugh at this. "There is not one answer to this, you know. This is why I like the stars, actually. They mean something different for everyone. I guess I like how they mostly remind me of how small we all are- or, if you want a more optimistic thought, they are at the same time a symbol of hope. Simply consider the way they are so far away from us, yet they are so big that their light still reaches us from over there. And they have been shining like this for longer than we could even imagine."

"Stars can die too, like everything." Enjolras couldn't help but point out, which caused Prouvaire to frown slightly.

"Who is talking about dying ? Dying can wait for now. I would much rather spend my time listening to the sound of a river, watching flowers grow or studying the stars, like now. And like you are doing right now for what I believe is the first time in your life. Enjoy life for a moment, my friend."

He put an arm around Enjolras's shoulders, smiling encouragingly at him, but the blonde shoved him back playfully.

"Contrary to popular belief, my friend, I actually do enjoy looking at the stars."

Combeferre looked at him, raising his eyebrows slightly in a disbelieving manner. "Do you now ? Not so long ago I would have sworn you would rather take a bullet to the chest than even take a second to contemplate the world around you, let alone the world above you."

Enjolras purposely decided to ignore the mocking undertone in Combeferre's voice and answered with a simple shrug. "I don't know any more than you do. It simply happens that they have a calming effect on me, so I like to look at them every so often. And even objectively speaking, stars are beautiful. You shouldn't expect a man to just pass them by without ever looking at them once in his life."

"Actually, you can," Courfeyrac chimed in for some reason. "Look at Pontmercy. He is always so absorbed by his thoughts, I doubt he even noticed there is a sky above us."

As Combeferre rolled his eyes to the sky, as often when Pontmercy was mentioned, Jehan pointed out softly : "you can not blame him for that, Courfeyrac, if he is in love with one of them."

The three of them got into an argument to decide whether or not Pontmercy was actually in love, and Enjolras smiled softly at the stars, thinking that Prouvaire might actually be right about them- like he was about everything.

Life was good.

***

1832

Jehan had been blindfolded. That was the only thing clear to him right now. His memory felt foggy. All he could remember was looking at Bahorel in horror as he got stabbed in the chest. Then lots of noise, screams and shorts, and then a new voice (was it Pontmercy ? It sounded like Pontmercy) dominating all the others. After that he remembered being dragged away in an alley, and trying to scream for help- Enjolras's name, Grantaire's name, anyone that could come and help him.

And red. Lots of red. So much red… everywhere.

He felt someone seize him by the shoulder and push him forward- against a wall. He didn't even need to listen to the declaration of the captain -he guessed it was a captain, a general wouldn't bother with this- to know what was going to happen next.

"Any last words ?"

So many.

He wanted to see his friends one final time, tell them how much he loved them. He wanted to write so many poems, many small verses that would just make one long poem, and claim it to the world.

He wanted to look at everything around him- Paris, his friends, the sky- one final time. He wanted to tell Grantaire all about the sun rising. He wanted to promise them, all of them, that they needed to hope, that the future would surely be brighter, it was only a matter of time. He wanted to tell Enjolras that he needed to look at the stars again, because it might be his final chance to do so.

But he knew he couldn't do any of this- he was out of time.

So all he did was raise his chin proudly and smile. And now he could smile genuinely, because he knew what he believed in- because it was what Enjolras had taught him. Because he had hope for the future, if not for now.

"Vive la France ! Vive l'avenir !"

***

"Vive la France ! Vive l'avenir !"

Enjolras clenched his jaw. His hand was still on Combeferre's arm when the shot rang out, and he used it to steady himself as he realized -as they both realized- what the succession of noises meant.

"They killed him !" Combeferre gasped in horror.

Enjolras nodded slowly. He had expected it, they had talked about it- he just didn't expect for this to become real. He didn't imagine a poet could actually die like anyone else, let alone Jean Prouvaire.

But apparently it was real. Not that it could change much, at this point. He knew that he couldn't afford to lose hope- not right now, not until this was over.

But for now…

He turned to the spy attached to the pillar, who still hadn't moved. "Your friends have just shot you," he said.

[axxa-the-allikatt]

This for you @germanpansexual. Thanks for the ask sweetheart 🥹. Hope you like it!

***

Imagine,

Bonten Sanzu, who’s finally settled in life, at least according to his life purpose, gaining the official title as Bonten’s, Mikey’s, Mad Dog.

Bonten Sanzu, who has lived off drugs for the past few years, and is well acquainted with the feeling of happiness that lasts in his foggy mind for a few hours until his next dose, but has long forgotten the genuine feeling.

Bonten Sanzu, who, true to his name, wrecks up every party he attends. Not that anyone minds, considering the kind of parties he attends.

Bonten Sanzu, who laid his eyes upon you for the first time, at one such party.

Bonten Sanzu, who’s attention was not converged towards you due to your tall, stunning build, but to the way you actively flirted around, looking like you were genuinely enjoying yourself, unlike majority of the people who attended these parties.

Bonten Sanzu, who was sure he’d forget about you the second he took his drugs, but even later, his hazy eyes still looked for you in the crowd, his drugged instincts not really knowing why.

Bonten Sanzu, whose mind relaxes into a hazy drift, as he finally finds you, knocking up some pretty looking boys, who looked like they believed they existed for you.

Bonten Sanzu, whose eyes follow you for minutes on end as you float around, catching eyes everywhere you go, but this unwanted attention didn’t seem to bother you.

Bonten Sanzu, who’s mind snaps clear, as he sees a woman seductively place her hands against your chest, as you chuckle and walk her towards the door, and he realises all too clearly that if he let you out of his sight now, he would almost surely not see you again.

Bonten Sanzu, who rushes out of his VIP seat, startling the Haitani brothers, who were busy preening over the several women draped over them.

Bonten Sanzu, who grabs the back of your shirt, dragging you away from the arms of that filthy woman, before crashing his lips on yours.

Bonten Sanzu, who doesn’t understand how he ended up in the current situation, his back pressed against the alleyway, legs wrapped around your torso, feeling the cool breeze flow against his almost naked body, but he doesn’t have time to think about those things, because whatever you were doing to him right now, had him feeling higher that any drug he had ever taken. Or was it just his pills talking?

Bonten Sanzu, who’s hands busied themselves by digging into your shoulders and pulling at your hair, as you’re barely three fingers in, whispering into his neck about how he’s such a good doll, so fucking pretty for you.

Bonten Sanzu, who finally manages to slip out some words, even though there were only broken prayers to gods he didn’t believe existed.

Bonten Sanzu, who never asked you your name, so he decides to scream out the closest thing he can connect you to- god -as he convulses against your body, his dripping hole clenching around you, as his cum splatters all over his chest.

Bonten Sanzu, who begs you to get inside him, to fuck him so good he doesn’t remember who his is, which, considering the state you had already put him in, really wouldn’t take long.

Bonten Sanzu, who wails out phrases of gratitude, as you thrust yourself deep into him, the hand that wasn’t holding him up playing with his hard, puffy nipples, mouth leaving blooming marks against his soft skin.

Bonten Sanzu, who cums for the second time that night, and soon after, has a dry orgasm, due the force with you release your seed deep inside him.

Bonten Sanzu, who passes out not a minute later, his drugs and your magic catching up on his clouded mind.

Bonten Sanzu, who wakes up the next morning, in a fancy hotel, and feels a pang of loss as he realises you had disappeared.

Bonten Sanzu, who doubles over, with his hands covering his bright red face,as he finds the little note you left for him, telling him that you might or might not have plans at the *** hotel tonight, then realises that he was looking forward to it. He was looking forward to getting fucked senseless by a guy. He was fucking gay.

***

(A little extra)

Sanzu is horrified that if the Haitanis ever found out about this, he would hear no end of it. But the Haitanis would rather not talk about the fact that Sanzu Harchiyo has been smiling, like actually smiling, since the morning, and that it probably meant the world was coming to an end.

***

I hope it’s not too rushed hun <3.

Part two is up, please check it out<3

[sv3t1ana]

Masterlist : Next chapter >>

SYNOPSIS ᯓ A Bonnie and Clyde-esque, high-stakes, multi-chapter smut romance that follows a deadly criminal duo whose intense, chaotic love becomes as dangerous as the heists they pull off. Trust forged in blood, bonds built on risk.

PAIRING ᯓ Criminal! Sukuna x Criminal! Fem. Reader

WARNINGS ᯓ alcohol use, mentions of crimes (stealing money, dealing drugs), mentions of blood

WORD COUNT ᯓ 1.8k

Chapter 1.

You sat cross-legged on the old mattress, the springs digging uncomfortably into your thighs as you counted the last of your cash. The bills were crumpled, damp with sweat, smudged in ink that wasn’t yours. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough. The knife strapped to your thigh pressed into your flesh, a grounding presence.

The trailer creaked with every shift of your weight, air thick with dust and stale food. A place like this, half-rotting in an abandoned park, was good enough for a week or two. No neighbors, no curious eyes, no questions.

You should’ve left already.

It was instinct, muscle memory, stay too long in one place and trouble will find you. It wasn’t a question of if but when. Here you were, sitting in the wreckage of a life you never really planned, a fistful of stolen ones clutched between your fingers.

The paranoia never left, clinging to you like a second skin. You never slept for more than five hours at a time, not unless you wanted to wake up to the sound of a gun cocking in the dark. You weren’t naive or careless, but even the sharpest blade dulls eventually.

People like you don’t retire. They don’t settle down, don’t wake up in warm beds surrounded with soft sheets with breakfast waiting on the counter. There are only two ways out: get caught or disappear. And you weren’t ready for either.

The real name you had once, the one whispered in classrooms, scribbled in notebooks, it was gone, buried beneath years of forged identities and quiet lies. You left that girl behind long ago. Back when you thought you were in control, when the thrill still felt like freedom instead of inevitability.

You were jaded, but stopping wasn’t an option.

So you’d keep moving. Keep running. Keep your head down, knives sharp, guns loaded.

Because what else was there?

Money came and money went. It slipped by your fingertips like sand, something never meant to stay. Sometimes you could sit on a pile of stolen cash, bills fanned between your fingers, aroma of victory and proof you were still standing. The next, you were at some run-down gas station, turning your pockets inside out and leaving a handful of quarters on the counter before slipping out the door.

As if someone like you could say thank you or I’m sorry and mean it.

There was always a debt to pay, always something dragging your heels. This time, it had you wrecked with exhaustion, knees pulled tight to your chest with your back pressed against the cold steel of the trailer door. The metal was thin, barely enough to call a barrier that separated you from the outside world.

You got caught a few weeks ago when a job went sideways. Bad timing or bad luck, either way you stood red-handed, staring down the barrel of a man of the law. Only, he wasn’t a good man, not the kind that reads you your rights and takes you in by the book. Instead he was the kind that took your bribe with a smirk and lazy nod, then made it his life’s mission to make yours a living hell.

The first payment barely got you through the door. And that’s all it was, the first. It wasn’t over because it was never over. He called you sweetheart over the phone, voice dripping with amusement, like he enjoyed the fatigue edging your voice. He would send fake tips to the same run-down park he knew you were holed up in. Sometimes he’d do nothing, letting the paranoia fester and leaving you to wait, counting the minutes and wondering if tonight was the night he’d finally decide to put a bullet between your ribs.

You were tired, tired in a way that made even sleep feel like a luxury you couldn’t afford. But you had enough in you to continue, because it was the only thing you knew how to do. Because people like you didn’t get to stop and take a breath. Because the moment you stopped, it would all come crashing down, and you weren’t sure if you’d have enough strength to get back up.

You weren’t scared. You didn’t get scared. Fear was for people who had something to lose. People who hesitated, who second-guessed, who let their hands shake when it mattered most. That wasn’t you. That was never you.

Corrupt cops littered the city like roaches, you grew up knowing how to deal with them, how to play the game. Some were worse than others, as crooked as it seemed. But this one was patient in his cruelty, like he thought you actually valued your life, like you’d break if he pushed hard enough.

Maybe that’s why you hated him the most. Because despite everything, despite the weight in your chest and the way your hands shook every time you checked your messages, you weren’t there yet.

You weren’t broken, not yet.

There were only a few places in this city you oddly considered home, not because they were safe, but because they were consistent. The filth they oozed didn’t change, desperation clinging to the walls like peeling paint. And that small sense of comfort was enough.

So when the dimmed numbers on your microwave read 1:42 AM, you don’t hesitate. You grab your heaviest sweatshirt and flip the hood up, stepping out into the night and letting the broken metal stairs outside your trailer squeak under your weight.

The air was thick, unnaturally humid despite the cold temperature, seeping through your clothes like the city itself was trying to hold you in place. Stay. Decay with the rest of us. You ignored it, shoving your hands into your pockets as you walked.

The bus stop ahead was cracked open like a broken jaw, its bench streaked with something dried and dark. You didn’t look too hard, stains of blood were just as common as the potholes. No one bothered to care, investigate, or clean.

Gunshots echoed somewhere in the distance, far enough that they weren’t your problem. Sirens followed soon after, screaming like a warning, but for who? No one here came running to save you, and you’ve long since stopped expecting them to.

A voice murmured from the alley to your right, some hushed transactional conversation being made under the sickly orange glow of a busted streetlamp. A man stood with his back to you, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket and nodding as something changed hands. You didn’t need to see what it was, didn’t care.

Left foot. Right foot.

The smell was the worst part. Exhaust fumes clinging to your throat, burning the inside of your lungs. It was one of the quieter omens the city offered you, letting you know of your fate if you stay too long. Rotted garbage piled up against boarded-up buildings, stale beer soaking the concrete, piss marking the alleyways like territory.

Despite everything it felt like you belonged here, which is why you let your feet carry you past the filth, past the stench, past the neon signs that buzzed like a dying heartbeat. No matter how much you told yourself you wanted, no, needed out, you always came back.

You stood in front of the establishment that became a warzone of bad decisions. It was a place where none of the neon lights fully worked, where the shadows cast over cracked vinyl booths and tables that had seen more blood than spilled beer. Cheap whiskey, sweat, perfume, regret. Someone had been smoking inside again, a stale haze glued to the walls.

It wasn’t the kind of bar you found by accident, but a place you came back to, a wound you couldn’t stop picking at.

You pushed past a pair of men hunched over a table, eyes glassy, words slurred. Someone was losing money tonight, someone was leaving with bruises and an empty wallet. It almost warmed your heart, business as usual.

You knew that cities carried history with them, and things usually turned to shit after a few corrupt politicians. But sometimes you feel like this place never looked nice. Like they purposely used rotting wood and bent nails while building it. Still, even the regulars here weren’t the type of people to ask questions.

At the far end of the bar, exactly where you knew he’d be, sat Kinji Hakari.

Gold rings caught by the light as he swirled a dark drink, looking like a king in a throne he didn’t deserve. He was always too well-dressed, leather jackets, expensive jewelry, like he had just wandered in from a high-stakes poker table instead of belonging to the filth around him. But that was Hakari, all showmanship and bravado, but he knew exactly how to move through this world.

Your history with him wasn’t deep, but it was long. A thread woven through years of necessity, trades of information, favors done and undone. He wasn’t a friend. But he wasn’t your enemy either. He was only another piece on the board, and you both knew it.

Tonight he looked at you like he almost regretted calling you here.

You slide into the barstool across from him, elbows braced on the sticky wood. He didn’t look up right away. Classic, always making a show of making people wait. His fingers traced the rim of his glass lazily, like this meeting was an afterthought.

When his eyes flickered to you, it was a slow, deliberate drag from your heavy gaze to the set of your mouth. And then he smirked.

“You look horrible.”

“Thanks. You always know just what to say, Hakari.”

He chuckled, knocking back a sip of whatever overpriced drink he was nursing.

“Nah, I mean it. You look worse than usual.” His voice dipped, the closest he’d ever get to showing sympathy.

You hated that more than the insult.

“You call me out just to compliment me?”

“Mmm, something like that.” He leaned forward now, forearms resting on the bar, dropping his voice so only you could hear. “Listen, doll, you know I like you-”

“You don’t.”

“Alright, maybe ‘like’ is a strong word.” He flashed his teeth, all sleazy charm and ease. “Point is, I usually wouldn’t give ya somethin' like this. But, well-” He lifted his shoulders in a lazy half-shrug. “Desperate times, desperate measures, somethin’ like that.”

And there it was, your stomach tightening. You weren’t the only one who was desperate.

“Go on, then.” You tilted your head, voice flat. “Make my life harder.”

For the first time, Hakari hesitated. It was small, so small that someone else wouldn’t have caught it, but you weren’t someone else. You caught the twitch in his fingers, the way he wet his lips before speaking.

With a sigh he reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded slip of paper, sliding it across the bar.

“Think real hard before ya open that.” His voice was lower now, and for the first time, there wasn’t an ounce of smugness left in it.

You didn’t hesitate in picking it up.

And he sat back like he’d just signed your death warrant.

taglist: @cutesytwt, @tojis-ball-sack, @gojoscumslut, @sukubusss, @vicravluv, @newasskid

[sunvmars]

tart | s.r. [3]

pairing: steve rogers x afab/fem reader

↞ previous | next ↠

word count: 2.4k

warnings: very, very brief smut mention !

summary: steve confesses, bucky offers his help

a/n: another short but fast moving chapter for now, the next few will be much longer and explain/fill any plot holes or missing pieces :) I hardly proof read this so be warned

Bucky's eyebrow cocks up in confusion as he recalls the mission, "Yeah, what about it?"

Steve takes another deep breath, preparing himself to release the secret he's been keeping, "I found something during that mission."

Bucky narrows his eyes, his curiosity piqued as he leans forward. "Okay, spill it."

Steve leans forward too and rests his elbows on his knees. He knew that saying something was a risk, but keeping it a secret under the new circumstances was riskier. Steve's gaze fixates on the floor as he speaks.

"During that mission, when I was extracting the files we needed, I stumbled upon some classified files. They had information about a hidden experiment conducted years ago called 'Genesis,'" he explains.

Bucky leans forward, his curiosity getting the best of him, "What's that got to do with all of this?"

"It's got everything to do with it," Steve replies, "Genesis was made to create super soldiers and people with enhanced mental abilities like telekinesis, telepathy, everything in between. Their ultimate goal was to fuse DNA from both groups to create a new 'breed' of enhanced individuals."

"Steve, are you saying y/n is connected to this?"

"More than just connected, Buck," Steve admits. "Her father was one of their strongest super soldiers and her mother was an agent. Her mother was also the only successful recipient of the mental ability serum they curated. From what I read, her parents had a secret relationship. They disappeared when her mother became pregnant; likely to save her from whatever fate Hydra had for her."

A sigh leaves Steve's lips before he continues, "Essentially, y/n is the only living evidence that they existed- that this experiment existed."

Steve feels nothing short of horrible and shitty for keeping this from you. He wishes he hadn't done it, but now it was too late to take it back. All he could do now was fix it. And he will fix it.

Bucky's eyes widen as he starts to connect the pieces together. "Let me make sure I'm getting this right here... You're saying she's the only child of a super-soldier and a Hydra agent with mind blowing abilities, both of whom nobody has any knowledge of? And now she's carrying a baby who's a cesspool of these abilities?"

"Yes, but that's not all of it. I hired people to do some digging after that mission. Turns out that the man who conducted those experiments, the one who created her father, he's been searching for her parents ever since. I've had people looking for him, but he's been evading police for years too, changing locations frequently."

Bucky leans back and rubs a hand over his face. "And you think he's aware of her existence?"

"At first, I don't think he did. She had hardly any social media presence, she was homeschooled, her birthname had no relation to her parents. But now I know he knows she's alive. I got a pretty straightforward letter from him two days ago, and I'm not even sure how he found out she was with me. Figured that means he also knows that we've been following him."

"How do you know it was him? What did it say?"

"I know it was him because all it said was, 'I know who she is.'"

"Well, that's definitely straightforward," Bucky huffs, his heart feeling heavy with worry, "Is that why you told her you didn't want the baby?"

"I...I want her and that baby more than anything, but I can't put them in danger. He'll come for me first to get to her. He's probably been trying to find her for years. I'm afraid he's going to start taking more drastic measures if we don't find him soon."

Bucky tries to take in all the information thrown at him, but only finds himself able to focus on the part about you being in danger. "What does he know about her?"

"I don't know, and that's what scares me. I thought that if I got her away from me then he wouldn't have suspected she was ever here, but I guess I was wrong," Steve admits, guilt laced in his tone, "He wants her, Buck, and now he's gonna want our baby too."

"We'll figure something out, Steve. Don't worry." Bucky raises his eyebrows, still confused at what Steve's plan was. "How does her being alone protect her? What if he's already figured out where she is?"

"I wouldn't call it alone, she's just not with me. She's safe at the tower and I've been pulling strings to protect her."

"What kind of strings, Steve? Please don't tell me you've done something stupid."

"Haven't had to yet, just small stuff."

"Like?" Bucky urges, not taking the vague response.

"I stopped assigning her to missions. When I had to throw off suspicion, I made sure she would be with you or Tony. I've got people I trust watching over her when she leaves home alone too."

"That's a little creepy, Steve." Bucky chuckles briefly, shaking his head.

"I was doing everything possible to keep her from leaving a trace that he can pick up on. That's why she's not here and I'm in her chair, drinking this disgusting cocktail in this empty, lonely apartment."

The two of them sit in silence temporarily before Steve speaks again. "I even took down all our pictures and got rid of any trace of her in case he ever suspected me, just couldn't find it in myself to take those two pictures down," he says as he points at the only two remaining frames on the wall.

Bucky's eyes follow where he points and he finds himself smiling at the pictures. Steve smiles too, but because it's all he's got left of you at the moment even though everything in the house had you intertwined with it. Regret fills the holes in his heart and his eyes linger on the pictures for a little too long.

The photo taken at the beach with all three of you? You were in his favorite bikini and, unbeknownst to anyone else, he later fucked you in it in the kitchen while everyone else was outside swimming. Your first date photo? Well, that one's self explanatory. It was sentimental and he wasn't sure he'd ever take that one down, even if you decided you hated him forever.

"But I guess it was all this pain for nothing, huh?" Steve says, smiling weakly.

"You did what you could, just wish you would've came to me. You know I'm here for you and her."

Steve doesn't find it in himself to respond. Bucky was right, he shouldn't of tried to handle this by himself. Guilt pools in his stomach threatening to make him nauseous.

"Were you ever gonna tell her? She should know, Steve, this is her past we're talking about here. If she knows then she'll be prepared for whatever comes our way."

Steve taps his foot, his nerves slowly overwhelming him. "That's the woman I know and love, Bucky, and I know she'll go digging for answers. I can't let her get hurt, especially not now," he says.

Bucky knows there's some truth to this because he knows you almost as well as Steve does- you're relentless when something's important to you. However, he also knows that you deserve the truth- that's part of the whole reason he came to talk to Steve in the first place.

"You need to tell her," Bucky responds, his tone almost demanding. "I've been watching her hurt for the last few months over something that isn't even her fault."

"I know, and I'm gonna tell her..."

"It sounds like there's a 'but' coming after that, and I really don't wanna hear-"

"But I'm going to find him first."

For a moment he thinks to himself 'he can't be serious, can he?' Then he looks at his friend who has determination written all over his face. He sees a glimpse of that scrawny, nervous kid Steve used to be for a second, and that's what worries him; that's how he knows he won't stop until he finds this guy.

"I'll do whatever it takes to keep them safe. I'll take down all of Hydra if I have to, I'm not letting them get close to her."

"You don't even know where this guy is, Steve. As your best friend, I can't let you take a chance on getting hurt when you do find him. No matter how shitty you've been, she still loves you a lot. She needs you, and so will that baby."

"Buck, this is something I have to do-"

"Then I'll do it for you," Bucky interrupts, the words leaving his mouth before he gets the chance to second guess them. "Give me what you have on him and I'll handle it."

Steve is dumbfounded. He's got the same 'he can't be serious' look that Bucky had mere seconds ago.

"Absolutely not. With your history with them, that's not a risk I can let you take."

Bucky smiles sympathetically. "But I don't have a family like you will. Don't get me wrong, you and y/n are my family, but you've got a baby on the way, punk. I've got nothing to lose here, it's not up for debate."

Steve frowns at this. He looks torn, his emotions at war within him. On one hand, he wants to protect you and his baby at all costs. On the other hand, he can't bear to lose his best friend again.

"Bucky, you're like a brother to me; I don't think I can put you in harm's way and ask you to do this," Steve says, his voice filled with desperation, "But I can't risk y/n and the baby's safety either."

Bucky's expression softens as he places a reassuring hand on Steve's shoulder. "You're gonna be a father soon, Rogers. You need to be there for them. Just let me handle this, they can't get to me anymore. I've got more ties to Hydra than anyone, I can probably pull some strings of my own."

Steve sighs upon realizing that Bucky's decision is unshakable. "You promise me you'll be careful. You'll keep me updated on everything and if anything seems off, I want you to retreat immediately."

He laughs before saying, "You're gonna be a damn good dad, you know?"

Steve narrows his eyes at him. "I'm serious, Buck."

"Alright, alright. I promise, and I'll keep you updated, okay?" Bucky agrees, throwing his hands up in the air to show his compliance.

Steve then reaches for his phone and begins to compile all the information he's gathered about Zepher Hawthorne. He anonymously sends the files to Bucky who immediately starts to study them closely. Bucky glances up to give Steve a reassuring smile.

"I'll be as careful as they come, Steve. Don't worry about me."

With their roles now clearly defined, they continue to discuss their plan in detail. They agree on secure communication channels, establish a backup line for communication, and set up a timeline for Bucky's investigation into Hawthorne. It's a risky endeavor, and they know that, but they're both determined to protect you and the unborn child.

As Bucky prepares to leave, Steve can't help but feel a renewed sense of hope that he'd lost when you told him about the baby. He knows he has a difficult conversation ahead with you, but he's also more motivated than ever to show you his dedication to protecting your little family.

Right as Bucky's about to leave, he turns around to look at Steve. "I'll put it some vacation days and let you know once I have a lead; in the meantime, go talk to her. If you don't wanna tell her the full story until I find him, then you at least need to tell her that you want her and the baby. Sound good?"

"Works for me," Steve chuckles lightly before giving Bucky a tight hug. "See you around?"

"I always come back," Bucky jokes as the door shuts behind him.

With that, Bucky leaves to prepare. Steve, however, takes a deep breath and picks up his keys. He knows it's time to open up to you about everything that's been hidden for far too long. He stands in the empty apartment motionless for a moment, the weight of the impending conversation heavy on him. It's not that he doesn't want you to know, but he doesn't want you to worry. After taking a deep breath he leaves the apartment and locks the door behind him.

As he heads towards the apartment elevator, his mind races with thoughts of how to approach you. He knows this won't be easy, and he's prepared to take all your anger and confusion because he knows he deserves it. Yet he's also determined to help you understand that at first he did everything he did to keep you safe; now he's doing what he has to in order to keep his family safe.

You're in the Avengers Tower sleeping comfortably your warm bed. You're peacefully unaware of the bombshell revelation that has just been dropped, but it won't stay that way for much longer. As Steve walks through the hallways he finally reaches your room.

He hesitates briefly before knocking gently on the door. It's quiet in your room so he waits for a moment, but then...nothing. His worry grows and horrible thoughts swarm in his brain. He knocks again, a bit more urgently this time.

On the other side of the door, you slowly begin to stir. The knocking finally registers in your drowsy mind, and you groggily call out, "Who is it?"

"It's Steve," he answers, his voice riddled with worry.

His voice has you awake instantly, but your heart races at the seriousness in his tone. You slide out of bed and hurriedly make your way to the door. Your fingers fumble with the lock at first but you find it within seconds. The door opens to reveal Steve standing there, his expression tense.

"Steve?" you ask, worry etching into your features as you take in the look on his face, "Why are you here? Are you okay?"

He steps into your room and turns on the dim light before closing the door behind him. He sighs deeply, rubbing his hands together.

"We need to talk," he insists. "There's something I should've told you a long time ago."

taglist!

@oh-thats-cute @vicmc624 @blackhawkfanatic @tooruen

@athenabarnes @gh0stgurl @missing-loki @elizacusi-blog

@terry2227 @imyourbratzdoll @starksbabie @diannana

@flowers-and-fichte @ozwriterchick @kandis-mom @nouk1998

think I managed to add everyone, but if I forgot your tag, or you want to be added to or removed from the tag list for this series, leave a comment or message me :)

[thetravelingtyper]

On The Same Page pt4 (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader Bookshop! AU)

Taking the day to go to the beach you meet someone new...

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 5, Masterlist!

Warning! James is a dick, use of language

“Oh, Flo, where did you go?

Where did you go? Where did you go?”

The song was expected at this point as you ran along the beach. You huffed begrudging, humming along. The song reminded you of America.

The fights kept coming in the few months before you left.

It happened one day, after a day of talking with Sam about trying to start your next book. You had returned home to an upset James. He had met you at the door with a dark look, something storming in his mind that immediately had you asking. Despite your questioning, he remained silent, pacing back and forth before heading to the bedroom and slamming the door shut. 

“You're falling about

You took a left off Last Laugh Lane

Just sounding it out

But you're not coming back again

You're falling about

You took a left off Last Laugh Lane

You were just sounding it out

But you're not coming back again”

You just stood stunned in the hallway before turning with a frown to make dinner.

A few minutes later James sauntered out, a mean smirk on his face,

“You’re fucking him aren't you?”

The question came out of nowhere and you dropped the spoon, 

At first, you thought he was joking and you cracked a smile.

“Yea, me and an aroace man!”

His eyes sharpened,

“I am not joking you little bitch,”

At the term you froze, anger tightening your muscles as you turned off the stove.

“You will not speak to me that way.”

James huffed and then chuckled, he approached you, running a hand down your hair and the back of your head, then resting on your neck. The next gleam in his eyes frightened you and you pushed at his chest but against his height, you had no power. He gripped the back of your neck and pulled you closer, his mouth brushing close to your ear.

“I will say anything I want.”

And with a final warning, he stepped back fingers slightly digging into your hair before he released. 

“You’ll do well to remember that.”

“You used to get it in your fishnets

Now you only get it in your nightdress

Discarded all the naughty nights for niceness

Landed in a very common crisis

Everything's in order in a black hole

Everything was pretty as the past though

That Bloody Mary's lacking in Tabasco

Remember when you used to be a rascal?”

The song finally finished out and you slowed then paused in your running. A sudden weight on your shoulders and in your chest you sank into the sand, not caring about the mess. How could years go to waste? You put your head on your knees. What had you lost?

A love, yes but a vibrant career in one of the best publishing firms in the US. But what of your family, your friends? You disappeared within a week, leaving the only world you knew behind. Despite the state of America, you missed it. You had grown up in your childhood home, worn walls and height lines scribbled into the door frames. You made your first stories in those rooms. 

You close your eyes. After a messy relationship in your late teens and early 20s, you left your hometown. Leaving to a liberal arts college on the East Coast you pursued your masters in creative writing. One faithful day in your first year of your masters you met Sam. He was in an engineering program online but was taking a few classes in the college. You had heard his distress over an essay in the campus cafe. And, as a new 23-year-old master's student eager to make friends on campus. You had approached him, explained your position and he nearly grabbed you and threw his essay at you. What followed was the closest friend you had ever found and 6 years of friendship followed. At 25 you graduated with Sam following and entered the publishing business. A few months in you met James and the rest, 

Well, the rest is history.  

You stare out into the clear skyed ocean. Sighing, you turn your music back on and just stretch out your legs. Turning the music down you zone out. It was a couple of days after getting Simon’s number, Thursday to be exact, and you had driven out to the coast hoping to get some inspiration. But nothing came up. 

You watch the ocean. Now that was something you missed, the sealife along the East Coast. You remember always loving the sea, during the evening taking the boats out to spot blue whales and others. 

You soon became lost in thought and as time passed, the sun grew high towards noon. As your thoughts traced the bottom of the sea a shadow overtook your form and you blinked. A body, you notice, a man standing over you, he was speaking. You pull an earbud out to be met with waves and a deep voice pulls your eyes to a handsome face, and a fishing hat?

“You alright down there?”

You look at him unsure, the combination of casual clothes and a camo fishing hat humors you, and you work to pull yourself up. He offers a hand, and with a good spirit, you take it. He pulls you up effortlessly, muscle flexing in the bright sunlight.

“I’m sorry I was lost in thought.”

He gives you an honest smile that doesn't fully reach his eyes making you wonder.

“Quite alright I understand the feeling. Seems to be a lot.” 

It’s a strong statement that takes you aback for a moment as the man stares out into the endless blue. You take a moment to observe, something in your writer's mind buzzing. The man is a bit older than you, he carried himself well, shoulders back in proper form but there was a weight there. He wasn’t as tall as Simon but nearly there. His blue eyes meet yours again and there is a depth you try to understand. You brush some sand off your legs to break the weight of his gaze. 

You return to his face with a small, shared smile, wondering what he had been through. Holding out a hand you introduce yourself standing a little straighter. Seeing this he nods and grabs your hand.

“Johnathan Price” 

His hands are rough, worn after years of work as the name sparks a flame of recognition. Price sees it in your eyes. 

“Captain John Price?”

He chuckles and releases your hand but you see the change in his form, subtle but tense. 

“Was, retired now. Now how did a lady like you know that?”

You expect the question, and you grin pointing to the hat.

“Johnny goes on and on about you.”

Price relaxes instantly, his smile now reaching his eyes and he chuckles again. 

“Soap, a good man. I haven't checked in on the lad in a while. How do you know him?”

You continue to explain your bookstore and meeting Johnny. As you speak Price relaxes and he mentions to a bench a little across the way, towards the end of the beach. Taking a seat you finish up.

“Sounds like John alright. He not giving you any trouble is he?”

You grin,

“Not at all, I've gotten quite used to him dropping by. He and Simon stop in a lot.”

That catches Price’s ear,

“Simon? Now that is interesting. How is he?”

You find his interest understandable, and you answer the best you can. 

“He pulled quite a stunt to help me, but I've enjoyed him so far.”

“He certainly has a presence, no worries though at heart he is a good man. He left an impact I assume?” 

He says it with a familiar grin, one that tells a history, there is also curiosity there. He raises a brow in expectation which makes you giggle. He looked like a dad, the image of Soap and Simon running around coming to mind for a moment before Price catches the look and raises another brow. 

There is respect for the man in Price's tone and you question how long he’d know the quiet man. 

“A while, a long while. He served as my lieutenant for years. He and Johnny are close. Been through a lot.” 

“I like that about Johnny, he has a lot of stories.” You lean back on the bench to stare up at the sky. Gathering clouds hint at a coming rain blowing in from the sea. You deal in stories but you can’t seem to catch a break, your eyes return to Price to see him observing you with keen eyes.

“Something troubling you?” he asks it honestly and you sigh, feeling the light shine upon you to share. 

“Yea. I am an author without ideas currently.”

Price hums, 

“I see, that's quite the predicament indeed. What’s causing it?”

You sigh again and the weight of the past few months falls upon your shoulders.

Price sees the change in you instantly and you just crack and break down the situation for him. It starts with your masters, to meeting Sam and James, the company, and your first books. You had started with children’s books following your interest in childhood literacy. As you explain the premise of the books, a fond smile lights up your face. 

Of three books, your second was your favorite: It followed the story of a fox kit lost amongst wolves. He was smaller than the rest of the other cubs but soon grew to love his own identity. The Fox’s Den pulled its name from this book. You had based the story on the forest around your childhood home and roaming through the woods while your parents were always too busy to keep you entertained.

With the success of your first books, your manager had insisted on middle-grade fiction and you wholeheartedly agreed. But your old boss at the publisher had dropped the expectation of a young adult or new adult book and you had started brainstorming, but that was when your world came crashing, well, tearing down. You explain this to him. 

“Everything was torn out from underneath you, there was nothing you could do. Your heart was, and I believe, still is in your writing, but everything that has happened has tainted your worldview,”

He pauses to regard the ocean for a moment, the winds blowing in cause choppy waves. 

“Often when things turn against us, or we have our backs against the wall is when we find it from within ourselves to overcome. Be it from within, or I believe in your case, around you. Perhaps you are just looking in the wrong place. Your past consuming you and tarnishing how you are experiencing the present.”

Price seems to be talking from within himself and it makes you wonder. You look out into the gathering storm. The waves cut like sapphire and the distant rumble of thunder. The close wildness of the ocean engulfs you in the moment. You take in the smell of the sea and exhale. Price was right, you had come here for a new life anyway, and you meant to make the best of it. 

Price watches you for a moment,

“I just feel like I am missing something in all of this. Why did it happen?”

Price sets a friendly hand on your shoulder,

“You may never know, but don’t let it consume you, instead revisit your old passions. Take what you remember of home and try to find something here to spark your interest. Besides James sounds like a right nasty bloke.”

Hearing someone older say it makes you feel a lot better. While your friends of course had been on your side it seemed like the entire company had turned against you. All except your manager who had followed you to Sam’s family company. While the boss held no power over you anymore your manager agreed with the sentiment of increasing your output to an older audience. She felt it would be good to expand into that market. 

“You're right.” 

Price’s advice comes at a good time, and he was right. Maybe you were looking too often into the past. Your phone buzzes, and you look and find a message from Simon. You smile, he was asking to take you up on the offer of tea. Price notices and smiles himself. 

“Well, you better get in before the rain hits, dear.”

You put your phone away and nod to the man.

“Thanks, John.” 

He stands up and nods.

“Until next time then.” This is all he offers before returning to his original route. Despite there not being an exchange of numbers you couldn't help but feel you would meet the man again. 

You sit for a moment longer, lingering on the feeling of being understood and the wildness of the sea. But as the wind picks up you receive a text from Sam. He calls a moment later.

“Where are you?”

“At the beach Mom, what's wrong?”

“I’ve got some interesting news. Besides the news says there's a storm brewing and I think you should head home. Your boyfriend is looking for you, he’s been in twice already.”

At that you are at a loss for words, a slight blush coming over your face,

“Come home buttercup before he haunts the place-” there's a pause on the other line, “and Soap says hi.”

You laugh at that, getting up and starting the run back to the car.

“Alright, I’m on my way, see you in a bit Sam, I'll be in a little late.”

“Drive safe. Bye”

With that you hang up and run, feelings of excitement building.

Taglist: @ghostlythots, @tapioca-milktea1978, @cmbghost

End chapter 4

[try-set-me-on-fire]

Hi! What is Rabid bits of time WIP about?

Thats kind of a dark one sjsjsj its for bad things happen bingo sole survivor, where Buck vanishes in the days after the tsunami and takes place a few years later when Athena takes a wellness check call and finds the person a few days dead in their basement from a trip and fall head injury, next to a chained up, severely injured and emaciated Buck... Will be Eddie (and maaaybe Athena pov), lots of flashbacks of like pre disappearance Eddie and Buck working towards something romantic but Eddie not being ready for it and Buck saying he'll wait, buck's disappearance setting off Eddie's season 5 breakdown early, Eddie dating guys but still grieving Buck, and then everyone dealing with Buck suddenly being back and in really rough shape. Bobby is not doing great! He's not been doing great for several years!

Here's some drawings of the second time Chris sees Buck when he comes back (the first time didn't go great because like... Everyone else looks more or less the same but a kid grows up a lot in 2 years so it hits Buck for the first time how long he was stuck down there)

And here's a little snippet

It’s a Thursday, sunny. Weather has been unpredictable this winter but it’s been nice out for a few days now, seems like it’ll hold til the weekend. Shift ended at noon but went over a little, had to deal with a pileup in midtown, so it’s almost one o’clock as Eddie heads out to his truck. Still, he has a few hours before he has to get Chris, school not out until 2:30 and then another hour for science club. They need groceries, and the laundry is starting to pile up, but a nap is maybe too tempting to resist. It had been a long night, lots of calls. The turn in the weather, maybe, more people out and about to get into trouble. He’s making a list in his head of what they need from the store so he can make a quick trip after the nap, before or after he gets Chris depending on how long he sleeps, and is about halfway to his parking spot when a cop car tears into the lot. He didn’t catch the number on it but he supposes he’s not surprised when Athena appears moments later, walking towards him with tension coiled into her every muscle.  “The others still inside?” She calls, barely looking at him long enough to see his nod, not slowing down as she walks towards the station. Her face is grim, jaw set tight, and Eddie thinks it’s entirely unnecessary when she says “Come on, you need to hear this, too.” There’s only one thing this could be about, as impossible as it may be. Eddie follows her inside feeling kind of muffled, like there’s a layer of cotton between him and the rest of the world. Hazy, as Hen comes out of the locker with a frown on her face, as Chimney freezes halfway down the stairs. Athena’s shout for Bobby sounds half as loud as it probably is. Bobby comes out of his office immediately, looking less calm and collected every step closer. They all end up in a little huddle in the middle of the room, other firefighters giving them both a wide berth and curious stares. Hen’s elbow digs into his left arm, Athena is close enough to his right to feel her body warmth. Bobby, wearing that kind of see through look he gets sometimes, scans his wife’s face. “What’s going on?” “We-“ Athena seems choked for words, suddenly, and that more than anything makes this feel real. For her to be scared. Dread bubbles up in the hole in Eddie’s chest that he thought he’d mostly patched up these days. “Bobby. We found him. We found Buck.” Eddie takes a step back, involuntarily. Hen grabs onto his arm, so tight her nails dig in. Chimney makes a strangled sort of noise, hand hovering over his pocket like he wants to go for his phone. Does Maddie know? Eddie is sure he’s thinking it, they’re all thinking it. Who told her? It should be one of them. It shouldn’t be a stranger, not after this long. It should be-  “How?” Bobby asks, the crack in his voice turning it from how did you find him to something more like what condition is the body in? What do we have left to bury?  Because, well, none of them have any delusions about it. Not after this much time. Two years and nearly three months ago Evan Buckley vanished, and not a single trace had ever been found of him. The only thing waiting for them at the end of this is a body.  Except Athena stands there, in the warm air of a pleasant afternoon, and says “We found him alive.”

[jpnriikicore]

── blood runs thicker than water

paring commoner!jake sim ( sim jaeyun ) x princess!reader, word count 635, genre angst, ( masterlist )

night fell in the kingdom.

every thirty days the higher-ups in the kingdom choose two commoners to fight to survive. life or death. both equals would be handed a sword by the guards of the kingdom.

the kingdom went against its people the people it told it would protect. your bloodline threatened the lives of its people. now, the commoners would always scatter on the thirty days when night falls.

a hood covers your face. your the blood of the royalty, a princess hidden in town as a commoner. lanterns on the wooden mobile pop-up shops lit up the cobblestone streets. those little shops were the only source of income. the guards stood next to the lion's den suited up in their uniform.

the commoners scattered back towards their respective homes in the hope that if they weren’t seen they would be forgotten about and be safe.

you passed by the bread shop the same one sim jaeyun and his family work at. his bloodline is full of breadmakers. at the beginning of your hidden relationship, you had brought thousands worth of bread leading them to be the second most wealthy next to the kingdom.

you make brief eye contact with one of the guards. unwilling, two guards take your arm dragging you over towards them. your boots kick against the thin layer of dust that settled on the stone. on the other side was your lover struggling against the hold of the guards.

you’re the chosen ones to fight to the death on a thin slab of wood hovering on top of the big dig hole of a lion's den. other commoners chose to fight later on in the night surrounded you both. most didn’t even look at the age of ten. most vulnerable and easy to target.

why was he out? you briefly glanced down at the book in his hand. what a stupid boy he was to be out here on this certain night knowing what would happen. he had risked his life to return your journal to you.

as the sword was forcibly handed to you by a guard you made your way out on the thin wood. this match wasn’t equal though strong he didn’t how to fiend for himself in fights. whilst you have been trained by your elders of your bloodline at the age of three.

you saw the fear in his teary brown eyes as he stepped out on the plank. you made the first move swift and precise. a step forward as he elongated your arm out. the edge of your sword ripped his shirt right above his beating heart. a nick of blood oozed out staining his shirt. at the quick action the material of her hood that was hiding your identity from everyone besides jaeyun. suppose your father was right blood runs thicker than water.

gasps fell from everyone’s mouths at the realization. realization it was indeed the queen and king’s daughter. the next to overtake the throne in a short few years at the inability of your brothers. one of the guards sneaked up behind jaeyun pushing him slightly causing him to be unbalanced. you watched as your lover fell to his death. your lover’s head splintered in the wood before his yells faded in the distance. his body disappeared in the darkness as he fell into the den. the roars from the lions echoed from the ground. the guard closest to her grabbed your arm leading you off the wobbly wood. there was not much you could do. in disbelief, tears welled your eyes, but quickly blinked them away. father said to never cry.

the king would end up in the lion's den and peace would enter the kingdom and little town once again she overthrow the kingdom by force.

© JPNRIIKICORE, 2024

[twinterrors29]

CodyWan Serial Killer AU

Obi-Wan grows up cleaning up after his brother, Anakin's, serial killings, ensuring he's never caught

but when Anakin gets together with Padme, and her small army of overly-competent eerily identical teammates who are more than capable of cleaning up after the happy couple, Obi-Wan's left at loose ends

he's not sure he'd call it empty nest syndrome, and he definitely can't admit it to anyone, but he's Bored

so he starts considering a potential serial killing career of his own, even though the idea holds little appeal in and of itself

one night when he's out scouting locations he can use, he sees a small group of strange looking young men digging holes in a cemetery, and is Intrigued

he follows them back to their base, where he observes that a man is using dead bodies to Frankenstein together new bodies, in the pursuit of building a perfect son for himself

however, the man is frustrated, because the dead parts he can access keep rotting, even when attached to their new owners, so he has to keep stealing new dead bodies from the cemetery to keep them going, and he wants better for his perfect son

Obi-Wan, however, is keenly aware of the cause of Jango Fett's problem: he needs fresh materials

and Obi-Wan knows very well how to acquire those

but he doesn't trust Fett would accept his help, so he manages to get one of the boys by himself (if he happens to choose one he finds cute, that's beside the point) and makes his offer to help them get their hands on some better-quality hands

Cody agrees, how could he not when presented with the opportunity to rid himself and his brothers of rot, but he insists on coming along, so he can verify the freshness of the parts

he needs to figure out how this bizarre man found them out and eliminate that security breach, but he can't let go of the idea that there's a better way to refresh their parts, and needs to learn that secret first

over the next few weeks, Obi-Wan shows him the tricks of the trade he learned from watching and assisting Anakin all those years, and Cody finds that not only is he slowly growing to trust Obi-Wan, but he thinks he might be falling in love with him

in the end, Cody knows that Jango would never tolerate anyone knowing his secret, and has long suspected that the man is planning to dispose of his failed attempts once he no longer needs them to support his work in crafting his true son

so Cody conspires with Obi-Wan, and they recruit all of his brothers and steal enough of Jango's research to be able to continue their own maintenance

and then they disappear into the night, leaving Jango to his work alone, and set themselves up with new identities provided by Padme's team in a new city

after all, they're going to need a lot of fresh bodies to get all of Cody's siblings up to spec, and that kind of work tends to draw attention

and who knows, one day he and Obi-Wan might decide to make a kid of their own...

[teafangirl]

Greetings, I made my first reader X fan fic! This one’s for Dead Boy Detectives, my friend @sis-goleona inspired me to try making one she also inspired the story, I give her credit! This story takes place, between, episodes 6,7 and 8.

Anyway this is

(Picture is from google)

Reader X Edwin Payne

Chapter one — your savior

Enjoy!☕️😌

"”””””””””””””””””””””””

It was a while after teeth face, the huge mushroom that Ester Finch had planted over a few hours ago, with the intention to kill or fully kill the Ghost boys Edwin and Charles. However, after Cat king had quite literally spoiled Esters plan by telling Edwin all about who Monty really was, that ended with Ester ripping Monty back into a crow. Charles and Crystal meanwhile faced off with David, the demon who had been haunting crystal for a while. At this time Edwin had just told the Cat King to piss off basically. Edwin had spent over 70 years in the worst place ever, that being hell, so he knew a thing or two about getting killed over and over. That however did not mean He couldn't get scared, Edwin did indeed have Post Traumatic Stress disorder (PTSD) and he was indeed scared when him and Charles were about to be sucked into the toothy mouth of the big mushroom. While Esther had a fight with crystal. Who ended up saving the both of them with her powers, the last they saw of the witch was when she got pulled right into that mushroom as it went back into the ground.

While everyone took a breath, Edwin felt quite odd to say the least, he looked at the spot where the mushroom disappeared, took a step closer, he wasn't paying attention earlier. Now he could hear some kind of screaming. He stepped back and looked at Charles, who looked back.

“You ok mate, “He said as he, gestured for Edwin to come away from that spot in fear the mushroom might somehow take his best mate. Edwin looked back at the spot, not moving closer or away, as he looked at Charles and crystal. “I am fine, do you hear that?” Charles walks over and lesions both him and Edwin, kneeling down, the screaming doesn't sound like Easter it sounds way too young. It sounded as if, whoever it was, was being devoured and killed over and over. Charles looks at Edwin and rests a hand on his shoulder as he speaks,

“whatever is down there is probably long dead by now mate, come on, me and crystal are going back to jennies.” he proclaimed as he stood up alongside Edwin who went with them, but he still felt odd, but he knew Charles was right. This realization however did not stop him from leaving a mirror behind laying against a tree. However, Edwin was only able to return to the spot the next night, as he had gotten dragged to hell by a demon the previous day when they returned from the forest. While in hell, he had confessed his love for Charles, who didn't seem to reciprocate his feelings. Added to that, in the back of his mind, he couldn't stop thinking about those screams he heard.

The first chance he got the fallowing night, he took Charles's bag of tricks, and jumped back through a mirror. Soon he came out right where he wanted to be, he was content to solve this little mystery he had uncovered. Edwin was shaking, he knew how dangerous this was as he stepped closer to the spot the mushroom once was. “Why am I doing this, Charles will be flustered at me…” he thought as he knelt down, not trying to somehow wake the mushroom. He put his hands in the moist dirt and started digging, pulling one big handful of dirt after another. Ghosts didn't need to eat nor sleep, they also didn't really get tired, even tho Charles often said otherwise. After a few hours, he reached what looked to be a hole, he looked down it careful not to fall in, it was dark, but there was some light mostly coming from the big mushroom who looked to be asleep. Out of the corner of his eye he saw just out of the reach of the mushroom's light was a body laying on the ground it wasn't Esther, it looked way too young like Edwin's age.

The body had blood surrounding it, he could not see its features or anything, but he felt an urge to save the person. Perhaps they reminded him of himself, when he was in hell, when he died over and over. He felt a tear slip pass his in control persona he always had up. Quickly grabbing the bag of tricks, Edwin pulled out a long rope, quickly tied it to a big tree, put on the backpack and nervously jumped into the hole.

Once he landed on the ground, still shaking, he slowly moved to the body, keeping a hold of the long rope as he came closer. He often looked at the mushroom making sure it did not wake, once he made it to the body he saw it was a ghost like him, he thought this ghost was Rather gorgeous and vary injured. He snapped himself out of wandering when the big mushroom opened its mouth, dragging some other body, blood and organs splashed out as its mouth closed.

“Why can't I control myself today, I should get out of here before it goes to eat this ghost or worse… Eats me!” Edwin swiftly gets reader into the bag of tricks and doges one of the mushroom's tentacles as he makes his way out of the hole. Once out the dirt quickly starts felling the hole again, Edwin gets himself and the bag a good ways away from the hole, and he starts breathing and panting, not believing what he's just done. He lets reader slide out of the bag and onto the grass of the forest, and takes a better look at them, they are definitely injured they were wearing dirty clothes stained with blood and something else. He's glad about what he's done. When reader wakes, he hopes they will be to. Edwin sits by a tree close to where reader is laying, he waits, he can't seem to stop looking at them, checking that they are ok. At some point a cat wanders over and lies on Edwin's lap, he doesn't mind seeing as it's not the cat king

“””"”””””””

☕️would u want a part two to this ?

I would love to hear any suggestions you have? Have a great day! Lastly if u guys have any ideas for titles feel free to share!

[shytulipghost]

My abandoned story ideas - Part 2 (Final)

Part 1

This is the continuation of my previous post. Most of the stories I'm about to mention here are ideas I had when I was 14.

Warning: it's gonna be as long as the first part.

6. The murderous painter story

The story took place in Victorian England and was about a woman who, for some reason, visited a private art gallery late at night and discovered a horrible secret: behind the paintings were the corpses of people who had disappeared lately.

(A "dramatic" recreation of the scene.)

The murderer, who was a famous painter, spotted her and decided to lock her up in her house instead of killing her (Why? I don't remember). Most of the main plot was going to focus on the protagonist's experience being trapped there while the subplot focused on two detectives, who were brothers, trying to investigate the disappearances (they were going to have a "good cop and bad cop" dynamic, as they were based on the classic detective and the noir detective).

I mainly remember details about the murderer: she was dressed in red, had brown hair, would ocassionally bring a fan with hidden knives and had a butler as her partner in crime. She would kill her victims by inviting them to her home and giving them poisoned food or water. If someone tried to run away, she would then use the hidden knives. Once the victim was dead, she would hide the body in a big chest until she had new space in the art gallery to put it in. Finally, she would make a painting to cover the big hole in the wall. As you can see, 14-year old me didn't consider how illogical and unrealistic that idea was. Visitors would have quickly noticed a very horrible smell coming from the paintings.

Anyways, later on in the story, we would be given her backstory. One night, two robbers came to her house and she killed them in self-defense. Since she didn't have a place to dig them, she hid their bodies in a dark room. However, days later, someone came to her house because they were suspicious of her, so she invited him to talk over lunch and secretly poisoned him. That's when she discovered she liked killing and decided to build an art gallery specifically to hide her victims. As I said in the previous paragraph, 14-year-old me was very dumb (and edgy).

Near the climax, the butler would feel bad for the female protagonist, so he would decide to help her escape and expose the painter. In the next art exhibition, they quickly removed the paintings and revealed the truth to everyone, including the two detectives, who happened to be there. The painter immediately went on an rampage as the detectives went after her. The story would end with her getting arrested or her dying while trying to escape.

-------------------------------------------

I later thought of an alternative version of the story, where the new protagonist was the butler, who had snuck into the art gallery to steal a painting, discovered the truth and was forced to cooperate with the murderer. Most of the plot was going to be the same.

A few weeks later, I lost interest in the idea (THANK GOODNESS! THIS STORY WAS SO CRINGY IN HINDSIGHT!).

I don't know how I came up with it, but Creepypastas might have had a role in that. The serial killer genre wasn't my favourite (I even knew at the time that "Jeff the Killer" and similar stories were bad), but it was the most popular one, so the influence was unavoidable. I probably got the idea of victims being hidden inside paintings from either "Five Nights at Freddy's" (the dead children are inside the animatronics) or the Luigi's Mansion games (Mario always gets trapped in a painting).

7. The puppetmaster story

Thankfully, this story isn't as edgy as the previous one.

It was about of a group of young talented performers who were invited to do a show in a famous hotel. But on the day they were supposed to perform, they got trapped inside and the building got filled with different types of life-sized puppets (sock puppets, marionettes, shadow puppets, etc.) The main villain was the puppetmaster, who dressed like this:

(The character had nothing to do with duality. I just thought it looked cool.)

The plot focused on the characters trying to survive and finding objects they could use to defend themselves (for example, they would defeat the marionettes by cutting their strings with scissors). However, throughout the novel, some of them would get killed by the puppets in unique ways. For instance, the shadow puppets would injure their victim's shadow and the finger puppets, who were in the swimming pool, would grab someone and drag them underwater.

At some point in the story, the protagonist ran up to the villain to unmask him, revealing that the one behind all of this was one of his peers, the guy that was talented in puppeteering.

There was going to be a flashback that showed that the puppeteer used to be a good person; but on the day the main cast had arrived at the hotel (they stayed there for 4 or 5 days before the show), he and another performer found a small model of the hotel in the basement that contained normal-sized puppets. Curious, the puppeteer decided to play with said puppets and noticed that whatever he did with them would affect his surrounding environment and any part of the hotel. And so every day, he would come to the basement with his friend to do silly things with the puppets. At first, he did it for fun, but as days passed, the power these puppets had slowly corrupted him. On the night before the performance, the friend realized the puppeteer's behaviour changed, so she persuaded him to stop what he was doing and never come back to the basement. They got into a fight and, before the friend was able to warn the others, the puppeteer killed her using his new "henchmen".

In the climax, the surviving characters confronted the puppeteer and his minions, resulting in them destroying the hotel. I don't remember exactly how the villain died, but it was a karmic/ironic death, with him accidentally causing his own death with a puppet version of himself.

-------------------------------------------

I think anime was the biggest influence for this story, since most of the horror anime I had watched consisted of teenagers being put in deadly situations (but least my characters didn't die in gory ways). I specifically remember that I got the idea of making the main cast a group of talented people from "Danganronpa" (I only watched the anime to get a summary of the plot because I was not willing to watch a long playthrough).

However, I don't remember why I decided to make puppets the main focus of the story. I never actually had an interest in them. But I do remember having fun while looking up different types of puppets on Wikipedia.

8. "The Kingdom of the Four"

I got this idea after writing a poem about winter in class:

(Left image: Original poem - Right image: Rough translation. Please zoom in if you want to read the original version.)

The idea of the book, which was going to be a long narrative poem, was to portray the change of seasons as four people ruling the same kingdom (either taking the throne legitimately or by force). The seasons were represented as humans.

For context, I'm from South America, so it's summer at the beginning of the year.

--------------------------------------

The story started with Summer ruling his kingdom happily and spreading the sun's warmth everywhere. The habitants loved him because he gave them a lot of time to relax, so most of them went to the beach or their swimming pools.

But in late March, a sudden gust of wind destroyed Summer's home, which was a sandcastle, and sent him far away. Autumn had taken over the throne.

Now that he was in charge, Autumn decided to completely change the kingdom by painting it with orange and similar colours, and by making the place a bit colder with his wind powers. As a result, some of the plants started dying and some birds, who didn't like these changes, decided to migrate. But then, in late June, someone came to replace Autumn.

Now here is where the story deviated from the original poem. While the poem explained that Autumn handed over the throne because he was tired, in the story, he tried to fight the invader, but Winter immediately froze him with his ice powers and crowned himself as king.

Winter was the villain of this story because he was portrayed as a dictator who made his people suffer. Since he hated warmth so much, he made the nights longer and spread his power all across the land. Most of the vegetation was lost, some animals fell into a deep slumber and humans had to rely on warm clothes to protect themselves.

Meanwhile, the birds that had migrated decided to find someone who could save the kingdom and, eventually, they did. Spring arrived at the kingdom in late September and, as she walked, flowers blossomed and warmth slowly returned to the land. Winter was forced to abdicate because the warm temperature was weakening him. While waiting for Summer to come back, Spring decided to stay and help restore the kingdom.

Summer finally returned in late December and Spring gave back the throne to him. And so, the story ended the same way it began, with Summer happily ruling his kingdom.

However, the end was going to hint that the ice that had trapped Autumn inside finally melted, meaning that the whole cycle was going to repeat again.

--------------------------------------

I wanted to each season to have at least ten poems, so my plan was to make notes throughout the whole year listing all the changes I noticed besides the obvious ones. But I never did because I forgot about it and thought my other ideas were far more interesting.

Fun fact, the poem I had written in class made me realize that I had set the demon invasion story in winter (the demons invade the kingdom in June), which was perfect because winter and hell sound very similar in Spanish: invierno - infierno. That detail inspired me to use the weather to symbolically represent the mood and tone (I haven't written the demon invasion story yet, but it's something I intend to include. By the way, I promise to reveal the actual name of the story someday. I already have it in mind).

9. The story about aliens recreating Earth

It was about a population of aliens who decided to invade Earth, but when they finally got there, they discovered that the whole world had been destroyed and there was no sign of life left (in the novel, it was never explained how the world ended).

As they explored the remains of the planet, they found the ghost of Nature (not the same character from the weird hero story mentioned in Part 1), who asked them to recreate Earth from scratch. They accepted to do it and divided into different groups: the aliens who were assigned to recreate all the animals, the ones who had to recreate all the plants, the ones who had to decontaminate all of the planet's water and a few others I don't remember. To do this, they used all the information they had gathered throughout the years from visiting Earth and secretly observing its habitants.

The protagonist, if we can call him that, was an alien that wore a tunic and always stayed by Nature's side. He would talk to her about anything and treat her like a goddess.

At one point in the story, a few aliens decided to rebel and abandon their tasks, with their reason being "Why should we help someone who ocassionally hurt their own creations?" (in reference to natural disasters, illnesses, etc.). The protagonist would convince the other aliens that despite Nature's flaws and horrible actions, they still had to help her restore the planet.

At the end of the novel, a few years had passed and the aliens finally finished their tasks. The protagonist was with Nature inside a large tent and she would thank him for everything. He would then ask her: "Can I finally see your face?" (Nature spent most of the novel with her face hidden under a hood). She would leave the tent and tell him: "Come out and see me". He would obey her and the novel would conclude with a detailed description of the rebuilt Earth.

------------------------------------

Although the idea was interesting, I abandoned it because I didn't how to develop the plot (Would the plot consist of the protagonist coming to inspect each group and helping them out, the groups trying to solve their own problems before he arrived or something else? What was stopping them from reaching their goal aside from the rebellious aliens in that one chapter? What difficulties would they face throughout the whole story?).

As I'm writing this, I realized that this idea was too ambitious not only because of the plot, but also because it would have required a lot of worldbuilding, way more than the other stories ("what does alien technology look like?", "how different is it from human technology?", "how are the aliens going to replicate living cells?" and many more questions).

Unlike all the abandoned stories here, I have no idea what could have inspired me to come up with this story. I hadn't watched a lot of movies about aliens. Maybe I wanted to portray them as good guys. Who knows.

10. The illusion story

I got this idea after writing a short story in class. I don't want to translate the whole thing (it's seven paragraphs long and some sentences are too cringy), so here's the summary:

------------------------------------------

It was about a kingdom that lived happily, but had two particular things about it: there were no mirrors at all and everyone had purple eyes.

The queen, who was an enchantress and had recently won a war against another kingdom, warned her subjects about another enchantress who wandered through the forest at night. This made the citizens afraid to go outside once the sun set.

One day, the queen ordered the protagonist, a knight, to kill the ugly enchantress, so the kingdom could finally be at peace. He accepted the task and went to face the monster that night.

When he finally met her, he was prepared to attack, but she was not interested in fighting. Instead, she showed him a mirror and, in the reflection, he saw that the nearby houses were destroyed and that his face was bruised. She then took a pair of green eyes and offered them to him. Fearing that they might be cursed, he rejected them. In response, the enchantress used her long nails to rip out his eyes.

When he got his vision back, he left the forest and was horrified to see that the whole kingdom was in ruins. Angrily, he ran back to the enchantress and demanded her to give him back his eyes. However, the short story ended with her revealing that the queen had actually lost the war and replaced her people's eyes with fake ones to give them the illusion that she had managed to protect them.

---------------------------------------

I wanted to expand on the story, so I thought about making it into a novel. Here's the continuation:

The enchantress revealed that she and the queen used to be friends and ruled the kingdom together; but when they lost the war, they disagreed on what to do.

The enchantress wanted the citizens to know the truth, but the queen didn't want them to lose hope, so she thought it was better to put a spell on them and make them believe nothing bad had happened. The enchantress criticized her for this, so her former friend gave her a hideous appearance, sent her into exile and spread propaganda against her. Although the queen implanted magical eyes in the citizens, the mirrors still reflected reality, so she got rid of them all.

The plot would then focus on the knight and the enchantress working together to fight against the queen and free everyone from the illusion. I didn't develop this part of the story (it seems that this was the recurring problem with all my abandoned ideas), so let's skip to the ending.

They somehow defeated the queen and the enchantress tried to convince her once more that lying to her people wasn't the right thing to do and they deserved to know the truth. In tears, the queen would apologize, saying that she did it because she wanted her subjects to be happy. They forgave her and she proceeded to give everyone's eyes back. The novel ended with everyone working together to repair the whole place.

-------------- Retrospective -------------------

I don't remember if I watched the first Matrix movie before or after I wrote the original short story, but I eventually noticed the similarities and thought: "Oh cool, it's like The Matrix but in a fantasy setting".

The main thing that survived from this abandoned story is the premise: main character discovers that the world they live in is not as they imagined it to be and said discovery causes them to rebel against the powerful being who created that fake world. That is basically the plot of Ms. Orange.

Speaking of Ms. Orange, the name of the main character originated from the short story I wrote in class, since I used that name as a pseudonym for a writing contest (yeah, I've always been weird). I'll talk about it more in a short post with the "fun facts about the novel" tag.

11. Family goes to a house that is definitely not filled with horror characters

I was 15 when I came up with this idea. It was going to be a parody that made fun of horror tropes.

The story was about a family going on vacation and staying in a huge mansion with peculiar people. The main character was the mother, who was a big horror movie fan and, therefore, suspected the house was haunted and the other residents were monsters. She was basically Don Quixote if he had watched lots of horror movies instead of reading chivalry books.

The story began with the family arriving at their temporary home right when a storm was about to begin. Seeing that the mansion was very old, had a gothic aesthetic and was located in the middle of the countryside (and that lightning just struck nearby), the mother suggested staying somewhere else, but the husband insisted that there was nothing wrong. They went inside and were greeted by the owner, who was definitely not a serial killer. The family met the rest of the residents that night, who were definitely not a vampire, a ghost, a demon, a mad scientist and two or three "monsters" I don't remember.

The whole book consisted of the mother assuming that she and her family were in random horror scenarios, but it was just the residents living their normal lives and being themselves. For example, on the first night, she saw a shadow holding a knife and thought the house owner was going to kill her, but he actually came to her room to tell her that dinner was ready. Another example I remember was that she assumed that one of the residents was a vampire because he never went outside during the daytime, but he was actually just an introverted guy who spent most of the time playing videogames.

There were two versions of the ending. In the first one, the mother finally acknowledged that they were normal people and apologized for misjudging them the whole time. In the second one, the mother became so paranoid that her husband told her to leave, but once she was on a bus, she would get a urgent phone call from him, leaving the ending ambiguous.

Although I had many comedic scenes in mind, I didn't actually have a plot for this book, so that's why I abandoned it later that year. But to be honest, I think it's better that way because it wouldn't have been nice to read a book that portrayed judging others as a good thing.

-------------- Retrospective -------------

The main thing that survived from this story was the idea of making fun of common tropes/cliches and integrating that into the plot. Ms. Orange mainly parodies narrative tropes like the chosen one story, the MacGuffin, the love triangle and a few others. However, the reason why the novel didn't die like this abandoned idea was because I was able to include themes and give a deeper meaning to the story. Metaphorically, Ms. Orange is a story about growing up and trying to find beautiful things in an imperfect world.

12. Artists vs robot society

How fitting that this is the last story idea I'll talk about. Two things to know beforehand:

It was 2019, three years before ChatGPT and other popular AI services emerged.

I was in my angsty teen phase, so I would sometimes get sad and cry for no reason. Other times, I would purposefully look for sad music to make myself cry. I don't know why it started, but the reason I was still stuck in that phase when I turned 17 was because of the frustration of probably not being able to study an artistic career and having to find a more "traditional/realistic" career that would make me feel the least angry.

I came up with the idea when I was 16 and I had to write a story for a writing contest (it was the last one my classmates and I were allowed to participate in). I thought about making a story that was set in a dystopian city where the citizens were brainwashed in some symbolic way. Then, I had an idea for the plot:

It was about four imaginative young teens who wanted to have creative jobs when they grew up: the first one wanted to be a filmmaker; the second one, an artist; the third one, a musician; and the fourth one, a writer. They promised to support each other once they got their dream jobs and were hopeful for the future.

Cut to four years later, when robots have taken over the world and subjected humans to go through a process called "robotization", which consisted of replacing all their body parts with robotic ones, including their brains.

The four protagonists were the only ones in their class who hadn't been fully roboticized yet because they still had their human brains. They openly expressed their passions, but the others would discourage them saying that art was useless, didn't have the same value as other professions and was very financially unstable. By the end of the short story, the writer character was the only one left and, in a last attempt to defend his dream, claimed that art was what separated humans from robots (I naively thought back then that robots would never be able to replace artists because they didn't have creativity, imagination, thoughts and feelings. I still believe they don't actually have any of those things. They may replicate feelings and create art, but those aren't actually things that came from their own mind. They are just imitating and repeating things they have seen and stored in their database without any deep thought).

The story... no, actually, it wasn't a story. It was a narrative vent as I only wanted to materialize my frustrations and the only way I knew how to was through writing (for me, it has always been easier to express myself through text than orally). I was so frustrated I intentionally gave the characters a sad ending. I wrote the whole thing because I wanted my language teacher (she was central in me finding out my love for writing) to read it and tell me: "Hey, there is a solution". But nothing happened. She probably thought it was just a normal dystopian story.

Two years later, now in college, I remembered the story and wanted to give the main characters a happy ending. The plot I came up with was them trying to escape the robot society to live alone in nature, but I didn't know what interesting obstacles to give them besides robots chasing them, so I quickly discarded the idea.

----------- Retrospective -----------

Well, reality unfortunately ended up proving my 16-year-old self wrong. Art actually became one of the first victims of AI. But, in a way, I guess we're living this story in real time. We continue to create art despite the rise of AI. There's no way to know what's going to happen, but let's hope we do get a happy ending.

Okay, let's change to a less depressing subject:

I wrote the short story in September, 2019, three months before I started writing Ms. Orange (I actually wrote a bit earlier that year, but it was in December when I finally decided to take it seriously). Since the novel takes place in a futuristic city filled with robots, the short story served as inspiration for the worldbuilding and something that happens in a specific chapter. I don't want to spoil anything, so I won't give more details.

However, while the robot society in my abandoned story is horrifying and clearly a dystopia, the one in Ms. Orange is meant to be the opposite, as humans and robots have managed to live together in harmony (in fact, the city is literally called Utopia). But the novel has a neutral point of view on robots because it shows the machines being used both for good and evil.

Conclusion

So what did we learn from all this? Well, that I used to have a crazy imagination and that the subconscious works in mysterious ways, but seems to perceive/understand things the conscious self doesn't until years later.

The general lesson I can give here is that your story ideas are a remix of everything you have ever watched, read, listened to and experienced. Some of your inspirations will be very obvious, but others will require a lot more introspection and analysis. The best analogy I can think of to explain what I mean is the way Daft Punk used old songs to make their own music. Sometimes it's obvious which parts of the songs they sampled (for example, in the case of "Robot Rock"), but other times you need to have very good hearing to pinpoint where each sound comes from (for example, "Face to Face").

I hope this was interesting to read and that some segments made you laugh. If anything I said in both parts inspired you in a way, good for you. We all end up inspiring each other.

[splanana-bitz]

Apologies to my mutuals (or anyone else that cares) but I really need to disappear from the internet for a little bit, at least until post-election panic somewhat calms down.

I stressed myself out way too bad this past week or so, thanks to doom-scrolling, and will only worsen it if I stay online right now. But a few words of advice for my friends, mutuals, or anyone who needs to hear this (even if it's already been said):

We don't know for sure what will happen. Yes, I know it's scary to think about the possibility of Project 2025, but as far as I know, it feels, at the very least, mildly unrealistic, and I doubt that congress, senate, etc. would let half the shit on this project slide. We have ammendments and documents for a reason (to help prevent total control). We just have to trust that these people have half a brain to realize how unconstitutional Project 2025 is. Yet, am I fully certain it won't happen? No. If anything, there is still a likely chance it will. But all you can do is just hope and do NOT dig yourself into a hole of "what ifs" and doom scenarios. Be prepared and keep tabs, but please do NOT make your sadness and stress worse.

In the potential event that it does get implemented and push comes to shove; Retaliate. Fight back. Protest. Do whatever you can do to push back against it. Idk how effective this method is going to be this time around, but in the end, doing something is better than nothing. People before us had to do it, and we shouldn't be the generation that just gives up and lets it happen. You're allowed to be angry and sad, but please don't let it render you incapable. Be sad and angry WHILE fighting back. Don't ever, EVER give up.

Quit doom-scrolling. It's been said before, but if you are beyond belief stressed, please- Get off social media for a while. Take a walk. Pet your dog, cat, bird, etc., eat your comfort foods, watch your favorite media, indulge in your productive hobbies or other fixations that bring you joy.

Please don't let defeatism win. And I know it's hard right now, but please do NOT. GIVE. UP. There is still hope and if not for yourself, at least keep going for others and to see the end of whatever this presidency will bring (cos again, nothing for certain has been decided yet). Outlive whatever enemy it is we may deal within these next 4 years.

Trump cannot and should not be able to run again after his presidency is over in 2028, due to the 22nd ammendment. I know that feels like an incredibly long time away, but once these next 4 years are over, Trump shouldn't and can't have that power anymore. It is horrifying to think of what may come, but the hope is perhaps we can do damage control once he's out of office if he ends up fucking things up to that bad of a degree.

Idk...maybe this isn't helpful- Maybe Idk what I'm talking about, but I'd rather leave some of you with this than leave in a panic.

I wish everyone a good day/night - Take care of yourself - Don't give up and don't stress yourself out - Let's just hope for the best, do what we can, live for today, and 'fuck it, we ball.'

[tia-amorosa]

Sunset Died - Wolff/Sekemoto

The right way...hopefully (longer Part)

The whole day had been mixed up because of Yumi's letter. Lots of emotions that brought about an up and down of feelings. But the next day was to be used for another conversation. After breakfast, Morgana made her way to Jamie.

She was surprised that Christopher opened the door for her. “What's wrong with you? Aren't you supposed to be in bed?"/ ‘Me? Oh, I'm much better now…’/ ‘She told me you had the flu… I brought extra medicine’/ ‘No, no, everything's fine. I sweated it out all day yesterday, I'm fine again today’/ ”If you say so. May I…"/ ‘yes, come in’.

Morgana was greeted warmly by her colleague. “Hey, did you forget about me yesterday?"/ ”No, I certainly didn't forget, but… There was something that we had to… mentally process first.” Jamie stroked her back lovingly. “Do you want to talk about it?"/ ‘I want to talk about so many things, but… Chris…’/ ‘I've told him, but he doesn't believe me much yet either’.

“And who else knows besides him?” Morgana asked with a skeptical look in her direction. “Don't worry, no one else. He promised me he wouldn't tell anyone"/ ‘No one would believe me anyway, why would I tell anyone?’ said Christopher as he flipped through the pages. “h-hh, I wish everyone had seen it, then the whole thing wouldn't be so difficult”. Morgana's gaze wandered a little for a moment.

“well, he feels the same way I did when I first heard it from you. But the fact is, she's no longer there and that has to be explained somehow.” Morgana agreed with a nod. “I'm really sick to my stomach about it. What am I supposed to tell people?"/ ‘Well, the only simple and plausible explanation I can think of is… to tell them that she fell asleep peacefully at home and you took her to the cemetery later’.

“I'd already thought about that, but the ground is rock-hard from the cold. How were me and Thornton supposed to dig a hole on our own? It all happened so quickly. I even had the macabre idea … that she might have run away in the night and we wouldn't have noticed… And now she might be lying around somewhere in the countryside and we couldn't find her”.

“That would be… an option, of course. But at some point the snow will melt, and then they'd have to find her dead body out there somewhere…”. Morgana shook her head frantically. “Forget it. She hasn't been around for a few days now, so there's no point in feigning panic because she's 'disappeared'…”. Jamie was almost a little overwhelmed by the whole situation himself. “hh… I'd probably stick with the first option. Or you could really try the truth.”.

“The truth…” Morgana thought silently for a moment. “What do you think Sam would do?” Jamie asked her. “Sam? Well, he… would certainly want to convince people that what happened was true. I'm the only witness who was there"/ ”You'll just have to work together as a team. Only you two know the circumstances under which she left"/ ‘as a team… We'll have to for the next 11 years anyway’.

Jamie looked at her in surprise. “You say that so strangely… Did something happen?"/ ”Mhm. We got a letter from Yumi yesterday. My God, I still can't believe it"/ ‘What? Now tell me’/ ”Hh…in the letter was Yumi's will and a power of attorney for Sam's custody. She signed it over to us until he comes of age"/ ”what, really? But that's… Great, isn't it?”.

“Of course it is and I'm still incredibly overwhelmed about it. I always thought a simple promise would be enough…”. Jamie noticed that Morgana seemed a little overwhelmed despite everything. “Well, but what if he needs to be registered somewhere? Or to the doctor? After all, he needs a guardian"/ ”That's right. My God, I hadn't even thought about that…"/ ”hn. Does he know yet?"/ ‘No’.

“I see, you want to wait a little longer until you say it him…"/ ”Only until I'm sure he's got over Yumi's death to some extent. But you should see him, he didn't cry once after the visit to the cemetery. He never wanted it to again, he said that to me there"/ ”o.k…. So he decided that for himself. Maybe a kind of self-protection or wall that he built around himself.”.

“yes, I think… He doesn't want to appear weak in front of others."/ ”He should actually know that he doesn't have to do that. It could also potentially get him in trouble later in his social life.” Morgana looked at her briefly. “I know, but right now I just want him to be himself.”

“That's understandable, yes. All right… Well, and as for the Yumi thing. Maybe you'll make an announcement about her death anyway, so that everyone here knows about it and it doesn't all go round bit by bit. Then the first shock would be digested. The rest will come later.“. Morgana rubbed her hands together with a sigh and then nodded. “O.K..“..

An obituary… Morgana had to think about how to do this. after all, she didn't have a working printer to print out several sheets. But she also thought it would be a little disrespectful to Yumi if she were to post a few notes on the surrounding buildings.

On the way home, Morgana came up with another idea. The Internet. In the meantime, everything was working again at any time of day or night. “I remember the Sunset Valley portal, a kind of online local newspaper where anyone in town could write something. But do people still look in there?… I'll just try this way”.

Morgana first had to find her way around the website again. She hadn't been there for a very long time. Then she found the section set up especially for obituaries. She designed the ad with various things, a picture of Yumi, a carefully and lovingly written text and a few embellishments to make the ad stand out. And then it was just a matter of waiting.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

@greenplumbboblover ⭐

[aylacavebear]

The Traveler - Chapter 16 - Wonderland Pt. 3

You're from a specific dimension, Solaris Eclipse. It was a dimension of magic. When your kind, the Eldrathiren, turned fifteen, your unique power would awaken within you. Most times, it was something small, levitation, teleportation, creation, elemental manipulation, and things like that. Once in a while, a fifteen-year-old would just disappear, and those were called Travelers. None of them had ever returned. Your parents had told you stories about them, and you hoped that wouldn't happen to you.

Please don't take my work. I'll post warnings for each chapter. Will probably be 18+ I haven't decided yet!

Word Count: 4488

Pairing Eventually Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You & Sam Winchester x OC Reader/You

Warnings: Angst - pretty sure that's it - just some tense situations. A/N: Don't think there's anything else in this one. It's fairly relaxed.

A/N: This dimension was suggested by @snowayumi, and I absolutely LOVED how it came out. I hope you all love it as well.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 16 - Wonderland Pt. 3

The Hatter helped you return to your normal size with the mushroom pieces from Absolem. It was a little trickier than with the cake, which you had eaten first. With what was left, you only got to half your normal height. The only downside to the mushroom piece was that it made you sleepy, or perhaps it had been the tea. You weren’t entirely sure.

Although you yawned several times, trying to force yourself to stay awake, the Dormouse took pity on you, showing you inside their quaint little home. It looked just as weird as you’d figured it would, given how Wonderland seemed to be. Plus, it fit the style of the Hatter, with different hats adorning the place in the strangest of ways.

If it weren’t for being as sleepy as you were, you would have taken far longer to admire the madness within the home. Hats of every imaginable shape and size hung from the ceiling, nestled in corners, and balanced precariously on top of bookshelves. A tea set was in perpetual motion, floating from one side of the room to the other. You had barely laid down on the bed before the dreamworld of Wonderland pulled you from the waning night. Your dreams were filled with visions of the brothers that night, feeling an almost ache in your soul.

Over the next couple of days, the three of them shared so much with you about Wonderland. You learned of the Queen and her rather ruthless ruling of the world. Then there was a woman named Alice, and you noticed how they all seemed very fond of her. The Hatter told you fantastical tales of elusive creatures. Like tiny fuzzy mushrooms called Mome Raths, that only came out at night in the forest, illuminating the path and another creature that would come behind them, dusting the path away as if it were never there at all.

The Dormouse, perched on a stack of teacups, told you about a bird with a cage for its body, where it kept its young until they were old enough to be on their own. It was quite the protective creature, hiding in the treetops of the forest near the clearing. The Hare became quite animated when he told you of the creature that had shovels for faces, digging holes in search of shiny objects all throughout the forest.

You laughed so much, enjoying their stories of Wonderland and the oddities it held. The Chesire Cat had even joined The Hatter and others for tea a few times. Watching a cat drink tea was quite the site, as he seemed to levitate the cup occasionally versus using his paws. “A touch of magic and madness in every sip,” he’d say, his grin never fading.

The longer you stayed in this world, the more you thought you saw, just beyond what was there. Shadows would flicker at the corner of your vision, and whispers seemed to carry on the wind, always out of earshot. Then, they would be gone just as quickly as they appeared whenever you attempted to focus on them.

Near the end of almost a week, you felt a pull to press further into the madness that was Wonderland. The three of them made sure to give you lots of treats from the large variety that adorned the table. Then, The Hatter hugged you, his hat slightly askey as he did. “Remember, you’re always welcome here, dear Traveler,” he said, his voice softer than usual. He then handed you one of his scarves, the color of which matched your eyes, “For the road ahead,” he added with a wink.

You thanked him, then bid the three of them farewell, instead of going the way the Knave had gone, headed beyond the Hatter’s home. There were those odd signs that, of course, made no sense, but it was where you felt pulled to venture. Numerous times, you thought you saw things, but when you attempted to focus on them, they disappeared completely.

Curiouser and curiouser.

With it being daytime, you were able to see the forest in the light, what came through the canopy anyway. The trees were vibrant in color, with scattered flowers blooming along the forest floor. Ferns and short tufts of grasses dotted the sides of the path, along with mushrooms. The thorny vines had beautiful yellow blooms larger than your hand which was a stark contrast to the color of the tree it had wound itself around.

The air was filled with the scent of wildflowers and a hint of something sweet and unidentifiable. There were what you wanted to call a bird, but it had no wings. It was by far the oddest thing you’d seen, or at least, that’s what you told yourself. The odd creature had a pair of large, round eyeglasses as its body, with two small bird legs protruding from the bottom. The glasses had a nose bridge that resembled a bird’s beak, which made you look at it curiously.

There were several of them perched on branches, watching you from above, seeming just as curious about you as you were them. However, they didn’t get closer, so neither did you. This time, as you walked further into the forest, you didn’t have a destination in mind. You knew you didn’t want to go toward the Queen’s castle, so you avoided any path with that direction.

As the day wore on, illusionary things drifted in and out of view between the trunks of different trees. You remembered how you were warned to stay on the path, but your curiosity was beginning to get the better of you. The shadows also almost seemed to move on their own in the distance. 

I really should stay on the path.

It was something you kept trying to remind yourself of. Your ears twitched with the sound of whispers that you couldn’t quite make out. You attempted to focus on how no two trees were ever the same shade in color, as the forest had been vast and almost neverending. It only lasted so long, though, seeing a door standing on its own, nearly fifty feet into the forest. 

You would look over at it, trying to make out the details from a distance, but would eventually give up and continue along the path, turning down different directions when it would fork. In true Wonderland fashion, the door would appear again, the same distance away, almost as if it were following you. You were watching your surroundings less and less, and the door more and more. Finally, when your curiosity finally won out, you stopped walking forward and toward the very edge of the path, staring at the door.

Momentarily, you remembered back to the warning your parents had given you, so long ago. Don’t leave the village, especially on the day your powers were to awaken. Then there had been the warning from the creatures of this world you’d already spoken to. The one that kept your curiosity on the door was what Absolem had said: The path will reveal itself to you, as it always does in Wonderland.

The door seemed to be following you, and your resolve to stay on the path was quickly waning. It looked completely out of place, nestled amid the myriad of colored trees and tufts of grass, yet it also seemed as if it belonged there. Your eyes drifted down to the edge of the path, which your shoes were only an inch from, then back up at the door.

Damnit.

You took a deep breath and stepped off the path. The grass below your shoes felt soft the further you walked. You turned around halfway to the door and let your head hang low when you saw how the forest had completely changed. The path was gone, replaced by dense trees and undergrowth.

Looks like I’m either going to get myself into a lot of trouble or perhaps find a way out of this.

Turning back to face the door, you pressed on. The closer you got, the more details you could make out. It was an elegant, ornate structure, its base nestled into the earth below it as if it truly did belong there. The door itself was made of dark, polished wood, its surface intricately carved with patterns of roses and vines. The doorframe was equally elaborate, wrought from iron and twisted into shapes that mirrored the carvings on the door. Thorny vines wrapped around the frame, blooming with vivid white roses that seemed almost too vibrant to be real. The handle was an antique brass knob shaped like a rosebud, cool to the touch and slightly tarnished with age. 

You walked all the way around it, but both sides looked exactly the same. The white roses reminded you of the one who had helped you in the garden when your journey here had begun. A smile tugged at your lips while your ears twitched with the sounds of the forest. Whatever was on the other side of this door, it felt as though it was calling to you.

You took a deep breath and let it out with a new determination as you reached out, gripping the doorknob. Your heart pounded a little harder, knowing nothing was what it seemed in Wonderland. Upon turning the knob, it silently slid open, revealing an entirely different landscape on the other side. Hedges of vibrant green adorned both sides of a cobblestone path. The sky above was a soft blue, clear, and without clouds. There was also a sweet, beckoning scent of roses that wafted through the open door. Lamp posts dotted either side of the cobblestone path with lanterns that seemed as though they were floating just below where they’d be clipped in place.

Cautiously, you stepped through the door, only taking a few steps before looking behind you. With a sigh, you saw the door was gone, leaving a dead end in its place with another hedge. 

Looks like I’m committed to this now.

Turning back to face the path ahead, you moved forward, taking in the scents, and realizing there were no sounds. Not even of bugs. So far, you hadn’t seen the flowers that were giving off that sweet scent of roses, but the further you walked, the stronger it got. You took several turns before you came to a fork, leading in three different directions. The hedges were far too tall to see over, and due to the thorns that adorned them, there was no way to climb them either. That was when you finally noticed a contrasting color against the green of one of the hedges. A red rose?

Gingerly reaching out, you gently touched the petals, finding them velvety soft against the skin of your fingers. You were almost hypnotized by the rose's beauty, the depth of its color, and the gentle scent that drifted from it. You pulled back and shook your head, looking down the three paths and choosing the one to your far left.

Where am I?

You were clearly still in Wonderland, you just weren’t entirely sure where at the moment. This was a place that hadn’t been described to you. You did, however, remember the words of the doorknob: Stay away from the red roses. If it was only the hypnotic scent, you could understand why, but the Hatter had also warned you of the Queen. The further along you went, the more roses you saw, identical to the first. Their scent was getting stronger, seeming to pull you along the path. When it finally got too strong, you slipped your bag off your shoulder, rummaged through it for a piece of cloth, and then used your claws to cut off two pieces, which you used to plug your nose with. It mostly worked, but some of the scent got through even that.

The path twisted and turned through the hedges adorned with red roses. The silence was almost palpable, broken only by your footsteps along the cobblestone path. At least you could walk softly, having learned how to properly balance your weight on your feet with each step, quieting the sound. You also began feeling as though you were being watched but couldn’t seem to locate where someone might be able to watch you from. 

Taking yet another turn, you began hearing footsteps, although they sounded far away. They reminded you of how the card soldier boots sounded when they approached the tea party that first night. Only now, they were loud against the cobblestone path.

I have to get out of here.

You were well aware that if they found you, it wasn’t going to end well. There was a chance you could fight them if you needed to, but without your spear, you would have to get close, and you weren’t sure how many of them there were. Then you wondered how a playing card could be damaged. 

Do they bleed like other creatures? Are they just playing cards that were animated and a spell would have to take them down? Could I knock one out if I hit it hard enough?

Those and so many more questions went through your mind as you continued along the path. It was a maze of hedges and roses, or a labyrinth of them. You came across several dead ends, having to double back and choose a different fork, or a different way entirely when the place seemed to have rearranged itself. One large downside to being stuck in this labyrinth of rose hedges was that the scent you had been following wouldn’t have been strong enough to pierce through the roses' scent. Then there was the cotton you had stuffed in your nostrils, dulling the smell as much as possible. This place seemed to be one to leave someone confused or end up lost. Perhaps even frozen in place, hypnotized by the scent of the roses.

You were in no mood to get stuck here, so you continued on. The sounds of the card soldier boots could still be heard, and your ears twitched with each echo. You tried to take paths that led you away from the sound, and for a while, it seemed to work. However, the sounds got increasingly closer after only a minute or so.

Then, out of the blue, there was silence again. You stopped and looked in all directions, your ears twitching in an attempt to find some semblance of sound, but none came. Swallowing hard, you turned another corner, only to see half a dozen red card soldiers standing there, blocking your way. You turned, wanting to run in the other direction, but what was behind you now made that impossible.

Another half a dozen card soldiers stood where there had been an empty path. You wondered if they were here to possibly kill you, but you quickly shook that off. You had no intentions of getting killed, determined to find a way back to Earth, to the brothers, to those that were your new family.

“I was wondering how long it would take before I found you,” a deep voice from behind you spoke, and you recognized it instantly: the Knave. “Aren’t you an odd thing?”

Your tail flicked in agitation as you turned to face him. “I just want to leave,” you began, but three of the card soldiers grabbed you faster than you could react, and the Knave just smiled—a wicked, evil smile.

“The Queen will want to see this one,” he instructed the soldiers before turning from you and waving his arm at the hedge that was now in front of him.

As it moved out of his way, your eyes widened. It had revealed a straight path toward a castle, and you instantly knew where you were. You were on the Queen’s grounds, and all you could guess was that this was some sort of contraption to capture intruders. You also wondered how none of them seemed to be affected by the scent of the roses but weren’t about to ask.

The card soldiers held you firmly, their grip unyielding as they marched you out of the labyrinth. The Knave led the way, his figure tall and imposing against the contrasting greenery of the hedges. The walk out of the labyrinth wasn’t long, and things seemed to instantly change on the other side. The sky had grown almost dark, like twilight, in a blend of purples and blues, hinting at the waning daylight. There were more of the lamp posts with the floating lanterns, which were now lit, giving off an eerie glow on the cobblestone. Here, shadows seemed to flicker and dance just out of sight, giving the illusion of movement. Manicured rose bushes lined the strange, winding cobblestone path that was elaborate as it snaked its way toward a castle.

The castle loomed ahead, a gothic structure that combined the whimsical elements of Wonderland, with its white and red stones adorning every surface, with an almost gothic darkness that felt as though it loomed over the castle itself. The spires reached toward the sky, their silhouettes jagged and twisted. Yet, atop each one was a topper in the shape of a heart. If nothing else, it was definitely grand.

The Knave led the guards through a huge heart-shaped entrance made from the same bricks as the rest of the castle, with a guard tower on either side. If circumstances were different, you probably would have explored the place, being fascinated with its design. The atmosphere grew heavier, the air thick with anticipation and the faint, metallic scent of impending danger. Your ears twitched at the unfamiliar sounds of the place while your tail flicked with your growing concern.

The courtyard itself was well-kept. More rose bushes and floating lanterns adorned the area. You were in no position to get away or fight off this many soldiers, let alone the Knave. So, you focused on paying attention to your surroundings, planning a possible escape when the opportunity presented itself.

The soldiers tightened their grip as they ushered you forward, their expressions blank and unwavering. The Knave glanced back at you with a smug smile, his eye glinting with malice and amusement. The doors of the castle loomed large before you, intricately carved with scenes of the Queen’s reign, a reminder of her power and authority. Inside the castle was a contrast to the outside. Instead of being white and red, the stones were shades of gray, from light to almost black in places.

The grandeur of the castle's interior was overshadowed by its oppressive atmosphere. Tall, dark columns lined the hallways. In a checkered pattern, some were adorned with menacing gargoyles that seemed to watch your every move—the others were draped with red curtains that seemed to brighten the dark space.

Red velvet curtains and banners added a splash of color, but even they couldn’t dispel the gloom that pervaded the place. The chandeliers, dripping with crystals, cast a cold, harsh light. The path down the center of the columns lay a red rug with intricate patterns and designs, bordered with vining roses, a darker red than the rest of the rug.

As you were marched through the corridors, you couldn’t help but notice the portraits of the Queen in various regal poses, her stern gaze following you. Finally, you were brought to the throne room, a vast space with a black and white checkered floor and a high, vaulted ceiling. The throne itself was an elaborate creation of gold and red, sitting atop a raised dais.

Along either side of the column, adorning the walls were high, stain-glassed windows with identical designs of hears on vines, allowing the waning light of the evening to shine through. Between each window, a tall mirror bordered with a golden frame befitting her royal chamber. Behind the Queen’s throne were heavy red curtains, pulled back with golden ropes, revealing more stained glassed windows that stretched from almost the floor to just below the ceiling—each one with thin red curtains.

The Red Queen sat on her throne, her presence commanding the entire room. Her dress was a mix of crimson and black, adorned with hearts and lace, giving her an imposing and regal appearance. Her face, with its stark white makeup and exaggerated features, was a mask of both beauty and cruelty. You noticed she wasn’t wearing a crown atop her red curls, which you found odd, but so far, everything in Wonderland was odd in one way or another.

“Your Majesty,” the Knave began with a bow, his voice smooth and dripping with feigned respect, “we found this peculiar creature wandering through your labyrinth.” He explained, approaching her side before kissing the back of her hand that she’d outstretched for him.

The Queen’s eyes narrowed as she examined you, her gaze intense and unyielding, “What is it?” she demanded, her tone imperious and filled with curiosity.

“It, Your Majesty, is the intruder you sent me to find,” the Knave answered, turning his gaze to you as the Queen continued to study you.

All you had to go off of were things you’d watched on Earth when it came to royalty, as you’d never encountered it in any other dimension. Well, not to this extent, anyway. You wondered if perhaps you could outsmart her and find a way to escape.

“That doesn’t tell me what it is,” The Queen snapped, her gaze still on you, but she was clearly annoyed at the Knave for his lack of explanation.

“I am a Traveler, Your Majesty, and I would bow, but the soldiers are holding onto me very tightly,” you explained in quite a respectful tone.

The Queen raised an eyebrow, “Let her go,” she stated plainly, but there was still authority in her words, and the soldiers released you. The Knave could only watch in annoyance.

You kept the smirk of triumph from making it to your lips as you bowed before the Queen, keeping your gaze from meeting hers until you stood straight again. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” you replied with gratitude.

“Now, what exactly is a Traveler, and why do you have cat features but also look human,” she inquired quite curiously.

This just might work to my advantage.

“I come from another world, Your Majesty. All of my kind have these features, but I am a little special. Not all of my kind can travel to different worlds. Only special ones can. When I came upon your world, I was only seeking the doorway to move to the next world,” you explained to her, keeping that respectful tone and posture.

It was easy to see that the Queen was quite intrigued by you, but the Knave was getting quickly frustrated at the Queen’s lack of command to either remove your head or lock you in a dungeon. He stayed quiet, though, as he knew his place, and it was never to question the Queen, or she’d have his head removed. At the moment, you were just thankful you had the Queen’s curiosity and not her wrath.

The Queen’s gaze remained fixed on you, her curiosity piqued. “A Traveler, you say?” she mused, leaning forward slightly on her throne. “And what makes you think you can just wander into my realm and disrupt my order?”

You maintained your respectful stance, careful not to let any sign of defiance show. “I apologize for any disruption, Your Majesty. It was not my intention to intrude. I merely seek to find my way to the next world, as my journey requires it.” She really didn’t need to know the details, and it didn’t seem as though she’d understand them anyway.

Her expression softened slightly, though her eyes remained sharp. “A fascinating tale. And yet, you have found yourself in my labyrinth, a place meant to trap trespassers. Tell me, Traveler, what makes you so special that you can traverse worlds?”

Of course, she’d ask you something like that, and you’d now have to come up with some sort of explanation she’d understand. So, for a moment, you pondered all sorts of explanations before finally giving her an answer. “It has to do with something we’re born with that no one can see. It’s deep inside and can never be removed or taken away, as it is more of a yearning than anything else.”

The Knave, still standing beside the Queen, couldn’t hold back any longer. “Your Majesty, surely this… creature cannot be trusted. We should lock her up until we know more about her intentions.” The Queen shot him a withering glare, silencing him instantly. “I will decide what to do with our guest, Knave,” she said coldly. Turning her attention back to you, she asked, “And what proof do you have of this ability? Can you demonstrate it?”

You took a deep breath, knowing that showing any sign of weakness could be dangerous. “I cannot demonstrate it here, Your Majesty. Traveling between worlds requires specific conditions and a certain amount of preparation. However, I am willing to help you in any way I can to prove my intentions are sincere.” 

Her eyes narrowed, considering your words. “Help me, you say? And what exactly can you offer to the Queen of Hearts, who already has everything she desires?”

That one made you think. What could you offer her, as you had nothing you felt like parting with? It wasn’t like your senses would help her. The scent of her roses had been overpowering in the labyrinth, even if that wasn’t the case now. Then, you got an idea.

“It is true, Your Majesty, I don’t have anything to offer, not in the way of riches or items. I could offer my services, as my senses are better than your Knaves or the soldiers that guard you. I can hear things they cannot,” you explained to her, hoping she wouldn’t take it as a threat of any kind. She leaned back, a smile playing on her lips, “Intriguing indeed. Very well, Traveler. I will grant you the opportunity to prove your worth. But, be warned, any attempt to deceive me will be met with the severest of punishments.”

You bowed deeply, relief washing over you, “Thank you, Your Majesty. I will not disappoint you.”

The Queen nodded, satisfied for the moment, “Good. Now, Knave, see to it that our gues is given quarters. I will decide her fate after I have seen what she can offer.”

The Knave’s expression was a mixture of frustration and resignation, but he bowed and gestured for you to follow him. As you were led away, you couldn’t help but feel a small spark of hope. You had bought yourself some time, and now, you needed to figure out how to use it to your advantage. 

----------------------------------------- Chapter 17 - Wonderland pt. 4

Link to the series Masterlist.

A/N: If you'd like to get in on the Dimensional Traveling, go to this link and leave me with a comment, or several, with as much or as little detail about the dimension you'd like the Traveler to end up in. If you'd like to have something specific happen, share that too. I'll make sure that you get credit for the idea you shared in the chapter in which your dimension is featured. I'd love to have as many readers involved as possible. I think this could be a lot of fun.

As always, if you'd like to be tagged, let me know and I'll add you to the tag list. If I missed anyone, please let me know.

Tag List: @littlemadamred @mxltifxnd0m @foxyjwls007 @supernaturalfreakout @roseblue373

[survivalxofxthexfittest]

⚔️ for all your babies! 🥰

@byenycfm from X

⚔️ CROSSED SWORDS — a past experience of my muse's (TRIGGER WARNINGS ON THESE)

Emily:

TRIGGER WARNING! ⚠️ DOMESTIC ABUSE ⚠️

A few years before the fall, Emily had a boyfriend. He was her first real and potentially lifelong relationship. While outsiders tried to warn her of his questionable behaviors - always keeping tabs on her, going through her phone, bitching about her friends whenever she went out without him, jealoust over her male coworkers/friends, etc. - but she didn't listen. She loved him and was convinced they were headed for marriage at some point. They were together two years already after all. What would the next step be if not a walk down the aisle?

But that all changed the night of her brother's acceptance into the FBI. She'd gone out with him and Liz to celebrate at his favorite pub, ending the night early when her significant other threw a fit over her being there alone. When she got home she was welcomed with a fight. One that ended in her having not only a black eye and busted lip, but also brusies up and down her side. Bruises that lasted nearly two weeks before disappearing.

Luckily she was smart enough to leave, making sure to move out completely the next day while he was at work. She hauled her belongings to Oscar's and holed up there for a few months before finding her own place. But that didn't mean she hadn't missed him. She secretly pined for him to come running back with apologies and flowers, begging for forgiveness and lying through his teeth. Same as he had every other time they fought. Only this time he remained silent.

It would be a few weeks later that the asshole would dump her through text. Through fucking text! She couldn't believe it. After everything they'd gone through together he couldn't even have the decency to speak to her. What a dick! She sent him a return message saying as much and heartbreakingly said good riddance to what they had.

(Side note - @rioreeve this could also potentially explain her moving in our indie verse??)

Oscar:

It was the night of his acceptance into the FBI that was the final straw for him with Emily's boyfriend. He was sick to death of him always interfering and ruining her life. He was determined to find a reason to give for her to end things once and for all. Unfortunately he wouldn't have to look too hard. The next day she showed up at his door, bruised and beaten, enflaming Oscar's rage.

He would need to be smart about things however. With his new job and reputation among the bureau, he couldn't let anything interfere - especially that asshole. He gladly gave Em a place to stay and kept her as far away from her boyfriend as possible. Having her there with him made it much easier to keep an eye her as well. What she hadn't known however was that his nightly jogs were two-fold: exercise, yes, but more importantly he was calling in a few favors from his days working with dad.

It hadn't taken long for the thorn in his sister's side to be scooped up and left to rot in a derelict warehouse downtown. As soon as he got the call that he was ready for him he poured himself a glass of his best whiskey, loaded his trusty revolver, and headed out - simply telling Emily he'd be back soon.

The act itself didn't take him very long. He made sure to drag it out long enough to beat the shit out him worse than he had Emily. The ending blow was a bullet to the chest, letting him bleed out until digging out the evidence and leaving him to rot. Just before gonig back home he sat on the stoop, having a rare but needed smoke, scrolling through the guy's phone. Dickhead had been cheating on top of things. What a scumbag!

He waited a few days before sending out a relationship ending text and tossing the phone in a nearby river. Although it hurt to see Emily so hurt over their breakup, he knew it was for the best.

John-Paul:

This one is a happy memory of JP's. After his parents relinquished all of the Rose children to their grandparents, the first birthday John-Paul celebrated with them was his favorite. If their mother remembered the day she would do less than the bare minimum, so when his grandmother worked hard to give him a party to remember, he never forgot. She'd made it dinosaur themed, his favorite thing at the time. There were presents and ice cream. Kids from neighbors showed up for party games. And she even made him a dinosaur cake with all his favorite ones on top. It was the first time he really felt loved and it will always hold a special place in his heart.

[sereinpetrichor]

A Gift For You: a Steddie drabble

Originally on twitter

Pairing & Themes: Eddie/Steve, Fluff, Pre-Established Steddie

Summary: Steve gets a gift for Eddie after they survive the Vecnapocalypse. Just because he can.

Rating: Everyone, no warnings needed

Word Count: 892 words

~~~

Eddie is the person who has maybe three to four pairs of socks to his name. None of them match, and most of them have holes in the heels and toes beyond repair. And sure, he could get more, but other things were always more important.

Steve finds out about this when helping Wayne pack up the remains of the decimated trailer while Eddie is still in the hospital. He packs Eddie's closet, throwing literally everything in hampers to wash at his house so Eddie will have clean clothes when he leaves the hospital. When he gets there, he discovers one tiny problem.

Steve finds shirts, jeans, boxers of questionable age and use, pajama pants, and even cut off sweats that are all very salvageable... but he's certain every single one of Eddie's seven holey socks would disappear in the wash if given the chance. He can't save them.

So Steve makes a short list in his notebook of "things to remember" and shoves it back in his pocket before continuing to pack the rest of Eddie's things.

Eddie's first new pair of socks in years comes from the hospital. Thick and gray with grips on both sides. He likes them enough. They keep his feet warm, and they aren't as itchy as he originally assumed they'd be. So Eddie manages to snag a few extra pairs from the nurses over his two weeks in the hospital. Because if there's one thing better than new socks, it's new socks that were free. To a point (thank you government-paid hospital bills).

Steve's there when Eddie's discharged from the hospital. The new house (yes, an actual house on the outskirts of Hawkins) isn't accessible for Eddie yet, and Steve's house has a guest room on the main floor. And a makeshift wheelchair ramp built by Steve and Hopper. So Eddie didn't have much choice otherwise in the matter. Besides, Steve already made sure to ready the guest room before Eddie's arrival. Not staying for a night would probably be rude.

When he gets inside, Eddie finds his salvaged acoustic in the corner of the room, towels and new toiletries in the ensuite(!) bath, and his clothes already put away in the dresser drawers. Other than the plain yet somehow gaudy choice in decor, Eddie really couldn't complain about his new (albeit temporary) digs.

Eddie struggles with his pride for a moment before giving in asking asking Steve for a hand in the shower. Eventually, he gets vetoed down to a bath so Steve can help wash his hair, and Eddie doesn't have the willpower to turn such an offer down. If he almost falls asleep, that's for him and Steve to know.

Steve helps him out of the bath and back into his chair, now draped in the fluffiest towel Eddie's ever used. He cocoons himself in it, letting Steve push him back to his room to get dressed.

Eddie insists on trying to dress himself, to which Steve obliges but lingers for a moment.

"Grab your clothes first, then I'll leave if you don't want the help," Steve pesters.

Eddie finds his favorite worn-in Metallica shirt and a pair of cut-off sweats with relative ease. He doesn't remember the last time they smelled this clean, like the expensive almost floral soap they normally bypassed for whatever the union provided for Wayne.

Then Eddie finally sees them.

In the top drawer of the dresser, folded next to his familiar boxers, a stack of new boxers and twice as many socks that he's ever owned. Six white pairs, six black pairs. Very obviously new but smelling like the same fresh laundry of the rest of his clothing.

And he cries.

After a minute, Steve breaks the silence. "Thought those holey ones deserved to rest. Pretty sure my washer would have destroyed them beyond use anyway."

"What the fuck, Harrington?" Tears cloud Eddie's vision ever so slightly as he fights a full sob and a cheek-splitting smile. "You got me new socks? And fucking boxers?"

And Steve nods. "Yeah. Why not, you know? Is that okay?"

Eddie hugs the towel to his chest. "I could give you many reasons why not."

Steve shakes his head. "Everyone deserves socks without holes in them and boxers that won't fall apart. Even those who can otherwise buy them themselves."

And Eddie can't argue with that logic.

Eddie lets out a wet laugh before looking up at the man with a smile. "Thanks, Steve. For all of this."

Steve smiles without waving him off. "Thanks for not dying on us, Eds. I'll throw together some lunch quick while you get dressed. You promised to read me the nerd books anyway."

Eddie only just struggles with the boxers and pants, leaning on the bed for balance. He pulls out a pair of black socks before he wheels out to the living room. Steve helps put them on and helps him to the couch before grabbing their sandwiches and settling beside Eddie, who is already diving into the story of a hobbit hole & an adventure.

And sure, there are better first gifts than literal socks and underwear. They'll certainly laugh about it later, the domestic romance of it all, meeting needs without asking.

But both Steve and Eddie count it as the end of their beginning and the start of their forever.

[gudvina]

The things I do to keep you near.

Ship: Effie Trinket/Haymitch Abernathy

Fandom: Hunger Games

Chapter 2: Marriage Contract.

Can also be read on AO3!

71st Hunger Games, Gamemakers’ party.  

The venue was filled to the brim with people, and Haymitch was glad that the Victors’ area was separated from the crowd. Small mercies. Trashy music, flashing colours at every turn, the party was so Capitol that maybe they should have called it that.

It only happened every five years, and the Victors were required to attend if only to be able to gain sponsors. Not all of them were there, but for next year’s mentors it was the best bet.

He was sitting on the couch and sloshing his drink absentmindedly, pretending to listen to the chatter around him.

“… right, Haymitch?”

He turned to see Finnick look at him, waiting for an answer. He surmised that he’d been telling a story to Johanna, the new Victor from District Seven, a girl who was already raging from the inside out. He knew that anger.

“What?”.

“Chum, you’ve got to stop looking at Trinket. What’s going on with you this year? Afraid she might disappear on you again?” Chaff joked, eyeing him from his stool. Haymitch winced at the mention of Effie’s leaving and hid it by taking a big gulp of his drink. He knew his friend was worried, that behind his jokes there was a silent warning against getting involved too much with Capitols. No matter how great of a fuck they were. No matter how caring they seemed.

If Chaff had known he’d married her, he would have never heard the end of it.

He didn’t, though. Nobody had to know, not even Effie, and she’d be safe. Safe to be his. Maybe, he would croak before the end of her escorting mandate. After all, he was 38, his alcoholism didn’t seem to get any better, and judging by Lavinia Albus’ stay Twelve was always reticent to let go of their escorts.

“She ain’t going anywhere if she knows what’s good for her”.

“Who the fuck is Trinket?!” Johanna asked, frowning.

“Haymitch’s escort. I’ve wanted her in One for ages, Finnick has been begging her to switch to Four, but nothing. The Gamemakers do not want to go through the ordeal of searching for another escort and he keeps a tight leash on the poor woman” Cashmere chipped in, sitting beside her brother.

“What makes her so good?”

“She always shows up for the tributes, and you will learn that an escort can either break or make a set. A few years ago, District Three used to have an absent escort and it showed, they had to replace her abruptly: now Three has a few loyal sponsors. Twelve is already a hard district to lead, I can’t imagine what it was like before Effie Trinket”. Finnick explained, leaning back on his chair.

“Liviana did her job, but she was a bitch”.

“A bitch? She was hell” Chaff scoffed “The escort who reaped me couldn’t stand her. Gloria and Liviana were at odds because Liviana was never giving escort guardianship or some shit”.

“To be fair it was always Gloria, Iuno, and Pulchra the ones in charge of ‘producing’ new escorts”.

“And I’d say thank God for that, Cecilia. Imagine a little Liviana Albus walking around the Training Centre, I wouldn’t last five minutes”.

“Well, yeah, but we get a little Gloria who follows Haymitch everywhere”. Woof said, mischief in his eyes. Despite Chaff’s usual stance against Capitols, he’d always liked Gloria, who in her time had won the Best-Escort-Of-The-Year award for three years in a row. She had always cared for Chaff and his mentor, and he’d been unable to forget it.

“Trinket and Gloria have nothing in common! She mentored Trinket, so they operate similarly, but that’s about it. Especially in the way they dress”.

“Come on Chaff, you’re not a boy anymore. You know what was going on between Gloria and Jasper!” Woof insisted, and Haymitch considered the benefits of digging a hole in the polished floors of the venue. The discussion was taking a turn he didn’t like. Not only were they talking too much about him and Effie, but mentioning Jasper Arbore was always a recipe for disaster, as he’d been like a father to Chaff.

Jasper Arbore was the winner of the 15th edition of The Hunger Games, the first District 11 win. He’d been followed by Seeder very soon, alternating the mentorship charges until the Fortieth edition. And if Gloria Shimmers had come about during that edition, for Chaff it was only a coincidence.

He had never coped well with his Games, that much had been clear to Haymitch, he was a soft-spoken man with a gentle soul who struggled with the weight of his corruption. He hoped for their tributes, why he didn’t know, and every year that hope was crushed. At the time he didn’t understand why he would come back. Why would a man so gentle and weak put himself in that position willingly, when he could have left it to the other Victors?

When Gloria’s mandate ended the answer was clear. That year Jasper didn’t come back, and Victory Tour had to be announced yet when he was found dead of a morphling overdose. Seeder was the one who found him, and it had been a low blow to both her and Chaff. Out of the game scene, Gloria was not even allowed to travel for his funeral.

He didn’t like the reminder.

“Whatever was going on, it has nothing to do with Trinket and sulky boy here”. Chaff denied, more for Haymitch’s sake than for anything else. That seemed to be the end of it, and Haymitch poured himself another drink, hoping to drown the feeling that sat heavily on his guts.

“Talking about Trinket” started Gloss “Is she back with Crane?”

“No”

“How do you know that?”

“Because she is not”. He barked.

“Uhm, good, because they seem real chummy over there”.

He could have killed. When he turned in the direction Gloss was pointing, the first person he spotted was her. She wore a brown puffy wig dotted with gold, a brown dress that came at an end at her thighs, and was currently trying to whisper something in response to the Head Gamemaker. His arm was around her waist, her hand held the lapels of his jacket. They still looked like the Capitol’s darling couple.

He knew they were childhood friends, that the end of their relationship didn’t mean the end of their friendship, but the intimate way he touched her never failed to make his blood boil. The man always had a hand on her, and always demanded her attention.

His eyes took in each movement. She was his escort, it was her job to be overtly friendly, to sport the brightest smile and charm the stupidest fool. It wasn’t real, he knew. It wasn’t real.

He saw her frown and shake her hands to deny something. The Head Gamemaker nodded and whispered something else, but Effie seemed to deny some more, so he relented the grip on her waist. He continued whispering in her ear when she turned in his direction and their eyes met.

The grey of his eyes was darkened by an emotion she couldn’t decipher. It made her body feel weak, it burned her to her very core.

“I don’t want this, but Patroclus is willing to sponsor Twelve, Phim. And since your Victor is not actively doing his job passing this will be a bad choice” Seneca whispered.

“Haymitch is doing what he can!”. Small lies; it was true that he wasn’t doing his job properly, but Effie couldn’t help her instincts. Nobody touched her Victor.

“I’m sure, Phim, but that’s not enough. Not nearly enough. Now, it’s been a while since you’ve had to do this, but Patroclus is chivalrous, being on the older side, and can be even fancied as handsome. He’s just asked for a night with you, that’s all”.

“It’s not a small thing to ask…”

“You are single, so is he. It’s not a big thing to ask either” he shrugged, his hand now on the small of her back.

“Can I consider it with Haymitch?”

Seneca’s mouth opened to say something, but then he stopped himself. He took a deep breath, smoothed her dress beneath his hands, and seemed to be deep in thought for just a second.

“Yes, you can, but the decision should fall on you, you know that, right?”

“Thank you, I… will let you know”.

She smiled again, and her facial muscles stiffened due to the exertion. Seneca left her to talk to other people and her eyes prickled with tears. It wasn’t the only time she danced this ballad, admittedly, even when she was with Seneca she used to go with Sponsors, but she hadn’t done it in a few years and now it felt different. It felt wrong.

When she’d been in a relationship with Seneca it was easy, he’d find her sponsors and she’d charm her way into their pants to aim at their pockets, a perfect mechanism. Their relationship was open, and she hid behind these trysts to avoid the reality of her affair with Haymitch.  

But it had been a few years since she’d been with anyone that wasn’t Haymitch. The thought of hands that weren’t his on her skin made her sick, to the point that she wondered if maybe she had drunk a little too much.

At that moment Haymitch got up and strode toward her, ignoring Chaff’s raised eyebrows and Cashmere and Gloss’ snickering. She was upset, and he didn’t like that.

“What happened?” he whispered, concerned “What did Crane say?”

“Nothing, just… he’s found a new sponsor for us”. She felt bile in her throat.

“That’s good news, isn’t it? Why do you look like that?”

“Because I have to fuck him”, she hissed but regretted it instantly. It was stupid, but she didn’t know if he realised what being an escort truly entailed. And if he did, maybe he was okay with it, maybe he didn’t care and she was sure that would kill her, him not caring. But he’d always made that clear, hadn’t he? That what they were doing was just scratching an itch. Nothing more.

Suddenly his hand held onto her wrist and steered her away, dragging her through the crowd. He was walking quickly towards the exit, and she struggled to keep up with him, complaining about how rude it was to flee a party without taking a proper leave.

In a minute they were in the limousine that would take them to the penthouse, and only when they were driving did he let go of her wrist.

“Haymitch, really, this is absurd! How could you leave all your friends in such a manner? And I’ll have to remind you that I’m a lady, and it is highly improper for you to drag me away like that”.

“Oh, but it’s so proper for boyfriend to pimp you out, huh?”

“His friend asked him, he did not seek it” it was a half-lie. Her eyes were prickling with tears again.

“Do you want to do it?” he held her gaze, and she realized he was challenging her. Or maybe testing her. She could not tell the difference, but he’d not looked at her so coldly in a long while, and it was breaking her.

“No” she sobbed and felt hot tears stream down her face, surely ruining the elaborate brown eye makeup.

Seeing her like this was more than he could bear. He cupped her cheeks and kissed her firmly, his tongue ready to battle for dominance but finding, for once, little resistance. She’d limped in his embrace, and she would have kept kissing him forever if it wasn’t for the need for air.

“Seneca talked of him, said he just asked for a night, that he’ll sponsor us” she said breathlessly “I told him I wanted to talk about it with you”.

“Good girl” he whispered and kissed her again, this time making it dirty. She let out a soft moan.

He backed away and looked at her. She was aroused, he could see the tell-tale signs by the dazed look in her eyes and the way she licked her lips. She’d been since before the party, but now it seemed to have reached its height. His little wife.

“Tell me you won’t do it” he whispered, one of his hands cupping her breasts and squeezing as the other made its way up her skirt.

“I won’t do it” she moaned, her legs spreading readily for him.

“Promise me. Promise me you won’t let anyone else touch you”. He groaned when her hands moved to massage his crotch.

“Only if you promise you won’t let anyone touch you” she pleaded coquettishly, but he wasn’t fooled. Through the haze of her arousal, he knew she was going to hold him up to his words. She didn’t know, but there wasn’t anyone else. He didn’t mind making a promise he was already upholding if that meant he’d get his wife all for himself.

“I promise” he smirked when he felt the soaked fabric of her panties, claiming her lips in a heated kiss as she started to unbuckle his belt.

She couldn’t wait anymore.

In a moment she was straddling his lap, the other guiding him to her entrance. She slid down his length with a strangled moan, every inch of him filling her in the way only he did, and when he bottomed out she took a moment to adjust and press soft kisses on his jaw. Soon she rotated her hips in a fast-paced rhythm.

His groans and her strangled moans were the only sounds that could be heard, and for a while, she enjoyed having control of the situation. That was until he gripped either side of her waist and started to take charge, slowly taking over and becoming her undoing. She reached her peak, muffling the sounds against the crook of his neck, and felt him follow right after.

They rested on each other for a little bit, recovering from the mess of their coupling. She leaned back a little bit to look him in the eyes, and he raised a hand and caressed her forehead gently.

“Did you mean it?” she asked feebly, her voice still not quite recovered.

“I did, sweetheart”

“Really?

“Really”.

He kissed her, his stubble burnt against her cheeks. She didn’t mind being his if that meant he’d be hers. She didn’t mind at all.