#2. Sparrow: turn into something fluffy

[llumimoon]

Some silly little doodles about how ppl go about dealing with Dot when they’re upset :]

[sparrowandbee]

Chapter 1: Part 2 | Chapter 3

The Sparrow: Chapter 2: Promises

Synopsis: On the train to the Capitol Marian makes a promise.

Warnings: Some swearing.

Author’s Note: Let’s try publishing one long chapter rather than two smaller parts. As always, let me know which you prefer!! - Lu 🪶

Word Count: 1629

I sat on the train amidst more opulence than I had ever even imagined in my entire life. On the lacquered wood table before me sat a fine, ornate set of china with a lovely pattern of small blue flowers and little birds, untouched in the twenty minutes I’d sat on the blue velvet chair at the empty table.

I had slept in my reaping outfit, not wanting to divorce myself from the last little piece of home I’d ever have. But after a welcome shower with fresh water from a shower head and not a bucket, I gave in and changed into the provided soft black shirt and green trousers, as well as sturdy brown books which actually fit me.

Behind me on a wooden console with shiny gold trimming stood more food than I’d ever seen at once, the aroma of fresh pastries and

At any other point in my life, I would have pounced on the breakfast spread, eaten an abundance of each unknown food item and filled my plate with crispy, fatty bacon, cheesy scrambled eggs and a bright array of exotic fruits. But that day I couldn’t even look behind me. The sight of a flaky golden croissant was absolutely nauseating.

The sleek silver door to my right slid open and in came limby Alder, his black hair combed back. Without even acknowledging me, he took the plate from the set next to mine and started generously piling on his meal.

“You can eat?” I turned around and asked, as his pickings got taller and taller, “I haven’t even been able to stomach the idea of food since the-”

“Yeah,” he interrupts, a piece of bacon crunching in his mouth, “Me neither, until I forced myself to eat something at dinner last night and I haven’t stopped since. The food here is really good” He sat down next to me.

“Huh,” I responded and stood up. I should eat something, if not for fuel, for myself. I may be dead in a few days but I can give myself some good food before that. The plate was surprisingly heavy, despite its delicate look. I picked up a golden-brown blueberry muffin from its pink serving tray.

“Have you met the mentor yet?” Alder asked me, his mouth still full. I tore a small piece of the fluffy muffin and forced myself to swallow it. “He asked about you last night. Then he just took his plate and left, I watched the reapings all by myself. Weird guy.”

“Hm, no,” I lied. The little cake before me was perfectly sweet and fluffy and I didn’t think I could ever get enough of it. “He’s a drunk,” now it was my turn to talk with my mouth full, “Only here because he has to be.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, M.” Haymitch’s voice cut in from the open door to the adjoining bedroom car, seemingly in jest, “I’m actually here for the deserts.”

I blushed with embarrassment.

Without turning around I saw him from the corner of my eye taking a big brown cake with shiny pecans and stuffing it in his face with a big, indelicate bite. He sat in the chair across from me but I didn’t look up, training my eyes instead on the shiny back buttons on his vest but I caught myself straying towards his muscled, toned arms. His brown skin contrasted with his rolled-up white collared shirt.

Yes, I was embarrassed but I also had nothing to say to him.

His calloused hand poured the golden-brown whiskey from his flask into the dainty floral teacup.

“So, how do we win?” Alder looked toward Haymitch and asked in an uplifted tone, but the mentor was more concerned with the pecans falling from his cake.

Suddenly Haymitch slammed his fist onto the table and harshly dropped the teacup onto the saucer. “God, all you wealthy kids are the same, aren’t you? Always ‘how do I survive?,’ ‘how do I win?” He stood up, pointing towards Alder, I looked up, bewildered at the outburst, “You know who wins? The kids who have struggled. The kids who know what it’s like to fight.” He looked at me then, but my brows were furrowed in shock. It was the alcohol talking I was sure, but he was loud and scary now. I’d never seen a man in that state, not that close.

Alder looked down, dropping his fork, deflated. I felt bad for him, he carried hope and Haymitch was his best hope at winning.

I stood up, feeling strangely protective of the boy next to me.

“And how many of those kids have survived?” I challenge him, holding his eyes in my gaze, “You’ve had kids from all over the district. Where are they now?”

He pursed his lips tightly, still looking at me. I may have taken it too far, but he yelled first. I needed him to know that I was sick of his attitude and that I had too little time to take his shit.

He took his plate and drink and left the dining cart, slamming the sliding door behind him. God, what a manchild.

“Why would you say that?” It was Alder’s turn to stand up and yell, “He’s our best shot at getting out of that arena!”

“I said it because he was being a dick,” I turned to him, refusing to be intimidated by a spoiled 16-year-old, “He’s lost every tribute for the past 17 years. That’s 34 kids he could have saved but was too busy drinking to try.”

“You don’t know that,” Alder probed, but his voice was not as confident as Haymitch’s, a shaky fear lingering under his loud tone, “There are things that are out of his control-”

“Oh get off his dick, Alder. He’s not going to save you, no matter how hard you kiss his ass.”

I sighed and left, taking an apple before opening the silver sliding door to the blue-carpeted hallway of the next car. He could use some time alone, to face his reality, and I could use some more time tucked into the warm fluffy Capitol bedsheets of my assigned bedroom. The large windows showed off the lush, sunny scene outside. Somehow nature looked more colourful out here than it did in 12.

But just as I was reaching the end of the long hallway, Haymitch was standing in front of my door, looking stern.

“You have something to say?” He asked me. I smelled the strong, sour scent of alcohol on his warm breath.

Was he seriously expecting an apology?

“No.” I pushed past him, towards the door but he grabbed my arm with a surprisingly strong grip.

“What’s your problem?” He asked, angrily.

“What’s your problem?” I yelled back, already exhausted from wasting my last days fighting with petulant men. “Why are you scaring someone who actually wants to fight?” I used my free hand to point towards Alder, “Why are you so set on wasting your time on me?”

He let go of me and stepped back, opening his mouth and closing it. It was probably not so much that I left him speechless but that the drink messed with his train of thought. He tried looking away, letting his gaze stray, but I stayed resolute- my eyes planted on his.

“You’re gonna need sponsors if you’re gonna win,” He tried, pathetically, to change the topic.

“Are you serious?” I exclaim, fully letting my anger and frustration show now, why was he trying so hard to overlook my unwillingness? Why was he so set on this false hope? I couldn’t win and that was the objective truth. Why could he not see that? “I am not playing their stupid game and I am not going to win.”

“Don’t you get it?” His volume increased but he didn’t sound angry, but desperate, an underlying sadness. “By winning you defy them. They want you to die. They want you to give up. They want you to not care. Resist, M. Fight. Win.”

He looked straight at me now, no longer fidgety. This was the first time I saw a peak of the real Haymitch, the hurt boy who lived past the dense fog of alcohol.

“If you’re so intent on killing yourself, why haven’t you done it yet?” He didn’t ask to be mean. He asked sincerely. “You’re from the seam. Always alone, scrapping pennies to buy leftover nuts at the Hobb. Why? I know you’re resilient because if you really wanted to die you would have starved to death by now.”

He reached out to me, almost missing it but holding my hand softly, a physical manifestation of his desperation, “You can get sponsors. You can win.”

“Please let go of me,” he does, but doesn’t break eye contact.

“Please, please promise me your try,” he begged through whispered words, tears pooling in his grey eyes.

It hit me in a soft spot. He was talking as though he was the one on death row and I was the one who could save him, not the other way around.

I never made promises I couldn’t keep. Too many promises have been broken throughout my life and I couldn’t do that to someone. But, without thought, as I looked into his watery eyes, the words slipped out: “Fine.”

At that moment, I knew all was forgiven between us. We became a team, we’d fight for each other... or at least we’d try.

I would do it for him, to try to ease that vast overwhelming darkness he hid behind the whiskey. One last act of kindness for the wounded boy with the grey eyes.

I couldn’t promise not to be difficult but I did promise to try.

Haymitch nodded before retreating to his room.

—

Next Chapter

Masterlist

[angeloroki]

broken engagement. 2. — i. midoriya

— part one.

— character ; aged up!izuku midoriya x gn!reader

— genre ; angst

— warnings ; curses

— a/n ; part 2 bc you wanted it, but i never said it'd be fluffy :(

please let me know if there are any female pronouns (i'm doing it unintentionally sorry :/), i want to keep this writing as inclusive as possible!!

« hey.., it's me, again.

please call me back. i never wanted this. »

message deleted.

this was at least the 10th time you repeated the process. your ex-fiancé would leave you a voicemail, you'd listen to it all the way through, even though your friend advised you long ago to block him, and then you'd delete it, reluctantly.

maybe that's why he's been so insistent for the past month. the fact that you haven't blocked him or deleted him from your contacts could only give him hope.

and yet, you'd like to pick up the phone and tell him what an asshole he is. and that it was over, that you could never love him again, and even why not lie to him and tell him you were seeing someone else, and blah blah blah.

but it was all wrong.

you still loved him, even after crying for days.

" i don't know if my feelings for you are strong enough to satisfy you. "

he had made you believe for weeks that the fairy tale you were living with him was real. it was a change from the cheesy endings in disney movies. what a bastard.

you sighed to yourself, gazing at the engagement ring that lay far away on the bedside table.

it gleamed in the moonlight, beautiful, representing the love izuku had for you. now it was just the bearer of the bitter words he had spat in your face.

you looked away.

« y/n hun, i'm going to a friend's house. it's my date i've been telling you about for two weeks now, i hope he's worth it or else you'll hear me complaining, she says in a weary voice. i left the dish in the fridge for you, and please don't resume your series on my netflix account, it's too boring to know where i left off. » your friend shouts from the front door.

you smile slightly.

« i'll try, but i can't promise anything. »

« hahaha, no but for real, i'm serious. anyway, see you later honey, and wish me luck. »

it's been a month since you moved in with your friend, she insisted that you stay with her until you find another apartment. and she was a good cook, so how could you refuse ?

you sat down in front of the tv, and resumed the series you had started. a pathetic love story, the married boy who falls in love with a woman who is pregnant, even though she is a virgin?

you rolled your eyes before turning off the tv. everything was about him, when you're on social media and you see a couple of friends already married, or when a jewelry commercial would be airing right when you turn on the tv, and of course the dates that are coming up on your best friend's side.

it's as if fate didn't want you to forget him.

you were going to have a piece of cake, and you were going to start a horror movie. just to chase away that too sad cloud over your head.

of course, your new roommate had finished the raspberry bush, and so it was her fault that you found yourself at 11pm, in the 24 hour supermarket, in front of an old shop window wondering if ice cream was better after all.

with a Ben & Jerry's in hand, you headed to the cash register to pay and quickly return to your blanket cave.

« ouch ! » you exclaimed.

you had just bumped into someone, who was strangely tall by the way. you were about to apologize and ignore the stranger, when his scent shocked you. it couldn't be possible ? he couldn't be standing in front of you, at 11 pm, in a supermarket, and especially more than 25 kilometers away from your old apartment. argh. obviously this is the only store in town that sells his favorite snacks.

« y/n... »

you finally dared to meet his eyes. he hadn't changed, no wonder, it had only been a month since you left, but you expected something huge when you saw him again. his well-shaped jaw made you want to cover it with kisses. no, stop, y/n. but he smelled so good. " i don't even know if i want to get married ! " that truth echoed in your head. fuck, you had almost forgotten that he had broken up with you.

« what ? » your voice was as hard as a rock.

without giving him time to answer, like last time, you left him hanging and headed for the exit. never mind the ice cream, you'll come and buy it another time.

« what do you mean what ? i've been trying to call you for a month. »

he followed you, leaving his groceries behind too. a breath came from your lips, forming a small cloud of coolness in front of you.

the situation was so cliché that a dry little laugh escaped from you.

« how strange ? i've been ignoring you for a month now. » you said with sarcasm in your voice.

he took your hand gently and suddenly at the same time.

« stop this, and let me explain. »

you felt the melancholy in his voice, his expression camouflaged by a big scarf couldn't hide all the tears he had already started to cry. you just wanted to hold him, to tell him that you were going to get through this together.

you repressed the urge.

no, he was being unfair to you and your feelings. so he didn't deserve your pity.

you disengaged yourself from his grip, and it was with some regret that you saw that he did not try to hold you.

« there's nothing to explain, midoriya. i was stupid not to see that you didn't love me as much. or that i loved you too much. so please let it go. »

« how can you ask me to let go of the love of my life ? stop being so sutpid. »

your eyes widened. did you hear right ?

« i beg your pardon ? was it me who said I didn't want to get married anymore ? was it me who rejected her fiancé for months for absolutely no reason ? was it me who broke your fucking heart when i was patient, and patient ? so don't talk to me about the "love of my life". »

he didn't answer, and a long silence fell between you. you had to bite your lip to keep your tears where they were, in the corner of your eyes. he just needed to say a word, a phrase or even a fucking onomatopoeia to make you stay.

the absence of an answer made you smile sadly.

« midoriya please forget about me. »

« you still have it? the engagement ring, i mean. »

you felt your throat tighten. no need to lie.

"indeed, yes."

a faint smile settled on his face, reddened by the cold. silently, you slipped your hands into your pockets. he was cute that way.

« ...miss your cooking, too. » he said half amused, half saddened.

your exhausted laughter echoed in the street.

« izuku, don't make it worse for yourself. » you said in a tired voice.

the fact that you called him by his first name brought the stars back into his eyes. your tongue came to moisten your lips, you wanted to feel his against yours. just once, before you went home. because you knew that your story wasn't a fairy tale. that even though you loved him madly, and maybe he loved you too, his sweet words couldn't erase the obnoxious behavior and insensitive words he'd thrown at you for weeks.

and most importantly -

a sweet warmth invaded your body, and his scent filled your nostrils. his lips against yours, you could only respond to his ardor. you melted under his caresses that flooded around your waist. your hands met his collar, and you drew him to you. deepening your passionate kiss, the air quickly ran out.

you abruptly pulled away from him. a look of bewilderment painted both your faces. it was unexpected.

« y/n, please... »

« i'll give you the ring back, but it's over. thanks for the kiss. »

yeah, thank you for the kiss izuku, it was a beautiful bitter farewell.

tagging ; @holykvn @iluvvhewer @0lissa0 @animesuck3r @dekusassistant @cyjstars @softbkg @bobbatea-and-hotchocolate @vegaolive @awizuku @maltese-sparrow @erens-s1ut @djmbgbeast @yyuuna @iliketobullydeku @tecna09 @sxmmio-o @lotusxcos @superblyspeedydragon @taceticbitch @joonie-centric @mishe-qm @ab456123cd @pluviophilefangirl @number1cokewhore @stans-nami @ravngers@quillvinrune

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

For the OC ask prompts - 3 for Damien, 14 for Merridy, and 22 for Breannan?

-verkja

Thank you for the ask! <3 From this ask game.

3. Are they an early bird or night owl?

Night owl. While his sleep rhythm would match a uh... medium sparrow, not too early, not too late, he often stays up late. It’s not like he currently (or lately) has a job where he has to get up early. He likes how quiet it is, that he’s in general left alone. And as long as he’s awake, there won’t be nightmares :)

14. Choose an AU you think would be interesting for them to be a part of. Who would they be?

Ooof, I so don’t do AUs. Another universe, another set of OCs, in general.

Two Glass Shards AUs I thought about for like 10 min before getting distracted was

a) The sad AU. Damien dying in her arms before she can free him. She’d turn her life around, become an apprentice of Yvan. A few years later Valadan comes back to sell the family home, needs some repairs, enters the smithy. Of course she’d recognize him, freak out a bit, and he’d quickly realize what was going on. She could tell him Damien’s last words, that he wishes he could have apologized to his brother. Well, the second last ones, as the last ones would have been him thanking her that he doesn’t have to die alone. Everyone cries.

Just heartbreak all overall, and not very satisfying, 1/10.

Sometimes I’m just in A Mood, okay?

b) The happy AU. Where I don’t kill Damien’s mother and Merridy’s family. Where both live more or less happily in Caldeia, dad retires slowly, Damien takes over. Merridy likes to look at the glass, even though she can’t afford any. They sometimes talk, and the more they talk, the more she realizes how unhappy she currently is. When she breaks up with her boyfriend and ends up on the street, Damien picks her up, letting her stay for a while... or forever.

All very fluffy, not enough whump, 5/10.

22. What is something others admire about them? Are they aware that people admire them for this?

Most people admire his knowledge about languages, and other cultures. He knows that, and it flatters him a bit, but hey, he has worked hard for it. Same with his profession as a mentor, usually having 2, sometimes three classes each season.

Caldyn specifically admires his kindness and beauty, and he does not know that. Perhaps we better keep it that way.

The few fellow firstborn that knew him back then when the nyvi captured him admire him for being able to pick himself up after that. Especially Lish, his oldest friend. She has seen him at his lowest, stayed with him for years after that. Seeing him live happily now makes her so proud.

[scienceoftheidiot]

In my move, I’m also moving all my drabbles, prompt answers and short stories with my OCs. Here’s an old one.

In case you don’t want to click on the link, the short story itself is right here under the cut.

No prompt for this one, just shameful fluff. TW for implied sex (not described) though this is not the subject of the story. (PS : no, it's not superpowers, tattoos, especially fresh ones, raise the skin slightly. While I don't have tattoos myself I had friends help me for this lol)(I also was inspired by a friend's tattoo - I don't know the story behind it and I won't ask her, but it was too on point for me not to use that in a story)

“I love you.”

As per usual, Diane didn’t answer Desden’s whisper. She hugged him tighter, as tight as she could, nestling her whole body against his under the covers, each centimeter of her bare skin huddled against his. But she stayed silent.

He sighed, but smiled, and gave her her hug back, his hands lazily trailing along her back, following her spine. His fingers met the usual raised area on her shoulder, and stayed there.

A bird. Wings open. That’s what she’d told him it was. He kept trying to visualize it, but failed. The details were too small, too many.

He’d thought of a scar the first time he felt this, and didn’t linger on it, nor did he ask about it. He was not the kind to pry – he had his own visible scar people kept questioning him about, and he knew how it felt. He’d even almost given in to his sister’s concern and dyed the thick white lock of hair at the back of his head back to brown. But he had decided not to in the end. He couldn’t see it, so it didn’t bother him, and dying it would be only so it didn’t bother others.

He was done with trying to fit in. He never really had, anyway. People were bothered, and then what?

After a while he had grown bolder with her, and, little by little, noticing she didn’t react ostensibly when he touched it, he had explored her shoulder more.

In the end, Diane was the one who had talked about it, spontaneously.

“You can feel my tattoo?!” There’d been a frown in Diane’s voice. She was lying on him, for their usual lazy morning cuddles. Desden had left himself get lost in following the outline of that weird skin change on her shoulder, almost falling back to sleep.

He’d been surprised, almost startled ; the idea had not even crossed his mind. He was dumb. It woke him up completely.

“Uh. A tattoo. Of course.” “And what did you think it was?” This time she was half laughing. Desden could have been upset by her tone, but by then he knew her well enough already to know she wasn’t mocking him.

“I… I thought it was a scar. Didn’t want to pry.”

She’d moved, kind of squirmed, still on top of him. She was trying to find the right words. After a while, she’d sighed.

“Desden, I can see your whole body. I know it by heart now. I know exactly where each and every one of your moles and small scars are. By the way. Your shins are covered in bruises. Constantly. I can see it even through your manly-man leg hair, you know.”

“There is a perfectly logical and obvious explanation to this, it’s the Fight C-”

She brought him back to the conversation by poking him in the cheek. “What I mean is, I have the advantage here. I can pry without you even knowing it. So it’s only fair that you’d be allowed to ask about anything. Don’t you think?”

Desden had turned his head and sighed with a sheepish smile.

“Yeah. So. What is it?”

“You can feel it, but you can’t tell?”

Desden had shaken his head. “It’s probably too detailed. And I wasn’t especially looking for a recognizable shape.”

“It’s a bird.” She wouldn’t elaborate.

“And then? What kind? What shape?”

“Now you’re getting curious.” She’d chuckled as his fingers went back to the tattoo. Both hands. “You’re choking me, there.”

“Sorry.” The second hand had quickly gone back to her other shoulder.

“It’s a small bird. Some kind of sparrow. Only black ink, so it doesn’t matter which, really. Wings stretched. Like it’s flying away.” “Mh.” Desden had tried to concentrate as much as he could, but he could only vaguely make out a relatively straight line, that he thought was some part of a wing. “I’ll trust your word on it.”

“How come you can read Braille and not feel that? It’s way bigger than any line I saw you read.”

“Human fingers can differentiate between pressure points separated by 2 millimeters.” He shrugged, rocking them both. “Not less. Your tattoo isn’t made to be touched, and it must be too finely drawn…”

“Thank you, Wikipedia.”

He’d pushed her off him in an annoyed groan, before rolling over her and kissing her.

They were in the same situation now. The bird under his fingers had not taken much more of a shape in his mind, but he liked the idea. Sometimes it felt like she was the bird. Ready to fly away any time. The tattoo reminded him of that – the bittersweet feeling that, yes, she might disappear one day, but at the least she had chosen to stay with him at the time.

That she might not reply to his declarations of love verbally, but the fact she stayed by him meant just as much.

At least that was what he tried to tell himself.

Later.

They had not seen each other in weeks.

Diane had left for a hike – that was the perfect time of year, no tourists and good weather – and when she’d come back, drained, sunburned, and happy, Desden had been in a rush at work and so stressed he’d avoided her.

That was in fact perfect, in Diane’s point of view. Three weeks exactly. Perfect.

She still whined a little, for form. She knew him – if she understood right away and just left him alone, even if that was what he actually wanted and needed, he would feel she was drifting away from him. Even if nothing was less true.

When they eventually met again, Desden had come pick her up at the bookshop. They were supposed to go get dinner somewhere. In reality, they barely managed to take the time to run to Desden’s flat before crashing against each other, kissing as if they had not seen each other in years rather than barely a month, hands everywhere.

No, not really everywhere. Diane made sure to divert his hands from a small spot on her arm.

Not yet. She did however let him expertly undress her and guide them both, still kissing, to the bedroom.

After, in the halflight of the evening, their legs tangled in the sheets, Desden stretched his arm lazily towards the bedside table, grabbing his watch. He felt the hands, wincing.

“So much for the table I had booked.”

But he put the watch back on the table with a half smile. That didn’t seem to bother him much. His smiles were always communicative – Diane couldn’t help reply with one.

“You should have told me.”

“I was… focused on something else.” He turned and hugged her, nuzzling her neck. It tickled. She laughed sharply. Maybe a little too sharply for acute ears.

“What’s wrong? You’re more… tense than usual. You were, too, when we… ”

“I, uh…” Now? Wasn’t it a little too early still?

Desden tilted his head to the side with a quizzical expression on his face. Knowing that he should not speak or she wouldn’t. She just couldn’t continue talking if someone cut her. Also he probably knew that face made her melt, and spill whatever he wanted her to say. She had no idea how he had noticed that, but he had.

She took a deep breath.

“I have something to show you.”

“Oh. Uh, okay, show me?” He started to get up, but she pushed him back to sit on the bed next to her. She sat more upright, too.

“It’s here.”

She took his hand and placed it on her arm. Desden’s quizzical look came back to his face, with a frown.

“What is – oh.”

It was as if he was the one melting this time. His shoulders flopped and he let out a short breath as he let his hand follow the short line, once, then twice, the frown on his face changing into something harder to interpret. But it was easy to interpret him biting his lips and blinking furiously.

“I just -”

He didn’t let her speak more, dragging her into a hug and kissing her just as fiercely, if not more, as he had done after not seeing her in weeks.

He broke the kiss, both hands on her face, foreheads touching.

“You’re. The worst. But goddamit, I do, too. You know that.”

“I know. I wanted to show you.”

Still forehead against forehead, he shook his head in a sigh, but there was the brightest of smiles on his lips.

He only moved one hand, and caught her arm, to feel the small dots again – that must have hurt, right? There were slightly bigger than they could have been, but it was okay. He could still perfectly spell out.

i love you

Taglist : @heirsoflilith @hughstheforcelou @shutterbug-12 @foxesandmagic @omg-okimhere

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Kira Vol 2 (1)

The Mistress

CHAPTER 1: Where The Heart Heals

Loki x fem!Reader (Kira)

Series: A new chapter begins in Kira’s life. Old secrets, new confessions, surprising allies and unexpected meetings. All of them have one name in common. Loki.

Chapter content: soft feels

Warnings: none

Word count: Okay. I’m putting it out there. I wrote this for myself. And that’s what I am trying to do right now. I don’t know how regular I will be with this but I will be writing when I feel it.

MASTERLIST & Taglist in bio, my love

If I could feel this again... The heaviness of your eyes feels like a blessing even when the warmth of the sun is gently stroking your forehead, delicately whispering sweet nothings to wake you up. You know your mother has already woken up for she is the reason the door is open and that chilled winter air is nudging the sun rays to get as much of the playfield over your exposed skin as it can. The teasing play going between the two forces becomes a soothing episode for your nerves, enjoying the lazy winter morning with the sparrows chirping on that one malacca tree still standing in your front yard. The chill draft that swirls to lands on your unaware fingertips, brings with it the familiar dissatisfied woof and one rage-filled yelp, making you smile even with your eyes closed. You can even hear the disgruntled remarks of some boomers out on their morning stroll cursing your poor babies for growing so big and healthy and barking at any stranger that was not welcome in their territory. If I could feel this every single day...

Your eyes finally open from a dreamless sleep, ready to bask in the lukewarm light directly hitting your eyes. The bliss is incomprehensible; to wake up to the sight of the green that is surviving the winter chill in the garden right outside your room. A few sparrows are looking for an early grub in the pots kept right outside your door, seeming to catch a glance or two in your direction when you stir and let your head rest on your hands to watch the life of winter make you grateful for this morning. More grateful when a familiar spotted figure jumps down from the neighbour's wall and passes by your door with the quietest yet graceful gait. "Kitty!" you exclaim without any voice escaping your hoarse throat, making you chuckle at your own failed display of excitement. A long stretch that cracks a few knots and makes you squirm while you squeeze your eyes shut; that is what it takes to finally convince you to get out of the cosiest quilt on this entire planet. It is a task to find your socks under the huge green buffed up fabric but you do not want to step down till you are sure your sensitive feet are secure. Once the pair is found after a round of tossing and turning the poor quilt, you are ready to open your door and step into the garden. And what a sight it is! The balmy morning sun is bringing life out into the streets. Children fresh out of school for their Christmas holidays are riding their colourful bikes around while their parents or guardians spew caution at them. Vendors are out with their carts and wagons, bringing about fresh produce while the riveting bark of the bike that brings the fresh milk for some households waits for the man of that particular house to bring out their vessels. The air has the perfect crispiness of winter twirling all around you. There is no doubt that the sun has colluded with the sweet-smelling chilly breeze to bring the blood to your cheeks and fingertips. The bliss that this simple day can be for an entire lifetime... A whine followed by a protest-filled howl catches your attention in the moment you are taking in this rare morning. Turning your head to look across the fence, you watch those familiar sharp blue eyes looking you with a sour expression. Right. This drama queen. The protest does not stop. "I'm coming," you groan, "I'm coming," you stress as you walk across the garden to open the gate and walk barely five steps across the narrow road to greet the fluffy boy pretending to be mad at you while vigorously wagging his tail. "We literally met last night, you dumb husky!" you coo through your teeth while scratching Ghost behind his ear. "You stoopid loving boi. My best floofy boi." You call out as many names as you can to the huge beast that wants to lick you clean but isn't getting the chance to. So, instead, he decides to take your wrist into his mouth, continuing to whine at the same time, wanting to keep you there till he loses interest in you. "I blame your mother for not training you to respect me, you dumb floof," you state as you make him look you in the eyes, "I fed you and bathed you and played with you when you hadn't even opened your eyes. And this is how you repay me? By giving me scratches and sticking drool all over my elbows?" Growing uncomfortable- and a double chin, the way you are holding his face- he huffs and jumps away from his fence to let you know he is done with you for the day. "Ungrateful bitch," you mutter in his direction while he looks for more leaves to chomp on, "I still love you." Ghost does not even side-eye you. He knows you stand there smiling at him while he goes about eating anything green in his sight, only bothered when he hears the rev of a car pass by. The attention span to that little distraction is short-lived too. "Okay," you sing in a way you think might get on his nerves, "I'm going back then. You won't get to see me till our late night walk." Any little hope that this dog with an attitude would actually look up at you is gone when the same car comes back. Let's see if that car can feed you pancakes. Still looking at the white-furred beast, you are hurt right in your feels to watch his huge paws go up on the fence again to judge whoever sits in the car that has stopped right by the side of your house, the panting paused to scrutinise the strangers in the SUV with tinted glasses. "Really," you nudge his lower jaw as you address him with a simmering gaze, "I get a howl and yank on my hand but some stranger gets a full minute of silence?" You nudge his jaw again, not really liking the point-blank stare he is giving to whosoever is getting out of the car behind you. You are about to nudge him the third time when a voice freezes your hand mid-air. "I guess he does not like my presence that much." The heaviness of the voice with a gravity of its own stops everything around it for an elongated moment. Even with the cold surrounding you, the warmth that engulfs your chest is far more evident over your skin once all the nerves light up at the thought of turning around and finding him standing there. So, you do. And the smile that escapes you is far brighter than this December sun. "Heimdall."

 It is heavenly to hear his name from you after what seems like months stretched into ages. What acts as a balm to his heart is watching your face with carrying the same perfection it did the first day he met you; maybe even lovelier. If he had a sister... "Kira," he sweetly announces into the air before wrapping his arms around you for a hug; something that you gladly welcome, and embrace him back. "I missed you," you squirm into his coat, smelling the mildly spicy cologne he is wearing. Heimdall chuckles. "Who's bothering you? Just point me and I'll take care of the rest." You giggle and draw yourself back to look at those warm honey eyes. "I missed you because I hadn't felt like someone was spying on me for the last two months. Almost felt weird." You shrug, pressing your lips to stop the smile from pouring out while Heimdall groans. "I'm never ever going to hear the end of, am I?" he closes his eyes and sighs. You shake your head before snickering. The pleasant meet-up makes you forget about the prying neighbourhood that has eyes everywhere, lurking behind every curtain to look at this strange, well-built man coming out the blue in an expensive vehicle to hug you- a single woman who should have been married by now instead of meeting strange men, according to them. From the rooftop to the eyes that are pretending to buy vegetables and groceries, everyone is centred on this tall dark and handsome man putting all their sons and husbands to shame. "So-" you poke him in his abdomen- still surprised it's hard as a rock- "what brings you here?" A knowing nod and a deep inhale is all Heimdall gives you for a moment, his habit making his eyes wander everywhere to look for anything unusual. "I...uhh...well-" he inhales through his teeth this time- "we wanted to check in on you. Wanted to see how you were doing. Because everyone misses you back home." "Oh." You feel your breath stuck in your throat. Your inner voice is already elbowing the corner of your nerves, wanting to hear you speak the name for yourself. But you just shove her back into the sleepy comfy corner for the moment. "Yeah," Heimdall smiles, "Zair misses you because he, and I quote, 'cannot even with this new temp some boomer hired in Kira's place'." You snicker. Typical Zair. "Yigrette misses you because it's mundane living with men in the house after a while." "Aww," you feel for your sweet keeper. "Fenrir misses you too, obviously. He has made your bedroom his bedroom. And it has been hard getting him to come out of there now." That floofly baby. I miss him too. Ghost hears that thought and the very next moment, his paw comes to tap on your shoulder and look at you with every ounce of judgment his blue eyes can hold towards you. "And Robert too, now that he is all healed and is ready to take more bullets." "Noooo," you groan into your palms. That idiot. You wait and watch Heimdall smile at you, standing there as your inner voice is wondering- with her face resting in her palms and legs in the air- if there is anyone else who is missing you. "Soooo...-" your voice trails away as you wipe your thoughts by rubbing your hands on your pyjamas- "everyone misses me, huh." Heimdall is about to nod before he stops and creases his brows, forcing you to furrow your own brows in return. "Mm...not everyone though." You can feel the little sinking feeling before your heart has even taken a dive from the board it currently stands on. "Hm?" is all you can bear to say. "Oh, it's Loki. I was talking about Loki. He doesn't miss you," Heimdall shakes his head. And your heart doesn't even do a routine; it just takes a sad plunge into whatever waits for it down in the pits of unwelcoming sadness. "Oh," you inhale the cold air to soothe your insides that are simmering now for some reason, "that's...good. That's good. He isn't missing on work. Or cursing me for not being there to do my work." And just like that, you are trailing into a long train of afterthoughts to console yourself. "That means he is doing pretty well in my absence...which is good...for uhh...for the company. Hmm." Heimdall cannot help but smile at the sorry look on your face to think that your boss does not care about your presence- or absence in this matter. Those y/e/c eyes are at the verge of questioning some major emotions as they let the Watcher's words sink in. It takes a lot more than a dig at lips by his perfect teeth to stop him from giving it away. "No," he finally blurts out, grabbing your attention while internally cursing himself to put you through that for a few seconds of entertainment, "you are thinking in the wrong direction." This time you look at him in confusion. "Heimdall, what are you tryin-" "He does not miss you," he continues, still looking at you when his arm extends by his side to open the door to the back seat of the SUV and relish the two-second delayed reaction, "because 'missing' would be an understatement."

 The last thing he remembers is the blur of the days that have gone by till he is once more standing at the single path of stone decorated with everything that he declares too delicate for this world. Deep inside he has nothing but love for them. Everything too pure for this universe resides in this little ecosystem at the edge of where his world begins. From the ferns and creepers to the fishes and flowers- every little cell has a story of surviving all those perils to come down the path of evolution as much more beautiful. He stands right there and stares straight down the path that leads to the corner that he had begun to cherish some time ago. He pauses his day there, before every break of dawn and every splay of dusk, waiting. What exactly he waits for, no one knows. Some onlookers think he has gone much more insane after the brawl he barely crawled out alive from. They wonder what he keeps looking at in that corner, watching the sun both rise and set there. Some feel empathy for him. Yigrette walks by the lounge every single day to witness this little ritual of her master. Her soft heart aches a little for she knows somewhere he feels the absence of the one little alum that settled all the dirt inside him till it was present in the murky waters. But she does not know the depth of that emotion, neither does she want to insult her master by trying to measure it somehow. And the last time she sees him, he walks towards that edge in the night. He remembers stepping barefoot on that cold stones carrying the chilly impression of the foggy weather outside that has shrouded the vastness of his estate into one quiet graveyard where even the lights of the city do not reach. The distance- thought not much- feels worth an eternity for him as his heart accelerates. The only thought riding the unstoppable train inside his mind is the ghost of a chance of seeing you there. The lights turn on once he enters the space- they turn on for him to stare at the empty space that was once thought of as a decent wing to match the rest of the house, not really knowing what weight it would hold in the future. And here he stands, contemplating whether this part of his house had ever felt so bland before. So...hollow. He is slowly killing himself on the inside to refrain himself from touching anything for the fear of diluting your essence- or whatever is left of it- and instead, he does what he has watched you do a hundred times over. The tiles are cooler than they were the last time he laid down on them. The only time he entered your abode. That time when he watched over you for endless nights till he has to be forced to sleep for his health and yours. But how could he? You were surrounded by wires and tubes, and beeping machines that scared him even at the slightest beep. He rose up to look at you for any movement of discomfort when he himself was experiencing pain that would have bedridden any other ordinary man. Not wanting to get away from your side, he laid himself down out in the lounge. And then he found out why you did this after a long day. It feels nice to let the cold floor take away all the unnecessary thoughts swinging inside his head. Little fears that crowd his mind dissolve and drain down into the ground. Then, for the first time in the past few weeks, he lets his conscience paint a picture of you drowning in happiness. Even as the fear erodes the edges of his heart- that you are happy somewhere other than here- he finds comfort in your smile that is still fresh in his mind. Even though the dark clouds loom on those waves- the thoughts that tell him you have forgotten him- he still lets your laughter roar through his existence. A delicate experience in the cold of December.

Today sleep comes earlier than he anticipates. His eyes are heavier than they usually are. He wants to give in to the arms of slumber because the last time he slept like a baby was when you were healing. He wants to walk towards the lullaby of this pretty siren till he notices it is the first time he has felt such sleep take over him ever since you have been gone. Hold on a second... He opens his eyes- barely- and gets up on his elbow. "Yigrette," he wants to shout but the name is just a questionable statement as he feels his limbs get heavy. There is a silhouette of a figure patiently walking towards the lounge that is a hazy picture to his eyes. But his brain still works enough to realise he has been somehow made a victim of forced unconsciousness. Feeling his face touch the cold tile of the floor, he vows to take them by the throat- whoever spiked his drinks or meal and made the terrible decision of knocking him out cold. And everything goes dark. Dark...till he can hear a familiar giggle somewhere in the void. Along with a sweet aroma that brings to the surface memories that were feared lost. His heart wants him to reach out for that voice that is beginning to clear the fog inside the dense forest that is his mind. And so the heart does what he does best, it slows down too much to let the brain jerk him awake. The sun shines right over his face when a door opens somewhere, flooding his being with brightness through and through. He has to make an effort to open his eyes after a much-needed sleep, watching the rays hit his smaragdines till they are filtered and washed away by the one face he longs to see for the rest of his life. "Loki?" you call out with the softest emotion on your face as the sun rays reflecting inside the car lets your features shine for him. He blinks; still trying to figure out if it is a dream or if you do stand in front of him.  "....Kira?" That voice wants to give all its strength to call out your name, wanting to bring you into existence if you are a figment of his imagination- something that is his worst fear of all. And there you stand with a smile painting your lips for him, taking his first conscious breath in this new morning away. And all he wants is to pray to some force to not let this be a twisted nightmare. "It's good to see you...sir." And that full-toothed smile melts him- front, back and sideways- while the world watches from windows and roofs, questioning Fate and her strings, for better or worse.  If I could feel this again...I would want to feel it with you.

[descendantofthesparrow]

Daughter of the Honorable thief - Harry Hook x reader - part 3 - threat and games

Harry Hook x Daughter of Robin Hood!Reader

 key

 h/c- hair color

 e/c- eye color

 h/l- hair length

 s/c- skin color

 y/n- your name

 clothing reference:

  ---

Harry gave a tired sigh as he entered History of pirates and wood, he and Gil had gorged themselves on ice cream and candy all night and now he was suffering from not enough sleep, a sugar crash, and a stomach ache.

Glancing up he paused, there was (y/n), sitting in the seat next to his, her sketchbook open and her pencil flittering around on the page.

Harry smirked, plopping down next to her, and rose his brow flirtatiously, leaning in close to her.

“Hello, lassie~ I thought yeh sat in the back of the class? didn't know ye were meh seatmate now, were yeh just that into meh that yeh had ta switch seats to be next to meh?”

(y/n) snorted and shoved his face away gently, grinning back at him.

“nah, you and I were the only ones without a seatmate, and the teach asked me if I would be willing to move next to you, nothing like what you’re suggesting hooky~, by the way, I like the jacket”

Harry snickered, quickly grasping her hand and bringing it to his lips, making (y/n) giggle at the sensation.

“sorry, I couldn’t resist teasing such a pretty face~ and thanks, evie made it for meh, since I can't wear my long red one all the time, so she made me this one”

“Mr. Hook, Ms. Loxley, if I could begin my lesson please?”

Henry Turner, the class teacher, called out to both of you, making harry drop your hand and grin sheepishly at him.

You snickered and rolled your eyes, nodding at the teacher. He rose his brow and turned to the whiteboard.

“Alright today, we are talking about the brethren court.

Now, who can tell me the last king of the brethren court's name?”

Harry furrowed his brow, he felt like he should know this, being a pirate and all, but his brain drew a black, but in the corner of his eye, he saw (y/n)s hand shoot up.

“yes, Ms. Loxley?”

“Elizabeth Swan sir”

“good, now how is the king chosen?”

Once more (y/n)s hand shoot up, Mr. Turner pointed at her with a smile.

“they are chosen through a vote, though it usually ends in an impasse, as pirates only ever vote for themselves.”

“correct! And very educated Ms. Loxly, now how did Elizabeth become the king?...go ahead Ms. Loxley”

“Elizabeth voted for herself and jack sparrow also ended up voting for her.”

“correct! Now extra credit to who comes up here to name all the pirate lords from Elizabeth swans reign”

Mr. Turner had written on the board numbers, from 1-9.

(y/n) stood up and made her way to the whiteboard, Harry had been staring at her in awe the entire time, jaw dropped.

(y/n) quickly wrote down the names on the board, along with the areas of the sea and oceans they command over.

1. Ammand - Pirate Lord of the Black Sea

2. Hector Barbossa - Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea

3. Chevalle - Pirate Lord of the Mediterranean Sea

4. Ching - Pirate Lord of the Pacific Ocean

5. Jocard - Pirate Lord of the Atlantic Ocean

6. Jack Sparrow - Pirate Lord of the Caribbean Sea

7. Sumbhajee Angria - Pirate Lord of the Indian Ocean

8. Elizabeth Swann - Pirate Lord of the South China Sea

9. Eduardo Villanueva - Pirate Lord of the Adriatic Sea

(y/n) grinned and tossed the marker to Mr.Turner, strutting back to her seat.

“all correct Ms.Loxley! impressive!”

As (y/n) sat down, Harry turned to her with wide eyes.

“Lassie where did yeh learn all that?!” (y/n) grinned and tapped her finger on Harry's nose, giggling.

“hehe I had a pirate phase when I was younger and I researched everything about them, and I simply retained the information after that~”

Harry snickered back, softly smiling at her in awe, this girl was just surprising him left and right.

The two chatted as class continued on, easily answering the teacher when he questioned them.

As Harry made his locker, he noticed (y/n) trailing behind him, smirking he turned around, now walking backward, licking his lips.

“now-now lassie~ do yeh like meh that much that yeh havta follow meh everywhere I go~”

(y/n) rolled her eyes and snorted, shaking her head. “no you doofus, my locker is right next to yours, that’s how I saw you being cornered by the lost boys”

Harry hummed and spun around, stopping at his locker. (y/n) stopped as well and locked hers, putting her books away as Harry grabbed his English books.

As they chatted, Happy’s son, Henry, walked up with a shy smile on his face.

“Hello, (y/n), um I was wondering if you would like to hang out today? Have some pleasant company?”

Harry caught the meaning behind the boy's words and rolled his eyes, of course, yes get the filthy pirate away from the maiden!

But once more, (y/n) surprised him.

“you’re about as subtle as a shit stain on white carpet, get lost”

Henry squeaked and bolted, figurative tail between his legs.

Harry and (y/n) glanced at each other before they burst out laughing

“HAHA oh my god lassie!!” Harry spoke through his laughter, tears spilling out of his eyes, “ yeh just continue to surprise meh! Haha!”

(y/n) chortled and winked, giving him finger guns, before turning back to her locker and digging into it for a couple of seconds before pulling back and tossing him a long blue plastic package.

Oreos. Harry smiled and nodded his thanks, (y/n) nodded back and shut her locker, backing away slightly. “I gotta go, it's my free period and the archery range is always empty at this point. See ya hook!”

“see ya, lassie!”

Harry turned and started to make his way to English class, while also opening his oreos, sticking his tongue slightly in concentration.

Looking down at the plastic packaging, he wasn’t watching where he was going and therefore didn’t see as someone walked down the hall and harshly slammed into his shoulder, Harry winced, thankfully not dropping his snack, but continued on, determined to open this dammed bag of oreos.

“filth like you should be sent back to the isle”

Harry stopped and slowly turned, his face dark.

“wha did yeh say yeh arsehole?”

Aaron, son of Esmerelda and Phoebus, stood several feet away from him glaring at Harry.  “you heard me filth’

Harry growled, but restrained himself, the vks cant fight rule was only lifted yesterday, and it only counted when they were provoked, so he turned his cheek and continued on. Ignoring the other boy's taunts.

“Hook”

Harry groaned but turned and rose his brow, “wha’?”

The tanned skinned boy sneered and glared at him, an odd glint in his eyes, “stay away from (y/n), she’s mine.”

Harry snorted and gave a sly grin, his knuckles cracking at the possessive claim. “oh really? She never mentioned yeh been the time been chilling with each other, yeh sure yer that important to her, or even on her friend?”

Aaron snarled and spit at Harrys feet. “just stay away from her pirate, you'll regret it if you don’t.”

Aaron turned and stalked away, Harry rolled his eyes, please, this boy was less intimidating than lefou’s son.

But...Harry frowned, what was concerning, was the boy's obvious obsession with (y/n).

Hearing the bell for English class ring out, he sped up into a sprint and resolved to tell Uma after school ended.

---

Later after school ended, Harry sat with Uma and Gil, doing his math homework,  gritting his teeth over a particularly hard question.

Oh wait he wanted to talk to Uma about Aaron and (y/n), lifting himself off of Gil's lap slightly, he turned to Uma.

“Uma” the teal haired black girl hummed and glanced at Harry, but the stern look on his face made her sit up from leaning on Gil's arm and realize this was going to be a serious talk between the two of them.

“Harry? What's up?”

Harry sighed and ran his hand through his fluffy brown-black hair, thinking of ways to convey his concern for (y/n).

“so I was making my way to English class and someone bumped me and said; “filth like yeh should be sent back teh the isle”.”

Gil and Uma glared at the words, Uma grit her teeth, but stopped herself from going on a rant, she could tell that wasn’t what was bothering Harry.

“well,” Gil mumbled, scratching the side of his face, “that’s a really rude thing for an Auradon kid to say isn’t it?”

Uma shrugged, at least it was just words, it wasn’t as bad as the dudes here who felt that just when a girl looked at them, the girl owed them a relationship or sex.

“nah, but that’s not all, he threatened me, over (y/n)”

That made Uma pause, “(y/n)?? as in (y/n) Loxley?”

Harry nodded and continued “aye, he claimed (y/n) was ‘his’ and told me to stay away from her and id regret it if I didn’t”

Uma took a breath, thinking over the implications of what the boy said.

“so, there is a boy who is obviously obsessed with (y/n) and probably dangerously so”

Harry and gil stared at Uma as she muttered to herself.

“alright” the two boys sat up, Uma used her captain voice, when she uses that voice, you pay attention. “im going to ask (y/n) about this, she needs to know, so maybe she can put out a report on him or something like that.”

Harry nodded and reached over from Gil's lap, sneaking some of Umas coveted soda flavored jelly beans, snickering when he narrowly avoided a slap of his hand from Uma.

Drawing back he stuffed the beans into his mouth. Giggling at Uma slapping his shoulders.

“well~ you sure look comfortable~”

Looking up, Harry saw (y/n), staring down at him, grinning down and giggling.

Harry smirked and sat up slightly, grasping (y/n)s hand “im even more relaxed now that yer here darling~”

(y/n) rolled her eyes, withdrawing her hand from Harrys and plopping down next to Uma, who offered her coveted jelly beans.

“flirt, anyway I just came by to ask if yall wanted to play some video games with me?”

“sure,” Uma nodded, before remembering that she wanted to ask (y/n) about Aaron. “one question tho,” (y/n) hummed around her jelly beans and gestured for Uma to continue “do you know of a dude named Aaron?”

(y/n) groaned and flopped on her back, “yeah I know of him, he's a fucking creep, did he threaten one of you?”

“yeah, harry”

“uggg! Im guessing he claimed me as ‘his’, next time he does that shit, smack him for me.”

(y/n) had obviously dealt with Aaron before, and was tired of his shit.

Gil, sensing the tension in the air decided to cut it with bringing up the offer (y/n) made moments before, “so video game?”

(y/n) perked up, oh yeah! She sat up and grinned at the three teen pirates, “its called super smash bros, it’s a brawling game, its super fun! Do ya guys wanna play?”

The three glanced around at each other, before (y/n)s exited grin turned to a sneaky smirk

“winner gets to smack the loser with a plate full of whipped cream~”

The three teens jumped up from their spots and quickly packed up their stuff, eagerly following (y/n) back to her room to play.

An hour and a half later, (y/n) was filling a plate Uma was holding while Gil held Harry down as he screeched.

“Uma cheated!!! She cheated!! Im not letting her smash cream on meh face let meh go Gil!!”

Gil was just laughing as you topped off the plate and Uma grabbed the can and sprayed some into her mouth, before grinning down at Harry.

“nonononon AH!”

The three of you burst out laughing as Harry's face and hair was covered in the white substance, he made as ‘eeugh’ sound as he wiped his eyes and flicked his hands to remove the cream.

“yeh all suck”

“nah” (y/n) giggled, squirting some cream onto her finger, “you agreed to the consequences of losing and you lost! Fair and square!”

“whatever” Harry mumbled as he rolled his eyes, grunting he stood up from the ground and walked into the bathroom to clean up.

“so (y/n)” Uma asked, (y/n) smiled and hummed, looking over at Uma. “how long has Aaron been acting like that?”

(y/n) rolled her eyes and huffed, “since middle school, he had this idea in his head that we were made for each other. “

Uma nodded before something came to her mind.

“one more question,” (y/n) nodded, tilting her head “why are you being so nice to us, no one else is?”

(y/n) looked down at the floor of her dorm, before staring right into Umas eyes, speaking loud enough for gil and harry to hear her.

“I guess its because I know you’ve all had a shit life, and you deserve some kindness.”

Uma stared at the (h/c) girl for a moment, before she broke her gaze and looked down at the floor.

“Um, thanks…I guess”

(y/n) smiled and bumped Umas shoulder with hers. “no problem”

A few moments of silence, other than harry using the sink int the bathroom, then (y/n) spoke up once more.

“umm, I know we've been hanging out, but I was wondering if you guys would be willing to be friends?”

Harry poked his head out of the bathroom, the whipped cream now clean from his head. The three pirates looked at each other before a smirk overcame on Umas face.

“sure, but you can only join our group if you do one thing.”

(y/n) tilted her head, raising her brow “and that is?”

Uma cackled, the boys smirking, knowing what was going to happen.

“prank mal.”

…

They thought (y/n) would deny the deal, but once again she surprised them.

A devious smirk spread on (y/n)s face, already having a million pranks going through her brain.

“deal, when do you want me to do it?”

Uma cackled, ah they found they best Auradon kid ever.

“as long as it's within the week”

“I got one already, it'll be done by tomorrow morning”

“can't wait to see what yeh do lassie~!”

--end of part 3--

Comment or message me for part 4

[lumiolivier]

Fan Fiction Master Post (and Where to Find Them):

Hello, Internet.  It’s been about a year and a half since I last updated my master post and it’d be nice for you to pass this one around instead of the others.  And so much has happened since the last list!  I finally jumped on the Ao3 train!  This list has got everybody here.  If you got nothing better to do and need a little fic to put on the wounds life has dealt you (or if you’re a little bit of a masochist and want something that’ll tear your soul to shreds), then pick a link and indulge yourself, K?  Like last time, this list is organized alphabetically by fandom and chronologically, if there’s a series.  You’ll see what I mean.  Enjoy!

** indicates a story in progress as of the time of posting this list.

Attack on Titan:

Classified Files:  Ackerman, Levi

AU Crack! Hanji needs a favor from Levi, but there's no way Levi would be so willing. That's what she has Eren for! But...Well...Why can't Hanji's experiments ever go right?

Black Butler:

Just a Simple Interview, Right?

1 of 4.  What starts out as just an interview with 19 year old earl Ciel Phantomhive for the paper turns into a little more than that a young reporter bargains for when she meets his enigmatic, yet beautiful butler. (Mostly T rated with some lemon chapters)

His Strange Little Girl and Her Butler, the Enigma

2 of 4.  She had her interview, but gained a few new friends and one very, very special butler. Now, she has her beautiful demon husband for the rest of eternity. But when the honeymoon’s over…is it really over? Of course not. We can’t have anything simple, can we?  (Also T rated with a few lemon chapters.)

You, Me, and Cambion Makes Three

3 of 4.  The Michaelis family has grown by one. The young lord has finally married Lady Elizabeth. So, what comes next? A little catastrophe, perhaps?  (Yet again, T rated with a few lemon chapters.)

Her Butler, One Last Time

4 of 4.  So blissfully living as a magazine contributor in modern day New York City. Until she meets her new landlord…or her demon husband from a past life?

Peace, Love, Unity, Respect

(Mini-series) She’s graduated college. Her boyfriend dumps her. Her roommates find a way to cheer her up. But for whatever reason, she’s feeling a little desperate. Especially when the DJ keeps giving her looks. He feels like he’s seen her somewhere before…

Crossovers:

Trouble Comes in Threes

(Hetalia x Fruits Basket)  Francis, Gilbert, and Antonio could get anyone they want. They're beautiful, they're young, and the whole school knows it. But...They've had it all and grow bored. Even traveling outside city limits wouldn't prove to be any sort of challenge. But after a mess of a party, it appears Yao and Kiku's family tree is extending its roots when their cousins relocate. They couldn't stay at the Sohma house forever.

A New Hacker Has Entered the Chat**

(DRAMAtical Murder x Mystic Messenger) The RFA is usually pretty airtight when it comes to their information. Although, when their systems end up getting hacked, Seven and MC put their heads together to figure out who did it and why their source is coming from two different places. 

DRAMAtical Murder:

His Angel Bunny

When Angel goes into work on her day off, she just wants to throw her head against the wall. Until she sees a cute boy with a face full of metal and a heart full of sadness. She had to do something about it. Little did she know, that would lead to the greatest domino effect adventure of her life.

About Time

Just a quick one-shot of Koujaku doing a HUGE favor to humanity. Thank you, Koujaku, for your bravery and your services.

Death Note:

Lawliet

Ever wonder how L happened? The name? The person? The little boy behind it all…? (child!Lx parental!Reader going into the Kira investigation)

Fairy Tail:

The Princess and the Dragon  

(AU) She wants to be where the wizards are. However, her father has other plans for her. Stay out of the books, Lucy! You don’t need to practice magic! How do you expect to further the bloodline if you don’t meet anyone?

The Siren’s Song

(AU) Beware a frozen heart desperate for warmth...What a load of garbage...Right?

The Knight in Shining Armor (At the time of me posting this, the last chapter is going out this week)

(AU) Erza's flashbacks to the days before she joined the guild kept getting worse and worse. Master Makarov couldn't stand to see one of the strongest members of the guild falling apart like that, so a special job for a special S-Class wizard should be enough to snap her out of it. Especially when that job is for the Fiore royal family.

Fullmetal Alchemist:

Halfmetal Heart

Edward and Winry’s precocious daughter Tricia has picked up the family trade, but when she goes to apply for her state certification, something wonderful catches her eye…

Don’t Forget

Their house used to be a pile of ash, but now, it’s a home as Edward and Alphonse reflect on the day it burned.  One-shot

Happy Birthday, Sir

Today marks a very special day in Amestris. It’s the Fuhrer’s birthday! And his wife has a little something, something planned for him, but can Mustang let it be a surprise?  One-shot.  Partially goes off the Halfmetal Heart canon

The Spark and the Sparrow

Just some young Royai fluff about a thunderstorm that happened at Master Hawkeye’s house.  One-shot

Hetalia:

Candy From Strangers**

Amelia's boyfriend is a jerk. No matter how anyone looks at it, he's a straight up jerk. One night, things got a bit out of hand and...Well...He's her ex-boyfriend now. A broken plate to the cheek does that. But a kind hearted stranger in the park was more than ok with fixing up more than the deep cut on her cheek.

Draw a Circle

France stumbles on a mysterious naked woman and can't keep her to himself, so he consults his good friend Britain. Who is she? And where did she come from?

The Legend of Zelda:

Courageous Duality

Five years after the Kokiri Village has been burned by the Gerudo King’s newest apprentice, Link gathers the intestinal fortitude to go back and pay his respects to his old home. Until he finds his true destiny deep within the Lost Woods.  Takes place after Ocarina of Time

MCU:

Kilgrave’s Good Little Girl

Who better to bring in a murderous psychopath than a murderous psychopath?  (Reader)

Mystic Messenger:

Mistake Messenger

A one-shot collection of alternate routes for Mystic Messenger ranging from sweet and fluffy to naughty and depraved. MC x EVERYONE.

Man’s Best Intern

(AU) Poor Jaehee. Overworked. Underpaid. Under appreciated. Luckily, with the newest C&R intern, anything is possible. Although, when Mr. Han takes a particular shine to her, Jaehee’s workload may be doubled even more.

The Number Next Door**

(AU)  MC has finally gotten the opportunity to move into the apartment building of her dreams. After years of clawing her way up with her design blog, things have finally fallen into place for her. That is, until she learns her next door neighbor likes to blast meme music at 1AM.

Regularly Scheduled Programming

(One-shot) Saeran and MC indulge themselves with one night a week for garbage TV. Although, sometimes, we can't always get what we want.

Ouran High School Host Club:

Kiss, Kiss

1 of 3.  You’re starting at a new school and for any normal person, that’s difficult. For someone with your list of diagnoses, it’s even worse. Especially when all you want is to keep your head down and find a quiet place to study.

Back to Normal, I Guess

2 of 3.  After her summer in New York, Lana goes back to her school in London with her heavy heart full of the memories she made at Ouran Academy. But little does she know, the Ouran Host Club will always be there to welcome her back, no matter what time zone she’s in.

Our New Normal

3 of 3.  Lana misses Japan. Can we blame her? Unfortunately, she had to graduate from Ouran Academy sometime. But her new life in New York with Kyoya is only just beginning. College is an entirely different ballgame.

Switch**

Daddy's only looking out for his little girl and he wants what's best for her. She's not ready to take over the...uh..."family business" quite yet. She doesn't understand why she has to go so far just to go to school. But Daddy's word is law. Hey...Why does the angry guy in her homeroom seem familiar? And what's a host club?

Supernatural:

A Family Forged in Fire

1 of 2.  Lena was living in an orphanage. Constant rejection day in and day out. They were looking for a baby, not her. Little did she know that a case would bring a pair of brothers that would turn her life upside down.

When the Fire Goes Out

2 of 2.  After taking down the devil himself, a girl needs to get away, doesn’t she? Even though it puts her brothers in a worry and opens up a golden opportunity for someone new to slip into her life.

Yuri!!! On Ice:

Adopted

1 of 2.  AU: Victor and Violet adopted two precious little boys that they can’t help but love and became an unorthodox family. Even though the youngest can’t stand the oldest, but that’s the way siblings work. And things get even more troublesome when they both want to take up the very thing that brought Mommy and Daddy together.

Off the Rails

2 of 2.  After Junior Grand Prix, the Nikiforov family has moved to New York and began their training for next season, including Violet’s comeback. However, her comeback may be a bit more than she…or Victor…bargained for.

Not a Perfect Fairytale (But It’s Ours)

Fairytale AU.  Whoever decided the prince needed a princess has terrible foresight…

Surprise

Yurio is always a little paranoid, but for some strange reason, today, his radar was up even more than usual. Especially when Yakov doesn’t yell at him for missing a simple jump.  One-shot

Dr. Nikiforov Has a Ring To It

Getting sick sucks something awful on its own. Getting sick with no one else home but your overbearing roommate to take care of you? That’s a mess in itself.  One-shot

Pierced Through the Heart

(One-shot) Yurio and Otabek had been together a while now. Why couldn't they have something match like Victor and Yuri?

[quoth-the-sparrow]

Sparrow’s Masterpost of Fics

-Updated 6/13/19-

I finally made one of these! Here’s the links to all the stories I’ve written, and even some headcanons I’m rather proud of. I’ll try and update this every month or so. You can also find me here on ao3! (Speaking of, there will be some shorter stories/drabbles not linked here but are on my ao3; I ended up liking the ao3 versions better)

Chaptered Fics

Simply Meant To Be (Complete) - Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4 - Mutual Pining/Eventual Prinxiety, Background Logicality, Platonic Analogical, Platonic Moxiety - Virgil decides to start painting; he is very gay for a certain Prince; enjoy these soft fluffy famILY dynamics - Total Word Count: 6,096

Trouble (Complete) - Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3 - Eventual Analogical, Implied Past Anxceit (unhealthy past relationship), Platonic LAMP/CALM - This takes place directly after “Can LYING Be Good?”. Please heed the tags/warnings in all 3 chapters; this story gets rough before it gets better - Hurt/Comfort - Total Word Count: 5,088

Workaholic (Complete) - Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3 - Romantic Analogical, Romantic Royality - Logan works way too much and Virgil’s had about enough - Hurt/Comfort - Total Word Count: 5,039

Caught In The Rain (Ongoing) - Ch 1 - Mutual Pining/Eventual Prinxiety, Background Logicality - Roman finds out his best friend Virgil’s secret and helps him through it - Mild Hurt/Comfort - Total Word Count: 908

Coming Home (Ongoing) - Ch 1, Ch 2 , Ch 3 - Mutual Pining/Eventual LAMP/CALM - What happens when four very gay people live together in one house? We’re about to find out! - A bit of Fluff, a bit of (or a lot of) Hurt/Comfort - Total Word Count: 5,235

One-Shots

Sing Me To Sleep - Mutual Pining/Eventual Prinxiety, Background Logicality - Roman catches Virgil singing aloud- something the anxious side never does - Fluff - Word Count: 1,000

The Star Party - Romantic Analogical - Virgil takes Logan on a date - Pure fluff - Word Count: 568

It’s A Secret - Mutual Pining/Romantic Analogical - Logan is apparently good at video games… and flirting? - Fluff - Word Count: 545

Love Like You - Platonic Moxiety, Background/Implied Logicality, implied/mutual pining Prinxiety - Virgil thinks he isn’t good enough; Patton is there to tell him otherwise - Song Fic, Mild Hurt/Comfort - Word Count: 1,250

Flirting With Logan - Romantic Logince - Logan tries to get some work done but Roman proves to be incredibly distracting - Fluff, Slight NSFW (more implied than anything else but still) - Word Count: 383

Prom Date - Mutual Pining/Eventual Analogical, Mutual Pining/Eventual Royality, Platonic Logicality - Logan asks his crush to prom - Fluff - Word Count: 522

Last Of The Real Ones - Mutual Pining/Eventual Moxiety - Virgil is a Gay Disaster - Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort - Word Count: 1,020

The Missing Shirt - Mutual Pining Moxiety - Virgil finds his shirt in an unexpected place - Fluff - Word Count: 1,140

Out Of This Town - Mutual Pining/Eventual Analogical - Virgil is ready to leave his old life behind- but is he ready to leave Logan behind as well? - Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort - Word Count: 1,365

Cold-Blooded - Platonic/Mutual Pining DLAMP - The sides are still getting used to having Deceit around - Fluff - Word Count: 706

Sanders Sides Angst - Romantic Moxiety - Major Character Death/Unhappy Ending - Word Count: 500

Couples Costumes - Romantic Prinxiety - Roman and Virgil want to dress up for Halloween but don’t know who to go as - Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort - Word Count: 858

Noodle - Romantic DLAMP - Dee and Virgil are sassy boys - Fluff - Word Count: 230

Precipice - No Ships - One of the Sides has a nightmare - Angst - Word Count: 391

Cure - Mutual Pining Analogical - Logan has a bit of a crisis/crush; takes place directly after “Learning New Things About Ourselves” - Mild Hurt/Comfort - Word Count: 988

When Darkness Turns To Light - Mutual Pining Analogical, Romantic Royality - A certain Dark Side takes advantage of Logan’s greatest fears; takes place directly after “Learning New Things About Ourselves - Hurt/Comfort - Word Count: 5,013

The Third Date - Romantic Logince - Logan goes over to Roman’s house for dinner - Fluff - Word Count: 582

Jellyfish - Mutual Pining/Eventual Logicality, Romantic Prinxceit (Roman, Virgil + Dee) - Patton takes his crush out on a date - Fluff - Word Count: 941

How To Ask Your Crush Out (Or A Tale Of Two Disaster Gays) - Mutual Pining/Eventual Analogical - Virgil gets up the courage to ask Logan out - Fluff - Word Count: 1,081

Sweet As Candy - Romantic Moxiety - Patton is a sweet angel, surprising no one - Fluff - Word Count: 726

Friends in Unexpected Places - Mutual Pining Logince - Roman moved to a new school and is having trouble until a certain cute nerd offers to help - Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort - Word Count: 1,135

The Words You Speak - Mutual Pining/Eventual Analogical, Mutual Pining Royality - Logan says the wrong thing and it affects him more than he'd care to admit - Mild Hurt/Comfort - Word Count: 1,983

Bound Together - LAMP/CALM - Adorable Gays celebrating the completion of their junior year of high school - Fluff - Word Count: 1,260

Makeup Crisis - Platonic Prinxiety, Platonic Sleepxiety - Virgil experiences a bit of a crisis - Fluff - Word Count: 725

Two Little Words - Romantic Analogical, Mutual Pining Royality - Virgil comes out to their boyfriend - Mild Hurt/Comfort - Word Count: 1,226

Headcanons

Virgil Headcanons - My mindscape hc’s for the purple stormy boi

Logan Headcanons - My mindscape hc’s for the nerd boi

Analogical Headcanons - Pt 1, Pt 2 - My human!au hc’s for my all-time favorite ship (I promise I will write stories for this… at some point)

Deceit Headcanon - This is a theory/idea I’d had of why Dee is a villain

[alexasbookreviews]

Strange the Dreamer Review

⭐️⭐️⭐️

So... wow. Just wow. 

I have so many mixed feelings about this book it's kind of shocking. I've never had such a mixed reaction to a book. It took me 2 days to get through the first half of this book which is extremely rare for me, especially during Covid-19 isolation when there is nothing to do but read. 

Any one who reads this book expecting action and adventure in the first couple of pages will be sorely disappointed, as I was at first. Although the first half of the book is beautifully written and had some of the best descriptions of a fantasy world I’ve ever read, it was also incredibly slow. But oh man did I fly through the second half of this book! 

Beware Spoilers Ahead!

Lazlo Strange

“Lazlo owned nothing, not one single thing, but from the first the stories felt like his own hoard of gold.”

Now, let me start off by saying Lazlo Strange is the purest soul and I have never wanted to jump into a book and hug a grieving character as much as I did with Lazlo. He is and forever will be, my spirit animal. The way that he describes books is exactly how I feel and was never able to put into words. Finally, my thoughts towards books, stories, and legends are out there on paper for people to see and I feel as if someone sees me the way no one has before. And that person is Lazlo Strange (but actually it was Laini Taylor).

“Lazlo couldn't have belonged at the library more truly if he were a book himself.”

Yes Lazlo, I see you, and I feel you.

“Strange the dreamer, they called him. “That dreamer Strange.”

“He believed in magic, like a child, and in ghosts like a peasant. His nose was broken by a falling volume of fairy tales his first day on the job, and that, they said, told you everything you needed to know about strange Lazlo Strange: head in the clouds world of his own, fairy tales and fancy.”

So basically when I think about Lazlo Strange, I think about a rugged 20 year old man who on the inside is truly a fluffy teddy bear that is unable to even hurt a fly, or in this case, a moth. Such an innocent little wildflower but by the end he’s basically the Tizerkane warrior that he always dreamt of being. He did not think before scooping Sarai’s body into his arms and flying up to the citadel where he basically forced Minya to save Sarai’s soul. It was both romantic and demanding which made me fall for him even more than I had before. The last 100 pages of the book was the most action packed and lovely ending that I could have ever imagined. 

Can we talk about the character development in the span of 500 pages?! Lazlo went from being Strange, “The Dreamer” to crazy beast city saving godspawn who simultaneously saves a city while also changing people’s minds to what godspawns could truly be. Like talk about a hero! And the way he saved Sarai was simply swoon worthy. Until he singlehandedly handed Sarai to Minya’s evil mind grip. Either way, Minya was planning on taking hold of Sarai's soul but now she has the power of both Sarai AND Lazlo’s newfound powers.

Lastly, the friendship between Lazlo and Ruza kept me alive for the first half of the book. It was the best kind of friendship and I just wanted more Ruza. I didn't get nearly enough and I was laughing every time they were together.

“Don’t look at me like that,” said Ruza. “Like what” “Like I’m a beautiful book you’re about to open and plunder with your greedy mad eyes.”

“There, there,” Lazlo consoled. “You're a very fierce warrior. Don’t cry. You’re terrifying.” “Really?” asked Ruza in a pitiful little hopeful voice. “You’re not just saying that?”

Sarai

“She was young and lovely and surprised and dead. She was also blue.”

What can I possibly say about Sarai? I feel like I didn't get nearly as much of her personality as I did from Lazlo but then again, she was trapped in the citadel her whole life so what could there be to write about her. I found myself wishing I knew more about her past life but I guess thats because she knows about her own life just as much as I do.

“Sarai was the Muse of Nightmares.”

I also want to know about the other Godspawns! I couldn't help but feel furious when Feral and Ruby got together and left poor Sparrow out in the cold. I wanted Feral to push Ruby off him and go look for the people that he ACTUALLY liked. When he listed which girl he would rather be with Ruby was last on his list. Then again, Sparrow was second and she deserves to be first. Such a precious human who deserved better than what she has so far.

Overall, when it comes to Sarai’s character I hope to learn more about her character in the second book because as of now, it just seems like she’s a sad girl who spoke to someone new for the first time in her life and fell in love. It's hard not to be skeptical of Sarai and Lazlo’s love for one another because they are basically the first person of the opposite sex that they have talked to and saw a bit of interest in.

Thyon Nero

“If Lazlo was a silent baby, harshly raised by resentful monks, Thyon was a small, charming tyrant who demanded everything and was given even more.”

Thyon is the type of character that I want to hate because he’s just an overall mean person who looks out for no one but himself, yet I can’t help but feel bad for Thyon. Like when you see a ferocious puppy. It’s not the puppies fault that it grew up with aggressive circumstances. Just like a puppy, I want to adopt Thyon and teach him how to be nice to people and how to love others.

Enlighten me, Strange,” said Thyon. “In what version of the world could you possibly help me?”

In the end, Lazlo got the revenge (which he never actually wanted) by being the key to saving the Unseen City. The only saving quality I can see in Thyon was the fact that he ran to where he thought Lazlo was when he figured out that the Mesarthim that Lazlo had held had been molded. He was running to speak to Lazlo about what he had found when he could have kept it to himself. Yes, Lazlo figured it out before Thyon had the chance to tell him but it's the thought that counts! Right?

Final Thoughts

In the end, I wish the first half hadn’t been so hard to get through. It was when Lazlo and Sarai meet for the first time where I felt like the book came alive and really became something that I could really enter into and submit myself to completely. Once I got there, there was no taking me away from the strangeness of Sarai and Lazlo. 

I think Minya said it best when she said, “A man makes eyes at you, and just like that you’re ready to turn your back on us and go play house in Weep. Are you so hungry for love? I might expect as much of Ruby, but not of you.” Now, I’m not much of a fan of Mine but I can’t help but agree with her. I think that their “love story” should have started MUCH earlier than it had and that way it wouldn't feel as if they met once and the second time they saw each other were professing their love for each other. It just feels awfully realistic. Then again, they are in a world where people can control ghosts, nature, fire, weather, and dreams. So I guess realistic isn't really what Laini Taylor was looking for,

Now, the final chapter of this book ripped my heart out. Just the fact that Sarai died and is now a ghost I already didn't believe that Lazlo and Sarai could last like that. The fact that Sarai is at the complete control of Minya is 1,000,000 times worse than I ever could have imagined.

“How could it be that in his triumph he had saved everyone but her?”

Why don’t you just rip my heart out instead of making me read that line. I sincerely hope for the sake of my own heart that Muse of Nightmares is easier to get through than Strange the Dreamer because I need to know that Shaini and Lazlo will beat the shit out of Minya and whoever else gets in their way.

Some of my Favorite Quotes

“Forbid a man something and he craves it like his soul’s salvation, all the more so when that something is the source of incomparable riches.”

“Life won’t just happen to you boy,” he said. “You have to happen to it. Remember: The spirit grows sluggish when you neglect the passions.”

“All his life, time had been passing in the only way he knew time to pass: unrushed and unrushable, as sands running through an hourglass grain by grain.”

“And that’s how you go on. You lay laughter over the dark parts. The more dark parts, the more you have to laugh. With defiance, with abandon, with hysteria, any way you can.”

[whatdoyouexpectthistime]

Blood Spatter - Part 2

 Part 1

________________________________

It isn’t often I wake in the morning, even when it’s Sunday and the club is closed, so it takes a while for sleep to fall away and for me to gather my faculties. The place beside me is empty and cold, and I stare at the impression left on the sheets where the blanket it still a little pulled back.

Torrid recollections flood my mind, awakening the same heat deep within my body – it’s so intense I can feel Kiril’s thumb trailing down my cheek, playing across my lower lip and slipping into my mouth. But I know for a fact it was Sebastian who warmed my bed last night.

There has never been anything remotely unsatisfying about our encounters – when we relent to our need for carnal relief he is all I am able to think about, if I’m able to think at all.

I’m just lucky I didn’t moan Kiril’s name while in the throes of rapture.

I hope I didn’t.

Noises from elsewhere in the apartment draw my attention to the fact Sebastian is still here.

Another first.

He has never stayed the night, nor have I at his place, and that’s the way we’ve preferred to have it… have each other. Flesh on flesh without the hang-ups.

So what the hell does it mean?

He’s pottering around in my kitchen by the sounds of it, again not something he’s ever done nor am I used to – I am not entirely sure how I feel about this, especially with the memory of Kiril Lambert’s hands gripping my hips still vivid and fresh.

Wrapping myself in my fluffy robe, I take a moment to stretch out the wonderful ache of my body, and marvel at how much better I now feel.

Jazz still weighs on my mind – I will never let it go – but my brain is free of pain.

“Sebastian?” I call tentatively, poking my head out of the bedroom to scan the hall before heading to the kitchen.

“Expecting someone else?” he quips, meeting me under the arch, and if he hadn’t been smiling his usual charming smile, I might have really worried I’d sighed the wrong name in satisfaction.

“No, it’s just… this is different,” I offer, flopping onto a stool.

“Well, I had to make sure you’re okay,” he points out. “You were pretty messed up yesterday. How’s the head?”

“Still there,” I quip, rubbing the back of my neck. “Pain free, thanks to you.”

“Luckily for you, that’s the kind of healing I’m good at,” he grins, and with a wink turns to open the fridge.

Luckily he can’t see my expression – a cringy hybrid of guilt and scorching reminiscence.  

“Your fridge is a tragedy, it’s no wonder you’re unwell,” he grumbles, removing a bottle of milk well and truly past its use-by date.

“I don’t eat here often,” I shrug.

“Often enough to stock up on beer though,” he snorts.

“Beer is an important food group!” I defend sheepishly, and he casts me a reproachful look over his shoulder. “Come on, Sebastian, you’re not my nutritionist.”

“Maybe I should be,” he grunts, holding up a jar of… something. “This has been here since you moved in, hasn’t it?” he sighs, and I shrug. “Miho, it’s growing features of its own.”

“I’ll call it Jeff,” I announce proudly, and Sebastian straightens. “Fine, I’ll go shopping today and fill the fridge with vegetables.”

“Which you’ll inevitably not eat,” he huffs.

“Well it’s your fault for letting me have dessert first!” I volley triumphantly, and he narrows his eyes.

“You’re not having dessert for breakfast,” he tells me sternly.

“I’m an adult, I can eat whatever I like,” I proclaim obstinately, and he approaches when I get to my feet.

I feel like I’m playing a dangerous game with him standing here in my kitchen, like we’re about to cross an invisible line that borders fuck-buddy and love interest; not sure how I feel about that.

What I am sure I feel, is the settle of his hand on my hip and the warmth radiating from his chest as he draws closer.

“Eat whatever you like, huh?” he smirks, tapping his fingers.

“And yet I’m very selective about, what I put in my mouth,” I exhale against his lips, tempting him with half lidded bedroom eyes.

“Sadly, I’m not one of the food groups,” he teases, nipping my lips but refusing to allow me to delve much deeper.

“That’s fine,” I grin, pursuing him, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I’ll counteract with some exercise.”

“Mmm,” he murmurs, letting me catch him, delve into him, and get far too aroused before he pulls away. “Wish I could,” he says.

His eyes say yes, but he’s stepped back.

“But I have to get to Heathrow.”

My arms cross sulkily over my chest.

“My sister is coming home for a visit, and I promised to pick her up,” he adds in explanation.

“Fiiiiiiine,” I grump. “Guess I’ll just have to amuse myself.”

“Now there’s a stirring image,” he smiles cheekily.

“Ugh, get out before I jump you,” I growl, taking his arm and swinging him toward the door, and laughing he allows it.

  Doing something as normal as supermarket shopping feels for some reason quite strange. It’s not like I’m above the mundane necessities of life, but wandering up and down aisles pushing a cart is so far removed from the doof-doof of the club or the crystal finery of Pale’s lounge.

Hmm, the lounge, my wrist encircled by Kiril’s fingers.

“Are sanitary products truly so fascinating?” a voice queries, a caress down my spine though no contact is made.

“Did I just…” I blink, turning to look into Kiril’s laughing eyes.

“Did you just…?” he prompts, the slow smile creeping into his lips indicative of where he thinks my mind has gone.

He’s a regular customer and a powerful man… a stunning specimen… and so I try my best to hold in the roasting return volley that jumps first to my mind. Still, he’s the one inexplicably ambushing me in the feminine hygiene section.

“I’m just trying to decide if it’s worth paying extra for the organic product,” I remark casually, “considering its ultimate fate.”

To his credit, he doesn’t flinch at the discussion over tampons.

“One should never compromise on the finer things,” he philosophises, as easily as if we were talking about fine wine. “If you are unable to afford the more pleasant option, however, I would gladly pay the difference.”

There is no way I can’t laugh at this.

“Seriously?” I chuckle. “What on Earth are you doing here, Mr. Lambert?”

Shopping for a girlfriend perhaps? I know he doesn’t have a wife – a wedding like that would be spectacular. Kiril Lambert is business royalty after all.

“I’m stalking you,” he declares, his boy-like shrug incongruous with the expensive, clean lines of his charcoal, Savile Row suit.

A thrill shudders through me. It shouldn’t, but it does.

“I read somewhere you’re the CEO of a high-profile insurance company,” I say slowly, trying to measure my breaths. “That doesn’t dominate your time?”

“One should never compromise,” he repeats, reaching to the shelf and picking up a the most expensive box of tampons available, “on the finer things.”

Fighting a blush, I cover the effect of his implication with an incredulous laugh.

“So, let’s finish your shopping so we can talk,” he adds, and I feel my cheeks relax in response to the change in his tone.

Stern.

“Talk about what?”

“Your missing friend,” he replies, “and what I can do to help you find her.”

This I did not expect, and it slaps me into a bit of a daze.

”Wh… why?” I manage.

“Here is not the place to hold such a discussion,” he tells me, and begins to wheel my trolley.

Together we travel up and down the aisles in silence, and when all is done and paid for, he tells me his limousine driver will deliver them to my apartment when we’re finished with our café date.

Kiril’s words, not mine.

But it’s not just the café around the corner; oh no, we ride in conspicuous luxury to London’s newest exclusive eatery. This isn’t somewhere you can just walk off the street and enter, grab a table and a latte – it’s the kind of exclusive that opens with a month long waiting list, and a menu with pastries costing more than I might spend on food for a week.

As we enter, I’m aware of eyes turning to us: mostly women envious of my company and equally as critical of my ‘day off to slum it’ attire.

“This isn’t awkward at all,” I murmur but Kiril doesn’t break stride on his way through the doors toward a spacious booth at the rear of the café, urging me along with the feathery touch of his fingers in the small of my back.

“Ignore the spiteful stares of the envious, Sparrow,” he tells me softly, adding to the heat in my cheeks. “Unless you’d like to draw their ire a little more with a true spectacle?”

Suddenly, all I can hear, see, smell, taste and feel, is him. The recollection of the previous night, with the sense of him superimposed over Sebastian, hits me with full force and I actually stumble as my legs weaken.

“That’s a yes, is it?” Kiril whispers into my ear, my back against his chest, his arms steadying me. “Hmm? Right here in the middle of the café?”

“Mr. Lambert, welcome back,” a voice welcomes cheerfully, and Kiril shifts his eyes slowly in that direction. “Oh…uh… I apologise for interrupting,” the waiter rushes. “Should I… just…”

“Bring menus,” Kiril snaps, and the waiter scurries away, nearly falling over his own feet.

“Hungry?” I ask, gaining control over my senses again, but when I pull away from Kiril’s body I immediately wish I hadn’t.

“Oh, I could eat you up right here,” Kiril rumbles, and I think all my clothes fall off.

“I don’t think you’ll find me on the menu,” I tell him, leaving off the part where I’d happily make the necessary amendments.

“Shame,” he muses, entering the booth and settling.

He watches me do the same, every move I make catalogued by a stare that misses nothing.

“You said you could help find Jazz,” I say, knotting my fingers in front of me on the table top. “How?”

“I’ll be honest,” he says bluntly, the toe of his perfectly polished shoe bumping into mine, “but my information doesn’t come for free.”

That I will give him anything he asks for without hesitation is on my lips instantly, and I only just manage to keep from voicing it.

Anything is awfully broad.

“What could a man like you possibly want from me?” I ask instead, and his answer comes first as the slow brush of his foot up my calf.

So here is this insanely remarkable man playing footsies with me, and I ask him what he could want?

“Miho, it’s pretty clear what he wants!”

Even though his expression is polite, the amicable look of a man conducting business, he’s nudging me closer and closer toward a reaction. And I should want to demand he stop – hot or not he is all but a stranger and I do have a sense of decency – but I’m paddling against rapids trying ardently to sweep me away completely.

I want it, but I have my pride, and men like him don’t do anything without reason – take the risk?

“Take it,” a voice whispers: silk flowing over my skin.

“I’ve an incredibly boring work event to attend tonight, which would be infinitely more interesting with you at my side.”

“A date?” I chortle, unable to keep in my incredulity trapped. “That’s the best you can manage?”

Then the toe of those perfect shoes are against my thigh, moving closer to somewhere he most certainly shouldn’t be touching – my legs clench together, trapping his foot.

He doesn’t fight, leaving it where it is, and I absolutely should be standing up and stalking about enraged, but a very large part of me wants to find out what he intends to do with those mirror-shine shoes.

“Shall I show you the best I can manage?” he grins, an animalistic gleam in his eyes.

“I accept, on one condition,” I manage, my voice thin and dry, and one of his eyebrows lifts in amusement,

“Which is?”

I want Jazz back more than my own life is worth, but I’ve never uttered a sentence more difficult.

“You keep your hands – and feet – to yourself.”

Is there disappointment there? Frustration? Anything reflecting the rage of my own flesh? Maybe, but Kiril agrees nonetheless.

“I will hold you to your word,” he tells me seriously: a smouldering promise rather than a threat.

“And I to yours,” I exhale, wanting it to sound a whole lot more self-assured than it actually does. “So…”

Looking satisfied, Kiril leans back and temples his fingers.

“So, I need an escort,” he declares smugly. “Business dinners are tedious – you, will make it less so.”

Not exactly what I was anticipating, and that, along with some measure of disappointment I wish I could have kept to myself, must be written on my face because Kiril’s smile widens knowingly.

“Escort?” I repeat sceptically, hardly oblivious to the connotations.

“Would you feel better if I referred to you as my date?” he offers, challenging me in a different way. “Is that what you want it to be?”

A hawk, his gaze sharpens on his prey – me, a pigeon – and he’s about to sweep in for the kill.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter what it’s called,” I finally reply: non-committal. “You want arm candy; it is what it is.”

“Entertaining arm candy,” he adds. “Old men in pressed suits and starched collars are anything but exciting.”

“Surely a man in your position is used to that environment,” I point out.

“My familiarity with it has nothing to do with my lack of enjoyment,” he volleys easily. “And here you are, the perfect candidate to spice up the evening.”

“Because you have something I want,” I frown. “Or so you say.”

Don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered by his proposal, and my attraction to him is so powerful, I can barely contain myself.

I cross my legs.

“The moment you concede to my request, is the moment you find out for sure,” Kiril smirks, choosing to emphasise that word specifically, and I scowl.

It’s clear he is used to getting his way, but it’s just as evident he knows I’m not one to roll over, to bow, to surrender – but this is Jazz.

My greatest weakness as well as strength is laid bare before him, and he is taking advantage.

“I already told you,” I sniff, trying not to sneer or pout.

“Use my words, Sparrow,” he insists, burrowing through my sense of self-respect, laying waste to my ego.

Swallowing my pride, I square my shoulders confidently, owning my decision, my commitment to getting back my friend.

“I concede.”

This victory doesn’t seem to please him as much as I thought it would, and I capitalise.

“Now tell me what you know.”

Without hesitation he nods, and I’m floored.

“The Konstantin you’re searching for,” he begins, leaning back in a more casual posture, “is my little brother.”

Like I’ve been punched in the gut, all the air leaves me. Gasping like a fish out of water. The song and dance I’ve been making all over London in my attempts to locate Jazz and the one person of interest I have in her disappearance, and his very brother has been in my club every other night.

Suddenly I’m livid.

There’s no way he didn’t hear about my quest; I’ve been shoving my nose into every place I can think Jazz and Konstantin might have gone together, shouting my distress from the rooftops, and received only silence, even from the police.

“You had to have known before now,” I hiss, only just managing to keep the venom behind my teeth.

Leaning forward, I rise up, hands now fists pressed against the tabletop if only to keep them from lashing out at him in anger.

“Calm down, Sparrow,” he instructs, no longer smiling, but he can take his pet name and shove it up his ass.

“Don’t you dare ‘Sparrow’ me,” I growl, baring my teeth and pouring out all my potential for intimidation, which isn’t insignificant by any means. “Where is she?”

“That I do not know,” Kiril responds, spreading his hands with perfect calm. “In point of fact, I don’t even know where Konstantin is.”

Quivering with indescribable rage, I rock back and shuffle out of the booth, dead set on marching to the hell out of there and placing a call to Inspector Parker about this revelation, but Kiril slaps his hand around my wrist.

“You intend to go back on your word?” he whispers, tugging me against the edge of the table at his side.

“Oh, you set me up!” I exclaim loudly, glaring down at him - stares across the café turn to us.

“Yes, I did,” he admits, ignoring the attention we’ve drawn in favour of attempting to freeze me with those beautifully verdant eyes. “But if I’m not mistaken, you’d do anything for your friend, and agreed to do so.”

“I don’t need you to find her, Mr. Lambert,” I grate, lifting my arm, but Kiril holds firm. “I will take your name to the police and tell them you know something, so get your secretary to leave some time open for your interrogation.”

“Unlikely,” he counters, stroking the inside of my wrist with his thumb, which only enrages me more.

Against his pale skin, Kiril is suddenly wearing the handprint of my displeasure.

“If you knew anything about Jazz, you wouldn’t act like such a smug bastard,” I seethe, and my lips poise to continue when Kiril’s eyes narrow keenly.

The rising crest of my anger and indignation shudders as an opposing force meets it, attempts to push it back.

“Get off,” I snarl, throwing off his grip and stepping out of arm’s reach, allowing the swirl of ire to gather momentum once more. “If your brother has done anything to Jazz, I will burn him, and you also for daring to stand in my way.”

Storm clouds gather in his expression and thunder rumbles through every word Kiril speaks.

“It is unwise to threaten me, Miho,” he enunciated slowly, and cold ripples through my body.

“I… I’m leaving,” I stammer around the lump in my throat, but I find it impossible to move.

“If you leave now,” he says, so quietly and yet not whispering, “you will likely never see Miss Mann again.”

“And it’s just as unwise to threaten me,” I exhale thickly, though the heat in my face and the trembling air in my lungs is evidence enough I’m losing control of my composure.

Unaffected, Kiril rises, not once breaking eye contact. He is far taller than he should be, and the darkness at his back, outlining the shape of his imposing figure seems too real.

“Konstantin has an apartment not far from here,” he tells me, ignoring my unimpressive retort. “And I have a key.”

“Give it to me,” I hiss, breathless, too proud to cower, but far too unnerved to raise my voice much more.

“No,” he drops plainly, then his very edges soften. “But, you may join me – assuming of course you can wrestle your ego into submission long enough to reiterate your commitment to our agreement.”

Hubris calls for me to slap him again, to stalk out and ban him from ever entering Pale again – but my friendship with Jazz is far stronger than that. Even if he has something to do with Jazz’s disappearance, too – and I’d be stupid not to consider this given his manipulation – I have no real choice but to accept.

“I agree,” I tell him frostily, re-affixing my handbag on my shoulder and crossing my arms over my chest.

 Kiril watched Miho closely, relentlessly, where she sat beside him in the back of his limousine. She was still, a statue frozen in a moment of wrathful indignation, with her gaze fixed forward; but he knew she had him in her peripheral vision, seeming ready in an instant to defend herself from unwanted contact.

Contact he wanted.

There she was, so close to him, warm, determined and fierce, and desire pulsed through his veins. How easy it would be to drag her into his lap, snake his hands around her and squeeze around her delicious curves, and bury his face against her neck.

But he didn’t, because he suspected something Narumi had missed when she manipulated Miho’s thoughts into forgetting her encounter with Alex – a recollection that had already begun to surface once more. This resistance, the way she fought against his ability to overwhelm her emotions – and won – suggested she was even more than the stunning, confident businesswoman he’d first taken her for.

And he wanted her all the more for it.

As their vehicle pulled into a secured underground car park, Miho’s eyes widened a little.

“He lives here?” she questioned.

One Tower Bridge overlooked the Thames, and the iconic Tower Bridge itself. The complex as a ridiculous piece of real estate someone like Miho would never be able to afford – millions of pounds for luxury she only ever saw in film.

“This is the last address of his I’ve known,” Kiril responded, exiting the car himself, though it was the driver who released Miho from its confines.

Unlike the subterranean car parks Miho had experienced across the city, this one was bright and absolutely spotless. There were no petrol fumes, no rubber marks on the sealed concrete ground, and all painted markings were in pristine condition.

Without a word, Kiril began in the direction of the elevator, using the same key-card that had admitted their entry to the car park, to open them.

Dubiously, Miho stared at the confines of the elevator interior, obviously cautious about being trapped in the small space with Kiril without the presence of another person. Pure obstinacy pushed her forward and to the very back, where she leaned against the mirrored wall and glared as Kiril joined her.

“It’s going to be a very long night for you if you keep that up,” he pointed out, smiling like he actually hoped she’d persist.

“I suppose you’ve love me to be compliant and pliable and all over you like the women you bring to Pale,” she snorted, continuing to glower as the doors closed them in.

“Oh no, I quite prefer you combative,” he chuckled, moving closer, and Miho sidestepped to avoid being further boxed in. “Much more entertaining.”

“I’m not here for your amusement,” she huffed, crossing her arms again, but it made balancing a second dodge a little difficult.

She found herself in the corner, Kiril directly before her looking most pleased with himself; and she was infuriated, in part because he insisted on challenging her when she was here only to serve her mission, but more so that the closer he drew, the more her skin eagerly anticipated his touch.

The doors opened on the fourth floor to a clear and pleasant chime, but Kiril continued to smoulder, close enough to Miho for her to actually feel the radiant heat from his body – or so it seemed.

“No comeback, Sparrow?” he prompted smugly, leaning his head forward, and Miho turned her cheek.

“My comeback might very well be my knee to your groin if you keep pushing me,” she growled, but Kiril’s smile only widened.

“The lady likes to rough-house,” he noted, and Miho expelled a frustrated breath, using her shoulder to nudge past him and exit to the landing.

Chuckling, Kiril followed – the more she rebuffed him, the greater his desire for her to submit to him willingly.

“So you’re a big-wig CEO,” Miho said, approaching one of only two doors on the floor. “What does Konstantin do to be able to afford a place like this?”

“I tend not to involve myself in my brother’s affairs,” Kiril replied, touching the key-card to the electronic lock beside the door. “The origin of his wealth has nothing to do with me.”

“Yet you’ve access to his luxury apartment,” Miho pointed out dryly.

“I never said it was given to me,” he responded, reaching around her to push open the door. “Ladies first.”

Well that obviously changed things a little – card or no card, it was trespass if Kiril didn’t have permission to be there. What if Konstantin was home?

“Even better,” Miho muttered in determination, and stomped into the spacious, dark wood appointed living area.

But it was quiet and clean, and Miho’s call to Jazz went unanswered.

“Refrigerator is empty,” Kiril noted, not that he was especially surprised, but Miho did not respond.

In the master bedroom she’d thrown open the door to the walk-in closet to search for women’s clothing, but finding none, she made her way to the ensuite. There she found no evidence of a woman either, but that only meant Jazz hadn’t made herself at home – or maybe hadn’t been given an opportunity to.

“Damnit,” she cursed, rushing from room to room, scanning, opening, searching every nook and cranny.

Kiril, meanwhile, was far from frantic. He wandered lazily from room to room, but wasn’t really looking for anything in particular. When he finally reached the master bedroom, he stopped in the doorway, staring.

On all fours, with backside in the air and her right cheek pressed against the plush carpet, Miho was peering under the king-sized bed, fishing around for what, Kiril did not know; but he found himself transfixed by the sight. Her posture was not an invitation by any means, and yet the idea of folding himself over her, pulling back on her hair and tasting the skin of her throat, bubbled furiously in his blood. Resisting the urge to follow through tainted the sound of his voice when he finally spoke.

“What are you expecting to find under there?”

Her body flinched but did not straighten. Instead she reached a little further, grunting as she reached her limit, and only sat back when she’d snared her prize.

“Apartments like this are serviced by professional cleaners,” Kiril pointed out, approaching. “It’s unlikely you’ll find any traces of your friend.”

“And yet…” Miho smiled thinly, staring at the small black and white swirled bead.

To Kiril it meant very little, but obviously Miho knew something.

 Inhaling slowly, I close my eyes.

This seemingly generic bead clasped between my fingers is personal to me. The ridiculously overpriced Pandora bracelet I’d given Jazz for her last birthday, comprised of elements I had chosen individually.

But there is something much deeper here, and I’m suddenly not me anymore.

The world tilts and my ears are filled with the sound of Jazz laughing, laughter emerging from my lips. She opens her eyes and I’m staring into the face I know as Konstantin’s, and his lips press against my collarbone.

Raggedly, my breath hitches as he holds me firmly against him, my legs, Jazz’s legs against the edge of the bed – and I’m giggling as he kisses up my neck and threatens to topple me backwards. But he has to work for it, I struggle and squirm and try to fend him off, but the way he grips Jazz’s wrist is a grip unbreakable, somehow gentle but commanding against my refusal to submit. Finally, he twists a leg behind mine and shoves us back against the mattress, and as Jazz’s back sinks into the deep softness of the duvet, the Pandora bracelet explodes from my wrist and beads bounce all around us.

A stillness falls as the last glass sphere rolls into hiding beneath the bed, and Konstantin peers at me with an intensity that stokes a dangerous furnace within my belly – and I can feel his desire pressing insistently between my thighs, and as he releases Jazz’s wrist, I fold my arms around his neck and draw him down to meet a fierce passion of my own.

It bounces twice, the black and white, silver swirled bead as it drops from my hold to the sound of a breathy moan. A shudder rips through my body, but as I blink, it’s Kiril’s hand I find against my cheek, his body so close we’re lightly touching. We’re standing in Konstantin’s bedroom, of course – I was always there despite what I saw and felt; it doesn’t make sense. And my emotions are muddled, mine and Jazz’s blended together, my flesh singing from Konstantin’s promise of carnal pleasure: suddenly reflected in the coolness of Kiril’s palm brushing against my face.

“What… are you?” I exhale, heat on my breath, a shivering anticipation of his slowly approaching face and a painful conflict between wanting him to take me like his brother had – hadn’t – and knowing I have every reason to shove him away.

I should shove him away.

“That look,” he responds, green fire crackling in the slim space between us, and I tremble as his other hand comes to rest lightly against my hip. “That invitation.”

“It’s not…” I begin, but my body betrays me, shifting with his encouragement to close all distance. “Kiril…” I hiss, desperately fighting to order my thoughts before I’m drowned by this wave of inexplicable need, this ludicrous urge for him to smother me. “I saw… I saw them…”

“I see you,” he states plainly, and his lips tease across mine.

Arching into him flashes an unintentional green light, and our mouths unite with a dizzying lust over which I have very little control.

PART 3

[sparrowandbee]

Chapter 4, Part 1 | Chapter 5, Part 1

The Sparrow: Chapter 4, Part 2: Little Lies

Synopsis: Marian and Haymitch debrief after the first day of training. Marian must decide if she will reveal her strategy to him at the risk of nurturing his hope.

Warnings: Some swearing.

Author's Note: Almost done with this month’s batch of chapters! Thank you for reading along! :) - Lu 🪶

Word count: 1228

Alder stood next to me on the glass elevator, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He had just beaten the boy from District 2 in a race- we were both playing dangerous games.

But I reminded myself that I wasn’t there to win, I just had to survive, and I had been surviving for 18 years- what’s two weeks more?

Relief poured through me when I stepped into the large marble shower in the spacious bathroom attached to the bedroom in the penthouse. I thought the first shower would have been the best, but they just kept getting better. I had already tried the ‘flowering lotus and watercress’ scent and chose ‘lavender and honey' this time.

I closed my eyes as the foamy soap descended on me, mingling with the abundant stream of warm water coming from the wide, polished silver showerhead above. I closed my eyes and scrubbed myself, allowing my thoughts to subside as the steamy scent transported me to some distant floral glade.

I wrapped myself in the fluffy white robe which was embroidered with the Capital insignia in red and gold thread. All momentary prizes for my service in their entertainment.

Despite myself, I revelled in it all.

After I had oiled and brushed my hair as the stylists had the day before, I felt like a freshly picked bouquet. I kept my damp curly hair on my shoulder so I could inhale the rose oil as it coupled itself with the lavender on my body.

Even when I had a few precious moments to sit by the small pond behind the Hobb, I was never this relaxed… each of my senses was completely at ease for the first time in my life and I was ready to turn down. I’d probably just use the screen in my room to order food, maybe

I’d peruse the non-Games related content on the large screen television in front of the oversized, silk-lined grey bed of my room.

I walked through the short hallway which connected the bathroom to the large but empty closet and finally into the main room, the cold marble turning into sturdy hardwood and then plush carpet under my feet. I hummed a tune I remembered from when I lived with my mom under my breath.

It had been 10 years since I hadn’t thought about it but something about my strange state of being, halfway through life and death, made me remember those times with fondness rather than sadness or anger.

My hand brushed the sleek white nightstand on the side of the bed as I lazily reached for the slim grey screen, dimming down the warm yellow lights of the room. I gasped dramatically at the sight of chin-length dark hair sitting on the pink upholstery in front of the fireplace of the small sitting area on the other side of the room.

“Haymitch?” I called out to him and he turned his head, setting down his half-full glass of whiskey on the petite, circular gold table to his right. I tightened the robe around my waist, a simple precaution against the general cruelty of men that I did not abstain Haymitch from… as much as he had grown on me.

“Uh, M, I-” he slurred out, stumbling over his words as he tried to ignore the awkwardness of the situation. “I- uh… just, I-”

I looked at him quizically, my brows furrowed as I tried to figure out what he was trying to verbalize. I burst out into a chuckle, revelling in the humour of the situation. He laughed too, and soon our giggles bounced off the tall, bare walls of the bedroom.

Was he drunk?

Definitely, but it was still endearing to watch stoic Haymitch stumble with a goofy grin on his face.

“Sorry, sorry,” he finally breathed out between chuckles. “Damn it, I completely forgot what I was going to say,” he stood and stepped towards me, tapping his finger against his glass, the large bed serving as a chasm between us.

I step closer to the edge of the bed. We were both touching the cool, smooth dusty pink duvet.

“Oh!” He snapped, and stood up straight, “Right! You suck!”

He points at me and sneaks another sip of his nearly empty cup. It was my turn to chuckle.

“Haymitch, I-”

“No,” his voice got stern as his smile dropped, “I was watching you, M. Somehow you failed every single skill despite being the only kid who has had to use them to survive for god-knows how long…” he sighs. It was difficult to see him this visually upset. “I don’t know what you’re playing at but I find it hard to believe you literally have no skills. I’m not going to tell you what to do but I will say that this training time matters. Sponsors are watching too, and they don’t support tributes who don’t perform well.”

I let his sincere sternness sit in the air. I saw the glimmer in his eyes again, the dangerous dash of hope. The hope I couldn’t let him hang on to. I couldn’t tell him about my strategy because if it failed he couldn’t blame himself.

“I’m sorry,” I looked down, pretending to be embarrassed, keeping my cards close to my chest, “I’m trying but it’s not the same. It’s so different when you’re actively being hunted, not just getting by day to day. Plus, I ate my first proper meal just two days ago, you can’t exactly blame me for being behind.”

He nodded, looking off to my left. “I know. I get it, but that’s why you have to learn to survive, so the cold and the hunger don’t kill you. So you can have a fighting chance.”

There it was again.

“Why do you care so much about me?” I asked genuinely this time. He swallowed and looked down, I wanted to hold his hand, I wanted to understand this enigma of a man who stood by my bed. “Why don’t you treat Alder like this?”

“You should get some sleep,” he sighed and walked towards the door.

“Please, Haymitch. It’s been… weird since we met.”

He stopped at the edge of the bed, just five steps from the door. He avoided my eyes and looked down at the empty crystal in his hands.

“You don’t know me. You don’t know what’s weird for me. Maybe… maybe I just want to help out a kid from the Seam.” He basically whispered the last part out.

-

I told a lie I hoped she would believe because I wasn’t about to reveal that I had caught glimpses of her around the Seam.

The wide-eyed girl who gave her tesserae to the sidewalk orphans every month, even if it meant she had to beg for leftovers at the Hobb.

She, with the braid pleated down her back, the clandestine books she snuck around and her hand-embroidered flowers on old blouses.

I couldn’t let her die.

-

Bullshit.

We both knew that wasn’t it, but I didn’t probe any further.

We had both lied to each other that night, to protect the other. So I just nodded and gave him a small smile.

“Night, M.” He said under his breath as he scurried out and opened one of the double doors.

“Good night, Haymitch,” I replied as the door closed softly behind him.

—

Next Chapter

Masterlist

[roxypeanut]

So after reading the GQ interview with Pedro and about how he finds himself fascinated by the neighborhood birds I noticed that I’ve been doing the EXACT samething at work and have been for like a month🤦🏻‍♀️

I’ve been fortunate to work in an industry where I’ve been working the entire time during my state’s stay-at-home orders; still having to go into my office daily. The downside is that for almost 2 months there has been very little for me to do over the course of the work day and I have ALOT of free time. I’ve got a cute bit of landscaping outside of my office and it attracts a lot of smaller birds who hunt for bugs and whatnot. I’ve got 3 sparrows who hangout in one of the bushes and we have some crows who like to hang out by the brewery next door, one of them has taken to hanging out on the porch roof.

I don’t even really like birds all that much despite always having them as pets growing up but these lol fluffy stinkers are my daily entertainment. The crow just sits and chills, occasionally brings something from the brewery’s trash to pick at. The 3 sparrows bop back and forth picking at the baby leaves on the rose bush. Occasion a robin will join the crew. It’s a regular fellowship of the ring out there.

When I made this last night (which was late) I saw the bird shape and wished I’d have made some adjustments to it to fully turn it in to one

[hellhounds-fails-at-minecraft]

Hilonins! a new race i made to be 100% customized with only a handful of rules to them. the first one i made is Gama the bomber-hawk Hilonin. bomber-hawk means that his unique ability (every Hilonin has one or more and arent limited by it) is to dive at his opponent at max speed like a dropped bomb. this race lives in Delta-Earth as it’s STILL our Earth but in a different verse and a different spin on how things went.

Hilonins are a goblin-bird like race ranging from 10-13ft tall. they're each unique in color and feathering design but NO difference between male and female aside from what they tell you. no matter what kind of bird they are they can ALL fly but at varying speeds. there's NO way of knowing a Hilonin's gender unless they tell you what they are themselves. it's safer to just use they/them just in case.

this race is relatively peaceful until threatened. once threatened they'll round up EVERYONE who WANTS to fight and attack in a swarm of giant sharp beaked birds moving at flesh tearing speeds. Hilonins are a very close and family oriented race. if something goes wrong then everyone gets involved. they get along with canine and equine races. dont get along with felines and barely get along with rodents (as they're spooked by giant flying goblinoids).

roles

hawks/eagles/owls (raptors)-- warriors, guards, hunters, and general muscle of their villages

chickens/penguins/pheasants-- babysitters, caretakers, cooks, pest control

seed eaters/chickens/fruit n bug eaters-- foragers, grazers, diggers, alternative food gatherers

sparrows/parrots/peacocks(?)-- scouts, distractions, harassers???

diet

fish

rodent

deer

rabbit

occasional human

fruits

nuts

seeds

veggies

grains

bugs

bones

rotten flesh

naming is rather easy for this race. when they name their young or themselves they go off a word that they had heard at one point. basically a Hilonin does the parrot thing where when they hear a word they'll use it. so a Hilonin could be called Rock, Gama, Battery, River, Forest, Mountain, etc. the only names they CANT use is Talon, Crash, Phoenix, Boomer, Luna, and Sun.

the chin piece is called a Talon (hence why they cant be named it). it's a piercing that holds great significance among their race but no one truly knows why they wear these things. they double as spare bronze teeth and are pierced through the lower lip but are positioned to rest on their chin. once they're attached they're pretty much stuck there for the rest of their life.

Luna and Sun are 2 Hilonin gods. a bird of the moon and a bird of the sun. Luna is a MASSIVE owl made of stars and galaxies. her eyes are 2 moons that change through the lunar phases each day/night. she feeds off wishes and dreams. Sun is an equally massive bearded vulture. he's made of clouds and red flames with his eyes being 2, less blinding, yellow suns. he feeds off joy and anger.

Crash and Boomer are 2 other Hilonin gods. they're the birds of storms and trickery. Boomer is a three-wattled bellbird who wields storms of all kinds. thunder is his cries of triumph or his roars of anger. his eyes are made of light and electricity. he feeds on clouds, sucks out its white fluffy color, then releases it, turning it into a dark stormy cloud.

Crash is a shape shifting bird who's main form is a kookaburra. he's always the one to blame for odd phenomenons or bad luck or for an entertaining moment that wasn't intentional. his eyes are "hypnosis wheels" and he feeds off peoples reactions to his antics. because of his unnatural dark colors he's able to hide or blend in so no one can see him causing mischief

Phoenix is the Hilonin variant of death and life. wherever she goes, fire will follow. wherever she’s been, life will bloom. she’s a peacock made of pure flame though her eyes are made of dead coals. Phoenix feeds on oxygen and flammable gases.

[theguardianangel-fanfiction]

Once Bitten, Twice Dead

Summary: It’s been two years since the beginning, and only five days since Clementine met them. But somehow, things got so much worse, and Carver was just the beginning. [Season 2 AU/canon divergent. New situations, characters, etc.] Chapter 3: Be Aware of Your Surroundings. Author’s Note: I will be posting 1 chapter a day on Tumblr. Each chapter is already posted on AO3 and Fanfiction. I will resume posting on those 2 websites on October 1st, 2017. [Main Blog] [AO3] [FanFiction.Net]

She tried to avoid jumping at every little sound she heard, but the rustling of bushes and constant, sudden loud cawing of birds continued to go above and beyond its expectation to be unsettling. Clementine knew she had to be cautious; she had no weapon, after all. Maybe being neurotic in this case was better than not being careful at all.

Clementine found nothing but the occasional bird on the ground as she continued on down the dusty path. There were several crows and sparrows that seemed to enjoy hiding in bushes and then flying away, panicked, when Clementine approached them, as well as a few other birds that didn’t seem to take off until she was right up on them.

When she finally found herself in a clearing, she was greeted by another sign. This one she actually read. It was bright, neon yellow with several pictures on it and the words:

You may encounter: Black bears Coyotes Mountain Lions Poisonous Snakes Or other species

BE AWARE OF YOUR SURROUNDINGS.

Turning slowly, Clementine panned the area for any signs of active or passive movement, the warning of wild animals echoing in the back of her mind. She thought walkers were bad enough - but they were dumb; they had no sense of anything but hunger and sound. Wild animals were different, and with no weapon, she doubted she would stand a chance.

She made her way past the sign as another chilly gust of wind blew against her, and carefully climbed over another fallen tree. The dirt, ditch-like path continued on past it. Clementine wrapped her arms around her chest again, rubbing hard against her thin, striped sleeves in an attempt to warm herself up a little bit. She continued to scan her surroundings, including the gently moving bushes, as she made her way further into the trees.

The brush was thick by this point; it wasn’t difficult to see ahead, but the further she made her way in, the darker it seemed to become. Clementine knew that it couldn’t be evening time – maybe it was the afternoon, but not evening. It shouldn’t have been getting any darker. She pushed down this complaint, noticing the sudden dead end she’d been faced with.

Of course, it wasn’t an actual dead end. There was no wall, structure, or median in her way. But the trail was gone, simply replaced by grass, bits of rock, and the occasional patch of dirt. The only thing ahead of her were trees and thicker brush; overgrown bushes seemed to have taken over quite a bit of space, and Clementine wanted no part of them even before she noticed the prickly leaves that stuck out horribly. Her arms were already shooting sympathy pains, knowing how it would feel to be stuck with such a point.

A rustling noise forced this out of her mind. The sympathy pains were instead replaced with a sudden feeling of anxiety and dread. She couldn’t handle walkers, she couldn’t handle any wild animals, and she especially didn’t want to be around people. No more people, she had begged herself earlier, please not more. Not after the scavengers.

Clementine forced herself to lightly step forward. Her shoulders tightened as she attempted to make herself smaller in a bid to hide. She mentally cursed herself when she let out an audible gasp; it seemed that at least some of the rustling had been caused by the three crows that had just shot themselves out of a bush like rocket launchers. They flew off, cawing fading into the distance, but this did nothing to ease her.

Something caught her eye again after several steps: more movement from the bushes. It was a softer rustling noise, and a soft sound of breathing and panting. Clementine could see something between the leaves, just ahead of her. It looked like something furry, like the edge of a white, fluffy tail. Another soft rustle came through.

Hesitantly, Clementine took another few delicate steps ahead, darting her gaze down at every other step in an attempt to avoid stepping on something – like a stick, for instance (how cliché was a thought that quickly galloped its way through her mind). Suddenly, she saw what the thing was, and a smile spread across her face.

It was a dog.

The dog was facing away from her, sniffing something across the ground. His golden brown fur was matted, sticking up in some places. Joining this, at no surprise, were protruding ribs and delicate looking bones and shoulder blades that stuck out at odd angles; his dark blue collar was hanging from his neck, which seemed to be the only part of him that wasn’t overly scrawny. His white and brown tail wagged back and forth slowly, while his pointed face and triangular ears remained interested in the dirt.

Clementine watched him in shock for only a brief moment before he turned, sensing her, and his tail wagging came to an end. His ears remained upright, rather than flattened against his head. Knowing she had nothing to offer him, she didn’t try to hide her hands. Rather, she raised them slightly, showing him that they were empty, then took a hesitant step back as he took one forward.

A guttural growl and bared teeth were the dog’s response; he flattened his ears against his head as a further sign.

Not now, Clementine thought, unable to move her now frozen body. This was why the eleven year old hadn’t wanted to find life in the first place. And she’d never exactly been around dogs regularly. She’d never learned much about them, having never owned one, or about what to do around dogs like this. But she did have one idea.

She didn’t move, and instead spoke in a soft whisper, “It’s okay.” Opening her hands more and exposing her palms, so that he could see that she had nothing he’d be interested in, she spoke again in the same voice. “Hey… it’s okay…”

After several tense seconds, the dog’s ears rose up and his mouth closed, storing his yellowed and most likely rotten teeth for later. His tail whipped back up and began to wag wildly from side-to-side. He let out a loud, husky bark, and took another step towards Clementine.

Her shoulders sagged in relief when his signs of aggression ceased, but immediately tensed back up when she heard his bark echo through the woods. She cringed, but said nothing, and instead moved closer to the dog, then kneeled down to his height. The dog came up to a little bit past her knee when she stood, but kneeling beside him made it much easier to see the details.

Hands shaking as she approached him, she carefully reached for his collar, then cupped the small, engraved, piece of metal that dangled from it in her left hand. Her right hand lightly skimmed his oily, matted fur (it didn’t smell much better than it looked) as she read the information on his tag.

The dog’s name was ‘Sam’, according to the metal, though she could already tell when she saw the collar itself. Though it was a dark blue, what looked to be black permanent marker stood out against the tearing fabric, reading the same name in capital letters. Clementine looked up, meeting the dog’s – Sam’s, she had to remind herself – eyes.

Sam’s wet, pointed nose snuffled away, ducking down towards her arms and knees.

“Sam…” Clementine said to the dog in a hushed voice. She ran her hand down his oily fur lightly again a small smile coming to her face. “Nice to meet you, Sam.” Sam looked back at her. His only response was a gaze that could barely count as eye contact and to stop sniffing.

He let out a whine, suddenly looking down the new dirt path.

Clementine gazed down there, unsure as to what he was yearning for, but then noticed him starting to walk that way. Suddenly, his gait sped up to a fast walk, before he stopped, tail beginning to wag a mile a minute. Sam turned back, as if to ask if Clementine was coming along as well.

Curious as what he was thinking – and how she wished Sam could speak at that moment – she decided to humor him, following him with caution. What was he doing? She didn’t see much ahead, but she supposed she could have been missing something that Sam wasn’t. Her train of thought crashed when Sam barked again, then took off running wildly in the direction that he had been facing.

“Sam,” Clementine spoke, hoping he would hear. The dog’s barking continued, and only God knew who was around to hear it. Sam didn’t turn, nor did he stop, and by now, Clementine had lost sight of him. “Sam!”

Where are you going? She wanted to ask, but it wasn’t as if he’d respond. There was only one way to find out.

[sheepydraws]

I’ll Kick Your Ass, I’ll Kick My Fiancee’s Ass, I’ll Kick My Own Ass! (2/11)

Also on Ao3

Last Chapter Next Chapter

Part 2: Orientation

A slim black notebook with gilded pages. The cover is leather(ish) except for a shiny rectangle where the words “Diary” once were. However, on the inside cover is a nameplate that says, “This Diary Belongs To:” and is signed, “Akane Tendo”:

Why do I bother keeping this thing? All I do is read the entries where I’m happy and excited and figure everything will work out, and then I feel even more upset about what actually happened.

So, yeah. Dad went through with his threat-I mean, “frugality”, and made Nabiki drive down here with me and Kasumi. Nabiki was a total bitch about it so we didn’t get here till two. It’s a good thing Kasumi doesn’t look like a parent, cause she was supposed to be gone by five, but she couldn’t get out till six.

Once she was gone Nabiki went to the dining hall with me, probably just so I could ask, “Why is it so empty in here?” and she could say, “They’re probably all at their first assembly.” with a nonchalant sip of milk.

Her fucking soy milk that she isn’t even supposed to bring into the dining room.

So I scarfed my food and ran to the big arts hall, and I burst into the auditorium just in time for the sexual health and gender lecture.

They had just gotten to the part about gender identity.

I wanted to back out of the auditorium and punch myself in the face.

But I didn’t. Cause that would be even weirder than busting into an auditorium like it was prom night in an eighties movie.

So. Whatever. Great. A great way to start.

Technically nothing starts till tomorrow. Tomorrow will be better. I’ll actually meet people tomorrow, and we’ll do reading and stuff, and there won’t be any more awkward lectures about consent where everyone wants to laugh, or, at least, I want to laugh, but not laugh, but there’s a part of me that just wants to giggle every time they say sex.

It’s okay. Already it’s better than last year because everyone here is going to know me as Akane Tendo, and Ranma Fucking Saotome is two hundred miles away.

Now that is a good way to start the year.

Last Five Posts on okonomiyakimeansiloveyou.tumblr.com:

5. A big ole gooey slab of okonomiyaki spread with special sauce and mayonnaise, marbled so as to resemble the pattern usually seen on mille-feuille.

4. Fanart for Elementary.

3. Beyoncé on feminism, gif set.

2. A photo of a dorm room. Thin white curtains hang from the open window, grazing a bookcase (doubling as a bedside table) scattered with perfume, contact lens case, note book, colored pens, and an orientation flier face down. #already a mess #of course #makes it feel more like home

1. A picture of two girls sitting cross legged on a bed together. One is chubby, with her hair done up in two big buns. It’s so dark it is almost purple (or is that a trick of the light, or a botched dye job?) She’s smiling and making a peace sign with one hand, the other wrapped around the neck of a bottle of grape soda. The girl next to her looks like she was doing the same thing, but she jostled her can of ginger ale, and the photo catches her mid-jerk, hair whipping out behind her as she turns, trying to steady herself.

The next photo is the chubbier girl laughing as the other slumps against the wall, a hand over her face.

She’s smiling, though.

From: lethemeatpussy@yahoo.com

To: TexmexTesco@gmail.com

Dude, bro, man, pal,  

I’ve got a tournament, so I won’t actually be at school till orientation’s over (I didn’t know orientation was a thing, but whatever, the dean cleared me, so it’s fine) so do whatever you want to the room. I’ll deal. Should be there sometime Sunday.

See ya!

Ranma Saotome

——Bitches ain’t shit!

From: TexmexTesco@gmail.com

To: prettyporkchop@gmail.com

Dear Akari,

it’s almost midnight, but I really wanted to tell you that I got here okay, and it’s actually a lot nicer than you thought it would be. It’s not Oxford, but I like the view out my window. Our dorm is kind of built into a hill, so my room is on the ground floor, but there’s a story high drop right out my window, then a hill, then the woods. They’re the kind of thin, scraggly woods you get a lot in America, but I bet it’ll be amazing in a few months when all the leaves start changing color.

That’s really all there is to talk about. I haven’t even met my roommate yet because he has a martial arts tournament and won’t be here for orientation. I looked him up and he’s apparently some martial arts prodigy—if that’s a thing??? Maybe I’ll have something more interesting to write about when he does show up, but for now I just wanted to tell you I’m doing well, and I miss you, and I hope you’re okay, too.

Love, Ryoga

A fluffy pink volume with a tiny heart shaped lock you could break by jamming a switch blade in it. Although why would you want to, since Kodachi would probably repurpose it as an overwrought metaphor, thusly:

The sun rises

But the black veil of my loneliness

Will not be pierced.

I walk the balance beam with purpose

But tears slide aimless down my cheeks.

My misery fills me up. Roots my feet to the beam.

I break from gravity

Yet I cannot fly.

If twirling upside down can not change my perspective—-

How can college ever hope to manage it?

From: Nabikitendo@email.nsj.edu

To: Tsubasakurenai@email.nsj.edu

Your receipt for transaction #34092:

1 Carton Bailey’s Farm Fresh Milk:Whole Fat

4 packs of erasers

2 Canisters Smirnoff Whipped Cream

3 Jars Bacardi Maraschino Cherries (1 without flavoring, 2 with watermelon)

Total: 167.55USD

From: Nabikitendo@email.nsj.edu

To: picoletchardin@email.nsj.edu

Your receipt for transaction #39475:

5 Cartons Snappy Ice Cream (peppermint, peach, cinnamon bun)

6 loaves of bread, Blue Ribbon Artisanal.

4 packs Dom P’s dogs

2 cartons Altoid’s Mints

Total: 443.46USD

Facebook messenger:

Shampoo: Psssst—You didn’t hear it from me, but there’s a party this weekend.

Ukyo: Who’d you hear that from?

Shampoo: Dude in my discussion group mentioned it. Said it’s a freshman only thing.

Ukyo: Sounds lame.

Shampoo: Nah, he said it would be in that four person room, in the basement of the guys dorm? It’s big and the closest TA is a floor away so…

Ukyo: What do you think freshman can even get up to?

Shampoo: Ukyo, we’re college freshman now. What can’t we get up to? ;3

Shampoo:  Also dude was bragging that there would be enough booze to drown in.

Ukyo: I guess I can’t say no to bathing in bacardi ;)

Shampoo’s phone ——> Mousse’s phone

Could you tell gran that I can’t come home

this weekend?

                                                                                              Why don’t you do it?

You know she’s bad with texting.

                                                                                              She has more social    .                                                                                             media accounts than  .                                                                                             you do.

Restaurant stuff doesn’t count.

                                                                                              Still.

                                                                                              You could tell her if      .                                                                                              you wanted.

She’ll just talk me out of it. Ask

me, ‘why can’t you come see

your poor ailing grandmother?’

                                                                                              Fine. Only because   .                                                                                             you still fall for that      .                                                                                             when I am literally        .                                                                                             watching her haul a    .                                                                                             dead pig out of the      .                                                                                             car and gut it like a     .                                                                                             fish.

From: prettyporkchop@gmail.com

To: TexmexTesco@gmail.com

Dear Ryoga,

I miss you so much!!!! At least once the term starts I’ll have classes to keep me busy, but for now all I do is think about you and hope America hasn’t roughed you up too much. I know it’s a small college, you wanted to be closer to your mom, etc. but I’m still a little worried about how a year abroad is going to treat you.

At least I’ll get you for Christmas. It seems so far off (121 days, if you’re bored enough to count) but I know it’ll be here in a second; some years it’s like I get out of the pool and slide right into a jumper and waffle treads.

I hope your orientation thing is going well. Are you actually doing any work, or are they just making sure you know where the washing machines are? Did I tell you that when my Aunt Jackie was doing her first term she slept in the washing machine room for a week because her roommate always had her boyfriend over? I’ve heard so many college horror stories now that I’m going there. It reminds me of my first cooking competition. It’s only after you’ve been accepted and can’t back out that everyone starts talking about that time their oven exploded or their creme fresh was trés rotten. But I’m sure we can tackle this together. <3

All my love,

Akari.

——killin’ me softly/and I’m still fallin’/Still the one I need/I will always be with you

Kodachi’s Journal:

Oh!

That I were like the sparrow!

Free to leave come the winter

And return to any nest I chose.

Trapped in this prison.

Smiling

And behind my smile

I wonder

Who here can not bear the pain of the ambiguity of their emphembral ephmenral limited existence?

Am I alone in my pain?

Perhaps I could relive myself

If only I had a true grand experience

A truly life defining moment

To write about

For this stupid assignment

Which torments my dreams.

Akane’s Diary:

He’s here.

I was in the boys dorm because Betty, (this girl I’ve been hanging out with, Bio major) wanted to grab her boyfriend for dinner. Like in the girl’s dorm, everyone’s room has a little paper square with their name on it on the door, and there it was. In smeary comic sans on door 1C: Ranma Saotome.

Fuck.

Why did I think I could ever just go somewhere and be Akane Tendo?

All I wanted was a school no one from my high school was going to. Somewhere really liberal and maybe on the small side. Somewhere where no one would know me as the guy who’s now a girl who got engaged and then threw down with his/her fiancé in the fucking parking lot.

It’s almost funny. I should have expected this out of my bad sitcom of a life. I should have realized that Ranma’s complete lack of drive, combined with his inability to let down his father, and my father’s apparent desire to ruin my life by associating me with them, would cause this to happen.

Of course he would be enrolled here.

Of course.

Why do I ever hope things will change?

No, no, no pity party. I can change this. I can set Ranma straight. I could get him expelled if I wanted. Fuck him! I am not the one who doesn’t belong here, I shouldn’t be the one to leave.

                                  Final Orientation Assignment  

Please write a narrative essay describing a life changing event. The event chosen may be big or small, but the essay must fully describe an experience that changed the way you view the world, how you choose to live your life, etc. The experience may be as personal in nature as you like. You will not have to read in front of your group, though you will be invited to.  

Requirements:1,000-2,500 words in length.

Must be narrative in structure. Remember, scene not summary!

Must be an event that affected you. You may not write about another’s experience.

NOTE: Due to issues in previous years, please do not write about losing your virginity, or other sexual experiences. Coming out has been a common topic among these essays, but we ask that you refrain from explicitly sexual material.  

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         Ukyo Kuonji                                                                                                                                                                                                                             Orientation Group 1                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         August 18th

                                           How I Learned the Truth

Your best friend should always tell you the truth. I told my best friend that, and he told me the truth: that he had always been a boy. A few years later he told me another truth: That he liked me. Then I came out, and I believed that the truth will set your free, and every other platitude, besides. Love is friendship that has caught fire. The world is your oyster. Tuna is good for your health.

Then my boyfriend told me another truth: He was engaged.

I, the person, who would believe anything, said, “Yeah, right.” I was stupid enough to wonder if what he had said was the start of a proposal.

He stared at me, toying with the scarf around his neck. We were standing at the front gate of our high school. He’d been waiting for me there, early for once, even though it was November and was already cold enough that most people were scurrying inside as fast as they could.

The front yard was fairly empty, so Ranma’s boots scuffling on the cement became the loudest sound.

“I’m engaged to this guy.” He said.

“You don’t even like guys.” I said, forgetting that the rest of the world doesn’t know my boyfriend. Doesn’t always think of him as a boy.

“My dad, he wants me to marry this guy. He’s got this idea, you know, cause I’m going to take over the dojo.” “There isn’t a dojo to take over.” I said, forgetting that Ranma would dive into a pit of hungry cats if his father asked him to. Would gladly take over an imaginary dojo.

“His family has one. A real dojo. It’s really nice. They’re that family dad and I have dinner with on Sundays. You met them once, remember? That’s why I was so weird that day. Our dads were already talking about this.” Under his breath he added, “Making shitty innuendos, even.”

I had already forgotten the faces of the huge family who all rushed past me on their way out of Ranma’s house, but I remembered vividly how good they had smelled, one of them holding a stack of tupperware, steam condensing on the lids. Ranma had been a little weird after that, but I thought it was because we had sex for the first time about a week ago and it was that sort of, pass-me-a-chip-will-you-person-I-lost-my-virginity-to? awkwardness. Not Oh-and-by-the-way-I’m-engaged-to-someone-else-because-I-constantly-crave-my-father’s-approval awkwardness.

I didn’t even know they made that kind.

“But you love me.” I said, and that was the truth. I took Ranma’s hand and pressed it to my chest, except I was a bit overzealous and slammed it into the soft spot between my collarbone and breasts. It bruised. “If your parents are going to suggest a child marriage, why-why don’t you and I get married?”

The second worst truth I learned that day was that I would have done that. I would have skipped school, stolen my father’s car, and found a court house. I would have married Ranma. I could see him and I bursting into my house, red cheeked from the wind and happiness, clutching the marriage license between us, smiling and laughing and invulnerable.

Ranma’s hand slid from mine. Our marriage license fluttered to the ground.

“One, we’re not eighteen. Two…” Ranma held my eyes for a moment, and it was the worst moment of my life because I saw the truth: All those emotions I thought were love, they could be boxed up and pushed aside. Perhaps not without some angst, but it could be done. The truth was that love can not climb mountains. It can’t cure illness. It can’t even argue with your father.

Love is friendship that has caught fire, sure, but then it goes out and the friendship has all burned up. No love lasts. Not the love between a child and their parent, not the love between friends, not the love between lovers. Eventually all you have is a hope of love as you do everything in your power to hold on to the person who used to embody it.

The late bell rang and we both headed inside. We were walking next to each other, but not together. That was when I decided that if Ranma didn’t have to care about this, I didn’t have to either. I wasn’t going to become like him, chasing down love and trying to corner it in dark alleys. I boxed up all my feelings and tossed them down the back stairs. Along with all the shit he had ever given me or left at my house over the years. My dad watched from his chair in the living room as I found every single book, sock, and stupid trinket that I knew was his.

“I thought you two were going to prom together.” My dad said while I was rummaging under the couch. Before my mother left she told me all sorts of important things, like that I should go to therapy and that my parents lost their virginity to each other at prom. I have a feeling my father suspected that Ranma and I were going to keep up the tradition, sans ditching our real dates by the punch bowl.

“Prom’s not till next year.” I emerged from under the couch covered in dust bunnies.

“Still. I thought you two had plans.”

“We do.” They just aren’t the same ones.

My father leaned forward in his chair and put his hands on his knees. “Ukyo, I just want to know what Ranma did to upset you, and if it warrants me going down there with a gun.”

“You don’t have a gun, dad.” I kicked up the rug to see if anything had been swept under it.  “And even if you did, you wouldn’t threaten a kid with it.”

“I don’t think you’re kids anymore. You can certainly hurt each other like adults.”

“He didn’t hurt me. He just doesn’t love me anymore.” Of course that was the fact that made my gut burn like there was a hot knife in it, but it was a fact. Ranma hadn’t hurt me. He told me the truth.

Genma’s phone——-> Ranma’s phone

Ranma?

Ranma?

Did you go to get the food? I want two breasts and coleslaw.

Ranma?

Ranma?

Either you’re dead in a ditch or you’re going to be.

                                                                                               August 20th              .                                                                                           Orientation group 4     .                                                                                            Ryoga Hibiki

                                 An Experience That Changed My Life.

Stop me if you’ve heard this one before.

I’m in love.

Okay, okay, wait, here’s the punchline: She’s not my girlfriend. Or a friend. Or even my mom.

I just found out that I’ve never been in love before, not with any of those people. I fell in love two nights ago, when I woke up to someone screaming my roommate’s name.

It took me a second to wake up all the way, and for my brain to turn the sounds I was hearing into words, but then it was clear as day.

“Ranma Saotome! Ranma Saotome, I know you’re in there!”

I cranked the window open even further and stuck my head out to scream back, but then I saw her and I just…

She’s so beautiful. She was on the ledge where the hill behind my dorm starts. She stood straight, her fists clenched, shaking with anger. Her hair was cut sharp and short, and her eyes were huge in the strange light. Half blue moonlight, half disturbingly orange street lamp. The glow was unearthly. She was awesome—The old meaning of the word, beautiful and terrible and probably not to be touched, but magnetic all the same.

She paused for a second, then screamed

“RANMA SAOTOME!”

with her whole heart, and all her breath besides.

“He’s not here!” I yelled back.

“Shut up!” She took another breath, ready to scream all night for retribution, so I continued,

“I’m serious, he had a tournament. He won’t be here till orientation ends. He sent me an email about it. I’m his roommate.” It was probably a little garbled, because I don’t have the lung capacity that Akane does, but she understood me. She was quiet for a moment.

“Come in!” I yelled, “We can talk about it.”

“Shut up!” Someone screamed from a different floor.

“Okay!” She said, and she took off running. She was barefoot under her skirt and her legs were so long when she ran they shortened the ground beneath her.

I was watching her run when I remembered that I was in my boxers. I jumped back from the window, put on a light, turned on some pants, and hoped my room didn’t already reek of b.o.

Then she was in my room, and she was just as ethereal under the fluorescents as she had been outside. Her eyes slid from the bare mattress on one side of the room to my half. Not that there was much difference. White sheets, my yellow flannel pillow case that I’ve had since I was  ten, half of my key chain collection hanging over my desk and the tiny plastic replicas of the crown jewels. There were also a few postcards and the rest of my keychain collection piled on top of my desk, waiting to be hung up properly.

“I’m Ryoga Hibki,” I said, extending my hand to shake.

“Akane Tendo.” She said, and I found out that her hands had thick calluses on them. It was surprising when I had expected soft skin, but given the smoothness when she ran maybe I shouldn’t have.

“What do you need with Ranma?” I asked. I managed to lean casually against my desk and not slip and crack my head on a varnished corner and kill myself.

“He…” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “He and I have some history we need to sort out.”

My heart plummeted, then rose so quickly I felt dizzy. What did that mean? Was it good? For me? All I knew was that I had to say something similar if she asked about Akari. Lets say she somehow intuited that I currently had a girlfriend. Let’s say. But I won’t very very soon.

“So he put a tournament over orientation and got away with it.” She muttered. “Of course.”

“Well, it’s not like it takes much orienting.” I said, “Y’know, the dorms are here, the classrooms are over there, and the vending machine is down the hall. I figured it all out on my first day.” I puffed my chest up like that was an accomplishment, and she laughed, which actually was one.

“I know. All he’s really missing out on is having to write this dumb essay thing.” (I’m sorry if that offends you, but you said we should all be as honest as possible in these essays. Actually, if that’s true, I wonder if you’re going to have a stack of essays about how stupid these essays are. Not that I think they’re stupid, but that’s just the sort of smart-ass thing a bunch of college freshman would try to get away with).

Anyway, I’ll have to skim a bit, because she said some really personal things about her, and this guy, and the not-relationship they have, even though their parents seem to be bent on getting them together, and you said we weren’t supposed to write about someone else’s experience, so I’ll let Akane write about that in her essay if she wants.

But, even if I can’t tell you exactly what she said, I think I can tell you how she said it. How she enunciates the important words very clearly, how she wiggles her hips a little bit when she’s excited, and how we talked and talked and talked for so long I almost didn’t have the time to sit down and write an entirely new essay. Not that the original one was any good(it was about coming here, and how I’m really excited to be in one place for a whole four years, but that is an experience I hope to have, not one I already did, so I knew it was bullshit from the start), and maybe this one isn’t much better. I mean, it’s just about me falling in love. I’m sure this whole thing has been done to death, but goddamn.

I never got it, you know, the endless poems, and songs, and books about love. I suppose that’s proof right there that I was never in love. I didn’t see it that way at the time. I thought, ‘Sure, love’s great, but does everyone really need to be going on about it all the time?’, but now that I’m in it, I mean sunk so deep I feel weightless, I’ve found out that love is more than worth going on and on about. I mean, I don’t know how I can keep myself from just getting up in the middle of class and saying, “Hey, this Sandra Cisneros poem is great and all, but who wants to talk about how perfect Akane’s laugh is? Like, is there a scientifically provable better sound out there? And, if so, is it even worth tracking down?”

All those cheesy things they say about love, they’re true. And when you feel them down to your bones you find that they fill you up until everything you know about love just comes pouring out.

Face book, Ranma Saotme, Latest post:

A picture of a slushie larger and more red than anything humans were ever meant to ingest in one sitting, jammed into a car cupholder.

The caption above reads: Road trip=cheat day, right? ;p

Ranma’s phone——> Genma’s phone

Just got to school. Figured I might

as well head out.

                                                                        Glad you were so excited to see            

                                                                        Akane. But how am I supposed

                                                                        to get my car back?

Seen ✓

                                                                        What the fuck does that mean?

                                                                        Ranma, I want my car back.

Ryoga’s phone——-> Ranma’s phone

I dunno when you’re done with

the dean or whatever

But some guys are having a

party in our dorm. You know

the basement room?

                                                                    No, but I’m ready to party

Excellent.

CRAZY DRUNK FRESHMAN CAN DANCE AND DUEL??!!

A video clearly taken on a smart phone and simply thrown onto youtube, given the huge black margins. The footage is grainy, but not badly lit.

It’s hard to tell if the room is a basement or a living room, given the concrete floors. It sure looks like a house party, though, young people milling around with red cups, someone laughing obnoxiously loud just off camera.

The music that was playing unobtrusively in the background suddenly blares into the foreground as the camera is trained on a desk covered in half eaten junk food.

“Oh shit!” Someone screams, “I know this one!”

Heads turn in the direction of the voice. The camera doesn’t.

A guy lands on the cluttered table. You don’t see him leap, just land. He’s debatably handsome, and clearly drunk, though he still manages to get down with considerable skill. A bit off balance, perhaps with more booty wiggles than a sober person would allow themselves, but the boy can dance.

People are starting to crowd around the makeshift stage, and the camera is hiked higher.

“Hey!” The guy yells, breaking out of his dancing reverie to single out someone not visible from this far back. “Come on, dance with me!” He slides out of view, but a second later he jumps back onto the table, carrying a girl princess-style. She’s wearing a conservatively cut red velvet dress, like she’s at her cousin’s Christmas recital or something, but she looks appropriately confused at this sudden turn of events.

The guy sets her down on the table and starts dancing around her. Not like a bird doing a mating dance, but more like she’s a pole. A pole he finds very attractive. Hoots and whistles emanate from the crowd. The camera is jostled, and for a second whoever is holding it turns and we can see someone with a long brown ponytail and a grin taking up their entire face.

“Send me a copy of this!” They yell. “That asshole’s my ex!”

“Oh, okay,” Says our cameraman. They focus on this person for another second as they laugh, before remembering what they were supposed to be doing and the camera swings back to the main attraction.

The girl on the table has gone bright red, and seems to be trying to distract herself from the fact that half of her class is watching a guy grind on her when she yells, “So what’s your name?”

He kisses her cheek and spins her around, before dropping to one knee, “Ranma Saotome!” He says, before taking her hand and kissing it, as though this is a proper introduction from another era.

“Kodachi!” Someone screams from the back of the room. This time when heads turn the camera follows. A man stands in the open door. He’s sober and wearing a nice button up, so he’s probably not a freshman. He marches toward the table, parting his underclassman like a green sea.

“Ranma Saotome!” He yells in Ranma’s face.

Ranma is still bent over Kodachi’s hand.

“That’s me!” He replies, with a shit eating grin.

The other man seethes for a moment. You can almost see steam rising off of him like a giant boar.

“Ranma Saotome, for besmirching my sisters honor, I, Tatewaki Kuno, shall duel you.”

“What, like, at dawn?”

Tatewaki reaches up and sweeps the girl, who, now that he mentions it, does share his dark, thick hair and elegant nose, down from the table. “At dawn it shall be. I look forward to seeing you on your knees.”

“I don’t swing that way, man.” Ranma says, smacking Tatewaki good naturedly on the back from his perch.

Tatewaki bristles. “You will be begging for mercy!” He goes back the way he came, stopping at the door to adjust his sister’s weight in his arms and announce, “You and I, at dawn, on the hill behind the science compound.”

“Can it be more like six am?” Someone in the crowd yells, and after a general murmur of agreement both men decide that six will be a better time.

“Six on the dot!” Tatewaki says, probably just so he has something to yell before sweeping out dramatically.

“See ya!” Ranma calls back with a cheery wave, ruining the effect.

The video cuts out.

A flimsy, spiral bound note book, with a little tulip on the front, and the words, “MY DIARY” in a faux-childish scrawl. It spends most nights under Kuno’s pillow. Not that he’s scared of his roommate-a brother in kendo-reading it, but he believes that if he sleeps with his transcribed thoughts near him someday his body and his mind and his heart may all line up and stop vexing him with different desires. It hasn’t worked yet, but it hasn’t messed his neck up either, so he keeps at it.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

Okay. Alright. I will remain calm. While this is not an auspicious start to this year, I am sure that all this can be cleared up before the end of the semester. Perhaps before September is out.

You recall, of course, how that vile creature, Ranma Saotome, assaulted my sister’s honor. So I challenged him to a duel in order to best defend it. A few students got into trouble for this sort of thing last year, but they were arguing over the Star Wars prequels, and I believe they had guns besides.

At any rate.

There we were, he and I, (and the expected crowd of onlookers) standing on the field that slopes down toward the science building, the mist rolling in, dawn greying the sky above us. It was quite a romantic setting, rather like the rolling moors of Scotland or Ireland—Wherever it is that they have rolling moors and mist in great abundance.

Nabiki Tendo was strutting around as though she had organized the event. Anything for money or attention, I suppose. That she never wishes to be an actress is a great blow to the industry (and likely robs many fine directors of one).

At any rate, there we were, my opponent and I, and he had come unarmed. Also, he was swaying rather strangely. There was no music, and he did not seem to have any headphones. It occurred to me that he may be suffering from over intoxication, but he had agreed to this duel, so it was entirely his problem if he was ill.

Still, I had not expected him to bring a weapon, so I tossed him my back up wood.

“My back up wood.” I explained as he stared quizzically at the sword he had just caught.

He turned his confused gaze to me. “As in, like, back up onto it?”

I wanted to spit at his crudity, but I am not an eye for an eye sort of man, so I managed to restrain myself.

“Draw your weapon!” I said.

He held his sword out as though he were far sighted and needed a better look at it.

“Alright!” Nabiki Tendo yelled. I shudder to recall how her voice rolled across the hill. She makes my skin crawl, and I’m sure she knows it. She winked at me. I wonder if she chalked my shivering up to the mist.

“Gentlemen, you will stand with your backs pressed against each other,” Saotome made a remark related to his earlier statement about my sword that does not bear repeating, “Walk five paces, turn, and draw.” She damned me with her smile once again. “Just to keep things equal. Alright, boys?”

It was not equal, I will say that right now. I knew that my opponent was not classically trained, but I had not expected him to throw his sword at me! I deflected it, of course, but then it was his whole body that was hurtling toward me. I was shocked that I was immediately on the defensive, but I did not intend to remain there. I not only dodged, but managed to spin him with a slight blow which knocked him much further off balance than it might a sober opponent.

He retaliated and almost wrenched the sword from my hands by bouncing off of it, but I got in an uppercut that must have bruised one of his thighs, and I would have done much worse… Oh, he should tremble at night at the thought of what I may have done to him!

But that was when I heard screaming, and the crowd watching us dispersed. It took me a moment to understand just what was happening, but then I caught sight of the back of Nabiki Tendo’s head, and, though I am not a sailor, I too understand what it means when rats flee a ship.

Now, I am a man of honor, but I am also a man who doesn’t want an expulsion on my record. I ran into the green house that adjoins the science building, wiggled through the doggy door that would get me into the science building proper, and hid in the room where they’ve been doing laser experiments. A perfectly honorable way to flee, I assure you.

At any rate, though I wish I had given Saotome an real injury to consider rather than merely the threat of one, I feel safe that my sister’s honor was as protected as it could be under the circumstances.

Kodachi’s Journal:

My darling.

Forgive me

The vile things done in the name of my honor,

I assure you my honor was not bruised, nor even beset.

The purity my brother imagines of me is not of my design.

Though,

I admit.

Never before your hands

and thighs

and rock hard ass

has another man’s touched me as yours did.

I know you will understand when I explain it to you.

I hear you did admirably in my name

Perhaps you have grasped my feelings already

We share a link unbound by the laws of time and space.

In fact, as I fell asleep last night,

I could hear your name in my chest rather than a beat.

Ran-ma

Ran-ma

Ran-ma

Now my life begins.