#also it was basically a fish drawing session and you know how much I love drawing fish so

[annadiplosis]

sketchbook spreads from the latest Odd Orange drawing sessions - Farm Animals and Under the Sea!

[obeymeluv]

QUICK! KISS ME! [Bros x Reader]

A lead-up blurb before I go to bed.

School is killing me. This has been in the drafts far longer than I wanted.

No offense if your name is Bethany. It’s a name I picked at random.

The follow-up piece will have the kiss scenarios.

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Some of Asmo’s friends may have used you to get into a special makeup event, but it’s okay! They bought you a lip gloss as a thank you! The shade ‘Sealed with a Kiss’ was not what you thought it’d be

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Being one of the first humans in the Devildom could be uncomfortable and sometimes down-right dangerous! It also had its perks. To you, that meant being close with the Seven Lords of Hell (and Diavolo). To other lesser demons and classmates, you were kind of a ‘get out of jail’ free card.

Were they late to class? Oh, just helping the human out!

Caught sneaking in food or drink when they weren’t supposed to? It’s to split with the human, of course! They thought you’d love to try it!

Everyone was keen not to overuse it and you’d actually made good friends this way. It was starting to feel less like an excuse and more of a way to be included. You were the friendly, reliable human that had won hearts and saved some asses. As a thank you, one of your closer friends (a repeat offender for lateness), invited you out to an exclusive makeup release. She was a VIP member and had early access an hour before the store opened to the Devildom public. 

The fact that she chose you, a human, over some LITERAL century-old friends caused a bit of tension but she could care less. “I’ve seen them every day for over a hundred years. You get one year, and we’re going to make it awesome!” Bethany breezed through the store at a dizzying pace, picking through concealers and opening a box of mascara to look at the packaging. She moved at a pace only demons could manage; you thought you saw her by the nail polish display but when you looked again she was throwing sheet masks in her basket. Hooking her arm with yours, she picked up some foundation on the way back to the coveted display of lip glosses and lipsticks.

You weren’t totally versed in the differences between Devildom makeup and human world makeup. In all honesty, there didn’t seem to be a difference. Bethany swatched powdery cream lipsticks on her wrist and followed with ribbons of liquid lipstick. Every now and then she dotted them on your arm; she was adamant about finding a shade the both of you could wear as your thing.  

“This one,” she decided, waving the tube at you and booping your nose with it carefully. “This is our color!” she took you by the hand and joined the checkout line. She had two in her hand but refused to let you so much as hold one, wanting to pay for it first. It wasn’t technically breaking the purchase limit rule; if they tried to nag her she’d just say she was holding onto it so another demon didn’t bully you out of it. You didn’t know if it was her VIP status or the fact that her defense made sense, but you were able to check out without a problem.

A few sour faces and mean glares met you outside but Bethany ignored it all, eager to have a Devilgram-worthy celebratory snack break (snack victory? You know, since you got the makeup?) The plan was to eat, hold down a table at the nearby cafe while her other friends shopped, and have group makeovers (or try-ons) before calling it a day. That plan was interrupted three bites into a croissant sandwich when Lucifer summoned you back to the House of Lamentation. He’d gotten wind of all the girls you’d be with and didn’t feel totally comfortable letting you hang out with them,

Had Barbatos seen something? Did Lucifer feel spurned that you weren’t hanging out with the Seven Lords of the Devildom? He gave no answer, simply asking you to stay put while someone came to escort you back to the house. Bethany was put off by the turn of events but few people dared to complain about the Seven Lords due to their connections with Diavolo (she was no exception). “If we can’t get the full makeover, we’re getting the selfie!” she declared, deftly breaking the seal to her Sealed with a Kiss gloss and swiping it on with help from the front-facing camera on her D.D.D

You busied yourself with opening your tube. Before you could ask for her phone (since the camera was already open), she took the tube from you and tilted your chin up. She dabbed the center of your lips playfully before carefully tracing your lips with the color. The heat rose in your cheeks and she smirked. Being part succubus, she could draw energy from emotions like embarrassment and the feeling of being flattered. Her fingertips pulsed under your chin as she drew on that energy. 

Getting energy sucked could feel like a lot of things -- being light-headed, getting a rush of excitement, all prickly and tingly like your whole body was pins and needles. Whatever it was, it usually faded into drowsiness and kittenish contentment. She probably only touched your chin for seconds but the wash of coziness had you melting against your chair, your cheek cradled in her palm. 

Did she take the pic? What was happening? It felt like Asmodeus had materialized out of thin air, helping you stand and making small-talk with Bethany before pulling you away, out of her aura that was trying to suckle the vestiges of happy energy you offered.

“And what shade did you get on those pretty lips, hm?” the cotton fell out of your head and ears, allowing you to really hear Asmo now that the aura effects had worn off.

“Uh,” you fished around in your bag and looked at the packaging. “Sealed with a Kiss.”

Asmodeus stopped so abruptly it’d almost yanked you back to him. The two of you were barely tangled at the pinkies and now he’d completely laced your hands together. He held your hands captive, drawing them up in surprise and basically dragging you into his torso. You were forced to look up into glittering pink eyes and if you didn’t know any better, they looked a little panicked.

“How long ago did you apply it?”

“I don’t know.” you blinked helplessly at him. That energy suck thing had a way of making your brain tune out and turn to pudding. That aside, who knows how long Asmo stood there and talked to Bethany while you were being siphoned?! “Bethany applied it, not me.”

Asmo clicked his tongue, huffed, resigned himself to only holding one hand. and started scrolling on his D.D.D to find that selfie Bethany posted. You were being dragged along like a child as Asmo’s shoes clicked towards the House of Lamentation. It amazed you how well he could navigate his D.D.D with his long, painted nails. 

Whatever he was looking for, he found it.

Asmodeus tucked his D.D.D into his pants pocket, scooped you up in a way that terrified and amazed you (two people being supported by one set of heels?), and flew to the House of Lamentation. He didn’t always use his wings, as he preferred to decorate them and maintain them with oils, but the fact that he was flying made you nervous.

What had he found? What was the deal?

“Asmo--” you started nervously, the flapping of his wings nearly drowning you out as he pushed himself. Flying against the wind didn’t help. Your hair was a mess and the wind was in your face; the Devildom was always a little chilly but now it was enough to make your face tingly.

“She gave you enchanted makeup. There is a reason humans don’t use enchanted makeup.” Asmo’s pretty brows furrowed as he cut a hard angle and glided over a portion of the square. The tell-tale thicket of trees that lined the winding path back to the House of Lamentation were on the edge of the horizon.

“What’s going to happen?” should you ask that? Did you really want to know?

“You’ll feel something in your lips--some people felt tingling, some people felt pulsing, it can be anything, I think--and then they’ll seal shut.”

“SHUT?!” you yelped. It was enough to make Asmo wince. The startle carried over to his wings; they shuddered and locked; the two of you dropped for a heartbeat or two before he corrected himself.

“If I can’t get some makeup remover on it first.” Asmo panted, tucking his wings in and preparing for a quick descent. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t thought to teleport first--the panic? Trying to one-up Bethany by walking home and being extra cute with hand-holding?--but a quick touch down could roll into a simple skip teleportation and everything should work out!

“But my lips are already tingly!”

“Ugh, Bethany! I can’t believe you! I mean, I can because it’s you, but really, Bethany?”

“Asmo, focus!” you’d already skipped several feet ahead, clearing the front yard in two teleports. The third put you in the foyer. “I don’t want my lips to seal shut!”

The House of Lamentation was huge but when the occupants had supernatural hearing, that exclamation turned heads. 

“What’s this about your lips sealing shut?” Lucifer appeared at the top of his stairs, his head already shaking.

“DID YOU MAKE A PACT WITH A WITCH?!” Mammon screamed down the hall, clearly not far behind.

Asmo scoffed, lowering his D.D.D with a pout. He was halfway up the main stairs, fingers working at lightning speed. “It’s the lip color!” he explained, stomping his foot. Noisy people were just so annoying! If everyone was talking he couldn’t explain! How rude! 

“All this over some makeup?” skeptical Satan peered over the banister, book and arm casually propped up on it.

“If two people apply the color and kiss, they’re locked in a makeout session until it dries down. When one person applies the lip color, they can use it like a cheat sheet to see who secretly wants to kiss them,” his words tapered out from authoritatively informed to quiet and shy. “It’s from their ‘Liquid Love’ collection.” he muttered into the stunned silence of the room.

You were trying to open your lips and ask why. The magic had already taken hold. Asmodeus could see you trying to move your lips and strain your chin. Luckily, demons could read minds. “It’s because Bethany is stupid.” Asmodeus rolled his eyes. “Ambitious, but stupid.”

“Please explain, Asmo.” even when using the dear nickname Lucifer couldn’t hide the demand. His demon aura was creeping up his body and slowly becoming jagged and suffocating.

“Bethany has had a HUGE crush on our little human here, and wanted to seal it with a kiss, so to speak.” Asmo’s cheeks got pinker and pinker as he explained. Mostly because he was mad he didn’t think about it. His heart did something funny at the thought of you kissing someone else. Lucifer also looked like he wanted to murder someone about now, and Asmo had to remind himself that he was being looked through, not looked at.   

“Just grab a napkin and wipe it off.” Mammon shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Asmodeus shook his head angrily. “It’s too late now. We need to find someone for them to kiss! Someone’s lips will break the seal on theirs...that’s kind of the point of the enchantment.”

“So they just pick someone to kiss?” Levi’s face was turning tomato red. Would it be him?! It would at least be one of them, right? What if your person wasn’t in the House of Lamentation and you NEVER SPOKE AGAIN?!

“Sort of.” Asmo patted your shoulders with his gentle, smooth hands. He started to rub them like he was trying to warm you up. Partly in encouragement and partly to get your attention because he could feel your brain spiraling down into panic. “They basically follow their mouth.”

“So that lip color is like a crush detector?” Satan abandoned his book at the top of the stairs and was now perusing articles on his D.D.D as he sauntered down the steps. It sounded like he’d found the one that sent Asmo flying to the House of Lamentation.

“Basically.” Asmo sighed. It was the stupidest way to confess to someone, he thought. Demon to demon, it was fine. Demon to human?! NO! The whole thing gave him a headache. The fact that Bethany thought she could just steal your little lips and be greedy with them was the biggest annoyance of it all.

“So,” Satan’s green eyes cut sharply from his phone to you. The corner of his lips curled up in a smart little smirk. He knew it was wrong to find your predicament so funny, but this was a very human thing to get mixed up in. “Who do your lips want? Who do you feel yourself being drawn to?”

[spvce-cowboy]

gentle things

ch. 2 of i’ll be here in the morning (the mandalorian x fem!reader)

previous- ch.1: “a strange beauty”

next- ch.3: “reunion”

rating: mature

8.5k words

warnings: mutual pining, masturbation (f), alcohol, descriptions of gore

summary: after a few months on the Crest, you find yourself growing closer to your new companions.

a/n: the gay agenda is finding a way to slip a dolly parton song into a star wars fanfic, i rest my case.

**

Most mornings you wake to the child’s soft cooing. Occasionally, the sound is met with a low, modulated voice, that murmurs incoherent phrases in response. It somehow puts your heart to rest before you even remember where you are. 

It’s strange, you’ve been a resident of the Crest for a handful of months now and it sometimes still takes you a few moments each morning to reorient yourself. You blame it on the strange limbo of hyperspace—it always throws you off for at least a day or two, and you swear your dreams are more vivid after. Sometimes you wake up panting for no reason at all.

You’re adjusting pretty well. A bit strange having a roommate/boss who doesn’t acknowledge your presence beyond the occasional but respectful nod. But it’s way better than you could have possibly imagined when you first started turning the idea over in your head. Granted, that was when you were about elbow-deep in his chest cavity, trying to fish out pieces of the shoddily constructed weapon that broke off inside him. You needed the first way out that presented itself to you, something you and Am’ile both agreed with, and well, when opportunity strikes or whatever.

Your first evening on the Crest, you asked the Mandalorian where you should sleep and he just shrugged, handing you a single, scratchy blanket with a “this is all I have.” Later, when you pass his bunk as he’s taking a nap, he’s curled in on himself on a bare cot and you realize that threadbare piece of fabric was literally all he had. You don’t bring it up, but something in your chest softens towards him after that. There’s a new quilt folded neatly on his bunk by the time he returns from his first mission.

Your second day onboard, you found a metal table in a junk heap and pushed it against one of the walls in the engineering bay. You spent the better part of an afternoon figuring out how to weld it to the floor. The medical supplies went on top, then you pushed your pillow and your rolled-up mattress underneath. Sure, there was technically a second cot in the Crew’s quarters, but you wanted to give the Mandalorian his privacy whenever possible. Besides, as long as there wasn’t too much turbulence, your set-up was pretty great.

After a few missions, you’ve visited enough markets to buy an ample supply of blankets, sweaters, and pillows to keep you comfortable on the floor of the ship. It’s freezing most nights, especially in hyperspace, and cocooning yourself in as many warm things as you could manage helps stave off both the chill as well as the occasional home sickness. The collection you’ve amassed thus far is in a various mis-match of pale jewel tones that remind you of Am’ile’s house. You didn’t realize that until you’d piled them all together on your bed and you couldn’t help but laugh at yourself a bit.

The child loves your soft things, happily snuggling up with you for naps while waiting for the Mandalorian’s return—though you suspect he’s just grateful for the new company. A consistent presence while dad’s away. You’re happy to give that to him.

The new routine is comfortable, the company is nice, the work is relatively easy. And, stars, the things you get to see. It’s honestly more than you could have ever asked for.

When your eyes blink open it’s already around eight in the morning. You’ve landed on Nevarro where the Mandalorian has already been gone for a day, attending some kind of “extended business meeting,” as he put it. Yawning, you eventually roll out of bed and stumble into the fresher, blearily rubbing the sleep out of your eyes with the spray’s cold water. Stepping out, you wrap your towel around yourself. In the tiny metal mirror suspended over the sink you pat on some lotion onto your face, eyes still heavy.

Reaching for your toothbrush, your knuckle grazes one of the Mandalorian’s facial razors. You wince, flicking your hand before examining it. A tiny nick. Sucking on it for a second to stop the blood flow, you glance at the Mandalorian’s side of the cabinet.

It’s strange to see the most banal traces evidence of what he is, who he is, behind the all that beskar. Like the facial razors—to think he’s in here, maskless, shaving his face, while you’re playing with his kid or whatever just a few steps away. To think he takes a shower every day—er, well, you’re not sure about that one, but at least when he’s on the Crest—stepping out and wrapping a towel around his waist in order goes about his little tasks.

You swallow, removing your hand from your mouth and grabbing your toothbrush before your mind can wander anywhere else. You brush your teeth particularly well that morning.

The day is pretty typical from there. After feeding both yourself and the child breakfast, you settle on the floor of the hull with the small metal ball he’s obsessed with. You place him a few feet in front of you, he sways slightly on both feet before plopping down to mirror you, hands stretched forward in an demand to be put in your lap.

“Let’s do some of the exercises, yeah?” You know you’re essentially just talking to yourself as you hold the ball in the air, but you might as well make the effort anyway. Am’ile was no stranger to kids like him, or at least that’s how she put it—something about her people and some other group, the specifics completely slipped your mind. She didn’t really elaborate and you knew not to press.

Even though you don’t know much, you do try to mimic Am’ile’s drills-disguised-as-play at least a few times a day. He only seemed to do what you asked during those sessions when you weren’t looking, distracted by cleaning or studying whatever book you’d picked up hours later. You would always find the little ball in strange places, definitely not where you’d last placed it, and certainly out of the child’s reach.

At least it was good to know he was partially pretending to not listen to you. You could work with partially.

The kid has been fussy since waking, refusing to focus on any of the things you were trying to prompt him to do. Yesterday, you spent a bit too much time at the markets with him—growing sick of protein bars, you initially set out trying to find something closer to tasting like home. Really, you just liked getting out of the Crest so you could see all those people.

You’ve amassed a collection of language dictionaries, trying to do some fast learning and even faster practicing to get your way around. Sometimes the vendors are kind and help you stutter your way through disjointed sentences in their native tongue, others just huff and immediately switch to Basic as soon as you start talking. You don’t mind either way.

The marketplace as a whole is new and exciting, the clatter and clamor of movement, laughing and snarling, voices raised in argument and lowered in the smallest exchange of intimacy. So far removed from the quiet slopes of Am’ile’s home and—

You don’t let the rest of that thought happen, quickly scooping the kid up and wrapping him to your chest with a long swath of fabric.

“I’m goin’ a little crazy in here too, little guy,” you mumble, pulling your satchel over your shoulder. “Your dad should be back in a while—let’s try to find a contact for supplies until then, yeah? Shouldn’t be too hard.” A total lie, it was way more difficult to find what you are looking for than you initially thought. You were particularly looking for a cauterizing instrument that was a bit more sturdy than the glorified cigar lighter the Mandalorian was currently using. Besides basic med-kit stock, it was nearly impossible to find anything more advance under the radar.

Yesterday was half-heartedly spent searching the markets in search of someone who might be tapped into Republic supply runs, which rendered you, predictably, empty-handed. Now you were on to your second best option, asking around the closest cantina where you could find the instruments you were looking for for without raising too much attention.

Okay, so maybe the Mandalorian specifically told you to keep out of the bars when you’re traveling without him. But you managed just fine on your own yesterday in an arguably more crowded environment. You’ve also dealt with… far worse than that hunk of metal could ever possibly imagine. You’re more than capable on your own. Still, you make sure to strap a dagger and a blaster to your belt before heading out.

You make quick work hurrying to the cantina, making sure to cover your head with the hood of your tunic and conceal the little one as much as possible. Basic survival instincts usually warrant drawing as little attention to yourself as possible, being a young human woman traveling alongside a small green wizard creature is pretty much the opposite of that.

He, predictably, doesn’t take very well to the concealed swaddle you’ve confined him to, and the two of you are in a constant back-and-forth of you attempting to wrap him up and him making quick work of wriggling out of any cover tactic you try. If it weren’t for those damn ears your life would be so much easier.

The bar has the quiet hum of activity, occasionally interspersed with a loud chatter of conversations rising to some kind of boiling point. You maneuver yourself to the counter and try to get the attention of the bartender, holding the kid to your chest until he squirms his way upwards and settles with his chin on your shoulder, one of his ears slipping out of the head covering you’d fashioned and thwapping you in the neck. You’ll deal with that in a second.

You’ve only just caught the bartender’s attention when the doors slam open. The clamor of the cantina quiets momentarily, and you see everyone shift slightly to eye whoever just entered. The two new patrons seem to be in the middle of an argument, voices low in secrecy but tense with frustration.

“I’d know that green mug anywhere.” With that you finally turn, heart dropping with anxiety. It’s the Mandalorian and a companion, a human man. The man’s voice, a deep bellow, is warm and inviting in a way that shouldn’t make you freeze completely as he addresses the kid. He then looks you up and down, pausing as the Mandalorian continues stomping forwards. You freeze anyway. “Ah—this is that girl you mentioned? Your caretaker?”

“She’s a medic,” the Mandalorian sharply corrects the man without moving to look at you. He quickly returns back to whatever conversation was initially at hand as the man continues his brisk stride towards a table at the back. There are three people already seated there, but by the time the Mandalorian arrives they have all left in a scuffling hurry. Neither of the men acknowledge it, just immediately slide into opposing sides of the booth. “Karga, this is ridiculous--I’m not a Republic spy, why would there be this many hoops on a bounty you’re just handing out?”

“I’m not just ‘handing it out,’ Mando, I’m giving it to you because I know you’re the most capable,” the man, Karga, addresses the Mandalorian then directs his attention towards you. “Come here, girl. Let me get a good look at you, I’m curious.” Turning to the bartender, he barks out an order for spotchka. You walk towards the table. There’s too much attention on the three of you to resist, you wouldn’t want to make things more complicated for the Mandalorian anyway. The bounty hunter’s voice almost immediately overrides his, low but gritty with anger as you slide into the booth beside him.

“I can’t—Karga you know I’ve never done something like this. This high-profile. Going deep-cover for a job isn’t something I can do.”

You feel Karga’s eyes on you, it’s brief but piercing. You busy yourself by looking up at the woman who serves you a small glass of the bright blue liquid, quietly thanking her.

“It’s all the fobs or nothing. The signal will be broadcast in a few hours’ time—they won’t expect something like this to be conducted semi-publicly. Keep monitoring the broadcast, but save that fob for last,” Karga places three fobs in the center of the table, then slides a forth a few inches removed from the rest. He can tell the Mandalorian isn’t convinced—stars, even you can tell he isn’t convinced. Karga heaves a sigh and makes a stab at reassurance. “You can figure it out. You’re the only one I can trust to get this done. The most capable.”

The Mandalorian’s hand slams down on the table, you jump, quickly looking between the intense but even staring contest going on between Karga and the infuriated bounty hunter. Slowly, and with more than a bit of melodrama, the Mandalorian drags the fobs under his hand towards him, slipping it into his pocket without breaking eyes from Karga’s.

He turns heel so quickly his cape whips behind him. You scurry after him as fast as you can manage.

You can still feel the frustration steaming off of the Mandalorian the whole walk back to the Crest. You keep quiet, trailing behind him by a few steps—you desperately want to ask what was wrong. Your mouth stays firmly shut.

Boarding the Crest, the Mandalorian immediately scales the ladder into the cockpit. After a few minutes you feel the Crest shutter into the air, quickly shooting into the empty sky and then hyperspace. You sigh and grab a book, turning the kettle on to make some caf and settling in your bed to an eye on the kid as he toddles around the expanse of the hull.

Hours later, when the child has exhausted all possible forms of entertainment, usually consisting of live wires and exposed paneling that you tug him away from, he begins to get fussy in a way that means he’s tired but refuses to sleep. It starts with the occasional whimper that quickly crescendos into a full-blown fit. You know all the warning signs at this point.

The little terror had a bit of a habit of doing this—once the Mandalorian and you are in the ship he refuses to fall asleep unless you two are in the same room. A part of you knows this is a symptom of separation anxiety—which you in no way can blame him for, given the circumstances of their bond—but the cockpit is just about the last place you want to be.

It’s not that you’re scared of the Mandalorian, or anything. It would just be… incredibly awkward with the mood he’s in right now to attempt to lull his kid to sleep in his presence.

“Listen, buddy, your dad is super grumpy right now so—" The child just starts crying even louder, little fists balled up to pound futilely against your chest, trying to push you away. “Okay okay okay! I get it. I get it.” You sigh, biting your lip and looking down at the kid, then up at the ladder. The kid starts screaming. “Yeah, yeah. Alright.” You begin the climb up.

“Hey, sorry he’s being a little sensitive again,” you say as your head pops up onto the pilot’s deck, miraculously managing to pull yourself into the room with one arm holding the squirming kid against you. The floor seals shut behind you once you haul yourself over the edge.

The Mandalorian just grunts in response and continues flipping through radio channels, seemingly growing more frustrated with himself the longer it takes for him to find the frequency Karga directed him to. He’s in the pilot’s chair, back turned to you, shoulders hunched in concentration.

You settle into the copilot’s seat, resting the kid on his back on top of your legs. He settles almost instantly, big eyes no longer filled with tears.

Rolling your eyes with a small smile, you tickle him lightly until he starts giggling, then scoop him back up into your arms, allowing yourself to slide back in the chair a bit. You stare out into the bright darkness of space, blinking back at the stars as the child coos gently in your lap.

“A coded civilian station, is he fucking crazy?” The Mandalorian mumbles to himself in his continued litany of abuses he’s slung Karga and the greater universe’s way since returning to the Crest.

The longer you’ve been here the more he’s started to do things like that, just talking into the air without the expectation of a response. You begin to think that that’s just the way he acts when it was just him and the kid. Though you’ve noticed that he has been cursing way more than he did when you first met. That might be a little bit your fault. Oops.

You look down at the child and rub one of his ears, leaning down to press a kiss at the crown of his head. His little three-fingered hand catches your hair and pulls. Wincing, you resist the urge to jerk your head back. Instead, you extend the pad of your index finger and lightly wiggle it against his button nose. He sneezes and lets go almost immediately.  

You let out a triumphant “ha!” then shake your head slightly and twist your face in a playful scowl. The kid resumes his giggling, batting at your hands when you try to tickle his tummy.

Glancing over at the angry hunk of beskar seated beside you, you notice he’s paused with his hand hovering over the radio’s controls, his head turned slightly towards his right shoulder to silently regard you and the child.

You quickly divert your gaze back down to the kid, resuming rubbing his ears as his eyes slowly, devastatingly slowly, ease shut. Only to snap open again with a playful babble, hands reaching up again for the free entertainment of the hair still attached to your head. Shit. You sigh. The Mandalorian goes back to flipping through the channels.

More static and garbled languages you’ve never encountered before. You try to ignore the pounding of your heart—that was probably the longest you’d ever seen him grant you any kind of attention—and keep trying to lull the child to sleep. As quietly as possible you try to stand, scooting around the copilot’s seat to gently bounce the kid in the limited space to the back of the cockpit. He’s quieted significantly, just enough that you could probably get him to sleep on your own, as long as you don’t jostle him too much on the descent back into the hull. You’re about to head down the ladder when—

The Mandalorian pauses momentarily on a channel that’s playing music. The opening swell of the first verse is unmistakable. Your chest fills with a certain warm feeling, pounding with memories you had long since tucked away.

“Wait,” you say it without thinking. Without even processing that the words left your mouth. “Wait, could you go back? That… that song…”

Wordlessly, he clicks back to the previous station. The cabin is filled with the music, a warm and bright voiced female vocalist smoothly intertwined with her male partner. The melody is plucky, something you could dance to—and have, more than once—and it’s overly saccharine in its pure, absolute joy in itself. But you suppose the cheesiness is part of the charm. You relish in it regardless.

You do something to me that I can’t explain. There is a memory that surfaces just as quickly as it disappears. You couldn’t have been more than four. Your father, spinning you around by your pudgy forearm. It’s his laugh you remember most of all, something boisterous and full-bodied. You are dancing around the kitchen of a home you can’t remember, the floor dappled with light from the pieces of stained glass your mother had dangling from the windows. Hold me closer and I feel no pain. You smile to yourself, bowing your head down at the little one, quietly murmuring what lyrics you remember, rocking your hips in a gentle little dance. It works, the kid is fast asleep by the last chord.

The song ends, the disc jockey begins speaking in yet another language you don’t recognize. The Mandalorian quickly turns the volume down, lest it wake the child. He has reflexes fast enough to startle you, luckily your jolt does nothing to bother the baby in your arms. You gently place him in the pram, hovering beside the pilot’s seat. You slide the shield doors shut to keep out the noise and step back.

“Thank you, Mandalorian,” you say it softly, but you can see his helm bob slightly in a nod of acknowledgement. You take a deep breath and begin to head towards the ladder as he resumes flicking through the stations.

“Hey,” the Mandalorian says your name. You pause for a moment, then turn. He clears his throat—the sound comes out as a rough crackle over the modulator. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he sounds a bit nervous. “You can uh… you can just call me Mando, you know. The full thing is a bit of a mouthful.”

You blink once, then nod. Turning heel you, mercifully, scale back down the ladder with as much grace as could be mustered, despite your shaking hands.

That night, when you touch yourself, you shove the blanket he gave you against your nose and mouth. To keep quiet, you tell yourself. It smells like his soap.

**

Days after the radio incident, you can’t help but occasionally find that you’re singing the song to yourself as you go about your chores. It just seems to pop in your head as soon as you open your eyes, and it’s just stuck there, but you’re not very mad about that.

Mando has landed on some bitterly cold planet that was made up of little more than ash and a thick red fog. He had left late last night/early this morning to start his hunt, telling you in a little scribbled note to expect him back in two days’ time. He has really bad handwriting, it’s strangely amusing.

You decide to deep clean the hull: washing the floors, doing laundry, organizing what meager new supplies you were able to gather from Nevarro. As you did, you sang to yourself. Out loud. Just for the pleasure of it.

Your mother taught you kulning, as was tradition for the young girls on your home planet. Your father taught you the low-bellied croon of the casino singers. When things were still good, you would sing for your parents friends at the parties they would throw and your father would play the piano. You wish you had more memories like that. It’s hard to recall anything through the foggy barriers of the past fifteen years, it makes something in your chest ache to even try.

Am’ile’s radio was for emergencies only, not wanting to draw unwanted attention with the signal. It has been ages since you’ve had access to one, ages since you’ve heard music that didn’t come from your own mouth. That was why you’d started the nightly calls at Am’ile’s because before that grassy little planet… well, speaking was barely an option. You’d seen too many girls hurt for things far less than murmuring a tune.

To sing in the way your mother taught you, with the whole of your body. To make yourself so boldly known. It was all you had ever wanted.

You start putting together dinner for you and the kid as the day winds down. Mando had a barely functioning hotplate that you were able to make the best of, having bought some fresh produce at the far more hospitable planet the three of you were stationed at the previous day.

The stew cooks while you finish up the rest of your work, slicing bread and setting up a little dining area for your and the kid because, frankly, why not go all-out? It’s good to treat yourself to the small, gentle things. Even when on an unforgiving rock hurtling through space. Especially then.

You hop in the fresher while you wait for the meat to get to the proper temperature, twisting your body to keep your hair out of the water’s blast. In the enclosed space, you feel a less self-conscious and allow yourself sing a little louder than the under-the-breath, partial-hum you’d managed throughout the rest of the day.

You don’t hear the hull opening between that and the fresher’s spray.

When you turn the water off, you recognize the sound of the last few mechanisms of the hull door stealing itself back in place. Anxiety settles in quickly as you dry off. God, please let it just be Mando please. There’s the sound of something heavy being thrown against a wall. You wince.

A low voice. “Pretty little bird you’ve got singing in here, just for me?” Then a wet crack. “Mother fuck—"

Your heart lurches in your chest as you quickly pull your clothes on, cracking open the fresher door to peer out into the hull. Mando is standing over the body of a target, now crumpled to the ground, holding a bleeding headwound with two long, thin hands. He nudges the bounty with the butt of the weapon he had presumably just used against the man’s skull. The man gives a choked moan, completely incapacitated.

“Do you…” your voice sounds far too small. You blink, inhaling and starting over. “Do you need to bring him in alive or do you need my—"

“The carbonite will stop the bleeding,” Mando’s voice is gruff. You nod, even though his back is turned to you, watching from the safety of the doorway as he leans down and lugs the whining body into the chamber. Once the bounty is sealed away, you step back out into the open.

Mando pushes past you almost without recognition, limping heavily.

“Hey—hey!” You trail behind him, reaching out to touch his arm. He flinches. “Could you at least let me do my job?”

He regards you for an extended beat, then readily sits. It’s more of a controlled collapse.

“Is it your leg?” You ask, kneeling beside him and helping him peel off what armor you can. He shakes his head.

“It’s just more of a bruise I—my side, my hip. Onto the top of my leg.”

You nod slowly. “Okay, can you get to the fresher yourself or do you think you’ll need help? You have to rinse off before I treat you.” There’s an almost clay-like layer of red dust on his clothes and armor. It would be impossible to treat him properly without getting most of it off.

He wordlessly extends a gloved hand for you to help him up, you oblige—albeit struggling a bit with his weight. Once standing, you hover beside him on his limping walk to the fresher until he gives you a short: “I’ve got it.” You back off, returning to tend to your dinner while you wait.

When he emerges again he’s only wearing a sleep shirt, his mask, and a towel, the fabric held at the hip by his clenched fist to expose an already bruising thigh. He sits on a crate with an audible wince, easing himself back to lean against the wall slightly.

Your throat constricts as you move to his exposed side, but you try to breathe evenly enough to maintain an air of professionalism. Which gets increasingly difficult when he, with another sound of sharp pain, pulls up his shirt to reveal a series of small, shallow punctures traveling up his flank and over his hip that slightly weep with a mixture of blood and the cold water on his skin. He holds the shirt, just below his pectorals with his opposing hand, allowing the towel to drape over his lap while still revealing the side you need to work on. You can see the faint cut of his abdominal muscles, tracing south alongside a thin trail of dark hair leading--

“Shotgun pellets,” his voice stops your thoughts before they can get any worse. You’re partially thankful. Glancing up, you furrow your brow in confusion. He clarifies, “they’re a uh… a projectile type weapon. He was fighting dirty and desperate.” You nod, looking back down. The worst of the spray was able to score the skin right above his hip, but most of it had just bounced off his quad, leaving a series of raised, purpling welts. It was superficial at worst, but still not the best to look at. He seemed to read your mind. “Beskar was able to deflect them for the most part. I’ll be fine, just cauterize the worst of it.”

“The more you use the cauterizer the more of a chance you have of the scar tissue getting infected, you know. That’s some business you want no part of,” you say, digging through your kit for a pain ointment and the bacta you were able to refill on Nevarro. The more you looked at it, the more foolish of a blow for him to have taken it becomes. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re doing this on purpose,” you’re muttering it to yourself before you can fulling think through the implications. When he doesn’t say anything, you glance up at him. “That was a joke.”

“You need to work on your material, then.”

You laugh, shaking your head to yourself as you get to work. It’s easier to feel more confident around him the longer you’ve acclimated on the Crest. You have a bad habit of using snark as a defense mechanism. The more you work with Mando, the less you’re able to keep that up. It feels nice, you can relax slightly when you’re given the reassurance of him reciprocating the conversation.

You finish pressing the last of the bandages against his side. “The pain stuff I used should start sinking in soon, it might burn for a bit beforehand but it’ll get better after a few minutes.” He nods, pulling the towel tightly around his waist before standing and limping back into his quarters. He returns, fully dressed, putting a little more pressure on his leg than he did before he left. You quickly, desperately, find a way to conceal your staring.

“Hey—I have a surprise for you,” you turn to the kitchenette, busying yourself by testing the stock with a messy sip. It’s not… the best thing you’ve ever made in your whole life, but it’s the closest thing to the meals you made with Am’ile that you’ve had since you left your old home. It smells lovely, enough to have filled the hull with the smell of the herbs you used. “I thought it was just gonna be me and the womp rat so I made dinner, if you wanna eat with us that is.” You pull out the bottle of wine you bought from one of the storage drawers, a slight heat rising to your cheeks. You hold it up triumphantly anyway. “I really just needed an excuse to buy this for myself. But I totally understand if you’d rather eat upstairs by yourself.”

“Thank you,” he says hesitantly. “I’ll… I’ll stay while you eat. I can take mine to the cockpit once you’ve finished.”

“Would you want to have a glass with me, at least?” You hold the wine bottle by the neck at your side. He’s grumpy. Part of you wants to find some way to fix that, knowing it would be hard for you to let yourself enjoy the rest of the night with him fuming over something just upstairs. “I’ll cover my eyes. It’ll be like when I brought you your meals, while you were fixing the ship. No peaking. I promise.”

He takes a moment, before nodding slowly, for some reason you’re kind of surprised he agrees. Maybe that’s why your smile is so big. Maybe it was the fact you’d already cracked the bottle open for a few sips before taking your shower, the warmth of it at the bottom of your stomach making it much easier to playfully prod at the bounty hunter. Probably a mix of both.

You kneel beside your bed to gather another pillow, placing it across the makeshift table you’ve fashioned out of two crate and one of your blankets. You turn to bring the rest of the food to the table, three wooden bowls and a plate for the kid. You’re in the middle of separating the meat from the broth for him when you glance up at Mando, who is still standing exactly where you last saw him. He points to the tuft of fabric you had placed on the floor for him.

“What’s that for?”

You’re not sure if he’s serious or not. “Um, comfort?”

He doesn’t say anything, just cocks his helmet slightly to the left.

“Alright, old man,” you roll your eyes, refilling your cup . “Suit yourself.”

Mando pauses for a second longer before easing himself onto the pillow. He says your name softly, almost to himself. “This looks… really great. Thank you.”

“Well I wouldn’t take it to heart too much, chrome bucket. I was planning on hoarding all this for me and the kid. You just came back at quite the opportune moment,” you grin cheekily up at him before tearing your piece of bread and dipping it into the broth.

He reaches across the makeshift table and picks up his cup. You’ve repurposed the tops of two of his thermoses to make them. He examines it in his hand for a moment before speaking.

“Were you singing that song that was on the radio, yesterday? When I came in?”

“Yeah,” you laugh, shaking your head to yourself as you reach over the table and grab the cup in his hand to fill it with the wine. “I haven’t heard it in ages, you know? Any music at all, honestly, but especially that song. It was one of my dad’s favorites,” you detract before either of you could linger on that last statement. “It’s been in my head all day. I was meaning to ask you, when it comes to the radio—it probably wouldn’t be a good idea for me to listen while you’re on the job, yeah? Tracing signals and all that?”

Mando mulls it over for a second, accepting his cup from you and staring down at it. “I’m not sure. Better safe than sorry, but I could ask around about getting a uh… one of those new portable ones.” You don’t want to tell him that those newfangled portable radios have been a thing since you were in the cradle—something about his technological obliviousness was oddly endearing. “I’ll ask around and see if there’s some kind of blocking signal we could install. If you’d like one, that is. I’d like to take a sip, now, if that’s okay?”

You nod, immediately putting your hands over your face. You know you could just squeeze your eyes shut like oh, maybe a normal person might? But to be honest, it was a little funny to do. To act this silly in front of one of the most effective killing machines in the galaxy, who you have somehow convinced to attend a quaint family dinner. Might as well mess around a bit with it, yeah?

You hear the hiss of the mask resealing but you don’t remove your hands from your eyes. “It’s good wine,” he remarks. “You can look now.”

Removing your palms from your face, you blink your vision back to clarity, reaching for your cup again. Your mouth is already growing warm in the way that let you know that when Mando meant good he also meant strong. You have to agree.

“The people on Am’ile’s planet would make this crazy strong liquor out of these peaches that only grew in the valley where we lived. The village that was closest to us got super wealthy off of the stuff--honestly I can’t stomach anything too sweet anymore after it, spent an equal amount of time coming up as it did going down, if you get what I’m saying.” You screw up your face at even the thought of the syrup-like drink. “The orchards were super beautiful, though. The tallest foliage in the valley and they were maybe only a few heads taller than you. All types of critters living in the roots—that little one loved it.” You gesture to the child, who was grabbing as much of the dish’s meat as he could in his stubby three-fingered hands. The rest of his plate remained untouched. “Am’ile and I used to take walks through it all the time, especially when I first got there. It was too dangerous to go into the forests by yourself so I would spend ages in the orchards if she wasn’t putting me to work, just for a change of scenery.” Your mouth kind of just keeps running. It just feels so… nice, to talk to someone without having to try and stutter your way through a new language. That and the liquid courage in your cup made you unapologetically chatty. “She had so many little trinkets and things from her travels as a Republic medic, but only like ten books tops, all on medicine. I literally have the things memorized at this point, they were the only things to read.”

“You could go back at some point, if you want. When there’s a lull in jobs I could probably drop you and the kid off, spend a few weeks with her while I keep hunting,” Mando casually picks up his glass again, and you automatically cover your eyes with your hands. You’re still smiling, just with a little weight behind it.

“No, no that’s okay. Am’ile would get in too much trouble with the locals, for good reason. It isn’t safe for them and—to be honest, Mando, I don’t think the kid could take being separated from you for that long,” you pause for a moment. “But that’s incredibly kind of you to offer, thank you. I mean that.”

His mask hisses back in place. You ease the index and middle finger of your right hand to peer at him playfully before lowering your hands again. It’s a gentle spar between the two of you, an easy rhythm to settle into.

“Your med-station,” he nods towards your table/bed set up, looking particularly messy in comparison to the hull you’d spent the day cleaning. “It’s…”

Your heart drops, ready for the scolding. “Ah—uh, I’m sorry.” You look down at your plate—even if he couldn’t see the heat rising to your face, you try to hide your embarrassment by stabbing at another bite of food. You glance up at him sheepishly. “It’s the only place on the Crest that’s tucked away enough, I didn’t want to get underfoot.”

“No, no.” He shakes his head. You swallow. “I like it. A good idea. It’s like a reminder whenever I leave, not to do anything too stupid.”

“Oh, well,” you’re not sure why that catches you off guard so much. You honestly had no idea he even processed your presence since you’d first moved in besides the occasional medical assistance you provided. “I’ll make sure to put the more intimidating syringes front-and-center the next time I organize it.”

And he laughs.

Well—so, okay. It’s not a full laugh, more like a few low releases of air, but there’s a clear smile behind it that you can definitely hear. It’s enough to have you slightly grinning to yourself the rest of the meal.

By the time you’re finished, you’re a bit hazy off the wine and incredibly sleepy. You lean back slightly and yawn, looking at where Mando has settled the kid on his lap. “Sometimes I wish I could just snap my fingers and he’d just go to sleep. There’s too much energy in that little guy.”

“I can take him for the night,” Mando is currently engaged in a gentle dance of keeping the little one’s hands away from the food you’ve portioned for the bounty hunter. It’s more amusing than it should be. “If you could just help me take this upstairs I’d be more than happy to.”

You nod, clamoring to your feet and grabbing his bowl as he climbs up into the cockpit with the kid. You follow and place his dinner on a clear spot on the console.

“Where are we going next?” You ask, glancing over the control panel as if you had any idea what all those flashing lights and strange looking scanners meant. You should really pick up a flight manual at some point, just for the basics.

“The last fob,” Mando sighs. “Canto Bight. This—this is going to take a while, just warning you now. I still have no idea how I’m going to pull this off.”

You nod, yawning. You’re still a bit tipsy. “Okay, well, I think I’m gonna go to bed. Good luck brainstorming.” The food sits warm and heavy in your stomach. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt this full. It’s nice.

He gives a small nod acknowledging what you said, then goes back to grumbling down at the control panel, pushing buttons and examining scanners. You lean down to kiss the kid goodnight from where he’s babbling in the co-pilot’s seat, then climb down the ladder and change into your night clothes, setting the lights in the hull to night-mode as the Crest rumbles into the sky. Climbing into bed, you wrap your biggest blanket around yourself, the chill of hyperspace already settling in the air.

**

You have a dream. A bad one. One you’ve never had before and don’t know if you’d survive again if you did. It starts with you already crying. It’s one of those full-body, hiccuping sobs that usually rouses you from your sleep before things gets too bad.

Mando is gone, so far gone not even the comlink your finger is hovering over would be an option. You know this because the dream starts with him calling you. When you answer, there is only the sound of a hard, driving rain.

You’re holding the child against your chest and he’s screaming into your ear but you know if you actually lift him away to look at him he’ll disappear into the rain, too, so you drop the communicator and turn and there’s blood all over the floor and you have to clean it, you do. You have to so maybe he’ll come back and so you’re here, mopping up the blood on the hull’s floor as the child wails the loudest you’ve ever heard him cry and you try to choke out reassurances through your own crying because.

Because the gore is on your hands and your elbows and on you and on the floor once its gone it’ll be okay it’s so dark but it’ll be okay and streaking across the front of you and your face where you’ve tried to wipe it away please go away because it looks just like when.

Looks just like when.

You wake up in the middle of screaming, gasping for breath, one hand pressed against the top of the table above you and the other curled into the mattress. It’s the first time that’s happened, waking up like that at least. The dreams are different each time and occur at different frequencies, but they always crescendo at the same point. Usually you just wake up, eyes slowly sliding open and fixing to whatever is directly in front of you as your vision slightly blurs. How banal it usually is, how banal it feels, adds to the cruelty. You’re mostly still able to go to sleep after, at least there was that.

Not this, though. This is that hand-scratching-at-your-own-throat kind of terror, the kind you’ve usually only seen in the holo-dramas. You haven’t had a nightmare like that for so long, so maybe the surprise of it is what made it so much worse—that it wasn’t just you. Maker, you can still hear the child’s squalling in your ears. That sound of raw, primal terror that—

You feel your stomach lurch. You scramble to the fresher, emptying the contents of your stomach into the toilet.

Half anxiety, half afraid to close your own eyes, the dull thrum of raw energy does little to calm itself once you manage to shove the door of the fresher close. You let the metal rim of the toilet cool your face as you sniff, scooting back to lean your back against the wall, pulling the sleeve of the sleepshirt you’re wearing up your palm to wipe your eyes.

A low voice says your name urgently. You look up, dazed for a moment, before the door is cracked open by four broad-knuckled fingers. Your hand flies out, catching the handle before Mando is able to pull it the rest of the way open. He barely has time to get his hand out of the way before you slam it shut again.

“I--sorry,” you croak. “Please um… please don’t come in here.”

“Are you okay?” His voice is rough with sleep. You cup your hands over your knees and lean your forehead down to rest against them. When you don’t answer, he speaks again. “Was it, was it about before? Before Am’ile?”

“I—I haven’t, for so—I haven’t… Before… It was…”

“I know. She told me, it’s alright, I wouldn’t have asked I just… I thought it was something you didn’t want to talk about but I--”

“I’m not a charity case,” it sounds snappier than you intended it to and has absolutely nothing to do with anything he’d just said. At this point you’re just talking to yourself, it seems like he knows that. “That’s not why Am’ile pawned me off on you. I’m okay, I didn’t need her supervision anymore. I’m, I’m okay. It’s taken a long time but I am now so I don’t know why--”

“No,” and he says your name forcefully, cutting you off before you can continue. He repeats himself, this time softly, before: “It’s alright.” Does his voice sound… warmer? Even through a layer of reinforced steel? “I want you to feel safe, here. Comfortable. I don’t care, it’s okay. I just thought you were hurt.” He clears his throat. “I have them too, the dreams. So you, you don’t have to worry about hiding it. Them.” You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing at all. Closing your eyes, you lean the side of your face into the door separating the two of you. It’s so silent on the other side you think he’s left, so when he speaks again it’s all the more surprising. “And she didn’t pawn you off. I need you. Here.”

Something in your chest does a complete backflip. Your stomach is fluttering so ferociously you have to clear your throat before continuing. “Okay. Yeah, um. Thank you,” you wince. “I’m gonna freshen up and then get the little one out of your hair—er, beskar.” Idiot idiot idiot.

“It’s alright, you didn’t wake him. If you want I can… I can sit with you, until you fall asleep.”

“Okay.” You say it softly. “That would be really nice, actually. Thank you.”

You quickly brush your teeth, then open the door the door slowly. Stepping into the hull and closing it behind you, you pad back to your mattress. He follows a few feet behind you quietly—it’s moments like these you’re grateful for his reserved nature. You don’t have the energy to try and brush things off by filling the silence with mindless chatter.

Kneeling beside your mattress, you wordlessly offering him an armful of your pillows. In the low light of the Crest’s night mode, the beskar helmet looks nearly featureless, save for the gleam of light that arcs up its surface as he looks down at what you’ve offered him.

“Could you—” your voice breaks. Heat rises to your face as you clear your throat again. “Is it okay if the kid um… slept with me? It was… some of it was about—”

“Yeah, of course,” Mando takes one of the pillows from the top of what you’ve offered him, tossing it at the ground of the opposing wall and then slipping out of sight as he goes into his bunk. He returns with a the child, standing above you as you crawl into bed, wrapping you blanket around yourself, setting up the pillows as you normally do for the naps you take together, preventing any accidental rolling-over. Mando crouches to place the kid beside you, then stands and settles where he’d dropped the pillow previously. You take a moment to look down at the child, running a thumb over the edge of his ear, before kissing his soft forehead where you normally do. He wrinkles his nose in his sleep, making a soft sound and twitching his ears before wiggling slightly to resettle. You rest your head back on your pillow. The specifics of the dream are already starting to drift away. It’s a small mercy, but it’s enough.

“Hey, Mando?” You lift your head, the low light reducing the man to a dark, featureless outline.

“Hm?”

“Would you mind if… um… would you mind if I just touched your hand? Just so uh… if I wake up I can know you’re there?” As the words spill out of your mouth, an unbearable heat rises to your face.

There’s the sound of him shifting, getting to his feet with a grunt. Then he’s right there, sitting with his back to the wall, just a few inches from the top of your head. Tentatively, you reach out your hand, resting your index and middle fingers against his palm. And it’s his palm, His palm, warm but rough with callouses, resting on the floor beside his extended leg just for you to be able to close your eyes, even for a little bit.

It takes a while but it works. Right as you drift back to sleep you think you feel his hand gently wrap around the fingers you’ve offered him. You really think you do.

**

a/n: thank you all for the engagement thus far !! it really means so much to me. 

that said i am .,..... beyond excited about the next chapter for two reasons of equal importance: fancy parties and Very Jealous Mando. my favorite things 😌 

[angstyaches]

This is trope anon from before :) It might be interesting to see Elliot put off feeling sick, because he is so caught up taking care of everyone else? He kind of strikes me as a worry about everyone else first kind of guy lol. Then absolutely regretting it later haha

If not Elliot, Ryan also kind of gives me similar vibes

CW: mention of disordered eating/malnourishment, trauma mention, overwork, nausea, emeto, dizziness, blood mention (he’s a vamp, so yeah), pining (for absent partner), platonic/brotherly caretaking

Author’s note: Elliott and Felix are going to be just FINE! They’re not even broken up; Felix is just a little AWOL after a fight they had. I just loooove me some angst.

Elliott’s vision went pitch black for a moment as he stood and waited for the kettle to finish boiling. His stomach lurched so harshly that he almost turned towards the sink, expecting the return of the blood he’d drank for breakfast. Instead, he swallowed, closed his eyes, and breathed in slowly through his nose. He was overexerted, probably. He’d been pushing himself during his and Shayne’s ritualistic “sparring” (or, as Shayne called it, “trying to kick the shit out of each other” or “therapy”) session. Elliott had hoped his supernatural abilities would have begun to manifest by now, seeing as his transition to full vampire was complete. But still, nothing yet. Maybe the stress of Felix being gone was stunting his development. Maybe the stress was adding to how bad he felt.

The kettle clicked, reminding him of why he was standing in the kitchen in the first place. Elliott’s heart sank as he recalled Shayne’s eyes rolling back in his head, his body almost hitting the ground before Elliott could catch him. Turned out the kid had been starving himself again. Elliott would have punched his lights out if they hadn’t already basically been out.

A minute later, Elliott picked up a hot mug and crossed the open-plan kitchen and living area to where he’d left Shayne on the white sofa. He was conscious now, at least, but his eyes were glazed and unfocused.

The mug contained hot, weak tea and a few spoons of the glucose solution Ryan had concocted for Felix’s blood-and-sugar lollipops. Back in the day, when Felix refused blood and couldn’t hold food down, Ryan had fed him the solution like this, and it had kept him from passing out. The smell was so strong that Elliott almost gagged, his body so delicate as to protest merely being in the presence of human sustenance.

Elliott tried to hand Shayne the mug, but his cousin’s hands were so shaky he almost dropped it immediately. Elliott took it back, trying to ignore the fact that his own hands weren’t exactly the steadiest. He brought the rim of the mug to Shayne’s lips.

Shayne made a face and pulled away as soon as he took the first sip. His hand went to his mouth, like he was considering spitting it back out.

“Swallow it.”

A shiver seemed to roll through Shayne’s body as he did. His eyes watered like he was about to cry. “That tastes like shit, El.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what you get for forgetting that you need to eat.”

“I didn’t forget I needed to…” Shayne mumbled. “I’m not stupid.”

“That’s extremely debatable. Drink.”

“I’m gonna be sick.”

“Drink,” Elliott said again, as calmly as he could, “or I’m going to get Ryan.”

The last of the fight went out of Shayne’s eyes. Elliott knew he didn’t want Ryan or Nancy to know things had gotten this bad again.

Victorious but not feeling it, Elliott brought the mug to Shayne’s lips again and again, letting him take small sips. At one point, he covered his mouth again, shoulders jerking forward as he gagged slightly. Elliott’s stomach flipped at the sound and he had to turn his face away until Shayne stopped. He didn’t usually puke from seeing somebody else do it, but he had a bad feeling that if Shayne threw up, he would lose it too.

Shayne shook his head when presented with the mug again. A tentative hand rested on his stomach. “I can’t, El. It’s so heavy.”

Part of Elliott didn’t want to yield so easily, wanted to make him finish the mug. He wondered what Felix would do, or how Charlie would have reacted to that pleading look. Elliott knew he wasn’t soft in the same way they were. He just hoped he wasn’t harsh.

He hoped he wasn’t frightening.

He swallowed against a swell of nausea in his belly. Whatever was gnawing at the pit of his stomach weakened his resolve.

“Okay,” he said, “lie down.”

Shayne gave a small sigh of relief.

Elliott took the mug back to the sink. White floor and wall tiles swayed all around him like he was inside the world’s most colourless kaleidoscope. He slowly breathed in through his nose, leaning on the edge of the countertop to try and introduce some form of balance to his body.

He’d extended the offer to Shayne, but honestly, lying down sounded like an absolute dream to Elliott, too. Maybe his body would stop freaking out if he got a little more rest. His sleeping pattern was completely thrown off, his mind raced in the middle of the night. Felix had star-fished across about forty different mattresses before choosing theirs, and while Elliott had acted like he didn’t care which one they bought, he had ended up agreeing that it was the best mattress he’d ever used. But sleeping there without Felix felt wrong, so his body had been rejecting it as much as physically possible.

Nowadays, he might as well have been sleeping in a wooden coffin like the stereotype dictated.

He turned around to check on Shayne, frowning when he saw that he was still sitting upright on the sofa.

“I thought you were going to try and sleep?”

“I can’t – I can’t,” Shayne whispered, lowering his head into his hands. “El, I – every time I try, I feel like she’s here. Breathing on the back of my neck…”

Guilt churned Elliott’s stomach this time. Elliott felt regrets like cobwebs sticking to his soul, and although he didn’t allow himself many, one of those cobwebs was the feeling that maybe he could have gotten Shayne out of Madelyn’s sooner.

“She’s not getting in here,” Elliott promised. “Ryan will have her head on a stick before letting that happen. Nancy will turn her blood into tar.”

“She doesn’t have to be here, El. She’s already here.” Shayne pressed a finger to either side of his head and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Jesus, I’m – I’m sorry, man.” Elliott laid a hand on his stomach, stifling a belch since he really didn’t need gas leaving his body to make this moment even more stressful. “What usually helps when this happens?”

As Elliot should have expected, Shayne gave a lifeless shrug. Alright, think, Elliott told himself, swallowing thickly. He’d never seen Shayne warm up to anyone until that day in the park when he’d been clinging to Charlie like his life depended on it. He liked to act tough (and who did he pick that up from, I wonder?), but really, Shayne just didn’t want to be alone.

He’d be lying if he said he couldn’t understand that feeling.

Elliott swallowed again, fighting the lump in his throat and the swirling in the pit of his stomach.

“Want me to sit with you?”

Shayne opened his eyes, looking genuinely surprised.

Elliott sank down on the sofa without waiting for a verbal answer. He hit the cushions a little too quickly for his stomach’s liking. It shifted noisily, semi-digested contents swimming around inside. “Now, if you think you can feel someone breathing on you, you can tell yourself it’s just me.”

“Ugh,” Shayne groaned, curling up on his side so that the top of his head was just next to – scarcely touching – Elliott’s thigh. “Do not breathe on me, man.”

Elliott smiled through his vaguely-concealed discomfort, glad that Shayne wasn’t facing him. “Afraid you’ll catch vampire cooties?”

Shayne didn’t respond beyond a soft groan that Elliott interpreted as “shut the fuck up, old man”. So even though he’d have loved to keep taunting his cousin and keep himself distracted, Elliott shut up, letting his neck rest against the back of the sofa and draping one arm up over his eyes. Lack of vision made the world feel a little less like the spinning drum of a washing machine. Elliott regretted dreaming up that metaphor, gritting his teeth as he realised his stomach felt like such a drum, too.

He was swallowing constantly, every few seconds now, chest tight with the effort of drawing slow, shallow breaths. It felt like the fibres holding his being together were frayed and left just shaky enough to throw everything off without causing him any actual, physical pain. Beneath it all was a tiny flame of anger; what the hell was the point in becoming a vampire if feeling unexplainably shitty at inconvenient intervals was still on the table?

An icy shiver ran down Elliott’s back, and he flinched where he sat. He slid his hand around the back of his neck and gulped another wave of saliva. Nothing was there, yet when he exhaled, he shuddered again. Shayne’s talk about Madelyn must have wormed its way into Elliott’s mind. Lord, he really was a mess.

He glanced down to make sure his sudden jump hadn’t disturbed Shayne. It was hard to tell if the boy was sleeping or just trying very hard to stay still. At least he didn’t seem to be panicked or shaking anymore. Elliott desperately wanted to stand up and walk around; moving and distracting himself would surely ease the building pain in his stomach, but he didn’t think he could get up without jostling Shayne.

Sucking in a breath and trying to brace his stomach for the move, Elliott shifted his weight on the sofa, cringing at how much the cushions flexed with him. He watched Shayne’s head, his breath still caught somewhere between his belly and his lungs. Another trickle of unpleasantly cool sweat ran down the back of his neck and his hands shook until he dropped the weight of his head into them. His elbows felt unbalanced on his knees. His stomach flipped, and he swallowed measuredly against its protests.

“El?”

“Yeah,” Elliott choked out, though he’d meant to give a friendly, open yeah? As in Felix’s chirpy Yeah, buddy? Are you okay? What can I do for you?

“Y’alright?” was all Shayne replied with.

“I’m good, yeah.” Upon tasting blood and bile, Elliott gulped again. “Just relax, okay? No one’s going to –”

Elliott jammed a fist against his lips in time to stifle a wet, shallow belch. The sound was so sudden and violent that his head shot forward, almost ducking between his own knees.

“Fuck,” Shayne gasped, scrambling upright despite the fact his eyes were barely open. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Elliott half-snapped, annoyance at himself manifesting as annoyance at Shayne. “I may have pushed myself a bit this morning, but I’m –”

He was once again cut off by a belch, this one rumbling up from much deeper inside him. His belly continued bubbling even after the air stopped being pushed up.

“El, I think you need to –”

“Don’t.” Elliott shook his head.

“Why did –” Shayne winced slightly and rubbed at his head. “Why didn’t you say you were feeling sick?”

“Because I was trying to look after you!” Elliott sighed into his hands. The tiny burst of frustration was dizzying on top of everything else. “Lord fucking knows you can’t take care of yourself.”

“Fuck you,” Shayne said back, though his voice was empty of any of its usual fight. “I’m – I’m trying, I’ve been trying… Elliott, just go to the sink!”

Elliott’s shoulders rolled as he covered his mouth with his palm, feeling a thick film grow over his tongue. He was tempted to swallow it down again but a cramp ripped through his gut, making all of his organs squeeze in defiance of him swallowing anything.

“Shit,” he somehow mumbled, sitting forward and pushing himself to his feet as Shayne pushed – weakly but with good intentions – at his back to help him up. Elliott sprinted across the kitchen tiles and flung himself at the sink, stars in his vision and blood in his mouth. He was unbearably dizzy as he heaved up what he’d drank that morning. At least it had been an animal-blood day, and he wasn’t watching mouthfuls of human blood pooling in the sink and trickling into the drain.

It was a waste, but it could have been worse. He choked on a sob, realising he’d never thought like this until Felix.

“Fuck,” Elliott gasped when something moved next to him. He hadn’t even noticed Shayne following him to the sink. “Christ. I feel awful… Why – why do I feel this bad?”

“You’re trying to force something you’re not capable of.” Shayne folded his arms and rested them on the countertop, eyes falling shut again.

Elliott spat bitterly towards the drain. “How the fuck do you figure that?”

“Because that’s my whole life summed up, El.”

Elliott gripped the neck of the tap and turned it on, directing the water around the sink to get rid of the mess he’d made. His head was spinning and his nerves still felt alive with electricity and just wrong in general, but his belly felt a lot better. He felt like he could breathe normally again.

“You okay?”

“I think so.” Elliott rinsed his mouth, running tap water into his palm and lifting it to his lips. It was cool, and soothing on his throat after the retching.

Shayne looked positively miserable as their eyes met. “What now?”

As he shut off the tap, Elliott brushed a wet hand across the back of his own neck, relishing the cold drip that started trailing down his back. He shut his eyes, feeling like he was ready to drift off to sleep on his feet, like a horse.

“Well,” he said, “how would you like to take a nap on a really nice mattress?”

[sokkas-honour]

3 with sokka for your spotify wrapped playlist writing thingy? Also hii hehe i just found your blog 5 seconds ago NICE TO MEET YOUUU

it’s lovely to meet you too! (i prepared these a while ago but tysm for being so supportive of my blog!!)

affluenza - sokka x reader

pairing: sokka x fem!reader (it’s more platonic than anything)

wc: 2.7k

notes/warnings: again, i’m only really using the theme of this song instead of the lyrics. for warning, misogyny?? a bit of neglect

-

growing up a princess was already hard to begin with, but being the younger sister to the nation’s favourite royal was even worse. constantly being in her shadow, being ignored by parents and just being blindly spoiled. you were lucky, you could get whatever you wanted except for your parent’s own attention and affection.

ever since you turned the age of ten, you were quick to notice that you weren’t your parent’s favorite so you would try and do whatever you could to be the star in their eyes. you trained everyday in order to improve your water bending, your warrior skills, just anything that could make you stand out and get your parents to notice you more. but alas, you weren’t the crown princess, the most beautiful girl in the northern water tribe.

it came to a point where, around your fifteenth birthday, you were starting to loose motivation for things in general. all of your work had payed off, you had mastered every healing form and had even gotten secret lessons from local boys trying to use you to get to yue, you had everything you could want except for the one thing you desperately needed. so you started isolating yourself a bit more, the rest of the nation forgetting about you even more.

your isolation changed when you heard of the avatar having arrived in your tribe and suddenly, you desperately wanted to get to know them. if you befriended the avatar and even joined him on his voyage, you might just finally get your parent’s stamp of approval. it was the first thing in months to give you any sort of motivation.

during the dinner that your dad threw for the guests and to honour your sister’s birthday, you had managed to find a spot next to the southern watertribe girl and you two hit it off immediately. bonding over shared experiences as younger siblings.

“yeah it does hurt a bit to have practically mastered all your water bending forms and not get a congratulations from your parents.” was your comment as the two of you spoke about sometimes feeing as thought you’re living in your older sibling’s shadow. what you said seemed to have done something to the girl who’s name you learned was katara.

“you’re a waterbender?” she asked bewildered. her eyes looking at you with excitement and wonder.

“yeah, one of the best in the tribe if i do say so myself.” you joked lightly, a bit confused at her tone.

“i’m a waterbender too! do you think you could teach me a few things?” she excitedly asked, a huge grin on her face. you nodded and finished swallowing your pickled fish that had been prepared by the best chefs in town.

“i mean sure but i’m not sure what i could teach you. i’m basically a master but i wouldn’t say that i’m too far ahead from other people my age.” you responded, explaining to the girl from your sister tribe that you may not be able to teach her much.

“oh, where i come from, i’m the last waterbender. so i’ve never had any actual training.” her gaze averted from yours and you instantly regretted what you said, feeling horrible at your assumption. you were used to being surrounded by waterbenders and had no idea what she must’ve been going through.

“i’m so sorry, i shouldn’t have said that. if you need anyone to show you some water bending forms, i’m more than happy to. but i’m sure you’ll get more from master yagoda.” you searched for her hand and gave it a little squeeze, she turned her head to smile at you which you returned a comforting one back.

“why not master paku?” she inquired, slightly confused at not hearing the name of the respected master she had heard about at one point during the dinner.

“master paku teaches warrior waterbending skills, girls aren’t allowed to learn those techniques, only healing.” you explained, gaze faltering slightly. you hated your tribe’s costume which is why you always tried to rebel in your own way, but she didn’t need to know that yet.

“why? that’s stupid!” she exclaimed, removing her hand from yours to hit her closed fists on the table in annoyance, thankfully not drawing any attention.

“i know! but it’s tradition and the old farts who control this town hate breaking tradition, even my father won’t break it for me!” you explained, giving a small glance to your father who spoke to one of his councilmen.

“maybe he’ll change his mind if i’m with the avatar! we might even convince him to train you!” she suggested, optimism laced in her words but you simply shrugged your shoulders.

“you can try but i wouldn’t get your hopes up. if you do though, make sure to come get me.” you blankly responded, not wanting to give her any false sense of joy.

the rest of the dinner went by nicely, her telling stories about her adventure with the avatar and her brother, who’s name you learned to be sokka. he even inserted himself in the conversation once or twice, making you laugh at his comments. the night had to end eventually, and for yue and yourself, it meant you two have to leave before the party ended.

“y/n, i think i may have a problem.” yue nervously started when you were both alone. “that southern water tribe boy, he.”

“he’s hilarious?” you finished her sentence, a knowing smile on your lips.

“yeah, and i’m scared i might be catching feelings for him. he even suggested to do something together.” she explained, hand grabbing yours nervously, looking to you for advice on what she should do. no matter how much your parents favoured yue on every way, there was so way you could ever hate her or hold your parents’ doings against her.

“oh come on yue, talking to him won’t hurt you. if anything, not talking to him will hurt him.” you joked, placing your hand on top of hers to give more weight to your words.

“i suppose so.” she smiled, most likely thinking about him and the way he made her feel. your smirk never left your face as you watched the way he made her feel.

the next day, you ran into katara and aang as they went to visit master paku to try and convince him to train the both of them. you were going on a simple walk, hoping to run into them.

“y/n, want to come with us to master paku?” katara immediately asked once you were in proximity to the tow of them.

“not sure you’ll be able to convince them but i’d love to either way.” you smiled, waving hello to the avatar.

“well we’re going to try.” aang backed up katara’s optimism which was slightly sad to see as you knew the ending, you had experienced it yourself.

and like you predicted, their attempt to get the old master to go against outdated traditions proved useless. it ended in katara yelling at his misogynistic attitude and giving up to go sit in on a healing session. you decided to join her, knowing it was useless to you but it was nice to a get a refresher nonetheless.

once it ended, you were left to deal with an annoyed katara as aang was still training. you admired her for standing up to him, wishing you had the confidence that she had but you had given up fighting traditions a long time ago when you realised it was useless.

“listen, i’m sorry katara. if you want though, i can show you around town.” you tried to cheer her up but she seemed to agree with no enthusiasm.

during your tour, you made sure to give as many details as you could to the girl from your sister tribe but it didn’t do much to make her smile. her attitude did change though when the both of you ran into her older brother, a lovestruck emotion on his face which immediately led you to conclude he had seen your sister, and you were right.

“we’re meeting tonight at the same bridge we saw each other! yue and i!” was the first he said when he approached the two of you, more directed to his sister.

“really sokka? that’s great!” katara’s mood seemed to change to happiness for her brother. she then turned to you, surprisingly. “you know, maybe yue said something to y/n. did she?”

“why would yue tell her something?” sokka stopped you from answering, taking you slightly aback. his rather none accusing question hurt you more than you’d care to admit.

“i beg your pardon?” you were slightly offended at his question, more hurt but that wasn’t the tone that you wanted to show, knowing that showing hurt was more of a weakness than anything. at least in your household, your parents only seemed to notice your negative attitude when it came out. a comment made by a schoolmate hurt you and when you came home crying, you were simply neglected as yue had come home earlier and your parents were engrossed in her story. you had tried to come to them but were simply ignored. since then, you’ve only ever shown emotions theyd deem negative to your sister.

“sokka, you met her last night. she’s the second princess of the northern water tribe!” katara harshly whispered as you calmed yourself down, making a mental note to thank your new friend.

“yue has a sister? what did she say about me?” his confusion turned to excitement as he practically rushed into your face, too close for your liking.

“yes, and what do you think you’ll get out of me?” you smirked slightly, putting your hand on his chest to push him out of your face.

“i don’t know, what does a princess need?” he questioned. letting your hand linger before you dropped it.

“warrior training.” katara observed as you narrowed your eyes, the smirk still on your lips as you surprised the rather bold boy.

“why would you need warrior training?”

“because, i want to. my father refuses to let me train but i’ve found ways. yue told me you’re supposedly the best warrior in your village and i want some.” you defied his expectations, he assumed you’d probably be drastically different from your sister in a bad way but he was wrong.

“deal, you tell me what yue thinks of me and i’ll teach you a couple of things i know.” he was quick to agree, willing to do anything to know what the crown princess thought of him. you took your hand out to shake on it and he did, both of you looking each other in the eyes in defiance, hands lingering in each other’s grip.

katara giggled at the interaction which brought the two of you out of your stare and let go of each other’s hands.

“i’ll see you tomorrow, hopefully yue will tell me more after your little rendezvous today.” you told him before turning your attention back to katara, seeing as though she was with her brother now, she’d be fine on her own. “i’ll see you tomorrow around the healing hut early tomorrow?”

she nodded before you waved the two of them goodbye and walked back towards the palace, looking forward to your first session with sokka.

the next day was pretty eventful, finding out that katara and aang had gone against paku’s rules, meaning that he refused to continue raining the avatar. you found out right before leaving for the session with yagoda and decided to stick around when katara defied him. and by the end of that whole fiasco, she was able to convince him to let her train with him.

after that happened, you immediately went to your father to beg him to let you join paku’s clas but you were met with a wall.

“absolutely not, the times may be changing but i’d rather none of my daughters do anything too dangerous. you still need to finish mastering healing.” was his response, leaving you in complete disbelief. you had mastered every healing form a couple of months ago and he didn’t know.

yue tried to comfort you but you ignored him, deciding to walk around town to calm down. you knew that if yue was the waterbender, she’d be able to do whatever she wanted. even if she was their fragile little girl.

the day went by rather fast, and before you knew it, you were following katara in secret to watch the first ever girl receive training from a master in the northern water tribe. you made sure to not make your presence too noticeable, even if the majority of people didn’t notice you most of the time. you watched in complete awe of her raw skill, wishing that you were right there next to her, having something to make you stand out from your family.

when the afternoon came, you made your way to where the three of them was staying in order to complete your deal with sokka.

“hey y/n, did you find out anything about yue?” was his greeting which earns a little eye roll from you.

“didn’t she tell you that she was engaged?” you said rather harshly, regretting as you saw him look down sadly. “listen sokka, she can’t love you but she does. she’s tied to our ridiculous customs, i’m sorry.”

“it’s okay.” he took a deep breath in and let it go before meeting your eyes that were soft, matching them with a small smile. “ready to get started?”

“more than ready. my stupid father didn’t want me joining katara today so i need to let out some sort of aggression.” your tone clearly annoyed at your father which confused sokka, yue didn’t seem to have any problems with her parents.

“i don’t know if this is my place to ask, but why do you seem to hate your father so much?” he asked, curious to know.

“this is nothing against my sister, i love her to bits. it’s my parents i have problems with, they just cast me aside. all of their attention has always been on yue, hell everyone in this stupid tribe only cares about yue! i’m supposed to just be unnoticeable according to my parents yet they shame me for not being as special as yue! i mastered every single healing form and i even managed to learn a couple of fighting stances, yet it’s still not enough.” you let yourself go, deciding to dump all of your problems on the poor boy who had to hear your practically yell at the end. “sorry, you probably didn’t want to know all of that.” you joked nervously.

“no, no its okay. i just figured that being yue’s sister would be like the best thing. i mean being royalty makes your life basically perfect and i mean, she’s one of the sweetest girls i’ve ever met!” sokka ranted, not exactly being what you wanted to hear.

“yeah, i have everything i could ever want but my parent’s attention.” you laughed in disbelief at how ridiculous your situation was.

“you know what?” a silence had settle after your uncomfortable laugh but he was the first to speak, excitement in his voice as he voiced the idea in his head. “what if you joined us to defeat the firelord and travel with the avatar? that’s sure to get your parents to notice!”

“you barely know me and i haven’t actually spoken with the avatar, what makes you think that i’d fit your little team?” you were skeptic at his proposition, loving the idea but not being sure he was thinking it through.

“from what katara’s told me, you’d be perfect for us! katara could teach you what she learns with paku on the road, i could teach you what i know and you could be our own healer!” he excitedly thought about the idea of having someone else on his team, even if you weren’t the sibling he fell for, he still took a liking to you after your first conversation.

“well then, come fetch me before you leave. my parents won’t notice me gone so there won’t be any problems.” you concluded, you yourself getting excited at the idea of finally doing something that might make you stand out to your parents.

“great! now let’s get started.” he opened the door, a huge smile on his face.

“if you were at all interested, she thought you were a pretty good kisser.” you added before he could start teaching you any of his skills.

general taglist: @butterfly-skinnylegend @biqherosix

atla taglist: @missmorosis @draqondance @firelady-jay @welovediaaxx @sunnypluto

[cinnawrites]

An Unexpected Painting Session

Summary: After always seeing the Chief Alchemist paint and sketch and paint some more, Kaeya decides to give it a try. Turns out it takes a lot more skill than meets the eye to reproduce something as beautiful as one of Albedo’s paintings.

A/N; FINALLY something that isn’t Thanzag! Here’s my first Genshin Impact work! I’ve been super into Genshin lately, but haven’t written anything until now. Enjoy!

As the cool air of Dragonspine grazes Albedo’s fingers, he drew yet another stroke across his canvas, almost finishing his piece. He took a step back, admiring his work in progress from afar. He loved painting the various landscapes Dragonspine had to offer. Every area he would pick on this mountain to create a new piece offered him a new look on his surroundings. He never got bored of it, unlike other topics of research he has lost interest in long ago.

He loved coming up to Dragonspine. He didn’t mind the cold as much as any adventurer would. He found it quite soothing, in fact. The mysteries the mountain held also drew him in, helping him find many new things to investigate. His lust for learning would never be satisfied, the complexity of these cold summits were proof of that. 

Yet, there was another cold and mystifying subject that had enticed him just as much as Dragonspine. 

Albedo paced back to his canvas, satisfied with what he’s produced so far. As he continued filling in the snowy peaks in the landscape ahead of him, he thought of said subject. A subject as enticing as the peculiar wonders of Dragonspine seems impossible to think of, yet it stuck to Albedo's mind. The mystery behind a certain Cryo user who loves to go around teasing and flirting with everyone he encounters on his way.

A subject just as peculiar as Dragonspine could be none other than the enigma behind Kaeya, the Cavalry Captain of the Knights of Favonious.

Albedo dipped his paintbrush into another shade of blue as he pondered about Kaeya some more. A man who disappears to Celestia knows where, it was only a matter of time for Albedo to find interest in him. What secrets does he hold? What is he hiding in plain sight? Might he be planning something dangerous? Why does he wear an eyepatch all the time? Why does every word he speaks baffle, yet still draw Albedo in further and further? All these questions were still a mystery to him, and he was willing to do whatever it takes to find the answers to them.

The chill in the area felt a lot colder now that Albedo had concluded his thoughts. He continued to paint, thinking that the change was just a brief gust of wind. However, the newfound feeling of a more chilling air around him lingered. Surely his fire didn’t go out, he could still feel the presence of the heat from behind him. However, there was another presence there, but not one of a campfire, or an object. It was a person.

“My, my, will you not even greet me with a simple ‘Hello’ or a ‘Nice seeing you here’?”

It is almost as if the Archons had heard Albedo’s thoughts and had brought to him the exact person on his mind. He turned to face Kaeya, a smile on the man’s face.

“And what brings you here to Dragonspine, Sir Kaeya?” Albedo asked, placing his paintbrush down, “It is quite cold up here, might I add.”

“Come on now, Albedo. There’s no need to be so formal,” Kaeya advanced towards him, particularly eyeing his artwork, “I just wanted to admire the scenery, the cold is barely a problem.”

Right, Kaeya did possess a Cryo vision after all. There isn’t a doubt that the cold wouldn’t nearly come close to affecting him. Albedo watched as Kaeya tried to get a peek at the canvas, though he was standing right in front of it, obscuring his vision. The smile still lingered on the Cavalry Captain’s face as he tried to look over Albedo’s shoulder, going from side to side as the alchemist followed his every movement. Typical of Kaeya to have such a childish nature, while still acting like an adult. Another captivating thing to note, Albedo thought.

“Oh please, won’t you let me have a look?” Kaeya asked, now standing still in front of Albedo.

“You should have just asked instead of going around me like some sort of child,” Albedo responded, looking up at Kaeya with a calm, yet irritated stare, “If I were painting in front of Klee, she would have done the same thing.”

Kaeya feigned an expression of hurt, putting his hand up to his chest, “You wound me, Chief Alchemist. May I see this wonderful painting of yours that you’re trying oh so hard to hide from me?”

Albedo nodded and took a step aside to reveal the piece he had worked on for Barbatos knows how long now. Kaeya hummed in satisfaction as he admired the work of art. It was of the snowy mountains of Dragonspine, of course, but it had such exquisite and fine detail, you wouldn’t be able to tell it apart from the real thing. The shades of blue and gray used were identical to the landscape. Kaeya looked up at the area in front of him, and then back down at the painting, humming once more.

“Such intricate detail as always,” Kaeya stepped back, looking at Albedo with a smile, “Truly another impressive feat of yours, how do you do it?”

Albedo appreciated Kaeya’s compliments, yet felt a wave of embarrassment overcome him. While praises certainly did feed into his pride, he couldn’t help but feel sheepish when receiving them. Especially when it came from Kaeya, it seems.

“It takes a lot of practice,” Albedo explained, ignoring his embarrassment with a cool expression on his face, “It’s taken a lot of time for my work to turn out like this.”

“Of course, of course,” Kaeya says in a genuine tone. He approached Albedo again, inspecting his art tools, “I wonder if I could do something as wonderful as this as well.”

“Would you like to try painting?” Albedo asks out of curiosity. Surely, it was what he was implying, but he still decided to ask. It was hard to tell what Kaeya meant at times, another reason why he disliked talking to and having relations with people. Kaeya simply laughed.

“I mean, it wouldn’t hurt to try,” Kaeya said, rubbing the back of his head, “However, I can assure you it won’t be a masterpiece like yours, prepare your eyes.” 

Albedo nodded, “Well, I suppose you already know the basics of painting, correct?”

“I’d say I do, it doesn’t seem too complex,” Kaeya said, swiftly picking up the paintbrush that Albedo had placed down, “Do you happen to have a spare canvas?”

“Of course I do, I wouldn’t go around with just one canvas to spare,” Albedo reached down into the bag placed at his feet and fished out a fresh new canvas. He grabbed a new paintbrush as well as a cloth, which wasn't as clean as one would expect. He took the brush Kaeya was twirling in his hands away from him, earning a confused and upset expression from the captain.

"Hey, I was going to use that," Kaeya frowned. Albedo traded the used paintbrush with the clean one he fetched from his bag.

"It's dirty," Albedo explained, swiftly and gracefully taking a step towards the fire. There was a cup of nearly frozen water placed right by it. If he hadn't left it there, it would've been as hard as the ice covering the ground all around him. He knelt down and picked up the cup, feeling how cold it was despite the fact that he was wearing gloves. He dipped the paintbrush in the water several times, before quickly wiping it dry with the help of his washcloth. Even if it may not have been the cleanest, it did its job quite well. 

Albedo got back up, making his way towards Kaeya who had just been standing in front of the easel. He looked over his shoulder and smiled.

"Do you have something in mind that you'd like to paint? It's much better to have an idea of what you'd like to do rather than going in blind," Albedo asked, now standing next to Kaeya. He handed him the palette, which had all the colors needed for Kaeya to create whatever he wanted. Kaeya seemed to be lost in thought, going through the different options he had in mind.

"I suppose I have an idea," Kaeya says, looking down at the palette in his hands. Albedo expected him to explain what he was going to paint, but instead he said, "Could you stand in front of the canvas? I'd like for this piece to be a… surprise."

Albedo, shocked by the sudden request, stepped away from the canvas. He stood facing the captain, so that he could get a look at whatever he was planning on doing. He also just wanted to see Kaeya’s face shift as he tried painting for the first time.

Kaeya rested the hand that held the paintbrush against his chin, seemingly lost in thought. He scanned the blank canvas before him, then finally gasping and dipping his brush into a color Albedo couldn’t guess. He dragged the brush along, making what Albedo could only assume to be thick and broad lines.

The alchemist let his mind wander as Kaeya painted away, studying the Cavalry Captain intensely. He thought more about the man standing in front of him, trying to come to a conclusion for one of the many questions he had asked himself. Nothing particular came to mind as always. 

Albedo seemed to think of Kaeya quite often, and not only just to wonder about his past. He found himself thinking of how charming he is to look at, with such admirable features. His skin was blemishless, being a smooth caramel color all around. He'd heard people around Mondstadt speculate that the skin under his eyepatch would be lighter, but he disregarded those comments.

Kaeya's hair was yet another distinct feature of his that Albedo found quite pleasant. Navy hair as silky and smooth as that seemed impossible to be kept that way, especially when considering he would always style it in a low ponytail. One would expect it to get in the way, but Kaeya didn't seem to mind it at all. This made him all the more intriguing to Albedo, getting the gears in his head turning faster and faster. These features happened to make his heart quicken too, which Albedo just couldn't seem to understand the reasoning behind.

Kaeya’s gaze met his, making Albedo turn away in a quick movement. Kaeya chuckled under his breath, his stare lingering on the alchemist’s figure. He seemed to be finishing up his piece, Kaeya taking a step back, and looking at it from different angles. 

“It’s done, would you like to see it?” Kaeya asked, “It could be better, but that doesn’t matter now, does it?”

Albedo paced back towards the easel, surprised by what was presented to him. 

It wasn’t a landscape like he thought it would be, nor was it a flower or a tree from the surrounding area. The colors were quite nice to look at, he had to admit. From different shades of yellow to blue, with a teal nearing the color of his eyes, he admired the piece before him. Of course, it wasn’t a spectacular painting, he expected that. What he didn’t expect was to be met with his own face on the canvas.

“It’s me,” Albedo remarked, “You decided to paint me?”

“Why yes,” Kaeya explained, putting down the brush and the palette before him, “You have quite the charming appearance, Chief Alchemist.”

Albedo could’ve sworn he felt the heat rise to his face, but he shook it off, “You’re not that bad of a painter yourself, Kaeya. The colors are quite nice. You could use a bit of work on refining your technique.”

“I expected that,” Kaeya said, putting his arms behind his head, “Say, why don’t you teach me how to paint just like you? Shouldn’t be too hard, coming to see each other between our duties.”

“I think that would be quite nice,” Albedo said, a faint smile on his face, “Why don’t we head back to Mondstadt now? It’s getting quite chilly up here. I suppose you don’t have any duties to attend to at the moment and neither do I, so it would be the perfect time to get properly started.”

“Yes, that would be lovely,” Kaeya replied, helping Albedo put his affairs away for their journey down the mountain.

[date posted; 13.04.21]

[camelely]

13rw S4 Fix

 So i did one of these for last season and I think now that I’ve had some time to think about S4 I’ll do the same. While last season I thought the issue was one character being overused. But here it seems like there were multiple smaller things that could have improved the whole season Again I’m keeping the same basic plotline and characters :) 

1) Winston 

Have Winston stay at Hillcrest. Him moving to Liberty did nothing for the main plot and he was basically a red herring through most of it. Let him try are befriend the characters from the outside. He can learn about Jess from Bryce’s trial and the news coverage and then try to befriend her at Monet’s. This is where he meets and later starts to date Alex. Since he doesn’t go to liberty school Alex sees him as a sort of escape and lets him in. Clay and Ani dont tell everyone about him because they dont know he is trying to get close to them. It makes them seem less like assholes and more like people. They don’t mention his connection to Monty because they dont realize how close he is getting to answers. Clay can still suspect he did the graffiti, after all it was a break in and a non student could have done that. Plus Estella is another red herring in the school. She serves that purpose so let Winston be the outsider looking in. His arc would still be about knowing a different Monty and not knowing who is was at Liberty but now he is literally the outsider who didn’t really get Monty, rather than it just being a figurative thing at the prom. You can still have the prom scene it would just be entirely imagined rather than the half imagined thing they went with. I think they overused the people talking to ghosts thing so here it would be a  fantasy of Monty and the relationship they had rather then a representation of what could have been. However I don’t think this would have retracted from the point. Also play him up, he is a sympathetic antagonist and it sucks how much he is sidelined for Diego. I didn’t hate Diego but Winston and him basically went through the same arc. They were pro Monty and ending up dating a member of the group, couldnt believe that member was involved and then learned something about Bryce and Monty agreed to move on and just did. All while saying they will alway care for that member of the group. It was an unnecessary rehash. Having WInston be the outsider looking in and Diego the insider looking out also lets their characters compliment each other. They should still work together, just have Winston contact him looking for Monty’s friends. It’s simple. 

2) Tyler and Tony 

Oh Tyler. The character who seems to be in the middle of everything despite never doing anything himself. I didn’t mind his arc of helping the cops find the guys who sold the illegal guns. But Tony’s suspicions, eventually leading to Clay and Tony finding out the truth and just moving on never really go anywhere. I think  it would be cool if Tyler tells Tony, despite the cops telling him not to tell anyone, because he trusts Tony. But Tony, who has had bad run ins with the cops, thinks it is a bad idea. He doesn’t want Tyler taking the deal. Tyler says its the only way the guns wont be traced back to them but Tony thinks teh cops are planning to double cross them to mind out more about Bryce and Monty. At the same time he starts getting close to that cop that takes him boxing and helps him get into college (i dont remember his name for the life of me lol). Tyler sees this as being hypocritical and pulls away. Tony still suspects Tyler is behind the lock down because he is pulling away and Tony is getting paranoid. The rest of their story can still be the same but this way they can show Tony’s paranoia and his loyalty. 

As for Tyler and Estella, It was fine. The scene of them in the bathroom was really powerful, being in the bathroom with a de la cruz and becoming comfortable because isnt her brother was really nice. This could even be another reason Tony and Tyler fight. Tony can be paranoid that Tyler is trusting her too quickly and think she will turn on him. 

3) Jess

Her arc with the principal, being scared and agreeing with the security measures before she sees them in action was really interesting. Focus more on it and less on her manipulating Diego. I did like parts of that arc for her so I don’t want it completely gone but I do think focusing on her working with the principal would have been cool. I would call more attention to her first meeting and her agreeing with the measures and slowly show her change her mind and start to turn against them. Maybe even have an early scene of her and ANi talking about it and have Jess admit she feels safer. Move the creepy cop trying to pat her down to the second or third day. So she can have a moment where they make her feel safe before the negative experience. I loved the protest and a bit better build up would have made it amazing

Her arc with Ani. They fought over Bryce... It should have been a conversation. Not a moment where Ani judges Diego and then they argue. I still think this arc should have been Chloe and Jess and should have been in last season. But they had the opportunity to include Chloe this season and just didnt. I’ll talk about this a bit more in the Zach section but I think Chloe should have been at Prom and the moment between the Ani Jess and Chloe should have been then. It would be right after Jess and Ani made up and would have been cool. 

I don’t think she should have had scenes where she saw and talked to Bryce. Yes it created some powerful moments but they could be reworked. Have WInston use his wealth to commission a positive thing in the paper about Bryce and Monty and have her talk to his idealized photo of Bryce. I will mention it in the Clay section but her hallucinations detracted from his journey with mental health. 

4) Clay

Okay two thing here the first is his arc with mental health, hallucinations, and blackouts. They used it for drama and I wish they hadnt. It should have been about him healing. I didnt mind the way they handled the realization for clay that it was him doing everything (Did they explain the symbol he kept drawing because I missed it if they did? or i just forgot because it was that forgettable lol) but I think the whole thing could have been handled a lot better and a more educated fan then I can provide a better explanation for what exactly was off about it. I will say the the therapy sessions were repetitive and I know thats realistic but for a tv show its boring. The scene were Clay goes to his home was weird and low key scary. I understand the purpose but  I wish he had called him and asked to meet at his office instead. A more likable and relatable journey for Clay with his mental health would be really good for a show that was accused of glorying suicide (personally i dont think it did. My inbox is open if you wanna talk though :))

The second thing is the phantom phone caller. I hate this trope so it might just be me but this is so stale. There are exactly two ways it could go. The person could know everything and be a real problem or the person could be fishing for information and not be a real problem. The whole thing was predicable since Winston had red herring written all over him, Estella was barely developed, and on this show it is always the football guys. Instead let the pranks be smaller and less crazy. Like these boys had to coordinate a lot to mess with Clay. There should be more than one prank and end with a Monty doll and Clay holding a knife to set up the camp episode. But they should be pranks, not the phantom caller psychological torture bs. The blood shower can also happen just on a different day. Clay can be confused about what is real and what isnt making him even more worried about his blackouts and again assuming the mental health arc is handled well, the pranks can be a real part of it. Dumping him in the pit on the camping trip also seemed kinda attempted murdery so maybe do something like tie him to a tree of the path or in a small dirt ditch not a rocky pit where if he hit his head or fell weird the team would all be murderers. 

5) Alex

His arc with Charlie was one of my favorite stories this season. I was also not bothered by him getting close to and exploring his sexuality with Winston and Zach. I’m in the minority but I’m glad Zalex wasn’t made canon and Zach was used to be an effective (kinda) ally and good friend. Plus this way Zalex can live on in the fandom untouched or ruined by the writers interpretation. 

They should have given us Alex in therapy. He tried to kill himself had a traumatic injury, an arc with steroid abuse, and an arc about killing someone. All of which were forgotten this season. All the other characters seemed to be dealing with Bryce and Monty, why not focus on Alex? Even if it isnt in therapy just let him exist in his feelings.

6) Zach

I have one major issue with Zach’s arc, the lack of Chloe. She was the reason he almost killed a man. Let them date, let him start to spiral while dating her. She doesnt know what he did. Have them grow apart on screen but her still connecting to him and not wanting to give up on him. They should go to prom together. I know the hooker was supposed to represent Zach turning into Bryce with the hookers and the drunken sex/potential rape  and cocaine. But Chloe fills the same comparison. He brings cocaine she is not okay with it, He tries to convince her to have sex in the back she is not having it. Maybe he tries to convince maybe it becomes a bit worse than that but she breaks up with him at prom and leaves early. She sees Bryce in him, she doesnt have to say it but you can see it on her face and she walks away when her mind and heart tells her to this time no making excuses. Boom Chloe actually has an arc. As for Zach this is a big wake up call for him he sees what we had become. I know it is later in the actual show but I think it should be in the prom episode so he can have a better conclusion in the finale, like the other characters. The whole season was a downward spiral and I wish we got to see more of him pulling himself out of it. If the whole finale is him getting better even though he wont be all the way done he will be in a better place up the end.

7) Justin

Okay the hard one. I think the writers really wanted to kill him. I mean a fan favorite, who did bad things, and the death would be in the series finale. this is a tv writer’s drug of choice. So I’m gonna do a fix where I still kill him first then to the ideal version. Ok so first Justin dies. No HIV/AIDS. It was out of nowhere, unneeded, and seemed a bit insensitive. If you want it to be related to his drug use, make it so he got a bad batch when he relapsed. Or maybe organ failure. If it doens’t need to be drug related it can be an accident or someone he knew on the streets getting revenge, like that drug dealer we spent time with last season. Or if Justin helps Tyler put the gun salesmen behind bars then have it be retaliation for that. He can still go to the hospital and have goodbyes but it wont be an aids diagnosis and death in the same episode. I know they had signs in earlier episodes but the timeline is still really fucked up...

An ideal ending would have him live. He can still pass out at Prom. The diagnosis can be a combination of stress and withdrawal symptoms.He can be the red herring for the person in the coffin. If Justin lives he can represent hope. He can show the audience that you can get better and things can work out. Even if you are sick and think you will die you can do better be better and live in a better world. Plus I love him and really wanted him to be happy. The message would be you can get out of a bad situation and wold have ended a sad series on a positive note. Even if you are a bad person. Even if you have bad circumstance. Even if it feels like the world is against you, it can get better if you put in the effort. Which felt like the message the show was going for in eariler seasons by showing the people on the tapes doing better but abandoned this last season.

So who would I put in the coffin. Ani’s mom. Now I know she wasn’t a well liked character and her mom wouldn’t have the same audience or character reaction Justin’s death did. But this version isn’t about making the audience sad. Ani would finally have a plot that was really about her, her mom died, Bryce’s mom basically wants to provide for her. And she isn’t sure what to do. Justins funeral felt like it was overshadowed by graduation anyway. Now Ani’s moms absence and the funeral being overshadowed both make sense. She is going to college and doing what she can to honor her mom. And the death of a parent causes Clay to immediately appreciate his own family more. The theme in the first season with Clay was appreciating and acting on his feelings for Hannah before she was gone. Ani’s mom dying is a reality check for him and he know the most important things are his family and friends. Justin’s arc was about finding a family and he did. The core of the show is about family, friends, and the importance of  a strong support system. And starting it with a mother grieving her daughter and ending it with a daughter grieving her mother would be a cool full circle moment.

This post is really long so if you read all the way down Thank you! :) 

[kozumebunny]

Unconventional (Atsumu-centric)

synopsis: It’s hard to love someone for his faults when his faults are the form of his boyfriend and his adultery. 

note: this is out of order. this is the middle of the story. I haven’t written the first part or the end but I have them fairly mapped out. This is poly atsuhina but this is atsumu centric. keep an eye out for part one and part three which I will probably post at the same time. also, some of these scenes are so so pretty to me so watch out because I’m going to draw and post some of these scenes.

containing: 2.2k, she her pronouns for reader, implied smut

ACT 2

Scene 1 - INT. THERAPIST OFFICE

Basic therapist office. Two couches across from each other. A coffee table sits in between them. There is only one cup of coffee on the table. We see the backs of three people on one couch: one woman sits to the far left. Two men sit to the far right. One is looking at her. In the space between them, we can see the couch across from them with a therapist, clipboard in her lap.

THERAPIST: These sessions are meant to help you, (y/n).  They want to work things out with you, why don’t you want to?

We see the woman. She is ISOLATED from everyone else. She is curled up on the couch, shoes off, picking at her toenails. She gives a half assed shrug.

(Y/N): I just can’t find it in me to care anymore.

SHOYO sits on the same couch as her but at the opposite end. He is WORRIED. ATSUMU sits next to him, hands intertwined, and he WATCHES her. Her face is looking at the ground, hair covering her face. She seems borderline CATATONIC.

SHOYO: (quietly) You said you still loved me.

(Y/N): (still not looking up) And I do. But it just hurts and I’m tired of stressing and caring.

ATSUMU: (He is starting to get annoyed) So, what? Yer fucking solution is to just shut down? Cry?

(Y/N): (She looks up and she is angry.) Fuck you Miya! You think I don’t know you’ve been laughing at me this whole goddamn time-

ATSUMU: (He angles his whole body to face her.) When have I fucking laughed? Sho and I have been nothing but patient this past year and you’ve been nothing but a fucking bitch-

THERAPIST: Atsumu, (y/n), please don’t yell in my office-

SHOYO: Atsumu, please she just needs time she’s hurt-

(Y/N): Fuck you Atsumu and fuck this. I’m tired of you acting like I’m at fault when you’re the one who Hinata-

(SHOYO: (offscreen) Shoyo, (y/n) please call me Sho-)

(Y/N): Just shut up Shoyo haven’t you done enough-

ATSUMU: oh fuck off, so what he cheated? He’s here trying to make things right and you’re just-

(Y/N) stands up. She’s putting her shoes on. She ignores ATSUMU staring at her. She ignores SHOYO’s pleas for her to stay and talk it out. The camera follows as she leaves the room, we watch SHOYO chase after her, desperately grabbing onto her sweater. He is CRYING. She stops, turns, and puts a hand on his face. Her mouth moves but we cannot hear her and we

CUT TO

Scene 2 - EXT: CHERRY BLOSSOM STREET

It is a street, cobblestones, lined with cherry blossoms. There is no music. It is raw and romantic and heartbreaking. She sits in the middle of the empty street. Her back is to the camera. The cherry blossoms silently fall. A man with blonde hair and an undercut join her. He crouches. He has on a hat and sunglasses. And we CUT CLOSER, still facing their backs.

ATSUMU: I got you coffee.

He holds it out to her. She does not turn to acknowledge him or accept it.

ATSUMU: C’mon doll. Take the coffee.

She silently holds out her hand and he puts the cup of coffee in it.

ATSUMU: Remember when I first found you here? Shoyo was scared shitless that day. He came home, found the Dear John letter to me instead of him, a duffel, and a buncha yer clothes gone. He was terrified (Y/n). He loves you, you know that right?

(Y/N): (quietly) I don’t think I can really love him again Miya. It hurts so much.

ATSUMU: This is about him cheating, huh doll?

(Y/N): Yes and no.

ATSUMU: Oh? Don’t worry. You weren’t the side piece. I was. And truthfully, I was jealous of ya. Wanted to be the one kissin’ him and holdin’ his hand in public so bad.

(Y/N): It wasn’t teasing when you were talking about Hinata, was it?

ATSUMU: What’re ya talkin’ about?

(Y/N): A year and a half ago. Whenever you ran into me you’d have this smug look on your face when you’d help Hinata stretch. When you’d tell me whatever you and Hinata were supposedly up to during practice.

ATSUMU: (Y/N) we never fucked durin’ practice. Honest.

He brushes some hair behind her ear. She looks at him.

(Y/N): I’ve waited six years for Shoyo to take me on a date here. He promised me back in high school.

ATSUMU: (frowning) What’re you sayin’?

(Y/N): Remember when we first started working this out? And he’d just bail on every date for me for you?

ATSUMU: (Y/n) he didn’t-

(Y/N): He will always choose you Atsumu. Don’t ever doubt that.

She starts to look away. Her hair falls in her face again. ATSUMU cups her face and turns it to him. He puts his forehead against hers. It is intimate and raw.

ATSUMU: Then let’s call this a date. Screw Sho’s promise, I’ll make ya a promise.

His eyes flick to her lips. She is still staring at him.

ATSUMU: If Sho ever starts slippin’ showin ya love-

He angles her head to kiss her forehead, trailing his nose down her face back to her lips as he speaks--

ATSUMU: Count on me to pick up the slack. Yer important to Sho and he loves ya, so I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you around, yeah?

He kisses her once. Then again. And again. He starts peppering her face with kisses before his hands go to her neck, when she starts laughing.

ATSUMU: Oh? Yer ticklish? Why’d ya never tell me, huh?

(Y/N): (in between laughs) Stop that Atsumu!

ATSUMU stops. He stands up and pulls her with him, leading her back toward the city.

ATSUMU: Every date Sho’s missed, let me pick up the slack there too, yeah?

CUT TO

Scene 3--Night Food Stall Market

I’ve been to a place like this once in Taiwan. It’s held in the middle of outdoor shopping centers that should be malls. The buildings are huge, you can mistake them for corporate office buildings, high rise hotels even, but on closer inspection you see clothes and mannequins in the windows. Nike. Reebok. Forever 21. Apple. They’re all there. It is busy. The spacious walkways between these buildings are crammed with lines of food stalls. There’s steam, food, and many people shouting out their foods. Some even have fish tanks to advertise how fresh their food is. Vendors wear anything from yukatas, uniforms, and street clothes. There are hardly any spaces to sit. It is bright colored and friendly. It makes you feel like a teenager, watching it all happen.

ATSUMU has his arm around (Y/N). He is guiding her through the night market. ATSUMU still wears a hat, no sunglasses.

ATSUMU: This beats moping all afternoon in the cherry blossom grove, huh doll?

(Y/N): (looking around, interested) It’s… interesting.

ATSUMU: (whining) Come oooooon doll! Just say good ol’ Tsumu picked out the best spot for a date!

(Y/N): (teasing) How many other girls have you been here with Miya?

ATSUMU: (horrified) Doll, I swear yer the only one-

(Y/N): (small smile) I’m teasing Miya.

ATSUMU: (surprised) Oh yeah? (teasing her back) Why don't you tease me with a little lap dance little one?

(Y/N): (blushing) We are in public Atsumu! (a swat to his chest)

ATSUMU looks up and starts sniffing the air. He is looking around, spots a vendor and walks over. It is a stall serving onigiri, we see OSAMU MIYA serving people onigiri in rapid succession.

ATSUMU: (yelling) ‘Samu! Cash me in some free onigiri!

OSAMU: (looking over) Price is doubled for family.

ATSUMU makes his way over dragging (Y/N) with him.

ATSUMU: (pleading) Come ooooon ‘Samu! For (y/n)? I’m taking her on a date ‘Samu.

ATSUMU looks at OSAMU with puppy dog eyes. OSAMU sighs and gives two rice balls on a tray to ATSUMU.

OSAMU: (irritated) Now will both of ya bug off?

ATSUMU: (eating, and handing one to (y/n)) ‘Anks ‘Amu!

ATSUMU leads her to a bench, still by the crowd, as she finishes eating her rice ball. They are people watching. ATSUMU is stealing glances at her.

ATSUMU: (staring at the crowd) Ya didn’t have a bag with ya this time. Why?

(Y/N): (quietly) I don’t know.

ATSUMU: Are ya gonna leave us doll?

(Y/N): (exhaling) it’s not even really you anymore, ‘Tsumu. It’s Hinata. It’s just hard. It hurts.

ATSUMU: Why don’t ya wanna talk to him?

(Y/N): It just hurts ‘Tsumu.

They sit in silence for a bit before ATSUMU pulls her up and walks around with her, leading through alleys, dancing with her to music drifting out from bars and shops. She is laughing and happy. They are relaxed, taking their time as ATSUMU leads them somewhere. He knows where he is going.

Eventually they come to a building, an apartment complex. ATSUMU has her face in his hands, nose to nose, he looks at her with quiet longing. 

ATSUMU: (whispering) I’ve had you for myself all day princess. Can I have ya for the night too?

(Y/N): Miya-

ATSUMU: Do you want this?

(Y/N): (hesitating) Yes, I do.

ATSUMU starts kissing her. We watch him push his back against the door, holding it open for the both of them before he goes into the elevator, lifting her up so she can wrap her legs around his waist.

CUT TO

Scene 4--Atsumu’s Apartment

(Y/N) is laying on top of ATSUMU’s chest. The lights are off and the tv is the only thing giving light. ATSUMU is idly tracing shapes down her back. He turns his head to talk to her.

ATSUMU: (quietly) You’ll go to therapy and talk to Sho tomorrow right?

(Y/N): Promise you’ll be there?

ATSUMU: Swear on it doll.

ATSUMU kisses her forehead.

ATSUMU: Good night princess.

CUT TO

Scene 1--INT THERAPIST OFFICE

It’s the same set up. Two couches and a coffee table in between. Still one cup of coffee on the table. It’s different this time. (Y/N) sits at one side of the couch, ATSUMU sits in the middle, SHOYO on the other side of ATSUMU.

THERAPIST: And what made you decide to take a chance on Atsumu?

(Y/N): He’s never hurt me and I don’t think he ever would.

THERAPIST: And Shoyo?

(Y/N) lets out an exhale. She curls her hands in her lap inwards. ATSUMU rubs his thumb over one of the hands.

(Y/N): Yeah. I’ll talk to Shoyo.

[ilguna]

Metanoia - Chapter Fourteen (f.o)

Summary: you will be crowned victor of the 75th hunger games.

Word Count; 5k

Warnings; swearing, mention of murder and torture

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

If the career districts had their hands on books like these, you would have been forced to read them. Mercilessly. Like, a whole couple of units just studying these useless things. They’re mostly published for the Capitol citizens--which is why they’re not supplied in districts--but imagine having everything you could possibly need to know, in a couple of books.

These handbooks are genius. Even if they’re meant for entertainment and not practical use, they’re fucking fantastic.

Every nine years, one of these books comes out. Inside, they have every tribute that had gone in for those nine years--which comes out to be two hundred and sixteen tributes in total. They have the names, ages, weights, heights, eye and hair colors. Who their mentor, stylist, prep team and district representative was, and so much more.

For example, for the year you won, they start with the tributes and their information. 

District One, Deimos Chambers. Black hair, brown eyes. He was seventeen, six-foot-one, with a weight of one hundred and seventy five. His mentor was Gloss, and as for the rest, it seems a little unimportant to you. However, his go-to weapon during training was always a sword, and he seemed to be very skilled in hand-to-hand combat.

Which all career tributes are skilled in, but whatever. You’re all taught to be proficient in something, and it’s mainly hand-to-hand. You’ll hardly see a career tribute try and do shit from far away. You know you wouldn’t bother all that much. From far away, you risk the chances of missing, up close, you can kill them in one goddamn shot.

Deimos’ score was a whopping ten, which is basically what all the comprehensive people had gotten. In his interview he wore all black, and when the lights had been shut off momentarily, the glow in the dark constellations came to life. And it wasn’t that bullshit green color either. It was white, and looked like there were actual lightbulbs behind it all, but the stylist was just creative.

It lists the people he chose to be allies with: Alhena, Zeke, and yourself. How many he killed during the bloodbath, which was one. But in total from start to finish it was three to four, counting assist kills. It says how he died, how many days he survived for, and what he placed.

Next is Alhena Hurley. Brown hair, blue eyes. She was sixteen, five-foot-seven, weighing in at one hundred and thirty five. Her mentor was Cashmere, respectively. Her chosen weapon inside of the training center was a mace, and her special note was that she was strong.

“Not emotionally.” you mutter, snickering to yourself as you continue reading.

Alhena got a score of nine, her interview dress was silver, with black specks on it--which is more or less the opposite of what Deimos had. She killed two people in the bloodbath, and that would stay her number for the rest of the games. She died because she got killed on the third day by someone who was hiding in the trees.

On the District One page, it holds both Deimos and Alhena. Pictures of what they wore during the reaping, train station, parade, interview and inside of the arena. Along with their special picture that would indicate that they were dead. The next page holds their family and friend interviews--if they had any--with the questions that Caesar asked and the answers given by their loved ones.

Then, there’s District Two, starting off strong with Zeke. Blonde hair, brown eyes. Seventeen, six foot on the dot, weighing roughly one hundred and sixty pounds. You guys had the same mentor, so it was Enobaria. He was boring and chose a sword, and his special skill was that he was always moving. More or less, he was quick.

Training score of ten, his suit was a bronze color, while the dress shirt was actually black. It was sorta metallic in the light. Zeke managed to kill one person in the bloodbath, and came out to two to three at the end. And he obviously placed second, because you were the one that killed him so that you could win.

And then there’s yourself. (Y/n) Rosecelli, sixteen. You had fairly short hair when you went inside of the arena--just so that it wouldn’t be grabbed and used against you. You were pretty tall, around the recommended weight group--although, that didn’t really matter in the end--and your mentor was Enobaria. Your chosen weapon inside of the training center was the sai’s and your special talent was being a know-it-all.

You scored a ten, got the same metallic bronze color of a dress with the matching black. Inside of the arena you had killed eight people, placing number one. At the very top of the page it says ‘WINNER!’, like it’s some fucked up game and not a fight for your survival.

It had the pictures and interviews as the others did, but with yours it’s extra special. You get the second interview by Caesar and what outfit you had worn for it. A small section for all the highlights inside of the arena, and then the victory tour, with the celebration at the mansion. All the headlines that you had gotten for being inside of the Capitol ‘willingly’. 

And there’s also close-up pictures of all the tattoos you had gotten while you were there too.

It makes you sick knowing that they had produced these for entertainment, when it really could have been for the betterment of future tributes. Apart from all the useless shit they had for profiling the tributes, they literally had their battle plans.

Like for Finnick, it says that he used a fishing net while he and the opponent were in water. He’d get them tangled, and then when he was sure they couldn’t hurt him, he’d just kill them with his super expensive trident. And all the tributes didn’t know to be afraid of him until it was too late.

Just like with Johanna too. She played stupid for her entire time inside of the Capitol, and a little bit into the games to draw people in. She purposely scored low on her private training session--which is no doubt a big setback sponsor-wise. But then she became a killing machine, and almost a legend of sorts.

It made tributes wary of those who pretended to be stupid like that. Gave away their entire motive, because Johanna had done it first, and she won because of it. Anyone who did pose a threat early on would get killed.

It’s the exact reason why you went after the District Four tributes when you did. Your games were directly after Finnick’s, and the thought of one of those fish-eating fuckers getting their hands on you like that was terrifying. So, the only way to eliminate the chance of that happening, is to get rid of the only people who really know their way around water, and nets, and fishing.

Finnick likely hated that, the fact that you went after them specifically when you had the chance. However, you know deep-down that he appreciated that you wouldn’t let them suffer. You just wanted them dead immediately to get rid of the chance of them still being alive. You wouldn’t move from the bodies until the cannons had gone off.

Honestly, your allies should have killed you when they had the chance. If you were smart enough to stand over tributes to make sure that they were dead before moving on, that should have been a red flag. Even when they had wanted to leave tributes to bleed out and die, you’d be the one to finish them off.

Not to mention, you marking your arm after every broadcast of The Fallen was a whole new level of insane. And it’s not like they didn’t notice it or anything, they just chose not to point it out. They knew what it was for and all, but they didn’t say anything.

Someone clears their throat, making you look up from the handbook. You’re not really surprised to see Finnick standing there, in the same white scrubs that you’re wearing.

“Good afternoon.” you flip the page, landing right onto the District Four tributes from your games, “Or evening, I can’t tell in this coffin anymore.”

“The nurses tell me you haven’t left your room in a couple of days.” he doesn’t move from the doorway.

You give him a glance, “Why would I? Peeing in my own bathroom is just the same as the one down the hall. Both have cold toilet seats and smell like cleaning products.”

Finnick cracks a smile, coming into the room now, “What’re you reading?”

“Hunger games handbooks.” you hold it up for him to see briefly, “This is the year I won, and these are the tributes you mentored.”

Finnick comes over, and you turn the book so he can read it a little.

Brook Giles, fifteen, five-foot-eight, around one hundred and fifty six pounds. He has bleached brown hair and blue eyes. His training score was a nine, he wore a classic light blue and white suit during his interviews. His go-to weapon was a sword inside of the training center and he died on the first day because you killed him.

“One of my first takeouts,” you watch his face, wondering if he’ll get mad if you talk about it so carelessly, “It was almost fun.”

Finnick meets your eyes, “You were scared, just like the rest of them.”

“I killed him because he reminded me of you.” you then turn to the girl, “And so did she.”

Mira Osborne, sixteen, blonde hair and green eyes. Five-foot-five, one hundred and forty pounds. She wore a white dress that barely went to her knees, some blue accents here and there. She scored an eight, her go-to weapon was a spear. One kill, and only a few days later she’d die because you’d find her hiding in a cove.

“I was fifteen when I watched you win, and I knew that the following year I’d likely be picked to volunteer. I realized that I didn’t know how to swim at all, and the thought of ending up in a net, scared and drowning was more terrifying than anything I had come across up until that point of my life.” you smile, looking at Finnick now, “So, I dug a hole in my backyard, filled it with water and taught myself how to swim.”

Finnick stares, as if he doesn’t know if you’re kidding or not.

You aren’t.

“Of course, as extra precaution I chose to go after them first. Anyone who got in the way was an added bonus to my kill streak. I hunted Mira like she was a fucking deer and I was starving.” Finnick’s silence is what you expected for telling him information like this, and you’re not even done yet, “And had you not been my soulmate, you, Mags, Katniss, Peeta and Johanna would have ended up just like her.

“And I wouldn’t have stopped until you were all dead.”

Finnick straightens up, stiff. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but snaps his mouth shut.

Smug, you smirk, “What? Did you suddenly realize that I’m exactly who I told you I was?”

Finnick turns to leave, and you wait patiently as he goes towards the door frame. But then he grabs the chair by it, and takes a seat. Although, just by looking at his body language, he doesn’t want to be here. And he doesn’t want to let you win this either.

You laugh, rolling your eyes as you flip the book open again, “You’re making a grave mistake.”

“Stop telling me that.”

You glance up, “Is it because you know that I’m right and you don’t want to admit it? You know you’re leaving a nice, capable girl that would love to settle down, have kids and grow old with you. For someone who’s an insufferable bitch that hates the life she’s been given, and everything that she’s ever cared for gets killed or leaves her.”

“Is that why you won’t let me at least be friends with you?”

You take in a deep breath, “No, I don’t want you near me at all because you’re you. You’re Finnick Odair, darling of the Capitol. You’re Finnick Odair, the youngest victor in history who was also given the most expensive gift ever sent inside of the arena.” you laugh, “Oh! And you’re Finnick Odair, the man who also exposed Snow for who he is. Which lets you be in the spotlight more times that you’re worthy of.”

“So you think you’re not worthy?”

It’s like a blinding rage for a split second as you hurl the twenty-five pound book straight at Finnick, “I can’t fucking stand you!”

Finnick catches the book just barely before it hits him in the face, “(Y/n)--”

“No.” you cut him off, “No, you don’t get to pretend like you’re the voice of reason here, because you’re not. I’m a fucking nightmare, and even I know when enough is enough.” You get up and off of the bed, grabbing a hold of the necklace Tanith gifted you. As you begin to leave your safe place, you point at him, “I know what the fuck is wrong with you.

“You hopped from what you think is one broken girl to another. But news flash, Finnick, I’ve lost much more people,” you get down to his eye level, “I lost my entire family when I got home to District Two after I won my games. And it wasn’t just my immediate family, it was distant aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents. Everyone who was even a shred related to me, is now dead. I’m the only one left of my fucking bloodline.”

You stand up now, “Losing Tanith is nothing compared to what I had lost then. I wish I had grown a pair and stepped off the fucking hovercraft to bury her, because doing that wouldn’t have been nearly as much as a hassle compared to dealing with you.”

Finnick doesn’t say anything, and you don’t wait to see if he does either. You go straight out, ignoring the nurses that stare at you, because it really is the first time you’ve left the room in days. Everything is delivered to you, if there’s something you want, they’ll go and get it.

You have a vague idea of where you want to go, just getting there is going to be the problem. Typically, even if you do leave the room, someone will follow you out to keep an eye on you. You remember very vividly, a certain nurse standing at an arm's distance from you, during Coin’s last speech. When she announced the liberation of the prisoned victors.

A joke. This whole place is one fucking circus.

Just as you expected, the floor is pretty vacant. Here and there, someone will wander in and out, but that’s really it. You give a look behind you, confirming that there isn’t a nurse following you just yet. Then, you take off towards the elevator.

You barely remember how that one doctor used it, but it shouldn’t be that hard. You press the button, bringing the lift to you. When it stops and makes the annoying sound, you pull the guard rail up, and then step inside. Pulling it down again, you can see one of the nurses round the corner.

You give her a bright smile, punching the top floor, “Tata.”

The elevator starts moving up, and you give her a wave. Then, she’s blocked out by the cement flooring.

For the rest of the ride up, you cross your arms and wait, staring straight ahead. Your game plan is to head to the woods and don’t stop walking until you’re lost. Hopefully, no one will think to follow you out there.

The elevator stops at the top floor, allowing you to be met face to face with a band of people. They’re pulling up the guard rail before you even have a chance to reach for it.

Katniss is on a stretcher, her sister is hovering over her. Haymitch, Beetee, Gale and Boggs are nearby. Not to mention all the other people behind them.

“Geez.” you move out of the way, allowing Katniss to be wheeled in. Beetee and Gale fit themselves on, but Boggs and Haymitch don’t follow.

There’s not nearly enough room for them all to fit on the elevator, anyway. And apparently it gives Boggs to grab a hold of you before you can escape.

“Where are you going?”

You give him a kind smile, “I was given the okay to clear my head for a little.”

“Why are you still in scrubs, then?”

You make a face, shrugging, “Don’t ask me, they’re the ones that told me I was free to go whenever.”

Boggs doesn’t look convinced, and honestly, neither does Haymitch.

“Fine, I made a breakaway because I can’t fucking stand it in there.” you pull your arm from Bogg’s grasp, “For a district that’s all about equality, I don’t see why it should matter if I come up here to disappear for a little while. Or the fact that I’m being followed around when I do leave my room because you guys think I’m some sort of Capitol bootlicker.”

Haymitch laughs, “Same old (Y/n).”

“That’s rich, coming from you.” you then look at Boggs, “Don’t send anyone to follow me. I’ll come back when I feel like I’m ready to breathe stale air and eat shit for dinner.”

“Had you expressed your distaste for District Thirteen earlier, we might have taken you right back to District Two.” Boggs says.

You raise your eyebrows, “Earlier? When did you go?”

“A couple hours ago.” Haymitch says, “We just got back.”

You laugh, shaking your head, “Great, my only way out of this shithole and I wasn’t even aware of it. It’s funny how you brought the guy in the wheelchair and not the girl who literally grew up there her entire life.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time.” Bogg says, “Enjoy your walk.”

The elevator is back, and they step on. You turn around and leave, heading straight towards the opening. You can already hear the chirps of the birds and you’re nowhere near the door.

You pick up the pace, jogging right past the people that work out here. One of them waves, and you raise your hand in acknowledgement. The smile doesn’t even come across your face until the sun is in your eyes.

You take a sharp left, taking the trail for the most part. When you’re out of the sight of those inside of the building, you slow your pace, taking your time with getting lost. 

You’re not even kidding when you say that it’s literal fresh air. This smells and tastes nothing like what goes underground. It’s stale, and out here it’s sweet. It must have rained a couple days ago or something because the plants have that smell to them--petrichor.

After a while, you detour from the trail, heading into the trees some more. You weren’t kidding when you said that you’d like to get lost. Being out here, wandering for hours on end is going to be more entertaining than reading those depressing handbooks. On top of that, you won’t have to see Finnick’s face for a while.

He really does get on your nerves. Him pretending that he knows every single detail about you, and claiming the opposite of what you tell him is pissing you off. You’re a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them. You’d rather be told the heartbreaking truth than have someone lie through their teeth. So, you assume other people like it that way too. It cuts out a lot of unnecessary drama.

Unless it’s another person’s lie, then you’ll play along. If they want to fabricate things for their own gain, then have at it. Who are you to say no to them?

With Finnick, you’ve told him several times, over and over that you can’t stand him. And he acts as if that’s all going to magically change if he forces you to get used to his company or whatever. And you even dumbed it down for him, explained what the deal was. You don’t want him, you don’t need him. You want or need the help.

He doesn’t need to stick around after that wish has been fulfilled. All he’s doing is hurting his own feelings. 

At this point, it might just be the challenge of getting you to like him. Show some kind of friendship just so he can drop it. You wonder if you fake it, he’ll finally leave you alone. You might just have to try that out until he realizes that you’ve had an entire personality flip.

Finnick would probably see that it’s a facade but might go along with it just to see how long you can keep it up for.

It’ll be your own personal game. How long can you be nice on the outside and calm on the inside until Finnick does something completely absurd that it makes you flip your shit? The time starts now.

You take a deep breath, going down the hill carefully, because you can clearly see the river. Off to the left some more are shoeprints and the trail that you had supposedly detached yourself from. It doesn’t really matter anymore, as long as you can sit here and be by yourself, you’re fine.

You get as close to the water as possible, taking off the shoes and rolling up the scrubs. You let your legs sit in the water as you lean back on your hands, staring at the scenery. It truly is a beautiful place here, but you’d never want to stay. Even if District Two is in shambles, you want to go back.

It’s your home. It holds so much grief and terror, and yet you just want to be back in the comforts of your own town. You want to see all your old neighbors before your victory. And see Victor’s Village overflowing with people always, no matter how annoying they were.

They’re all dead now. The only surviving victors from District Two is Lyme, and yourself. Everyone else is dead. Enobaria, Neysa, Tanith, Sorcha, Brutus, Edmond, Zavian and everyone else. Lyme had filled you in, that Snow had them all killed, and anyone else who proved valuable went with him.

Lyme and Paylor are lucky to be alive.

You’d literally give anything to talk to one of them again. To relive Tanith showing up uninvited in your house the morning of the reaping. You would have been so much more gentle than usual if you had known that it would have been the last real conversation without gloom hanging over your heads.

At least you’re lucky to say that your final goodbyes to her and Zavian wasn’t terrible at all. You were able to hug them both and tell them just how much they meant to you. Even if it wasn’t really heartfelt for Zavian, it wasn’t the worst thing in the world he could have heard.

And now they’re gone, and you’re still alive.

“Lucky me.” you murmur, finding a rock and tossing it into the water.

It’s funny how you only feel bad after all those people are dead. You would never in your right mind would have ever thought of being kind to those people until now. You’ve got some genuine guilt on your hands. 

Edmond and Neysa really had tried to act in your best interest. They knew your limits, but you like to think that you can push it. Like Edmond making sure you’d be sober and not make a fool of yourself in front of all those people at the train station. He wasn’t doing it to restrict you. And even though he didn’t show it the best way, you could have at least tried to understand.

Neysa just wanted you to get good allies. She wanted to give you a fighting chance, and had you just followed what she wanted, you wouldn’t have been so waist-deep in shit with distrust from Finnick’s alliance. She knew something you didn’t when it came to the fact that you shouldn’t go off alone inside of the arena.

And yet you like to be independent. 

There’s a crunching of leaves beneath boots, making you dip your head for a moment. You sigh through your nose, raise your head and then look over your shoulder. It’s exactly who you thought it would be, but he’s not wearing those white scrubs anymore. He’s also got some clothes draped over his arm.

You squint at him, “Are you wearing a suit?”

“Not the reaction I was expecting.” Finnick’s got his signature smile on his face, showing off his dimples.

You turn away before you can say something mean. 

“I figured you’d rather run away in something much more fashionable.” Finnick stops behind you.

“How’d you know?”

You stare at the water for another moment, before pushing yourself up, brushing off the dirt from your butt, knowing full well that it’s still going to be there. In Finnick’s hands sit some familiar ripped black jeans, but a navy blue shirt.

“I see they have a pattern.” you hold up the shirt to see, “And it has a breast pocket too.”

“The pink shirt was thrown away since you destroyed the hem.”

“I was anxious.” you reason, placing the shirt back.

You take off the white scrub shirt, making Finnick turn his head away. A smile appears on your face, because he acts like he literally hasn’t seen you naked before--cough cough, after you got bit by spiders. Butt ass naked, it wasn’t just Finnick who saw you completely nude. You flashed the whole fucking country.

They probably couldn’t keep that in, and had to change the camera perspective after that. 

You pull on the shirt, and then you pull off the bottoms, being sure to wipe your muddy feet on them to clean off your feet.

“So what made you follow me out here this time?” you ask, taking the jeans and pulling them on.

“Your stunning personality, as always.” Finnick looks over now, “And the fact that Haymitch and Boggs wanted me to follow you out here. I tried to tell them it wasn’t the brightest idea, but they had me do it anyway, gave you a thirty minute head start first, though.”

“Smart of them. I’m assuming you saw Katniss, then?” 

“Seems like she’s been taking hit after hit lately.”

“Imagine getting strangled by your fiance.” you laugh, and Finnick joins in.

“Imagine getting punched by your soulmate.” Finnick gives you a look.

You roll your eyes, “Okay, you have to admit that you deserved it.”

“Whatever makes you feel better about yourself.”

You press your lips together, stomping your foot into the boots since you’re too lazy to untie them. You repeat the process with your left foot, which takes a lot longer. Finnick just laughs at you the entire time, since you refuse to go down and fix it yourself.

“Let’s get serious for a moment.” you look at Finnick, and he looks a little afraid, “It’s nothing bad, you might even think I’m lying for a second.”

“That’s not--why would you say that?” he laughs.

You take your dirty scrubs from his hands, “Because I think ahead.” you tap the side of your head, “Anyway, I honestly want to apologize for what I said earlier.”

Finnick’s eyebrows skyrocket, and you can’t help but to laugh, “You’re being serious?”

“I am.” you start towards the trail, “And I would also like to apologize for everything that I’ve said before that. And all my actions too, like if I punched you or threw something at you.”

“Where’s all this coming from?” Finnick asks, “I mean, I accept but you gotta tell me why.”

You look at him, “I was thinking before you came out here--obviously--that people aren’t really out to get me. I don’t have to be independent and fight by myself anymore, not when there’s people with the same… struggles. You get it, right?”

Finnick’s impressed, “I do.”

“You know, a genius once told me that I’m not as dislikable as I like to think.” 

It takes Finnick a moment before it clicks in his head. He’s the one that said it to you.

“A genius, huh?”

“Don’t let it get to your head.” 

He nods, “Well, if we’re apologizing for things--”

“We’re cool, you don’t have to.”

Finnick ignores you, “--I’m sorry for approaching you so strongly.”

“You thought that it was the only way to get through to me, I get it. If someone has their walls up, sometimes the only way to get them down is if you meet their energy.”

“Do I even know you?” Finnick laughs.

“Oh, the glory of having an epiphany.” you smile, giving him a look, “So what are we dressed up for?”

“Your newfound freedom.”

“The fuck?” you laugh.

“Haymitch and Boggs convinced Coin to get you a little more freedom, which means that they weaseled me in too. We get a dorm, get to eat with the others and we can come up here whenever we want.”

“I have a feeling this is a little bit of bullshit.”

Finnick chuckles, “How did you know?”

“You can’t deceive me, I see through most of the shit you and your buddies do. I pay attention. I knew you, Johanna and the others were in an alliance before it was formed. And I also knew that you were planning a rebellion, and all you asked is if I was a loyalist.” you get back to walking, “You could even say that I’m a little insightful.”

“I’ll give you that one.” Finnick agrees, “Also, before we go back inside, you should know something else.”

“What did you do this time?” you look at Finnick.

He’s stopped walking, and so you do too, “I’ve ended things with Annie completely.”

[sienna-writes]

Butterfly Blood || novel update

chapter three

I initially had a lot of trouble with this chapter. It’s been through about three drafts and it’s still nowhere near perfect, but I’m working on just moving forward with the novel now and am trying to quit obsessing over revising because... it’s unrealistic to expect a first draft to be perfect. 

The first draft of this particular chapter, though, was basically all dialogue, and all very poorly executed dialogue. (Dialogue is absolutely the weakest aspect of my writing but I’m working on it.) On my second attempt at the chapter I initially attempted to create an outline, thinking this would help me find a direction. However, in my next writing session I ended up totally ignoring the outline and just winging it, and the second draft was formed. I really liked the events in the chapter now but still wasn’t happy with some of the individual scenes so I reworked it yesterday morning. The argument between Rowan and Karmen still needed revision  because Karmen’s character within it was totally inconsistent to his usual disposition. So! The final (for now..) draft is a more stripped back, since Karmen is too disassociated to get as angry as he did as quickly as he did, and I think the tension and the build up is a lot better timed and more... muted? It’s less overt, more subtext heavy, and I'm relieved because that is what I had been trying to achieve all along.

Again, it’s not perfect, but it has evolved and it is definitely better than before. 

The chapter is just over 3000 words now, but I am only going to be sharing the main, gritty extract. The other scenes are less exciting, but I also suspect they need the same amount of work till they're even remotely sharable. (I was going through a bad writing slump in this chapter lol.) I really hope you enjoy it? I'm ultimately quite proud of how it turned out in the end :)

excerpt:

[Rowan has missed her GP appointment + her dad uses it as an oppurtunity to also be angry about her slacking in school]

    “I’ve booked another for tomorrow morning. You’ll miss some school, but I figured that’d be an incentive since you don’t seem to care about that anymore.” There is now an edge to his voice that hadn't been there before.

    Rowan visibly flinches, digging her fingernails into the supple skin of her palms. The dents purple then fill with blood. She locks eyes with her father, searching for the reason for his sudden anger. He has struck a nerve and he knows it.

    “Miss Phelps called.”

    She pushes her toes into the dirt, white sneakers now blotted with dust. “Oh.”

    He doesn’t ask for an explanation, simply straightens his back like an ancient scroll unravelling itself and meets her gaze finally. Karmen stands with his chest puffed out and his chin pointed forward. It is apparent that he won't ask her side of things. He’s heard enough, and has his made up his mind about her already.

    Rowan pushes past him to get inside. Karmen doesn’t shift as she squeezes by his statuesque stance. His face twitches like a camera shutter, so fast she can barely believe the change in his expression. She convinces herself it didn’t happen and throws her bag onto the couch, almost tempting another lecture. A tamer one. Something he could murmur through his daydream fog before slipping back into his silence and letting everything remain undiscussed. Like it normally is. Her slipping grades. Her laziness in class. Not writing a single word in an entire school day. Talking back for little to no reason.

    He turns as her rucksack lands, his footsteps looming behind her. Something sharpens the air between them, but she can’t tell what. The elephant is in the room and it is wrecking the place. They watch the destruction mutely, each waiting for the other to intervene and consequently letting the walls crumble into ruin. The old house audibly creaks, it is so quiet. Finally, Karmen speaks. “What’s the matter with you?”

    Rowan runs through all the excuses she can think of. I was dropped as a child. I was a premature baby, so my brain must be under-developed. The content is so easy it feels obsolete. I’m being bullied. I’m just not as smart as you thought, dad, sorry. Teachers are liars and we both should have known this.  “There’s just too much.” She says instead, through gritted teeth, moving into the kitchen. “I can’t focus on school and have to be there for everyone.” It is limp and she knows it. It flops between them weakly like a helpless fish. She takes a glass from the cabinet and closes it softly.

   He consumes the lie like a starved ghost, though. Proving he doesn’t know her. Doesn’t know how absent a friend she has been of late. How she has become her father at school, numb and quiet. How, secretly, she enjoys the façade because people avoid her, don’t ask difficult questions, don’t tackle her with unnecessary comments about her long-lost mother. “Then stop being there.” He says simply.

Rowan scoffs. “I do enough of that at home.” She studies her dad’s face—clenched jaw and squinting eyes—as if it hurts to look at her. “Everyone’s always telling everything how things must be. I must participate, I must be smart not emotional, I must not slack for exams I know I will pass without a glance at my books”—suddenly an urge to twist the knife into his gut overwhelms her, she draws out the moment as she fills the glass with a thread of water from the tap—"I must deal with a stranger for a Dad and a god knows what for a mother. A shrieking banshee? An abusive fugitive? She’s probably become a social worker just to scorn us.”

    He rolls his lips, lowers his gaze and chews on the inside of his cheek, sucking it in. Rowan’s breath catches in her throat. In this moment he looks shockingly hollow. Did she empty him? Wind him with her blows? Spoon out his entrails with an ice cream scoop? Carve him like the roasted corpse of some great beast? Karmen puts two hands on the back of the chair opposite her, clutching it as if he might just fall over. His stare is cold and unsympathetic when he raises it toward her. “Don’t you want to make something of yourself?”

Yes. “What?” She laughs bitterly, placing the tumbler on the counter with a satisfying thud. “Like how you made something of yourself?” There is a terrible moment where he sits in the midst of the cruelty, shrinks into himself as if absorbing it, before his mouth creaks open and he lets out a broken shriek.

“GOD DAMMIT ROWAN!” Rowan flies back, arms sheltering her head instinctively as he reaches for the glass she placed on the counter, spins, and throws it at the wall. One big horrific movement. A cutting arc of his arm through the air and then the shattering. “Are you ever even listening?”

    Millions of glittering fragments of her life laid out before her, encircling her bare feet. She thinks of the sneakers she slipped off at the door, wishing she had them now.  Something about naked feet look so naïve, so vulnerable. Her toes shrink, curling inward. Her breath quickens and her hands begin to tremble. All this broken glass. All these fragments like a lifeline stretched between them. Her eyes blink away tears in different shards, her reflection is fragmented, her features lost and bobbing about as if at sea.

    “Are you, dad?” Rowan asks in an empty voice, staring at him till he flinches. He stares at the glass on the floor in shock.

    “I...” He crouches, sifting through it with his bare, shuddering, and unsure hands. “I don’t know why I did that...”

    Rowan gets a sudden urge to have the last word. Except she doesn’t speak. Her eyes settle on the glass and the idea flourishes like a flame in her mind, burning everything rational, everything he might think. To hell with appropriate. To hell with acceptable. One unsteady step. She expects a crunch or a crackle, but instead there is a damp muffle and squelch. Her spine rattles and her teeth prickle in response. A sunrise in her chest warms her throat but she presses against it with her palms, forcing it down. It is a scorching, molten pain. Third degree burns and all she swallows rays of light till she is drowning, gorging. Slipping through furnace tongue flames. Rowan gags. Bile and acid boils her tongue and the bright, burnt out orb slips into her stomach. She gulp, gulp, gulps every atom of the blaze that consumes her. Till she is heavy. She walks across the broken glass as he yells out. Let there be outrage. Let the sky fall. Its clouds embrace her limbs, draining everything fluid from her, letting her grow limp. Letting her rain. Heavy. As she moves away from the kitchen, she feels her footsteps peeling from the floor, warm and wet. And she is so, so heavy. Then she stumbles, splintered feet unable to keep her up—her legs can no longer hold her and her lava—as the pain erupts within her fierce and sharp and sudden. Flashing its ugly teeth. Catching one last glimpse before her vision goes dark, she sees a red ocean seeping into the living room. How could one body hold so much? Fast and gushing the rapids wash her dregs of consciousness away. It was just a few steps...

soo... yeah. Rowan walks on glass because, oh lord that girl has no impulse controls. 

I'm not going to lie, although it was a pain to get this scene to the stage I have just shared, I think it's one of my favourites in the book so far. I'm proud of how much it's grown. Also, I love me some dramatic descriptions of pain and characters being nasty... :”)

I hope you enjoyed this update! (if you did, reblogs really help me out, but absolutely no pressure <3) I’m also still looking for people to add to the tag list, so if any of this interested you, feel free to send me an ask, message or comment. :)

Tag list under cut (ask to be added or removed):

@alicewestwater @elaz-ivero @coffeeandcalligraphy @hanwatchingmovies @sirfitzroys @chloeswords @nev-953

[aetm-malereaderimagines]

Hi can I request for a nanase haruka dating hcs?

Hi and thank you for your request! I didn’t know how much I needed it until I started writing these hcs. I didn’t realize how much I missed my sweet sweet boy Haru. I had so much fun writing these, maybe even too much fun ‘cause I ended up writing like 1000 words worth of headcanons lmao. I hope it’s at least remotely close to what you expected ‘cause I got sidetracked a few times when writing these (you’ll see lol). Anyways, enjoy!

Nanase Haruka:

You’ll love dating this guy if you like, so to speak, “being alone together.” Unless he’s at the pool or jogging, Haru enjoys, as you probably already know, cooking, taking long baths, and tending to the stray cats in his neighborhood, but also reading, playing video games, and just lazing around his house, taking naps on the porch, watching TV in the living room and whatnot. Despite pursuing the career of an athlete, he’s usually very low-energy, which can be surprising to people who only know him as a swimmer.

Thus, you spend a lot of time together at his house. He now lives in Tokyo and while his apartment in the capital is cozy enough, you both prefer his old house back in Tottori. During high school, as his parents were away most of the time, you spent a lot of time there. You would sit at the table in his living room reading a book as Haru would lie down on the floor, his head positioned comfortably in your lap. With one hand, you would hold the book and with the other, you’d stroke his hair gently. You’d take it away only when you needed to turn the page but even that short absence of your hand on his head would coax a grumpy growl from your boyfriend. Another time, you’d be playing with the cats in the backyard. That was one of the things Haru enjoyed the most. You smiled a lot when the cats were around, and he loves seeing you smile.

The feeling of Zweisamkeit you get with him is just Exquisite.

Now, in Tokyo, you still spend a lot of time with each other but it’s gotten a little harder, given the nature of the life of a university student. You’re busy with your studies, Haru’s busy with his practice, but fortunately, your campus has a really nice library so you end up spending a lot of time there studying and waiting for him to finish. You often come back home together.

Haru can be a little socially-anxious at times but he’s taken a liking to eating out with you on your way back from uni. You know those narrow Japanese back alleys full of trade signs and neon-like lights where two people walking side by side can hardly fit in the cramped space? Those are the places you end up exploring quite often. You can find the tiniest but the coziest, the tastiest but also the cheapest restaurants and bars there. Haru doesn’t care as long as they serve Japanese food — fish, sushi, gyōza, rāmen, udon, soba, tonkatsu, donburi, whatever is fine with him. You actually have a few favorite restaurants you frequent, to the point when you can just place your order with a short “the usual, please.”

Unbeknownst to you, you’ve become kind of idols to a certain elderly lady running a teishokuya, a cheap diner. You may think you’re being subtle about your relationship but you’re not fooling a mother of four and grandmother of seven. You’ll never know if she’s a closeted fujoshi or just finds you adorable but one thing’s certain: for some reason, there’s always an additional piece of fish on your plate and the bowls you get your misoshiru in seem weirdly larger than those of other customers.

Since you don’t have much time during the day, you end up having sleepovers basically every other night, or even more often. After a year of not being able to find their son at his apartment half the time, Haru’s parents suggested you move in together. Why pay for two apartments when you basically already live in one?

On days when you don’t eat out, Haru usually cooks for you. He’s a great cook but it took you some time to convince (and teach) him to cook anything else than mackerel.

After university/practice and on your days off, you play a lot of video games together. Sometimes you invite Makoto or Asahi over (Kisumi usually just invites himself over, much to Haru’s dismay), sometimes you just duel at Smash Bros by yourselves. If it’s just the two of you, those gaming sessions often turn into lazy make-out sessions late at night. One of the many discoveries you’ve made during those nights is that Haru’s bare, pale skin looks weirdly alluring in the faint glow of the TV.

Haru really likes kisses, both kissing and being kissed. Be it a peck on the forehead or a full-out make-out session, he’s always down for it.

He also loves holding hands. Whether you’re watching a movie, out on a walk, or in bed at night, his hand always inches towards yours.

Sometimes, he does this involuntarily, his hand just finds yours on its own. He gets really embarrassed when he realizes.

He’s not really into PDA, though. He almost never kisses you out in public and will only hold hands with you if he thinks there’s no one around.

The only exception is when you’re around other gay guys. He gets weirdly possessive and always makes sure to hold your hand, swing his arm around your shoulder, and sometimes even give you a little peck on the cheek. You confronted him about it once and it turns out he just thinks you’re much more popular than you actually are. You think it’s sweet and decide to never correct him.

When you were moving in together, you accidentally found his sketchbook. Every other page was a drawing of you—your face drawn from countless different angles, you reclining on the porch, you cooking, you reading, you playing games, you on a walk in a park, you riding a bike, you laughing, you sleeping, you, you, you… There’s even a few drawings of you two making out and one of you completely naked.

You thought he was gonna stop drawing those if he found out that you knew so you decided not to tell him a thing and just keep checking his sketchbook whenever he’s not around. He did, however, find out (he walked in on you when you thought he was showering) and you’d never seen him redder before. As you’d expected, he stopped drawing whatsoever for a while and kept avoiding the topic but after a few weeks, he somehow came to terms with it. Now, he sometimes even asks you to pose so he can draw you better. That’s when you started having outings every now and then when you’d leave Tokyo and drive away into the countryside so he can draw both the landscapes and you surrounded by nature. You have some of his best pictures framed and hung up on the wall of your living room. Your friends think it’s the cutest thing in the world.

[rogerina-yee-haw]

dating ben hardy (and being younger than him) would include...

request: “I read your Joe one so can you do a dating Ben Hardy and your younger? Like 19?“ “can you please do a Ben dating a younger girl like you did for Joe? I loved it 💓💓”

tagging @chicagoblackhawkslover96 as promised <3

get on with it, babes xx

warnings: some implied smut (cause I’m always horny yikes) (18+ only pls), fluff, virgin!reader cause I feel like it; also the reader is 19; some language, typos (as always lmao), slight (???) angst

a/n: Ben Hardy’s amazing personality stealing my uwus?? it’s most likely to be happening right now, I love this man with my whole ass heart

this is Ben, and this is the reader

it’s bad I’m sorry!!!!

I’ve read somewhere that Ben is on dating apps

let it be tinder here lmao

so you two met through it

you didn’t believe it was really him before you met

and you were really self-conscious because you had no idea why Ben Hardy would swipe you right and invite you to go somewhere

because you were just a basic university student

but your best friend/roommate practically pushed you out of your dorm room and said, “go get this dick, you dumb bitch!”

she agreed to go with you in case it was a catfish

but it wasn’t

it was Ben Hardy in the flesh

your friend gave you a “thumbs up” and a grin when you approached him

Ben was nice since the very first second you met

you’ve talked the entire time

his soft and soothing voice was like a beautiful song that took you to another dimension

you could sit and listen to him for hours

and you did

throughout the night he couldn’t stop complimenting you at literally anything

“that’s a great choice of biscuits, y/n”, “yeah, it’s amazing that we both hate fish”, “I really like your coat” (the last one is a direct reference to BoRhap, yes)

you could tell you were falling in love with him

and it wasn’t just a simple celebrity crush anymore, you were falling hard for this incredible man

he was admiring you every chance he got, because, besides being crazily beautiful, you were really smart, funny and just amazing

so when it was time to say goodbye, ben gave you the tightest hug you had ever had in your life

your hands went around his neck, pressing your body to his and feeling his warmth

when you pulled away, he whispered, “I really want to see you again, y/n”

and you had to restrain yourself from screaming

so when he texted you, “Are you free tomorrow night?” twenty minutes later, nothing stopped you from hollering and getting multiple complaints from the neighbors in your dorm

that’s how your relationship started

you decided to keep it on the low because neither of you craved the attention from the media

you only craved each other

your first kiss happened a week after your first date

you were hanging out at Ben’s place, binge-watching some Netflix show after a hard day at uni

your legs were across his lap and he was absentmindedly drawing circles on your ankles with his fingers

at one moment, Frankie decided it was a good idea to jump right on your stomach and start licking your face

you laughed and started petting her as she continued her shenanigans

Ben watched the two of you in awe and with the biggest smile on his face

he loved his two favorite girls interacting

so when Frankie chased the stuffed animal you threw away just for her

Ben stroked you cheek gently before kissing you

and it was perfect

before you knew it, the kiss turned into a heated make-out session

Ben was hovering over you, one of his hands under your shirt, cupping your breasts through your bra, and the other one on your face, caressing your cheek

you could feel yourself grow wetter when he started leaving open-mouthed kisses alongside you neck

and when he sucked on that sweet spot right under your earlobe, you let out the most tremendous moan Ben had ever heard

it suddenly became tighter in his pants than before

he took off his shirt and helped you remove yours

“God, you’re beautiful”

you could feel his bulge through your jeans, and you rocked your hips against him to create some friction

he whined into the kiss

“You keep doing this and I won’t last long, baby”

his words worked as a stop sign for you

not that you didn’t want to have sex with him, you just didn’t feel like you were ready to do it just after a week of knowing each other

Ben understood you completely

“I’ll wait as long as you want. I won’t pressure you into anything”

if you didn’t know you loved this man before, now you certainly did

so at this moment, you’ve been in a relationship for four months

and it was amazing

you spent Christmas together, watching movies and cuddling on the couch with Frankie

your dates are always filled with blissful and delightful moments

you may go to the park and just walk while talking and laughing at each other’s jokes

or you can spend the day at his place, watching TV and cuddling and making-out

you keep forgetting that he is eight years older than you

because it seems like he’s actually eighty-five

as he always grumbles about the silliest things

like

“stupid kids and their stupid ball”

“it barely touched you, Ben”

“well, it could hit me on the head!”

or

“this dog came straight up to Frankie and started barking! So I had a little backchat with her”

“what did you say to that dog?”

“I told her to back off and not to bother my daughter ever again”

“so you were basically screaming at the barking dog in the middle of the park at six in the morning”

“she was being rude to Frankie, y/n!”

such incidents happen all the time

but you don’t mind

you’re already too in love with each other

so once your birthday comes, you decide it’s the time to get rid of your virginity

you don’t really know what’s been holding you back since you two were sinning on a regular basis

like you’ve been practicing your blowjob skills

after you went down on Ben for the first time, he just lied in bed for a while and then said, “That was so fucking good, baby”

and you suddenly became really shy and flattered

and when he went down on you

oOF

you were a whining and trembling mess and he had to hold your hips firmly because you were squirming under him

you couldn’t walk properly after it for a couple of days

so now you are ready for another big step

and you know it should happen on your birthday

so you get prepared: you buy really pretty lingerie and put on the perfume that drives Ben crazy

as you have lectures at university and it’s just a regular weekday, you delay your twentieth birthday party to Friday

but it doesn’t mean you and Ben can’t have fun

so you drop at his place after uni

you also ran some errands before it, hung out with your family and came to him at about seven pm

when he opens the door, he pulls you into the most heated kiss you’ve ever experienced

“happy birthday, baby”

the dim lights and the candles all over his flat make your heart skip a beat

turns out he’s made you dinner, cooked your favorite meal and bought your fav cake

“it’s not everything you’re getting tonight”

and you know your panties are soaked through thanks to only the sound of his voice

you eat the dinner, talking about your day, and just smiling at each other

once you’re finished you decide it’s time

so you get up and come across the table, where Ben sits

and you sit down on his lap, your hands around his neck

he’s completely taken aback

“what are you doing, love?”, he asks in between kisses

he’s already a mess while you kiss his neck and run your hand through his hair

“I want you”

and you’re both breathing heavily as you look into each other’s eyes

“are you sure? We don’t have to do it now, you should-“

but you cut him off with a kiss“

I want it, Ben. I want you. I want to have sex with you”, you state firmly

he gulps and draws his lower lip between his teeth

his green eyes are now dark with lust and love

“you want it?” he whispers, kissing alongside your jaw. “Want me to make you feel good?”

and you just sigh and nod, cause you can’t speak already

so Ben picks you up bridal style and carries you to his bedroom

and – oh God – he makes you feel good indeed

you go in for two rounds before you fall asleep

you’re really happy Ben is your first

because he’s been really gentle and loving with you, asking if you were okay all the time, looking at you so tenderly that you almost started crying about how much you love him

so when you two lie in bed next to each other, panting and sweating

Ben takes a small gift bag out of his drawer

“here’s the actual gift for you”

he got you exactly what you wanted and also a necklace with the letter “F” on it

“stands for Frankie”, he explains, “thought giving the necklace with yours or my initials was boring. And now you’ll always carry our daughter with you”

you melt at “our daughter” and kiss him fondly

“thank you, Ben. I love it. I love you”

and it’s the first time you confess your feelings

his whole face brightens and he beams before kissing you

“I love you too, y/n. So much”

after that, you two start fucking like rabbits

you do it at every place, on every surface, in every position that’s possible

you also decide it’s a good time to take your relationship to a new level

which leads for both of you meeting each other’s families

Ben’s family is everything you could ever ask for

his mum is this amazing woman, who greets you with the most heartwarming smile 

you talk with his siblings about everything

and by the end of the night, you’re already in love with all of them as they’re with you

your family is on the opposite side of it, as your parents don’t approve of you dating an actor who’s eight years older than you

“y/n, he’s going to play with you and then ditch you for some pretty model!” you father says while you’re helping your mum to prepare dinner several hours before Ben’s about to come

“so you think I’m not pretty enough to date him?” you furrow your brows. “As if I already didn’t have issues with self-esteem, dad”

“darling, that’s not what your father means”, your mum chimes into the conversation. “He just thinks that Ben isn’t good enough for you because he’s an actor. He’ll always be away filming, and God knows how many women would be around him-“

“so you think just cause he’ll be away surrounded by other girls he’d want to cheat on me? That’s quite an opinion of someone whom you haven’t met”

“what we mean is that he has different things in mind”, your father continues. “He’ll be thirty in two years, he probably wants to settle down already. And you’re so young for it! You’ve got your whole life before you! Why would you want to waste it on someone who’s likely to break up with you when he realizes he doesn’t want to be with someone like you?”

your father’s last words are really hurtful

because you feel like he’s right, as you've got these thoughts floating in your mind the second Ben’s lips fell on yours several months ago

as your parents are clearly unhappy to see Ben you leave their house in the worst mood

they’re not actually against canceling the meeting with Ben because they don’t like him already

so you go to his place

and it breaks your heart when he opens the door, almost dressed up and excited to meet your parents

“hey, y/n! I’ve been actually thinking to call you. What tie should I-“

you push him away and come into his flat

“baby, is everything alright?” he comes up to you and cups your cheeks in his hands

as you lose the ability to fight the urge to cry, you shake your head and tears start running down your cheeks

“just hold me. Please”

later that night when you cuddle on the couch, you’re wearing one of his shirts and he’s caressing your sides gently

and Frankie’s sleeping in the armchair near you

Ben can’t stop whispering sweet, reassuring things into your ear

“I love you. I love you so much. No matter what happens, I’ll always love you. You’re my soulmate, my love, my everything. I love you. I won’t ever leave you. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted”

you don’t bring up the topic of meeting Ben to your parents after this

they can’t actually stop you from dating Ben

and they cannot do anything when he asks you to move in with him

and you happily agree

you become even more inseparable since you start living together

you also go official on social media

Ben posts a pic of you playing with Frankie with a heart-emoji in the caption

and everyone goes wild

especially your groupmates from uni, who bombard you with questions on a daily basis

your best friend brushes them all off and you’re incredibly thankful to her

some people on social media are rude to you, but you ignore them because the rest of Ben’s fans are really nice and sweet

they somehow found your tumblr and tagged you in one smutty fic about you and Ben someone has written

Ben and you recreate it later

everything goes just perfect

you’re both crazily in love with each other

and you can’t wait to spend the rest of your lives together

[dragonologist-phd]

#2, 11, 27, 40, 44, 54, 65 for Nona?

Thank you!

#2 Do they have a fear of an animal? If so, what animal? 

Hmm, she doesn’t really have any specific fears but she’s still very much not a fan of stelgaers

#11 Do they believe in luck? 

No. Nona believes that things happen through work, and she wouldn’t give the credit or blame of things to something as vague as ‘luck’

#27 What is their favourite holiday? 

This has actually come up before in a whisper session in-game! There’s a festival in her hometown that she used to love attending, it’s basically a big fancy party with dancing and fireworks!

#40 If I wanted to draw them, what would be distinct physical features that I would have to know to draw them correctly? 

Let’s see... green eyes, freckles, short reddish-brown hair, and her default expression is kind of thoughtful/serious

#44Do they know more than one language?

It’s no longer a spoiler to say she knows a little bit of Engwithan!

#54Do they know how to fish?

Well, she doesn’t have the skill and I can’t imagine she’s ever been in a situation before where she would have gone fishing. Maybe Dal should teach her!

#65What makes them smile?

Talking about a subject that she has an interest in (ex theology, history, philosophy) would do it. She also likes dry humor, so she enjoys the snarky comments from Yarrow. Also being someplace nice and quiet where she’s able to think/read/pray in peace

[mmead2113]

*** Tumblr 1: Rhetoric and Narratives***

In this entry, I will examine these critical questions: What central narrative(s) does this artifact tell through its rhetorical elements? In doing so, what values does it promote or ignore (who does it include and exclude)? In which ways is this narrative (ethically) productive for society, in which ways is it limiting, and is it more productive or limiting?

To investigate these questions, I examined Taika Waititi’s 2019 movie Jojo Rabbit as my rhetorical artifact. Through strong character development and a unique view of the human condition, Jojo Rabbit creates a central narrative that nobody is innately evil, and that hate is taught through society (and thus can be untaught). Overall the narrative is productive because it ethically demonstrates how togetherness can overcome hate even in the worst of situations.

Jojo Rabbit (Taika Waititi) is a film adaptation of the book Caging Skies (Christine Leunens) that depicts the life of a young boy – named Jojo Betzler – in the Hitler Youth during the 1940’s. The movie covers Jojo’s life from the mid-war era to the liberation of his German town following the collapse of the Third Reich. In the beginning, Jojo is completely swept up in the Nazi fanaticism, and even has an imaginary Hitler friend (but it is how his 10-year-old mind envisions Hitler, not actual Hitler). After getting injured during a Hitler Youth camp excursion, Jojo is sent back to his hometown where he eventually discovers a young Jewish girl named Elsa living in secret in his home under the protection of his mother. Faced with a dilemma that challenges everything Jojo was raised to believe under the Nazi rule, his character undergoes great moral changes to eventually realize that Jews are just like him; and that they are not the horrifying monsters that his upbringing taught him to see them as. Thus, the film ends with Jojo and Elsa becoming great friends by the time their town is liberated by Allied forces.

One way the narrative that “hatred is taught” is prevalent in Jojo Rabbit is in the movie’s opening sequence, where Jojo is attending a week-long camp in the mountains for the Hitler Youth. At this camp, young boys undergo daily activities that are reminiscent of modern Boy Scout camps, such as basic survival skills and group activities in the outdoors. However, they also participate (in a satirically funny manner) in Nazi-centered fanaticism drills to mold their minds into a certain way of thinking. These drills include how to make a swastika stance with their bodies, a group-think session where they all contribute to a drawing of what a Jew is in their minds, and they cap off each night with a book burning rather than a typical campfire. The Jew drawing scene especially encapsulates the narrative that hatred is taught, as in this scene one Hitler youth child shouts out “Add fangs!” followed by another stating “And a serpent’s tongue!” The drawing is then completed when a young girl says “Scales!” to which the Nazi woman doing the drawing and leading the session replies, “Ya! Scales, because once upon a time a Jewish man mated with a fish. The Arians are 1000 times more civilized and advanced than any other race.” This statement is then met with great excitement among the children, as it emphasizes beliefs that they have already had beaten into their minds by the society that’s raised them. These ideas are all they know, and thus affirmation of their opinions only strengthens the hatred they have for these people in their minds. This scene is a shining example of the narrative that “hatred can be taught” since it features hatred, quite literally, being taught, and all the children clearly taking it in. It is through this unique view into the human condition – and what life may have been like growing up in Germany in the 1940’s (satirically) – that we are first introduced to the movie’s central narrative.

           Another way the narrative is evident is when Jojo first encounters Elsa, a Jewish girl living in secret in his home under the protection of his mother. Up until this point, Jojo is a fanatic, 10-year old Nazi who believes in the power of the Third Reich not because he chooses to, but because he has never been exposed to another way of thinking in his life. When he meets Elsa, he is equally terrified and dumbfounded. He’s confronted by his worst fear: a Jew. However, she’s not this fishy, fanged monster that he always pictured. Instead, she is a completely normal girl, whom he actually has a crush on. His instincts kick in at first, and he reacts in the only way he’s been taught: by attempting to assert dominance since he has been raised to believe that he (of Arian race) is far better than Elsa. Jojo says, “You are weak, like an eyelash. I am born of Arian ancestry. My blood is the color of a pure red rose, and my eyes are blue…” This line is representative of the social truths that Jojo has been taught to accept. As explained by Palczewski, Ice and Fritch (2012), social truth is a set of  “…beliefs and values that do not refer to some objective reality, but to social reality – those beliefs about what is right that people have arrived at together.” Jojo’s social truths from the Nazi society have taught him hatred, and he has accepted (and embraced) that up to this point, emphasizing the central narrative.

With this central narrative comes the idea that hatred can also be untaught. After what Jojo says to Elsa, she reacts by wrestling and pinning him, saying, “Break free great Arian. There are no weak Jews. We were chosen by God. You were chosen by a pathetic little man who cannot even grow a full mustache.” Here, Jojo is taught the lesson that he is indeed not the strongest person and that he clearly has no power of Elsa, despite what he was raised to believe. This is the beginning of his moral growth as a character, and through his character development, the central narrative is completely brought to bear. Jojo’s character is the foil through which we see how hatred is imbued in someone, but it is also through Jojo that we see how hatred can be removed and replaced with a sense of togetherness and love, as by the end of the film, Elsa is his greatest friend.

There are both advantages and disadvantages to this narrative, though there are mostly advantages. One advantage is that the message is incredibly positive and lacks in any negative meaning. It is one that states that hatefulness can be addressed and resolved, a much more positive outlook than simply believing that hate is innate and cannot be changed. Therefore, ethically this message is incredibly productive for society as it encourages proper moral developments, especially with the young. It is hard to find any disadvantages of this narrative. One disadvantage could be that by believing hatred is only taught, society is seen to be completely to blame for all wrongs committed by an individual: not the individual themselves. In other words, the narrative is almost giving excuses for those that act morally/ethically incorrectly. This disadvantage is certainly not very strong though and is hardly even a disadvantage, and as such it does not affect the overall positivity and importance of the central narrative.

Igartua and Barrios further explain how narratives can directly influence societal behavior by discussing how narratives in the film “Camino” (Fesser, 2008) caused an empirical change in the audience’s views on Opus Dei and religion. They tested this by – in simple terms – asking participants in the study to fill out questionnaires both before and after the testing. These questionnaires determined their overall connection to the main character of “Camino,” as well as their feelings towards Opus Dei and religion (and they attempted to determine how involved in the narratives each participant was likely to be). The results empirically demonstrated that narratives in film can directly affect the audience’s opinions on the subject matter, as the participants were found to have more hatred towards Opus Dei and religion after the film; a belief that aligned with the central narrative of the movie. This furthers the impact of films like Jojo Rabbit, which have messages intended to change the audience’s thoughts on certain topics. In fact, Jojo Rabbit closes with a quote clearly stating the message the director wanted to tell the audience: “Go to the limits of your longing. Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final.” Whether or not the film does successfully change the audience depends on each individual, but Jojo Rabbit’s unique view into the human condition with what life would be like as a child in such a tough environment truly does try to reach out to the audience and deliver its central narrative on a personal level: something that is possible as shown by Igartua and Barrios in their study.

In summary, Jojo Rabbit’s phenomenal character arc and moral development with Jojo – along with the unique view into a radically different society from a child’s perspective – allows the film’s central narrative that “hate” is something that is taught (and can therefore be “untaught”) to be delivered effectively to the audience; enabling them to potentially embrace the ideals the films puts forth and directly influence modern societal truths.

Igartua, Juan-José, and Isabel Barrios. “Changing Real-World Beliefs With Controversial Movies: Processes and Mechanisms of Narrative Persuasion.” Journal of Communication, vol. 62, no. 3, June 2012, pp. 514–531., doi:https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1460-2466.2012.01640.x.

Palczewski, C. H., Ice, R., Fritch, J. (2012). Narratives. In Rhetoric in Civic Life (pp. 117- 146). State College, PA: Strata Publishing, Inc. 

Jojo Rabbit. Dir. Taika Waititi. Searchlight Pictures, November 2019. Film.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Supercorp Artist AU

Kara Danvers is something of a local celebrity artist in Midvale. Every street fair she can be found drumming up interest in the arts by taking improv requests from the crowd and drawing each idea on the spot, from memory.

Most are goofy: lazy dogs with lolling tongues begging for belly rubs, a little girl with a bubble of gum exploding across her cheeks, cartoon ducklings splashing happily in hyper realistic puddles. All the while, she explains the color choices she makes, reducing her figures to their basic shapes, the concept of scale.

She also puts in shifts at the face painting station, drawing long lines so they can receive whatever ornate design she'll bestow on their cheeks. All of them are clever and fantastical-- fire engines turned to water dragons, pandas with bamboo pompoms cheering on their wearer, tigerish housecats prowling jungles of books.

But she also takes time for larger projects. Each festival, she can be found in front a wall of canvas, painting whatever strikes her fancy as crowds gather to watch for ten, twenty minutes before wandering off in search of candy apples and funnel cake.

During one such festival, a photographer from out of town is prowling the cordoned off streets, snapping photos to capture the charm of small town americana. They pause at Kara's wall of canvas, and... don't leave. They stare, captivated, as Kara swirls colors together in amorphous shapes that don't resemble anything at all but somehow convey... comfort.

The photographer snaps just one more photo: Kara, oblivious to the world around her as she focuses on the world of color blossoming in front of her. They longer a little longer, hoping to speak with her, but Kara doesn't look up from her work for hours more, long after the festival closes down.

A few days later, the town paper is delivered to Kara's doorstep. A picture of her graces the front page, but one unlike any she's seen before. Haloed by the lights of the festival behind her, Kara's profile was captured in a moment of utter concentration. The crowd at the edges of the image were hazy, but Kara was in perfect focus.

The photograph is breathtaking. A balance of color and proportion that draws the eye to her frozen image. What catches Kara's focus the most, though, is her own smile. It speaks of some hidden knowledge, of happiness. She can't recall what she might have been thinking about-- all she remembers of that session is being entirely in the zone.

The credit at the bottom of the image lists the photographer's name.

Lena Luthor.

It's not long before Kara's agent calls her.

"I've got a buyer for your festival painting," James tells her, the sound of his smile plain even over the phone.

"You know I don't sell those, James."

She donates them around Midvale, as a thank you to libraries, cafes, and schools.

"I know, but you were already not sure where this one would be going." It's true. She's already running out of new recipients around town. "And trust me, what the buyer is offering is worth breaking tradition."

He tells her a figure, and Kara nearly chokes on her coffee. "Are they insane? It's not worth that much! I did it for FUN--"

"A painting is worth what someone is willing to pay. And that was only their first offer. I could probably broker more..."

"Who is it?"

James makes a hesitant noise. "The client wants to remain anonymous. I've only spoken with an intermediary."

Kara scrubs a hand over her face. She can hardly wrap her brain around it.

"Youve been saying you want to grow for a while now. What do you say to taking that first step?"

She sighs. Midvale is comfortable. Her work is beloved, even the stuff she doesn't like. A precipice looms under her feet, and far below her small fish is about to leap into a large pond.

"Yeah, okay."

"Great! I'll make it happen. How soon can it be ready for transport?"

"As soon as they want." For that kind of money, she'll deliver it herself.

---

The painting is shipped that day, and so begins a whirlwind of notoriety. The picture in the Midvale Chronicle spreads to the county times, and then to the internet as word of her painting's fate spreads.

Galleries all along the coast invite her to show more pieces, and private collectors reach out in droves. Other artists start sending her invitations to art shows of their own, and suddenly she has connections and contacts across the country.

People want to know her.

It blows her mind, but she loves it. She loves it so much that she moves to National City and open the private studio she's always wanted. Barely a week after arriving, she receives yet another invition to a gallery opening, this time for a local photographer. She almost tosses it before she catches sight of the artist's name.

Lena Luthor.

Kara makes James come with her as backup. She doesn't know any photographers, and anxiously worries that her invitation had simply been a mistake. But when they arrive, the other guests smile at her like they've already met, nodding in greeting as Kara tries to scope out which one of them could be Lena.

She finds herself before she finds her host.

That is, on the wall under a warm focus of light, she finds the same photo of her that had run in the gazette. Again, she's captivated by her own face, somehow even more beguiling in a gallery full of other, equally breathtaking art.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

The unexpected voice beside her makes Kara jump. She turns to find a tall woman in a patchwork velour dinner jacket and wide rimmed glasses.

"This one's my favorite."

There's something about the way one hand is tucked into the pocket of her trousers, and the sharp study in greens eyes that sparkle in a smile, that clues Kara in.

"You're Lena."

Ruby lips spread into a smile. "Guilty." She extends a hand in greeting. "Thank you for coming. I was hoping to meet you."

"L-likewise," Kara stumbles, struggling to maintain her composure and not focus on the heat of Lena's palm in hers. "Wow. Y-your work is amazing."

"Thank you."

"This photo launched my career," she blurts. "And the rest... just, wow."

It's true. There are pictures from all across the country. Some are pastorals, but more feature the people that populate the towns she visited. Twin girls busting a gut laughing over a dripping ice cream cone-- a farmer's face in zoom, weathered and creased by life-- a woman alone on a bus bench, tears in her eyes. On and on and on Kara sees life captured in plain honesty.

"That's kind of you to say," Lena says.

"No, I mean it! It's amazing! I mean, when I paint like that," she gestures towards the photo, "it's because I don't see what I want to, so I have to make it. But you... its like you see the beauty that's already in the world."

Lena looks at her in warm regard, her smile turning quiet.

Only then does Kara realize that their hands are still joined together. "Oh! Sorry."

"I didn't mind," Lena returns smoothly.

Kara's heart pounds furiously. Before she can think of something else to say, a suited man sidles up to Lena and speaks low in her ear. She watches Lena nod, before turning to face Kara directly.

She's not wearing a shirt. The lapels of her jacket plunge downward to meet just below her ribs, framing another work of art in the form of pale skin and gently curving cleavage.

"Mingling duties call," Lena tells her, apology in her voice. "It was lovely speaking with you."

Kara nods dumbly.

"Please enjoy the champagne. It was very expensive."

From anyone else the comment might have seemed pretentious, but the devilish smile that comes with it has Kara laughing.

"Sure thing. I'll take care of those potstickers too."

She keeps an eye out as the night progresses, but she never gets a chance to speak with Lena again. She makes some new friends though, and regales them all about which stall to get the best popcorn balls from at the Midvale Festival, and how they'd need to stop by Buzzed and Toasted for the best cocoa and cupcakes on their way out of town.

Exhaustion drags her home before she can catch Lena's eye again. Disappointment stains the thrill of their meeting, and she spends the next morning picking apart the few words they'd shared for where she'd gone wrong.

When her phone buzzes, she's distracted enough not to notice that the caller is an unsaved number.

"'Lo?"

"Is this Kara Danvers?"

"Um... yeah?"

"This is Lena Luthor."

Kara jolts, banging her hip against the corner of her kitchen table. "Oh! Hi! Hi. How are you?"

"To be honest, I'm a little disappointed we didn't get the chance to continue our conversation last night."

A flush heats Kara's cheeks as she nervously adjusts her glasses. "To be honest... I was just thinking the same thing." She pauses. "Wait, how did you get my number? I mean, I'm glad you did, don't get me wrong, but how?"

"Mr. Olsen left your card with my assistant last night."

James is getting a bonus. Immediately.

"So, I was wondering," Lena continues, "would you be at all interested in joining me for dinner at my place tonight?"

"Wuh-- yes! I definitely would be interested in doing that."

She can practically hear Lena's smile. "Great. How does seven sound? I can text my address to this number?"

"Yeah. It's my cell. Seven sounds great."

She'll have to pre-game a snack in order to make it that long til dinner, but she can do it.

"I'll see you then, then."

"Looking forward to it."

She barely manages to end the call before her knees go weak and she slithers to the ground to lay in a pathetic heap.

"What is my life right now?"

----

The address Lena sends leads her to an upscale neighborhood near the wharf. Color lurks behind every corner: graffitied on the sides of buildings and traced onto shop windows and adorning every bus stop overhang.

Kara knows why James hadn't directed her to this area when she'd been scoping out apartments-- even with her recent windfall, she couldn't afford a place here long term. She half expects a doorman when she approaches Lena's building, but all she finds is a normal callbox.

She's buzzed in immediately and one short elevator ride up deposits her into a short hallway left artfully unfinished with polished concrete floors and exposed lighting.

Lena's loft is little different, but the industrial feel works with the high ceilings and simple floor plan. Art exists everywhere Kara as she steps inside: sculptures and beautifully blown vases, and art hangs on every wall.

Including one very familiar piece.

"You're the anonymous buyer!"

Lena looks not at all embarrassed. "I fell in love with it that night in Midvale. It makes me feel."

"Feel what?"

"Depends on the day." Lena tilts her head towards the kitchen, where tantalyzing aromas brew with promise. "Shall we?"

Pasta and wine occupies them for one hour, then two. Over chocolate cake they talk for hours more, about everything and nothing. Lena is smart, and funny, quick to smile and wildly disarming when her eyes soften halfway through their second bottle of wine, focusing on Kara like she's suddenly the only art that exists.

"You intrigue me, Kara Danvers," she says as the clock nears midnight.

Kara holds her gaze, emboldened by the wine humming in her veons. "Can I kiss you?"

"You're welcome to do more than that."

Their lips meet in a tangle of wine and chocolate frosting, and the rest of the world falls away. Kara doesn't leave until morning.

[sulkyprince]

at least 5 things your muse enjoys doing aside from canon ! repost, don’t reblog - pls !

LEARNING SIMPLE YET IMPORTANT LIFE SKILLS: Despite Noct’s difficulty motivating himself and finding time to do things between school, royal duties, friends, training, etc... He likes to learn small, important tasks as much as possible. He tries his hand at cooking, though he knows he’s terrible at it. He is able to recognize how important it is and has grown to dislike Ignis having to do everything for him. He knows it’s his job, but really Noctis likes the idea of being a normal, self-sufficient adult. Therefore, he reads books and looks online to learn how to do things like sew, fold clothes, basic first aid, etc... It gives him a healthy sense of accomplishment and independence, even when he struggles to do it right the first (second or third) time when trying his hand at it himself.

PIANO: As royalty, being proficient in a number of different tasks and arts was a given in the Caelum household. Noctis was constantly put under pressure to become cultured and well-rounded. Ever since he was a child he found the prospect exhausting. However, there was one thing he never minded the structured weekly lessons in. Piano. Piano was something that put him at ease. He seemed to have a knack for it, which made practicing more enjoyable. It was something he found himself doing for recreation. It was the one lesson he felt the least amount of dread preparing for, particularly when the King allowed for Ignis to be the one to teach him. Though it’s rare to hear the prince play, it’s something from his childhood that he’s always held dear. And the occasional duet is something that always brought the prince closer to his adviser when no exchange of words were necessary.

DRAWING: Particularly manga/comic book style art. Noctis always had a love for comic books. It was one thing that he and Prompto were able to bond the most with during the beginning of their friendship. However, during Noct’s teenage years he also took to drawing the styles he loved the most in all his favorite comics. He tried his hand at a few comics himself, but never had a knack for story-telling. He’s always been too embarrassed to reveal his love for drawing. However, that hasn’t stopped Ignis from finding his work during cleaning sessions in Noct’s room or at his apartment. Though the heated reaction Noctis had after Ignis’ mentioned his talent left the rest a mystery to Eos. Ignis kept Noct’s hobby a secret, and Noctis would stick to doing his stealthy doodles in his spare time when he was sure no one else was around.

BUBBLE BATHS: Luxury is something that is not unfamiliar to the prince, however, this in and of itself doesn’t explain Noct’s solid affinity for baths. When he was little and still healing from his injuries, baths were a very common practice for the young boy. For so long, it hurt terribly to do anything except lie in bed. However, baths were one of the few times he was able to do something other than that. He remembers the soft bubbles, heavenly warm water, and fragrant oils always soothing his frustrating aches and pains. Once he was recovered, he was able to enjoy them more without the embarrassment of having someone there to help him and check in on him constantly. From then on, it became a place of rest and solitude. He could close his eyes and nap in peace, surrounded by warmth and silence to soothe is fresh wounds and sore muscles.

WATCHING NATURE DOCUMENTARIES: Noctis has always had a love for animals, despite pets being an odd affair at the palace. Sure, there were cats to keep vermin away and plenty of birds to watch, but Noctis never really had an official pet of his own, though that didn’t stop him from “claiming” and naming the cats around the citadel. Animals always fascinated him, and of course fish are included in the equation. Aside from riveting nature documentaries about the wilds of Duscae and Liede, he especially took to ocean documentaries and those describing the different aquatic life of Eos. He finds them relaxing and interesting, and always gets excited learning about new fish he has yet to encounter, or even ones he’s already had the pleasure of reeling in.

TAGGED BY: @totalxclarity TAGGING: Anyone who wants to do this go ahead, I tagged you~