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existslikepristin · 3 years

Text

Impromptu Review

Thanks for editing this one goes to momirene and Worldsover, and for helpful beta reading feedback from them and one dork who wants to remain anonymous.

Tags: TheLounge, Red Velvet, SNSD (Girl's Generation), Joy, Sunny, loneliness, potential traumatization of cats, a hoard of hell-themed sex toys, a strap on, a butt plug with Jiu's face in it, and bisexual problems.

The front door of Sunny’s apartment swung open so fast that Joy felt a breeze from the vacuum it left behind.

“Joy! You’re here!”

Joy blinked. “Yeah, I said I would come over.”

“It’s been so long since we’ve met up! Come in, come in!”

“It’s only been like a month though.”

Sunny grabbed Joy’s hands and pulled her through the doorway. “It feels like so much longer than that!”

Joy smiled and took her shoes off in the entryway. “You seem more excited than usual.”

“What? How so?”

“Well for one,” Joy said, pointing at the kitchen, “It looks like you prepared for a whole party in here.”

The kitchen’s island was covered in plates of snacks and several variations of alcoholic beverages. Additionally, Sunny was noticeably sweaty, like she had just run around the house preparing for guests. Joy figured it would be best not to bring that up.

“What? No. That? That’s… yeah, that’s a lot of food, isn’t it?” Sunny’s posture drooped, as if she’d already expended all of her energy on her greeting.

Joy pulled her into a side hug. Her height served to straighten Sunny back up. “What’s going on, girl?”

Sunny sighed and leaned her head on Joy’s chest. “I dunno. I’m just excited. Haven’t had a good social night any time recently.”

“Aw! But what about these cutie kitties?”

Sogeum popped her head out from behind the wall and gave Joy her signature droopy, grim stare without so much as a meow. As soon as Joy shuffled in her direction though, she turned and went back into the living room.

“Well, you know. Can’t really have a real conversation with the cats.”

Joy hummed her agreement and stepped into the kitchen. “I’m always happy to talk to you Sunny. They don’t call SM a family for nothing.”

Sunny groaned, loudly.

“Um. Okay,” Joy said when Sunny didn’t elaborate. “Not a family? Just a bunch of really close friends?”

“Yeah, that’ll work better. Not a fan of the family motif.”

Joy picked up a cracker and chomped down. “Gonna… explain? Family is normally a positive thing, isn’t it?”

Sunny grabbed a bottle of wine and yanked the cork out. “Yeah, totally, for sure. Hey, do you like Chardonnay?”

“I…” Joy didn’t want to skirt around whatever issue Sunny was having, but was well-aware of her stubbornness. “I sure do.”

As fancy glasses of white wine were generously poured, Joy made note of Sunny’s slow, unsteady movements. She worried that perhaps Sunny had already started drinking, or wasn’t getting enough sleep.

* * *

“Can you believe that, Joy?”

“No way. It’s just inhuman.”

“Completely! It’s not like green onions are suddenly more expensive to dry out!”

The conversation had started with gossip and cheese snacking when the sun was high. As the sun set, the discussion shifted to the price of instant meals, and the snack plates were all but empty. Joy had to fight the constant urge to fall asleep, as the topics were never much more interesting than that. But she let Sunny lead the talking as much as possible.

Joy was simply relieved that Sunny called her over before diving into her liquor storage. “You should start a petition to regulate the price. I’d be the first to sign it.”

Sunny’s tipsy grin matched Joy’s. Though the alcohol consumption had been slow-going, they had been doing it for several hours. “Oh that would be great press. ‘Washed up idol upset with ramen manufacturers.’”

With an exaggerated roll of the eyes, Joy pointed at a set of boxes in the corner of the living room, currently being used as a lookout tower by Sogeum. “You’re not washed up yet. Look at all of those sponsor gifts. Those weren’t here last time I came over… Wait, they weren’t, were they?”

Sunny giggled. “No, they’re, uh… new.”

Their corporate sponsors weren’t something that Joy, Sunny, or any of the other SM idols discussed often. There were usually so many vying for their attention that it was pointless trying to keep track. But Joy reasoned, somewhat drunkenly, that talking about it might be therapeutic to someone so down on their social status. “Who are they from, anyway?”

A blush deepened the red of Sunny’s already tipsy-glowing cheeks. “Uh… Nobody. Just a regular sponsor, ya know?”

Joy grinned. “Oh, come on. You can tell me. What am I gonna do? Call a press conference to tell the tabloids who’s contributing to your paycheck?”

Sunny rolled her eyes. She shot off the couch, spilling a drop or two of her wine in the process. From Joy’s naturally higher perspective, Sunny didn’t seem that much taller. “Fine,” she said, wobbling, “but you better not make fun of me.”

“I’ll make fun of you for other reasons, like how much I love you, bitch!” Joy blinked at her own shouting. She didn’t know when the alcohol had hit her, but she was beginning to think that she was a little more intoxicated than she previously thought.

Thankfully, the joviality in her voice seemed to encourage Sunny to play along. She set her wine on the coffee table and picked one of the smaller boxes off of the pile. “Disclosure first! We haven’t agreed to any deals yet. They sent me this stuff to try to convince me to shill it. I didn’t reach out to them.”

Joy waved the disclosure off like a mosquito, but Sunny still tossed the box in her direction. The weight inside of it was awkwardly distributed. Joy attempted to catch it, but it wound up ricocheting off the tips of her fingers and nearly knocking over an open, mostly full bottle of soju.

“The fuck is in this thing?”

“I’ve got some ideas but I just know who it’s from. Open it and find out.”

Joy tore into the box with no regard for the care that went into the packaging, which itself was surprisingly discreet. A smirk cracked her lips when she thought about what sorts of deliveries required such discretion. But the smirk faded right away when she got a view of the inside and realized that the packager apparently had the same idea.

Inside was a pair of plastic sheets wrapped asymmetrically around a roughly water bottle sized blob of blood red silicone. A small bit of pink cardboard advertised it as a five-speed, rotation-simulating, self-cleaning, pattern-switching, USB-charging, automatically-lubricating, remote-controlled vibrator with a speaker at the bottom for replicating a set of desired moans and a specialized charging dock.

Joy cleared her throat and stared at the horrifically fancy dildo, and its label, “Dante’s Dive,” unsure if she should toss it back to Sunny, considering it was clearly a personal item.

Sunny reached into what was left of the box, procuring a pretty little decorated card. “Dear Ms. Lee, we at Second Ring Inc were very pleased to hear your impromptu review of our products on a recent episode of ‘Welp, I Guess We’re Talking About This Now’ and wished to send you some additional items to show our appreciation. These are in no way a request for further public review,” Sunny was briefly interrupted by Joy’s disapproving snort, “but should you be interested in a partnership, we have included a phone number at which I, the chief executive officer, Lee Youngjoon, may be reached. Optionally, my username--”

Joy missed a few words as she was shocked by the extreme sound emitted by the vibrator when she pushed a button on the remote control.

“--is ‘worldsover’. As you know, Second Ring specializes in sexual wellness products, of which we’ve sent you a wide variety. They can be enjoyed by couples, or can serve as a fantastic outlet for power singles like yourself…”

Sunny trailed off. Joy was afraid she knew what was coming. “Damn, Sunny. You say so much as three words on national television and they scramble to get right up on your ass, eh?”

It was too late. Sunny was already tipping up the bottom of the soju bottle. A few drops spluttered back out of her mouth as Joy pushed it back down. “Sunny! You’ve said it yourself! You don’t want to get married!”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not still lonely!”

Joy wrapped her arms around Sunny. “You’ve got me. And a million other friends!”

“Fans don’t count.” Sunny’s voice was partially muffled by Joy’s shoulder.

“Ouch. Time for me to delete my Sone club membership. But fine. A hundred other friends. It’s not just me. It’s my members. Your members. And plenty of others. All of NCT would be--Okay, nevermind. Aespa though! They love you too.”

“But I don't want to inconvenience you." Sunny ended so matter-of-factly that Joy had to pause to process the short conversation.

"You know how… You know how you take a road trip, and there's a road block, or really bad construction, and you have to take a detour?"

"Yeah. I'm a detour."

"Come on, Sunny. What you are is the scenic route!”

There was a long silence.

“Was that the end of the metaphor?” Sunny eventually asked.

“I am very drunk.”

“You’re not that drunk.”

“Drunk enough to be shit at metaphors.”

“It’s…” Sunny extricated herself from Joy’s hug. “It’s okay. I think I know what you’re getting at, and I appreciate it. It’s just that a few words don’t really fix a brain, you know?”

Joy nodded slowly, watching as Sogeum casually stalked across the room. “Yup. But believe me. I’m here for you, at least. So if you need a friend, or some company, I’m at the top of your list.”

The cat plopped herself on the floor, right up against Sunny’s leg. Joy giggled. “Fuck off, kitty. I just said I was the top.”

It seemed the topic of conversation was ready to change. Sunny smiled, and it was enough to indicate her understanding.

“So!” Joy moved things along. “A pile of free, top of the line sex toys in your living room. What’s a young woman to do about that?”

Sunny snorted. “Well I’m not going to masturbate while I have company over, that’s for sure.” She grabbed another box from the pile and handed it over, doing her best not to disturb Sogeum’s new resting place.

The new box took mere seconds to open, this time revealing a black silicone butt plug with a red gem in the base. The casing suggested that a picture could be inserted beneath the gem, and it appeared there was one already there as an example. Joy had to flip it around to a variety of angles before she could make out that it contained a headshot of Dreamcatcher’s Jiu making finger hearts on her cheeks. She cocked her head, wondering if the image had actually been authorized.

Another box swapped between the womens’ hands. It took Joy a little longer to open than the last, but it turned out to be that way for a good reason, given that it was gently holding some fragile cargo: A red-tinted glass bottle of lube, labeled as “Juice from the Fruit of The Tree.” The lengthy product title had a snake winding through the letters.

“Well now they’re just really doubling down on this theme, aren’t they?” Sunny asked as she worked out how to open the next package, using her bottle opener as a makeshift knife.

Joy laughed and picked up yet another, now eager to see what kind of wild object it would contain. “Yeah, they really are! No lie, they’re starting to give me some ideas. Talk about sinful.”

“‘Oh I know,’” Sunny mocked the company, as SM artists often did, fingers still struggling to find their way under the first cardboard flap. “‘Let’s send Sunny a whole pile of sex junk. Bet she’s sinful enough to use it all.’ Like, come on Love-eye, or whatever your name is. What’s a single woman gonna do with all this? Hold up a pillow fort?”

“Hey, maybe he doesn’t know you’re single. Maybe there’s some stuff in here that takes two to tangle with… Fuck. Choerry’s got me using alliterations.”

Sunny barely managed to get her fingers inside the box, but her knuckles were turning white from the tightness of it. It seemed that she had left a portion of the packing tape uncut. “I said I was single on the show, though. I don’t think there will be any couples’ toys in here.”

“Oooh, I’m gonna make it a bet now.” Joy smirked. Her next sentence bypassed her verbal filter through the holes left in it by the alcohol. “If you get that thing open and there’s a strap on inside, you have to fuck me with it!”

A jerk of her arms snapped the remainder of the packing tape. Sunny chuckled. “You’re on. There’s no way it is.”

Joy had to admit that Sunny had a point, considering how small the package was. Surely it couldn’t fit a series of leather straps, or a dildo any larger than a couple of inches in any direction. The little voice in the back of her mind that told her making such an offer was stupid quieted down somewhat.

There was a moment of quiet. Sogeum rolled away from Sunny and made her way to the kitchen. Joy picked up another box, confident that she hadn’t just placed herself in an awkward situation. Sunny shook her head, amused. And then…

“J-Joy?”

Joy looked back, but wasn’t quite sure what she was looking at. It was a sort of mass of black string with some silver discs hanging off of it. Another piece of pink paper fluttered to the floor, where Joy picked it up and read aloud.

“‘The Obol.’ As Charon ferried Dante across the Styx and into the hole that is Hell, so too shall this state-of-the-art magnetic harness ferry our exclusive Dante’s Dive dildo into your… partner’s hole…”

There was more to be read, but both women seemed to get the point. The only sound in the room came from Sogeum chomping through some hard cat food in the kitchen. Slowly, their eyes raised and met. They both spoke at the same moment.

“That was a bet’s a joke bet right?”

Their drunken minds needed a moment to detangle their words into distinct sentences. Sunny’s “That was a joke, right?” and Joy’s “A bet’s a bet.”

Sunny started again first. “You know, we don’t have to.”

“I will if you want to.”

Every sentence being exchanged was followed by a palpable stillness. Joy’s heart beat loudly in her own ears, and she swore she could hear Sunny’s too.

“Do you… want to fuck me with that, Sunny?”

Sunny answered instantly. “Yup.”

There was a flurry of action, though it was slowed here and there by a tipsy stumble or two. Sunny gathered up an armful of the items on her coffee table, both sex toys and the bottle of soju, and sprinted for the bedroom. Joy rushed after her, messily attempting and failing to remove some of her clothes on the way.

Sogeum was spooked by the sudden kerfuffle and fled out of sight.

The bedroom was no less hectic. Sunny dropped everything on the bed except the soju, which she took one more swig of directly from the bottle before setting it dangerously close to the edge of her desk. She wiggled out of her shirt and bra, which attracted Joy’s attention instantly.

Joy struck at Sunny’s cleavage, wrapping her fingers as far as they could go around the legendary orbs, and her lips around one of the budding tips. Their differences in height made it awkward, but they very soon found their way to a horizontal state that eased that tension. Unfortunately, it was not on the bed, but on the floor, but they weren’t about to let something like that stop them.

What clothes they were still wearing exploded off their bodies. Joy’s shorts and shirt, Sunny’s pants and socks. All of it ended up in different sections of the room, thrown under and over furniture.

Joy was no stranger to encounters like this, and neither was Sunny. They had shared countless stories with each other… and some spit. But neither had considered their prior make out sessions to be precursors to explicitly sexual action. For her part, however, Joy considered this one differently, and Sunny’s hands searching half-blindly for Joy’s ass confirmed to her that Sunny thought the same.

Backs arched. Legs ground against one another. Open mouths met, trading the alcoholic scents that the women no longer cared to distinguish. Their minds had devoted themselves entirely to the search for physical pleasure.

A lot of exploratory prodding led Sunny’s fingers to the entrance to Joy’s pussy, failing to notice the number of pokes that ended up at Joy's exit. She took some time familiarizing herself with the drenched outer folds.

Joy, however, noticed the poking at her ass. Her mind swam with serotonin, thoughts of other people, and alcoholic fumes that seemed to rearrange the letters of her thoughts into nonsense. Or possibly into inspiration.

Inspiration relevant to the happenings at the prior year's award shows, that is.

Joy tried to pull back the moment Sunny’s fingers dipped inside her. She had opened her mouth to speak but instead groaned and arched herself further into Sunny’s grip on her sanity. "S-Sunny. B-bed."

At least that message was received loud and clear. Sunny dragged her fingers against Joy’s G-spot as she, disappointingly, pulled them out, nearly causing Joy to scream. The same fingers plunged into Joy’s mouth and quieted her as she diligently sucked her own juices from them.

The action transferred to the bed. Fingers immediately found their places again, and Joy bounced on her back in time with Sunny’s brutal shoves. Packaging bounced all around them. It was like a desperate, distracted game of Vegetable Shinobi for Joy, swiping at the jumping dildo. Sunny’s fingers were divine, eye-wateringly so, but Joy wanted something unholy.

Sunny muttered Joy’s name, catching her attention again. She lifted her head to meet for yet another imprecise kiss. Their legs twisted around each other. Joy could hear the desperation in Sunny’s moans, vibrating all the way down her throat, burning like the alcohol. She snaked a hand between them and found Sunny’s clit.

The moans freed themselves as Sunny bucked backward, almost out of Joy’s longer reach. Joy noted the exceptional reaction, and flipped Sunny onto her back, following immediately and putting herself in the position of power Sunny had initiated.

“You’re gonna fuck me with the strap on… right, Sunny?”

Sunny’s eyes widened, and she grabbed the toys.

“No, not yet,” Joy stalled in her most seductive voice. She slid down, nearly falling off the bed, and wrenched Sunny’s legs wide open with her elbows.

Sunny clenched her fingers around the hell-themed dildo for dear life. Joy’s name poured through her lips over and over again as Joy’s lips poured over her pussy.

Joy had to fight Sunny’s strength to keep her spread thighs from clamping around her head. She wanted to keep hearing her senior beg, loud and clear. To that end, she dug in her tongue, unable to penetrate far, but far enough to open Sunny up and feel the wetness flow into her mouth.

“Please… Joy… I’m close… Joy, please! Joy, don’t stop!”

The thought flitted through Joy’s head, that perhaps denying Sunny her orgasm would be fun, but something about the way she said it made Joy wonder if Sunny’s neediness was rooted in her loneliness, more than in her desire to get off. She shifted herself to wrap her arms under Sunny’s legs and pulled. It wasn’t possible for them to be any physically closer than they were, but she wanted to make it feel like they could be.

Sunny’s voice cracked, choked, and broke into a scream. Joy winced as her tongue was squeezed uncomfortably, but she wasn’t about to stop. The back arches, hair grasping, and pained gasps that followed were worth it.

Joy kept it up until Sunny’s body fell back down and her muscles relaxed. Only then, she removed herself to ask, “Need a break before my turn?”

A smile crept up Sunny’s mouth. Her fingers tightened around the dildo she still had in her hand. “Get… back down here.”

If there was any benefit Joy appreciated most about idol training, it was recovery speed, and Sunny still had it. Joy picked up the strap, quickly figuring out how it was supposed to fit and sliding it up Sunny’s legs. The motion doubled as her approach for another make out.

Of course, Joy was still immensely horny. Her interest in making out with Sunny was overshadowed by her desire to get fucked savagely, but she had the wherewithal to hold out, to let it happen naturally. She was always good at letting others take the lead. Whether they led from the top or from the bottom didn’t especially matter to her.

The alcohol made her more impatient than usual though. She forced herself to wait for the five-speed pounding she’d get, but she ground herself against Sunny’s leg in the meantime. Thankfully she didn’t have to wait long. Sunny threw her to the side and attached the vibrator to the unusual strap with very little trouble. Joy fingered herself as she watched.

“Fuck, yes, Sunny. This is going to be so goo--”

Sunny practically tackled Joy. Their lips collided again, strap hovering somewhere between Joy’s legs, but not close enough for her to feel it.

The moment she did, though, Joy grabbed Sunny’s ass and pulled. The lack of accuracy was made up for by the inhuman amount of lubrication present; both Joy’s and the curious synthetic compound that the dildo exuded seemingly of its own volition.

It was almost too much for Joy. The dildo was certainly longer than any she had used before, and bottoming out at full speed meant it hit her rather painfully in the cervix. She hissed, but otherwise just readjusted her legs in Sunny’s way to prevent the same thing from happening so easily again.

The strap held the dildo in place on Sunny’s body well. Despite its genuinely small frame, it seemed to prevent all wiggling. Every one of Sunny’s movements, including the less delicate, more intoxicated ones, translated to sensations that felt to Joy like a biologically attached dick, albeit with a plethora of extra features.

"You're so pretty, Joy," Sunny said. Even though she was doing all the work now, she wasn't nearly as winded as before. Knowing she’d affected Sunny made Joy grin into another kiss.

“No you,” Joy said with a smirk. She knew this would be good, but she truly underestimated how great it would be to see Sunny’s famous tits jiggling with the effort of fucking her. The sheen of sweat covering them would ensure the night wouldn’t be forgotten, even if Joy had another drink or two.

Joy’s first orgasm struck quickly and unexpectedly. Her breath stopped and a shudder spiked through her body from her core to the tips of her toes and fingers and head. The ability to think normally left her for a brief moment. She only kept the fleeting question of whether or not Sunny was able to feel Joy’s climax. Stars popped in and out of existence, obscuring Joy’s view of Sunny’s fantastic body.

It all faded relatively soon after, but it wasn’t enough for Joy. As soon as her lungs refilled, she screamed, “More! Sunny! Fuck me! Fuck me! Oh god!” She was practically numb everywhere, except for every square inch of her that the dildo rubbed, slid, and vibrated against. Her arms and legs wrapped around Sunny on their own.

Joy, eyes half closed, barely registered when Sunny slowed down to grab and open the extra package. She did, however, notice the sudden prodding feeling at her asshole.

“Sun--”

She couldn’t even finish Sunny’s name before something slipped its way into her butt. Her vision cleared up enough to see that even while she continued thrusting, Sunny had one hand tucked between them, and it was the source of the extra intrusion.

A couple more thrusts though, and Joy was lost to the pleasure again. She started to pant instead of scream or moan, or perhaps she was whimpering, or speaking fluent Polish. Joy couldn’t have said one way or the other. Another orgasm hit. And another. And another. She knew some time was passing between each one, but whether it was seconds or days between no longer mattered. Her mind was fading out of existence.

Until, that is, it wasn’t.

With seemingly no provocation, Joy suddenly remembered Cheungae. She had been meaning to talk to Sunny about him before they had gotten drunk. Her mind wandered, far, far more than it normally would during such intense sex.

Cheungae had taken her out several times since their first, less-than-professional meeting at the MAMAs with Wheein. Even though Joy knew he was struggling financially, he always insisted on paying for coffee, but would give up if he saw the bill when Joy took him to some of the much higher end restaurants.

He was always so polite, genuine, and humble. He didn’t even question when Joy told him they couldn’t be in a relationship, but instead insisted that they could be friends. Joy wondered if it was fair to him that she was treating him as a boyfriend in every way but name while she was still having a grand old time fucking everyone else in the industry. Cheungae knew about it, but wasn’t part of it.

And yet, sex with Cheungae made Joy feel good. Great, even. She could recreate the sensations in her mind for days afterward. His slim, toned figure hovering over her, his face contorted beautifully in adorable agony, his admittedly mediocre cock managing to hit her just right with every move. She couldn’t stop picturing him.

Another orgasm smashed through Joy’s illusion. The mental image of perfectly human Cheungae was instantly replaced with the very physical image of god-like Sunny. As tended to happen, Joy held her breath as the climax coursed through her. Her muscles contracted until she was holding Sunny in a deathly grip.

“F-fuck. Sunn-ny. Slow… slow down.”

It seemed that the request was desperately needed by both lovers, because rather than simply slow down, Sunny fell over. Joy’s pussy immediately craved to be filled again, but she knew she needed to clear her head. And besides that, she still had an odd full sensation. When her muscles relaxed enough for her to move of her own volition, she reached beneath herself and recoiled again at the feeling of a drenched butt plug. Her fingertips carried a puddle of mixed cum and lube back up.

“I’m sorry… Joy… I think that’s all I have left in me,” Sunny said between gasps.

Joy made note of her own throat and how dry it was. Whatever sound she was making while she borderline hallucinated, she’d be regretting it for a while. “All good. I was losing my sanity. That was unbelievable.”

Sunny giggled. It sounded painful. “The vibrator… or the surprise plug?”

Joy giggled back. “The plug was definitely a surprise. Was that the one with Jiu's face in it?”

“Mhm.”

“Cool,” Joy sat up, her head swimming in the aftermath. “But I just think it was you using the stuff that made it so good.”

Sunny seemed invigorated by the compliments. She smiled and reached under the bed, making some noise and bringing up a bottle of water. The two of them swapped it back and forth until it was empty and then collapsed into one another, idly feeling each others' bodies up the whole time.

“Does that mean you’re up for another… night like this? Or day?” Sunny asked as she fondled Joy’s tits. It sounded like she had sobered up, at least most of the way. Joy was too afraid of what she would see to look at a clock.

“You fucking know it,” Joy responded while she brushed her fingers up and down Sunny’s inner thighs. It was a reflex for her to agree, but she cringed inwardly as soon as she did, realizing how much more sober she had become herself, and how she wished she wasn’t. She was thinking about Cheungae again.

There was a barrage of light kisses all over her face, neck, and chest. Sunny looked far too happy for Joy to feel okay about retracting her statement.

“Maybe not right now though,” Joy said, just in case Sunny was already getting ideas. “We should really get to bed.”

She didn’t hear any arguments. They simply got up, and only long enough to flip up the duvet, flinging all of the remaining sex toys off, and jumped underneath.

It took a minute for Joy to realize she needed to remove the surprise butt plug. It was easy enough, and she ended up tossing it to the floor without looking at it.

Joy wrapped herself around Sunny. She was usually the big spoon, not that it bothered her. Sunny’s bare back felt comfortably hot against her chest and stomach. Cheungae liked being the big spoon too. He’d swap with her all the time…

“Hey, Sunny?”

“Mmm?” Sunny was on the verge of sleep, it seemed.

Joy lowered her voice, barely above a whisper. “Have you ever thought about… Settling down, I guess? Just being with one person?”

She didn’t expect Sunny to have an immense store of wisdom, but she hoped for more than what she got: a snore.

“Good night to you too, Sunny.”

#red velvet smut #snsd smut #girls generation smut #joy #sunny

156 notes · View notes

444tsumu · 3 years

Note

HAPPY 100 MARS!!!/&/&: AHHH! okay so i’d love a tier three if you didn’t mind! i wanted to know which 3 characters would smoke ouid and what you think smoking with them would be like? ily tysm!

▭ WHICH CHARACTERS SMOKE WEED?

includes matsukawa, hanamaki, suna

warnings drug use, explicit content, doing things under the influence, implied sexual content, slight nsfw.

authors note lol ik some people don’t like the whole “w*ed” and dr*g use hc but it’s all fiction and based on my own personal opinion (: i don’t mean to offend anyone lol i smoke too <3

This is a long one, beware <3 also it’s also my dream blunt rotation LMAO

𖥻 MATSUKAWA, ISSEI !

definitely the philosophical stoner

always has a question or an answer

depends on how much he’s smoked though

eyes get really red and he looks really hot

prefers backwoods over regular papers

always smoked regular papers though bc woods are bad for you (:

does that thing where they lick the paper and look at you at the same time

the hottest man smoking ever god please

always makes sure to have you sitting on his left so that he passes it to you first

loves smoking people out

doesn’t really care if you put in money or not

if issei is around, everyone is getting high

smokes makki’s unemployed ass out like everyday lmao

loves to hotbox

lights you up for the first time and tries to get you into another galaxy

“if you’re gonna get high, at least do it right”

definitely funny as fuck when he’s high

always definitely ready to fuck

very touchy when he’s high

will hold on to you for a long time and forget he’s doing it

but if you make him let go he genuinely feels the skin contact nearly rip off

calm down mattsun your possessiveness is showing

tries to explain all the different types to you but forgets mid sentence

literally cannot formulate a single structured thought

definitely leans in to make out with you more than once

loves shotgunning with you

already lazy but when he’s zooted he’s UNBEARABLE

he really does wanna fuck but ends up smoking too much with you because you played chicago and forgot

doesn’t really get hungry for food but munchies?

ate all of the snacks

has no remorse for his actions either

stares into the deep nothing for like 10 minutes

just to snap out of it and look around suspiciously

“do you guys hear that….?”

“…..no?”

“………..the paint is screaming at me?”

ok buddy don’t ruin this for everyone else

knows how to french & ghost inhale

has argued with makki many times over the earth being flat

doesn’t really think it’s flat

ends up believing it is after makki told him the world was actually dome shaped

has a grinder shaped like a dragon ball

not a peer pressuring kinda guy but thinks everyone should get high at least once

definitely gets iwa and oikawa to try

loves getting oikawa high cause he thinks the guy is fucking hilarious

laughs at everything

just a great guy, especially when he starts smoking

falls into a weed coma and doesn’t wake up for like 3 days though

treats it like it’s a regular hangover

definitely falls asleep with his entire body on top of you and no remorse for the weight

says “i’m fried” and isn’t embarrassed about it for whatever reason

he’s hot so no one judges him

𖥻 HANAMAKI, TAKAHIRO !

definitely a comedian when he’s high

always the funniest guy in the room

when him and mattsun are together though?

undefeated

him and issei both smoked for the first time together

after that though?

they became unstoppable

don’t get me started with after volleyball season ended

prefers bongs because he thinks he looks cooler lmao

everyone assumes makki is high but they don’t know he actually gets high

offers to smoke you out cause you’re hot lmao

makes fun of you when you cough

even though he still coughs

hates hotboxing because he can’t handle it

but refuses to pussy out so he’s always the first one to agree

in his own words

“my mother didn’t raise no bitch”

makki please

ideal smoking partner

is one of those people that fuck the passing rotation up because he refuses to pass it to anyone but you

secretly does it because he doesn’t want anyone else’s lips touching yours

prefers to smoke with just his close friends but doesn’t mind a session

doesn’t like shotgunning cause he starts thinking his breath smells bad

gives in anyways because he doesn’t want you doing it with anyone else

loves when you put your legs on him

the pressure gives him chills

makes jokes 24/7 because he likes hearing you laugh

can’t french inhale but mattsun taught him how to ghost inhale and he hasn’t stopped since

takes videos of himself cause he thinks he looks cool

realizes he looks like a fucking idiot but fuck it we ball

falls into a weed coma with his head on your lap and his phone unlocked and still on

does that thing where he lights it up with it in his mouth and looks really fucking hot while doing so

has a breaking bad rick & morty rolling tray and is really proud of it

gets really into music when he’s high

will sing along to all the songs while he’s packing the bong

as i repeat

looks hot while doing so

definitely a hungry high

orders food before you even get to ask

“makki, want some snacks?”

“oh nah it’s cool, i already ordered mcdonald’s”

“????? we just finished smoking????”

prefers smoking over drinking but will do both when he wants to go big or go home

eyes get really low

talks kinda slow but really deep and it’s fucking hot

laughs by throwing his head back and it’s really cute

gets cold when he’s high

it doesn’t matter the season

he gets fucking cold and it makes no sense

so he’ll need your body heat to warm himself up (;

𖥻 SUNA, RINTAROU !

a confused high

no doubt about it

this man never knows what the fuck is going on

ik everyone complains about the stoner!suna hc

but i think it’s fucking hot lmao

always has like 2 blunts rolled and on him at all times

is one of those people that will use any excuse to do it

“……(sighs) i’m gonna go take a smoke break.”

“suna we just got here??”

“exactly”

likes joints and edibles the best

not much of a hungry high or munchie high

but he hyperfixates on a certain food and will eat it until there is nothing left

ate an entire pack of gum in one sitting before

definitely watches cartoons the minute he starts to feel the buzz

rarely talks unless to pass it to you or make a single joke that has you about to pee yourself

he doesn’t say much but when he does?

the man leaves an impact

hates smoking with other people

doesn’t like when they fuck his blunt/joint up

hates smoking joints rolled by other people unless he watches them do it

always complains when you ask to smoke with him but secretly loves it

shotguns with you and acts like nothing just happened

hello sir how dare you make me fall inlove like that

forgets everything so don’t try to say anything important to him

zones out because he’s too busy imagining fucking

but then forgets about fucking and starts thinking about what’s on the tv

can’t hold a conversation but will go in-depth as to why spongebob squarepants was more than just a sponge

“no you need to listen to me, patrick star is much more than just his best friend—”

“….rin what the fuck are you talking about?”

“you’re asking me like i know? pass the blunt.”

definitely got into smoking in high school but didn’t actually do it like that until college

lies on his drug tests lmao

smokes after every win as a celebration and smokes after ever loss as a reliever

lmao seek help sir

definitely tries to get you to take your shirt off when he’s in the moment

swears it’s because he’s doing you a favor but really just loves how you look in his clothes when he’s high

doesn’t really know when to stop because he’s never greened out before

all his supplies is a simple shade of black

he’s a simple man

can do all the smoke tricks

but won’t do it in front of anyone cause he hates when people point it out

likes hotboxing because it gets him higher faster

is actually friends with the guy he gets weed from lmao

his perfect date with you was that one time you guys stood home and did nothing but smoke and watch family guy

tears up every time he thinks about it

has a picture of himself with two blunts in his mouth and his eyes really red and it’s really fucking hot

giggles even though he tries not to

uses pens when he can’t physically have weed on him

doesn’t really like it because the pen high makes him knock out after a few pulls

once rin falls into a weed coma???

don’t even think about trying to contact him cause that man might as well be dead

doesn’t wake up to save his own damn life

you can smack him and the most he’d do is probably groan and turn his head lmao

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jinkicake · 2 years

Note

DHDGDHDHD ABSOLUTELY THEY BETTER BE PRAYING TO DIAVOLO I DONT FIND THEM BC CAN YOU IMAGINE THE WHOLE CAST SWEATING BULLETS BC MC IS LOOKING FOR THEM😭😭 they obviously sacrifice beel first bc he works out and this has the most stamina,,,,, nah they come back from a long day at rad and he is in a coma. Mammon goes after bc they can use that time to devise a plan. He keeps up that sim thing for about 3 rounds before mc is like “ since you can’t move I’ll just use you” poor boy is delirious at that point. He can’t even think about anything. But also he’s feeding off your greed so he can go a little bit longer than the rest. Solomon stupid ass thinks he can undo whatever has happened but rip magic man he gets tied up and can’t do anything but take it🥰🥰 mc don’t forget all the times he’s been mean so he’s full on sobbing begging for mc to slow down promising he’ll be a good boy lmao. Simon is delighted. Like that sick sense of satisfaction that you’re begging for him gets him going and tbh I think he keeps up the best right next to dia and Barbatos. He’s taking it like a champ just smiling through how overstimulated he is trying to wear you out but the way you’re squeezing him and how sloppy you’ve made him- 😤🧑🏿‍🦽🧑🏿‍🦽 when he’s recovered he will get his revenge. Satan is the first to fold like a lawn chair like at least Levi can try and hold back satan is full on cat boy meowing for you to fuck him. Belphegor you use the pact mark for bc he’s falling asleep so you command him not to cum and it’s been like that for hours- he’s grabbing onto everything he can like beel is scared to help him at this point and when he dies get to cum is so much and he is out like a light for the next week. Asmo takes it in stores but after like,,,, 6 hours he’s like damn I need some water hold up but you’re not stopping and he’s like “ gotta hand over my title to mc now bc fuck” Barbatos is secretly nervous bc he’s like “I have been expecting you.” And he does kinda take the wind out of your sails but you just gotta pull his hat and he’s your bitch. Like look at him!! Ain’t no way he don’t got a hair pulling kink!! I can tell! Diavolo told me so😤😤. But really he’s only stalling for dia and when you finally get to him he makes you ride him on his throne and bends you over almost every surface imaginable in the palace like he makes your entire body sore asf and excuses you from rad for the week bc whatever is going on has finally worn off and you feel like you ran 7 marathons at once……. ANYWAY ALL OF THAT TO SAY I WANT TO WRECK THESE BOYSSHSJSJDJ I didn’t even think about the newbies…. Just want to say mephistopheles would fold like laundry too. Wants to last as long as Lucifer and only makes it to the halfway point before you drain him dry smh

LOLLLL SAD BEEL AND MAMMON BEING SACRIFICED FIRST. Mammon def thinks he is doing something with his turn and truly believes that he can withstand mc since he is their first (who is going to tell him??)!!!! Those two followed by Solomon and Simeon?! This rotation circle is already perfect LMAO let me say that I think that if anyone will be able to stop mc or slow them down it will be barbatos... idk why and i can't explain it but it's just a feeling LOL

SATAN BEING THE FIRST TO FOLD PLSSSSS he's patiently waiting his turn by pacing his room and tapping his foot.... like satan wants his mc time now and hes gonna get it raw! AHHHHH THAT DIAVOLO EXPLANATION HAS ME ON THE FLOOOOORRRRR EEEK HES SO HOT HAAH i also agree that mephistopheles will fold like a damn lawn chair. mc says hi to him and he's already walking toward their room ready for his turn.... there's so much I could say about luci but my mind is blank wait for me to come back to that one LOLLLL

also.... you're one of the smartest people ive ever met, have i told you that?! like i have no idea where i would be without these obey me discussions </3

#sarahandoikawatalkshit

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whatifxwereyou · 3 years

Text

Firestorm Part 3: Cross Your Heart

Fandom: Mortal Kombat 2021 Liu Kang x Reader

If you would like to be tagged for Firestorm when I post, let me know.

A/N: Almost forgot today was post day. Really enjoyed writing this one. Liu is just aldkjfwljaflj gah. Thank you guys for reading. Love you. Have a good weekend!

The Oncoming Storm Previous Chapter Next Chapter Chapter Index

Laying around and doing nothing would have been torture. Even with the storm raging as it was that day, your mind was too hectic to sit and listen. Too much had happened. The truth was that you were too exhausted to do much else either. Chen had lingered for a few minutes but had ultimately returned to her duties without saying so much as a word about what had so angered her. Deciding to work within your limits, you walked down the hall and to a small, covered balcony near the stairwell. It wasn’t much, just a stone archway leading onto a dusty platform that overlooked the ravine but it would do.

You’d meditate and the change of scenery would be nice. Raiden had told you to wait until you were feeling more yourself, but you decided to get a head start. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to wait, it was just that you no longer had faith that it was going to get better. What if it just kept happening? What if you kept getting sicker and sicker until you became a shell of yourself?

You couldn’t wait for better. You had fought too hard to come this far and fail.

You weren’t allowed to anything else, after all.

Doctor’s orders.

So you closed your eyes and meditated.

Meditation just became fantasizing about Liu Kang guiding you through meditation which may have been the silliest, most benign fantasy you’d ever had. It still helped to ground you but unconsciously the act had become associated with him.

No. No Liu Kang.

Meditation.

Once you got over the mental distraction that was Liu Kang, you managed to ground yourself. Meditation had been something that had brought you peace for years. As a kid you had relied on it heavily after losing Kung Lao. Even as you managed to find calm, your heart was beating still far too hard and too fast but it was world’s better than it’d been before you sat down. You were sure that if it had been a real problem then Chen never would have left you alone. It probably wasn’t even as fast as you thought. Just faster than you were used to.

As you opened your eyes and watched the rain fall, catching in streams over the side of the balcony, you wondered if you could force a vision. It seemed such a simple idea but you had never once tried to have one on purpose. It was kind of funny now that you thought about it. You’d always been afflicted with them. It had never been a gift and it had never been helpful until today. You shook ‘never’ from your mind and decided that you had to try.

It was a bad idea. You knew that. Bad things happened when you had them but if you didn’t try then you wouldn’t get control over them either. And besides, you would rather those bad things happen only to you and not to those you cared about.

You would try.

There was a significant chance that it wouldn’t work anyway considering that you had no idea how to make it happen or how to start. Your arm stung and you rotated your shoulder again. It was such a pain in the ass now. But you had faith that Raiden would find a way to help you get rid of it or at least keep it from getting any worse.

Deep breaths.

The throbbing in your shoulder was a rhythm you could focus on.

Pattering of rain muted to a dull sound, like distant tapping on a kettle. The sound grew quieter and quieter until it was gone.

It was dark and the weightlessness was unsettling. The room in front of you was odd and you couldn’t place it. A warehouse maybe? It was too dark to tell. There was light filtering in from somewhere to your left but it was cold and blue. The moon, probably. Everything was rushing around you, like smeared paint. Then you heard voices but the words were fuzzy.

You could make out an accent at least. An Australian accent, the kind you’d always been fond of. Even without words you could tell the man was confident, probably overly so. It was bordering on arrogant. There were two figures and they were struggling and then darkness spread beneath them.

Blood pooled and spread, far more than should have been in any one human. The figure that had come out victorious was looking right at you but his face was obscured and twisted. But the rest of him you could see and blazing in the darkness, a brilliant light on his neck.

The dragon mark.

He was a cruel man. A cruel man who had murdered in cold blood and it had resulted in him bearing the mark that would destine him to fight. The scene faded like someone had poured a bucket of paint over it. Your head was pounding and pain radiated through the back of it and down your neck. You had to focus.

You were seeing things, you just weren’t sure what they were or what they meant. His voice had seemed familiar. Had you seen this man before? You hadn’t ever met anyone from Australia before. Perhaps it had been from an earlier vision.

“Y/N!”

The voice called from behind you but you turned and it was like whiplash. Your body fell through the darkness and the sound echoed away into nothingness like the rain. Before you was a crowd of people and they surrounded a cage with two men fighting within it. They were shouting encouragement to the fighters within. An MMA match, maybe? You weren’t sure.

The crowd parted like the angry sea for you. You watched the two men within beat on each other but they were moving too slowly. Their faces, much like the faces of the other men in the warehouse or wherever it had been, were obscured. Hauntingly so. Their features smudged away by unseen hands.

But then there was the light of the dragon mark on the chest of one of the men. He was bloodied up.

Chicago.

You didn’t know why but you knew you were in Chicago. There were no signs that you could make out on the walls and the voices you heard were garbled and strange. It was as though you were underwater and the sound was distorted. Even the movements of the crowd and of the fighters were slowed.

A shadow grew on the other side of the cage. A shadow that spread like roots from a tree. You could hear crackling, like low static from an old radio but it became louder and more like fire.

That was what it was.

Fire.

Flames burned amidst the shadow and rose brightly within it. Inside the flames was the silhouette of a man. You tried to step back from the intimidating presence but your feet were firmly stuck beneath you. Had you stumbled too far into your vision? Were you getting more than you’d bargained for?

The man looked at you, bathed in shadow, hooded. He stared at you with white eyes. Then he took a step closer and the crowd froze along with the fighters in the ring. Fear left you frozen too.

“Y/N!”

The voice was calling to you again but you couldn’t place it.

Gasping suddenly for breath you shot upright from where you’d been laying. Your heart was racing and you grasped your chest and tried to take slower breaths than the ones panic was forcing you to take. Where was the balcony? This wasn’t it. Where were you? Oh. Oh wait.

It was your room.

Relief.

Okay.

You hiccupped trying to take deep breaths and found Liu Kang seated on your bed next to you, elbows on his knees, watching you. He’d been calling to you. It was unmistakable now. You’d heard his voice through your vision.

“Oh, god, Liu…” You were exasperated at the sight of him. “Did I hurt you again?” This was becoming abuse if you had. You laid back down, feeling your head spinning and Liu helped you do so. Sweat was dripping over your face, trickling down your forehead. Your heart was beating out of your chest. You placed a hand over your heart and swore it was going to leap right through it. What a horrible feeling.

“No, Y/N. Not at all.” He looked surprised that you’d be worried about him right now. He placed his hand on your cheek and then checked your eyes as though you’d struck your head again. “I found you outside, unconscious. You wouldn’t respond to me. I was about to bring you to the infirmary. Were you…” He looked to be filled with both relief and worry. You couldn’t blame him.

“I was having a vision.”

“Are you okay?”

“I think so?” You weren’t sure but you didn’t feel like you’d hurt yourself. Maybe you’d start laying down from now on when you tried. “I saw two men with the dragon mark.” You pinched the bridge of your nose while you tried to hold onto the little details.

“Should we call Raiden?”

“No, no it’s not urgent. I’ll write it down and tell him later. I was just… don’t be mad.” You offered a nervous smile and leaned up on your elbows. “I was just trying to get control over… well, anything.” You laughed. It had worked. You had no idea how you’d done it or what exactly you’d seen but you’d done it. You felt like crap but ink hadn’t exploded from you. You hadn’t hurt anyone but yourself. According to Liu, you weren’t even having a fit. You’d been unconscious.

You’d take that as a win.

It was a huge improvement.

“I thought that maybe if I tried to have a vision instead of being forced into one then maybe it would be less devastating.”

“Y/N…” Liu couldn’t have looked more concerned. He didn’t have to say it. You could just tell. “You should have told me. Or Lao. That’s not something you should do alone. It’s dangerous. You could have gotten seriously hurt and no one would have been there to help you.”

“I considered that, Liu, but I need to be able to handle this on my own. You won’t always be with me and I don’t… what if I hurt someone else? It’s different when it’s you. You’re a tough guy. You can handle it but what if… what if I hurt just… Chen or one of my friends? I’d rather it just be me.” You shivered. He smiled sympathetically; those dark eyes filled with a strange admiration. He seemed to have more to say but he held his tongue. He bowed his head in understanding. You appreciated that he was trying, even if he was worried. You’d lived your whole life without him by your side and you needed your independence. He respected that about you and you were grateful for him.

“You’re freezing, Y/N.” He grasped your hand and brushed his thumb over the side of it You got the shivers, but not because you were cold. He had the gentlest and most thoughtful touch.

“Fever probably. This is the second vision today. I suppose I was sort of playing a dangerous game of chicken without thinking.”

“You were. Living very dangerously lately, Y/N. Dancing in lightning storms, for example.” His eyes sparkled and flickered up to yours before down to the prayer beads wrapped around his wrist. He’d been fiddling with them less. Interesting. “I heard about your vision earlier today.” Liu’s smile was soft, his lips just barely upturned. He leaned a little closer to you. “You saved a lot of people from what I hear.”

“I don’t want to take credit for that, Liu. I just saw. I didn’t do any saving.”

“Not taking credit for it doesn’t make it less true.” Liu was often wise in ways that you could never be.

“I’m assuming that you brought me back to my room?”

“Yes. I didn’t want you to be out in the rain. I was going to bring you to the infirmary but I wanted to give you a chance to wake up if it was a vision. I knew that’s what you would have wanted. I figured it was safe to bring you here. Raiden has a way of knowing when things are going catastrophically. He would have found you before I did if it had been something worse.”

You wondered if that was why he had come to you earlier. Had he sensed you’d seen something important? Or perhaps he had felt your panic and knew you’d been in trouble? You struggled to push yourself into a sitting position so Liu helped you do so. His hands were careful and gentle, strong and secure. It reminded you of when you had first arrived at the temple. He had taken such good care of you. You bowed your thanks and then scooted enough so that you could look out your window and watch the rain.

The storm raged on but the thunder was distant now. Rain and wind were kings. Raiden had told you to get control of your visions and your arcana if you wanted to survive and have a fighting chance. It was your only shot to live through this long enough to figure out your truth. You should tell Liu but that was a conversation for another time. He was worried enough. If it came up then you would tell him. No secrets.

He sat next to you before the window but he faced you, legs folded. You watched the rain and he watched you watching it.

“May I say something?” Liu placed his hand on your forearm. His fingers were stained with soot and the soot stained your arm. He was warm. Dramatically warmer than you and it sent a shiver straight through you. He smiled but it faded quickly. “Confess something, rather.” Oh, you hated the way he worded that. What did that mean? You couldn’t make any assumptions. He’d tell you.

“Of course you can, Liu.” You shivered again. Fuck it. Whatever he wanted to say, you would deal with the fallout afterward. Why were you always afraid of rejection? Liu retracted his hand and you immediately missed his touch. He scooted so he was just next to you and stared out the window like you did. He seemed to struggle to find his words.

“Kung Lao and I made a childish bet over which one of us would win your heart.” The words came out very matter-of-factly, like it was a simple thing. You did a double take. Of all the scenarios you’d been panicking about in your head, this was not one of them.

“Huh?” How were you supposed to process that? A bet? What did that even mean, exactly? How could they bet on something like that? You knew how but you didn’t understand.

“It’s stupid. I know. We called it off. No more bet but I still had to tell you that we did it.”

“So… wait, huh?” You laughed in disbelief, feeling a little dumb for not understanding. “I’m sorry, but you made a bet? On my feelings? Like… some terrible movie-style bet made at my expense? Two macho jerks betting on the feelings of another human?”

“If it makes it any better the stakes were just chores.”

“Wow, my feelings are worth chores.” You gasped in disbelief.

“I never felt good about it, Y/N, but it was… harmless. We figured that you were going to make a choice at some point anyway. I uh…” He was suddenly tongue-tied, a very funny thing to see happen to Liu Kang. Like he knew what he had to say but no matter how he spun it, it would come out wrong. “It wasn’t an excuse to trick you into doing anything like… that.” He was uncomfortable talking about romance. Oh no. It was adorable. Like he could be any cuter. “It was just a stupid bet. I couldn’t get it out of my head. It felt manipulative and… I’m sorry, Y/N.”

This had Kung Lao written all over it in capital letters. You could even hear the proposition in Kung Lao’s voice! You bet that he’d put Liu up to it.

“Kung Lao felt guilty too.” Liu was avoiding your eyes. You could see the guilt weighing on his shoulders. Ah, yes. You recognized it now. They had both appeared guilty as shit in separate circumstances. That explained that.

“And what exactly would I get out of this bet, hmm? Like… is someone going to do my chores? I feel like either way I would have won so… someone should be doing my chores.” You tapped your finger on his knee and he laughed in surprise.

“Y/N!”

“What, Liu? Am I supposed to be mad?”

“I thought you might be hurt by it and…” Liu drifted off and watching him drenched in guilt made you a little sad. It was sweet but also sad. He’d been so worried about your feelings getting hurt. If you hadn’t known him so well then it would have hurt but you did. He never would have intentionally done something to hurt you like that.

“Well, answer a question for me.” You were going to have a hard time asking it.

“Of course.”

“Has any of what… you’ve done or what’s happened between us… has it been because of this bet?” That came out easier than you’d expected. Good.

“No.” He answered very quickly and then laughed at himself. “I even held myself back a few times because of it.”

“Then why would I be mad?” You turned to face him, resting your arm against the wall next to the window. “I mean, it does give me some clarity. It explains the few times I noticed you both looking guilty without reason and… the hesitating… some weird behaviors.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He picked up your hand and held it close to him. Yeah. He was definitely sorry. “I’m… confused that you aren’t angry. I expected you to be at least a little bit.”

“Did you know that the monks in the infirmary are betting on which one of you that I end up with?” You were immune to people in the temple betting on your feelings these days. Maybe if the stakes had been you fucking them it would have felt different, but that hadn’t been the case. Liu clearly did not know they were betting on you in the infirmary, judging by the wide-eyed stare he gave you. You nodded to confirm that it was true and he looked away in disbelief. “It seemed to me like everyone except for me is making a profit off of my feelings. All I get to do is agonize over said feelings.” He laughed. You looked to him in mock aghast.

“It’s funny, Y/N.”

“Yeah, I guess it is a little funny.” You chuckled. Liu’s laughter faded and so did his smile.

“You’re really not angry?”

Wow, you thought you were the overthinker of the bunch.

“Did you fake any of it?” You nervously listed off the incidents on your fingers. “The touches… the close calls? The uh…” You couldn’t believe that you were talking about this so plainly. “The kisses?”

“I don’t think that can be faked, Y/N.”

“Then yeah, I’m not mad.”

“…I’m surprised. I was nervous to tell you.”

“…do I come off as particularly difficult to deal with? I mean other than the visions and the ink stuff.”

“No, it’s not that but…” Liu’s nervous laugh was quiet and cute. “I suppose that I don’t know you well enough to know how you’d react to something like that. And I felt terrible about it from the very beginning. I think that I built it to be something bigger in my head than it actually was.” Liu adjusted the prayer beads from his palm to his wrist again and you admired him as he did. It was kind of nice to see someone besides you a little nervous for once.

“...would you like me to pretend that I’m mad? Would that help? I can stomp around and huff and throw a fit about it. We can have a little pretend fight before I have a change of heart and understand why you did what you did, etcetera.” You suggested with a smile. Liu considered this and looked away but you could see a smile beneath his serious expression.

“That could be fun.”

“I’m really not mad, Liu.” You chuckled and rested your hand on his forearm. His posture shifted back to his usual confidence. “I might pretend that I’m a little mad until Kung Lao tells me though.”

“Oh, please do. This was his idea. Give him a taste of his own medicine.”

“It stunk of Kung Lao.” You gave his arm a squeeze. “Thank you for being honest with me.”

“It’s a huge weight off of my chest.” Liu beamed. You’d never seen him with such a goofy grin on his face. It was charming. “Are you hungry?”

“Umm…”

“Food. Are you hungry? Want to grab a bite to eat with me?”

“I’m not super hungry, but yeah, I should probably eat.”

“I can grab some food and bring it back here. You should be resting after today.”

“I’m fine to go to get food, Liu.” You smiled at his insistence.

“I’m happy to, Y/N. Then it can just be the two of us.” He practically bounced off of your bed and toward the door. You watched him in delight and then rested back against the wall. “I’ll be right back with food. Don’t try to have any more visions, okay?”

“I promise.” You laughed and watched him leave. Then you pulled the blankets around your shoulders, still freezing. Today had been a lot to process. Two visions. One had saved lives; the other was vaguer and more confusing. Either way, you hadn’t exploded with ink or hurt anyone but yourself and that was an improvement. Then there were those little sneaks, Kung Lao and Liu Kang. Making bets behind your back!

You’d been taken off guard but Liu had softened the blow. He had this way about him. Besides, what made their bet so much different from the bet that the monks had in the infirmary? There was no point in being angry about it. It’d only hurt you more. You had enough going on and in the span of things it didn’t seem so important. In fact, it was kind of funny. You were just glad that it had ended before anyone’s feelings had gotten hurt.

_________________________________

Tag List

@shang-hung (lol i wasn't sure if you meant you wanted to be tagged or not so I guess here you go?? Let me know if you want me to take you off!)

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sadachmesarthim · 3 years

Photo

towers for your honeycomb chap 2: more meany pants tony

part one

content: tony’s being a dick again, mention of Peter’s Family Problems, confined spaces, smoking, @carelessannie is a character and Has A Boyfriend That Is a Real Person I Know, tony calls peter a turtle, crying

word count: 1.5k // square filled: locked in a closet!

song for this chapter here -> that’s not a good excuse - eli.

It was late, it was cold... mid-December nights were usually slow, but not no-car-in-sight-for-hours slow. Peter didn't handle any of those well on their own, but all three?

Working with Tony the entire time didn't do much to help, either.

They'd clocked on together, they'd be clocking off together - it was his worst nightmare. There wasn't anything to do, either - they'd already finished half of the closing list and every single chore. Annie had FaceTimed her boyfriend after finishing her chem homework - hell - the girls'd made a snowman outside the front of the stand, for fuck's sake!

Time was barely crawling. It made Peter irritable - apparently, it made Tony irritable, too.

⁘|||⁘

Annie hung up her FaceTime call with Sebastian, excited at the prospect of food. She turned, ready to take orders from the three that were now in front of her. "Okay - Panda Express - what is he bringing us?"

Courtney piped up first. "I'll just do another of what you're doing, A." She went back to her phone, more interested in her boy of the week than the rest of the conversation.

Annie typed it into her texts, looking back toward the boys. "You two - what is he getting you?" Tony spoke next. "I'll do the same thing. I'm easy." Peter scoffed a bit at that, covering it poorly with a cough. Annie shot him a look. Don't start shit.

"Peter, anything?" She knew him too well to ask. "Nah babe, I'm gonna eat at home."

That suddenly got Tony's attention. "What, you're not eating? We still have two hours left, and you look like you're about to fall over." Perfect Parker timing, his stomach growled - audibly enough to justify Tony's comment.

Peter shoved past him, making his way toward the back. He didn't want to engage - he wanted to- to- to text Resa, pour himself into some chores, maybe dive into a snowdrift - literally anything but continue the conversation.

Tony on the other hand... he didn't know when to stop. "What's your deal, Parker? The man is bringing us food, on his own dime. You really gonna be rude enough to refuse?"

Peter closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing. "It doesn't matter what my deal is, Tony - maybe I just don't like Panda. Maybe I don't want something that heavy on my stomach. Maybe my mom has food waiting for me at home. You don't know shit - so why don't you just leave it alone?" Mmm a bit harsh, Parker, take it down a notch.

Tony scoffed. "We both know you don’t have anything waiting for you, anywhere, Parker. Quit talkin' big and just accept the generosity."

Both Courtney and Annie gasped at that one. It was common knowledge around the stand that Peter's home life was off-limits. Hell, everyone's was - leave your shit at the door applied to everyone else's shit too. Apparently, Tony didn't get the memo.

"Okay, nope. I'm not listening to this conversation. Both of you, fridge!" Courtney - taller and stronger than both of them - grabbed the boys, practically tossing them into the walk-in. The door slammed behind them, something jamming it from the outside.

Her voice was muffled, but they both understood - they weren't getting out until they figured this out. They'd been fighting off and on for months, and it was causing serious issues in the stand. The girls were uncomfortable - sure, it was fine if they were separated during shifts, but that couldn't go on forever.

This just happened to be everyone’s final straw.

Peter pressed his forehead into the door, not wanting to face the other man. This wasn't exactly how he'd planned on spending his evening - and now that he found himself here, he was going to do everything he could to avoid avoid avoid any further confrontation.

His mouth hadn’t caught the memo.

“That’s two.” Shut the fuck up.

He couldn’t see them, but he could practically hear Tony’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “Two what?” He was still seated, from what Peter could tell. At least he wasn’t about to get his ass beat.

“Two apologies you owe me. Me and the girls. For being rude, and talking shit in the stand.” God damn it Peter, shut your mouth!

Tony scoffed. “You’re still on about that? Come on, Parker, can’t you just let it go?”

He tried. Peter tried really, really hard to hold himself back, he did. But it just... it wasn’t like him, to take shit like this. To allow someone like- like- like Tony Stark to make his life a living hell. Mob connections be damned, he wasn’t going to take it anymore. It was exhausting, and Peter was tired of coming to work every day dreading his shift.

He got up, turning to face Tony. He might’ve been shorter than him normally, but with Tony sat on the foot-tall milk crate, there was quite a difference. It was childish, but it made him feel like he had the upper hand.

“You- you- you can’t keep pushing me around like this, Tony. You’ve been a dick to me for months, and I’m sick of it. All I wanted was one stupid, little apology, and you can’t even give me that!

“I left you alone! I tried to make our shifts together easy, I stayed out of your way! I begged Courtney to never schedule us or rotate us together. Do you know how difficult that is?? Especially in a stand this size, Tony, it’s nearly impossible.” He was near tears at this point, voice close to breaking.

“And then you have the audacity to come here, in my stand, and talk about my- my family - which was not fucking okay, by the way. It just- it’s so cruel, Tony! I’m done!

“I tried to be nice, I really did. But you make it so fucking difficult. So forgive me for not being able to just let it go.”

⁘|||⁘

Peter was always an ugly crier. Snotty, red eyes, uncontrollable shaking.

He was also an angry crier. The two tended not to mesh well.

It didn’t help that people tended to not take him seriously anyway. He was small, entirely not intimidating. Couldn’t hurt a fly. The second you get him even remotely upset, and he bursts into tears?

He wasn’t expecting sympathy from Tony.

⁘|||⁘

He was done sobbing by this point, but the damage was done.

He’d thoroughly embarassed himself in front of the man he’d just... just demanded so much from. It wasn’t his lowest moment, but it was close. Nice going, P.

Peter was convinced he couldn’t be locked in the fridge with anyone wor-

There was a hand on his shoulder.

His head shot up, grabbing Tony by the wrist. “Don’t touch me!” It came out louder than he’d intended, and the look of fear written on Tony’s face did make him feel a bit bad. Peter hadn’t let go. “Just- don’t- just ask first, fuck.”

He released his grip, turning to dig his head back into his arms. He’d tucked himself into the far corner, drawing his knees up around him so he could get as far from the door as possible. He wanted to sink himself straight into the floor, mesh with the concrete, never show his face at work again -

But there Tony was, looking down at him like he was a startled puppy.

He plopped himself down next to Peter, facing in toward the center of the fridge. He tilted his head, making contact with Peter’s left knee. “Would you look at me?” Gentle.

Peter sniffled, trying to clear his nose. He knew he wasn’t the most presentable right now - wet spots soaking both of his sleeves, nose probably bright & cherry-tinged. He shifted, just barely peeking past his forearms.

“There we go.” Peter sniffled again.

Tony looked like there was a war going on inside him. Peter’d never spent this long looking at him - certainly never this long at his eyes. There was so much to them, so much hurt and understanding he’d never seen before. So much he recognized.

Tony was drawing circles into his shin, now, steady movement bringing him back to the present. “Come on, little turtle, come outta that shell for me.”

Peter’s eyebrows drew together. “’m not a turtle.”

Tony laughed. “What, then? Hermit crab? Clownfish? What else hides when it’s upset?” It was a sad attempt at breaking the tension, and he knew it.

Peter wasn’t phased by it, either. His glare stuck.

“Okay, fine. I’m sorry. No animal nicknames. I got it.” He smiled as his hands came away from Peter’s body, pulling up in a defensive position. “Plain ‘ole human insults, then, promise.”

Peter let out a huff. “How hard was that?”

“Was what?”

“You said sorry.” Oh.

“I... I guess I did.” Tony’s hands came down. He pushed himself to his feet, crossing toward the door. “Consider it an accident.” His entire demeanor had shifted - he was back to his normal, standoff-ish self.

Whoever Peter’d spent the last couple of minutes with was gone.

“N- Tony I-”

“Forget it, Peter. Seriously.” He pushed at the handle of the fridge door, thankful it was free to open. He bypassed the girls, grabbing the rest of his shit and tearing out the door. The cigarette barely lit with how fast he made the trek to his truck, lighter burning the side of his thumb.

When did he get so soft?

Fuck.

tag list: @longlivestarker @bluestarker xoxo

#sfsummerbingo21 #starkerfestivalsevents #starker #peter parker/tony stark #peter parker x tony stark #.mine #.fic #i wrote all of this save the last bit of dialogue a week ago #i just couldn't find a place to end it #i found a place apparently #coffee shop au #more enemies babey

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oligbia · 4 years

Text

Heels Over Head

Izuku MidoriyaXReader SFW, Fluff

Midoriya tightened his glare, brows furrowed, green hair falling into his face. His scowl turned into a smile, determination seeping from his skin in the form of beads of sweat. He was not going to lose. His arms were purple, bones broken from overdoing his somewhat new quirk.

You flung yourself upwards again, your quirk launching you high into the hair. You quickly started a decent, nose-diving at rapid speed to Midoriya. You knew he was better suited to use his arms at this point in training, he wouldn't be able to reach you this high. You began to rotate your body, coming down on him with your fist extended like a screw gun onto a board.

You struck him in the head, sending him flying back. His limp body skidded off of the fighting circle, and he showed no sign of getting up. You flung forward yourself, still unsure of the best way to land after falling from such a tall height. You hit the ground with a large 'oof'. You were pretty sure you heard your ankle break, or at least get a pretty gnarly fracture.

You heard Present Mic announce you as the round's winner, but you were struggling to get up and bask in your victory yourself. You may have won your round of the Sports Festival, but you weren't sure you could make another. You finally found the strength to get up, your weight visibly shifted off your damaged ankle. A classmate rushed over to you, and you draped an arm over their shoulder and shifted your weight onto them. You watched as they loaded an unconscious Midoriya onto a stretcher and wheeled him to an infirmary.

Your classmate droned on and on about the Sports Festival, your win over Midoriya, and needing to make sure you can compete next round to 'do your class justice.' But, honestly, you were more worried about Midoriya. You hadn't met him prior to today, but you still felt guilty. Your goal was to beat him- not make him unconscious. He was a fair oppinant, he gave you a run for your money. He had a lead on you for a while, but once he started to break his bones his restraint became his downfall. You took that chance to take a few hard blows to him, landing you where you are now.

You and your classmate stumbled into the infirmary, and they dropped you into a chair to wait. You hadn't had a chance to look at your ankle yet, but in the chair you did. It was bruised all around your foot, the purple and yellow hues almost looking black at points. Both ankles were swollen, but the bruised one was two or three times the size of the other.

You heard a few final remarks faintly from Recovery Girl, something about taking time to rest and a concussion. You weren't able to see her, but from the sounds of her voice she was behind a curtain on the other end of the infirmary. You watched as she wandered over to you, her tiny legs shuffling under her.

“You’re the young girl who fought Young Midoriya. Good fight…” She survives your ankle, “...nasty results.” She pokes at your bruised ankle, you grimace with pain. A strong throbbing pain shot through your foot. “This one is definitely broken, but lucky for you young lady, the other is just sprained. Nothing I can’t fix for you, deary.”

You watched curiously as she placed a long kiss on your broken ankle, but you didn’t notice any immediate changes.

“It should be better after a half hour or so, in the meantime I will wrap up your other ankle. You should be fine to compete later if you want.”

You smiled and thanked her. She worked on wrapping up the sprained ankle, some of the pressure already relieving. Almost on cue after finishing, she received a call to go to the arena to care for a student on sight- something about the explosive kid from 1-A and a girl he took down. She told you that you were welcomed to stay until you could see yourself out and offered you a pair of crutches before she scurried away.

You sat in silence for a while before you heard faint mumbling coming from behind the curtain. Curiosity got the better of you, and you got up on the crutches, wandering over to the curtain. You drew it back a little, peaking your head behind it.

Midoriya sat propped up in bed, his gym uniform a little torn and twisted up, exposing his bruised abdomen. His arms were wrapped up, but less purple. It was a safe bet that Recovery Girl gave him the same treatment that you had received. His left eye had a pretty bad bruise, making his already dark iris seem even darker. He was scribbling into a notebook, mumbling to himself. You cleared your throat and his eyes shot up to meet yours.

His eyes widened and he quickly closed his notebook, shoving it to the side and trying to move it out of sight. “Ah! I’m so sorry, I probably was being loud!” His voice was frantic and he stumbled over his words.

You peered over to his side. “What were you doing?”

“I was taking notes. I write about different things I think can make me a good hero.”

You nodded. “I’m sorry I beat you up real bad…”

He smiled, his posture relaxing some. “It’s alright. I’ve seen worse.” He lifts his arms up. “I break these pretty often, actually.” He chuckles a little. You looked at him awkwardly, unsure of the joke.

“You had me beat for a while. I wasn’t sure I would win. I’m no good at distanced combat.”

He looked down at your ankles, noticing their state. “Well, your quirk is based on your feet, right? Actually, I have some questions about that…” he pulled out his notebook again. He started flipping through pages of it quickly. You sat down at the edge of the bed, square with his torso. Midoriya, not aware of your presence, began to ramble on about different strategies he had noticed about your quirk. You didn’t have a complex quirk by any means. Your feet had invisible springs, allowing you to jump to incredible heights. It had it’s limitations like everyone else’s. You watched his face, eyes constantly drawing to the large bruise over his eye and the gash on his lip that had been caked over with dried blood. Without thinking much about it, you pulled the wet rag from the bedside table next to Midoriya and gently patted at his lip, trying to clean off some of the blood.

Shivers traveled down Midoriya’s spine at the feeling of the cool washcloth patting gently on his bottom lip. He stopped his thoughts abruptly, looking up at you. Your eyes were focused on his lip, unable to meet his. His pupils grew in shock at your care, especially considering you had just kicked his ass and you had another fight later.

Noticing his silence, you filled in some blanks for him, still dabbing his bottom lip. “My quirk is essentially large invisible springs on the bottoms of my feet. But, like springs, you can't constantly jump high. You have to get a handful of small jumps before a big one. It’s almost like a trampoline, I guess.”

Your eyes finally meet his, and you give him a quick smile. His eyes trace your face, trying to memorize every detail of it. He thought you were quite cute, he was particularly fond of the way your hair was still messy from the fight and the way your eyes seemed to hold an extra layer of determination behind them. He watched as you placed the rag next to you and ran a finger along his cheekbone, caressing the bruise covering his eye.

“Your eye is really swollen, I’m sorry about that too…”

“No! No, no it’s alright. It was an honor to get kicked in the head by you, L/N.” His voice cracked at the beginning, your intimate gesture taking him by surprise. You laughed a little, moving your hand off his face. “Whatever you say, Midoriya.”

He watched as you stood up, taking the crutches under your arms. “I have another fight with some kid from your class- Tokoyami, I think. Anyways, I don’t expect to beat him. My quirk isn’t any match for that shadow thing he has.”

Midoriya smiled, “Well, at least you can say you beat the problem child.”

You shook your head and smiled, grabbing the notebook from his chest. Before he could start panicking and asking for it back, you flipped to the page with a drawing of you and notes about your quirk. You scribbled out your number for him.

“Call me sometime, problem child.”

#my hero academia #midoriya x reader #midoriya x y/n #izuku midoria x reader #izuku x reader #my hero academia x reader #izuku midoriya #izuku midoriya x reader

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onlydreamofmysoul · 4 years

Text

The Prize (Ficmas #3)

The gymnastics au is here!!!! I’d love to revisit sometime and make it a multi-chaptered thing but for now... here we go!!!!!!

(This one is just wolfstar, it’s not set in the SW or C2C worlds :))

Remus looked up from where he was chalking up his grips to see Sirius just beginning a run up on the track. He let his eyes follow the other man for a moment as he took a couple of powerful strides before launching himself into a series of flips and somersaults, sticking his landing beautifully.

“Damn,” Lily whistled from his side. “He’s looking good this year.”

Isn’t he always, Remus thought, but he didn’t say that of course. Instead he just nodded. “Yeah, he’ll be tough competition, that’s for sure.”

“At least you’ll be competing as a team as well as individually.” Lily pointed out. “So hey, guess you can use him.”

Remus smirked and rolled out his shoulders before walking back to his bar, jumping to catch it before pulling his body up and around in a circle so he could support himself with his arms while his waist rested against the bar.

“You better get back to A-bar before McGonagall comes to find you again.”

Lily shuddered. “Yeah, damn she’s already salty that I forgot my chalk, she’ll murder me if I stay here too long.”

Remus chuckled as she walked off before taking a breath to refocus himself and setting back to work.

He was trying to perfect his dismount - a triple back tuck, but no matter what he was trying, he kept seeming to land on his ass. He grit his teeth, annoyed that his coach was missing today. He had a stand in of course, but the new kid Peter had never coached anyone at Remus’ level and was really just there to put safety mats in place when Remus needed them mid routine. He was just setting up the iPad to record (if no one was teaching him, then damn he would try to do it himself), when Sirius wandered up to his side.

“Want me to take a look?”

Remus nodded. “Please,” He glanced over at Peter, lowering his voice, “He’s nice and all but…”

“He doesn’t know shit.” Sirius finished and they both laughed. “Yeah I know, he was working with me a few days ago.”

Remus got back on the bar and immediately set into his rotations, ignoring his routine and just circling the bar a couple of times before his dismount. When he let go he tucked in tight, pulling his knees into his body as his chin tucked into his chest, tumbling once, twice, three times before… falling back on his arse.

He flopped back on the mat, covering his face with his forearm for a moment. “Ugh I swear this is gonna kill me.”

He could hear Sirius’ smirk, but he peeked at the other man anyway because damn, if he didn’t like that smile. “You’re actually pretty close.”

“Yeah?” He asked, standing up again.

“Yeah, c’mere I recorded it so you can see.”

They stood much closer than polite societal rules would usually expect, Remus getting to use the excuse of watching the iPad. Remus watched himself on the screen, it started okay, his swings were good, he had enough power between them and then-

“Oh.” He said. “I’m letting go too early.”

Sirius grinned up at him. “Yeah! I wasn’t sure if you’d see it, but yeah that’s your issue. You only need to hold on maybe half a second later.”

Remus bit his lip, trying to figure out how the hell he would work that out. Time measurements were never quite his thing. Sirius seemed to get that though and instead pointed up at the ceiling.

“You’re letting go here.” He said, pointing at a 45 degree angle. You need to let go when your toes point up there.” Moving his hand so his arm made more of a 60 degree shape.

Remus nodded and smiled. “Yeah that makes more sense.” He chalked up his hands again and got back on the bar. He always liked dismounts. They had never been his strongest feature, but they were often his favourite. The feeling was about as close to flying as humans could come. He really focused as he swung this time, envisioning the place he’d let go with every rotation. On the fourth swing, he let go, feeling himself fly higher into the air than he ever had today. He tucked in, already knowing it was going to work before his feet landed on the mat, without even a little stumble.

“Oh my god!” He exclaimed, beaming at Sirius. “Thank you!”

Sirius smiled and made a gesture that looked like he was going to run his fingers through his hair before realising his hair was tied up. “No bother.”

He glanced back at the track. “I should uh, probably get back.”

Remus smiled at him ruefully. “Probably. Hey, thanks again.”

Sirius winked at him cheekily. “Anytime.”

A week later Remus was just finishing on vault when Sirius came up.

“Hey, do you mind if I join?”

Remus looked up at the sound of the other man’s voice and smiled. “Yeah of course. I’m just finished anyways so it’s all yours.”

Remus wasn’t sure if it was just him or if Sirius actually looked a little disappointed at that.

“Oh yeah, cool.” He looked down and pointed at the springboard. “Mind if I change that?”

Remus shook his head. “Work away.”

Sirius grinned and grabbed the equipment, pulling it several inches closer to the vault.

“Is that close enough for you?” Remus teased.

Sirius looked up at him, a strand of hair falling in front of his eyes as he made sure the board was at the right measurement. “Oh fuck off, it’s not my fault you’re freakishly tall.”

“Hey, six foot two is not ‘freakishly tall’! You’re just freakishly short.” He protested.

Sirius stood up, a good head shorter than Remus. “And five foot ten isn’t freakishly short.” He opposed, his bottom lip pouting slightly before he grinned again.

“I suppose we’-”

“Oi Lupin!”

Remus winced at Moody’s summons. “I’d better go.” He laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Sirius’ eyes widened. “Yeah you do not want to get on Moody’s bad side. I accidentally made him tea instead of coffee once and I don’t think he’s forgiven me yet.”

Remus snorted a laugh. “That sounds about right.” He shuffled a little, not really wanting to leave. “He’s not too bad though.”

Sirius nodded. “Yeah,” He looked across the gym and spotted his own coach, Arthur Weasly, making his way across to them. “I like my coach too.”

Remus followed his gaze and smiled. “Oh Weasly’s lovely, I’ve always liked him.”

“You do know I’m timing you, right Lupin?” Moody called and Remus’ eyes widened.

“Fuck, see you later!” He half yelled as he ran off, Sirius laughing in the background.

Remus was stretching out his splits the next time Sirius found him.

“Hey.” Sirius greeted as he slid into his right leg split next to Remus.

Remus glanced over at him, eyeing the other man’s form. “Hi. You need to turn your back knee under more.”

Sirius did as instructed then winced. “Ouch, I can feel that stretch.”

Remus smirked. “Ha, sucks to be you.”

Sirius stuck out his tongue. “Oh fuck off, not all of us are naturally flexible.”

“Okay we both know you’re the power gymnast and I’m the flexible one.” Remus said as he twisted slightly to sit in his side splits. Sirius followed his motions so they were now face to face.

“You ready for regionals?” Sirius asked.

Remus shrugged a shoulder. The regional competitions were two weeks away. “I suppose? As ready as I’ll ever be anyways. I’m not too sure about my pommel routine but I suppose there’s always something that’s not perfect.”

Sirius nodded. “Yeah, I hate the rings. I mean I like them, but they’re my least favourite.”

“It’ll be nice to compete again though.” Remus admitted. “I missed the last season with my injury.” He said, nodding to his taped knee.

Sirius winced. “Yeah, how’s it doing?”

“Oh it’s fine now, I just like to keep it supported.” Sirius met Remus’ eyes. “Better safe than sorry, am I right?”

Sirius nodded seriously. “It was a dislocation right?”

Remus nodded. “Yeah, but I damaged the ligament, that’s why it took so long to recover.”

“Fuck that’s a tough one.”

Remus nodded as they both twisted into their left leg splits. He reached back and patted his right knee fondly.

“It’s okay now though.”

Sirius smiled softly. “It’s nice to have you back.”

A week before the regional competitions, Sirius found Remus in the locker room.

“Hey.” Sirius greeted, still in his shorts and a t-shirt while Remus was still shirtless after his shower, towel drying his hair. He peeked out at Sirius from under the white cloth before lowering his arms.

“Hey.”

Sirius seemed to freeze for a moment, his eyes following Remus’ arms to where they rested by his side, his gaze snagging somewhere around Remus’ midsection.

“Sirius?”

Sirius seemed to snap back into himself, shaking his head. “Shit sorry.” He mumbled, his cheeks flushing. “I uh, I zoned out for a second.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Did you need something?” He asked, amused as he shrugged on his shirt.

Sirius blinked a few times before coming fully to his senses. “Oh yeah, right, yeah.” He blinked again and Remus had to bite back his laugh. “Are you staying overnight at regionals?”

Remus cocked his head. “They’re six hours away and we begin at six am. I’m staying the night before and the night of the competition.”

Sirius nodded. “Yeah.” He breathed. “Me too, that’s what I’m doing.”

Remus waited a beat, but Sirius didn’t seem to have anymore to say. Remus put on his denim jacket, checking his watch - he had twenty minutes before he needed to be in class.

“Okay well, if that’s it I’d better go - I have class in a bit.” He said, smiling at Sirius and beginning to move towards the door.

“Wanna share a room?” Sirius blurted out just as Remus was opening the door.

Remus froze, then turned to look at Sirius, his hand still resting on the door handle.

“It’s uh, cheaper.” Sirius continued, rambling a little. “And I figured it might be easier? I don’t know, I don’t like going myself, plus it’s nice to spend time with your team and-”

“Yes.” Remus laughed, cutting Sirius off. “That sounds really good.”

Sirius’ eyes lit up. “Yeah?”

Remus nodded, smiling. “Yeah.” He glanced towards the door then looked back at Sirius. “I’ve gotta go now because I have a class, but I’ll text you and we can work it out?”

“Yeah.” Sirius breathed. “Text me.”

Remus smiled and went out the door, falling back against the wood the minute it had closed. Had that just happened? Was he really going to share a room with Sirius Black? This was quite possibly the worst decision he had ever made.

(And yet his heart seemed convinced it was the best).

He glanced at his phone again. Fifteen minutes to get to campus. Remus cursed under his breath and ran out the door, he could think about this later.

“Hey Re, can I get a lift up to regionals?” Lily asked as they ran around the floor warming up the next day.

“Sure. Sirius is coming too.”

Lily side eyed him. “You’re giving Sirius a lift?”

Remus could feel his face reddening, and it wasn’t from the exercise. “Um, we’re kind of going to share a room.”

Lily stopped running and stared at him. Remus had to jog back a couple of paces to get back to her.

“You’re sharing a room with Sirius?” She asked, her eyes wider than saucers. “What? How? When did this happen? How did I miss all this?”

“Maybe it was when you were off getting serenaded by that swimmer.” Remus teased, talking about James - Lily’s new boyfriend. “I’m just kidding. It wasn’t a big thing, we’re… friends now? Yeah I think we’re friends.”

“You’re sharing a room but you don’t know if you’re friends.” Lily deadpanned. “Remus Lupin you are a useless lump of a man.”

Remus burst out laughing as they began running again. “Hey, give me a break, I’m just glad I’ve been able to actually talk to him, believe me there were a few times where I barely even functioned.”

Lily gave him that knowing look again. “Oh I’m aware. It took you this fucking long to talk to him in the first place, and then he was the one to make the first move.”

“Okay you can't call it ‘the first move’, we’re not dating or anything.”

“Yet.” Lily snorted and Remus just rolled his eyes, smiling. “So, can James come up with us?”

“Ooh, your boyfriend’s coming to the competition huh?”

It was Lily’s turn to flush. “Hush.” She admonished. “Maybe I just want him to show the other ways my flexibility can come in handy.” She said, smirking.

Remus wrinkled his nose. “Ew, imagery, Lily why would you do this to me.”

Lily jumped and kissed him on the cheek. At five foot one she was more than a foot shorter than him. “Cause I love ya.”

Remus smiled. “Love you too. And yeah, James can of course come too.”

“You’re the literal best, Remus Lupin.” Lily said seriously as they slowed down to stretch. “I’ll let him know. You know, I have this feeling he and Sirius are going to get along really well.”

Remus grinned at the image. He had only met James once or twice, but he knew what Lily meant. “I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.”

James and Sirius got on so well Remus was half worried they would ditch Lily and Remus altogether and just ride off into the sunset. They arrived in the hotel lobby and Lily tucked herself under Remus’ arm sleepily for a moment as Sirius and James got the room keys.

“This is really nice.” Lily sighed, looking at the boys fondly.

Remus had been surprised at how well everyone had melded together. It felt like they had always been friends. Platonic puzzle pieces. They had left fairly late - everyone needed to finish classes and work and they had driven in the dark. It was possibly the best road trip Remus had ever been on.

“Yeah.” He agreed, kissing the top of her head as the other two returned and the group split up, having rooms in different parts of the hotel. “Yeah, it is.”

“Which bed do you want?” Remus asked as he opened the door, his bag slipping off his shoulder awkwardly.

“I don’t care.” Sirius replied, following Remus in, laughing as Remus struggled to adjust his bag and just flung it on the closest bed in defeat.

“Guess this is mine then.” Sirius said, throwing himself on the second twin bed in the room. His hair was down and it fanned around his face like a satanic halo. Remus couldn’t look away. This had to be the worst idea he’d ever had.

“I am so tired.” He mumbled as he zipped open his suitcase, ignoring his gear to grab his pyjamas.

“Me too.” Sirius agreed, standing up and kicking off his shoes before padding to the bathroom. The room was filled with the hum that always accompanied hotel bathrooms when the light was flicked on. Remus could hear Sirius shuffling around, brushing his teeth as Remus slipped into his pyjamas, sighing at the comfort they brought. Sirius came out of the bathroom and Remus took his turn washing up before flicking off the bathroom light.

“Can I turn this off?” Remus asked, pointing to the main overhead light, Sirius already under the covers.

“Yeah go ahead.” Sirius said, his voice slow and honeyed with sleep. Remus flipped the switch and made his way to his bed in the dark, sinking under the covers, only just remembering to set his alarm for the morning before he let sleep take hold of him.

“G’night Sirius.” He mumbled. He was asleep before he even heard a reply.

Remus didn’t see much of Sirius the day of the competition, bar when they woke up in the morning. But they had both been quiet, readying themselves for the day. They both had their routines and they worked around each other in sync. Remus had never gotten on with someone so seamlessly aside from Lily.

Sirius bit his lip before they left the hotel room, looking like he wanted to say something.

“Remus?”

Remus had paused where he was tying his shoes, his tracksuit immaculate. “Yeah?”

Sirius seemed to battle with something in his head for a moment before letting it drop. “Good luck today.”

Remus smiled at him. “Thanks.” He breathed. “You too.”

“See you on the podium?” Sirius teased.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “I’ll be the one in the middle.”

Sirius had been right, they did see each other on the podium. Sirius was the one in the middle though, Remus at his side winning the silver medal.

“Well if it isn’t the golden boy.” Remus muttered under his breath as they smiled for the cameras. Sirius burst out laughing next to him, much to the confusion of the bronze medallist.

“Told you so.”

“I suppose you did. The winner of more than one thing today.”

“Do I get a prize?” Sirius asked and Remus’ heart stuttered. It almost seemed… Flirty.

“What do you call that big heavy thing around your neck?” He retaliated, smiling one more time before they were allowed down from the podium.

Sirius smirked at him. “Validation.”

They all went out for dinner that night, celebrating a series of medals - Lily looking dazzling with another gold medal.

“Aw look at poor Remus.” She and Sirius teased. “What’s it like so far down?”

Remus looked down at her, still miles beneath him even in heels. “I don’t know, you tell me.”

James choked on his drink as he laughed and Sirius cracked up beside him. They didn’t stay out late - they were all exhausted so as soon as they had dinner they all retreated back to their rooms.

“Onto nationals next.” Remus commented as he and Sirius strolled down their corridor after exiting the elevator. “Think we’ll make the team?”

Sirius didn’t have to ask what team. There was only one Remus could possibly be talking about, they all only had one goal in mind at this level - the Olympics.

“I really fucking hope so.” Sirius admitted, then bumped his hip against Remus’. “It’s looking good so far.”

Remus smiled and unlocked their door. “I suppose it is.”

They filed into their room, taking a moment to move their stuff from where they had been flung on the beds in the chaos that had been them trying to get changed quickly for dinner.

“I still don’t have a prize.” Sirius said, his voice a little shaky.

Remus glanced up, his bed now clear. “Well, you never said what you wanted.”

Sirius flopped back on his bed, covering his face with his forearm. Remus couldn’t help but think of the first time Sirius had helped him - Remus had been in the same position.

“I was hoping I wouldn’t have to, but it would seem you don’t do well with subtlety.”

Remus huffed a laugh. “My sincerest apologies.” He said, a little sarcastically before throwing caution to the wind and lying down on Sirius’ bed next to him.

“What is it you want?” He asked, his voice soft in a way he had never heard it before.

Sirius moved his arm so Remus could see gorgeous grey, surrounded by those long, dark eyelashes.

“I want you to kiss me.”

Remus froze. Sirius wanted Remus to kiss him. Remus. Remus Lupin. Kiss Sirius Black. He was fairly sure his brain had short circuited.

Remus must have frozen for too long, because Sirius sat up, swallowing as he moved away. “Um, sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I thought-”

Remus caught his wrist gently, his long fingers circling it completely.

“Please never try to be subtle again.” He said, as he pulled Sirius down to his level. Chest to chest, they stared at each other for a moment, both of them barely breathing.

“Wait.” Sirius croaked. “You mean-”

Remus didn’t let him finish, kissing him instead. All he could think was that this was what had been missing from his life. Sirius’ soft lips against his, Remus caressing that ridiculously silky hair as Sirius melted into him.

Sirius pulled away for a moment to readjust himself - his arm had begun trembling under his weight, so Remus rolled them over, hovering over Sirius so he could kiss him sweetly.

“I hope you like your prize.” He muttered and Sirius laughed against his lips before wrapping his arms around Remus’ waist and pulling him closer.

“God yes.”

#12 days of ficmas #wolfstar #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Lily Evans #James Potter #wolfstar gymnastics au #wolfstar au

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ilguna · 4 years

Text

Redamancy - Chapter Eight (f.o)

summary: it’s time to forgive and repair.

warnings; swearing, murder, HEAVY GORE, mentions of FORCED PROSTITUTION.

wc; 12k

NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

If it weren’t for the irritating sun rays landing right on your face and into your eyes, you’d bask in this warm feeling forever. It’s like receiving an embrace from spring, herself. Bright sunlight, tolerable temperatures, bees, flowers, sundresses, picnics and comfortable afternoons in the park with your family. You can’t count how many good memories you have from grass fields and playgrounds in District Four.

Watching Alyssum run around the park, making friends and being a kid while she can is the most satisfying part. You can watch her for hours, lose yourself in her carelessness. Your sister hasn’t got a worry in the world to think about, it makes you envy her. A nice house, warm meals, a loving family. None of you are perfect, but you try to be for her.

There’s a lot she’s going to be missing out on already when it comes to parents. She has you, Reed and Mox to fill those roles for her. You’d like to say she can’t miss something she’s never experienced, you’d be lying, though. You miss a regular teenage life that you never got to live, thanks to the Hunger Games. The Capitol is always ruining something, even if they’re not actively trying.

Which brings you back to reality. As much as you’d like to lay here in the soft blankets and keep to your warm spot on the bed, you’ve got to get moving. If the sun is in your eyes already, it only means that your time is up when it comes to sleeping. Like a natural alarm clock, only somehow more annoying, even if it’s not loud and in your face.

You turn onto your back, slowly opening your eyes. You’re met with a white ceiling, smooth and crack-free. Back home in your room, your ceiling has plenty of cracks. When you don’t feel like getting up immediately, you’ll play a game with yourself. See which ones will start on one side of the room and make it to the other. You’ve gotten good at it, and confidently say that there’s a few that go beyond that, they go to the windowsill.

With a gentle sigh, you sit up on the bed, turned toward the window, stretching your arms above your head. It feels good to get the blood pumping through your arms and shoulders again. You can’t really help it when the stretch extends down to your legs. A low moan leaves your lips, and stops dead in your throat when your thighs begin to hurt.

You hum, standing on your feet. It hurts at first, but the more you move around the room, the better you begin to feel. You stare out of the window for a couple of seconds to see that the Capitol is already alive. It’s definitely past noon at this point. So much for a rotating schedule with Finnick, you’ve already ruined it.

You look over the room you’re in, which definitely isn’t your own. It’s Finnick’s, with the bamboo bed frame, white sheets and the hammock across his room. You used to hear him say how much he enjoyed your room over his, something about the ceiling to floor windows that you have. Takes up an entire wall, gives you a great view of the city. Better than the tiny windows he has lining the wall.

The clock says that it’s a little after two. You two really have got to start moving before you miss out on anything inside of the arena. Not to mention, poor Gloss is sitting down there alone. He hasn’t had a friend to sit with since six this morning. A whole eight hours can be boring as hell, and quite frankly, lonely. He might have resorted talking to the sponsors, at this point.

Finnick is still sleeping on the bed, of course. His back is turned to the sun, explaining why he hasn’t woken up just yet. It’s not going to stay that way for very long. You’d leave him sleeping up here if it weren’t for the fact that it’s entertaining to see him hungover. It’s not often you get to see him like that, and you’re not really willing to pass up an opportunity. Plus, you might as well keep him around as company so it doesn’t get awkward later.

Before you wake him up, you find and put on your bra. He got to see all of you last night, there’s no reason to continue to walk around shirtless. You pick up your pants, and tank top, as your shoes are kicked off by the door. You begin to pull on your jeans, having to bounce slightly to pull them up all the way, when Finnick rolls over.

He groans, throwing his arm over his face to keep the sun from getting in his face. You’re satisfied to see that he’s about to get the same unpleasant wakening that you got, until you realize that his arm completely blocks out the light. What a shame, you were looking forward to watching him come to life like a zombie.

“Hey,” your voice is soft, not really wanting to disturb the peace. He doesn’t seem to hear you, or maybe you’re too quiet. You speak a little louder, “We should probably get down to the betting room, check on our tributes.”

Finnick freezes, and then jolts upright. His wide eyes land on you easily, face twisting as he slowly thinks over the scene in front of him. You pull on your tank top, raising your eyebrows as you wait for him to come to the conclusion himself. After a couple more seconds, he hums out a small tune and falls back onto his pillows, closing his eyes.

“I thought I was still at a client’s house for a second.” he breathes.

“Good morning,” you muse, “How are you feeling?”

“Besides the pounding headache, my back’s pretty messed up.” his eyes open, giving you a sly smirk. You grab one of his shoes, which aren’t as close to the door as yours are, and chuck it at him. Finnick laughs loudly, catching the shoe before it makes a hole in the wall, “I’m fine, considering that I finished half of your drink last night on top of mine.”

“One of us had to be responsible, and I figured that you wouldn’t want to be the one.”

“The next time we go out, I’m going to make you loosen up.” Finnick says.

“If you’re calling me uptight, I’ll shove a stick up your ass so you can see how it feels.” you lean against the wall.

He rolls his eyes, getting out of bed. He’s got a pair of boxers on, so he’s not completely naked either, “How are you feeling?”

“Well rested, actually. Your bed is pretty comfortable.”

“You’re welcome to sleep here any time.” Finnick says, kicking yesterday’s jeans into the corner, as well as the shirt.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” you snort, collecting your shoes, “I’m going to take a shower and get ready. I’ll see you in the dining room.”

“Sure.”

You leave his room, shutting the door behind you. In your own, you quickly change and throw the dirty clothes off to the side for easy collecting when the avoxes come around later. It’s not as hot inside of the Tribute Center as it was yesterday, but the heat is still apparent enough to be one of the first things on your mind. You settle for a pair of shorts, sandals and a white tank top.

You throw the pile of clothes onto the bathroom countertop. The door whooshes shut behind you, sending a cold breeze of air straight to your back. Much like yesterday, you turn the shower water to cold, just on the verge of being warm. You decide to skip getting your hair wet, since you don’t really have time to mess around. It’s a quick wash with sweet smelling soaps before you’re out again.

As you’re drying yourself with the cyan blue towel, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. And with what you see the first time briefly, you have to go back to check that you saw correctly. A scowl appears on your face when you get closer, fingers gently brushing against your collarbone. Little dark marks litter your skin.

You press your lips together, staring for a couple of seconds longer. You have no choice, you have to cover these up. So, you pull on your clothes and get to work with the makeup, trying to find colors that’ll cancel out the hickey colors. You spend a good ten minutes blending, color correcting, and starting over when it’s too obvious. When you’re finally done, you can still tell that they’re there, but it won’t be the first thing anyone sees when they look at you.

You’d just wear a regular shirt if it weren’t for the fact that you’re already sweating with the tanktop on. You put on the sandals on your way out, making sure your ring is secured on your hand. Finnick is already sitting at the dining room table when you get out there, hair wet and he’s dressed in pink and white.

“Took you long enough.” he says, stabbing his fork into a pancake piece and placing it in his mouth.

You glare as you sit down on the chair, “I had a problem. Actually, you gave me a couple of problems and I solved them.”

His face twists, eyeing you now, trying to find the difference. When a plate of pancakes is served in front of you, plate hot to the touch, you cut up the pancakes, slightly amused by his determination to try and prove you wrong. Does he really think that he’ll be able to? You’ve gone through this plenty of times before with Anchor.

Finnick shrugs, “Whatever you say.”

At least now you have insurance that you did a good job. Finnick might be some type of moronic but that doesn’t mean he misses details. It’s the small things that you have to look out for. Another skill that you need when you’re mentoring, another thing to add to the list that you’ve gotten good at after these years. From what you remember, Finnick’s not too bad at it, himself.

The avox turns on the tv without either of you asking, but you thank him anyway. As you go for fruits instead of syrup this morning, you catch up on the arena with Finnick. Sanguin is in the cornucopia, a fire going in front of her. She’s got some sort of animal skewered using her sword, roasting it over the fire. She looks pissed, staring into the fire, letting the flames flicker in her eyes.

You’d like to say that she finally lost her mind, but she lost it a long time ago. Way before Bauhinia. Maybe while she was being strategically trained to think that the other tributes in the arena were animals? Or maybe when she volunteered for the Hunger Games like it would be a walk in the park? It’s hard to say exactly, there’s a lot of moments in these past few weeks where she could’ve gone wrong.

At any rate, she’s got enough water to last her a while. You can confidently say that she won’t be leaving the cornucopia unless it’s to get more food. There’s no way that the sponsors are going to cough up any money just for her to eat. Especially when she’s supposed to be trained for the arena. She should know how to hunt and gather. Besides, you’re sure that Gloss would want them to wait until it’s something important, like that healing cream. Even then, it took a couple of people to pitch in. The prices are getting amped up, it’s harder to pay for things now.

You have a feeling that she’s sitting down there for a reason, instead of going off and trying to hunt down any other tributes. She’s healed by now, you watched her put more healing cream on her body last night before she decided to call it a night. Which means that this morning, the entire wound has got to be gone. She’s still going to be sore when moving around, but that’s an obvious nuisance. She technically should be able to work through it.

So, if she’s not interested in hunting Tekla, that means she’s waiting for Annie to come out of the village. And you’d say that’s a pretty big problem, except for the fact that it’s not. Annie’s got plenty of food and water from her raid on the career backpacks and whatever Marsh was holding before he died. If she doesn’t want to, she won’t have to leave the house unless it’s for some sort of Capitol-generated emergency.

After yesterday, you can’t see them doing something like that. You don’t even think that both tributes dying were intentional. They like to watch the last couple of teens fight it out, since they’re the ones that are either: one, completely trained for the arena and know how to take another tribute out with a simple tree branch and a rock. Or, they’re completely lucky and know how to blend into their surroundings and stay there until the Capitol is forced to step in. They only do it when there’s been several days without any interaction between tributes and the Capitol citizens are starting to riot.

Those tributes are the ones that can go days without food. Water, not so much, but they’ll find a source nearby and stick with it as long as they can without getting suspicious. It’s not an impressive feat to go days without eating, it just goes to show the horrible living conditions inside of the other districts. Fortunately, your family hit rock bottom, but you never had to keep digging.

As for Annie, she’s still looking pretty dead inside of her house. She’s moved to a different corner that gives her a better look to see. It looks like she’ll doze off for a second before jerking upright, hand tightening around her sword. You saw her sleep last night, it was the whole reason why you and Finnick decided it was acceptable to leave the betting room in the first place. With the peace of mind of knowing that Annie was finally getting the rest she needed.

When you were at the bar, you didn’t really keep track of what was going on inside of the arena. Which, looking back on it, probably wasn’t a brilliant idea in the first place. If there was an emergency with Annie, knowing as soon as possible would’ve hypothetically saved her life. But you also just wanted one moment for yourself, with Finnick and a drink. It wasn’t much to ask for, and you’re sure that it was well-deserved. If it wasn’t, Annie would be dead in a ditch right now.

To some extent, she might as well be. While Sanguin is fueled with hate-fire right now--literally. Annie looks like her soul has been ripped out of her body. She’s pale, the previous kind girl light in her eyes is gone. She looks like a corpse, freshly pulled out of the coffin. You wish you’ve seen this before, because maybe that would make it easier to understand why she isn’t grieving like normal. Normally, tributes cry for hours, sometimes days until they have to pull it together to win. Annie is just… she’s completely lifeless. Actually, she looks like she’s given up with trying to survive inside of the arena. Which is a dangerous mindset to adapt, especially now.

Just two more tributes to burn through, all she has to do is hold on. Let Sanguin and Tekla fight it out, hope that one kills the other, and the one gets severely injured enough to bleed out and die. It would make the whole thing a lot easier on her, you know that. The last thing she’d probably need on her plate right now, is another death. She’s already got two genuinely impressive ones--taking out the male careers? You’re the only other person who has done that in the past five years. And she’s witnessed the death that would affect her, and it’s taking its toll already. It’s been two days.

Well, as long as Annie stays where she is, eats, drinks and sleeps when she needs to, she won’t have to worry about anything. However, this idea also goes for Sanguin, on the assumption that Tekla isn’t bold enough to go ahead and attack her uninvited. Sanguin’s also set for days--if she has extra food stored somewhere in the case of emergencies.

The only person that might get bored and start causing havoc is Tekla. She’s in the woods by herself, in a patch of grass unguarded by trees. She lays in the sun with her eyes closed, hands laced behind her head. Looking exactly like she did on the first couple of days inside of the arena. This time, she has a good reason to be carefree. Before, she had more than ten other tributes to worry about, all fighting to go home. Now it’s down to two others. It should be a walk in the park, if it weren’t for the fact that she’s being put up against two careers.

You wonder what her odds look like right now. They hadn’t changed last night, not even after she killed Seven boy. But now that it officially looks like she’s going to make it to one of the final fights and be crowned victor, she’s gotta have moved up. District Nine hasn’t had a victor in a long, long time. Their last one was a guy, and he’s the first male to be put into the mentor spot. If you remember correctly, there’s only five victors in Nine, which means that four of them are female.

Figures that their new potential victor would be a girl, right?

It looks like you don’t really have anything to worry about arena-wise. Really, if you wanted to, you could just stay inside of the apartment. With half-alive Annie, vengeful Sanguin and cheerful Tekla, it’s safe to say that today’s a free day. Things could change, but that’s just your prediction. The only reason you’d have to go down to the betting room is to show up for Gloss, but he doesn’t really matter, does he? You can just go and see him tomorrow.

“You’ve got a look on your face.” Finnick says, your eyes find him to see that he’s staring.

“So?” you stab a strawberry and place it in your mouth, resisting the momentary sour expression before the sweetness takes over.

“It’s your indecisive look.”

Now, your face twists, “I do not have an indecisive look--”

He laughs, “It’s unmistakable! You get the look when you’re thinking over something important.”

“Like a decision?” you ask, trying to be serious, but you end up laughing.

He seems to let it go for a moment, until he’s looking at you again, “What was it?”

You shrug, “I was just thinking that we wouldn’t have to go down to the betting room if we didn’t want to. The silence in the arena gives us a couple of liberties that we wouldn’t have on a normal day.”

“Oh, so you do have a relaxed side.” Finnick thoroughly enjoys the face you make, raising your fist as a threat to punch him in the arm again. You wonder how far he can push you before you finally give him a nasty bruise, “And you also woke me up for nothing.”

“Technically you woke yourself, I just spoke.” you shrug, “Can I get some more coffee?”

“Might as well go back to bed while I can, then.” Finnick says, but he doesn’t move from where he’s sitting.

You wait, receive your coffee, and let him stare at you for a little while, “What are you waiting for?”

“It wouldn’t be responsible--” he mocks the word in your voice, “--to go back to bed, wouldn’t it?”

You glare, “Finnick, you have the night shift, anyway. Stay awake, go back to bed, get drunk at The Victory Speech, have dinner with Gloss, I don’t give a shit.”

“You seem like you want me to go away.” he says, “I think I’ll stick with you, then.”

“Fine by me.” you scoop up your coffee mug, taking it with you when you go downstairs to sit on the couch. You pull out a coaster to not ruin the pristine glass table.

There’s not much to watch the tributes do at all. Sanguin roasts her food, and you think she ends up daydreaming some, because she burns the bottom side of the meat. Doesn’t even wrinkle her nose or look fazed when she bites straight into that part, even when it disintegrates in her mouth the more she chews. After she’s done eating, she moves to the back of the cornucopia, hiding behind a stack of boxes to take a nap.

Annie turns her knife over in her hand, spinning it between her fingers before she knicks herself one too many times. After that, she settles for pulling out a line of rope from her backpack, tying and untying knots. It’s a common hobby that people use to soothe anxiety and pass time when there’s nothing else to do. Doesn’t surprise you that she’s resorted to this. Although, you do begin to worry slightly when you watch her jump at the slightest of sounds and nearly get up every single time to check.

You’d say it’s a reasonable response, thinking that Sanguin is after her. But the house creaks the same way every time, lets out the same groan each time the wind blows too hard. It’s not like they’re new sounds. She should’ve picked up on this by now, realized that there’s no need to get ready to hurry into battle. Watching her grab her knife, lean forward, and listen for any other sounds over and over begins to make you feel antsy.

“There’s something wrong with Annie.” Finnick says.

You hum, “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

“What do you think it is?”

You shake your head, “Still working on that idea.”

“Anything you’ve seen before?”

“If I have, I don’t remember.” You lean back into the couch, “Let’s just wait and see how bad it gets.”

And the truth is, it gets worse, because it can always get worse. The good news is that you’ve figured out how to help her, on top of figuring out the problem in the first place. The bad news is that it requires a sponsor. And like you said earlier, all the prices have gone up. Getting one now would be a nightmare, but you have to try anyway.

As you go down to the betting room with Finnick, you think it over.

Annie is suffering from paranoia. She’s obviously shell-shocked from watching Marsh die, otherwise she would be acting normally. You guess that allowing two tributes that have known each other for a handful of years, go inside of the arena together wasn’t the brightest idea. But it’s not like you could control it. You don’t think that they even planned for it to happen, it was just a coincidence.

This is just one part of the problem, watching Marsh die. She also might be feeling guilty because she didn’t try harder to keep him from going. It makes the most sense. She tried to convince him to stay, but the second he showed resistance, she caved and followed. Guilt like this will haunt someone forever. If she wins, she’ll be stuck with thinking that Marsh could’ve gone a better way.

You know this, because you carry around a considerable amount of guilt, too.

The last part, concerning Annie, is the fact that she hasn’t slept in a while. Paranoia feeds off insomnia. Getting an hour or two of sleep after watching your friend die right in front of you, in arguably one of the worst ways possible, is an unfortunate series of events. She can’t prevent not being able to sleep, so you’ll just help her as best as you can.

When you presented all of this to Finnick, he agreed. Said that he was thinking something along the lines of what you are. The only hiccup that he’s worried about is finding sponsors wealthy enough to sponsor this late into the games. They also have to be betting on her too, so that if she does win, they’ll get the return in full.

The betting room seems slightly busier than usual. Like you predicted earlier, Gloss decided to go ahead and take company in the Capitol people. Tekla’s mentor seems busy off in the corner, with people that don’t look like they nearly have enough money to sponsor this late in the game. It wouldn’t be any use trying to steal them, just a waste of time.

Gloss knows people, but that would mean to interrupt what he’s doing right now, which seems fairly important. The group of people that Finnick had approved of is thin, pooling their money together wouldn't even buy a loaf of bread. Much less what you’re thinking about right now.

It only leaves a couple of people, ones you haven’t talked to in days. You stop a couple of steps inside of the room, allowing Finnick to come in and shut the door behind him. He waits there for a moment, before coming around the side.

“What are you waiting for?” His voice is slightly hushed. No one has really taken notice of your appearance just yet. If needed, you could probably slip out the door and no one would know the difference.

You look at him.

You made an agreement, take his advice on who to be around and who to stay away from, and he’ll help you. You thought that it would be easy then, because you didn’t need the sponsors. Annie and Marsh had a strategy down, they didn’t look like they’d be needed help anytime soon. They had everything they needed at the moment. But now that Annie needs something more, you’re stuck.

Having Finnick around to be a second body, a second pair of hands and eyes and ears, has made a difference. You’ve slept well, you’ve been allowed to hang out with friends when given the opportunity, and you can finally pace yourself. No more running around like it’s life or death, or being afraid to sleep because an arena is particularly dangerous.

However, you can do it alone. Annie’s needs right now is going to come before whatever requirements Finnick has. Bringing a tribute home is crucial, buddying with Finnick is a perk. If he gets mad at you for this, there's always next year.

“I need you to come with me and not intervene, or go back upstairs.” You say, squeezing the finger your ring is on.

His face twists, “It depends—“

“No. You go upstairs, or you don’t intervene.” You start towards the sponsors, “I mean it, Finnick.”

You’re not even halfway across the room before they spot you. You smile at them, letting them welcome you. When you don’t feel Finnick’s presence behind you like normal, you turn to look. The door is sweeping shut, you briefly catch a glimpse of him leaving.

The sponsors are happy to see you again, you talk with them for a while, and watch what goes on inside of the arena. It’s all small talk, or questions about what you feel like is going to happen. Until they finally bring up Annie, how she’s doing. And just because you can’t hold it in, you spill it all out, being completely honest with them.

Annie is hurting right now, and she can’t help it. She can’t simply fall asleep because she’s afraid of the nightmares and the vulnerability that comes with it. There’s always the possibility that her body simply isn’t letting her sleep, too. She’s not physically tired, so why would she lay down and try? So, you think that if you find something that’ll make her drowsy, she’ll feel more inclined to.

You can’t guarantee that it’ll work, but it’s worth a try if it means that she wins the games, right? The sponsors seem to think so, and with a budget, you bring them over to the sponsoring table. Everything under the sun is allowed to be sent to them. Name it, and thye’re probably have it. It’s just the price that makes it impossible to work around.

You know for sure that pills are out of the question. The second you see the price, you’re switching gears. Medicine? Maybe. You look at all the options they have for tributes for when they’re sick. You’ve seen a handful of these brands in District Four, all of them expensive. With the money that the Capitol gives you, you can finally afford them. Which means that Alyssum doesn’t have to suffer through colds like before. The medicine works wonders, but the Capitol version will be too much for her to handle. It might as well be a tranquilizer.

Something more natural, then. Those are always cheaper. You go through it, seeing the little vials of brightly colored liquids and the contents. Ones to make you throw up, give adrenaline if the tribute is dying, allergy medicine to save them from anaphylactic shock. And finally, one for sleeping. Without a moment of hesitance, you tap on it.

They all pitch in a certain amount, allowing the vial to be covered in full. You thank them, with assurance that it won’t go to waste. Annie is a tough tribute, she’ll be able to win. All she needs is a little sleep to reset her body, hopefully start her over. It’s like shutting something completely off before trying again.

You take a breath before writing on the paper, ‘Drink it all’.

You get to stand back and watch as the gamemakers find the best way to send it to her. You don’t doubt that she’ll hear the noise that the gifts make. Especially if she’s hearing noises that aren’t being picked up on the microphones. It’s where they have to drop it off to make sure it doesn’t get caught on anything on the way down, like a corner of a roof.

The chiming is a sound that you still hear in your nightmares. You watch as the silver parachute glides through the air, slowly moving between the houses. At first, it doesn’t seem to alarm Annie, but then she jolts, pauses to make sure she’s hearing it right, and then gets up. She shoves her knife into her belt, carefully goes down the stairs so that it doesn’t break beneath her.

She looks more alive like this, the color has returned to her face slightly, she’s got a smile hinting at the corner of her lips. When she finally comes out of the house, swinging the door open and letting in the natural light, she cries out in shock and covers her eyes. She mutters out a few curse words, squinting through the sun until her eyes adjust.

She spots the gift in the middle of the walkway. The smile grows more, scooping the tin into her hand. She gives the area around her a little look-around before disappearing back into the house, shutting the door and locking it. Even though it looks like the lock won’t do much for her anymore. The doorknob is practically falling off.

She makes it all the way to the third floor, back into the corner of her room. She slips down the wall and pops open the lid of the container. The first thing that Annie sees inside is the note, which she reads over carefully before moving it out of the way for the vial. It’s small, not at all as big as they normally sell them earlier on, but those ones also have the tendency to knock a person out for a whole day. This will just keep her asleep for a few hours, maybe the entire night if she drinks it now. You hope that she’ll be up at a reasonable time tomorrow.

Annie uncaps it carefully, and takes a small sniff. You can’t imagine that she recognizes the smell, even though it is sort-of distinct. If the medicine is fresh, it’ll usually smell sweet. If it’s not, then it’s stale, maybe a little sour. Obviously, one is more desirable than the other, but it works the same either way. Whether or not it’s fresh doesn’t affect the way it works.

When Annie is satisfied with the smell, she goes ahead and caps it again. There’s no directions, so she’s going to have to decide how she wants to do this. The sun will be setting in an hour, maybe two. Annie eats some dry foods, drinks some water. It’s smart, her wanting to get food into her body beforehand. If it were you, you probably would’ve just settled for drinking it straight, it might have worked faster that way.

She drinks it, slipping to the floor. She pulls the sleeping bag over herself, closing her eyes. It’s going to take a second to kick in, but it’s enough time for you to go upstairs and out of the betting room. You’ll be back down here bright and early tomorrow, there’s no point spending more time than you have to.

You thank the sponsors, shake hands and exchange hugs. Before you leave the room, you see that the Afternoon Line Odds are all the same. Sanguin’s is 2-1, Annie is 3-1, Tekla is 7-1. All very good odds, but not as good as Sanguin. Hopefully, that’ll change within the next couple of days. You leave the room before Gloss can see that you’re down there.

You spent a good hour or so just talking to the sponsors. The fastest part was getting them to agree on sending Annie a gift. It wasn’t nearly as bad as you thought it would be. Finnick makes all of them out to be like criminals, constantly looking for their next fix. But they understand that you’re not like that. They can have their eyes on you all they want, it’s not going to happen.

Just before you go inside of the apartment, you’re sure that Finnick isn’t going to be out in the living room, or he’s not going to be inside of the apartment all together. However, when you step inside, you’re surprised to see that he’s on the couch, his arms crossed. He doesn’t bother to look over, not even after you shut the door. You almost feel guilty for doing what you did.

Almost.

You sit on the couch next to him, pull your legs up beneath you, and sit in silence. There’s no point to try and talk to him right now. You know that he’d probably like a moment to cool off. It might even be better if you didn’t sit in here at all, so he won’t be fuming next to you. But it’s not like you have much of a choice. You can’t just go back downstairs and sit in the betting room, that would be stupid. If Finnick’s right about the sponsors, there’s no reason to stay around them more than you have to.

So, silence it is. It’s a while before either of you have anything to talk about. Annie should be asleep by now, an entire hour later. There’s no way that the vial would take more than five minutes, even with a full stomach. Still, you watch as her eyes open, a frown appearing on her face, eyebrows turning in.

Your mouth falls open, you stand from the couch, “That’s not good.”

“What did you give her in the first place?” Finnick asks.

“It’s one of those natural sleeping medicines, the expensive ones?” you briefly look at him, before you go back to the tv, “Costed a fortune, so it should’ve worked. The gamemakers wouldn’t send a dud, right?”

“Probably not.”

You sit back down onto the couch, hands falling into your lap. You made sure that it was the sleeping medicine, and not the sick stuff either. The only other option that was left for Annie besides this, was the herbal tea. And that shit hardly ever works for you, or your siblings when you use it back home. The most the tea would do anyway, is make her drowsy, not even a guarantee.

It’s a good thing that you didn’t even consider the tea, because if the vial did nothing, Annie would be able to drink the entire box of tea and still not feel a single thing. The medicine was a waste of money, and who knows what it’s going to do to her. Make her even more delirious than she already is? Like she, or you guys, need that at all. You were already worried over her paranoia, now you’ve got to be worried about her accidentally killing herself?

There’s nothing you can do about it now. You’ve just got to sit back and wait to see if it kicks in, after all. There’s no point in going downstairs to tell the sponsors it was some sort of mistake, because you really didn’t know that this was going to happen. If you did, you probably wouldn’t have bothered in the first place. Everything is worth a try until it’s wasting resources. You might have been able to use the sponsor money later on.

Still, you have to sit and painfully watch as Annie progressively gets worse. Turns out, that if you don’t fall asleep with the medicine, it starts to work as a hallucinogenic. On top of Annie’s paranoia, she’s not hallucinating she’s hearing noises, and maybe even seeing things. You close your eyes and rest them against your palms when you lean forward, not really liking to hear Annie go through it.

It’s stupid. You’re not even sure how Annie’s resisting the drug, anyway. She’s not doing it on purpose, she clearly recognized the smell if she laid down immediately after. And it’s not like they had any sort of drugs available for hallucinations. No mentor would willingly give their tributes something like that, so why would it be offered?

No matter what happens, though, you’re glad to see that Annie doesn’t leave the house. She stays where she is, clutching onto her knife, staring into space. She’s just like how she was before you sent her the sponsor gift. Only this time around, she’ll randomly jump as if there’s been a loud sound, and then her eyes will follow things in front of her, even when there’s nothing there.

Elysia comes into the apartment around the same time you guys normally eat dinner, a little out of breath, “Oh, there you guys are!”

You look over your shoulder to see that she’s dressed in lime green and black. The black helps accentuate the green part, which you’re not really sure is a good thing. You’re sure that everyone can see her coming from a mile away, literally.

“You were looking for us?” you ask, she nods, heading over to you and Finnick.

“In the betting room, I thought you’d be down there since you normally are.”

Figures that the one time you wouldn’t be down there, she’d go, “Looked like there wasn’t much going on today so I thought we could stay up here. I only went down there to send the gift.”

“I saw that.” she says, “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”

You three do it over dinner. With Elysia hardly eating and doing most of the talking, Finnick watching the tv and only chiming in when he’s needed, and you trying to do all three at the same time. It’s easy for the most part. Remember when you said that you got good at multitasking? This is an example of that.

She mostly tells you what you already figured out, which is that it turns out to be a hallucinogenic after a while. It should wear off, but it’ll take hours to do. Like, for the amount of time she should have been asleep for. She’s already got a couple of hours under her belt, you’d say that by tomorrow morning, she’ll be back to normal. So, there’s no reason to sit around and wait.

You and Finnick can get a full night of sleep for once. You just have to get up early tomorrow morning to assess the damage. You’re sure that it’ll be fairly easy to do, you’ll have to get yourself into the habit of waking up early again, anyway. You’ve got the boarding school to worry about. Anchor won’t want to do it alone forever.

Before you give it up tonight, you check the tv one last time. Annie is in her room, so she’s fine. Sanguin looks like she’s officially laying down to sleep, her weapons are displayed around her, all ready to be picked up and used at any time. As for Tekla, she’s made a bed in her little clearing in the trees. However, she’s bold, with a fire going that is distinguishable in the dark. She’s lucky that the back of the cornucopia is turned towards her, otherwise Sanguin would be more than tempted to take Tekla out.

You head back to your room after dinner, mainly to brush your teeth. You pace in your room for a moment, caught in the decision of whether or not to talk to Finnick or to leave him to be angry on his own. You’re sure that he’d appreciate being by himself, but there’s also this morning and last night to talk about. You can’t really just leave those alone, who knows what kinds of problems they’ll cause in the future.

“Okay.” you sigh, heading out of your room and to his. You knock on his door, waiting a second, “Finnick?”

It’s a couple more beats of silence, “Yeah?”

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.”

You open the door to see that Finnick is sitting on the corner of the bed. He looks up when you step inside, you shut it behind you, and lean against the door, “I’m sorry about earlier. I know we had an agreement, but the sponsors were at my disposal. I decided that I might as well, because I was sure that it would work.”

“And it should’ve.” Finnick mutters, “I would just like it if you wouldn’t go and do it again.”

“Yeah, I won’t. I don’t even have the options for it.” you laugh slightly, he cracks a smile, “You should probably know that I prioritize my mentoring job over everything else. If it’s the needs of the tributes versus you, I’m going to pick the tributes every time.”

“I know, you don’t have to be sorry for it.”

“Good, cause I wasn’t.” you grin.

Finnick rolls his eyes, “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

“You can probably guess what it is.”

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with the horribly covered up hickeys, would it?” He’s cheeky now.

“Maybe.” you give him a soft smile, “I’d just like to know what we’re doing, and if we’re going to continue on with it.”

Finnick makes a face, “This is going to sound like shit, but I’ll go with what you want.”

“You’re right, it does sound like shit.” he laughs first, and then you join in, “The thing is, Finnick, is that I don’t have a problem with it. But the last time I checked, you were the one that told me that we weren’t good together. So are you sure that you’ll go with what I want, or are you going to break up with me in a couple of months after you realize it again?”

Finnick opens his mouth, and then closes it. “I deserve that.”

“It wasn’t an explanation, Finnick. In fact, it made things worse when we were just fine on the train, and then you come back from seeing Snow and--!” you’re shaking your head, giving yourself a moment before you start speaking again, “and suddenly I was supposed to know that we weren’t together anymore.”

“But you know why now, right?” Finnick asks.

“Parts of it.” you rub on the ring, “I know that it was because of Snow and the sex work. He made you break up with me to make you more available to the Capitol, right?”

“No, I actually made that decision myself.” he says.

You raise your eyebrows.

Finnick stares, tilts his head for a moment like he’s unsure, “There’s more to it.”

You wait, thinking that he’s just going to give up the information, but he doesn’t, “Okay…?”

“I don’t want to make you feel guilty.”

“Then why’d you say anything at all?”

He laughs, “To not make me look like an asshole.”

You snort.

“Alright well,” Finnick pauses, “President Snow had me taken to his mansion after the train, you know this. He told me that it’s not uncommon for victors to be well received by the Capitol, but I was different because I was handsome or whatever,” his face twists, “And since I was sixteen, I was finally eligible since it’s more morally correct to sell a teen into sex slavery when they’re sixteen and not fourteen.

“Snow said that I didn’t have a choice. I had to get into it or…” Finnick shakes his head, “There wasn’t even an or at the time. He just said that it was something I had to do, and I told him no, because I was finally feeling better and I had you. Then he urged me to say yes, didn’t even tell me that there would be consequences, so I told him no again….”

He’s angry, “And he fucking killed my entire family, gave the order right in front of me. I thought he was kidding, like it was some sort of sick joke until I had to fucking listen to it.” Finnick looks at you, “He didn’t even flinch when the screaming started, or when my brother started crying. I didn’t even know what to do. And after it was over he told me that the next person he’d kill next would likely be you, or your family if he could get to them. Or worse, sell your body too.”

You can feel the blood drain from your face.

“And I didn’t want that to happen, so I said yes. And then I broke up with you because I hoped that it would make the decision a whole lot easier but I think…” he grits his teeth, “I know it would’ve been easier with you to support me.”

No words form in your mouth, you stand in silence as you try to absorb the information.

“I’m…” your eyebrows draw in, “...selfish.”

“No.” Finnick says, “You’re not. You didn’t know, how were you supposed to? I told you nothing, I wanted a clean cut but it turned out to be messy, I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing, Finnick?” you look at him, “I’ve been giving you a hard time--why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you come around later?”

“Because you moved on, like you should’ve.”

“I didn’t!” you laugh, moving forward, “Finnick, I hardly spoke to anyone after the year we broke up. My brothers fucking hated you for that entire year because of it. It took forever to convince them otherwise. The entire time, I was hoping that you were going to come around and tell me that it was some stupid prank. I would’ve forgiven you!”

He gives you a smile, “It’s better that I didn’t.”

You give him a look, and then sit on the hammock, “I guess that explains a lot.”

“You guess?” He laughs, “That’s it?”

“There’s not much to say, Finnick.” you shrug, “You said you didn’t want to make me feel guilty and I do anyway.”

“I didn’t have a choice. If you want, you could thank me for saying yes.”

You stare at him, he develops a cheeky smile, “Come on, that was mildly funny.”

“Mildly is the key word.”

The two of you sit in silence for a second, and then you dip your head, “I would be willing to give it another try, if you are.”

“Yeah.”

He’s got a grin on his face, like you just told him he’s getting a car for christmas.

“My brother’s will have to warm up to you again.” you warn him.

“Okay! They liked me before, right? What’s one more time?”

“They hardly give out second chances so you’ll have to consider yourself lucky.”

Finnick softly smiles, “I already am.”

A sharp pain in your chest wakes you in the morning. Your eyes shoot open, sitting upright in bed. It spreads immediately, like your heart is pumping it out; the source of the problem. You try and take a deep breath, hoping that you’ll get your mind off of it, but it makes the pain worse. Mid-breath, you stop, and exhale too deeply, causing another shock to go through you.

A groan leaves your lips, tears appearing in your eyes. You carefully get out of bed, wanting to be on your feet, hoping that laying down was the problem. You make no sudden moves, allowing the blood to make its way to your feet as you pace the room. With your palm, you rub small circles around your chest, which seems to relieve some of the pressure.

The clock on the stand reads eight in the morning, four hours before you actually have to get up and get ready for the day. You have a feeling that if you go and lie back down now, right when the pain is beginning to subside, you’re only going to make it worse. Plus, you don’t think that you’ll be able to fall back asleep, not with the adrenaline running through your body.

You take deep breaths when it doesn’t hurt, starting to feel dizzy from the self-hyperventilation. In no time, the pain is almost completely gone, only lingering in aches every now and then. You stand around for a few minutes longer, watching the sun rise high enough to finally come through the window before deciding that you might as well get ready.

The Tribute Center seems to have found its happy medium between too hot and too cold, as last night it was like existing in a frozen tundra. You’re lucky that the blanket they provide retains heat, otherwise you would’ve been bundled up a lot more than you were. Because of this, you think that you can settle for a lukewarm shower.

You lock your bedroom door before disappearing into the bathroom. The shower runs in the background as you undress, throwing all the dirty clothes by the door. You look over the tattoo on your collarbone, which is practically done healing by now. With the cream that the tattoo artist gave you, it doesn’t take weeks to heal like it does in the districts. As for the one on the back of your neck, it looks like it was done yesterday, when really it was years ago.

When you step inside the shower, you allow the water to run through your hair. You might as well wash it today. The shampoo you use smells like straight sugar, same goes for the conditioner. The bottle says it’s good for your hair, but the list of chemicals on the back is seriously concerning. The bathroom provides a matching body wash that smells exactly like the shampoo. You know for a fact that you saw a body lotion in one of the drawers, a part of you wonders if that’ll be overkill.

You turn the shower off and let the machines dry your body and hair. You decide to use the body lotion anyway, and by the time you realize that it’s glittery, it’s too late. You stare at your hands for a couple of minutes in shame, watching the white shimmer in the light. However, when it’s completely spread over your body and dried, it doesn’t transfer onto your surroundings, so that’s a good sign.

You brush your teeth while manually putting your hair together. You go for half-up, half-down since it’ll keep most of the hair out of your face. In the end, you still pull out a few strands to make sure that your face isn’t bland. Before you can do anything else, you have to get dressed.

The dresser holds plenty of skirts to work with, which you’re not opposed to. You sift through them, figuring that white will be fine. When you hold it up to your hip, you see that the skirt ends above the knee, so Finnick won’t have a reason to freak out. As for the shirt, you settle for a light pink, scoop neck bodysuit, with white underwear. When you finally get the entire outfit put together, you look at yourself in the mirror.

You’re very pretty today. The skirt doesn’t ride up too bad, even when you move quickly. The bodysuit prevents anything serious from showing, just in case the skirt does find a way to get stuck, or you spin too fast. You apply mascara, pull on white slip-on tennis shoes and the ring. Needless to say, you’re looking extremely girly today.

The clock says it’s reaching nine, you’d say that breakfast will take thirty, and then you can meet Finnick in the betting room at ten. So, you go out to the dining room to see that Elysia is nowhere to be seen. You refuse to believe that she left before you got up, she has to be sleeping in. Normal Capitol people stay up late and rise at noon. But then again, Elysia is an escort and she’s far from normal sometimes.

An avox turns on the tv, so you sit down at the table and wait as they serve brunch in front of you. It’s hashbrowns, steak, and a bowl of assorted fruit. You pick through your food, not super hungry and in the mood for all of it. Nevertheless, you’re sure to thank the avox that serves it to you, and continues to come back around to give you orange juice and coffee.

The arena screen is split into three, which isn’t new. It was like this last night, since there aren't many tributes to focus on at the moment. If there’s only three, you might as well show all of them and what they’re doing. At least one of them has to be doing something mildly interesting.

Tekla is still in her small clearing in the trees, which is fairly close to the dam, now that the gamemakers have marked it on the map. It’s a beautiful place to rest, you’d even picnic there if you had the opportunity. It’s not a good spot, though. It’s too close to the dam, too easy to kill her if and when it breaks. Still, she lays on her back, eyes closed. You can’t tell if she’s awake or not, but you’re going to guess that she is, judging by how her hands are intertwined over her stomach.

If she were sleeping, she’d probably be more annoyed by the sun. Instead, she’s directly under it, which might actually end up giving her a sunburn if she isn’t careful. That’ll be miserable to work with inside of the arena. You can’t even do anything to remedy the burn this far in, except for natural leaves and plants. You can’t think of any off the top of your head that you’ve seen so far.

Sanguin is in the cornucopia, she’s awake and stretching. She doesn’t look tired, despite the fact that it’s obvious that she just got up. Judging by her ratty blonde hair and the way her face twists each time she leans over. She stands up straight, and then grins slightly, turning around and going back inside. She combs through her hair with her fingers and sits on the edge of a box, sword right next to her. Maybe she’s planning on going out hunting today? You hope she doesn’t actually think she’ll get anything out of the village.

Especially with how awful Annie is looking. She’s got her arms wrapped around her body, knees pulled to her chest. The good news is that she looks to be asleep, mouth slightly open, leaned up against the connecting wall in the corner. But she’s got deep purple bags beneath her eyes, she’s only recently fallen asleep. You wonder how long it’ll last before she’s jolting awake.

It’s good that she’s sleeping, with no thanks to the medicine that you sent her. It probably drove her insane into early this morning, like you said would happen last night. You’d say that it’s a good thing, but with the way that Sanguin keeps looking to the village, it’s not. Annie needs to get up and be ready for a fight. Unfortunately, there’s no way you can warn her of this. You’re all out of options.

You finish your food, thank the avoxes, and leave for the betting room. There’s not a lot going on right now, it’s early morning. Everything big that happens in the arena is normally dedicated towards the afternoon to the evening, for the gamemakers at least. As for the tributes, they’re welcome to make and wreak havoc as they please, when they see fit.

The betting room is quiet and empty when you get down there. Finnick and Gloss are sitting by each other on the couch. You hold the doorknob on the door, carefully setting it against the doorframe so that they won’t hear you. If they thought that you scaring them was bad when they were semi-expecting you, it’s going to be worse when you’re supposed to be sleeping.

You stand behind them for a moment, squinting down at them, wondering if they have the same sixth sense that you do when people are standing over you. Your question is answered when Finnick barely glances over his shoulder, and then jumps three feet in the air when he realizes that they’re not alone. Gloss has the same moment, inhaling sharply.

A laugh erupts from you as you go around the couch to sit on the arm next to Finnick, “You two are too easy.”

“You’re like a fucking ghost, I didn’t even hear you come in.” Gloss says.

“That was on purpose.” you cross a leg beneath your thigh, “Woke up early by accident, thought that it wouldn’t hurt to come down and keep you two company for a little while.”

“Well, the afternoon schedule was nice while it lasted.” Finnick mutters.

Your face twists, you look down at him, “You’re a bad liar. There’s no way you like waking up at midnight and going to bed at noon.”

Finnick tilts his head for a moment, making a face, “I mean…”

You slap the side of his head before he can say anything else, “You don’t have to prove you’re a teenage boy.”

The Morning Line Odds say that everyone is still at where they were yesterday, so there’s no need to take in new information. You’re really just left to sit and wait for anything important to happen inside of the arena. In the meantime, you talk to Finnick and Gloss about the unusual silence. With your guys’ luck, it’s not going to last very long. There’s no way that the gamemakers will allow two normal days in a row.

However, today’s the ninth day of the games. You’re sure they’re going to want to keep it going on for a little while longer, so maybe they will allow fate to be in the tribute’s hands. In that case, you all might as well buckle up for a long day, because it’s going to take hours for Sanguin to make it to Annie, with the pace she’s going right now.

It’s almost ten in the morning when people begin showing up inside of the betting room. All brightly dressed, and particularly chatty this morning. This is when you decide to officially sit between Finnick and Gloss, not wanting the sponsors to see that you’re in a skirt today. Finnick seems happy, which is all that matters.

Unfortunately, Annie wakes up. She jolts, eyes flying open as she reaches for her knife. She gets to her feet without a word, carefully making her way across the bedroom to the window, where she rubs it down to look outside of it. Her eyebrows are drawn together, staring straight at the dam.

She seems satisfied for a second, gently nodding to herself. She goes to move away, until Sanguin comes into clear view. For half a second, you think to yourself that it’s a good thing that Annie is paranoid, because she just spotted the threat she’s been waiting for. After that, Annie scoops up all of her belongings, not leaving a single trace that she was there, besides the now-clean window.

She carefully goes down the steps, making it to the base floor without falling through the floorboards. Outside, she takes a deep breath, shuts the door and tries to jam some rocks beneath the door to make it harder to open. She tiptoes in grass to make sure that there’s no footprints, makes it a few houses over before she even considers walking through the dirt again.

None of it matters in the end.

A thunderous crack echoes throughout the arena so loudly that it breaks the microphones and makes several people scream out in surprise. You all watch in deafening silence as the dam continues to crack, and water begins to spurt out in large streams.

Your heart pounds in your chest. Today is the day.

You stand from the couch, moving a few feet forward to see better. Finnick and Gloss join you, not a single word passes between you three as you watch in awe. If such small cracks are already sprouting in streams big enough to create rivers, then how will the rest of the water fare? You have no choice but to wait and watch.

The screen is now in four, with one long screen on top completely dedicated to the dam, and three bottom squares for the tributes.

Tekla is on her feet, already rushing down the hill. She’s got no weapons on her hand, no backpack to weigh her down. She’s left it all behind in her peaceful circle in the woods. She whips through bushes, swings around trees, barely makes it over root and rocks on her way down. She’s freaked, struggling to keep her hair out of her face, constantly tucking it behind her ears.

Her feet look like they have a mind of their own, though. With the way that she goes down, it’s almost like she’s dancing, how flowery it is. However, her panic isn’t easily masked. She’s obviously shaking, and sometimes she’ll fuck up and have to catch herself before it’s too late.

Sanguin is standing on top of the hill, everything still on her as she stares at the water making its way towards her. Her eyebrows are pushed together, trying to assess the situation and if it’s worth worrying over. The answer is yes, because it’s only a matter of time before the rest of the concrete blows, and she’s left with a real problem. She slowly turns her back to it, picking up her pace, jogging through the grass. She’s still carrying all of herself.

And finally, Annie is also running through the buildings, just as panicked as Tekla is. The only thing that Annie has is her knife, clutched with white knuckles. She’s as white as a sheet too, breathing heavily through her mouth. You can empathize with her, even if she’s a while away, she knows that she can still be reached.

Another large crack sounds, Tekla slaps her hands over her ears and risks a glance behind her. There’s a jagged horizontal crack that runs from the right side to the left. It’s a matter of time before it goes. The concrete is spider-webbing, developing into a worse problem. Tekla tries to quicken her pace, but there’s only so fast you can go downhill before you risk hurting yourself.

Sanguin has dropped her things, running as fast as she did to catch up with Bauhinia. Her feet slam into the ground, and launch her forward another couple of feet before she’s connecting with the dirt again. She makes it across the second lower clearing, going uphill again. Those hills are going to be an absolute killer when it comes to the water.

The gamemakers are evil. It’s been exactly nine days, ten minutes and forty seconds since the tributes got inside of the arena. You said a week and a half? It hasn’t even been that. They’re in a hurry to get the big event over before one tribute can kill another. Why? Because it’s more fun cheering on the running tributes than watching them kill each other. It’s like betting on a running horse, who’s going to make it to the finish line first?

Annie stops, taking in deep breaths as she watches the dam through a row of trees. She’s able to watch as the final crack breaks the dam open like an egg. Concrete and debris go flying into the trees as the water creates a nasty flattening path through the woods. Almost every tree that the front water initially hits, is uprooted and brought with.

Tekla’s scream is piercing, lasting a couple of seconds before she’s completely cut off. She doesn’t die immediately, you’re able to watch as the water brings her along. She’s suspended in the middle, legs kicking, hands wrapped around her throat. She has half the mind to hold her breath, so that’s good news. The bad is that she’s a quarter mile underwater. There’s no way she’ll make it to the surface in time, if she did know how to swim.

You think you’ll have to watch her drown when she runs out of air, but an entire tree branch goes straight through her back and out the middle of her chest. Bubbles erupt around her face, hands grabbing the wood just before the cannon sounds. One down, three to go.

Sanguin has one more hill to make it up before she’s in the village. Her arms are pumping, face a bright red, her glances over her shoulder are quick and spared. She doesn’t do it often because it slows her down, it’s a brief check to see how far ahead she is in front of the water. And the truth is that it’s catching up on her. Just like you said, the hills are a nightmare.

Not only because she has to run up them, which tires her out more. But because the water gains momentum and unpredictability with every hill it surges over. The water doesn't seem to endlessly pour out of the dam, though. It seems like the gamemakers had a prepared forcefield. They just wanted to let out a controlled amount of water. Big enough to kill a couple of tributes before it thinned out and became a minimal threat.

Sanguin starts uphill the same moment the water hits the hill just behind her. Down it goes for a couple of seconds, before it’s surging above her in a giant wave. Sanguin makes it into the village, running beneath the roofs as if it’ll protect her from the water. She runs straight for a while, before starting to zig zag towards the corner.

She must realize that it’s not worth it, and that the diagonal running only slows her down, because she goes back to running straight, heading closer and closer to where Annie had been staying.

Speaking of which, Annie’s on the run again. You can tell that she’s keeping track of the height of the water. Even though the houses are decades old, they seem to be slowing down the water, since they’re all individually filling up inside. Sanguin doesn’t seem too focused on the fact, mostly wanting distance. She’s almost on the brink of losing it, though. Her steps are getting sloppier the more she goes.

Annie goes around a corner and into an alleyway, effectively blocking the water from her sight. It’s stupid, she’s not going to be able to keep track of it the same way she has. Sanguin has a point when it comes to running straight away from the water.

And then she starts climbing the walls. With how narrow the walkway is, she can scoot her way up little by little. It burns a lot of her time, and cranks up your anxiety, watching her do this. You know that she’s trying to get herself above the tide now. The houses where she’s at, are at least two stories tall each, not counting the roof.

Annie grabs the gutters, using her arms to pull her onto the red-orange shingles. You get a glimpse from where she’s at now to see that the water is lower, but she’ll still have to swim, even if she gets onto the high point of the roof. She takes one last look at her knife before she frisbee’s it to her right, making sure that it’s far away from her when the water does come.

Sanguin is losing ground. Soon, she’ll be stuck swimming too. It seems like that their times are lining up. Annie bends her knees, cracks her fingers, prepares her arms. Sanguin’s glances get more and more frequent, anticipating the moment the water hits her.

Annie dives straight in, letting the water welcome her. She doesn’t waste time, swimming straight to the top. Her face is serious, she has her eyes locked on the surface, kicking her legs hard, arm over head. While Sanguin holds her breath, fingers squeezing her nose shut, eyes following the structures in front of her. She narrowly misses the wall of the first house, before slamming right into the neck.

Just like with Tekla, there’s a large burst of bubbles. Sanguin struggles now, trying to swim to the top. She makes a few inches at a time, but it’s hardly noticeable, or comparable with how well Annie is doing. In fact, she’s reached the surface already, inhaling loudly.

The water directs Sanguin into a wall again, this time her head cracks against the wall. The water turns a light shade around her head, and it’s minutes before the cannon finally sounds. Which signals the water to drain, lowering Annie onto a roof nearby.

Her dark hair is stuck to her face and neck, clothes completely drenched. Her mouth is slightly parted, breathing loudly.

You grab onto Finnick’s arm, “Oh my god.”

“Congratulations, guys.” Gloss has got a grin on his face, he slaps you on the back.

“She did it.” you say, “Annie’s done it!”

Claudius Templesmith’s, the announcer, voice comes over the arena, “Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victor of the Seventieth Hunger Games, from District Four, Annie Cresta!”

Annie’s face drains of color again, before it’s bursting in red, “I win.” she murmurs at first, barely audible, before tears of relief are filling her eyes. Much louder, this time she screams; “I win!”

REDAMANCY IS PART 2 OF A TRILOGY //MASTERLIST//

add yourself to the TAGLIST

@f1nal-g1rl / @starlight-selene / @neenieweenie / @amixedwitch / @accxio / @suranne-doesstuff

#ilguna #finnick odair #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fanfic #redamancy #redamancy chapter eight #finnick odair redamancy

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delimeful · 4 years

Text

you will see a better day

donation drive commission for @starrykid with the prompt: Remus dealing with intrusive thoughts and the others helping him through it.

warnings: canon setting, intrusive thoughts (a fair amount), gore mentions, implications of thoughts of self harm, Remus Going Thru It

Before, whenever he had a Bad Day, it was just more fuel on the trash fire that was his brain.

It was routine: Remus would wake up with a litany of grotesque images on the back of his eyelids, present every time he blinked or squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. These thoughts weren’t the fun kind of gross, the type that was fascinating or funny. They weren’t fun because he didn’t choose them, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get rid of them if he didn’t like them.

Guess that was how everyone else felt about you. Remus mashed a pillow over his own face as though it would muffle his own mind. What a stupid thought. He was a luxury few could afford, thank-you-very-much!

Back then, as soon as possible, he would find someone else in the Mindscape to bother, because if he had to deal with the awful thoughts carving and chipping away at the inside of his skull, it was only fair to share.

That was before, when things had been black and white and he could be a monster all he pleased because it wasn’t like anyone else thought differently. It wasn’t like Thomas thought differently.

Until he did.

And now they were all in one muddled up Mindscape and the others were trying, making an effort to clot their own bad habits and setting a place for him at the table. It was slow-going, like shoving a square peg into a circular hole, but it was also the most he’d ever had. Until something splintered, he was going to soak in every minute of it.

Or at least, that was his plan, up until he hit another Bad Day like a semi truck hit thrice-dead roadkill.

Same thoughts, same pounding (heh) headache. The difference was, now he couldn’t go word-vomit all over the nearest Side until he felt a little less like he was drowning. He was working to keep the delicate peace in his own way, and that meant not bothering the others with his… himself-ness on days like these.

He couldn’t stay in his room all day, though. For one it was boring, and for two, ever since they’d all agreed to try and cohabitate, Patton and Janus in particular were insistent on checking in if anyone acted strange. Cooping up in his room and not being his usual fantastically sickening and outrageous self would definitely pop up on their radar. If that happened, there was no way he could fool Janus outright. He preferred his own brand of frank honesty anyways, so clearly the only solution was to behave normally enough that nobody looked twice.

His version of normal, anyhow.

He groaned loudly and then dragged in a breath, manifesting a pair of slippers that looked uncannily like dead fish onto his feet. He would just have to put his excellent acting skills to use.

—-

Remus’s willpower was put to the test as soon as he reached the kitchen. A new record of his ability to destroy plans, this must be why Janus never told him anything.

Patton was spinning himself in circles on one of the round stools by the bar counter, humming a cartoon theme brightly to himself. At the stovetop, Virgil was sedately flipping pancakes, an easy set to his shoulders that meant he had probably recently taken a long-overdue nap in Logan’s room.

Normally, Remus would already be halfway into teasing the hell out of him, but now his brain felt scrambled with panic. Virgil was particularly susceptible to getting dragged into the cycle of intrusive thoughts on days like these, which meant the anxious Side was the last one he wanted to run into at the moment.

Two birds with one brick, his stupid hell brain suggested slyly. Send Virgil into a spiral and then it’ll be him who gets nagged, his fault for ruining the friendly atmosphere.

Stop it. Remus’s face twitched into a self-directed snarl for a moment, and he forced the thought away as Patton finally slowed his rotation to smile dizzily at him.

“Remus! Good morning!”

Virgil glanced over his shoulder, sending Remus’s heart rate briefly into the triple digits. Be normal be normal be normal. “Hey, Re. Morning.”

He didn’t even notice. So much for being your friend. If you’re subtle enough, you could sidle up behind him and smash his face into the hot burner—

“WHAT’S UP, FUCKERS!” Remus shouted, teeth spread in a too-wide grin. He bounced into the kitchen, depositing an assorted handful of teeth (his preferred currency) into the swear jar before Patton could say anything, and planted himself on the middle bar stool.

Patton scooted one stool closer to be next to him, because of course he did. Remus resisted the urge to start prying out handfuls of hair, his own or— no. Toned down, he was keeping it toned down. Buttcheek on a stick, this was difficult.

“Want to spin with me?” Patton asked, shifting antsily from side to side with barely contained energy.

“Whoever pukes first wins?” Remus replied automatically, and felt a bright burst of giddy joy when Patton giggle-snorted instead of recoiling.

“I think upchuck is actually supposed to mean you lose your lunch and the spinning contest, kiddo.”

Of course it did. You were designed to be the loser, even if you try to change the rules.

Remus knew that this time Patton had spotted the way his lips twitched down into a grimace, but before the fatherly side could say anything, there was the clink of ceramic plates on the counter in front of them.

“No spinning and/or vomiting if you want to eat my pancakes,” Virgil demanded, wielding a spatula threateningly at them as he clicked the stovetop off. “We’ll never hear the end of it from Princey if he has to reconjure all the furniture.”

Irrational, heated anger burned through him. Like Virgil could do anything to stop you. Social interaction was enough to give the guy a panic attack, he couldn’t tell Remus to do or not do anything—

“You good, Re?” Virgil asked, and he jerked, avoiding the other Side’s gaze as though eye contact would expose his thoughts. After a beat too long, his mind finally caught up with the plate in front of him.

His pancake was covered in a truly disgusting amount of cheese and ketchup, the way he always requested it back when they’d all been Dark Sides. Despite the fact that he always made a face back then, Virgil had made a point to remember, had done it without asking.

Like ravenous wolves, his thoughts instantly turned against him.

Pathetic. How could you think things like that about people who trust you? You shouldn’t even be here, pretending to be a person. You deserve everything coming to you.

His hand made it halfway to the fork sitting innocently next to his plate before he remembered himself. Virgil was still looking at him, clearly having caught the motion, and Remus lowered his hand, white-knuckled.

“Me, good? That’s a funny one, V-mo!” he tried to joke, but the odd edge to his voice made it fall flat. Virgil was outright frowning now, and out of the corner of his vision Patton’s eyebrows were drawing together.

“What’s wrong?” Virgil asked, his frame tight with tension and his gaze drilling into Remus. “Are you hurt?”

“I could be!” Remus blurted, trying to keep his tone saucy but ending up with something closer to desperate. “You ever think maybe bashing my skull in would be better than having to deal with its contents?”

The two of them winced, and he knew he’d given himself away completely. Shit.

Virgil reached out, and then stopped himself before he could make contact. Can you blame him? Jumping into an electrified tank of leeches would be more comfortable than willingly exposing himself to you.

Something of his internal diatribe must have shown on Remus’s face, because Virgil’s hesitant expression flickered into regret.

“Shit,” he swore, and this time Patton didn’t chide him. “I can’t-- I don’t want to send you into a spiral, Re. If I touch you, we’re just going to be stuck in a feedback loop of bad thoughts.”

“Like how you’re perpetually stuck in 2009?” Remus offered, instead of listing all the ways he could feasibly remove Virgil’s eyes from their sockets. It would almost be fun, if it wasn’t his friend’s eyes he was contemplating prying out with a spoon handle.

Virgil’s lips pulled up slightly. “Yeah, just like that. I’m gonna go get the others. They’ll be able to help you for real.”

He sunk out, and Remus’s head started to ache more severely as terrible and often gory predictions for the future began to crowd his mind. He shoved his hands into the roots of his hair and tugged ferociously.

“Hey, buddy, you shouldn’t pull on your hair like that,” a concerned voice chimed in. Remus had almost forgotten Patton was still there, sitting only a seat away.

He pulled harder on his hair, both out of spite and to distract himself from the urge to summon a weapon and see if Patton would still look at you with so much pity if you shanked his ass and tied his intestines into little bows.

“Hey, what do you call a seasick croc?” Patton asked, abruptly enough that Remus managed to shake his train of thought. He glanced up to look at the Heart, who offered him a tremulous mischievous smile. “A crocobile.”

Remus snorted, and Patton’s smile seemed to firm up.

“How about, why do ducks have tail feathers?” the moral Side asked in that same leading tone.

Remus thought for a minute. “‘Cause otherwise they’d lose their balance in flight and go splat against the nearest window?”

“I mean, maybe, but also!” Patton held up a finger for emphasis. “They have tail feathers to cover their… butt-quacks.”

There was a beat of anticipation where they both stared at each other, and then Remus threw his head back and outright cackled. Patton fist pumped in delight.

“I thought you might like that one, kiddo,” he said, beaming. Before Remus could reply, possibly with an atrocious pun of his own, Roman strode into the room.

There was a brief, awkward pause as the two of them made eye contact. Patton looked rapidly between them with concern, and Remus couldn’t blame him. Even now, their one-on-one interactions tended to end with vicious spats. They were too good, too practiced at pressing each other's buttons to settle into the newfound peace easily.

“... Bad one?” he finally asked, as though he could spot the wrong-evil-awful all over Remus from a mile away. Remus felt his expression drop into an irritable glower worthy of Anxiety, but before he could retort, Roman was seating himself primly on the communal couch.

He ran his hand through the hair at the nape of his neck in a nervous habit Remus constantly teased him about, and then straightened his shoulders and patted the cushion next to him. “I’ll… like when we were kids. If you want.”

Despite Patton’s confused head tilt, Remus got it immediately, and ignored the screaming violence in his head in favor of bodily throwing himself over the couch, jostling the hell out of his brother and eliciting a Grade-A Bitchface from him in the process. Remus grinned maliciously in return.

“Do the one that looks like a snake,” he demanded, running a hand through his hair and lengthening it. Of course, in addition, thick clumps of hair ended up falling out entirely, leaving weird-feeling bald patches that might have been interesting if he’d actually intended to create them.

“On purpose or don’t want it?” Roman asked, echoing a familiar question from their childhood. It had been a royal decree, before they grew so divided, that one had to ask before ‘fixing’ anything the other did, just in case it was on purpose.

“How are you supposed to braid what isn’t there?” Remus grumbled, gnawing on the inside of his cheek as he unwillingly imagined restapling his hair to his skull. “Don’t want it.”

Roman dragged his fingers through Remus’s hair, lengthening it until it was long enough to do all sorts of stupid-complicated braids. He also made the new hair unforgivably glossy and apple-scented, but Remus could get him back for that later, when he was sure it wouldn’t be (nails through nasal cavities, a cloud of suffocating darkness, decaying hands pulling you down into freshly turned soil and burying you alive) disproportionate retribution.

Two braids later, Logan appeared, rising up in the mindscape with his tie perfectly aligned but lab goggle imprints around his eyes. He only took a moment to absorb the scene, as though it was normal that everyone was crowding around Remus attentively. “Virgil informed me that you could use some assistance?”

Remus snorted. “Maybe you can perform some impromptu brain surgery to stop me thinking? Hey, if you don’t use anesthetic, I promise not to squirm too much, doc.”

“I don’t believe that man’s ever been to medical school,” Roman quoted absently, still caught up in combining three braids together into one.

Logan rolled his eyes. “Regardless of my unfortunately lacking PhD status, I believe brain surgery to ‘stop one thinking’ is also colloquially referred to as an induced coma.”

“Perfect!” Remus cheered, and then yelped when Roman tugged on his hair harshly in retribution. Patton was making that half-pitiful, half-furious face that he always made whenever the emo talked bad about himself, strangely enough.

“There are plenty of adjectives I could use to describe such a solution, but none of them would be ‘perfect’, Remus,” Logan continued. “A more effective and patient-friendly answer would be addressing your irritating or harmful thoughts through the use of various mental health tactics.”

Easy for him to say. “That might work for Tommy-boy, but I am the harmful or irritating thoughts, remember?”

“Falsehood.” Logan declared, proving that no matter what aspect of Thomas they were, the Sides were all dramatic theater kid bastards at heart. “It has become increasingly clear that while we all formed to handle certain tasks or aspects, we are all increasingly complex at heart. None of us can be diminished to simply one trait. In the same way that Virgil is much more than the experience of anxiety, there is no logical reason to reduce yourself to the thoughts that you struggle with.”

Remus shook his head, though he wasn’t sure what part of the assertion he was resisting. Logan folded himself into a sitting position and reached over for Remus’s hand, his touch grounding.

“You’ve gotten through days like this before. You’ll continue to do so after,” Logan told him.

“I got through Bad Days by making everyone’s day bad,” Remus retorted. “I’m not you, but I’m not stupid. Nobody wants me making it into a communal event.”

“That’s what family’s for though,” Patton said, shifting closer from his own spot on the rug. “Listening. Helping. Having each other’s backs when things get tough!”

Logan’s grip didn’t falter. Roman’s presence was solid at his back. Remus was beginning to wonder if he’d snorted something hallucinogenic recently.

“The sentiment is admirable, if a bit hypocritical,” a familiar voice chimed in, and Remus looked up to see Janus leaning elegantly against the kitchen archway. Virgil elbowed his way past, ruining the dramatic pose and flopping down on the couch next to Remus. He bumped his shoe against Remus’s leg in quiet camaraderie.

“Hypocritical?” Logan echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“Unless you’d like to tell me that everyone here has no problems whatsoever asking for help or expressing vulnerability on their bad days,” Janus proposed, smugly.

Logan inclined his head slightly. “Point.”

“Regardless, that doesn’t make Logic or Morality incorrect.” Janus looked at Remus intently. “None of us are allowed to simply suffer in silence, anymore.”

“I didn’t exactly suffer in silence before,” he pointed out, sounding uncannily sensible. Probably from the nerd’s proximity.

“Then you shouldn’t have a problem now, hmm?” Janus replied.

Logan sighed at them all, collectively, in general. “Look at it from this angle, Remus. Your previous coping mechanism was generally detrimental due to your lack of options and isolation. Now, you have neither of those holding you back. With knowledge and assistance, you can only improve from here on out.”

Now, that was doubtful. “And what if I don’t, huh? What if I just get worse?”

“Then we’ll still be here.” Logan squeezed his hand, and Janus confirmed his words with a nod, and even though his mind was cluttered and overwhelming, they were all still there at his side without complaint.

Maybe it wasn’t too much to ask, after all.

“Well, what are we trying first?”

#sanders sides #ts remus #ts janus #ts roman #ts patton #ts logan #ts virgil #donation drive #commissioned works #writing #my writing #starrykid #woohoo!#hurt/comfort #found family

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writeblrfantasy · 3 years

Text

excerpt from a council of golden swords: tattooed cairic king

planned this scene weeks ago, forgot about it, enjoyed writing it immensely. poor kayani, they're so in love

anyway i hope you love this as much as i loved writing it, acogs has been kicking my ass this week and this was a nice battle won

Asma crosses her arms. “Take off your shirt.”

Kayani chokes on their own saliva. “What?”

“I’m going to paint you. Take off your shirt.”

Kayani stares at her, open mouthed, a thousand indignities resting on their lips. Asma taps her foot, paintbrush held between two fingers, frowning impatiently. No excuse, no argument, no plea will ever sway her. She is unmovable.

Kayani stares at the floor and loosens the laces of their shirt before whipping it off. They ball it up and stand there holding it until she snatches it from them and tosses it on the sofa. “Sit on the stool,” she says, “and for Cai’s sake, stop looking so stiff. Actually look like you want to be here. You don’t even have to smile. Just look a little less queasy.”

Queasy for a different reason, Kayani thinks, but obediently sits on the wooden stool in the center of the red, blue, and gold room. The yearly trip west, spent in close quarters with almost all of the Cairic army, has driven the modesty out of them, but everything is different with Asma.

She sits on the ottoman and drags her easel closer to her, a tray of paint pools sitting beside her on the sofa. The easel legs scraping against the floor makes Kayani startle. “Relax,” she orders in a tone that’s anything but relaxing.

Kayani folds their hands and tries not to slouch. The hairs that itch when they fall into their eyes will be the least of their worries over the next few hours. Why else would Asma paint them shirtless if not just to torment them?

Once Asma has everything apparently set up to her standard, she looks up and rakes her eyes over Kayani’s torso. Her breath hitches. “You have so many tattoos. I forgot you would.” Her voice disturbs the quiet of the room, breaking a sacred peace, or however peaceful the two of them alone can get.

“Isn’t that why you wanted to paint me shirtless?” Kayani asks. “Why else would you?”

She hides her face behind the canvas and doesn’t bother with an answer. Kayani prepares for a long set of hours filled with waiting, an aching back, and keeping their walls firmly up.

After ten minutes of silence, Asma working quietly, she asks, “What does that one on your chest mean?”

Kayani resists the urge to look down and earn themself their first don’t move, idiot. They could trace the lines of the * in the darkness, in their sleep. “The death of my mother.”

She gasps. “You got tattooed when you were just a child?”

They shrug. “I’ve known some babies who got tattooed after birth because of a difficult or scary pregnancy, complications that should’ve killed them. Parents, too. We use our tattoos to cope with many things, many emotions, but prominently grief. For many people, the experience itself of sitting there for ten hours while a needle pokes into your skin—it helps.”

“By enduring pain?” Asma asks.

Kayani shrugs. “Some people find solace in pain. It’s something real they can grip onto.”

“That’s the funny thing,” Asma says, peering out from over the canvas. “It isn’t.”

Kayani’s eyes drift to the tattoo on her forearm, she follows their gaze and pulls her sleeve down. Kayani remembers it all too painfully well—her poorly stifled tears and cries while getting it, their own desire to comfort her squashed by the hatred in her eyes. It’s their fault she has it.

“What about that one?” she asks, gesturing to the wings covering their shoulders.

“Are you asking because you’re genuinely curious,” Kayani asks, “or just trying to fill the air?” They want to poke further into her reasoning, but they don’t want her to change her mind and throw them out. Alone time with Asma is bliss as much as it’s torture, and they’ll take every last bit of it.

“I got the wings one year after becoming king,” Kayani says. “To celebrate not being assassinated.”

She snorts. “Get better guards.”

“I am my own best guard besides Ajar and Samad. I didn’t want to trust anyone else. The palace guards on rotation can only do so much against an assassin hired by someone who was angry I became king and not my sister.”

Asma rolls her eyes, the soft strokes of her brush soothing to listen to against the faint chatter of birds. “And the one on your back?”

“You’re not painting that one. You can’t even see it right now.”

“Answer the question, dimwit.”

Kayani grins. As much as they love to nag Nikolai about being attracted to the ones who seemingly want nothing to do with you, they’re no less guilty. “I got the first part done after I survived the Trials.” After healing up upon their return, they went straight to the royal tattoo artist. They knew exactly what they wanted: Ajar and Samad standing side by side, blue eyes pointed to the moon.

The two of them are right outside—if Kayani’s quiet, they can hear them scratching at the door—but an ache for them runs through their chest regardless. Sometimes they’re convinced the three of them share a soul.

“I would’ve gotten the outlining done before I left for the Trials for good luck and gotten it filled in after I came back, but I didn’t want to deal with unnecessary pain. I got the second part added on after I came back from my first trip west with the army. That time, I did do it in two halves for good luck, like many of my soldiers.”

Going to get those outlines and later the full lines done with their soldiers had been one of the most rewarding experiences of their life. Sitting beside ten others in a salon, all laughing or grimacing or telling stories to work through the pain reminded them that they could still mix with normal people. Winning the Trials didn’t make them special in the soldiers’ eyes, and Kayani liked it that way.

Their second back tattoo consisted of a light brown stag leaping across the center of their back, over the dogs. “Each trip after was another add on.” They’ve since added a grassy field for the stag and the dogs to rest in, stars for the moon, flowers and sparkles in a mix of reds and browns.

“Your entire body will be covered by the time you die,” Asma says.

“That’s the goal.”

As the hours go by, Asma asks, and this? What about this? That one? What are the ones I can’t see? Kayani answers her every question, shares every story, every memory. They don’t tell her about the one on the back of their ankle, small enough to miss. A golden paintbrush.

Finally, when the sun is halfway to setting and Kayani’s lower half has gone numb, Asma announces she’s done. Kayani wobbles to their feet toward the canvas, but she picks it up before they can see it. They sigh quietly but don’t question it—until she turns around.

She’s painted them in a background more heavily red than the wallpaper behind them. It brings out the red in Kayani’s tattoos, which are obviously the star of her painting. The edges of Kayani’s muscles are blurred, but the lines of the tattoos are as clear and sharp as they are on their skin. Their eyes are halfway open, tired, and Asma captured their faint smile at something she said, maybe some memory that took them away.

The sun from the glass wall behind them drips golden light onto light brown skin, a glowing backdrop for the tattoos. Kayani sat with their left forearm up, right hand holding that wrist, but Asma painted the opposite to hide the tattoo there.

Kayani has never had the eye for beautiful artwork, nor the time to study why people devote their lives to it, but this makes them reconsider. Not because it’s them, of course, they’re not that vain. Because it’s Asma.

“I will call it ‘Tattooed Cairic King’,” Asma says. Kayani can’t take their eyes off her nonchalant expression, the casual way her fingers grip the canvas. She completed this in a day and she acts like she’s holding a piece of cheap furniture. Doesn’t she know all of her artwork will be studied meticulously after her death merely because she’s a queen?

Not just because she’s a queen, Kayani thinks. Because she’s an incredible artist. They wish they had the courage to say so, but knowing Asma, she’d make some crack about their narcissism.

“Where are you going to hang that one?” they ask. “Which guest room or dining hall or office will get the pleasure of seeing my tattoos?

She fixes them with a look. “My suite wall.”

The floor seems to swim under them.

“I thought you hated me,” they manage. “As you pointed out, last time we were together you told me to never come into your sight again.” They gesture to the canvas. “I think that violates your rule.”

For once, Asma’s silence seems to be because of her loss of words, not dramatic pause or the bother of answering a question. “It’s some of my finest work,” she settles on. “I’d like to admire it often. Let people admire it when I’m dead.” She closes her eyes and runs her finger along the top of the canvas. “Also, I’d like to do your back sometime."

“What?” Kayani sputters.

“Oh, come on. If you can survive a needle pricking your skin for ten hours, you can survive sitting still for another six.”

That’s not the problem, Kayani thinks, but only nods. Cai have mercy.

kayani being shook by asma's ability to Art is me @ all the talented artists here yall rock

also if you noticed the tsoa inspiration for "and this?" then props to u

acogs taglist (lmk to be added/removed) @magic-is-something-we-create @inkflight @spencer-nyx @writing-is-a-martial-art @ashen-crest @wisteria-eventide @nikkywrites @denkis-phone-charger @myhusbandsasemni @lynolord @ettawritesnstudies @golden-apple-s-blog @chazzawrites @pen-of-roses

#writing #writeblr #excerpt from my wip #my wip #my writing #fantasy #fantasy writing #fantasy romance #lgbt romance writing #lgbt writing #lila's wips: acogs #bean's excerpts

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peaceoutofthepieces · 4 years

Text

Sink Or Swim

tag list: @cleocc @feeling-kinda-so-so @hopelessromanticvirgo @dreamy-slytherin @adora8 @lockerfivethreefive @painfully-oblivious @poeticinemaa @hischbabe @suckerforsobbe @tayspots @starmansander @theah0lt @zoenneforever @invisibleme @chibibanane

~^~

Friday, 20:02

Songs: ALMA - Chasing Highs; Topic ft. A7S - Breaking Me

Lucas is on a high.

He’s also maybe just high. Just a little bit.

He’s spent the past four hours with Jens. Smoking, and skating, and talking and laughing and together. Jens had taken him to his favourite cafe after school to avoid having to split up to get dinner, and Lucas only realised his intentions when he whipped his phone out to snap a photo of the food in front of him. A week of knowing him, and he’s already introduced Lucas to his most cherished tradition. He hadn’t made much of a deal out of it, beyond a wink towards Lucas and a simple, “Voilá. Vettige Vrijdag is your last round of initiation. Welcome to the Broerrrs.”

It was good food, and Jens had seemed pleased with how happily Lucas wolfed it down, and with only some wheedling, Lucas also managed to get dessert out of him. Jens buying him a smoothie was enough to send his heart soaring, and Lucas is on cloud nine after the first hour.

Only, it doesn’t stop there.

They followed up by going to the skatepark, because it’s Jens’s hangout of choice. They had spent two more hours racing each other down the ramps with laughter ringing between them, both landing on their asses on more than one occasion as they tried to one-up each other. Still, neither could find it in themselves to voice a single complaint. They’d even attempted to go down the slope at the same time, hands latched onto wrists, only to end up sliding in opposite directions and collapsing together in the middle.

Lucas’s stomach and throat still ache from laughing, but in the last hour they’d soothed it over with the bottle of beer Lucas had bought them and the blunt Jens had been hiding. Lucas had spent the whole time trying not to focus too much on the fact that they were sharing, Jens’s lips on the same place his had been not even a second before. He’d spent the whole time trying not to focus on Jens’s lips in general, wrapped around the bottle, blowing out a gentle stream of smoke. Talking to Lucas. They’d spent the whole time talking. Joking and teasing and explaining. Lucas had told him about Kes and Jayden and Isa and the others, as well as a few things about Utrecht in general. Jens had told him about the Broerrrs and his sisters and Antwerp in return, listing all the places he has yet to take Lucas. He hadn’t asked Lucas any questions or pushed beyond what Lucas was willingly telling him, and Lucas could only express his gratitude by extending the same thoughtfulness and teasing him a little more.

He’s been managing the smoking and the drinking and the laughing and the talking. It’s the touching he can’t quite deal with.

The whole evening, there have been small instances of contact. Elbows knocking and arms bumping and hands brushing. Light punches to shoulders and claps on the back and grabs of wrists. Never much, never long, never anything but innocent and friendly. Always burning, always surprising, always something. Leaving Lucas with a constantly stuttering heartbeat.

Now, walking into the party with Jens’s arm tossed casually over his shoulder, Lucas is on a high.

Amber greets them at the door with a cheerful smile, pecking them both on the cheek before ushering them inside. Lucas keeps his own hands stuffed in his pockets and lets Jens steer him through the house, following Amber, who leads them directly to the Broerrrs before disappearing back to her post at the entrance. For a party that has just started, it’s already fairly full, with a small group of people in each corner, spread out along the walls, with a few brave souls already dancing around the center of the room. Moyo and Aaron have managed to claim the sofa. They sit watching the couple heavily making out on the armchair across from them, Aaron with a studious expression and Moyo with a face of mild disgust.

Lucas and Jens share a look, and their laughter comes quiet below the sound of the music. It’s still just enough to capture Moyo’s attention, who gives out a small cheer when he catches sight of them.

Jens pushes Lucas forward first, setting his hands on his shoulders with a wide grin. “I’ve only managed to grab him for an hour, so enjoy him while he’s here.”

Aaron finally drags his attention over at the sound of Jens’s voice as Moyo frowns. “What? Why only an hour?”

“I’m going home after. I really should have left after school, but—” Lucas eyes Jens’s grin and returns it with a smile of his own, “—he’s persuasive.”

Jens happily tugs a lock of his hair before finally letting him go and perching himself on the arm of the couch next to Moyo. “Where’s Robbe?”

“Ditched us. Do you ever pay attention at lunch man?” Moyo raises a brow at him.

Jens heaves a sigh. “He couldn’t have just brought Sander with him?”

Moyo shrugs, shaking his head, before tapping Lucas’s leg. “It’s chill. We have this one instead.”

Lucas grins down at him and just manages to sidestep the kick Jens aims at his ankles. “Glad I’m a good second choice.”

“No way, you’re definitely first choice,” Moyo snorts. “At least you’re not ditching us in an hour to go make out with your boyfriend.”

Lucas can’t help the way his eyes flit to Jens, just for a split second. He can’t help but hide a smile when he realises Jens is already looking back. He looks around them for a distraction and eventually comes up with, “Amber has a pretty nice house.”

“Oh, it’s not hers,” Aaron says, and Lucas and Jens turn to frown at him. “She’s the host, but it’s Luca’s house. Amber didn’t have a free house.”

As Lucas nods in understanding, Moyo suddenly bounces to his feet, causing him to take a startled step back. “Okay, newbie. As a show of solidarity and to cement this friendship, you’re not gonna let me dance on my own, right?”

Lucas gives him a wide-eyed look. “Dance? Oh, no. Sorry, but no. I do not dance.”

“Everyone dances,” Moyo rolls his eyes. “Some people just do it better than others. And you’re pretty, so if you suck, no one cares. Like Jens.”

“Hey,” Jens butts in, literally kicking Moyo’s ass with a quick stretch of his leg. Then he slides to his feet, too, as his lips slip into a challenging smirk, and Lucas understands that he’s in trouble. “Then I’ll only dance if he does.”

He nods at Lucas, and Lucas bites back a groan. He can’t seriously be suggesting what Lucas thinks he’s suggesting. Surely, he can’t be.

“There you go.” Moyo looks much too excited, now. “Come on, you gotta come dance with your two new best friends. It’s bro code.”

Lucas raises his brows, not feeling swayed. “Since when is dancing bro code?”

“Since I became your bro and I’m asking you to dance,” Moyo shrugs.

Jens waves a hand and purses his lips in agreement, as if it’s that simple. It isn’t, until Jens heaves a sigh and sets his hand on Lucas’s shoulder another time, giving him a tiny shake. “Come on, Utrecht. I’m only all yours for another hour. Offer won’t come again.”

Lucas is almost tempted to say ‘good’ and leave it like that. It’s just that...well, the offer may never come again. He knows if he said no, the moment would move on, and Jens would either sit back down with him or be coerced into joining his friend anyway. Lucas would either be left to talk to him more or to watch him, and both sound like fairly appealing options.

But doing it with Jens is suddenly a hard offer to pass up.

Plus, it’s for Moyo. Bro code. Lucas should stick to that, right?

“I thought I’d already completed my initiation,” he complains anyway, giving Jens a pointed look.

Jens just gives his shoulder a squeeze. Lucas feels the touch right down to his toes. “Think of it as...a bonus challenge.”

Lucas can’t help it. He snorts.

It’s enough for the boys to know they’ve won. Jens releases a quiet cheer as Moyo outright whoops, and then he’s being dragged into the middle of the small crowd with a persistent hand on each arm. Lucas only groans once as he lets them pull him along, belatedly wondering how Aaron managed to escape their torture before realising he’s escaped the room entirely. Off to find his girlfriend, Lucas realises, understanding. Lucky.

The people around them part enough to leave a small circle of space, and Moyo starts moving instantly, falling into an easy rhythm. Jens isn’t long joining him, and while his movements aren’t quite as smooth, Moyo is right in that it doesn’t matter. There’s more movement in his head and shoulders than in his legs, but he manages to look good even next to Moyo. Comfortable.

Lucas does not feel comfortable. Everyone else’s limbs feel too close. The music is suddenly too loud to actually listen to, more of a pulse than an identifiable score. The room is too dim and too bright all at once, the ridiculous disco light in the corner making his vision blur red.

“Come on, no just standing there,” Moyo coaxes, and Lucas awkwardly shuffles on his feet, too tense to move the way they are.

Moyo chokes down a laugh and goes to move a step closer, but before he can judge him any longer, a girl with dark bangs and deep red lipstick appears next to him with a smile. “Hi,” she greets cheerily, setting a hand on Moyo’s arm and giving Jens a wave.

Before Lucas can worry about introducing himself, Moyo is asking her if she wants a drink and disappearing from the floor. Lucas lets out a sigh of relief, thinking he’s been let off the hook, and then Jens is stepping right up to him and grabbing his hands. He shakes his head with a cheeky smile, already beginning to rotate Lucas’s arms in some form of a dance. “Nuh-uh. I can see you getting ready to run. But I gotta see this now.”

“Jens,” Lucas warns, though he does nothing to pull his hands away. Jens is so close, so warm in just his red sweater, the heat seeping right through Lucas’s grey one.

He steps even closer, swaying as he goes, and moves his mouth to Lucas’s ear to speak over the music. “Just relax, Luc. Trust me. Okay?”

Lucas can do nothing but nod and hope Jens doesn’t notice how his breath hitches and his cheeks redden. Jens entwines their hands easily, fingers slipping through the web of Lucas’s, and Lucas’s heart gives a sharp stutter as Jens’s breath washes over his cheek.

Jens begins to exaggerate the movement of their arms, pushing and pulling back and forth at their sides, twisting to the rhythm as he does so. Urging Lucas to do the same. Lucas still can’t manage to do much more than tilt his shoulders back and forth in time with Jens, hoping he doesn’t look too ridiculous, not used to this in the slightest. Kes and Jayden aren’t big dancers, either, and they usually stay out of this, unless they’re incredibly drunk or high or both and intent on joking around.

It’s different, looking stupid in front of Jens, who apparently can’t look stupid even if he tries.

He seems to notice that Lucas’s stiffness isn’t easing up, and pulls back, extending their arms between them. He tugs Lucas back in and pushes him away again, and Lucas finally feels a laugh slip out, that only intensifies when Jens guides him into a spin. Lucas lets himself be twirled under Jens’s arm, unable to stop his giggles, and he comes back around to find Jens grinning. Pleased with himself.

Lucas raises a brow and then mimics his movements, lifting his arm and dragging Jens’s with him, pushing forward until the other boy is forced to twist around. Jens spins with slight dramatics, but when he comes back, he drops Lucas’s hands. Lucas doesn’t even have half a second to be disappointed before Jens is right back in his space and settling his hands on his waist.

“Relax,” he murmurs again, and now he’s really, really close. Lucas is gearing up to tell him there’s no way he could possibly relax now, but his shoulders are already drooping, his hips following the guide of Jens’s hands. His body reacting automatically to Jens’s command, the combination of his voice and his touch, and well, that’s interesting.

Lucas’s heart surely shouldn’t survive beating this fast. He’s surprised he hasn’t fainted already, with how quickly his blood must be rushing.

He sets his hands on Jens’s shoulders, because he isn’t sure what else to do with them and he needs the balance. Jens doesn’t seem to mind, keeping them moving, smiling with his face only inches away. “There we go. Now you’re getting it.”

“I absolutely am not,” Lucas snorts, but he’s smiling too. Uncontrollably.

“You are,” Jens insists. “A foal on his new legs, but he’s getting the hang of them pretty quickly.”

Lucas shakes his head, grinning, giving the other’s shoulders a light push, regretting it instantly when Jens actually steps back. Still, he keeps his hands on Lucas’s waist, ensuring he keeps moving. It’s only now, with a bit of breathing space, that Lucas remembers where they are. He remembers the people around them, right next to them, Moyo probably only gone to the kitchen, Amber and Luca and Aaron hovering around somewhere.

He takes a quick step back, doing his best to be natural about it. To not make it appear so sudden and fearful. He doesn’t want to make things weird with Jens. More than anything, he doesn’t think he could handle being teased and watching Jens easily shut them down. He’s sure he just imagines the way Jens’s expression falls for a moment, thinks it must just be minute surprise at the adjustment, because the smile returns to his face just as quickly as it had slipped. He’s dancing into Lucas’s space again in seconds, though now he keeps his hands to himself. Now he lets some of that familiar silliness creep back in. Pulling a face, bottom lip tucked between his teeth, swiveling his head to the beat, utterly ridiculous. Lucas allows himself to laugh at him as he keeps up his own awkward swaying movements.

It’s then that Moyo comes back, alone, cheering at the sight of Lucas finally putting in some effort. He immediately joins in on Jens’s antics, shimmying up to their sides and still coming across as oddly talented.

Lucas surprises himself by having fun, but they make it easy. He even manages to pick up a few steps Moyo insists on teaching him, executing them even better than Jens, much to his chagrin and Moyo’s amusement. They don’t last long, though, barely making it ten minutes before Moyo is collapsing back into his seat on the sofa and Jens is perching on the arm again. Before Lucas can just plop himself down on the floor, Jens gently grabs his wrist and pulls him forward. He sits sideways to allow Lucas to sit on the spot in front of him, propped up against Jens’s leg. Lucas smiles back at him gratefully and ignores the flutter in his chest.

Aaron has returned with Amber and Luca already, Amber comfortably tucked into his lap while Luca has taken up residence in the armchair. She winks at Lucas when he catches her gaze and Lucas grins back, sticking his tongue out at her.

They strike up an easy conversation, full of Luca and Moyo bickering as Aaron laughs along. Lucas allows himself to relax, focusing on Jens’s heavy breathing behind him, still cooling down. After a moment, Jens puts a hand on his back to keep him steady as he slips out from behind him. When Lucas looks up at him questioningly, he simply raises a brow. “Beer?”

Lucas nods, and Jens ruffles his hair before going, slipping around the mass of people and out the doorway. Lucas shifts back into his place, leaning his elbow next to Moyo’s head, and tries to catch up on the conversation.

It only takes a few minutes, however, for Luca to pull him into it anyway. “You’re already ditching us? And here I was thinking we had something special.”

Before Lucas can respond, Moyo snorts. “Jens said the same thing, so get in line.”

Lucas flushes. Luca just points at Moyo, undeterred. “Jens can kiss my ass. I was here first.” She looks to Lucas. “You still like me better than Jens, right?”

Lucas hesitates, lips parting as he searches for what to say. He can’t exactly tell her the truth, which is that he already isn’t sure there’s anyone he likes more than Jens.

Moyo is already cackling next to him. “He hesitated.”

“No,” Lucas rushes to deny, but he can’t quite prevent a small smile from slipping through, and Luca’s jaw drops in disappointment.

She heaves a sigh, shaking her head. “Whatever. I’ll never understand you boys. One day, you’ll come to your senses. One day.” She winks at him again, and Lucas can’t help but laugh, grateful for the soft smile he spots underneath her teasing.

“No, you’re still my fave, Luca,” he ends up reassuring, smiling wide as Moyo laughs again in response.

“Don’t let Jens hear you say that then. Where’d he go, anyway?”

He directs the question up at Lucas, and Lucas shrugs, looking towards the door as if Jens will magically appear. “Just to get a few drinks.”

“What, back in Utrecht?” Moyo laughs. “How fucking long does it take? I bet he saw a pretty girl and forgot all about it.”

Lucas frowns at that idea, feeling suddenly unsettled. Restless, at the realisation Moyo could very well be right. Jens has every reason to go off with whatever pretty girl he runs into and forget all about Lucas.

He rolls his eyes to mask this particular thought process, patting Moyo’s shoulder as he pushes himself up. “I’ll go check and get something myself.”

Moyo nods in acknowledgment and Lucas is off, slipping easily through the small crowd in search of the kitchen. Luca’s house really is nice, the walls all painted in neutral tones and the floors modern, doors clean cut and smooth, not yet worn by decades of age. Lucas only checks one before finding the kitchen behind the next, only to instantly stop in his tracks.

The kitchen is fairly full, groups packed around to talk and laugh in the quieter space, almost all with some type of alcohol in hand, but it’s easy to pluck Jens out of the mass. He’s off to the side of the table, two beers already in hand as he talks animatedly to a girl with long auburn hair.

Jana.

Lucas watches as Jens laughs at whatever she says in response, and then Jana is pulling out her phone and wrapping an arm around his neck, pulling him in until they stand cheek to cheek. Still with massive grins. Both breathtakingly beautiful. The picture perfect couple.

Jens doesn’t step away from her after, just twists his head to look at her and say something else, and Jana tosses her head back and laughs and Lucas’s heart drops into the pit of his stomach.

Before he has even thought about it, he’s making his way back to the other room to collect his coat. He registers Moyo’s concerned glance and questioning, asking where Jens is, and Lucas mutters out an ‘I don’t know’ as he shoves his arms into the sleeves. At Moyo’s further questions, he manages to mumble some excuse about a text along with an apology, followed by a louder goodbye to the whole group before he’s gone.

He almost forgets that he has to walk home and he isn’t really sure where he’s going. The streets at least aren’t too dark, lit up by various streetlights, but it is cold. Lucas pulls his phone out of his pocket and opens his maps, typing in what he thinks is the address of his apartment with shaking fingers. His head is spinning, even though the only substances he’d consumed have long since worn off. His chest gives a sudden heave as he turns off the street, and then his eyes are prickling, and he feels more stupid than ever.

This is almost worse than his years-long infatuation with Kes. At least he’d known Kes for years.

He’s only known Jens a week. Has been his friend for even less time. He’s barely been given a chance to even set their friendship in stone, yet.

Yet here he is, about to cry over him already.

At least now, he’s completely ready to go home.

He fishes out his key once he makes it to the apartment, and it takes him a few tries to get it in the lock and jiggle it open. His nose and cheeks are frosty and surely red, and his hands are numb from having to carry his phone, but at least he didn’t get lost. He’s prepared to go straight to his room to collect his bag, but he isn’t prepared for the sight of his father in the kitchen, waiting for him at the table.

Lucas stares at him as the door falls shut and his father stands, taking a few quick steps to close the distance. Lucas just has time to register the anger in his expression before something is being shoved in his face.

It takes another moment to realise it’s his weed.

“What is this?” Hugo demands. “The slamming doors and ignoring me isn’t enough, so you decided to become a stoner too?”

Lucas can only blink at him.

The man snaps his fingers in front of his face, voice raising. “Answer me, Lucas. What the hell is this? Where did you get it?”

Lucas’s mouth is dry. He has to coerce the words out. “Why the hell were you even in my room?”

His father releases an incredulous <i>ha</i>, tossing his hands up in exasperation. “Nothing, Lucas. Nothing I’m saying is getting through to you! This is hard for everyone involved, but if you think I’m letting you off the hook with the pity card you are out of your damn mind. Is this what you hoped to do, going to live with Jayden? Get out of your mind on drugs?”

He waves the small bag in Lucas’s face, and Lucas scoffs, shoving his hand away. “It’s weed. You wouldn’t even get glanced at at home for carrying that around.”

Hugo drops his hand back to his side and stands up straight, staring at Lucas like he’s never seen him before. Lucas feels suddenly queasy. The pressure returns to his chest all at once, intensified by a dozen, and his breath hitches as he feels the panic creeping up. Don’t, he thinks. Don’t be ruined.

“If you think I’m going to tuck this into your pocket and send you off because it’s just weed, you can think again. What’s going on? This isn’t you, Lucas.”

“How the fuck would you even know?” Lucas demands, the pressure making his voice crack as it builds behind his eyes.

Hugo just shakes his head, filled with a disappointment he shouldn’t be capable of feeling. Since when does he care enough about Lucas, or have enough faith in him, to be disappointed? Since when does he have any faith at all?

“You can just stay here for the weekend then. Right here, in your room. Consider the same rule applying for the next week, and however long after that it takes for you to sort yourself out.”

No, Lucas thinks desperately. The thought is pleading, but he refuses to let his expression waver.

He knows it’s useless.

He marches to his room without another word and makes sure to slam the door behind him. His hands find their way to his hair and give a grounding tug as he leans back against the wood, cursing under his breath.

His phone pings in his pocket, and he doesn’t have the strength to immediately dig it out. He’s sure Kes is asking if he’s on his way, and Lucas doesn’t want to tell him that he can’t come at all. That the only plans he’d been looking forward to are canceled indefinitely.

He shrugs out of his jacket and kicks off his shoes before crawling onto his bed still fully clothed, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He holds it above himself as he thumbs open his messages.

His throat tightens when he realises the notification had been Jens.

jensrolt: hey, Moyo said you left already? I was serious about walking you! have fun this weekend though. don’t miss me too much.

Lucas tosses the phone aside and pulls his pillow over his head.

#van der stoffels #vds #wtfock #skam nl #sink or swim #vds season fic #sos clip

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ahkaraii · 3 years

Text

tov postgame drabblefic (3343 words)

“Raven?! Hey, Raven!”

Raven turns to smile at the little shrimp—who’s really more a jumbo shrimp now, with all the acne that comes with puberty—and waves. “Heya, Boss-man!"

Karol’s embrace draws a startled ‘oof!’ out of him, his blastia-heart creaking against his ribs. “You’re in town!” Karol exclaims. “And you didn’t say?!”

“I just got here, kiddo,” Raven says, patting Karol’s back—it used to be a pat on his head, but his head’s just about level with Raven’s now. “Damn, you’re getting tall!”

“You should’a said you were coming,” Karol grouses into his neck. “I’ve got a client I’m already late for across town.”

“Aww, that’s awright. I’ve got some time-sensitive stuff to get ta, too. We can join up after! Brave Vesperia’s still at the same place, yeah?”

“West corner across Saggitarius, yup!” Karol beams. “See you for dinner, then?”

“I’ll whip you up a Sashimi,” Raven promises.

“That’s a promise, pops!” Karol says, and dashes off. Raven scratches his messy hair and abruptly feels very self conscious about it. It’s just a casual nickname, old man, he don't mean naught by it. Relax.

After a fast-tracked meeting with Harry results in a tussle — poking gentle fun at the boy’s attempt at a beard earns him a “Your ass is grass, old man!!” and a surprisingly competent sword duel ensues — the young Master is turning into a proper Don, now — Raven subtly lets Harry disarm him and sprawls on the floor, dramatically defeated.

“Ohhh, these old bones!” Raven mimics being out of breath. “You’ve finally bested me, Master Harry. Do with my ass what you will.”

“Ugh! You’re so disgusting!” Harry is actually out of breath, so he still needs a bit more practice, but it’s leagues better than he was just a year ago. “A duel is an honourable exchange between men! Stop desecrating it with your jokes!”

“I don’t joke with my ass,” Raven says in his Serious Voice, enjoying Harry’s startled look before he dons his jester’s grin again. “Anywho, this old man’s got places to be, so! Toodles!”

“Wait! Raven! What the hell did you come here for!” Harry’s baritone is quite impressive when he gets proper angry. “Did you just come here to waste my time!”

“Never intentionally,” Raven promises. He’d dropped Flynn’s wax-sealed letter on Harry’s desk during their fight, and points to it as he nimbly leaps up to his usual open window. “There’s your homework, Master Harry! I’ll come by to collect it tomorrow at dawn, ‘kay?”

He leapfrogs out in time to hear Harry’s yelps of protest. “When did you put that there! God damnit, Raven!”

Raven’s grinning as he parkours his way away from Altosk’s headquarters and towards Brave Vesperia’s. If he sharply detours into Saggitarius tavern to catch up with the ladies (and the latest, juiciest gossip — who knew Heliord’s newest guild ambassador was trafficking drugs and possibly underage escorts? he did, now), then that’s just Raven being Raven, right? Karol’ll understand.

“I almost thought you wouldn’t come,” Karol says faux-lightly, when Raven finally makes it back a few minutes past midnight.

Aww, shit.

“Heeey, I promised, didn’t I? Business just stretched out a little.” Raven dithers at Karol’s knowing stare. “C’mon, you still up for a good ol’ Raven’s Special Sashimi?”

“Fish isn’t really fresh by midnight anymore,” Karol says drolly. “Unless you wanna go fishing at this hour?”

They’d only get sewer trash in Dahngrest’s polluted rivers, and the next best thing’s thirty minutes out, at the very least. “Ehhh—how bout a Beef Bowl?” Raven says. “Surely you got some cured meats in your pantry. C’mon!! I’ll teach you!”

“Aw, okay. I am pretty hungry.” Karol’s so easy to please, it’s both heartwarming and kind of sad. “I’ve tried making it before but I can never get mine to taste like yours did.”

“’S all in the seasoning, kiddo. Here, watch the master and learn!”

It’s well past two when they finally call it a night, bellies full and hearts warm; it’s solely because of this that Karol succeeds in wrestling a promise out of Raven that they’d talk more in the morning. See, Raven’s got orders to pick up Harry’s response to Flynn’s letter and hussle back to the Empire ASAP, but even he doesn’t have to heart to deny Karol this simple thing.

Ever since Brave Vesperia saved the world by ruining it, everyone’s been struggling to adapt to life without blastia and Raven’s somehow found himself smack in the middle between the two remaining powers: the Empire and the Guild Union. Former member of both and trusted by all due to his role in stopping the Adephagos, Raven’s got the privilege of being messenger boy between the leaders in lieu of formal meetings, due to the fact that a lack of blastia has made travel…immensely more time consuming.

He’s worn down all the possible routes between Dahngrest and Zaphias for over a decade; the presence or absence of blastia has not really affected Raven’s efficiency and timeliness, which, naturally, has made him an attractive player for both sides. It just sucks that this means he’s always on the go, never really spending much time in one place or another. The first six months couldn’t be helped, it was imperative that everyone get their shit together and master the essentials necessary in order to provide basic living to their respective citizens: barrier blastia had to be replaced with rotating squads of knights and guildsfolk trained to fight; food previously preserved by blastia now had to be kept refrigerated with imported Zophier ice, dominated by the Empire, which had to be kept from melting with salt from Weasand mines, dominated by Guilds; everyone had to coordinate and organise to secure trade routes and avoid conflict, etc, etc.

The next six months after that were peace talks and negotiations between what was quickly becoming independent kingdoms in separate countries. Sea travel had slowed the fuck down overnight, because blastia-fueled engines had become obsolete and everyone now had to rely on wind power, so every passing day each country was slowly but surely becoming more and more isolated from each other, and therefore gradually but surely more hostile.

Emperor Ioder ruled over the continent of Ilyccia with his aristocracy of nobles and meritocracy of knights, struggling to keep the Empire’s global standing while lacking the technology to enforce it; Tolbyccia was pretty much owned by Altosk, ostensibly headed by Harry, who was presently overrun with infighting due to the fact that the Union was composed of many, many guilds all clamouring for leadership, if not democracy; East Desier was dominated by the strong-spirited Palestralle guild and its current leader, Natz, whose militant-minded navy had quickly expanded toward West Hyponia now that the Union’s presence was months away by treacherous sea; East Hyponia was an oddly peaceful blend of both Guild and Empire, unique in its joint origin and therefore vocally neutral, though that was quickly becoming contested, and, hence, required Raven-the-Pageboy’s timely arrival to avoid it becoming a full out war. Ugh.

The Schwann part of him that still lived felt heavy resignation at the inevitability of violence—the first one to fall would be Raven, he knew, as no messenger could truly remain neutral in a tug of war between such powerful masters—but the more upbeat part of him was like, stop sweating the small stuff and just go with the flow. Shit always resolves itself one way or another, right?

Right?

“You leaving already?” Karol mumbles into his pillow when Raven rises at dawn; kid’s no longer the type to sleep deeply, it seems.

“Just visiting the young Master to collect his response letter for Flynn,” Raven promises quietly. “Go back to sleep, Karol. I’ll be back to make you breakfast before I’m gone.”

Karol eyes him tiredly but he manages a wan smile. “Okay, pops. I trust you.”

Raven feels goosebumps up his arm. Stupid blastia heart runs too damn cold. He heads out at a jog to warm himself up, since Dahngrest runs both chilly and damp at this hour.

Raven no longer sneaks into Altosk’s headquarters like he did when the Don was alive and Harry was a boy; for one, Don is no longer alive to vouch for his slipperiness and for another, Raven represents the Empire here as much as he represents the Guilds in Zaphias, and no one tolerates his antics as they did before, not with the threat of conflict so close to the horizon. He walks in through the front door and waves at all the folks waiting in line—Pecan, Cactus, Lima and good ol’ Walt; all familiar faces turning sour, as usual—and knocks politely on Harry’s door.

“Master Harry,” he sing-songs. “It is I, Raven the Great, come ‘round at last!”

“It’s been barely ten fucking hours,” Harry’s pissed off voice rings loud and clear through the door.

“Shall I come back at noon, then?” Raven asks diplomatically.

An explosive sigh. “No,” Harry mutters. “Get in here. And call Cactus in, too, would you?”

“You heard the Young Master,” Raven says, nodding at the aptly-named mercenary, with his spiked up armour and sharpened teeth.

“You don’t order us around anymore, traitor,” the prickly fellow spits and shoves past him, to whom Raven mockingly bows to as he passes.

Saviour of the world or not, it's no secret now Raven was a triple agent. The official story Harry graciously gave him is that the Don always knew about Raven’s split loyalty (which is true, probably) and trusted him anyway (which is true, too), so Harry and Altosk will continue to trust him as well (which is flattering, but increasingly doubtful). Harry's a good kid shoved into a position of leadership he's not very well suited for, but even Raven can't deny he's trying and doing better every day.

“Cutlass Cactus, I want you to deliver this to Sirena of Siren’s Fang as soon as possible,” Harry says shortly, handing the man a wax-sealed letter. “Wait for a response, but I await it at most a fortnight.”

“Understood, young Master,” Cactus says, thumping his chest at the honour. He takes the letter, glares at Raven, and makes his way out.

“As for you,” Harry says, “I have a question to ask you before I hand this reply over. A serious one.”

Raven feels his age and more. “Yeah?”

“Ioder is a good man. His dog Flynn is, too. I know this personally.”

There is no question here yet, and there are a fair amount of insults between the compliments, but Raven knows the heart of Harry, and he means well.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “They are.”

“But,” Harry continues, coldly. “Two kind heads on a hydra do not make it any less a monster.”

Raven hides a grimace by scratching at his sideburns. “The same can be said of the Guilds,” he says lightly. “Or of any organization grown large enough.”

“Stop twisting my metaphors,” Harry says shortly. “The question I wanted to ask is: what do you think the Empire's end goal is?”

And what is the Guild’s end goal, Schwann wants to counter, when the Guilds’ very existence rose out of violent rejection of the Empire? Raven, for his part, takes a deep breath and exhales it out as a thoughtful hum.

“I think the Empire was built to protect and manage blastia,” Raven muses. “And I think the Guilds were built to reject the Empire’ monopoly of them. But, well, there ain’t no blastia left, so… the Empire wants to micromanage what remains. And the Guilds do, too. Yeah?”

“So there can be no peace?” Harry concludes, tiredly.

“Harry,” Raven says, firmly. “Your grandfather, the Don, united the Guilds back when they were just a bunch of rowdy, armed assholes. Y’know how he did it?”

“By fighting the Empire?” Harry says dully.

“By uniting against a common enemy,” Raven insists. “By uniting against a common threat. The Empire is no longer the enemy—hell, think of the Empire as yet another guild. It’s just a group of rowdy, armed assholes. But you and they got a common enemy now, too.”

Harry looks at him sharply. “The Adephagos is no more,” he says, carefully, “right?”

“Not the Adephagos,” Raven says. “The lack of blastia. The lack of technology. The lack of creature comforts all of us got real used to. That’s our enemy now; the thing we all gotta pitch in together to fix.” Raven bows low to Harry, as low as he would to the Don. “I beg you, young Master: do not war with the Empire. Not now. See them as a business partner, instead.”

“Business, huh,” Harry says heavily, and then flicks his sealed letter in Raven’s direction, who catches it just before it smacks him in the face. “All right. Tell your Master we can’t afford a war, anyway.”

Something uncoils in Raven's chest. “You are my only Master, Harry,” he says, cheekily. Just like Flynn is his only Commandant, now.

“Ugh, the way you say it, you make it sound so gross,” Harry complains. “Get the fuck out of my room, old man. And call in Lima!”

Raven sends him a lazy salute and hops his way out, placing the important letter in his robe’s inner breast pocket. His heart blastia emits a small barrier shield of its own, using his life-force; this letter will remain pristine come rain, sleet, or snow, as long as he still lives.

“You’re up, Lima bean,” Raven chirps.

“You call me that again and I’ll break more than just your nuts,” Lima snarls, spits in his direction, and stomps off.

“And we used to have such fun together,” Raven laments. “What happened to us, O expert in nuts, Pecan, my man?”

“Careful, Raven,” the aforementioned Pecan murmurs. “Your jests are no longer in good taste.”

“Your fruit cocktail, on the other hand,” Raven says. “Mmhmm. Top notch, as always.”

Pecan gives him a wry smile. “I saw you buttering up Madam Teal and her girls, last night. They talk about Heliord?”

“Oh, you know me: promise me a free night of drinks and I’ll spill my guts,” Raven winks suggestively.

“Hmm…your costs run too high these days,” Pecan declines politely. “You’ll drink me out of business.”

Raven feels a mild pang of loss; he and the third-waiter-from-the-right Pecan used to be pretty tight. Schwann thinks it’s just how things go. Suck it up, buttercup.

“Next time I’m in town I’ll do you one free, fer old times’ sake,” Raven compromises. “Lemme know what info you want and I’ll get it for ya fer a Mabo Curry and a Don’s Special. Within reason, ‘course.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Black Bird,” Pecan murmurs. “But I’ll be waiting for you.”

Raven walks home with a heavy heart and on lighter feet. He makes a quick detour to the fish market, already bustling with a freshly caught haul; he haggles reliable ol' Fin for a kilogram of merflesh and charms Romelle out of a bottle of soy sauce and pays full price for a sack of white rice before finally making it back to Brave Vesperia’s HQ, just in time to catch Karol in the kitchen about to make morning coffee.

“Raven!” Karol’s smile is brilliant, and very welcome. “You’re back!”

“I promised you my world famous sashimi, didn’t I?” Raven says. “Can't have you saying this old man’s a liar!"

“I’d never,” Karol says honestly, and that, more than anything, is what makes Raven want to noogie Karol and maybe cry into his hair or something likewise unmanful. He settles for making that kid the most delicious dish of fish a Weekend Chef is capable of, and if he finds himself also making Karol his special Pork Stew to eat later, he tells himself it’s ‘cause the boy’s a growing man and not because Raven’s a sap at heart.

“So where ya off to now, Raven?” Karol asks, after they’re done eating and making the kitchen less of a mess. “If, um, you can tell me, that is.”

“Atherum,” Raven says honestly. “Flynn said his girl Sodia’d be there to collect whatever response Harry might have on the new moon, so, there I'll be.”

“The new moon?” Karol stares at him. “But that’s in no time at all!”

Raven gives him a wan smile. “Don’tcha worry, kiddo. I always get ta where I need to in time.”

“We should call Ba’ul,” Karol insists. “You’ll never make it otherwise!”

Raven doesn’t have the heart to tell Karol that it probably doesn’t matter how fast or slow his response arrives; in the end, it’s Harry actions from now on that will be his real response, regardless of what his letter says.

“Judith darlin’ probably has better things to do than be an old man’s cab,” Raven says lightly. “I’ll jes' hop on a merchant ship headed toward Atherum tonight; should make it just in time, if the weather stays fair. This time o’ year, the northern wind’s in our favour.”

“But what if merfish ambush you!” Karol protests. “Or if a storm’s brewing—“

“Tempest!” Raven sing-songs, flicking his hand. “Aw, man, I miss being able ta call up storms willy-nilly. That made me feel God-like, it did.”

Karol frowns at the interruption, but then his face turns thoughtful. “Can’t you still, though? Your blastia’s powered by your life-force, right? So your arts should still be working just fine.”

“Shavin’ a year or two off my life fer a light show is a bit too vapid, even by my standards,” Raven says sardonically. “Plus, I ain’t keen on folks realising blastia’s still useable if you use a human fer a battery.”

He can very easily see it happening in the future: folks trafficking humans for energy. Or, fuck, claiming prisoners of war for it—hell of a good reason to go to war, really, if it’s to dehumanize the ingredients you need to fuel your creature comforts. You justify your atrocities by framing it as necessary or even righteous; Alexei and Schwann used to do that all the time, no brainer. Honestly, this fear is one of the many reasons he’s made Rita promise not to share that part of Hermes’ research, despite the fact that human-powered blastia could solve a lot of the world’s present problems. Schwann’s too jaded to avoid thinking of all the ways it can go terribly wrong, and Raven’s too fucking tired of the parasite that is his heart to think of its more beneficial applications.

“People’ll find out eventually,” Karol insists, at once innocent and wise beyond his years. “Desperation breeds creativity, right? You should tell people about it so they know the risks involved, before someone invents it and says it’s a cure-all or something.”

“Ehhhhh,” Raven drawls. “I’ll think about it.”

He most definitely will not.

Karol drops it, thankfully, but then picks up the old tangent of, “I still say I should call Ba’ul for you. I’ve got the whistle and I was thinking of asking Judy to fly me over to Yumanju, anyway, since my next job’s over there. We could drop you off real quick, no worries.”

“The spa?” Raven perks up. The idea of running off to relax there after all this nonstop political bullshit is extremely appealing. “Really?”

“Really really,” Karol says, smiling knowingly. “So, you wanna come with?”

“Boy, do I,” Raven says excitedly. “Okay, kiddo, you’ve convinced this old man to defect to Brave Vesperia once again.”

“You never left, pops,” Karol says without hesitation, which warms the cockles of ol' Raven's heart. “C’mon, then, let’s head to the usual clearing. Ba’ul’ll show up within fifteen minutes after I call for him.”

“Wait wait wait! We should get Judy a gift first,” Raven insists. “The lady’s coming all the way over here for our sorry hides, we gotta say thanks proper-like!”

Karol blinks. “That’s a good idea! What d’you think she’d like?”

“I know just the thing,” Raven winks. “C’mon, kiddo, we got places to be!”

#karaii fic #tales of vesperia #still figuring out my raven voice and such #i wondered what the boy was doing after the game and here we are #=noodle shrugs= dunno where i was going with this

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