#it sounded like it struck the roof right above me

[katelfiredemon]

THE WAREHOUSE IM WORKING IN JUST GOT STRUCK BY LIGHTNING OH MY GOSH

[sudokuplayer]

MY LOVE IS A WEAPON THROWN ONTO THE OBLIVION OF YOUR BODY (taken from booklet of original art and essays by Sufjan Stevens, written to accompany his new album Javelin)

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1.MY LOVE My first love was an involuntary sound – the music of the spheres – a subdued, white-noise shuddering of my heart, a fluster of hummingbird vibrations that I could taste in the prenatal hemispheres of my mouth, body against body and brain against brain, two conjoined selves conjuring an off-shore thunderstorm in the horizontal distance, dazzling with flashes of metallic music and elemental chaos in the safe harbor of my mother’s womb. There was no light and no dark, no semblance of simile or semaphore. There was only the blurred and audible presence of a distant and divine voice hovering above the waters where I balanced between the prism of absence and presence on an inflatable dirigible of sea foam, wandering into the oleaginous abyss with a half-smile of hazardry and wizardry – my maiden voyage into the “unbeknownst” of oblivion. For what did I really know at this point in my primordial mindlessness? Nothing at all. I was struck dumb, created from ignorance and ether, first without function or features, then without order or form. I was sensation and consciousness postponed, a wet and placid portion of monotonous fruit cut in quarters awaiting heaven’s blessing. My only occupation at this point was to occupy, be occupied, preoccupy, and prevail nature in a womb-world of benevolence and buoyancy. The music of the heartbeat of the universe danced me to sleep. Within this realm, I was love and life supreme, undivided by thought, word and deed, a small promise kept until the act of doing would undo me for good. My birth was my undoing. And then I was born into oblivion.

2.IS I remember in college, falling in love for the first time, two spring months of rapture, residing on the tail end of a helium balloon. I was so giddy about everything: washing the dishes, tying my shoes, scrambling eggs, binding books, pulling berries off juniper trees. My infatuation had such an arrogant persuasion on the world around me. Everything as metaphor ascribed with romance. I remember, while mowing lawns on the college campus, finding an injured fledgling crow by the dining hall. I carried it to the biology lab, where we called a woman who ran an animal sanctuary from her home. She met us on a bike with a wicker basket. “You are doing the universe a great favor,” she said, holding the bird to her breast, like Mother Goose. The event provided endless fodder: for prose poems and folk songs and long conversations on the roof of the aspirin factory, where we got drunk on Boone’s Farm sangria, speculating on cosmic intentions and the order of the universe. So much meaning, so little time. I was young and dumb and in love. Guided by a perverse curiosity and a voracious sensation-of-the-imagination pivoting at the tip of my tongue, I marveled at the mysteries of life laid out before me, awaiting in the calm commotion between innocence and experience.

3.A WEAPON And then experience pummeled me. Many years later, after the long-suffering exhaustion of life had driven me into the bleak underbelly of realism, my most profound thought was sad and static: that nothing really matters, nobody loves me, and loneliness would always be my most devoted companion. In my new sobering worldview, absent of love, I began to encounter everything as an object without meaning, without modifier. The homeless man selling day-old newspapers on the subway was just a homeless man selling day-old newspapers on the subway. There was no metaphor, no rapture, no cosmic intentions. I had to ask myself: does this make the man, the newspaper, the subway, or myself any less meaningful? No. Quite the opposite. For what resided in that substantial vacancy where I was always prone to symbolize the world to death is exactly what I needed right then: Opportunity. Presence of Mind. Peace On Earth. Stable Stoicism. Absence of Metaphor. Responsibility. And Hard Facts. That was my prayer: to shake off the doting artistry of an over-eager poet with a proclivity to create dreams from doldrums; to approach the world as a concrete object, a thing to be held, not a thing to behold, or allegorized; to remain at peace and in careful jurisprudence in spite of the resentful intonation of my overarching loneliness that devastated innocent bystanders with all the magic castles of the imagination. I told myself: I must snuff out the candle of candy-corn dreams. I must soldier on like a dead-end daydream undeterred. I must be steadfast in the stolid presence and essence of common sense and survival. I must be true to life internal and reside in resignation at last.

4.THROWN My second love was less ecstatic, but more tragic: the “gift” of sight – an elemental flash of lightning, which struck me like a bag of metal shavings thrown out onto ice reflecting back at the centerpiece of my sternum. A sucker punch to the chest. My cold consciousness came into sharp focus, rattled by illuminating waves invading everything around me. The light was loud and extraordinary. And even with my eyes closed, my pupils began pontificating at the pornography of sight, and I was momentarily carved into madness. Seeing is believing is birth. I shuddered and shirked at the tangible evidence of something else – the others – the imposition of a sensation outside myself, in which everything was separated into opposable armies: the land from the waters, the air from the earth, the seasons from the doldrums, the seen from the unseen, sin from sainthood, light from dark, good from evil. Everything was put in its place by the curse of namesake. The world was now before me, beneath me, above me, and ultimately against me, a pressure foot pressed down on all sides. I felt a cold claustrophobia, empty and alone, trans-natal and tragic, baffled by the violence of this new environmental context. And to think I was just a silly beansprout of a thing shivering under the medical lights, squirming like an open earthworm, now tasked with this terrible act of naming. God gave me a pen and a pad of parchment paper. “Transcribe your feelings and your findings,” she said. “Do your thing. First thought, best thought.” I did as I was commanded, a dutiful sea urchin inching its way to the possibility of words and wisdom.

5.ONTO A world without language was once the indication of certain death. Soundless, voiceless, nameless vapor. A typography of empty vessels. The void! But now, what of the tragedy of names, spoken into existence with the demystification of words? I was culprit and complicit, identifying all the divergences, differentiations, variations, permutations, diversities, dichotomies and double entendres. Categorizing the animals, cutting them down to size, organizing the parts of the body with the parts of speech, a fanatical grammar-game of possession, domination and death. I had to ask myself: Is this manner of identification in the name of higher knowledge even if it disregards purpose, analysis, and compassion (observation absent of intention)? And how could it be undertaken without idolatry and ulterior motive? I desired the objectivity of the photography of the baby-brain, whose fuzzy visionary reception was a delightful nebula of perfumed consciousness and joy. I wanted to see the world coherently and without discretion, discernment, reduction, and deduction – unintelligible intelligence. Instead I began to perceive how intimate knowledge generates prosperity (fullness) and progeny (fruitfulness) – of ideas and offspring. To be “made known” was to be consummated: “Adam knew Eve” – intercourse as discourse (knowledge as physical/sexual engagement). To know someone was to take possession (to gain access, in confidence and with confidentiality). The exchange would potentially unveil the secret knowledge between lovers (the nominative ordinances of arousal) – wherein posterity would become the observable antecedents of this sacred wisdom, and pleasure would be its misfortune (of infatuation and love, of chaos and order). My sexual discourse began to die a slow death of observation and objectification, a nonsense category of substances seen and deemed believable, predicating a cosmic break from the universe: a psychic rebirth, from which invisible things transformed into figures of speech, wherein figures of speech were left dead in the wake of rivulets and rivers, drowning in a molten waterfall of dread, where they would meet their maker in linguistic whimsy. My death was now new life. My reincarnation, a reverse sublimation. I was made known; therefore, I knew nothing.

6.THE For a short time, my pet peeves were my shortcomings: dry skin in the morning – brushing off the bed sheets with bits of outer insulation from my body. Was I molting? I needed to drink more bitter herbs, I thought. I had chronic stomach pain, below the clavicle, a small fist of air. Sweet antacid, mint leaves, fennel seed tea. Invisible Anxiety. The pain in my leg: a hypochondriac’s dream. Soothing myself with palm oil and camphor. Small applications on the surface. At dinner with guests, supplementing aspirin with ice-water, saying very little otherwise, a friend agreed with everyone’s assessment: “Yes, sometimes you are cold and unfeeling. You could warm it up a little.” My apparent coolness – was it a matter of objective safety? That remote vacancy which I brought to every engagement, keeping the world at arm’s length, the anthropologist’s vantage point, sustaining the presumptive: was that my vocation – the judicious spectator, an odd outlier outlining all this activity while staying behind the line of sight? As the youngest sibling, I was always evaluating my older sisters with fierce judgment from the corner of the room, just out of reach: eavesdropping on phone conversations, catching glimpses of padded bras, curling irons, and maxi pads passed between casual doorways. Taking stock of the panoply of premature adulthood (teenage pregnancy), unruly rebellion (sneaking out at night), clumsy and combative excursions with our wicked step-mother (cat fights with elegantly finger-nailed fisticuffs). I watched from a dutiful distance, careful not to engage, harboring a catalog of tragicomic events and all their moral assessments in order to avoid the worst-case scenario for myself. I was in the world, but not of it. I learned from the mistakes of others: that I was nothing more than a mistake waiting to happen, potential energy. I learned from the mistletoe to keep watch overhead so as to avoid the dangling modifier of accidental affection. I learned from the stone in my shoe to keep walking through the pain with a staggering refrain in my step, a constant reminder of the brokenness of my body and the indefatigable self-loathing of my own self-consciousness.

7.OBLIVION My third love was a surprise affection – ticklish touching and tender swaddles of terry towels and cotton cloth wrapped in armfuls of goose down feathers transfixed in the careful undertaking of childcare. A sensual delight! I was an object to be objectified, a thing to squeeze and prickle, caress and carry about in a breadbasket. I grew from a pinecone to a pine tree, from a newt to a dinosaur, from a poppy-seed to a poppy flower bursting with fireworks. This love then transferred its fornications onto something wet, wild and ornithological – a flying, feathery python ascending to its countenance as a bastion of bridegrooms in a flaming aviary chariot of leathery kisses all aimed at my elbows. Hope is a thing with bird feeders. So I watched the feathered fowl crowd around the seeds and suet, grubs and grains with dinosaur intensity, beaks and claws doing their vast prehistoric business with messy execution. My lovers cawed at their community of plumy mishaps like transcendental mother hens: nuthatch and creeper, tanager and titmouse, blue jay and junco gallivanting together like an armful of woolen throw blankets clapping the dust from their ornamental features. Our fairy dance of foreplay lasted for days. Cat calls as birdsong with balloons, iambic pentameter poems, chimes that rhymed with clanging crystals hung on fishing line, and all the fanciful costumes with sequins and fringe, flowered bell bottoms, metallic body suits, reggae music, ballroom dancing, charm bracelets, diamond rings, glimmering little earrings with fly-fishing ornaments, and, on the last day, a very long and serious monologue about global warming. Our lovemaking was quick and witty, a little slutty and clumsy – nothing more than a jaunt, a quick choreography of slaps and body slams, two pigeons in a mosh pit, working things out in juvenilia. Nature had done its work. Afterward we lounged together in the afterglow with soft pillow talk and dreams of nest eggs and parenting, protecting, foraging, feeding, and changing diapers, all the domestic labors of love. But for now, in a warm bird bath, sunning ourselves with a glistening glow, I could only think of the sweet bliss of here and now, the wetness of loving kisses on my nape, my neck, my back, my rump, my foreshortened wings and a sweet nectar nightcap. Hope is a thing deferred, but a dream fulfilled is a tree of life.

8.OF My fourth love was peripatetic: a suitcase stored in an overhead bin on an airplane. Things beget things beget responsibilities. I procrastinated my life by traveling far from it. A day before the voyage, I stayed up late in the polar forces of the night, diligently packing the baggage on the couch, opened up like can of tuna fish, a glass of lemon juice on the nightstand (master cleanse), the Siamese cat washing itself, the dollar store dishes in the sink, my dirty clothes in a paper bag. The last time I had left for this kind of trip, my things were in boxes in one room on the second floor of a gated town house in God-knows-where, New York. Now everything had been transferred as in a swap meet, boxes upon boxes, things upon things, other voices, other rooms. The living room was a labyrinth of speculative journeys, a crossword puzzle of travel prompts. Outside, gale force winds rose to the occasion, knocking on the windows like unwanted guests. I imagined the weather overtaking everything in an apocalyptic frenzy: cups and saucers trembling in tongues, plastic wrap coming undone in a transparent wedding train, pillowcases falling over our heads like hard hats, ceiling fans circumnavigating the neighborhood like helicopter rides, the colored crayons on the kitchen shelf thrown asunder to make slapdash hieroglyphs all over the window panes, the mysterious penmanship of the gods! My mind was preoccupied by disaster, a force majeure, an act of God, a ball of yarn, and the four horses of the Apocalypse. I wanted nothing of it: this origami suitcase lifestyle of travel and transition. I wanted to be here and now. I wanted silence, solace, and stillness. I wanted the simplest of things: a bowl of vanilla ice cream, a warm bath, and a quiet place to sit and stitch my hand-crafted cross-stitch of rainbows and sailboats framing a sexy cartoon portrait of Dionne Warwick diligently working the lines for the Psychic Friends Network from way back in the 1990s, when every solution to every problem was just a phone call away.

9.YOUR History repeats itself, defeats itself, cheats itself, berates and beats itself. I am not historic. I am histrionics. I must hate my mother and my father. I must hate myself and take up the cross and be born again. In this way, my fifth love was an immutable shadow following me with sticky tricks and schemes, a cancerous contamination of the mind that could only be cured with the deadly venom of a cone snail. I couldn’t quite shake it, the cobalt-blue memory of a ghost haunting my sophistry, a prescient reminder that the knowledge of faith and the substance of hope were right behind me this entire time (and not something to pursue, or follow, like an ornamental object on the horizon, dazzling, elusive and alive in the distant future). The Divine Inside was a “previously known encounter.” I could never see it face to face, but only feel it in my shadow, the former patterns of an aura left behind, pushing forward, pursuing, persuading, steering and navigating my memory through the valley of the shadow of death. I wanted so desperately to “have and to hold” the real substance of things (evidence!), the physical, intimate engagement with the body and the blood, which I actively sought out in transcendental activity, prayer and supplication, the sacraments, the feasts of the saints, a metaphysical substance to salivate and sublimate within the natural order of things. But this was a false pretense. God is not natural, but supernatural. The real material of divinity is ineffable, unassailable, unknowable, unutterable, and unreal. The evidence of providence is not within our line of sight, nor within our grasp, but instead beyond and behind our physical kinesphere. It is unapproachable, unspeakable, unobservable, and ultimately “erstwhile”. And yet still we continue to feel it “under our skin” and “within the universe” of our own personal history: The Past/The Passed/The Repossessed. God is our delayed consciousness – the nameless, faceless dichotomy of our secret truth. And we are made in its indistinguishable appearance. Therefore our own true “image” is without a name or a face – a baseless, shapeless cloud hovering above the waters, a countenance of empty atmosphere (signifying nothing) – a gothic apparition, a vision of love, a dance of the eternal travesty of life, a burrowing beetle of impenetrating curiosity. Digging for the true grit of life in the eternal dirt of the universe. 

10.BODY  My last love was a kind of science fiction. I was out running errands at the mall when I saw a fleet of lampshades falling like flying saucers from the sky. The alien robots came to me in an escalating beam of light and said: “We come in peace! The obverse seeks to make its face shine upon you, while the inverse hides in shame.” They did their thing with my body, prodding and poking around for some good news, but at first I would have none of it. I struggled and squirmed under nylon restraints strapped onto a stainless steel operating table. I was a basket case of curmudgeonly vitriol, pointing out everything that was wrong with the world around me: Fossil fuels. Cancer. Money. Greed. Sales Tax. Frozen Yoghurt. Religion. Varicose Veins. Junk Mail. But the alien robots were unflappable. They said, “We just need a little DNA, not a diatribe,” while swabbing the insides of my mouth with a cottony Q-tip. Then, after careful intubation and a slow drip of aesthesia, I eased into the abyss. They removed my clothes and covered my body with a marshmallowy spray foam. They swaddled me into a warm cocoon of maroon goo, where I remained in stasis to the end of the ages, slowly resuming into the soft, pillowy features of my former self – pre-natal, premature, pre-conceived – a slippery and succulent primordial membrane of soupy warmth and illuminating agency awaiting, once again, the cosmic journey laid out before me like a yellow-brick road of possibilities – the secret oblivion of love, the “unbeknownst!” Within this pinprick vision, I saw a tapestry of afterbirth in afterglow as an addendum to an immaculate after-thought of rapturous joy. I was born-again in fullness and truth. I was a peanut. I was a pretzel. I was a pan-fried shrimp. I was pandemonium personified. I was once again myself waiting to happen again and again and again and again and again … until the end.

— Sufjan Stevens

[serenefreakgeekao3]

Ever in our favour

CHAPTER EIGHT - FINALE

[Table Of Contents]

Summary: The final fight... Who survives this deadly ordeal? Warnings: canon-typical violence, descriptions of mutated creatures, descriptions of blood and injuries, minor character deaths, brief mention of familial abuse Author's Note: Well, this is it! The last update of this series, I can officially mark this one as completed! It's been a long time coming, and I took a long hiatus halfway through, but I'm so incredibly proud of myself for finishing this story, and how well it turned out! Let me know what you think, comments are my life's blood!

You were so excited! It must’ve been silly, or would’ve been if anyone else had known about it. But you didn’t mind being a little silly, a little love-struck, since you wouldn’t be feeling much of anything but fear here soon. So you welcomed it, and rubbed the little scrap of paper between your finger and thumb once again, feeling the easy glide of the shiny material. You weren’t sure how he managed to sneak a scrap, or even how he managed to write the words on there, but you weren’t complaining.

“Stairwell D has roof access…

Midnight?”

You had also noticed a small smudge at the end of the words like Peeta had written something before trying to erase it. Something small, almost like a drawing. When you stared at it before, in your room, you had imagined and hoped it was a tiny heart. You can understand wanting to wipe that away, just in case. In case someone found the paper, or perhaps he thought you didn’t return his feelings? Well, in your fantasy, he had feelings for you. In reality, it was a bit harder to tell.

You felt like you had eyes on you constantly. In the training areas, obviously, but also in the hallways and living areas, even your bedroom. It felt… invasive. Though you supposed, your death will be recorded as live entertainment soon. You would wonder where the line was, but you didn’t think there was one. Or, perhaps, it was on the roof access? You’d hoped, at least, that there’d be no cameras. That you could finally talk to each other, alone, unafraid of your words.

You were currently making your way there. Supposedly, you were sleeping back on floor 9, in your extravagant and unnecessarily wide bed. Instead, you had slipped out, quiet as a mouse as you stuck to the walls, searching for the correct stairwell. This probably would’ve gone better if you’d scouted it out, but the moment you had read the note you’d began to make your way out. You hadn’t felt safe taking it out any sooner, until after you’d retired to your room. It might still be an hour early, but you wouldn’t mind the wait.

You’d already checked the stairwell on the eastern side of the building, but it hadn’t been the right letter. You hoped you’d find it soon, as you really didn’t want to be caught out here. Luckily, as you turned the next corner, the large D sat above a door, the stairwell symbol next to the handle. You rushed quickly, hand skirting over the cold medal as you pushed your way in.

The stairwell was quiet. You’d thought the hallway was too, but there had been this slight buzzing sound before. Now it’s like everything in the world was still. You hesitated on your floor a moment longer, closing your eyes and basking in the stillness of it. This was what you missed from District Nine. The peace and quiet, the serenity of the waves of grain and- the loneliness of it all. You opened your eyes and could feel a smile playing on your lips. You were ready to see him.

You began to rush up the steps, around and around, counting the floors. Ten, Eleven, Twelve. You leaned over the railing and peaked upward, one more stairwell to go. You could see the moonlight shining through the windows above. You held back a giggle by biting your lip, readying yourself to run up those last few steps. The door opened behind you.

You gasped and spun around, picking your hands up in a defensive stance. Just as you turned around, you noticed her turning back around as well, as if she was looking behind her to make sure she wasn’t being watched as she pushed through the door. You lock eyes with one of the most popular tributes in this season. Katniss Everdeen.

You both startle, and hesitate. The door closes behind her and you’re once again shunted into that noiseless space, the sound of both of your breaths mixing in the air. You made to take a step back but almost tripped on the stair upward, grabbing the railing to keep yourself standing. You huff an awkward laugh, glancing up, then back to her. “Did he invite you too?”

She looks confused at first, her eyebrows pinching together and down. You hesitate for a moment, glancing up once more before back to her, then behind her. She shakes her head slowly, lowering her arms. “No,” She whispers, “No, what do you mean? Who invited…?” She trails off, unsure of her own words. You try a small smile, but it feels forced.

“Peeta. He invited me to the roof,” You point up toward the stairwell, toward where you were itching to go. He still might not be there, but the idea that he was or would be? “I thought for a second that he invited you too.”

“Peeta,” She begins, tilting her head, then looking up. “I saw him going this way, I just thought…” She trails off again as if all of the dots are finally connecting in her head. She meets your gaze, her piercing stare directly into you. “What is your deal anyway?”

“What?” You ask on instinct, flinching very slightly. You shake your head and attempt to force a smile once more. “What do you mean?”

“You keep hanging around Peeta,” She lifts a finger, pointing it loosely in your direction. “In- In the training rooms. After Caesar’s shows. Anytime I look for Peeta, you’re there too.” She takes a step forward toward you, “What do you want with Peeta?”

“What do I want-” You repeat her slowly as if trying to comprehend the question. Did she suspect you of playing him? Why did she even care, Peeta had said Katniss never pays him any mind? “I don’t want anything with him. I-” You stutter slowly, shrugging, “I mean, besides his time. If he was willing to spare any.”

“You’re trying to gain his trust, why? Are you going to betray him in the arena? Or use him until it’s time to cut him off?” She takes another step forward, dropping her arm and glaring at you. “Or did you plan to string him along to the final two, just to off him then?”

“No,” You try to argue, shaking your head quickly. “No, of course not.”

“There’s nothing else this could be,” Katniss argues, shaking her head as well, albeit slower. “You know what this is just as well as I do. We’re not just going in there to die. We’re going in there to kill each other.” She said those words harshly, each word enunciated with intent. You could feel them shake your core. “We’re not just sacrificing ourselves, we’re-” She huffs a laugh, though you doubt it was one of humour. “We’re being forced into submission by a Capitol that doesn’t care about family, or hope, or love.”

You flinched on the last word. You tried not to, but you flinched, and you knew Katniss had seen it. She widened her eyes, falling back a step. Your head shakes quickly, taking a step forward. “No, please, Katniss. You have to believe me. I know all of that. I know what we’re being thrown into, how hostile this entire thing is. But I-” Your voice cracks, and you can feel tears springing to your eyes. “I don’t care how this game plays out, I could never hurt Peeta. So, you don’t need to worry about me.” You shrugged your shoulders, the disparity weighing on them. “If you’re worried about Peeta, just know I’ll give my life to make sure he wins.”

She breathes heavier, and emotions- fear, disbelief, anger- flicker through her eyes in rapid succession. You’re surprised she’s so easy to read, how was she surviving here in the Capitol? She raises her finger again, taking a hard step forward to poke you in the chest. “Leave Peeta alone. Run from him in the arena. Stay. Away. From him.” She backs up until her back hits the door.

“I won’t hurt him,” You whisper, tears coming to your eyes. Nothing she could say would deter you, of course. You were still going up those stairs, still going to see him, still going to meet up with him in the arena and protect him with everything you had.

“Don’t you see?” Katniss whispers, snarling at you, her own tears beginning to fall down her cheeks. “This. Doing this, giving him this hope. That is what will hurt him. Seeing you die. Don’t you get it?” She’s shaking her head as she pushes open the door, wandering back to her own floor and leaving you with the buzzing and the silence and the tears, slowly dripping down your face.

The talking ends as Marvel hoists his spear above his head, horizontally. He was rearing back, ready to throw, as Katniss let loose her arrow. It hits his elbow, causing him to drop his spear and rear back in pain. All three of you began running, Peeta just ahead of you to your left and Katniss off to the right side. Glimmer was rushing toward Katniss, Marvel nearby but distracted. You and Peeta sprinted toward Cato and Clove, both of whom had a manic but pleased smirk on their face. Peeta was rushing to drop a backpack strap, trying to hoist it around himself, and just managed to raise it in front of his head as Clove threw the first of her daggers. Cato swings his sword in a circle, then arcs it down right as he expects Peeta to be in range.

Clove grabs another dagger, her eyes on Peeta. He was dodging around Cato’s sword swings, trying to somehow be more agile than he normally was. You’d already seen a slice bleeding on his arm, the backpack sliced open and dropping its contents. An arrow whizzes by, and you draw in a deep breath, watching Clove raise another hand. You raise your own- this knife was useless, too flimsy, too close range- and throw it with all of your might. The knife spins in the air and the aim is off and wobbly. It won’t hit her, but it doesn’t need to. She doesn’t throw the knife she had aimed, jumping back away from your throw uselessly.

She looks up to you, growling into the air. She begins to charge, tackling you to the ground. You both struggle, but she has knives hooked in her hands, short and hardly painful cuts appearing on your skin everywhere you look. You heave, then heave again and you flash back to pushing Thresh’s body off of you before he died fully, and Clove was suddenly thrown from atop you, onto her side and crying out. You stumbled, throwing yourself on top of her and grabbing one of her hands with both of your own, shaking and yanking downward. She drops one knife as she stabs you in the back with another, and you cry out but reach forward, finally grasping hold of a capable weapon just before being slung off of the teen girl.

You roll, then look directly up to Cato, dodging your head to the side just as a sword buries into the ground above your shoulder. Cato’s body is tackled away, the blurry form of Peeta wrestling him to the ground as Clove stands behind where they just were, readying to tackle you. You throw your boots out, kicking her in the stomach during her dive and redirecting her to the side. You scramble quickly after that, trying to get your own feet under you. You tuck the dagger into a pocket and take hold of the sword’s hilt, yanking it out and feeling the heft. It was heavy, and you had to wield it with two hands just to swing it properly. Clove, standing, cackles at you.

“You really think you could wield that? You?” She rushes and you swing wildly. Despite Clove’s taunting, a sword is still a sword. Your swing is wobbly, but the sword is faced in the right direction, and it cleaves into Clove’s arm without issue. You wince from pain as your back pulls, the fresh wound made apparent, watching Clove stumble back in shock. She presses a hand to her arm, pulling it back to widen her eyes at the sight of her blood. She looks up at you, startled, then throws a dagger. It hits your shoulder- she must’ve thrown in a panic- and you gasp in pain, dropping the sword to the ground.

You reach a hand up to your shoulder, grasping the knife as you watch Clove turn tail and begin running. Glimmer was on the ground, motionless, with Katniss kneeling in the dirt and aiming an arrow at Marvel. He was favouring his injured arm, but he still swung his spear around in arcs, trying to hit Katniss. She rolled back once, then twice, and you see Clove still running, and getting away, and Peeta is calling out in pain and there’s no time.

“Katniss!” You yell for her, and she turns to look at you just as Marvel stumbles and falls to the ground, an arrow sticking out from his thigh. You point, yelling, “Clove!” You both turn at the same time as the dark-haired, pinched-faced teen girl grabs ahold of- of Rue! She spins her around and holds a knife to her throat and-

Katniss looses her arrow, straight through the middle of Clove’s chest. She falls backwards, and Rue immediately takes off running once she feels the girl’s grip fall from her. Rue is crying, it seems, tears streaming down her face. Katniss is held down by Marvel, struggling, and Peeta- ‘Where’s Peeta?’

You’re tackled to the ground, a familiar sword gleaming brightly right against your throat. “I know I said I’d save you for last,” Cato grabs your head with his other hand, lifting and smacking it down quickly. Your vision turns blurry as you try to orient yourself. “But I always relished the idea of your death. I told them you were mine, you know?”

You haven’t stopped struggling once, but you were no match in strength. You threw your head, regardless of the threat above you, rapidly side to side. You couldn’t see him, you couldn’t see Peeta. Cato sat up straight, taking the sword vertically, placing the very tip against your throat. You swallow and feel the blade cut just lightly with how close it is to you. You finally look up once more, raising your hands to try to push Cato’s hands back but it’s useless, and you’re stuck once again and how do these people keep pinning you down?

As Peeta- because of course it is, who else would it be?- tackles Cato off of your chest, you flash back to every single time he’s done that already. In the very beginning, when you woke up. At the river, after you saved his life. His attempt with Thresh.

You shoot up and scramble to your feet, watching as Peeta ruthlessly picks up the discarded sword, lifts it above his head, and brings it down. You watch as it slices clean across his throat- Cato, killed by his own weapon. Rue tackles into you, and it forces you a step back, but barely. You hold her to yourself, looking around quickly. Peeta, standing and dropping a bloodied sword. Rue, panting with fear and exhaustion against you.

Katniss, heaving with breath and with blood pouring from her nose, raises her bow and notches her final arrow, immediately turning to set it on you. Marvel was lying to her side, likely dead as well now. You feel a flashback from earlier in the day quickly cross your mind, though the rest of your thoughts pool to, ‘This is it, finally. I guess that’s okay. At least I know Peeta is safe…’

You’ve never seen him move so fast in your life. He dives in front of you, stumbling in his effort to stop his forward momentum. He turns to face her directly, falling backwards into you. You catch him, of course you catch him, and hold onto his back as he reaches back to hold onto you as well, one of his hands pressing against Rue’s fluff of hair. His voice is rough with exertion as he yells out, “No!”

“You-” She lowers her bow slightly, the arrow still pulled taut. “They betrayed us!”

“No, they didn’t!” He yells back, shaking his head furiously.

“You heard what Cato said!”

“He’s lying!”

“Well, we can’t ask them, can we? They’d just lie.” She raises her bow again, placing the string against her mouth.

“They don’t remember!” He calls out, his voice wrecked. You tighten your hold on Peeta, ready to shove him to the side at a moment’s notice.

“They-” Katniss lowers her bow again, looking at him with a mixture of shock and disbelief. “So what? You’re running on blind faith? On hope?”

“What else is there?” Peeta screams, taking a step forward and breaking the hold between the two of you. “If we don’t have hope, then what do we have? Nothing!”

The barking gets louder suddenly, out of nowhere, and all three of you turn to see the mutated mutts. Where once they clawed at an invisible barrier- that barrier seems to have disappeared. They were running, fast and agile and straight for all of you. The four of you turn immediately, beginning an all-out sprint, similar to earlier. You knew you could outrun them, you just had to use all of your stamina to do so. Rue begins to fall behind, limping pitifully, and you watch as Peeta takes in a deep breath and runs back, reaching down and scooping up one arm of Rue, hoisting her up. You manage to steel yourself in place until they can catch up, scooping up her other arm and resuming your sprint with them in tow.

You didn’t realise where you were running at first, just following along. But the cornucopia shines brightly in the sun, glimmering and almost blinding you as you run directly for it. You all practically slam against it, and you and Peeta work at throwing Rue as far up as you can, holding her feet as she scrambles to the top. Peeta, once no longer able to reach her, turns quickly to look behind you with panic. He laces his hands and yells, “Jump!” You have no time to react, just using his hands as a step, he hoists you up as well. You scramble, slip, and as much as Rue tries to help she really has no strength behind it.

The moment you’re secure in the fact that you won’t fall, you immediately spin around and reach a hand down. Peeta takes a running leap and takes hold of you, and you try to pull him as his feet catch on the slippery gold- streaked with blood. You grunt, watching the dogs race up and begin lunging, clawing, trying with all of their mutated power to reach him. He cries out as a few claws catch his shins, then throws his other hand out. Katniss is next to you, you don’t know when she got there but she did, and she took hold of his other hand with both of hers. With your combined power, you managed to pull him up.

You breathe.

You finally breathe, and the mutts are scrambling at the bottom of the cornucopia but there’s nothing they can do, they can’t get up here. Rue is panting and crying and burying her face into Peeta’s jacket. He pets her hair as he stares directly at you, and you let your eyes roam to the last person. Katniss, now standing, stares down at the mutts. She still has one arrow left, the one that had just been aimed at you. You all left the weapons behind, just a dagger in your pocket- one buried in your shoulder, still- that would be no help against these dog-like mutations. Katniss seems to come to the same conclusion, her eyes roaming the writhing mass of bodies beneath you.

You push yourself up enough to lean on your elbows, watching Rue finally stop crying and take deep breaths, peaking her head out to look between everyone. Even Peeta finally tears his gaze from you, raising it to the standing Katniss. She looks to the sky, her face void of emotion, then raises three fingers to her lips. She kisses them, then raises the salute into the air. You didn’t know what it was, or what it meant, but it seemed symbolic.

The next thing you know, she’s notching her final arrow once more- your own hand shoots to the dagger in your pocket. It may not be of any aid against those mutations, but you’d fight her to the death. You would kill her if it came to it. However, she doesn’t aim it toward you. She lifts the bow, aiming the bolt directly for the sun. She looses the arrow and you all watch as it soars through the air, upward. More, and more, until it’s just a blur, until it's a speck and you can’t see it anymore. And then the world pulses.

Not exactly the world, mind, but the sky definitely. From wherever that arrow was, you assume, it’s like a pulse-wave shoots outward. Once, but then again. As it pulses a third time, there are more waves, and once more before it stops looking like waves altogether. The sun blinks and flickers, and the middle of the sky seems to be caving in. The sky was falling, down around the four of you, large metal pieces and chunks that could kill you if it landed atop you. But they fall and fall and suddenly a different sort of light is pouring in through the holes. You weren’t sure how you believed the faulty imitation to be the real sun before when you see it now.

A shadow falls across your group as everyone begins to stand, and you feel a large hand slot into yours as Peeta takes hold of you with a firm grip. You look at him, unsure what is happening. This was the end, for sure. If this was the Capitol, you were all dead. But who else would it be? Some mystical saviour here to stop the Hunger Games once and for all? You remember joking about that with Peeta before, but the possibility was close to zero.

You hear the beats of what could only be helicopter blades, right as you hear harsh metal screeching fill the air. The mutts were being scared off, running and yipping back into the forest. But their absence reveals the source of the screeching; large metal pipes rising into the arena, evenly placed through the entire grounds as far as the eye could see. You watch as they begin to release a green-coloured gas into the air.

You turn quickly toward Peeta, the hand holding Peeta’s hand lifts and rests atop Rue’s head, your other hand reaching out for his cheek. This was it, whatever happens. You duck forward and kiss Peeta as if it’s your last. He pulls you in by the waist with his spare hand, and the last thing you feel before the blackness takes over is Peeta’s lips on yours.

You wipe the tears away as you take the final steps up the stairs, looking out of the small window on the door. You could see him. Peeta was sitting on the edge of the roof, looking over the side with a small smile on his face. Was Katniss right? Were you just hurting Peeta by loving him?

You pull the door open and step outside, the crunch of your feet on the gravel underfoot drawing Peeta’s attention to you. He sits up straight, smiling brightly over. “It’s early. I guess we both had the same idea?”

“I couldn’t wait,” You admit quietly, smiling shyly. You continue your approach, moving to sit across from him on the wall. “Although, I did run into somebody in the halls.” The shock and worry on Peeta’s face were reassuring as he sat forward quickly, easily taking your hands into his own. You weren’t expecting such quick affection, after trying to keep yourselves distant in the training halls.

“What happened? Did you get in trouble?”

“Oh, no,” You tried to reassure, forcing a smile and idly rubbing his hands with your thumbs. “Nothing like that. I saw Katniss.” His face fell from worry to confusion, tilting his head slightly to the side like a puppy. He really was adorable. The lights from the Capitol lit up his hair in an array of colours, and his eyes were just that right shade of blue that reminded you of home. You didn’t stand a chance when it came to him.

“Katniss? What was she doing?”

“Following you, I think,” You whisper, biting your lip hesitantly. You look away, out toward the cityscape around you. You hadn’t taken in the sight since you arrived on the roof, too taken with the image of Peeta. The city was colourful and grand, and you could see yourself thinking it was beautiful if it didn’t run on the lives of children. “She threatened me though.” You felt his hands tighten around yours, tugging gently. You assumed he was trying to get you to look at him, but you kept your head turned.

“What?”

“She told me to stay away from you.” You could feel the tears welling in your eyes, and you sniff as you turn back to face him finally. From the look on his face, he could see the wetness reflected in your eyes. “At first she thought I was out to get you. And then, she said that just being with you like this, or meeting up in the arena, was just going to end up bad for you. That it’ll hurt you more than just me avoiding you.”

“That’s not true,” Peeta is quick to reassure, scooting closer and raising a hand to place on your cheek. “I know we haven’t had the proper time to talk yet, without everyone listening and watching. That’s why I asked you here, anyway. But I don’t think I could go into that arena without you. I don’t know if I could’ve made it this far without your humour and encouragement.”

“You don’t mean that Peeta,” You sigh out, letting the self-doubt take control. “We hardly know each other, and like you said, we’ve barely been able to actually speak our minds.”

“Well here’s my mind then,” Peeta whispers, leaning closer. “I didn’t know someone like you existed. Someone so sweet and hilarious, that you’d practice setting traps and accidentally spring one and still apologize. We laughed and you apologized still- even though we’re supposed to be doing this for real here soon. Even though he had been screaming and threatening you the entire time.” You chuckled lightly at the memory of Marvel being hoisted into the air, his face red with anger and blood. “You saw me picking the wrong herbs and berries, and instead of letting me off and rightly assuming I’d die in the arena to poison, you came over and taught me instead. I was enamoured with you from that point on.”

“I was sooner than that,” You admit quietly, a small smile playing on your lips. “You weren’t dressed as coal miners before the chariots went off. We locked eyes-”

“I remember that,” Peeta whispers quickly, his smile widening as he scoots even closer. Your knees were touching and his hand that had been resting on your cheek was now set on your hip. “I’d say I noticed you then, but all I really noticed was a long stalk of grain.” You bark out a surprised laugh, nodding.

“Our costumes are never very good.”

“I liked the wheat crown though.” He leans forward, and you see the sky in his eyes once more. “I liked yours better though. The one you wore when they called your name.” Your mind immediately flashes back to that day, wearing that itchy outfit and bashfully pulling the dead crown of stalks off of your head. Everyone keeps mentioning it like it’s so important.

“I learned to weave them from old friends back in Nine.”

“All I learned back in Twelve was how to bake bread and how to take a beating.” You look up quickly, eyes filled with worry and affection. You open your mouth to speak, but he shakes his head. “No, don’t. It’s fine. It only happened when I did something that we couldn’t afford, like give out bread to the hungry and dying.” You blow out the air from your mouth, pursing your lips.

“Things really are pretty tough in District Twelve, aren’t they?” Peeta only nods blandly, staring into your eyes. You continue, lowering your voice further. “But I guess it doesn’t matter then, does it?”

“Not for me anymore,” Peeta agrees, his head just barely nodding that you don’t think he even noticed. He sighs, a pained expression crossing his face. “Y/N… I don’t think we’re going to survive the games.”

“I don’t think so either,” You begin, but leave out the part that you’d sacrifice yourself for him in a heartbeat if it meant he survived. You had a feeling he felt the same.

“I don’t want them to change me.” You pull on Peeta’s hands as he whispers this, watching tears begin to fill his eyes. “I don’t want them to make me into something I’m not.”

“They won’t,” You try to reassure, adamant about it.

“You don’t know that-”

“I know that we can watch each other. Make sure neither of us changes.” You watch Peeta bite his lip, and you raise one of your hands to wipe the tears that begin to spill from his eyes. “We can die together, with love and hope in our hearts.” Peeta nods slightly, then coughs out a laugh. You tilt your head, wondering why.

“What if we survive, though? What if we’re the final two?” You blink a few times, watching the trepidation in his eyes.

“I think we both know-”

“You aren’t dying.”

“Neither are you.” You sigh, smiling softly. “As I was saying, I think we both know that neither of us are willing to kill each other. So I guess, whatever the game makers have in store.” You shrug, taking both of his hands in a firm grasp. “If we refuse to kill, they’ll send something out to kill us anyway.” Peeta looks shocked momentarily, as if this thought had never occurred to him. He thinks it over, then steels his expression with a smirk.

“We don’t need to go in there and just lay over and die, though.” You watch his resolution, his absolute faith in you. It fills you with inspiration. “We go in there and we try our damndest. If we watch each other’s back- actually, legitimately watch over each other and not just turn on each other later like the Careers or any other alliance- then I think we have a chance.” Your smile grows, and you can’t help yourself.

“Who knows? If we play up the romance enough, maybe they’ll let us both win.”

You were being pushed and prodded, forced toward the halls and through the doors that’ll eventually lead to you in the arena. You weren’t ready- of course, you didn’t think anyone was, but you haven’t seen Peeta since the training area. You hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye, to say you’ll meet up, to say-

You shook your head, dispelling the thought that he’d die immediately from your head. You’ll meet up. You’ll be on those platforms, and look around for him, and you’ll run together. You have to trust it, believe in it. You have to hope.

“Y/N!” You turn quickly, still being pushed toward a door opposite the sound of the voice. You were in a rather large room with a multitude of doors, about a quarter of the tributes being transferred to their positions. Peeta was being pushed toward his own door at the end of the hall, and he pulled his shoulder free from the soldier. They grab him again, but he yanks harder and begins to run toward you. You suck in a breath, not having to pull anyone’s hands off of you as you’d been listening before now, and take off running to meet him.

You crash together in the middle, Peeta wrapping his arms around your torso and holding you close. You could see his soldiers coming for him over his shoulder and were sure he was seeing the same of your own.

“What did Cato say?” Peeta’s voice was low and fast, and he raised one hand to place it on your cheek. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him in close for a hug so you can whisper into his ear.

“He wants Katniss. He hoped my alliance with you would extend to her, said to bring her to the cornucopia and he wouldn’t hurt me. I told him I’d do nothing without-” The soldiers were pulling, tugging on you both, but you held fast. “Without you too. He doesn’t believe that I care about you, just laughed.”

You both are pulled back enough that you can look into each other’s eyes, Peeta’s own calculating. You don’t hear him say anything in response to it, but you were sure you’d hear of it in the arena. You knew he wasn’t mad, but you could also tell he didn’t trust Cato. You didn’t either. There was an understanding between you, on this at least.

“I’ll see you in there-” He begins, before being cut off by the soldier’s shouts.

“Let’s go! Move it!”

“Meet me-!” You begin before you’re yanked roughly. You cry out as your shoulder flares in an abrupt but quick pain, and you watch Peeta’s eyes flash in anger. He gets away from his soldier just enough to push yours away from you, yelling out in anger. Two sets of hands find themselves on Peeta now, pulling his arms back and restraining him. You rush forward.

You didn’t know what you were doing until it happened. You placed both hands on his cheeks and leaned in, pressing your lips to his. They were soft and lovely and he moved his head as far forward as he could to kiss you back. Your first kiss- ever, not just with Peeta- and it was mind-blowing, amazing in a way you couldn’t describe. You tried to inch closer, push into the kiss more, before you were forcibly yanked back away from him.

“Peeta!” You call out, watching him kick and struggle as he’s dragged away by three soldiers, out through his door. The moment it closed behind him, you’d stopped struggling. The soldiers dragged you toward your own door, then through it to your own demise.

You gasp awake, the sterile smell of alcohol and disinfectants assaulting your senses. You’re surrounded by white- white bedsheets, white curtains surrounding your bed, white walls, white curved ceiling. Beeps and jingles fill the room at various points- one harsh beeping right next to your ear- but you can hear no voices or sounds of danger. Obviously, this looked like some kind of med bay. But why would you be in a med bay? Was this some new sick twist to the games?

One of your curtains is pulled open harshly, and a tall lady with her blonde hair pulled into a tight bun gasps loudly in surprise. Her eyes widen as she looks you in the eyes before quickly swiping the curtain back closed with a loud metal ‘zing!’ You open your mouth to call out to her, to ask where you are, but you can’t get your voice to work.

You begin to panic, pushing harder and it hurts, until finally you hear a raspy breath and the slight sound of your voice through your panic. Memories flash backwards through time until you can clearly see Thresh atop you, holding you down by the neck. Your neck must’ve gotten worse after you fell unconscious. You try your best to sit up, pain shooting through your shoulder and up your back. As the bedsheet falls, you see your chest wrapped up in those very spots- no blood showing, but as tight as can be. You feel something crinkle on your neck and reach up, gently feeling some soft cloth laid across your neck. You could tell there was ointment there, the cloth just there to keep it covered.

You gently lean back against your pillows, looking down at the tubes running into your arm and electrodes placed in various places of your body. You glance at the machine next to you, the loud beeping one, and try to study the different graphs, lines, and bars. You couldn’t make sense of any of it.

Zing, the curtain slides again, and you look up quickly. There’s another man there, one you don’t recognize with blond hair that falls to his shoulders, and an older complexion with grey, unsettling eyes. He wore rugged clothes, with a beanie pulled over his hair, that gave him an air of unprofessionalism- he couldn’t be the doctor here. He stares at you hard for a moment before stepping in, closing the curtain behind him and finally taking an unsolicited seat on your bed beside your legs.

You open your mouth to speak again but think better of it and close it once more. You hear the man chuckle, crossing his arms. You begin to look around frantically, looking for anything that might indicate what you’re wanting to say. You pat the bed, reach to the bedside and slide open all of the drawers, and just as you’re beginning to check under the pillows, the man reaches a hand out and tries to calm you down.

“Okay, okay. Okay!” He takes both hands and forcefully sets them down in your lap. He gives you a hard look, patting your hands before leaning back again. He’s quiet for another moment, and it is getting to the point that you’re about to start looking for a pen and paper once more when he finally speaks up again. “I assume you want to ask after Peeta.”

Your eyes widen, nodding quickly and without thinking, wincing from the pain in your neck. You lean forward, eager to hear. “He’s fine. He’s asleep- well, unconscious right now.” You tilt your head and can feel your face expressing your worry. “That green gas that was emitted at the end of the games was a knock-out gas, the Capitol was trying to keep us from saving you. Honestly, it just helped our escape, we were able to scoop all of you up without a fight.

“Peeta was the first to wake up from the gas, while we were getting everyone situated in their beds at the medbay. He was struggling like no other, trying to find his way to you. Shouting your name over and over, calling us all Capitol pigs- he wouldn’t listen, no matter what they said.” He hesitates, looking you over before adding on, “We’re not the Capitol by the way.” You furrow your brow, wanting to ask what this was- what they were- but he continues on anyway. “They had to pull me from the war council to come in and calm him down.” Your face furrows even more, falling backwards against your pillow with another wince. ‘Why would this man calm Peeta down…?’

“He saw me-” His eyes had been roaming, as well as his hands, while he spoke, but he gives you a side-eye now. “Oh, right. Haymitch, by the way. The only District Twelve victor.” He holds his hand out to shake, but you take too long as he withdraws it back anyway. “Peeta saw me and calmed down enough for me to tell him that you’re all safe. You all are, by the way. We made it in time to save all four of you. Katniss was our main target, but we’d been watching the games. She wouldn’t leave without Peeta, and Peeta wouldn’t leave without you.” He shrugs, and you take a deep breath. ‘Of course, this is about Katniss. Who else would this be about.’ “Rue is also safe. Everyone was glad of that, of course. We had a chance to save one of the youngest kids to go into the arena, and we took it.” He blows out a breath, and you begin to wonder if this strength was a facade, as you see a small crack in it when he speaks of Rue.

“Anyway, he kept struggling, even against me. ‘Kept saying he needed to see you, to see you were safe and unharmed and make sure-” He stops, sighing heavily. “They injected him with something to knock him out while they dressed his wounds, but he’s fine.” He studies your tense posture, coming to some kind of conclusion in his head. “I’ll let you see him. Here-” He reaches forward, ready to begin pulling the tube from your arm as the curtain swings open once more.

“Haymitch-” The voice is startled, but falls quickly to stern, “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Someone had to reassure this one. You saw how Peeta got.” You make a noise, mostly like a whine, but both sets of eyes turn toward you. The new person was wearing a long white coat like a doctor- you assumed that’s what they were. You nod quickly, turning back to Haymitch with wide eyes. He turns to the doctor with a smirk. “They want to see him.”

“Well, they can’t get out of bed. They’re injured, they need-”

“What they need,” Haymitch growls out, pulling the tube from your arm as you wince, and you watch his face as he begins to pull the electrodes from the different places on your body, “Is to see the man they spent close to a week protecting and healing and defending.” Haymitch glares over his shoulder, but his face falls to a kindness you hadn’t thought you’d see from him when he looks back at you. “You’ve already wrapped them up, and the rest are superficial injuries. Let them go see their friends.”

The moment all the wires were taken off, you swung your feet to the side and began to stand. You feel slightly wobbly, so you go slow, not wanting to give the doctor any other reason to argue. You can already hear whispered complaints from the doctor to Haymitch, but you ignore them both in favour of pushing the curtains aside. The room was small, filled with similar cubicles of white. You limp over to the closest, gently pulling the curtain back to peak inside. You recognize her instantly from the bushy hair lying across the pillows- a sleeping and peaceful-looking Rue lays in this bed. She was so small that the bed dwarfed her in comparison, but seeing her alive and well was enough to make your knees weak. You walk inside just enough to press a kiss to her forehead before backing out once more.

You glance over, seeing Haymitch’s stare on you as you move across the room slowly. You glance between the left and right cubicles, turning to glance at Haymitch once more. He says something to the doctor without looking at them but nods his head to the left subtly. You take this and run with it, approaching the curtains on the left. Gently, you pull back to peek.

You couldn’t explain the feeling of relief that hit you when you saw Peeta’s face lying gently on the bed. His hair just slightly fanned out around him like a blond halo, his eyes peacefully pressed closed without pressure. He looked soft, approachable- he looked like you needed to defend him, in all honesty, but you were just hoping that Haymitch’s presence meant you wouldn’t have the need to. You walk in, pulling the curtain closed behind you as quietly as you can. Similar to Haymitch earlier, you walk forward and take a seat by his legs.

You’re hesitant at first, but slowly you build up the courage to reach forward and slot one hand in Peeta’s closest one. He doesn’t flinch, but you feel the pressure of his hand grow tighter on yours, like unconsciously he wanted to hold your hand back. You realize you’re staring, but you can’t bring yourself not to. You survived, you both did, after being so sure that neither of you would. It’s a miracle, honestly, and you didn’t want to risk taking your eyes off of him for even a moment.

You’re unsure how much time has passed before Peeta’s face begins to scrunch up. You tilt your head, leaning closer and reaching slowly out to place your hand on his cheek. Before you make it, his head begins to toss and turn back and forth, and little grumbles fall from his mouth. He slowly gets more and more violent with his tossing, and you finally realize he’s having a nightmare. You reach forward, placing your hand on his cheek to stabilise him and open your mouth to speak kind words when nothing would come out. Frustrated, you take your other hand from his and place it on his other cheek, holding him still.

His eyes burst open and his hands reach up, scrambling to pull you off of him before finally meeting your eyes and slowly relaxing. “Y/N?” He asks gently, eyes wide with fear and hope. You nod, smiling, and lean forward to place a gentle peck against his lips. As you pull away he chases, and you giggle softly before wincing from the pain of it. His eyes flicker down to the wrapping on your neck, then back up to your face. He’s holding both of your wrists with his hands, holding them against his cheeks. He leans into one of your hands, gently rubbing his cheek against it. “Don’t try to talk, I don’t want you to hurt on my account.”

You just shake your head fondly in response, rubbing your thumb across his cheek. His smile grows, and he begins to match your look of disbelief. “We made it, Y/N.” You nod, leaning forward, and he laughs out in relief. “Holy shit, Y/N, we made it. We’re both alive. We’re out!” He finally releases his hold on you to grab your face, dragging you closer. Your foreheads press together, matching smiles of relief and contentment between the two of you. “We made it out together.”

This was it. The hope you’d held wasn’t all for nothing. You were finally here, in each other’s hands, alive and breathing and- well, injured, but alive. You were saved from the Capitol by someone, or something. You wouldn’t be forced back into the arena, you wouldn’t be paraded in front of the Capitol and Districts as ‘Victors,’ you wouldn’t have to face the inevitability of your death at the hands of the one you loved.

Of course, the world wasn’t perfect. You were sure the Capitol would never stop hunting you down. You were sure you’d never see your family again if they even survived after your escape. You’d never be able to go back home, show Peeta the rich blue of the skies that mirrors his eyes, or visit his District. And- your mind hesitates and repeats the arena, over and over, like a flipbook. You still made a promise to yourself that you’d kill Katniss. Would you still have to, now that you’re out of the arena? If they had only wanted Katniss, but Katniss wanted Peeta- obviously she didn’t want you to come along. Would these people relent and get rid of you if she said so?

Peeta rubbed your cheeks, and your eyes reopened- you couldn’t remember when they had fallen shut. His smile is gentle as he whispers, “You back with me?” You nod gently, not wanting to displace his hands. He sighs in relief, reaching forward to gently peck your lips. “There’s nothing and no one that’ll keep us apart, now.” He pulls you in for a deeper kiss, and you let yourself fall into it. You climb fully on the bed, unwilling to part from him and wanting the comfort that only he could provide.

He was right, of course. But hearing his voice, so soft and gentle and sure, made that tingling and anxious feeling in your chest finally settle. His voice is as soft as you’d ever heard it as he whispers, “We’re finally safe now.”

[catflowerqueen]

Been thinking of doing a 5+1 fic about the Lamb worshipping Bishops of the Old Faith, since there are, conveniently enough, five of them.

At the very least I did an entry for Leshy.

...Instead of working on the fic I said I was going to work on.

Anyway. Might edit and post this on AO3 later if I get around to doing the other Bishops, but please enjoy Leshy's part in the meantime.

(And please let me know what you think!)

Chapter 1: He of Havoc

For the briefest time after hearing the proclamation, you feel betrayed. How could your Lord order such a thing?

To demand the deaths of lambs unaffiliated with the Old Faith, sure. That was only proper, since they did not give fealty that the Lord of Chaos deserved and, thus, were like an underbrush to be burned away, creating rich soil where a verdant garden could grow, and the decimated remains could battle for dominance—like weeds against camellias. Even the lambs in the cults of His siblings you could understand—for what better way to sow some much-needed chaos and familial drama to shake things up a bit than to target a specific species of followers, for seemingly no reason?

But all lambs? Even the most devoted among His own flocks, who would never dare to turn on Him in service to another, inferior god? You could not fathom such a thing.

…At least, not until you saw true chaos with your own eyes. Friends and family turning against each other as resources and hiding places grew scarce. Paranoia at every sound and looming shadow. The growing fear and confusion, not knowing where to run next, or where to hide, or what would become of the friends who didn’t turn on you when winter came, and there was no more wool with which to knit warm mittens and sweaters for that extra layer of protection against freezing to death.

Only then did you understand: your beloved Master was playing the long game. Chaos untold, as the links in the chain collapsed and there was a scramble to see who or what could fill the empty niche. The unknown effects far, far down the line as sacred knowledge was lost to time, right when it was needed the most.

And, above all else, the chaos and bloodshed that could only occur when god battled god for dominance, and the entire structure of society was upended to make way for the new.

That it took so long—one or two days after the proclamation, when you witnessed your cousin misjudge the distance of a leap in his bid for safety from the blade of his former best friend, only to land on the ill-maintained, thatched roof of a storage shed and inadvertently start a massive fire that ate through multiple buildings when he took out a lantern on his way down—was just proof of why you had only made it to the lowest rung of acolyte status before the kill order was given out.

You wept at your inadequacy, your lack of faith, and vowed to do better. To be truly devoted. To see your Master’s plan to their end, and receive your just reward—whatever form that might be.

You were tested—oh, yes, you were tested. Pushed to your ultimate limits as you fled, playing the long game yourself and surviving as long as possible to sow maximum chaos in the chase. To sow maximum panic and fear among the inferior believers of the other three remaining Bishops of the Old Faith.

And your hard work and devotion paid off gloriously as you stood, bound in chains before your god, the ultimate sacrifice. Last of your kind, destined to free Death itself and bring forth a new, glorious era of chaos to the world as the very laws of reality itself became upended.

You heard your god speak words meant for you, and you alone, not once, not twice, not even thrice, but five whole times!

You witnessed such glorious devotion of your fellows as they, too, gave their lives in sacrifice to secure Him even more power—and then feeling such power firsthand as He struck against you again and again, killing you by His own jaws!

You tasted His very essence when you rent His heart asunder between your jaws once you finally bested Him in battle and had to honor of seeing Him off to the new chaos Death had become!

Your devotion was ever pure, your duty clear, when you fulfilled the prophecy… only to then turn its intentions on its head, in true chaotic fashion, by freeing the One Who Waits wholly from his role and ripping apart the very institution of the pantheons of Faiths even older than the Old one. The birth of beautiful chaos ever-present in the new—new rules, new states of reality, new opportunities for a new god to explore.

Then… oh, the most divine of glories! The chance to offer a forest of new chaotic potentials with the resurrection of your Lord—the chaos that comes with mortal life. With losing control of the future. The surprises—both good and bad—which sneak around the bend so easily. Hunger, sickness, thirst… and the ever-changing journey to overcome such states.

And, best of all, the drop in your stomach and the dizzy giddiness that comes with falling in love… and the rumbling purrs that come along with it, if that love happens to be feline in nature—a pleasant surprise, and further proof of why you were right to worship this god, since He has such good taste in partners.

Gratitude and devotion unending to He of Havoc, that you were allowed such honors.

The chance to worship Leshy.

-----

Mystic Seller: Hey, you really messed up the fabric of reality when you killed all those gods.

The Lamb: All according to the Great Leshy’s plan, I’m sure.

Mystic Seller:

Meanwhile, in Purgatory…

Leshy, re-experiencing death for the millionth time: Why do I suddenly feel a huge spike in devotion??

[bigbadivy]

I was grateful for the warmth of my horse's neck. I held on to her as she galloped through the city, skillfully going around people who ran everywhere. Searching for shelter in the night, but Only worsening the chaos.

Another lighting struck a building me, causing another yell of screams.

"EVERYONE HOME NOW!"

I shouted, praying that my voice is heard to all through the thunderstorm.

"DIRECT ORDER FROM THE KING!"

"HOME NOW!"

My horse, steadfast as she was, ran through every street. Inspired by her persistence, I kept yelling to the crowd. Ignoring the thunders, the pouring rain and my rattling sword.

We kept going until the crowds dissapeared. I whispered to my horse to slow down, caressing her neck. I allowed myself to lead her to a small market stall, where we could rest from the rain.

Maybe, just maybe, we finished our part. Maybe our night now ends.

"HELP!"

Of course.

I jumped down and ran towards the voice.

"My sister!

She is stuck under the fallen tree!"

I turned and searched for a tree in my eyes, but there is no... NO

The sound of an unleashed sword stood out against the rain.

I sprut towards my horse, but my sheeth was already empty.

Of course. Someone will try to use this disaster.

This will be a long night.

I saw the blade's shine from above me, and recognized a person climbing the nearby stone building.

She balanced herself on a window, then swiftly brought herself to the next.

"Halt!"

Whether she heard me or not, she made no sign to care. So be it.

I got on my horse and stood up on her saddle. My legs shook, but I managed to hold on to grab at the side of the closet window. I tried to move legs up to it, thankful for the empty street. There was no crowd who saw me wobbling in my armor. I looked up to the stranger, she watched me from afar. I couldn't see her face well, but her head was tilted to the side in an amused way.

I let go of the window's side and started taking off my armor, leaving only a dirty shirt to fend me from the cold. Slowly but surely, I climbed up.

I was cold, clumsy and sluggish, but had a small smirk as I managed to make my progress. This troublemaker picked the wrong knight.

The roof was just above me.

I raised my hand to climb there, and a lighting struck above it. It was the closet one I saw. I would want to believe that it's power made me tremble, but nothing but my own terror caused me to lose my grip.

I fell and- No.

A hand caught my arm, and I grabbed the roof tightly. I felt myself being pulled up signed in relief as rested on concrete matter.

The woman crouched down next to me. Her hood's shadow covered her eyes, but I could see her cocky grin clearly.

"You screamed a little, sir craven."

This could go unmentioned.

I inhaled and looked right into her.

"Thank you,"

The cold was taking it's tall at my exposed skin as I tried to keep my voice confident.

"But I cannot let you steal a weapon of the king's knights.

Tell me where the sword is and we both can go home safely."

Just let us go home.

"I have no evil motive,"

She said assuredly.

"It is right there."

She turned around and I could see my sword.

It was a few meters behind her, emedded in the center of the roof.

"And it needs to stay here. This is the only way to keep the lightings at bay."

She did not sound like she was lying.

And if she had any intent to harm me, she would have already done so.

But danger wears many faces.

I started getting up.

"I am sorry, it is my role t-"

A radiant white light crossed from the sky to the roof.

By incstinct, I tackled onto the hooded woman and placed myself between her and the light. I stayed above her, careful not to let us touch and make us both defensless.

Shaking, I waited for a strike.

"We are safe, craven."

Her voice was so sweet, I could barely tell it was the same person.

"Look."

I slowly opened my eyes.

Her hood fell, and revealed a freckled face and a beaming, knowing smile. Her sparkling, green eyes gestured to the sword.

I unwillingly turned back to it.

It was magic.

The very next lighting struck it as well.

"How?"

Her smile grew brighter.

"A witch never tells."

The white lights only highlighted her eyes. She was far more mirthful than I ever thought a witch would be. Far bolder and kinder, too.

I realized that I was smiling as well.

"Also, you have an awful method to protect someone from a lighting."

She said, deciding I was too happy.

"But, thank you, you are..."

Her smile turned softer.

"Yes?"

I urged her to continue. It was my turn to smirk.

"You are not as much as a craven as you seem."

I tilted my head, still smirking.

"Try not to drool too much, my lady."

She merely rolled her eyes and I laughed. Feeling safe for the first time since the night came.

My smile died down when she started getting up.

"Thank you for your chivalry,"

The witch said, pushing dirt of her cloth.

"and the amusement, of course."

I moved aside to let her stand, yet my eyes were unable to let go of her. I did not even know her name.

"But it seems like your duty is done and mi-"

"Wait, just..."

She did.

The cold barely mattered anymore. I searched for a reason, an excuse, for her not to leave. The way her eyes stared into me made it seem like she was looking for an excuse, too.

"Tell me what is needed to protect the city,"

I said then. Praying that the glint in her eyes was not just my imagination.

"I can get more weapons, and people who will embed them wherever is required."

The witch merely stared at me. Looking for any sign of dishonesty. Then her childish grin came right back.

"If you manage to climb down without fainting, I might just cooperate, sir craven."

Her taunt only made me smile.

"Your challenge is accepted, my lady."

I gestures to the roof's end, bowing a bit. She bowed dramatically, holding her hood with both hands as a dress. Her movements were swift and gallant as she jumped to the window, and soon I started following her.

There was a long night ahead of us.I did not mind that at all.

[thezombieprostitute]

Flowers in Storms

A/N: Another entry for @the-slumberparty​‘s Bingo, again mixing three squares: Friends with benefits, Trapped together, and Flowershop AU. Reader is female.

Warnings: Mentions of the death of a character. Storms and storm damage. Angst.

The bell above your door jingles and you know who it is without even looking up. “Good afternoon, Sheriff. I’ve got your order right here.”

“How do you do that, Y/N?” Lee walks up to the counter, shaking his head. In the years he’s been visiting your flower shop he still hasn’t figured out your secret to knowing he’s the one walking through the door. He’s tried showing up on different days, at different times, in different weather patterns, and you still know it’s him. “One of these days you’ll have to tell me your secret.”

“Maybe someday,” you tease. “In the meantime, here’s your order. Make sure to give her my love while you’re out there.”

Lee nods his thanks and heads on out, pausing to turn back and ask, “are we still on for Tuesday night?”

“Yeah,” you smile. “Unless that storm we’re supposed to get gets worse. Then you’ll likely be on call.”

“Thank you, Darlin’” he tips his hat and heads out, flowers in hand. 

It’s been several years since Juanita, Lee’s wife and your best friend, passed on. You were both in a lot of pain at the loss and, after a year, ended up finding comfort in each other. Not a relationship, Lee couldn’t risk looking like he was moving on too quickly, lest he lose his next election. Friends with benefits and it worked for the two of you. 

You both became workaholics when Juanita was buried, burying yourselves in your jobs. It wasn’t healthy and it came to a head when Lee came in to buy flowers on what would’ve been their anniversary. You had told him he needed to take better care of himself and he threw that right back at you. Soon after you both agreed to start meeting up, as friends, just to make sure you each took some time off work. 

Your relationship grew from there but neither of you felt it was right to actually be dating. So you made arrangements, trysts, and other fun things but neither of you asked the other for more. Tuesday would be your next “not-a-date” and you were looking forward to it.

Business was painfully slow Tuesday but that didn’t surprise you. That storm was building and people were prepping for the worst. Lee had called and told you he was on call for the night and you reassured him you’d be home by the time the really bad winds hit.

Unfortunately you weren’t paying as much attention to the windows as you probably should, too busy making sure that your flowers would survive the likely loss of power. The next time you looked out the window it was hailing pellets the size of golf balls and you decided it was safest to just stay in the shop. You’d been through a few twisters by now and knew how to handle yourself but you still found yourself shaking and nervous as you plotted out the safest spots in the store. 

Your nerves got worse when the power cut out. The scream of the wind and the hail against the roof were the only sounds you could hear. You lit one of your emergency candles. It wasn’t much but there was something comforting about the little source of light and heat. You let yourself relax, watching that little flame, until some red and blue lights distracted you.

You heard the front door slam open followed by Lee shouting your name. You ran to the front of the shop and hugged him tight before yelling, “what the hell are you doing here, Lee?!”

“I could ask you the same thing, Y/N! You promised me you’d be home before this storm got rough. I tried callin' your home, which still has power by the way, and got no answer, so I ran out here hoping, praying you weren’t stuck in a ditch or worse!”

“I can look after myself and you shouldn’t worry about me like that,” you protest. 

Before Lee could yell back you both heard a loud boom as lightning struck a nearby tree. You pulled Lee away from the front door and windows as the tree started falling. Much to both of your dismay it landed on your cars. 

“Fuck,” he whispered. “That’s gonna be a lot of paperwork.”

“For both of us,” you agreed, grateful you were caught up on your insurance. “In the meantime, looks like we’re trapped together here. Come on back, it’s a bit safer there. You got your radio? Let the other officers know?”

“Yeah, yeah. You get on back and I’ll radio. But we’re not done talkin’ about you lyin’ to me!” Lee turns away and radios the station letting them know his car is done for, “happened while rescuing a citizen trapped in a store but now we’re both here. We’ll be alright but I’m out for most any calls.”

“Roger that, Sheriff” you hear as Lee walks to join you. 

“Now,” he says as he crosses his arms and glares, “you wanna tell me what the hell you’re doin’ puttin’ yourself in danger like this?” You’ve noticed over the years how his accent gets stronger the angrier he is. It’s cute when it’s not directed at you.

“I genuinely lost track of time, Lee. I swear it was a legitimate accident. But you didn’t have to come out and save me. I’ve been through these things before and know how to take care of myself.”

“You’d be better at takin’ care o’ yourself if you were at home. Why’d ya even bother openin’ the damn store today? Coulda saved me a heap of trouble and a car!”

“That’s on you,” you countered. “I didn’t ask you to come get me, so you do not get to hold that over my head. And the store was closed most of the day but I had to be here to make sure I’d still have a store to come back to. I got caught up in the preparation and lost track of the time. You know that happens to me.”

“Why the hell couldn’t you just stay home where I…” Lee falters. “Where I’d know you were with your neighbors, lookin’ out for each other?”

“What were you about to say?” Lee shakes his head but you press him further. “You were gonna say something else just now. What was it?”

Lee lets out an exasperated sigh. He knows you well enough to know he’s not getting out of this one. His tone is quiet as he admits “I was going to say, ‘stay home where I could keep you safe.’ It’s…it’s what I say every time I visit Juanita. I just…I don’t want to lose someone else because I couldn’t be there.”

Not knowing what to say you opt to wrap Lee in as big a hug as you can. He gives you a gentle hug back and you stay like that for a long time. Long enough to notice the wind dying down and the pounding of the hail soften to the patter of just rain. 

The hug finally breaks when Lee’s radio chimes in, specifically calling for him. He walks out the front to respond leaving you in the back room. All by yourself in the dark with just a candle. You take the time to clear your head and, by the time Lee walks back in, you’ve made your decision.

“Deputy is drivin’ out here to give us a lift,” Lee tells you. “We’ll drop you off at home and I’ll get back to work.”

“Sounds good, Sheriff.”

Lee freezes. You only call him Sheriff when there are other people around. “What’s goin' on, Y/N?”

“We should probably stop hooking up,” you admit, not meeting his eyes. “I know we agreed on no romance, dating or whatever but…this whole thing was supposed to be temporary anyways. A way to stave off the worst of the grief as we healed. But I don’t think it’s working. I’m the last person to tell you to move on but if you’re still blaming yourself, blaming her, for her death, you need something more than I can offer.”

Lee focuses his attention on the floor, even though it’s too dark to see anything. When he doesn’t respond you continue, “I’ll still happily be your friend, that sure as hell won’t change. But I’m not gonna keep up the rest. It’s been fun, don’t get me wrong, but I think it’s keeping us from healing like we should be.”

He continues to stare at the spot on the floor until you hear the deputy’s car horn. You walk out in silence and get in the back of the car while Lee and the Deputy discuss all the damage and ongoing situations. They drop you off in front of your home, Lee never once acknowledging you. 

Over the next week you and your neighbors set to picking up the pieces, helping each other out, finding missing pets and more. Happily there weren’t any fatalities. Lee was purposefully keeping his distance from you, sending other officers to areas he knew were helping. The rumor mill was buzzing, of course, but you made sure to not feed the fire. 

When you finally got back to your shop the power had come back and you started salvaging what flowers you could. There were phone calls to suppliers and insurance companies to be made and you settled in for a long day on the phone. 

The front door jingled around noon and, without looking up, you call out, “mornin’ Sheriff.”

Lee lets out an exasperated sigh, “one of these days, Y/N.”

You look at him and ask, “do you actually want to know or do you want to keep it a friendly mystery?”

“You know what, I do wanna know. How the hell do you always know it’s me?”

“You’re always wearing the cologne Juanita would buy for you. That stuff she had to order special from the catalogs. You would’ve run out of it by now but I’m guessing you keep buying it because it makes you think of her.”

He purses his lips and nods, “the smell makes me think of her. My complaints about the cost when she first bought it for me were tempered by her assurances it would help me stand out while campaigning. It just kinda became another thing we would laugh and kid about.”

Lee takes his hat off and walks towards you, “I do need to apologize for bein’ so short with you. I’ve had some time to think and, you’re right. I don’t know that I’ll ever heal from losin’ Juanita, but I need to try and I can’t do that if I’m treating you like I would her. If I keep seein’ her in your place. If I keep wishin’ it was her laying next to me instead of you.” The confession hurts but you take it in stride.

“I’d still love to have ya as a friend,” Lee looks at you sheepishly. “I ain’t been much of a friend but I’m hopeful you’ll let me work at being better at that.”

You give Lee a soft smile and walk towards him with open arms. He welcomes the embrace and you feel his shoulders relax. It takes a while but you finally break the hug, tears in your eyes but a smile on your face. You both needed this.

It’s been a couple years since the storm but you and Lee are still good friends. So much so that he considers it his duty to keep an eye on your new suitor, a war veteran who came home missing an arm. When you asked Lee why he was stalking your date he looked offended, “I’m the Sheriff and your friend. I have to make sure this new guy isn’t takin’ advantage of our town’s sweet florist.”

You’re working on paperwork when you hear the front door bell jingle. Without looking up you say, “welcome to the Bouquet Boutique! Let me know if you need help with anything.”

“So that’s what you tell your customers,” Lee says with a smile on his face. His smile grows when he sees your look of confusion. “I’m tryin’ to go without the cologne for a while. See how that works.”

“I’m proud of you,” you say as you give him a big hug. “I’ve got your order right here, Lee. Make sure to give Juanita my love.”

“Will do, Darlin’. Will do.”

[blackiraven]

Scarecrow had a nightmare for sale!scriddler, if you don't mind.

Of course! Here they are!✍

Ask is still open. If you want a couple of paragraphs from me - welcome!🤗

A match struck. The sound was so loud, but only I could hear it. A small, weak flame was desperately struggling with the thick darkness of the night. But soon I helped the yellowish light turn into a scarlet fire, devouring whole hectares. The darkness dissipated in fright. The old wooden house was completely burned down to the rotten foundation. The whole history of my family, all memories, all kindred blood were destroyed in one night with one match. I'm the only one left. The roof collapsed, fire drops flew in all directions and fell on a huge field. I have given this land almost all my life, but its burning pleased me.

Through the loud crackling of burning wood, screams and cries for help sometimes slipped lost in the fire. All the doors were closed, and I had a heavy bunch of keys. Finally. My torment is over. I got rid of my curse. Burn! Shout! Remember me before your death! Remember everything you've done to me. Call our precious mommy. But this time she won't save her pets, she won't hide them under her skirt, because my hands have previously turned her neck into a flexible rope. Now this creature sleeps forever, and the screeching of her children burning alive has become her last and eternal cradle.

Suddenly, the beautiful and overly bright picture began to change. The fear of tormented souls was replaced by bitterness. Smoking black hands reached out to me, grabbed me and dragged me into the hellfire I had created. No! Let me go! You deserve it! Leave me alone! You should be afraid of me!

"Decided to get rid of us, Johnny? You must be punished! Punished!"

The fire enveloped my body and tore off my skin. Blood boiled and foamed, bones smoldered. Fingers with exposed, sharp and red-hot phalanges clung to my face. My hair burned, my flesh hardened and cracked, blood flooded my whole face and darkened my eyes with a scarlet veil. There was nothing left but to scream in panic at the top of my voice and resist to no avail. The fire ran wild and devoured the boundless field at high speed. My only friends and listeners, a flock of crows, did not have time to fly to a safe place. They, too, disappeared into the sky-reaching wall of fire. No! It shouldn't be like this! They deserve it! Deserved it! My punishments must stop!

"…deserved it!.." stagnant hot air burst out of my chest. The body jumped at once, the hands twitched and squeezed the pillow. The claws almost tore the pillowcase. A dream… just a dream. I grunted with displeasure and rubbed my swollen eyes with my palms.

"It's all in the past… in the past… only I am left." I repeat this several times in order to even out my breathing. Through the slightly open window, a cool wind blew into the room, which soon calmed my inner heat. The drops of sweat dried up, drowsiness gradually returned, but annoying thoughts and throbbing pain did not leave my head. Squinting, I looked around and rummaged a little in the crumpled blanket. Right next to me was Edward, sleeping peacefully. One hand was holding on to the corner of the blanket, the other was raised above his head and laid on the pillow. It's a good thing I didn't wake him up. He worked for a very long time today, I barely managed to get Edward out of his office and persuade him to go to bed. I don't sleep well myself, so when I manage to get enough sleep, I want him to be with me. A calm, even peaceful look, parted lips and a quiet sweet sniff, which immediately began to calm me down. I quietly creep up to Nygma and nuzzle his shoulder. Just need to be patient a little and the pain will go away. It's so nice to have you with me. My hands took his palms by themselves, fingered his thin fingers and sometimes stroked his head. So good. This smell of paper, ink, newspapers and vanilla sugar reminds me that I am no longer alone.

"Mnh… huh? Jonathan?" Edward mumbled softly when I stopped holding back and just hugged him like a favorite toy. My response was silence and a careful kiss on the cheek. "Is everything okay, Jonathan?" he kept talking through his sleep and took my hand. "They… deserved it, didn't they?" I didn't want to say it, but my tongue let me down. Edward immediately woke up and turned to me. "Again?" he asked excitedly. Green eyes glittered in the dark. "Yes…" I didn't deny it. Edward knows that I am sometimes disturbed by such dreams. With a sad sigh, he slowly stretched out his arms. "Come to me, dear." and Edward hugged me and pressed me to his chest. It immediately became very convenient. All sounds were muffled and only the pounding of his heart filled my ears. I hugged Nygma tightly in response, naturally clung to him, wanting to drown in him. Now all thoughts were about Edward. He is so gentle, caring, understanding and all these values go only to me. Sometimes, it's hard for me to believe it. Sometimes, it all seems like a dream too. "It's okay… I'm with you." he whispered gently in my ear and stroked my head and the back of my head. In his arms, all the scars stop hurting, all the dark memories go away. I feel at peace and enjoy every second. "I… love you." "I love you too, my dear."

[chungo-cheeks]

A Dream Possibly Unshared

A note before you read:

I wrote this story so my friend would send their art to me. Anyway I hope you enjoy~

( ͡°( ͡° ͜ʖ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)ʖ ͡°) ͡°)

I used to have a subtle aversion towards the numerous social gatherings meant for the nobility. They usually struck me as garish, and the people even more so. However, my outlook changed after I met my current best friend. Ever since that fateful encounter in the music room, the anticipation of seeing them has never failed to fill me with excitement. I guess that this longing has created the scene I find myself in now. As I stand in this grand hall, the melodious tunes of the orchestra mesh with the hum of conversational chatter. Amidst this symphony of sounds, the most resounding to me is the pounding of my heartbeat as I see Ezra's gradual approach toward me. 

Every intricate detail, from the exquisite embellishments to the stunning gown, is truly awe-inspiring. I’m fully captivated and find it difficult to catch my breath in their presence. “Hi, Ezra. Wha-What’s going on?” I mutter struggling to look away while I feel my face burning up. They slightly grin upon my outburst before moving closer and softly saying, “I'm glad you're finally here. I had to search for a bit and I was getting worried you wouldn't be here this time.” Whether they do this intentionally or I’m that weak against them I find myself even more flustered than before. I try to come up with a response, but the only thoughts going through my head are about how close they are and how enchanting they are right now.

As much as I try to speak, my words falter, and my face flushes red. "I mean... Why would you be concerned if I wasn't here? This place is amazing. I'm sure you could have a great time without me. I-" Before I can continue, they interject, "I can only truly enjoy these events when I'm with you, Cazmier. The only time I want to be in this environment is with you." Once again, their words pierce right through me. It feels like they're striking yet another cord in my heart. I can't even see myself, but I know I must look like a complete mess. Every word they utter has me hanging onto their every syllable, causing my heart to dance with each one.

I take a moment to compose myself before I murmur quietly, "I feel the same way." They catch on quickly and whisper back, "What was that?" I try to play it off, saying, "Nothing. I was just talking to myself." I hope they buy it, but to my dismay, they reply, "I heard what you said. I just want to hear you say it again." as they move to stand in front of me. There's no escaping this now. I feel my face grow hotter and my body temperature rise as I repeat, "I feel the same way. I want to be with you... IN THIS SCENARIO, I MEAN!" I instinctively cover my mouth, but it's too late. I can only hope they don't find my words off-putting.

They smile slightly while stepping to my side and exclaim, "I'm glad we share the same opinion then." During an awkward silence, they glance around, then turn back and ask, "So, are you going to stand there all night, or are you going to ask me to dance?" Their words send me reeling, as I try to gather what remains of my composure and extend my hand, asking, "May I have this dance?" Accepting my hand, they pull me close and whisper, "I thought you'd never ask." Their touch sends shivers down my spine, and I feel myself melting as they lead me to the dance floor.

We sway to the music, while I find myself captivated by a whirlwind of thoughts, enveloped in the nearness of them, their gentle touch, the steady rhythm of their breath, and the sheer magnificence of their presence have my thoughts tied in knots. Underneath this roof, Ezra embodies the heavens above. Nothing else comes close in comparison. I catch myself stealing glances at them, quickly averting my eyes when our gazes meet. Amused, they chuckle before teasing, "Am I making you nervous, Cazmier?" I managed to stammer out, "NO! No, it's not you. I think it's probably just the crowd. Yeah, that must be it." A mischievous grin lit up their face as they leaned in and whispered, "Should we find a quieter place then?"

I nodded, feeling a mix of nervousness and excitement as they led me outside to the elaborate gardens behind the grand manor. We ventured deeper into the garden, where a magnificent maze awaited us. My heart raced as they guided me through the twists and turns, and despite my efforts, I struggled to maintain my composure and keep my legs steady. As we reached the center of the maze, I suddenly became aware that they had been holding my hand the entire time.

After finding a peaceful spot, they suggest we take a small break and offer a seat on a nearby bench next to them. Feeling nervous, I hesitate before declining the offer, insisting that I'm perfectly fine standing. I knew it was a lie; my legs felt ready to give out at any moment. They glance at me, commenting on my reluctance to sit next to them, and I quickly took a seat on the far end of the bench. They constantly liked to crack a joke, saying I didn't want to do something because of some sort of dislike towards them, and in the end, I did what they wanted. However, after sitting down, they soon moved closer, dispelling the distance between us.

"So, um, how about that dance? That was great, right?" I say, trying to distract myself from how close they are. "Yeah, you looked great back there. Your dancing was nice too, but I could tell you were a little lost in thought," they say, chuckling to themselves before continuing, "I didn't think this gown would be that distracting for you." I quickly reply, "No, it's not distracting. The dress is striking and looks really dazzling on you." They lean over, pressing themselves against my back, and gently whisper into my ear, "I can show you how striking it looks off of me."

I recoil in shock, my heart pounding, as I struggle to comprehend the unexpected statement. I stammer and stutter over my own words, my cheeks flushing, as I manage to ask, "What do you mean by that, Ezra?" Turning to face them, our eyes practically locking, I see a mischievous smile playing on their lips as they lean in to whisper in my ear, "It's exactly as I said. You can't really be that dense, Cazmier." Heat floods my body as I whisper to myself, "This can't be real. It must be a dream. Why else would they be like this? But this dream feels different from the others." Their arms envelop me, pulling me closer as they ask, "So, have you dreamed about me before? Have you envisioned us doing this?"

I should really learn to stop saying things out loud, especially things like that. I nod slightly embarrassed as they manage to undo my coat and turn me around. "Good, 'cause I've also been dreaming about doing this to you as well," they say before pulling me into a kiss. I begin to feel my consciousness slowly slip away. I know it's wrong – they're my best friend, and I know the real them isn't interested. But I can't help myself right now. I know the only reason this Ezra is saying these things let alone doing this is because deep down it's what I desperately want, what I desperately pine for, but I'll never be able to have. 

I lose track of how much time is passing, but I find myself back against the bottom of the bench with Ezra on top of me. Both of us are huffing, trying to catch our breath as we pull away, the strands of saliva still linking our mouths. We both wipe the saliva off our lips as I begin thinking about how I probably won't ever get a moment like this again. I know it's a dream, but it's the most aware I've been in one. I try to catch my breath and sit up, getting face-to-face with them before professing, "I love you, Ezra, and I have for a while now." They smile and chuckle as they pull me in one last time and reply, "I love you too, Cazmier."

After uttering those words they proceed to lean in, but loose their footing as they fall of the bench. I go over to try and catch them, but I trip over due to my awkward position and fall with them.

✦

Cazmier wakes up at the camp with the morning sun streaming between the trees, accompanied by the loud snoring of Kenny (Ezra's dog) and the shifting of Ezra lying under the same blanket. An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach as he realized he would have to face his best friend after the vivid dream he had just experienced. In an attempt to avoid an awkward conversation, Cazmier pretends to still be asleep. He could hear Ezra's deep sigh and sensed them moving closer, which only heightened his nervousness. Ezra gently brushed back Cazmier's hair and gazed at him in the soft morning light, causing Cazmier's heart to race and all other sounds to blur in the background. When Ezra eventually left, Cazmier let out a sigh of relief, covering his face with his hands as he lay there, feeling as flustered as he had when he locked eyes with Ezra in his dream.

( ͡°( ͡° ͜ʖ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)ʖ ͡°) ͡°)

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! Sorry if parts of the story fall off...I'm not really that good at writing 0-o

[missamyrisa2]

Idk if you’ve answered this before but I wanna know which spots are the most ticklish and which is your favorite place to tickle/be tickled?? <3

I'll allllllways answer this one~~

The all around most ticklish spot on me, like always ticklish and guaranteed to make me squeak and squirm helplessly and giggle out in octaves much higher than my speaking voice, is my sides. Mostly because there's two of them, they are locked in on all sides to bad tickle spots so I immediately feel extra vulnerable when my sides are grabbed, it's like a hug so I also blush and feel loved, and there's not a tool or tickle style that has failed to tickle my sides madly.

Most ticklish in the hands of a skilled & knowing tickler would probably be my navel. It's ticklish to all touches of course, but someone who knows me and knows how to manipulate my body and sensations can turn me very quickly from a sassy chatty ticklee into a babbling breathless mess ~

My most erogenous non-royal area tickle spot is under my toes. Which is sooo random because I don't have a foot fetish, I don't even like my feet at all, but thumbs rubbing in that spot puts me through the roof every time, no matter how far gone into the fuzzies I am it'll always bring me back into the sensual ticklish hysteria~

The spot most sensitive to teases are my chest buttons~ tickling and teasing them works to wreck me buuuut~ it's actually even worse when someone is not tickling them directly but talking about it and wiggling a finger right above them rapidly. It just puts me into giggly madness, looking down and seeing that~

I suppose I have to talk about my ears too huhhhhh~ gooosh wellll my ears are highly ticklish to kisses, silken materials, feathers, makeup brushes or just loving rubs on the earlobes. But there's the aural tickles~~~ mmmh. They're the worst~! My tickle therapist stumbled into this one when she struck a tuning fork and held it to my ears and I felt apart into trembling whimpering giggles. Since then I've also had someone kissing my ears which the sound and sensation nearly made me pass out. Andddd the taps~ it doesn't even have to be close to my ears. The sound of tapping, especially if someone is wickedly taking advantage of my belt fetish by tapping on mine, tickles me into insanity. Another exploration of my tickle therapist, she once held one of my belts and made it jingle all around me which was just incredibly awfully tickly and I'm not talking about this anymore~

Sooo my favorite places to tickle kind of depend. I love to seek out those spots that just make someone gyrate and wriggle and tremble madly - the spots they never expect but also dread because they know it's a seemingly random place but hugely inexplicably sensitive. It might be my kissing on their thighs, refusing to be deterred as I plant loving brushy kisses relentlessly. Or maybe it's their neck, tracing it endlessly while they sing me a giggly song. Sometimes it is just the underarms, briskly rubbing my thumbs in there until they fall apart. Overall though? Tummies. Oooh I would never tire making a tummy twitch and tremble with a stiff feather tracing around the curvature, probing for spots that my fingers can fly in and wiggle over~<3

[atherix]

👀👀👀👀 any birdie related wips in your back pocket

mmmmm Birdie related wips huh? I think I may have shared all but like... one. But this one is, yet again... MAJOR spoilers. And this time it is MAAAAAAAJOR 👀 That being said... continue at your own risk <3

--

The Alley is eerie from a distance but downright terrifying up close, Jimmy can’t help but think, his pale yellow wings curling around himself as he walks down the street. Barely old enough to make the trip to the temple on his own- his first time taking the Alley Roads and he has already veered off of his path, his offerings for the gods left beside the rickety wooden stairs out of the cavern.

It’s dark, only the light of his torch and the dim sunlight filtering in through the holes in the ceiling. For a ruin, he thinks, the Alley is surprisingly intact; the wood is still rich in color with no signs of rot. If it weren’t for the stones that had fallen through the roofs, crashed into the ground- if not for the charred edges of where fire burnt away an entire section of the city, it would look like a ghost town instead of a corpse.

It’s silent, and he imagines what it must have been like back then- bustling with life, full of energy.

He imagined a city full of people just like him.

He walks through the city, foot catching on loose stones occasionally, and turns around, looking at the ruin towering over his head. It looks like home, he can’t help but note. He wonders if there’s stone under the facades, too.

“What are you doing here?”

Jimmy screams, whirling around and stumbling back. No one is supposed to be here!

When he lifts his torch, the firelight just barely glimmers off of colorful wings and purple robes. It reflects in golden-brown eyes, and Jimmy’s breath catches in his throat.

A Watcher?

The stranger is perched on a bench, balancing on its back as if the wood isn’t more than a hundred years old already, tilting its head at him. “Well?”

“I-I’m sorry!” he stammers, too startled and uncertain to even so much as bow to the god in front of him- because certainly this is the god who struck down the Alley, this must be the god who punished the wayward gods who abused their power, tricked its people into following them into a whole new prison. “I was just- curious! About this place! My, uh, my grandparents told me stories! You see, their grandparents were born here but were brought to Icaria when they were young, and I was just trying to find their old house, and-”

“Ah, so that’s where the survivors went,” the god says, perking up. “I’m glad! I always worried they died on their way out of the Alley- the magic those Watchers released was very strong, it caused quite a... disaster here. Very few people survived, you see.”

Jimmy doesn’t quite understand what the god’s talking about but he nods anyway, smiling tightly. “I didn’t mean to intrude or anything, I’m just curious-”

“Oh, stop your trembling,” the god laughs, jumping off of the bench and stretching its arms above its head. “I’m not a Watcher, you silly bird. Well- I am, but not.”

“Huh?” Jimmy tilts his head now, confused, and draws his wings tighter around himself. “Uh- but you’re... in the Alley?”

“I was born here, too,” the god- or person, Jimmy isn’t sure now- laughs, waving a hand dismissively. “My name’s Grian. Grian Xelqua.”

“Grian...?” Jimmy repeats slowly. “Uh- oh, right, I’m Jimmy!”

“Weird name,” Grian deadpans, and Jimmy squawks. “Is that just a thing out there? Names like that? How do you even say that sound- that doesn’t sound Craftian to me. Sh? Gri- dri- Timmy? Nailed it.”

“My name’s not Timmy!” Jimmy protests, frowning. “And it is Craftian, thank you very much!”

“Mm, I’m not sure about that,” Grian says, raising a brow at him. “Sounds pretty- well, to be honest I haven’t exactly been anywhere else. But I have never heard that before.”

“You live in an abandoned cave- wait, did you say you were born here?” Jimmy asks, Grian’s words catching up to him. “Wait- how in the world- it’s been abandoned for like a hundred years now!”

“Right,” Grian agrees, nodding. 

“How in the world-”

Grian laughs, spreading his wings and taking off. “Well, Timmy, I think that is a mystery for you to figure out!” he calls down, and for a moment Jimmy swears he sees eyes.

He swallows. A Watcher but not, Grian had said. Something else- or something in between. "If you were born here!" he calls before Grian can fly away. "If you were born here, do you know anything about the Solidarity family?"

Grian pauses. "Solidarity..." he repeats slowly before dropping down again, landing in front of Jimmy- inches from his face. His eyes are calculating, curiosity and interest flitting across his face. "Now that you mention it, yeah, I see it. You look a lot like her."

"Who?" Jimmy asks.

"Emmy," Grian answers, wings ruffling. "Emmy Solidarity. Sweet lady- the Palace adored her embroidery. She made all our robes. She had a young son when the Alley fell."

"Emmy! Yeah, they named me after her," Jimmy says, wings puffing up in excitement. "She was my grandfather's great grandmother!"

"I see," Grian murmurs, scanning over him. "That explains a lot, actually. Do you feel drawn here?"

Jimmy blinks and opens his mouth, a denial on his tongue- but he stops, because...

Yeah. I do.

As if reading his mind, Grian grins. He holds out a hand to Jimmy. "I see. Well, Timmy, I suppose I can let you stick around. It's nice to talk to a person again."

[bloody-spider77]

"Saviour"-Prologue

Eyeless Jack's Story- Dwellers

Jackson "Jack" Milen Hayes stared vacantly at the ceiling, feeling two large holes pulsating with pain that made him writhe with agony in front of the bodies of the cultists and the mist that surrounded the demon before him. Jack could not see the creature before him but he could feel it looming over his body.

Jackson Milen Hayes stared vacantly at the poster, backpack straps dangling from his elbows with books filled with diagrams of the human body, describing the functions for his college classes he was coming home from. Jack's brown eyes studied the page, "Looking for PURPOSE?" it read. Jack knew what he wanted to do and be from a young age, he has ambition to become a doctor but the page struck a chord with him, had he really found his purpose?

Jack studied ruthlessly for years; he never made friends in elementary or high school, he had only had the slightest bit of luck finding a couple of drinking buddies and his girlfriend, Claire. He was happy, wasn't he? He thought he was as he snuffed the poster and himself for even thinking anything of it and walked back to his dorm.

The middle of the night was ruthless for Jack, he had always been somewhat of an insomniac, which made it easy to study all night but on nights like this where he just stared at the ceiling or tossed and turned without anything to do were torture and to make it worse, he couldn't get that stupid flier out of his head. He talked about it with Claire when she came over for pizza. He hated to admit it to anybody but he was beginning to feel like he was losing his ambition he'd built for years.

Jack studied the poster day after day as he came home from school, it started to torture him in his sleepless nights as he finally succumbed and ripped it from its holder on the lamp post. Angry with himself, he looked it over, commited the address to memory and crumbled it, shoving it in his usually neat and tidy bag.

He walked three blocks, took a right and took a left then another left to make it to where the meeting was being held, tonight was the night he'd try to see if he was on the right path. His red sneakers tapped on the sidewalk, the white laces bouncing along with his shoulders that were covered by his black hoodie. In the June sunlight, he put his hood up to cover his brown hair, neatly brushed and combed as per usual. He got restless, almost starting to run before stopping himself.

The moment arrived that Jack stood in front of the large doors of a church building. He took a breath, realizing this was his last chance to go back and accept his path that he forged but the unknown beckoned to him. It was intimidating; the look of the large doors and window panes that were almost calling his name. He exhaled and with one pale hand he reached the door's cold metal handle and pulled it open.

"Hello?" It was empty in the front room, filled to the brim with pews and a tall roof that was far above his head, the sights only made this endeavor more intimidating as he heard the sound of voices in another room, he followed. He passed the stain glass of religious texts and neared the wooden door, slowly opening it to see a group of men and woman, all middle aged or at least, older than the 21 year old man peeking into the room.

"Excuse me?" The voices all come to an abrupt end and he feels several pairs of eyes on him, he clears his throat and steps in, shoes creaking the wooden planks in the floor. Jack trembles, feeling like he just walked in at the wrong moment. He was never used to speaking, he didn't have a hint of charisma in his body, this was by far not his scene.

"Hello there." A woman with black hair and brown eyes that match his comes to him, "I'm Mariah." She reaches a hand, he shakes it nervously. "Jack. I-I'm- I'm Jack." He stumbles and Mariah smiles, placing a hand on his shoulder and turning him toward the rest of the room. "This is Jack." She exclaims, squeezing his shoulder as all eyes are on him. "Nice to meet you all." He finds his grounds, feeling more confident once Mariah has gripped his shoulder reassuringly.

"Hello, Jack." The entire group returns his greeting. "Why are you here, Jack?" Mariah asks with an inquisitive smile, walking him into the group of people to mingle. Jack thinks on the question slowly, Mariah beams at him. "I felt...uncertain." he shuffles, she removes her hand from his shoulder and nods solemnly. "What was making you feel uncertain?" She asks, a more inquisitive look on her face. Jack thinks again.

"My whole life, I've wanted to be a doctor but.." Jack's eyebrows furrow, "I saw your flier and it made me think; Am I really going down the right path?" Jack shudders at himself for saying it aloud and the wind blown in from the broken window. "I see." Mariah nods, "You're not wrong to question things, I understand your need to be aware of your future." Her heels tap the wooden floor boards.

She leads him up the steps of the church building, their conversation keeping his eyes trained on her to not be rude. He follows the red dress she's wearing up the stairs and views the different paintings. "You know," Mariah walks ahead of him, "I can see your nature from your eyes." She says, putting her hands on the railing, Jack follows her lead and it lands with him staring across the room at a certain painting; a creature with red eyes and horns surrounded in a veil of black mist.

"Your nature," Mariah stares across the room, "...Is exactly what we've been waiting for. I believe you could do great things here. We could explore many career opportunities for you." As Mariah explains, her eyes trail from the painting to Jack, back to the painting and so forth. Jack follows her view. "If you come here more often, we could explore all the possibilities. We've all done it, life is a never ending journey." Mariah turns to him to stare directly in his face. "You have a lot of life left in you, the eyes are the window to the soul after all."

As she spoke, Jack felt more and more convinced, this would be a good thing for him. He didn't have to be one thing, he was human after all; He could be anything.

Jack nodded and extended his hand for Mariah to shake, "I'll take you up on that." He told her, her eyes lit up and her white toothy smile showed.

"I'll see you out for the day then?"

"That would be nice."

Jack went back; at first bi-weekly, then weekly, then daily by mid-august. By the time the crisp air of September hit he was fully engrossed in it; it began to worry his friends and family with the way he'd speak about it, how he knew every person by name and face, how they knew everything about him but it was the way he acted or rather, began acting toward others outside the "Gathering."

"I just don't understand, Jack!" Claire tried day in and day out to truly understand Jack's fixation but she couldn't do it, he never made sense. "It doesn't need to make sense to you, you wouldn't get it anyway." Jack hunched over in his seat, instead of the usual paperwork he'd have there, it was drawings and writings of the beliefs of the Gathering. He fidgeted the pen in his hand, agitation coursing in his veins. He began to tap the pen as Claire's voice drowned out of his ears, she was yelling and he knew it. He sharply bit his lip when the pen broke, "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" He screamed finally.

He couldn't remember anything after that but the sound of Claire's screams and once his eyes finally adjusted, his breathing stifled as a struck Claire with a swelling cheek shoved past him and out of the dorm room. Afraid of his own actions, he anxiously peered around the room. Head in his hands, he sucked in air through his teeth, starting to sob.

A month passed, he ignored the Gathering, he ignored his family, he ignored his friends, his ignored Claire, he rotted in his dorm until that fateful early he met the creature that Mariah had spent her sermons speaking of. "Hello, my child." The creature spoke, appearing in his window surrounded in a veil of black mist, Jack sat up and looked out the window until he was staring the red eyed demon in the face. "....Zalgo?" Jack spoke the name quietly and it nodded back to him. "Go to the Gathering." Jack stood, as if his body wasn't his own and starts to step toward the window but once he reached it, Zalgo had disappeared.

Jack took off running, wasting no time to make his way back to Gathering. He didn't know why he went, he just did. The blue sky of the early morning and the crunch of leaves below his feet woke him up as he breathed the cold air. His feet tapped anxiously as he ran until he saw the familiar doors. Breathing heavily, he finally opened the door. Everyone stared.

"You're here." Mariah looked at him with shock. "How...did you know you needed to be here tonight?" She asked slowly. "Zalgo." He said simply. The room bursted in murmurs. Mariah's shock drops to a pleasant smile as she familiarly places a hand on his shoulder, bringing him toward the glass window of Zalgo. "You look like you ran a long way," she whispers, "I'll grab you some water." He watches her leave and then come back, a glass of water in her hand. Jack takes it and in an instant, he gets woozy. Body weakening, he studies the faces of the people to keep himself awake but to no avail.

Jackson "Jack" Milen Hayes woke up on a table, arms and legs strapped down. The second he tried to jolt and open his eyes, he couldn't see anything and he could barely struggle to stand. He was certain his eyes were open but he couldn't see, no matter how large his eyes opened. He knew even if he had gone blind that the spectrum of blindness wasn't all black, not like this but he didn't feel a blindfold on him and once he'd blinked, liquid came from his eyes; a goopy sensation unlike tears, unlike the thickness of blood. "Shhh, shhh, shh." He heard Mariah's voice as her hand calmly guided his head back down. "W...what." Jack bit his lip, "WHAT THE HELL IS HAP-" Then there was a sting of pain in his side's, right where his kidneys were.

"Don't worry, this is all for the greater good, Jack. You are the chosen one. The saviour of Zalgo's name and the one who will bring justice to the Slenderman." Mariah explained, a certainty in her tone and words. "What..happened to my eyes?" He asked, hearing Mariah sigh. "This is what has to happen so Zalgo had trust you. Because Zalgo's main power source is the eyes, we sacrificed your eyes to him and the bounty was plenty. That goop you feel from your eyes is The Truth." He can hear the smile on her mouth, "You are the saviour!" She laughs maniacally. "I'm so glad I finally found you! Ahaha, I had to sacrifice so many people to bring you here but now, now..." Mariah laughs even more, he can practically feel her doubling over in laughter. "This is too perfect! I have to summon him, now! He has to see this! I did it!" Mariah runs across the room, Jack struggles against his bounds to no avail, his sides aching. Mariah looks back to him, "Oh right, Zalgo higher up minions eat kidneys and as the saviour, you have to eat kidneys. Which is why I took yours, to give you a hunger for them." Jack could barely believe it but before he had the chance to think, the creature who appeared in his window was there over him.

"Child..." Spoke Zalgo, reaching out to Jack and when his eyes were touched, he could see through the liquid in his eyes and the first thing he'd seen was Zalgo. Then, as his eyes adjusted he saw the bodies of the other cultists, he turned speechless with fear. "Don't worry, you will be coming with me. You will be free." Zalgo reached his hand down to Jack's forehead and his touch was cold, it felt like nothing was there, it was so faint. Jack's bonds loosen and in an instant, his vision goes dark again but he knows exactly where he's going as he pounces on Mariah, hunger overtaken him as he eats. Clawing and chewing at whatever body parts he could find to tear off her. Jack felt the hunger pangs leave his body when there was nothing left to eat. Gasping for air and feeling skin on his teeth.

The final moments of Jack's humanity seeps out of him in the form of puke, his head begins to grow woozy, he feels Zalgo over him as he fades into unconsciousness. Once he's awake again, he can't see his surroundings but the scent of dirt and grime wake him up, he feels around at the grass and dirt around him. Using his hands and knees to sit up, he stumbles to stand.

"Oh, you're awake." A girl's vice beckons as she steps closer to him. Jack stumbles and falls back, startled. "Sorry!" The girl yelps instinctively and kneels beside him, feeling at the ground over her until she grabs hold of his arm.

"Are you okay?"

"Who...are you?"

"I'm Lulu."

[xynchronicity]

Siren's Song | Drabble

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, death, torture, and abusive relationships.

If any more tags need to be added, let me know.

It truthfully didn’t take the two to grow close. Siren and Brann clicked in a way that only found family could, developing a sibling-like relationship, that was filled with chaos as much as it was seriousness. Though, something didn’t sit right with her for the longest time. Brann being under Talon’s control, loyal to such a degree it was concerning. She knew why. Loyal soldiers mean fewer problems to deal with later.

So, she broached the subject. Asking if he’d ever wish to be free of their control. His hesitation was understandable both for being loyal also for wanting to be honest with her. Though, his thoughts were louder. Her answer was found there.

Yes.

Her next question was bold and perhaps frightening.

Would you like to be free for real?

A dangerous game they played underneath Talon’s roof. Though, it’s not plotting against them. Simply changing arrangements. At least, that’s how Siren would justify it.

He agreed.

And so she got to work in freeing him. Scouring his mind for the link, keeping him tied so tightly to them, and broke it. Or rather, lessened its hold on him enough for his own choices to shine through. Slowly she pried him from it, asking questions to test his loyalty and mentality. Slowly he blossomed from that captive knight into a radiant knight, capable of doing anything.

Their joy was cut short, though. Those above Brann noticed the changes even if he tried to hide it with false undeniable loyalty. Reaps was the first, seeing more fighting in his little knight. Particularly of the bratty variety. He didn’t dislike it, but it was new. Bolder than the knight's previous attempts.

With how close the wraith and his knight were, it wasn’t a surprise when the former was filled in on what happened.

Though, this wouldn’t end well. Not because Reaps wished to enact punishment, no, he enjoyed the added chaos.

But his absence for weeks was worrisome.

More so when he came back, raging. A beast starved.

So that’s what happened.

Starved to give up what happened.

It wasn’t an easy fight. Reaps always made sure of that, but especially so now.

Wraith, stop- he wouldn’t want us fighting-

“Quiet!”

It couldn’t be helped. They fought. And Reaps in his eternal hunger, saw a feast within Siren.

And he feasted.

Wails of the cacophony of voices were projected throughout the building, urging the beast not to.

Yet they were silenced.

She was silenced.

She was alive but silenced.

Snow?

Silence.

Winter?

Silence.

Mint? Lavender?

Silence.

Empty.

Lonely.

Gone.

They were gone. He took them. He took them from her. They were taken from her for a second time.

Gone.

The word repeated in her mind. It echoed against nonexistent walls.

However, she felt something creep in…

A new sound emerged from the silence.

Screeching but it wasn’t anything she or the five could produce.

No…this was…

They’re free.

It’s all she managed before she was overtaken. Her masks were torn from her face, leaving new gashes and scars. Her jaw was fucked from the method the mask held it shut. Amber eyes held so many emotions of so many tormented souls. The others who weren’t sentient enough to communicate properly or control the powers unleashed chaos.

Sometime later she was subdued, restrained, and put under sedation. Eventually, she awoke still restrained and with a numbness in her jaw. They’d fixed it. However, her mask wasn’t put back in place. Perhaps to allow her injuries to heal properly.

Then it struck her when she adjusted her posture and hissed in pain.

She was truly rendered mute now. Not that she needed to speak normally…but the fact they truly took it from her. It brought back memories of having no voice to protest the tests…her siblings-

Her siblings…the same ones she lost back then have been lost to her now.

That loneliness seeped into the deepest crevices of her mind.

She’s been through a lot, but this…this she couldn’t tolerate.

Yet you tolerated watching them die. Twice.

She’s back.

Fear and dread overwhelmed Siren. This voice hasn’t been heard in so long.

No…no go away! It’s not my fault!

The voice laughed.

Your actions led to this, Siren, then and now.

Siren knew it to be true, yet she refused to accept the former. Not then. Never then.

Never then.

It’s good to be back. Won’t you give your big sister a nice ‘welcome home’?

[isabellebissonrouthier]

A Storm's Ghost

A short piece of original writing. Ask if you want to be tagged in my future writing!

WARNINGS: Mild Violence, Blood, Mentioned Death

TAGLIST: @diemohnblume

WRITING MASTERPOST

***

Her feet pounded against the rooftops like rain in a storm, like lightning striking the ground, like the booming rumble of thunder.

Thud. Thud.

Thud. Thud.

Thud. Thud.

Were all those thuds her boots - well-worn and shining like new - or was her heart simply pounding so violently in her chest that the sounds became one?

She had no time to ponder it, though she was sure it was both. She had to focus.

She had to focus, or she would lose.

She could not slow down, either. She could not slip up. She could not trip and stumble into the alleyways between buildings; that was a sure-fire way to break something: to be caught and unmasked, even killed. And, more than anything, it was sure-fire way to lose the one she chased, chased, chased.

She could not let that happen again.

His laughs were loud, echoing against the sky - above the wind that swirled around her, and with the distance between them growing with every passing second - and they made her stomach churn. Even as he ran, he spun and danced and twirled, twirled, twirled: never slowing, never stopping, simply catching her eye and winking, as if nothing delighted him more than making her chase.

Her scowl deepened, her heart racing like never before, and she raised her left hand. In an instant, it was burning, and she was sure - like always - that it would leave a scar behind when she peeled off her costume at the end of the day.

It never did.

Instead, lightning shot right from her open palm, darting through the air like a bullet, and struck the rooftop just as he reached its edge.

As always, it went right through him, striking the roof and nothing else, and his cackles made her shake with rage. He leapt to another building, landing and rolling, his laughs never fading, even as he got to his feet and continued to run.

"There's a reason I'm called Ghost, Stormling!" he called back, over his shoulder.

Ghost then spun around once more - not for function, but simply for the fun of it - and stuck his tongue out like he was jabbing at the air, before turning forward and continuing to run.

Stormling almost snarled, and tried to speed up, but her limbs were beginning to ache, as if weighed down by heavy bricks. Still, she pushed through, though Ghost seemed utterly unreachable. He ran, and the faster he ran, the more the distance between them grew and grew and grew.

She leapt to the next building, and tried oh-so hard to catch up.

The wind still swirled around Stormling, and it whispered and whispered and whispered, too: nothing of consequence, of course - wind was wind, after all - but every so often there was a burst of encouragement, echoing in her mind like that was where it had come from. Words were almost uttered, but Stormling could not understand anything it said.

She tried to listen, but her focus was elsewhere.

Her hands clenched into fists, and she willed the wind into doing more than simple whispers and hisses. It lifted her from the ground - almost dropping her, with the effort it took to wield it - and, after a moment to adjust her position, it launched her forward.

She soared right over Ghost's head, and landed right in his path.

He blinked, recoiling backwards in alarm, and she leapt at him. Her nails - uncovered by her fingerless gloves - scraped against his cheek for a single moment, drawing blood, before her fingers passed right through his face.

Ghost smiled, stepping back - smug, even with the lines of blossoming ruby - and waggled his fingers in her face.

Shit. She should have gone for his mask, not for what hurt.

"Not so powerful against an enemy like me, huh?" he teased. "You're all good against fire and ice, against teleportation and speed, even against mind control and invisibility. But it's me - little, innocent me - that you can never, ever win against."

"You aren't innocent," Stormling snapped, fury building like a pot, ready to overflow. "You've committed more crimes than I can count!"

Ghost smirked. "You can't count very high, huh?"

Stormling snarled, and sent another gust of wind right at Ghost, aiming to push him right from the tall, towering building that was the scene of their battle. It, of course, simply passed right through him.

Her body ached more with every passing moment. Would she even win if he chose to fight with his hands?

She had the experience, but he did not ache, ache, ache, and seemed to never even grow fatigued, not for a moment. He could run and hide and burn and hurt, and would simply move on in an instant, as if he had never done anything in the first place.

And Ghost was known for his unpredictability.

His expression twisted into an exaggerated, mocking frown.

"Tired, Stormling?" he mocked. "Does the little hero need a nap?"

"Fuck you," she spat back.

Ghost smiled, and leant in, a glint of amusement in his eye: the brown - like earth, like shadows, like syrup - alight with mocking delight. For a moment, his irises captured Stormling's gaze with an unignorable force.

Then, he spoke.

"If you want to fuck me, all you've gotta do is ask. And, you know, take off that little costume of yours."

Despite herself, Stormling's mouth fell open. For a moment, all she did was stare.

Ghost seemed content to watch her cheeks turn crimson, and did not yet attack her with any of the weapons tucked under his cloak. He simply smiled.

Stormling's burning face suddenly twisted into rage.

"You're sick," she spat.

Ghost shrugged, and then smiled once more.

"Perhaps," he said. "But you're no better than I am."

Stormling recoiled, and then glared.

"You're insane if you think we have anything in common."

Ghost tilted his head, looking her over with an amusement that only ever seemed to grow, never fading or dimming, even in the direst of battles. His smile then returned, taking its usual place on his dark lips.

He spread his arms, his cloak rising to show off the various weapons strapped to his belt.

A gun and a sword, a dagger and some kind of laser. A watch that froze those unfortunate enough to be struck by the hands. A ring that would grow into a shield.

A grappling hook that Stormling immediately recognised as hers.

When had he taken it?

"Heroes and villains are all the same, aren't we? One cannot exist without the other. A hero needs a villain. A villain needs a hero. It's a delicate balance; it's a delicate dance. I mean, where would you be without me?"

"Fighting someone else."

"And without them?"

Stormling paused, and then made the decision not to answer. Instead, she glared.

If she was quick, she could strike his temple and knock him unconscious, before he even got the opportunity to become utterly untouchable. And once he was unconscious, she could...

"You'd be working an ordinary job, living an ordinary life," Ghost said, startling her out of her thoughts. "And how boring would that be?"

Stormling did not answer that, either. Instead, her hand twitched over to the knife she had, hidden in a pocket of her super-suit. Its handle was heavy and blunt; it could easily be used to knock an enemy to the ground and out cold.

Ghost took a step back, like he knew - always knew - of her plans. His hands raised as if ready to push her away.

"Well, as fun as this has been, hero, I really must get going." He grinned. "I have places to be, things to do. And you... well, I'm sure you'll find something to keep you entertained."

He turned on his heel, and started to sprint.

In an instant, Stormling was chasing after him. She could not let him get away, not again, and-

Ghost leapt off the side of the building, his laughs echoing with the wind - pure, cruel delight, and manic, enthusiastic glee - and Stormling barely managed not to scream, though she did suck in a breath through her teeth.

She scrambled to the edge, almost uncaring about her own safety, and peered over with widened eyes.

There was no splatter on the pavement, no body to be found, nor anyone hanging over the edge. There were simply people wandering the streets, not even looking up at the hero who protected them with every ounce of her being.

And there was no sign of Ghost.

She stared and she stared; she searched and she searched.

Nothing.

She paused, and then her eyes closed.

Fuck.

Not again.

[fionas-treasure-chest]

Leap of Fyth

Screams and the crunch of snapped bones.

Before those terrible sounds pierced the air like knives, Kristjan Fyth had been lying on one of th roofs near Tailfeather. The Viera was off for the rest of the afternoon and had been content with soaking in the noon day sun and daydreaming about Freya, a woman he’d grown fond of.

But when those terrible sounds reached his black and white fluffy ears, the lover was pushed aside leaving the hunter in its place.

He grabbed the spear he always kept by his side and rolled up to his feet in a singular motion. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the settlement of Tailfeather for some sign of the cause of the shouting.

To the east were children and younger hunters running to grab chocobos by their harnesses and drag them away to safety.

To the west were older men and women rushing with javelins and nets.

The Viera leaped like a rocket from the roof and soared through the air. The wind caressed his cheek as he cut through the air.

“LIKE, WATCH OUT!” The viera shouted as he landed in the center of the group. “I’M HERE TO HELP!”

Kristjan landed with a graceful step sending leaves flying left and right. He then broke into a sprint catching up to the hunter in the lead of the pack.

He called out to the hunter once he reached her side.

“SO LIKE, DUDETTE, WHAT’S GOING ON?” Kristjan said.

The hunter sniffed as she pointed ahead with a shaky finger ignoring the viera’s strange manner of speech.

“Don’t know how but a Chocoboeater got into the Forelands.” said the hunter.

Kristjan had never heard of the creatures. But the name more than spelled out why they were a threat to the chocobo rearing settlement.

“So like, do we got a plan?” Kristjan said.

"We kill it, then figure out what hole it came from so we can plug it! Hopefully, Ishgard can spare some munitions from the manufactory."

Kristjan bobbed his hand and motioned to the hunter with a jerk of his thumb.

“I’m going ahead! LIke, hang back and back me up!” Kristjan said.

“ARE YOU MAD?! CHOCOBOHUNTERS ARE FECKIN’ HUGE!” shouted the hunter.

Kristjan ignored her and raced ahead as fast as his legs could carry him.

The winding path led him to a narrow valley tucked between two walls of uneven stone and dirt. The sky was obscured by a thick canopy of colorful leaves that dangled from ancient trees that likely lived to see the entirety of The Dragonsong War. And a babbling brook that cut through the land.

But Kristjan paid heed to none of the idyllic beauty around him because he heard the snapping of bones and chilling screams just around the next bend.

Kristjan grunted as he leaped for and off the walls of the narrow valleys that dotted much of the Dravanian Forelands. He soared through canopies and over the babbling brook until he reached the bend up ahead.

And then, he saw it.

It was a shadowed clearing beneath a thick covering of vegetation from high above with only thin rays of light pouring in from the sky. Large boulders and fallen snapped trees dotted the land from end to end with a large open lake in the center, fed by the brook he’d been traveling along.

But what struck the viera most was the chilling quiet.

There were no tweets from birds anywhere nearby, just the pained death rattles of a Chocobo broken in two. There was no baying of lizards or roaring of lions, just the painted screams of hunters crawling away while their lines of blood smeared across the ground from their injuries.

   But there, in the center of the clearing, was the Chocobohunter.

   The creature paid no heed to Kristjan as he walked closer with his spear in hand.

   But why would it?

   The monster was a massive beast with a head that resembled a toad large arms that resembled a mutated monkey and large fists that looked easily four times his size. One of those fists held a broken Chocobo's lower half, the other was busy toying with a hunter it had already drowned in the lake.

   To a creature like that, Kristjan’s slow approach must have looked like a delivered sack lunch.

   Kristjan frowned at the beast and gripped his spear tight enough that his knuckles drained of color.

   “CHOCOBOEATER!” Kristjan called out, “Dunno How you got up here, but like, you won’t be bothering the dudes of Tailfeather ANY LONGER!”

   The large beast turned its warty head towards Kristjan.

   The viera had no clue if it understood language. But as the beast snorted, then raised the hunter towards its maw, it was clear that it gave less than a damn.

   Kristjan shifted his weight and swung his arm. And moments later his spear was buried deep into the Chocoboeater’s throat.

   The monster roared in anguish as the jagged metal dug into its flesh. It leaped up to his hind legs and flailed about while trying to reach the metal lodged into its flesh.

   Kristjan jerked back on the chain that lengthened from the rear of his weapon. The rattling chains covered the sound of the monster’s pained roar and the spritzy splash of blood that exploded out from the nasty wound.

   The chocoboeater shouted in a challenge and flung the corpses at Kristjan.

   The viera dragoon sidestepped each of the corpses and grabbed the spear when it returned to his side. The click and clack of the closing chain extension rang out in that clearing.

   The earth rumbled as the chocoboeater barreled towards the viera with both fists raised high with deadly intent. Then with a throaty roar, the beast swung towards the earth, cracking the soil beneath its terrible might.

   But rather than the greasy smear of its next meal, the chocoboeater had only smashed sand and stone.

   It looked wildly left and right in search of the annoying gnat that threatened its lunch, grunting with every swing of its bleeding head. Then it heard a whistling sound from high above and dumbly tipped its head back to investigate.

   By the time it realized its error, Kristjan had plunged his spear into the beast's left eye. It roared in pain as it flung its arms towards its face. Kristjan meanwhile was doing his best to stay away from those meaty fists as he strained his muscles to bury the spear deeper and deeper into the beast's organ.

   But even at his quickest, he was still an immobile target. Which aided the monster in smashing his ribs in wild jabs and hooks. And the leather he wore was no match for those hammer blows, which made the Viera grunt and groan in agony.

   “I won’t…” he groaned “be denied. Cause like, those dudes Hnnghhh NEED YOU TO GO!”

   Each shot slowed down the Viera's movements as he danced around the chocoboeater's head. Which left more hammer blows to crash into his body. His muscles screamed and his bones cracked until he felt something snap along his ribs.

   The Viera's spear was halfway into the monster's eye. So close to its brain and the end of the threat. But he knew without a doubt that if something didn't happen, he would die…and he couldn't bear the thought as he HAD to see Freya again.

   Time slowed for the Viera as he weighed his options.

   If the creature struck true once more, he was certain to die. The injuries the monster sustained would slow it down giving the hunters time to finish the job.

On the other hand, if he pulled the spear out and rolled away, the monster might lumber into the woods and find a hidey-hole to heal. And while Kristjan would likely live with a chirugeon's aid, he'd have failed to stop this danger at his assigned post.

The monster swung a hooked fist in his direction when he made his choice.

He released his death grip on his spear and sucked in a gallonful of air. He bent at the knees and stared up into the sky. He murmured a prayer to Halone that the fury would guide his feet.

Then…he jumped.

His leap launched him through the canopy in a painful winding arc. His body twisted and turned until he flipped like a dolphin. The warmth of the sun caressed his battered body. While the east moving wind fanned off his sweaty dark-colored skin. He then twisted his body once more and howled aloud with one foot aimed where his soul said it Must and the rest of his body clamped tight.

He screamed the Fury’s name despite the aches in his busted ribs and flew down towards the earth.

If he landed his mark, then he would win. If he did not, then he would die.

He crashed through the canopy, broke into the clearing, and felt the sole of his feet SMASH into the butt of his spear.

The creature could barely grunt as the spear drove deep into the monster’s head. Sending it flying through the eye, through its brain, and out the other end.

The Chocoboeater grabbed the Viera in its meaty fist and flung him away.

But the damage was done and the heave was inches away from the nearest boulder. Kristjan rolled into the lake and passed out.

~~~

   When Kristjan awoke he was resting on a soft bed with pillows filled with chocobodown.

   To his left was a small table with a steaming bowl of stew and a bottle labeled Hi-Potion and his name. To his right was a kind-looking chirugeon, with a thick brushy beard who looked upon him with a mix of relief and frustration.

   Kristjan grinned and said, “So dude, like, how long am I off the bench?”

   The chirugeon flicked his nose and simply said.

   “Shut the fuck up and heal. This is Tailfeather, we don’t act cute with our patients here.”

[foreignerabroad1994]

Baby Hut: Writing Prompt Short Story

My response to the following writing prompt to u/MidKnightshade on the WritingPrompts subreddit:

[WP] After graduating with honors your grandmother Baba Yaga brought you a home. It’s the offspring of her house. It’s a tiny little hut right now but she explains it will get bigger as it gets older. However the hut is a little clingy, follows you everywhere since it’s afraid it will be abandoned.

"Baby, you can't come in here. They don't let in... houses. You need to stay in the car like I told you to."

Baby hut meowls, scratching at the rubbery floor of the supermarket's entryway with his little talons. The sound blows through the tiny door at its front porch, beseeching.

"You don't even eat food!" I try to reason with the little munchkin, my hands on my hips like a dad at the beach.

Baby hut isn't a fan of this reasoning, either. He bumps his shingly roof into my palm, and I wince as the edge pokes into my skin. I sigh.

"Fine, but don't touch anything, don't bump into anything, and stay close to me, okay?"

Baby hut teeters, his side window opening and closing. Grandma's hut usually did that with her back windows. I wonder at the genetics of sentient huts. I should probably name mine, but in two weeks of cohabiting with baby hut in my tiny studio apartment, inspiration hasn't struck yet. Maybe grandma can whip up a spell to help me think this through. I dismiss the thought - the whole point is relying on myself now. I'm a university graduate now, with a law degree, and can legally drink. I can also cast about twenty spells decently well, twenty three if you squint and ignore the green goo.

So I nudge the little bugger in with me, before stopping him and grabbing his leash. I then use it to fasten the small cart to his porch railing.

"There, you can help me carry things. Good little helper, you are." I smile fondly as baby hut preens, shaking around like a happy chicken, making a rickety noise as he does. His legs are still a bit too short, his talons still more like needles than massive blades. Grandma says they take a few years to grow big enough to live in.

It starts off pretty well. I introduce baby hut to the big refrigerated section with a flourish, explaining how one day, he too will house a fridge. Baby hut is fascinated, the two twin windows at the front of the attic, just above the front porch, widening with a wooden creak of delighted awe.

I toss some vegetables into the cart, ignoring the baffled stares of the other shoppers as baby hut patters after me clumsily, the cart wheeling behind him.

It's when I turn the corner into the Halloween aisle that things take a dive. Literally.

At the screechy display of cheap plastic decor with a pretty offensive cackling witch at the bottom, baby hut grinds to a stop. At the top of the display is a large skeleton, a plastic thing, waving its hand up and down like those cat figurines I saw in Chinatown. Before I can haul him away, baby hut howls happily through his chimney and begins frantically climbing up the crates covered with ugly orange and black felt.

"Baby hut, no! That's not uncle Sheldon!"

But baby hut is squealing happily, barely noticing the contents of my cart flying out to the floor or all around, dousing a truly horrified woman with a cross around her neck with almond milk that explodes on the floor. Oranges tumble away and trip an older man, who crashes to the side and tumbles over a selection of, thankfully, newly launched seasonal toilet paper. It's pumpkin spice scented, which is vaguely horrifying.

"Baby hut, get back here right now!" I try to grab for him, but he's too quick, his stumpy legs hopping further up as fabric and plastic slide all around him, some sticking to the ends of his talons.

"What is going on here!?" an outraged store managers storms into the aisle, her face contorted in outrage.

"My... hut is a bit confused, I just need to-"

"Get that thing out of this store right now, before I call..." she sputters, likely not sure if she should call animal control, the cops, or the nearest asylum.

"I'm trying!" I say as I make another unsuccessful grab for baby hut. He finally gets to the top of the pile, nudging at the automatic waving hand that's still impressively attached to the cheap skeleton, requesting pets. When the hand goes up and down, baby hut jumps up towards it, prepared to play. When he loses his patience within seconds, he nudges the skeleton roughly till it tumbles and drapes over his roof. And then he takes off, jumping off the pile of crates and chaos and running into another aisle.

"What in the world-" a man clutches his box of chicken fingers to his chest as I race by him, right on baby hut's tail.

"Sorry!" I yell behind me as I hear a crash closer to the exit.

It takes almost thirty minutes to catch baby hut, who, it turns out, can climb rather high, and refuses to come down off of the shelves for half that time, jumping around, convinced this was an elaborate scheme to amuse him. At least three employees try to coax him down, but he isn't having any of that.

When I have my arms wrapped around the little baby, his short chicken legs are frantically jostling us both, but I don't let go as I look up from the floor, covered in some stains I probably won't be able to take out of these clothes, my hair a riotous mess of black curls around my head, and three store employees and several customers looming over me.

"Out," the store manager strains, a vein nearly popping in her increasingly purple-looking forehead.

I nod, muttering apologies nobody hears, and hustle the windowed menace out of the store.

I buckle him into the passenger seat, slug my way around the car, and slip in. I close the door and look at him, frowning.

"That was not okay."

Baby hut looks almost sheepish, closing the curtains of his front windows.

"No no, you don't get to-"

But I stop myself. It's on me, bringing the little chicken house with me just because he made a... face. I sigh and pat his roof.

"I think I finally have a name for you."

Baby hut opens one curtain.

"Let's go home, Jerry. I'll put on some YouTube videos for you. I actually wanted pizza today anyways."

Jerry meowls as I pull out of the parking lot, calling for pizza on speed dial - and drive my future house home.

[ssplague]

Alpha Bakugou & his late blooming Omega girlfriend 🌬🥀

PART TWO

Honorable mentions: @jazzylove @bakugoismisunderstood @koreylive

Okay since so many of you seemed to really enjoy this “Just thinking about”, I’m turning it into a short story. I’m thinking it will have four parts all together (including the original post). So I know I’d said that I’d give you a nice big dose of Scumbag Suki this update, buuuut that was before I knew this was going to take off like it did 🙈 The next one is entirely his POV so you’ll get your fill then!

Part 3

🌌✨🌠

“Suki, did you really have to be that harsh towards Izuku when we left the playground earlier? I know you dislike him now but….”

You trail off as you get settled on the plush, blanket lined floor of the small tent you and Bakugou had set up in your backyard. Supposedly there was going to be “A shit load of shooting stars tonight!” acording to one of your classmates. You were excited and insisted on staying up to watch, and as usual, Katsuki inserts himself into any and everything you do. Therefore; The two of you had rushed home after school, asked both your mothers and pleaded to spend the night together out in the yard. Deciding that you two were still at the age where anything other than star gazing was unlikely to happen, they allowed it.

Battery operated fairy lights were strung along the roof of the tent and a small lantern illuminated the center, giving the inside a pink and orange glow.

“Hah?! No way was I about to let stupid Deku come and ruin OUR sleep over! This is for me and you ________, no one else….just…us” a light breeze blew in through the open tent flap and treated Katsuki to be briefly overcome by your scent.

The two of you had your scent glands come in around the same time and still weren’t entirely used to it just yet. All both of you knew is that you favored each other’s scents over anyone else’s. It was kind of getting embarrassing how much you were beginning to enjoy your temperamental best friend’s spiced caramel aroma. So much so you had to make a conscious effort not to lean into him and sniff at his neck from time to time. He was subtle about it, but certainly didn’t mind bumping into or brushing up against you more often than ever to get a whiff of your intoxicating fragrance. Even getting hit with a face full just now had his brain feeling sluggish as beads of sweat began forming along his hairline.

A voice inside his head started incessantly growling “touch her, touch her TOUCH HER”. Under the guise of getting comfortable he shifted his leg to rest up against yours and his mind quieted instantly.

“I….I know that Kat…I wouldn’t have invited him anyway!” Your face began to redden as you brazenly blurted out; “I like when it’s just you and I, we always have the most fun”.

He instantly perked up at hearing that, but he couldn’t help but ask; “So you like me better than him? You think I’m BETTER than him?”. Leaning into you as he waited for you to answer his question, eyes narrowed.

“You know I do! Besides….” You couldn’t help yourself as you leaned towards him and inhaled deeply “You smell so much better than him too!”.

Oh hell now you’d done it ________, you unknowingly opened the metaphoric Pandora’s box.

He didn’t speak right away, just smirked back at you and enjoyed the devious expression on your face. After another minute spent invading one another’s personal space you were first to snap out of it quickly muttering; “M’sorry Suki I..I dunno what happened I shouldn’t have got in your face like that!”. You sat back up and moved your leg so it was no longer touching his. Unable to comprehend the sudden feeling of sadness at the loss of contact, or attribute it to the fact that you were no longer touching him. Katsuki frowned immediately and scooted back against you, “S’okay princess…s’not like it’s a big deal”. His use of the familiar nickname only succeeding to fluster you further.

The next few moments were spent in silence.

Surprisingly, It was you that eventually broke it asking; “Suki do you know…d’you know what mates are?”. You immediately began to play with the cheap desk telescope you’d brought out to avoid looking at him, your heart was beating a lot faster now. The startled look on his face would have informed you that your question caught him off gaurd; Surely you hadn’t just had the same thought he did?! Well either that or you could read minds….that wasn’t very likely, thank god.

“Ah well my mom told me it’s when two people decide that they want to always be together and get sad if they are ever apart…so they live together….and then other stuff happens that damn brats don’t need to know just yet” he finished lamely, confused as to why he felt so strange reciting his mother’s words exactly as she’d originally said them.

“I get sad when we have to go inside our houses at night and stop playing together” you said, the depressed tone of voice sounded like it was happening right then. “Me too…I wish we lived together cause then you’d always be with me” he confessed shooting you a nervous glance. Your eyes lit up and you beamed at him when the idea suddenly struck; “We have to become mates now Katsuki, we have to!”. You got up on your knees and began frantically shuffling things around the tiny tent. “If we’re mates then our parents can’t tell us we have to stop playing and separate at night! We’ll always be able to stay together!” Your sporadic movement and sudden outburst immediately infected your companion with the same frantic energy, albeit nervous, but excited all the same as he stared at you with wide eyes.

“You’re right _________! That’s a great idea”

“I know!”

“So uh..umm how uh…how do we do that?”

You stop smoothing the blankets out to stare at Katsuki, “You don’t know how?”.

“No” he admits glumly.

You can’t hold back the distressed whimper that escapes you and Katsuki is immediately at your side trying to console you “Hey princess it’s alright-“. “NO!” you exclaim “We need to do this to stay together forever!”.

Then you remembered something; “I see my mom and dad do this every morning”. You roll up the sleeve of your jacket and bring your wrist up, simulating the motion of rubbing it across the scent gland on your neck. Katsuki nods his head in understanding; “Oh yeah, mine do the same thing! Let’s do that!”. He lays back and stretches his neck out, “You do me first and then I’ll do you kay?”.

“Kay”

You nod and smile down at him, shuffling towards his head and bringing your wrist up to his neck. You hold your breath as your skin makes contact with his and start lightly rubbing over his scent gland a few times.

“S-Shit” he says softly, squirming slightly.

“What?! Did I hurt you??!” You ask.

Fear immediately replacing excitement and distracting you from reprimanding him for uttering a curse word as you usually would.

“N-No it didn’t hurt…please d-do it again”

You do, continuing thoughtlessly as you become enthralled by his peaceful expression and relaxed as he starts purring.

“Your turn”

You take his spot laying down on the fluffy blanket strewn floor, shivering with anticipation and the slight chill in the night air. His touch warms you from the inside out and you gasp at the sudden sensation. Relaxing once more, you look up at him through heavily lidded eyes and return the smile he’s giving you.

Neither one of you has any idea that this situation is going to come with serious consequences.

Eventually you remember the whole reason you two had decided to camp out in the first place; “The shooting stars!” You cry sitting up and narrowly avoiding head butting the blonde boy above you. “Hey!” He snarls. You stand and open the window flap in the tents ceiling, just as you do you see the first “star” shoot across the sky. “Woah! Quick make a wish make a wish kat!”.

He won’t admit it…but he does, and so do you.

As more stars shoot across the sky the two of you lay together; Happily curled up in the blankets, snuggling up together. Occasionally one of you brings your wrist up and begins to rub the others neck lazily, while continuing to watch the dazzling light show taking place above you. Both of you end up falling asleep long before it’s over. The sound of Katsuki’s continuous purring, lulling you into the most comfortable sleep possible.

Well that, and how his natural warmth just seemed to consume you….

Warmth…so warm at times it could get uncomfortable.

Like right now…too close…too hot

Your eyes snap open and you take in your surroundings; This is your dorm room, you’re at school right now, safe. Your clothes and sheets are soaked through with sweat. Not just sweat apparently; After waking up more you realize your lower body feels disgustingly sticky. Then a tingling sensation begins at the tip of your toes, rapidly spreading up your legs until it reaches the special place between them. Then it’s like a literal fucking furnace has exploded down there! Not to mention the heavyweight that has now come to rest in your lower stomach as it begins to cramp.

“Ow! ow! Ow!”

You try to feel around the bed for your phone, you could call one of your friends to come help you.Friends….that’s right they all left for the weekend! Wait not all of them left, Katsuki! He’s still here! That’s right, you were supposed to go over to his room, last night? Is it already morning? Fuck who knows.

You start to cry when you can’t feel your phone nearby on the bed, you don’t wanna look for it.

You don’t wanna be alone either though….Your scared. His room is just down the hall it’s not too far away, maybe if you just take it slow you’ll make it. You force yourself to get up, not even caring that all you have on is a tiny pair of sleep shorts and a sports bra.

You bend down to grab your slides out from beneath the bed and slip them on your feet before moving forward.

One foot in front of the other.

Your hunched over, one arm wrapped around your stomach and sweat freely dribbling down your face, coating your chest, sliding down the valley between your breasts.

Jesus, I must look like fucking shit right now.

As you make it into the hallway and start your journey all you can think about is how badly you want to see Katsuki. He always makes everything better somehow; That smile he wears just for you makes your heart sing normally. Right now you just let out a pained keen at the thought. Your inner omega has always been quiet enough to ignore in the past, but now she’s practically screeching like a fucking banshee inside of your head.

Just one word, over & over & over again:

Alpha

Alpha!

ALPHAAA!!!

With each screech your primal urges and instincts had began overwhelming you. Eventually reaching a point where the lines between the two began to blur. Making you feel more like a wounded beast that’s gone absolutely feral, while slowly dragging yourself down the hallway.

Once you get about halfway down you start to smell the familiar scent that you’ve become so fond of. Only it’s so much stronger and….muskier? It’s intoxicating, and so potent, you need more! Somehow your legs are moving quicker thanks to this new desperation manIfesting. Once you finally reach his door you have to stop yourself from breaking it down; Frantically pounding on it instead, and now you’ve started crying, salivating, and you’re just a goddamn walking train wreck… Somehow you don’t care, your appearance doesn’t matter, you just need HIM right now.

When the door opens you stumble inside.

The sound of his voice quieting your shrieking omega as soon as it reaches your ears;

“Finally decided to show up? Was waiting all fuckin’ night for you and…hey what’s wrong? Oh shit…fuck”.

Fuck is very right.