#it's funny how colours fade out in my hair

[cozylycaner]

It's midnight and I'm bored and thought about dyeing my hair again. But what colour? Or should I leave it as it is.

[capricornlevi]

inevitability- nanami x f!reader

tags: friends to lovers, salaryman!nanami, breeding, unprotected sex, fingering, missionary, mating press, creampie, mild cumplay

cw: alcohol (all sex sober & consensual!), pregnancy mentions, rough but v v consensual sex, reader and nanami are both in their late 20s/early 30s

word count: 5.3k

a/n: in which your decide with your good friend of many years that it's time to get you pregnant <3 this has been festering in my brain and i know it's pretty different than what i usually write but ! here it is! ahh! sounds of me screaming!

//

"this is weird, y'know?" you blurt out, watching as nanami hangs up his jacket by your front door before settling down beside you on the couch. he keeps a respectful distance, resting his hands on his broad thighs and smoothing down the fabric of his slacks, clearly nervous. "this is very, very weird. like, weird at levels i don't think people have achieved before."

"i know," nanami replies diplomatically, as if he could be anything but excruciatingly aware of how unconventional this is. "are you having second thoughts? because i completely understand --"

you shake your head abruptly. "no, no, just ... thinking aloud, i guess. just getting used to this, because it's really ... um ..."

"weird?" nanami offers helpfully, and you turn to nod.

"weird."

because what else do you call agreeing to have a baby with your platonic friend of 10 years?

you first met nanami on the second day of college and knew right away he'd be a good dad, even back when having kids wasn't even a consideration for you. it was obvious; he was already a good dad back then, with how he looked out for his underclassmen even as he progressed through his degree. how he stayed sober when he knew people would be going overboard, not sleeping until you texted him to confirm you'd gotten home safe after a party.

he helped you study at the weekends and, in return, you provided him with a discount at the local cafe where you worked. through this time spent knocking back americanos and proofing each other's work, you grew close.

even with all his responsibility and good sense contrasting your exuberance and recklessness, you found yourself enjoying being with him. and he could be funny, too, delivering sharp and witty quips when you least expected it.

you became inseparable. insufferable, some would call it; the matching-halloween-costume type of insufferable, a borderline codependent but obliviously happy friendship that can only be fostered on a college campus.

then right after college, when you had dived straight into your quarter-life crisis and dyed your hair every colour under the sun, got piercings in too many places, slept with questionable people and dated some even worse, nanami had gotten himself a decent, impressive, well-paying job. it was a job that had him wearing tailored suits at 23, paired with fancy glasses that cost more than your rent, and you'd laughed at him, at how serious he looked. but you also worried at how the bags under his eyes grew deeper and darker, how the amused lilt to his voice started to dissipate as time went on.

his 9 to 5 turned to an 8 to 6, and then he was working weekends and skipping movie nights, missing out on meeting new boyfriends of yours, fading into the periphery of your life with you unable to do anything about it.

as with all relationships in your twenties, it was hard to stay in touch. the higher he climbed up the career ladder, the further you grew apart.

soon, it was only on holidays or birthdays when you both would reach out, cordial and civil but achingly unfamiliar.

then, on your twenty-ninth birthday, drunk at a bar and having taken a couple minutes away from your raucous friend group, you had stepped outside to grab some fresh air only to walk head-on into nanami's firm chest.

you had spluttered apologies, lifting your head to see who you had headbutted, only to find your old friend looking down at you with an amused look on his face.

and just like that, things picked up where they left off. you spent the night talking, catching up over drinks and laughter.

with a tone that was only half-teasing, you had asked him what brought him out tonight -- it was hard enough to get him to come out for drinks when you were both in college, much less now with his big fancy job.

but he had laughed in that gentle, airy way you'd heard a thousand times, explaining that he had been out socialising with clients who had just left minutes before. he was just on his way out before running into you.

perfect timing. painfully perfect.

you stayed talking until last call, making exhilarated promises to get in touch the next day.

and to your surprise, you both actually stuck to that.

in the ten months since then, you've met up every sunday for breakfast at your favourite cafe. over lattes and freshly baked croissants, you fill each other in on the details of the half-decade spent apart. he had a serious girlfriend, serious to the point of moving in together, but she'd gotten spooked and left him last summer to go travelling. he was hurt, obviously, but understood her perspective in that annoyingly calm, measured way that is just part of his nature.

and on your end -- despite the drunken circumstances in which you'd been reacquainted, which is all part of moderation, after all -- you've actually calmed down considerably since your early twenties.

you have your own apartment. you have a rescue cat you care for immensely, even when he tries wriggling out of your arms to go stare out the window at passing cyclists. you have a retirement fund, started yoga, learned to bake your own bread.

you're not boring, you still have fun and let off steam whenever you can, but you're having the sort of revelations about life that nanami seems to have had years ago.

fun is good. fun is important. but it can't be everything, because then it starts to come at a cost.

truthfully, the birth of your nephew is what prompted you to make some changes. you didn't want to show up to babysit hungover. you wanted to have funds to hand in order to treat him to little toys and sweets when your sister allowed it, and soon found yourself amazed at how his little face lit up every time he saw you.

it made you grow up, and fast.

in the course of your cafe hangouts, you had mentioned your nephew to nanami. showed pictures of the boy's pudgy little hands reaching for the camera, told stories of how he could tell the difference between new episodes of Bluey versus reruns, and how he's changed your entire life without even realising.

soon, talk about your nephew turned to general musings about your own future.

then one night, when you decided to switch your meetup location from the cafe to a cocktail bar, you shared something that you had barely admitted to yourself.

you wanted to have a kid.

this realisation wasn't borne from some crisis about entering a new decade, it wasn't something forced on you by others or general societal pressure. it was something that grew organically, inspired by the honour of watching your little nephew grow up.

to your surprise, nanami didn't scoff or dismiss you. you figured he'd have rolled his eyes, laughing off your confession since you weren't in a committed relationship.

instead, he expressed similar sentiments, but for slightly different reasons.

"i'm sick of work being my whole life," he had mused quickly, sipping an old fashioned with a funny look in his eye. "it was only when we started hanging out again that i realised how much of my life I've wasted at a place that wouldn't care if i lived or died."

"do i need to be worried about you having the type of rebellious streak the rest of us went through ten years ago?" you asked, smiling and fidgeting with one of your rings without thinking.

he waved off your suggestion with a fond roll of his eyes. "i'm not impulsively quitting or anything, don't worry. just want to take a step back, i suppose, or find something with shorter hours. i just think there's more to life than endless hours slaving behind a desk."

you toasted to that sentiment, knocking back the last of your cosmo.

nanami continued, watching you set your empty glass back down with a soft grin on his lips. "the whole family, kids thing ... i get it, you know? it makes sense."

"yeah?" you pried carefully, interested to see where this is going.

"i'd be lying if i said i didn't think about it, too. i have a nest egg saved up which means i'd be able to take time off to help with a kid, to actually be there to see them grow up. and it's not that i want to have one just because i think i need to -- i think i'd be decent at it, y'know? the whole parenting thing."

you obviously agreed. you'd thought the same for a while now, and getting reacquainted with the man has only spurred on those thoughts.

he really would be perfect.

the issue wasn't discussed further that night, but it was brought up again at coffee the following sunday, then at the bakery the week after that, and before long, it was your birthday again.

after a massive party with all your friends and family -- and a little too much wine -- nanami had stayed behind to help you clean up, because of course he would, and you got to talking again, got to revisiting that topic that had been at the back of both of your minds.

you can't remember the exact wording of the discussion or how many bottles of prosecco fuelled the conversation, but what you do know is that when you sobered up, you didn't regret agreeing to it.

you were gonna have a kid together.

you and nanami.

coparenting.

as outlandish an idea as it might seme on the surface, when looking at it a little deeper, it made sense to you. this wasn't decided on a whim. this was something that had momentum building behind it for months and months, perhaps even years, without you even realising.

when meeting up for coffee the following week, you both gave each other an out. said there'd be no big deal if things were called off. but neither one of you took it, despite laughing for what felt like hours about how bizarre it all felt.

still, no sign of backing out.

which brings you to tonight, the agreed-upon date of when you'd start trying.

nanami had suggested using artificial fertility methods if that made you more comfortable, but you politely turned him down, thinking it unnecessary. he wasn't a stranger -- plus, you'd be lying if you said he wasn't objectively attractive -- so if he had no objections to trying things the old-fashioned way, then you didn't either.

and he obviously didn't mind too much since he's now here on your couch, folding his arms and then unfolding them as he waited for you to make the first move.

he looks good, despite all the nerves. he's filled out over the years, though he was always strong, with every muscle in his body well-defined and perfectly proportional. his hair is still blond but with the faintest specks of grey, his skin brighter and more well-rested than that night you got reacquainted.

his deep brown eyes stay fixed on you and your skin heats as his gaze traces over you.

"do you want me to kiss you?" you break the silence, the words tumble messily from your mouth.

he looks taken aback, as if this was something he'd vaguely considered but never thought would actually happen.

"do ... do you want to?"

his earnestness has you smiling, cutting through the tension, and you meet his eyes properly for the first time since he arrived tonight. he always has this way of making you feel comfortable, his presence alone is like an embrace that calms the racing thoughts that constantly occupy your mind.

it's only now that you're close, so close, you realise that maybe you really do want to --

"i wouldn't suggest it otherwise," you murmur softly as if your heart isn't hammering against your ribcage, shifting nearer to him on the couch but keeping that last bridge of distance for him to close.

his tongue swipes over his lower lip, almost subconsciously demonstrating his wishes as his line of sight drifts down to your mouth. he nods then, dipping his head, only a couple inches of space between you now.

"yeah -- yeah, okay."

you can see how his pupils dilate as you reach out to slip his glasses off, setting them down on the coffee table, cupping his face in your hands.

he returns your smile at that gesture, just the slightest hint of nerves in his eyes that disappear when he finally decides to press your lips to yours.

his lips are softer than you imagined ... though until this very moment, you hadn't even realised that this was something you had imagined.

he lets you set the rhythm but doesn't shy away; he meets your movements, your energy at every kiss, letting you stop for a moment to adjust yourself as things progress.

this should feel weird, right? you should have some lingering feeling of awkwardness at making out with your best friend, at taking his hand in yours and setting it down on your thigh to show you want him to touch you?

this was supposed to be a relatively unromantic event, after all. it wasn't meant to be the start of anything. though it was never clinical or unemotional -- you're technically starting a family together, after all, if an entirely unconventional one -- you never foresaw it going down like this.

this feels like something that was meant to happen.

he pulls back ever-so-slightly, lips still grazing against yours as he asks softly, "this okay?"

you nod by way of answer, not wanting to waste another second not kissing him. nanami captures your lips with his again, and with renewed enthusiasm, slips his tongue into your mouth, probing gently and barely hiding the low rumble of a groan deep in his throat.

all thoughts of propriety start to fade into the ether. his hand on your thigh burns hot, shifting up and down the exposed skin. you'd worn a nice dress for the evening, unsure of the dress code for an event as strange as this, but you find yourself grateful for choosing something that fell so far above the knee.

his hands are rougher than his lips but not in an unpleasant way. you figure it's from his only out-of-work hobby that doesn't consist of hanging out with you; his renovation group. nanami is part of a volunteer organisation that helps build and renovate houses for those in need -- as if he couldn't get any more painfully perfect, obviously.

you stay like that for a few more minutes, exploring these new sensations and becoming increasingly more aware of the ball of anticipation burning in your lower stomach. everywhere he touches you feels warm, every soft nip against your lips feels electric.

then, against every instinct in your body, you force yourself to pause to take a few steadying breaths. nanami responds in the same way, pulling his hands back to his own thighs, adjusting his stance on the couch.

he's hard, you can see as much from the awkward way he shuffles in his seat. not to mention the bulge very obviously visible in the front of his slacks -- just seeing it fills you with want, with the need to touch and be touched.

this is moving more fluidly than you had expected, arriving at each decision without a second thought. in that vein, you decide to ask:

"want to head to the bedroom?", hoping you don't sound as desperate as you're feeling. "if you're ready -"

"yes," he responds before you've even finished your sentence. you feel grateful that the eagerness is not one-sided as you get to your feet, taking nanami by the hand to pull him up with you.

when you've reached your room and the door is shut behind you, revealing the modest set up of your freshly-made bed and a single scented candle -- any more than that felt a little too forced, too awkward -- you marvel at the feeling of nanami's hands on your hips, somehow gentle and firm at the same time, manoeuvring you onto the bed with a pre-rehearsed confidence that never verges on forceful.

your head hasn't even hit the pillow before he's kissing you again like he's starving for it. it's messy this time, the gentle exploration from before giving way to something more primal and urgent.

you have to remind yourself that this is your nanami you're kissing. the nanami who was there for you through the most painful college breakups. the nanami who knows your coffee order, who helped zip up the back of your graduation dress.

but now, with his tongue against yours and the stiffness pressing against your stomach, all you can think is why you didn't do this sooner?

just as you're about to combust underneath him, he pulls back, balancing himself on an elbow as his eyes flick down to see how your dress is bunched at the top of your thighs. he closes his eyes, his breaths ragged and unsteady.

"i don't know how--" he whispers, tongue gliding over his kiss-slick lips, "how ... technical you might want to go about this."

you let out a little laugh, craning your neck to kiss his jawline so he knows it's not at his expense.

"i never really thought about the technicalities, but it doesn't have to be too clinical, or anything. i know you, you know me. we can just ... have sex."

"have sex," he repeats slowly, eyes open again, the hint of a grin on his face.

"yeah, have sex!" you answer with a chuckle. "or is there another way you'd like me to phrase it?"

he laughs then too, looking at you again as he shakes his head softly.

"what?" you press him with a mock indignance. "it's rude to laugh at my suggestion, actually. i felt it was pretty accurate."

"i'm not laughing at you," he says gently, lips still curved upwards. "just ... i must have pictured you saying those words a thousand times, and i never thought it -- it's just funny to hear out loud, is all."

it takes you a second to fully comprehend the words as they wash over you.

you'd be ignorant to say that the realisation never dawned on you, but it was something you thought was a relic of your college years. he had blushed a few times too many whenever the topic of sex came up at parties, had a hint of jealousy in his voice when giving advice about one particular ex-boyfriend. at your apartment complex's winter party in senior year, you can tell he was thinking about kissing you.

but that was when you were young and naive, inexperienced with life, and the thought of this nanami desiring you, of picturing you in his life, of imagining what you'd look like spread out underneath him like this --

you lift your head and grab his shirt collar, yanking him in for another kiss. when he's settled back against you, your hands weave down to unbutton his shirt. you feel him smile against your lips as he starts to unzip your dress in return.

you're a mess of limbs as items of clothing get strewn across your bedroom carpet. before long, it's all skin-on-skin, the heat of his body pressed against yours before he grabs your waist and flips you over until you're straddling him.

you feel the length of him pressed against your stomach, hot and painfully hard, but from the way he cups his hand against your neck and starts to kiss your throat, you know he's not going to rush this.

just as you gasp out his name as his teeth nip against your pulse point, he brings his other hand to the apex of your thighs, fingertips resting just over your pubic bone, barely brushing against the sensitive skin.

"want me to touch you?" he mumbles quietly against your throat, the way his breath fans over you making you shiver.

you nod pitifully, hips canting towards him, but he doesn't budge.

"need you to say it," he says low, quiet, thumb shifting down by the millimetre, "need to know how much you want it."

"i want it," you gasp, the arch of your back deepening the closer he gets to your aching core, all concerns about appearing desperate evaporating with every press of his lips to your skin. "i want it, kento, p- please touch me."

nanami obliges, fingertips trailing down until his thumb is brushing over your clit. he slides his hand lower, fingers slipping through your damp lips, and then uses your own wetness to start rubbing you in earnest.

any form of articulate thought slips from your mind, replaced with only those that can get you more of this -- nanami's fingers playing with your clit, the other hand possessively resting at your nape, his cock pressed between you with precum beading at the tip.

you want it in your mouth. you want it inside you, and as you go to shift your hips, nanami shifts his back.

"want to see what you look like when you come first," he says, slipping his middle and ring finger inside you as if to prove he's going about it the right way.

and he really is, because after only a few strokes of his fingers, your vision is getting hazy. you've never been this turned on so quickly before, never felt this desperate, all-consuming urge -- but then again, you've never had a man look at you like this before now either.

you try to focus on the sensation of his fingers stretching you open, his thumb still stroking your clit in the perfect rhythm, but your mind wanders to the thick cock pressed up against you. you want to rub against him, let him fill you up, make him feel good too --

but looking at his face now, pupils blown and lower lip raw from biting down on it, you can tell this is as much for him as it is for you.

less than a minute later it hits you, the explosion of warmth radiates out to every cell in your body, rendering you a boneless mess in nanami's arms.

he holds you as the aftershock subsides, strong arms keeping you steady even when your legs feel as though they've turned to jelly. when you feel capable of supporting yourself, you slide ungracefully from where you were perched on his thighs and fall back against your pillows, head spinning blissfully.

nanami leans down next to you and kisses your forehead, whispering words of praise that fill you with a strange sensation you can't quite place.

"want to take a break?" he ask after a few moments have passed, "or if you're tired, we can try again later --"

"no," you cut him off, turning your head to look at him directly, face splitting into a smile through the post-orgasm haze. "i just need a second is all, i still -- if you want to --"

"i do."

and so to ease yourself back into it, you kiss him slowly, intimately, bodies gently intertwining as he shifts closer to you on the bed. you guide his hands to your chest, gasping as his thumb circles a nipple.

"you're just ... beautiful in a way i don't really have words for," he mumbles, watching you squirm pleasurably under him.

"nanami kento lost for words? a first time for everything," you manage to quip through it all, earning a pinch of the other nipple that turns your laugh into a moan.

"we've plenty more firsts to get through tonight."

at that, nanami shifts halfway down the mattress and gets to his knees, hands gripping your thighs as he spreads them open. he takes his cock in his hand and slowly drags the head through your folds, up and down but not yet penetrating you, appreciating how you're almost sucking him in, the eager way you pull back your legs to accommodate him.

he stays like that for a minute. every time you think he's about to sink in, he holds himself back as if transfixed by the obscene sounds that come from playing with your pussy, of using you to stroke himself off.

he looks to be on the verge of a choice, like his brain is fighting between two options: taking you slow and gentle like you deserve, or sinking in and fucked into you desperately, filling you up until he knows he's bred you, that you're his and only his.

you soon glean that he wants you to actually say it out loud, wants to hear those words he's fantasised about for so long.

"fuck me, kento."

now utterly unable to hold off any longer, he heeds your request, lining up and thrusting inside you in one fluid motion.

it's a pleasant stretch; he's still careful to let you adjust to his size but you're soon relishing the feeling of being so full, and the fucked-out grin on your face spurs him on.

his hips shift back inch by inch until he's almost fully pulled out, letting out a low groan as he sinks back in again, and at that, he knows he's a goner, completely lost to the feeling of his entire length buried inside you.

this is nanami at his most possessive, fucking into you as you're caged in by his strong arms, your knees now pulled back as far as they'll go. the skin on the back of your thighs is raw from your nails digging into them but you don't care, single-minded in your aim to keep the head of his cock brushing against that perfect spot inside you.

your shoulder blades press into your soft pillows as you try to keep from writhing too much, wanting with all of your might to avoid upsetting this perfect rhythm.

above you, nanami's perfect cheekbones are flushed, his brows knit tightly together, your silky walls wrapping tight around his cock in a way that's driving him to the brink sooner than he'd like. against all better judgment, he slows down just slightly, allowing himself to indulge in the sensation.

"you take my cock so well, y'know that?" he mumbles in between quiet grunts, "with that pretty look on your face when i fill you up... you're trying to kill me, i swear to god."

you both laugh breathlessly before yours breaks off in a moan, slurring his name as he speeds up subconsciously. he presses his lips to every inch of your neck, jaw, collarbone, thrusts unrelenting but never too much.

if you weren't already aware of how soaked you are, the slick sounds of his cock sliding in and out of you provide more than enough proof, melding with the soft squeak of your bedsprings to just about cut through the muffled sound of your moans.

your body now guided more by instinct than intention, you slip your hand down to where your hips are pressed together, two fingers circling the swollen bud of your clit. the angle of his ruts means his cock grazes your fingertips as he pulls out, the desperate rubbing of your hand between your legs spurring him on.

"still want me to come inside you?" he says then, strands of hair coming loose, sticking to his forehead, "want me to fill you up?"

you nod feebly -- the answer clearly not sufficient in itself, since he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours as he meets you for a wet, messy kiss. continuing his question with his lips still touching yours, he asks;

"want me to take care of you? want to be my pretty wife, hm, wanna -- fuck -- wanna be mine, yeah?"

you slur something unintelligible, focusing on the second orgasm gathering quick and hot in your core. you lose your grip on your thighs and fumble to pull your legs back up.

nanami helps to hike your legs back up -- but not in their original position. instead, he guides them until your ankles rest on his shoulders, and after taking just a second to press a kiss to your calf, he sinks back to the hilt. feeling him bottom out, your vision nearly goes white; this new angle allows him to slide in so deep it's practically splitting you open, so deep you can tell he's serious about breeding you.

somehow, the sensation remains just shy of too much -- it's not too much of a stretch or causing too much sensitivity -- it's more than you've ever taken but you honestly feel you could stay like this forever, taking nanami's cock like you were made for it, with him looking down at you with a mixture of reverence and pure lust.

you want him like this for the rest of your life.

"i'm gonna need you to answer, cos I'm pretty close," he half-pleads as if reading your mind, his voice deep and strained, firm chest heaving as the thrusts get messier and less coordinated.

though your mind is near-blank and your lungs feel they can't get enough air, you manage to mumble a "fuck, yes. want -- want you to come inside, kento ... please."

that last word tips him over with you following almost immediately after, clenching around his cock as you feel him pulsing inside you, feeling more full than you've ever felt in your life. his head tips back as he cums, moaning beautiful praise you can just about make out, strands of sentences about you being the only one he wants taking his come, about how he's going to keep fucking you full for as long as it takes.

sparks of electricity reverberate through your body, hips pushing against his as you ride out your orgasm, pretty little whimpers harmonising with nanami's continued praise.

you stay like that for what seems like forever, basking in the wave of pleasure that's just swept you away effortlessly.

everything is just ... warm. purely and blissfully warm. the warmth of his hands still gripping your legs, the warmth of your own breath fanning over your sweaty chest, the warmth between your legs that starts to dribble down the backs of your thighs when nanami pulls out.

for good measure, nanami uses two fingers to push some of his come back inside, grinning as aftershocks pulse around the digits.

you lower your tired legs to rest on the mattress, thighs aching from being bent practically in half, but it's easy to disregard any physical exhaustion when you feel this level of contentment.

nanami's arms are soon wrapped around you, pulling you to rest on top of his chest where you spend some moments of perfect silence.

you can hear his heart beating in his chest, skipping a beat when you angle your head up to meet his gaze again.

"well?" you ask, a smile imbued in your words. "still lost for words?"

"just thinking about how every second of this was worth waiting for," he replies without missing a beat, eyes crinkling at the corners as he watches how his answer flusters you.

with one hand behind his head as he rests of the pillow and the other wrapped around your shoulders, nanami looks more relaxed than you've maybe ever seen him.

this is a man who looked on the verge of a nervous breakdown when you reconnected less than a year ago; he's almost unrecognisable now, the dark circles under his eyes have faded, his face filling out a bit more, the smile on his face entirely genuine.

and in this moment you feel a burst of clarity, a sudden realisation that's eluded you since that first night you met in college.

maybe -- just maybe -- you're as good an influence on him as he is on you.

[sunnami]

you'd be the love of my life when i was young

summary: gryffindors wear their heart on their sleeve when they fall in love. slytherins keep their heart locked far away to keep it from breaking.

pairing: poly!marauders x reader (sirius x reader, remus x reader, lily x reader, and james x reader)

tags: slight angst, fluff, lucius malfoy, happy ending

note: i have a chemistry quiz due in 50 minutes but this takes priority. . . i haven't written in a while so forgive my rusty writing skills, they've only been let out from the basement today. not proofread, we die like the marauders. (title is taken from the song, 21 by gracie abrams, because that's roughly around the age jily die. hehe.)

They said when you fell in love with the right people, everything would fall in place after.

What a load of bullshit.

You had come to a conclusion one winter morning, laying in the Gryffindor common room dressed in your woolly, green jumper. You rested on the worn-out leather seat, nervously fiddling with your fingers as you stared at the ceiling, thinking about how it was going terribly wrong. How funny it was, that the 30th of December greeted you with an existential crisis instead of presents and hot chocolate. 

There was something quite wrong with you, you had noticed for the past few months. 

Every time Sirius Black smiled at you, showing off his pearly canines and the crinkles by his deep-grey eyes, you would experience a painful, tightening sensation in your chest — like someone was squeezing at your heart. Most people knew Sirius Black, the prankster, but you were lucky enough to know Sirius, the kind and spirited boy who had a heart that loved fiercely more than anyone you knew.

Cosy afternoons found you in the library with Remus Lupin, and a strange feeling would erupt in your stomach whenever Remus leaned down, and you’d catch a whiff of pine needles and fresh mint. Shaggy, blond hair falling over his eyes as he came to life, talking about your common love for muggle books. He made time feel like an illusion, minutes fading away into hours as the two of you shared stifled giggles, cheeks numb by the time you left the room. 

And James, oh James Potter. It was difficult to describe what you felt with him — but with James, the brightest colours in the world couldn’t even compare to him. James was like putting on a pair of brand-new eyeglasses and seeing everything clearly for the first time. And without a doubt, you knew that James would never let you get hurt. But these days, you were weak in the knees as you’d see him across the Great Hall, waving at you excitedly as he bellowed your name, and to come and sit next to them. 

Last, but certainly not the least, Lily Evans. Her sweet, airy voice was a warm hug on a cold day. And her actual hugs were second to none — don’t tell Sirius, however, he liked to shift into Padfoot to steal Lily’s title as the queen of cuddling. Lily flowers were delicate, she was anything but. The spitfire of Gryffindor, who would raise her chin and defy anyone who would harass you for hanging out with them. 

(“You’re our emotionally constipated Slytherin,” said Lily as she mushed your cheeks, cooing when you tried to glare at her, and the three boys guffawing in the background. They liked to tease you often, being a year younger than them.) 

Were you dying?

That was the only plausible explanation to your palpitating heart and rickety knees. 

No, it was definitely not because you had gone and fell in love with your best friends. 

That was absurd. 

You had tried venting to Lucius Malfoy once. Narcissa often doted on you, sneakily leaving treats on your desk before she left for her class, and fussing when you got sick — which was quite often. That meant, when you weren’t with the marauders, you were trailing after the Slytherin power couple, or Severus.

(Lucius curled his lips in disgust, Narcissa sipping tea by his side, failing at hiding her knowing smirk. “I am above such childish matters,” hissed Lucius, scowl deepening when Narcissa laughed heartily, looking happier than she had been since returning home for the holidays. “I do not know why you’d even think to come to me for this.”

You huffed. 

Maybe you’d try Severus next. 

Naturally, he stormed off the moment Lily’s name fell from your lips.

Your resident seventh-years were confusing.)

Fortunately, you were stripped from your thoughts when the entrance to the common room slammed open, the paintings clamouring as they were disturbed from their slumber. One by one, the marauders piled inside the room, a string of melodious laughter and boisterous conversations following their arrival. Hastily, you sat up, heart thudding against your ribcage. Silence, you wretched beast, you told it. Don’t let them see how I burn for them.  

“There you are!” Sirius came into view first, grinning widely as he crossed the room to reach you. “Who said you could be this pretty in the morning, love?” 

Ba-dump!

Sirius plopped down head first onto your lap, manoeuvring your hand to comb through his hair as he sighed in contentment. “Bloody hell,” He exhaled shakily, “Last night was the worst one we’ve ever been through.” 

Your fingers ghosted through the new scar etched across his sharp cheekbones — it was nothing Madam Pomfrey couldn’t fix, but you still didn’t like the sight of them bruised and wounded. Swiftly, Sirius grabbed your hand and intertwined your own with his. “I’m sorry,” You whispered. 

Sirius chuckled tiredly, tightening his hold on you, as though you were a tether that kept him afloat in his sea of nightmares. 

(And you were. If only you knew.)

“It’s not your fault,” said Sirius. 

Then, your eyes landed on Remus limping towards you, his bare skin littered with scrapes and marks, supported with an arm around James’s broad shoulders. He sent a toothy smile your way, despite the tired lines on his forehead and deep bags beneath his eyes. “Waited up all night for us, huh?”

“I just couldn’t sleep knowing you guys were out there,” You whispered sheepishly. “It’s too dangerous, what happens if something goes terribly wrong, and it costs you your life? We need to tell someone.” 

“Everyone who needs to know, already knows.” Remus bit down a pained expression as he sat by your side, head lolling on your shoulder. “This is the best we have for now.” 

You didn’t like it.

You didn’t like it at all.

Before you could reply, Remus turned his head, lips feathering against your exposed skin. His voice was low as he said, “‘Sides, it’s our job to worry about you, not the other way around.”

“Well, I apologize for interrupting your job,” You whispered back harshly, wondering if that was all you were to them, a younger friend they felt the need to look after. Oh, how mortifying that would be.

James chuckled from behind you, bending over the back of the couch, he pressed a kiss to the side of your head, lingering for a few moments that felt like an eternity. “You’re too adorable,” said James, tweaking your nose. “Our angry, little Slytherin.” 

“I’m not little.” You glowered at him.

“Perhaps not.” James smiled cheekily. “But you’re ours.” 

Often times, you had wondered how the five of you came to be so tight-knit, knowing their disdain for most of the Slytherins. 

(Little did you know, you smiled at them once in Potions, and they were a goner.) 

Something stirred deep in your belly. 

You sucked in a breath. “Don’t say things like that, James.”

People could get the wrong idea.

You could get the wrong idea.

“Well, why not?” Lily appeared in your peripheral vision, the scent of blooming wildflowers and fresh rain filling the room. Like the three boys, her skin was sallow from lack of sleep, but her bare face and blinding grin left your heart racing. “It’s true, isn’t it?” 

It could be, just not in the way you wanted it to be true.

You sighed. “Class is going to start in a few hours, I should get going.” 

“Or,” James began wickedly, throwing a thick blanket onto the floor by the fireplace, and tossing a bunch of throw pillows at Sirius’s face. “We could have a sleepover right here.” 

“Sounds good to me,” said Lily merrily, stealing James’s blanket as she placed a pillow beneath her head. 

“I really have to go—” You reasoned pathetically.

“Stay,” whispered Sirius without even opening his eyes as he curled his lithe fingers around your wrist. “You being here makes us feel better.” 

They were too cruel, saying all these sweet words, not knowing how it drove knives through your heart. 

James yawned as he laid on the carpeted floor, hiking the blanket up to his shoulders as he threw a leg over Lily, pulling her close to his chest, nuzzling the crook of her neck. “D’you have your textbooks with you, love?” He asked you drowsily. 

“No,” You answered, any other words lodged in your throat. 

“That’s fine.” James hummed. “I’ll just get the cloak and sneak into the dungeons later to get the books for you.” 

“Sleep,” Remus urged you, unaware how you shivered at his words. 

“You can’t be comfortable like that,” You told him in disbelief, watching his neck bend at an angle to lay on your shoulder. 

“Trust me,” said Remus gently, eyelashes tickling your skin, “I’m right where I want to be.” 

You had grown silent for a few beats, unaware how Sirius’d opened his eyes, staring at your worried expression. 

(How could one person be so perfect, he wondered.)

“You alright, darling?” He reached out to trace the curve of your jaw with his thumb, the palm of his hand holding your face as though you were a pureblood’s antique treasure. (Mine, mine, mine, his heart screamed.)

But like the Slytherin you were, you lied as easily as you breathed.

“I’m fine.”

As you laid in between Remus and Sirius, watching the peaceful rise of Lily and James’s chests, you had come to a daunting realization. 

You were irrevocably and agonizingly in love with your best friends. 

And because fate liked to spit in your face, the four of them were already in a beautiful, committed relationship. 

Who were you to get in the way of that?

—

They would understand, you convinced yourself. 

They would understand that you had to stay away from them. You had to protect your heart and keep it safe. The marauders were a dangerous bunch, and they had played the biggest prank on you, and by Merlin, would you fall for this particular prank over and over again if it meant you could hear their voices and fall into their embrace. 

But you couldn’t stay. They would only crush your heart otherwise. 

If Gryffindors wore their heart on their sleeves when they fell in love, Slytherins protected theirs with every fibre of their being, locking it in a cage where no one else can have the power to break it. 

Like what any love-stricken teenager would do in the face of heartbreak, you began to ignore the objects of your affections — ignoring the way your soul called out to theirs. 

It wasn’t as obvious the first few days. You would escape their company under the ruse of studying for McGonagall and Flitwick’s practical tests. 

(“They’re notoriously difficult after all,” You told them, a nervous laugh accompanying your lie. Peter eyed you curiously, noticing small details the others could not see — your quivering lips, your nails digging into your palms, and the way your eyes wouldn’t meet any of theirs. “I just don’t want to fail.” 

You could have cried at the way James held the back of your head as he placed a soft kiss on your forehead. “You’ll do well, love. You always do.” 

“You can study with me, if you want,” Remus quickly offered. “I’m not as good as James in transfiguration, but I can definitely teach better than those two.” 

“Hey!” Sirius exclaimed in mock offence.

“Thanks, it’s sweet of you to offer,” You told them, shifting your weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. “But—”

“Say less, darling,” Lily interjected kindly, wrapping her scarf around your neck. She smiled at you, holding both your cheeks in her palms. “They’re the worst lot to study around, I know. Just don’t study too hard, okay? Take breaks, have a cup of tea now and then, and remember it’s okay to ask for help — don’t give me that face — if it gets too overwhelming, just ask. We’re here for you in every way you need us.” 

Oh.

You were well and truly screwed. 

“Thanks,” You croaked.)

But it was getting harder and harder to come up with excuses. 

(“Wotcher!” Sirius grinned, encasing you in a tight hug after bumping into you in the corridor. “Haven’t seen you in a while, busy bee. Fancy a lunch with us in Hogsmeade?” 

You scrunched your nose, red and bitten from the winter frost, stepping away from him and ignoring the way his face fell. “I. . . I can’t. I’ve got practice with the Frog Choir.”

Sirius shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. “S’alright. I can wait and pick you up right after, then we’ll swing by that shop you really like—”

“I can’t, Sirius,” You interrupted harshly, wrapping your arms around your chest as your gaze dropped to the ground. “Sorry. I just. . . I’ll just catch you some other time.” 

Sirius flinched. “Sure, love. Other time, yeah?”

But only the wind replied.

Saturday came, and along with it was the long-awaited match between Gryffindor and Slytherin. James, decked out in his uniform, bounded over to you at the Slytherin’s side of the Great Hall, oblivious to the death glares some of your housemates had sent his way. He wrapped his arms around you from behind, lifting you from your seat. 

“It’s Quidditch day, pidge!” James tilted his head, awfully resembling a lost, confused puppy. “Why aren’t you dressed yet? It’s the game of games! Even Remus is announcing the game later.” 

You bit your lip before responding. “I’m not going, James.” 

“What?” He furrowed his brows. “Why not?” 

Ever since you had become friends with James Potter in your first year, you had never missed a single game of his. Except for the one time you had fallen sick during his match against Hufflepuff — and the moment he knew you were ill, the game ended in less than two minutes, by his sheer determination to get by your side quickly and make sure you weren’t alone. 

You sighed. “I don’t know, James, I’m just not feeling up to it today.”

It was a big, fat lie, and he knew it too. 

You didn’t go to his match later that day.

It was one of the biggest losses James had ever experienced — he wasn’t talking about Quidditch.)

Your housemates were beginning to realize was something was off as well. They might not be particularly fond of the Gryffindors that captured your heart, but they were fond of you, and they guarded their own. 

You had a stare-down with Regulus Black in the common room — and you weren’t about to lose — before he blinked and asked, “What did my brother do?”

“Nothing,” You replied, pretending to be engrossed with your herbology textbook. 

Severus rolled his eyes before plucking the book out of your hands. “Spit it out, woman. We’ve had to watch you mope around pathetically for days now. It’s irritating the rest of us.”

You sniffled. “Then just leave me alone! No one asked you to check up on me!” 

“Unfortunately, we can’t.” Severus took a seat beside Regulus. With a pained grimace, he said, “So you can. . . pour your heart out to us.” 

“I can’t.” You wailed. “I’m a Slytherin, we’re the worst at that.”

Regulus shrugged his shoulders. “It’s true. We’re hopeless.” 

“But,” He raised his wand, “We do speak in jinxes and curses.” 

“Don’t you dare!” You blubbered, wiping at your tears — but somehow, without having to express it in words, they understood, and you had felt lighter.

Still, you missed them. 

“This is pathetic.” Lucius enters the common room, Narcissa holding onto his arm, watching the scene before him with blank eyes. “Black, Snape, get out, you’re only making whatever this is, worse.”

Narcissa was by your side in an instant, dabbing at your wet eyes and cheeks with a handkerchief that cost more than your life. “Hush now, darling. What’s wrong, hm? Was it that idiot cousin of mine? Don’t worry, Lucius can tell his father, and we’ll have them begging at your feet by tomorrow.”

You cried louder. 

“I jest, I jest.” Narcissa softly chuckled, pulling your hair away from your face as she tugged you close. “Please tell us what’s wrong. It’s been awful seeing you like this for the past few days.”

Lucius sat on the loveseat across you, resting his feet atop the glass coffee table. “Yes, I beg you — do as she says, for the love of Merlin. But, really, what else did you expect, associating yourself with that ragtag of miscreants?”

Narcissa glared at him.

Lucius raised his arms in surrender. 

Narcissa clicked her tongue before returning her attention to you, eyes softening at your tear-stricken face. She smiled, albeit sadly, as she said, “Perhaps, I know what is wrong.” She gestured to the way you clutched at the front of your shirt. “It is the matters of the heart, is it not?” 

You nodded weakly. “I love them.”

“And they, you,” said Narcissa. “So, what is wrong?” 

“I love them!” You hiccuped.

“Unfortunately.” Lucius handed you a tissue. “The whole of Hogwarts knows this already, so I do not understand why you’re blowing snot all over my fiancé’s robes about it.” 

“They don’t feel the same way about me,” You confessed with a sob. 

Lucius stared at you incredulously. “Please do not tell me that you are this daft.” 

“What do you mean?” You asked him through narrowed, teary eyes, Narcissa rubbing the tips of your numb fingers from crying so much. 

“I did not sign up for this.” Lucius rubbed at his temples as he stood up. “I will only say this once, so make sure you are listening. Those Gryffindor idiots are so disastrously in love with one another — let me finish, damn you — and if you cannot see that they love you too, then it is your own fault. It physically pains me to see the way they smile when you are near. They would move the earth for you, and they would shake the heavens for you.” 

—

Gryffindors must have hearts made of steel, because you didn’t know how they could be so brave, to look fear right in the eyes and say: I’m ready. 

Because you surely weren’t. You were headed towards your usual spot in the courtyard by the clock tower, legs heavy and swell deep in your throat. Then, you found them, looking so achingly beautiful under the sunlight, huddled together for warmth as they smiled and laughed at lame puns and mistimed jokes. 

Did you have a place with them? 

You were about to find out.

“Hey,” You greeted once you were right in front of them. A month of evading them, and now you were here. It was like finding a piece of your soul that you had lost.

(For them, seeing you was like finally being able to breathe again.) 

“Hey,” said Lily, devoid of any warmth, and that broke you. 

Bravery was poison, you decided. A trap for weak-hearted fools like you. 

Sirius shot James a look before clenching his jaw. “No choir practice today? No study sessions with Cissa or Reg? Wait, no, I’ve got it. Slughorn’s dinner party? Or is it detention with McGonagall today? Does her highness finally feel up to talking to the peasants?”

You inhaled sharply. “Never mind. This was a bad idea.”

But this — is what you deserved. You had hurt them badly, so it was only right for them to stomp on your heart for everyone to see, just as you did to them many times this month. 

A sob tore from your lips as you swivelled on your heels, ready to flee the scene and never show your face to anyone else ever again. Yet, before you could leave, Remus clamped his hand over your wrist. 

“Why?” He stared at you, searching for anything that could explain your sudden behaviour. Remus looked at you with such emotion, tightly holding onto you — but never enough to hurt, because Remus could never be capable of hurting you. He’d die before he would ever cause you pain. 

 (You made him feel unafraid of the moon.) 

“Was. . . was it something I did?” Remus asked, laying his wounds bare for you to see. “Was it me?”

“I love you!” You shouted in the midst of panic — you had never wanted to cause Remus to doubt himself. Your loud declaration had caught the attention of some, but you stood on, curling your fists firmly. You needed to do this. 

“I love you.” You said once more, breathlessly, staring right into James’s eyes. Such a beautiful shade of hazel. “I love each one of you. And it. . . it hurts right here.” Tears dripped from your eyes to the side of your chin as you splayed your hand over where your heart rested. 

“Because you don’t feel the same.” 

The four of them simply gazed at you, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. 

You took that as confirmation for what you had been fearing all along. 

“And that’s okay if you don’t,” You snivelled, unable to see clearly with the streams of tears in your eyes. You thought of how Sirius melted at Lily’s touch and how Remus was the anchor to James’s wild streak. How they all complemented each other and fit perfectly like puzzle pieces. “Just give me a few months, and I’ll get over it. It’s a stupid crush anyway, it’s my fault. The four of you are perfect together, how could—”

“Shut up,” James hissed before cupping your face and pulling you in for a kiss. Cherries and pumpkin pasties. He kissed you deeply once more before pressing his lips to your eyes, desperately washing away your tears with his devotion. “Was that it? We could have been doing this ages ago.”

“What?” You rasped, knees buckling at the weight of his gaze.

James only smiled, stealing your third kiss. 

Sirius pulled your hand, his arm encasing your waist as you stumbled to his chest. Like James, he kissed you fervently, like he wanted to chase off all your fears and doubts. His lips were warm against yours — firewhiskey. You wanted to be burnt by his flames again and again. He held you close, committing every inch to memory. 

(You were art that he wanted to worship.)

He kissed your forehead. “We love you, daft girl.”

He kissed both of your eyes, chuckling when a new wave of tears came. “We have loved you ever since you burnt my mother’s howler in fourth year, and gave us poorly-knitted sweaters for Christmas.” 

“I love you,” said Sirius. “As certain as the spring that arrives after winter, I love you.” 

You snuffled. “I. . . I don’t understand.” 

Remus stepped in your line of sight to place his jacket over you — it was Sirius’s leather jacket, really, but Remus liked to claim it occasionally. He bundled you in earmuffs and rested his chin atop your head, exhaling in relief. “I thought it was me.” 

You shook your head, clinging to the front of his shirt. “No, never. It was me. I’m sorry.” 

Remus grinned wolfishly, eyes swooping down to your kiss-stained lips. (There you were, standing in the snow that threatened to melt, eyes rimmed with tears, hair wildly ablaze from the cold breeze, cheeks damp and red — but how devastatingly beautiful you were.) “May I?” 

You nodded. “P-Please.”

Blueberries and dark chocolate. Remus whispered against your lips, “If it wasn’t already clear, the feeling is bloody mutual — we love you, just as the moon loves the sun enough to chase after it every day.” He grabbed your hand and placed it over his heart, you were surprised to see him holding back tears of his own. “All my life, I thought I was this monster who didn’t deserve to live. But you, all of you, make me selfish enough to want to belong here.” 

He kissed you desperately, words of adoration and love falling from his lips. 

Finally, your eyes settled on Lily. You waited for her reaction with a bated breath. 

You hadn’t expected for her to burst into tears as she rushed over to you. 

“Don’t you ever do that again,” said Lily angrily before circling you in her embrace, burying her nose in your hair. You hugged her back, drowning in her scent and warmth. “You are deserving of all the things you want, so don’t run away — if you run, we’d follow you, idiot girl.” 

Then, Lily captured your lips with her own. 

She tasted like happy endings.

note: 4k words and 6 hours later, here we are! let it be known i was THE poly marauders enthusiast years ago. i always wanted one with lily in the polycule so here we are. this is me manifesting my college romance, y'all. look away. anyways, i hoped u enjoyed it!! brought a smile to your face and all!! might make a part two for more fluff and to establish more relationship dynamics since this was written on a whim ;D also i planned a cute scene with peter as well, so i'll just write that in part two el em ay yo.

[eyra]

I hope you’ll forgive my selfishness, but I am dying to ask: What did Remus think the first time he saw Sirius in Beneath a Big Blue Sky??

today is your lucky day. I've mentioned a few times that I've dabbled in the possibility of one day writing more bits and pieces in the Beneath a Big Blue Sky world. whether or not this will ever all see the light of day I'm not sure, but since you asked, I'll share a little snippet of Remus and Sirius meeting for the first time - from Remus's point of view.

enjoy 🐑🐑 x

“Mr Lupin, is it?”

Christ.

Remus nods slowly, shaking the other boy's hand. "If you like," he mutters. If I must be, he thinks. What a mess. What an absolute pain in the arse. "Two strong lads," Lyall had asked the agency for, and Remus knows because he was in the next room listening, and still smarting over the fact that his old dad wanted to hire help anyway. "We'll be reet," Remus had insisted, shaking out his left arm in proof that his shoulder was mostly healed, which it was. They would've managed: he still had his other arm, and all the ewes looked in good health so far, and bringing in two strangers to help run the season seemed like a fine waste of money to Remus and something they'd not done since he'd turned fifteen and proven that he was good and capable of handling just as much work as Lyall during the lambs, and he'd felt all kinds of embarrassed when Lyall had implied that this year he might need some help. As if he were now a problem to be solved, or somehow less of a man this year than he was last year, and certainly less than he ought to be.

But if they must get help - if Lyall must hire someone for a few months - then at the very least Remus had hoped that the workers who arrived would be up to the job. A couple of veterinary students, or something; someone who knew their way around a sheep, and it hadn't seemed too big an ask. As it is, the two boys standing dumbly in front of him on the station platform look less suited to farm work and more like they should be standing in a shop window somewhere, with their brand new boots and spotless, neatly-pressed cream trousers. Cream trousers, and all.

Remus remembers, one night in the late winter not long after the accident, being laid up in his bed in front of the fuzzy little television Hope had insisted on setting up in his room to keep him occupied during his recovery. It had a remote held together with Sellotape and a funny round aerial which didn't quite pick up the Freeview signal, and he'd been mindlessly flicking through the scant channels when he'd happened upon some reality programme or other; something about a load of toffs titting about London with daft haircuts and those cream trousers, and he wonders now if the two boys standing in front of him have seen the show, or realise how ridiculous they look.

Or at least, one of them looks ridiculous. The lanky one with the glasses and the palm that's far too smooth to have seen any real work in its life. He's still beaming down at Remus with a sort of manic smile, which sets Remus's teeth on edge - man looks insane - and then Remus lets his eyes slip away to the shorter boy standing next to him. And he's something else altogether. He's all cheekbones and soft, shoulder-length hair, the colour of Whitby jet, and it's tucked on the one side back behind his ear and then there's one pretty strand hanging loosely over his brow, and he's watching Remus uncertainly and when they make eye contact - when the noise of the four-by-four across the car park fades away to static, and the train on the platform huffs out a great cloud of smoke that Remus doesn't see - Remus feels his cheeks grow hot under his tan and something funny happens in his throat, and he thinks to himself: "Wow," and then, straightaway: "That’s bloody inconvenient."

They drive back to the farm in silence, mostly, and Remus swallows three times before asking the boy in the back seat for his name. Sirius, as it turns out; the dog star, and Remus suddenly recalls a night a decade ago when they'd been up on the fell and the air had been balmy and close and Lily had been reading out of that funny old book about the constellations. "What's that one?" Remus had muttered, pointing at a cluster of stars somewhere over the top paddock. Lily had yawned, and flicked over a few more pages. "Canis Major," she'd said around another yawn, and then: "That bright one's called Sirius, it says here," and Remus had squinted up at it, and frowned, and thought it was pretty good, as stars go. 

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[alavestineneas]

Home

pairing: catohadley x fem!reder

summary: He doesn't know why her flower dress comes to mind—it's a contrast to the hard truth of reality. He lost a friend here, but Cato would need to learn how to lose much more if he wanted to get the hell out of here. And he does, no matter the price. warnings: canon-typical violence; mentions of meat (as in reader owns a butcher shop); trauma and poverty word count: 6k

author's note: hello beautiful people! In honour of my birthday, I am posting about this bad boy today. Hope you like it - it was such a fun thing to write! Enjoy!

The stones under his worn boots are changing quickly; they are coloured in all shades of grey, sometimes with funny black dots on their rounded bellies. Cato would stop and collect a few if it wasn't for the important task at hand: Mom sent him to the butcher's, letting him take the thinly metaled coins for the first time, which are now snugly stored in the pockets of his raggy coat. He has the order memorized; Mom always buys the same. Three pig legs for the soup, which are then added to the porridge she cooks, and two bottles of the cheapest milk on the counter. It's good for the bones in his body, she says, and Cato believes her. Soon, he will start school; he has to be strong to get the chance to try out for the academy.

The butcher's is just around the corner; it's the only shop in their block that is always open. And, although the signboard is already faded, it is still his favourite place to visit. The door opens with a creek, and a small bell over Cato's head sings its cheerful melody. He takes a few steps inside, the colourful counters greeting him with all kinds of meat and sausages. He reads the curved writing on each of the signs carefully, trying out the way the letters come together in words. The sound of rushed steps is the only thing that breaks his mesmerization. They are soon changed by the grunting of the wood chair on the old tiled floor, and then, finally, a head pops up from behind the stands.

''Good afternoon!'' A pair of curious eyes stare at him, a smile missing a few teeth serving as a second greeting. ''What can I do for you today?'' the girl asks, changing her cheerful demeanour to a more serious, business-like tone.

Cato straightens up, his fingers finding the coins. He is a grown-up now; no other four-year-old he knows is allowed to go to the butcher's by themselves. ''I am here to buy meat.''

The girl laughs, her hair shaking with her mirth.

Cato feels the redness creep to his ears—of course, he is here to buy meat; everyone does. ''Why are you behind there anyway?'' he mutters, crossing his hands in front of himself. He thinks the girl should stop now; it's really not nice to laugh at others.

''Grandpa went to trade for bread and left me as the captain here,'' the girl boasts.

''That's a shame.'' Partly because Cato liked Grandpa Marc—he always sneaked a few pieces of candy for him and his brothers at home—and partly because he didn't like the little know-it-all. ''I would like three pig legs and two bottles of the cheapest milk,'' he declares in one breath, careful not to mess up. He isn't sure he can take another wave of her laughter.

''Sure,'' the girl nods, packing the meat in a big brown bag. Cato patiently waits as she moves her chair to reach the milk shelves, stopping before them. ''Which one again?''

''Shirley's.''

The girl doesn't move; the flowers on the back of her dress are still facing him.

''Shirley's,'' he repeats a little louder. Cato feels silly again; he doesn't like the mean girl and the way she teases him. ''Are you stupid? The one with the blue cap is Shirley's.''

''Right,'' she finally grabs it, moving to the register. Her hands work quickly, wrapping the goods and putting them together. ''The meat is this much money, '' she scrambles the numbers on the piece of paper lying nearby, ''and milk is this much.''

Cato goes over the symbols, carefully counting the total in his head. ''Here,'' he says, reaching for the money. ''And you wrote the two here wrong—it should be facing the other way, like a swan.''

''Oh. Sorry about that. Is this with change?'' She points to the colourful coins on the wood.

''Don't you know how to count? You need to give me 50 cents in change.''

''I do!'' she argues, her hand slapping the counter. ''I was just, hm, testing you!''

''Sure. Then why are you giving me two dollars back now?'' Cato raises an eyebrow. Part of him wants to laugh at her, just like she did moments ago. But he doesn't. Instead, he swaps the coins for the right amount, giving her the money back. ''Here you go. All good.''

''Thank you! Have a nice day!''

Cato nods, grabbing the bag and exiting the shop with a light heart. He did what his mom asked him to; she will be very happy to know that. The air is warm, and the soft wind is hitting him right in the face. In no time, Cato is home; the door is never locked. He places the bag on the kitchen table; Mom will see it when she puts the baby to sleep. His third brother - the other two are sleeping on the big bed in the children's room. That used to be his, but now he is a big boy—he sleeps on the couch in the living room, right near the kitchen. He likes it here; the baby's crying is not as loud, and he can see Mom as often as he wants to when she cooks.

There's not much to do right now; it's the ''quiet hours'' in Hadley's house. Usually, Cato would go play outside at this time, but instead, he grabbed the big book from the kids' shelf. There, with big, red letters, are all of the alphabets and numbers. It was his favourite. Cato remembers how mom would sit with him on her lap, her soft finger circling every picture. ''This is one. Look, it has a tiny nose, just like you do! Here, give me your hand—that's one finger you have, little gentleman!''

Cato throws one last glance at the closed door to the parent's room—he decides that mom won't be mad at him if he plays not in front of the house for once—and grabs the book, leaving the still place. This time, he grabs a few of the prettiest rocks on his way—he builds bridges and castles with them in the small creek behind their house. The butcher's is still empty when he gets there; the girl sits on the tall chair, drawing on the paper.

''What are you drawing?'' Cato asks, trying to see, but the counter is too tall for him to reach.

The girl doesn't look surprised to see him here; it's like he never left in the first place. ''It's worms. Papa worm, mama worm, and little worm. They are having dinner.''

''What are they eating? Meat?''

''No,'' she said, shaking her head. ''Meat is expensive; they have no money. They're eating a dirt pie. Here,'' the girl climbs off the chair, sitting down on the floor instead. Cato sits down near her, looking over her shoulder. ''They have small plates and spoons.''

''My dad doesn't like pies. He likes potatoes more.'' Cato thinks meat is better than pies and potatoes, but he doesn't tell Dad that. The girl tells the truth: meat is expensive.

''Where is he? At work?''

''Yeah, at the factory.'' Most people work at the factory—that's what Cato's dad says. They go when it's dark outside and Cato is still sleeping, and they return when the clock shows all zeros. Then, his dad eats while his mom drinks tea, and they whisper about something. ''And yours?''

The girl shrugs. ''I don't have one. It's just Grandpa and me. What is this?'' She points to the book in Cato's hands, and he finally remembers why he came.

''That's my book. It has numbers. Do you want to see?''

The girl beside him nods, and Cato smiles. He opens the book and proudly shows off the beautiful pictures. The girl likes them; she listens carefully to what Cato has to say about each letter. He likes it when he doesn't laugh at him.

-

''Good morning, Grandpa Marc!'' Cato greets the man behind the counter, cutting up yet another piece of meat. It's early, but he already stands in the butcher's, his dad's old bag on his shoulder. They can't be late for the academy.

''I'm coming, I'm coming!'' YN shouts, biting into the apple in one of her hands and tucking in her shirt with the other. ''Bye, Pa, see you!''

They both passed the exam for the academy; only four people from their neighbourhood did. They got the chance only because they were ''exceptional'' students, the only four whose training was free for now. The debt will be paid by them volunteering or after the academy through their future salaries. Cato knows that no one is actually able to pay it off; he will volunteer as soon as possible. YN will go; they agreed to go in different years.

That's how it always was with them—they walked to the academy and home together, trained, and learned together. Cato helped Grandpa in the shop, and YN often looked after his brothers. It was the endless stream of jokes from everyone around—you never saw one without the other, not even on the rating board. That was until year nine.

''I decided I'm not going to sit with you at lunch,'' Cato tells the girl walking beside him on the dusty road.

YN doesn't answer right away; she watches her feet instead. ''Let me guess—you will be with the mayor's son and his pack?''

''As a matter of fact, yes. They are my friends, and they invited me to sit with them.'' It annoys him the tone she is using.

''They are not your friends, Cato. They only do that, so you will volunteer for them when the time comes.'' YN is angry; her hands on the straps of the backpack are tightly clenched.

''So what? I'm going to volunteer anyway, so why not sit with them? There is nothing to do here, and they are always hanging out at movies or something.''

''Oh, so that's what it is about.'' YN stops, turning to him. ''You want to be one of them now.''

''Of course, I fucking do!'' Cato exclaims. ''We are dirt poor, YN. I don't want to live all my life in this shithole.''

YN's face changes; her eyes look at him as if for the first time. ''This is home, Cato. This is where we belong.''

''I don't. And I will find a way out of here, and you can stay in this mud as much as you like, but I will not let you drag me down with you.''

She slaps him. The hit is heavy; they are both trained to take blows, but it stings him more than it should. Cato watches as YN leaves, her quick steps echoing on the empty street in the morning fog. He doesn't know why her flower dress comes to mind—it's a contrast to the hard truth of reality. He lost a friend here, but Cato would need to learn how to lose much more if he wanted to get the hell out of here. And he does, no matter the price.

-

YN can live without him as much as he does, she tells herself. She didn't decide to ruin the friendship, so she won't be the one to apologize, no matter how long the silence lasts. If he thinks that she will run back to him after four months of not talking, he is wrong. YN is fine; she still has two friends at the academy, she still has her grandpa and the beautiful sun above her head. It smiles at her every time she walks home alone, filling in the small gap in her chest with its golden rays. Her new companion.

What she doesn't expect is a group of people in front of the shop; they shout and argue, running around with ice and water in their hands. YN runs too; something happens. Fear rises in her stomach and travels to her throat when she sees the white coat of the doctor standing near the counter, a concerned expression on his face. ''I'm sorry,'' he tells her. YN clutches her bag, trying so hard not to cry as the crowd of familiar faces surrounds her.

He fell while trying to reach for the shelf, and a customer found him unconscious on the floor. Grandpa broke seven bones in his body and damaged his head. They are taking him to the hospital for, god knows, how long. The doctor places a hand on her shoulder; the cost of surgery is covered by the state, but she needs money for the medicine. They don't have any.

YN spends an hour crying into her pillow before pulling herself together—she is alone. It's not some stupid game they play—they pretend to win for years in the generated arenas in some big green boxes—it's life. The most brutal arena of all. So, she does what any fifteen-year-old would do—she washes her face with ice-cold water and grabs the keys from the shop. She has to speak with a few people.

-

The door to Hadley's home is never locked; nobody closes it in their neighbourhood, but YN still knocks out of respect. Cato opens it; she is surprised he is here and not with his new friends. He wants to say something, but YN has no time for him.

''Is your dad home?'' YN asks, trying to look over his shoulder.

Cato nods. ''Come in. Mom, it's YN.'' He shouts, closing the door behind her.

''Ah, YN. How is Grandpa Marc?'' She is cooking something—a big pot boiling with the best smell one could imagine.

The woman's concerned face stirs something in YN, so she fights the urge to cry and swallows her tears instead. ''Alive

''Come sit with us; we were just preparing to eat.''

YN wants nothing more than a plate of something warm, but she declines. She came here not to lessen the portion of someone; nobody here has money to make extra food. ''Thank you, but I need to speak with Mister Janus.''

''Spill it.'' Mr. Janus nods, standing up from the couch.

''Can we speak outside?'' YN asks, feeling a pair of blue eyes on her.

''Of course,'' Mister Janus shares a look with his wife before stepping outside. ''What happened, kid?''

YN takes some air inside her lungs. ''Is there a place for me at the factory for the night shifts?'' The man opens his mouth to argue, but YN is quicker. ''I know I am young, but I am strong from all the training, and I know a lot of useful things. I can reach where most men can't, and I will do anything you ask me to, I promise.''

Mister Janus sighed. ''I know you are good, but what about the academy? Night shift is six to six; you won't have time to get enough sleep and do the homework.''

''I quit the academy.''

''What?'' Mister Janus's face changes. ''YN, why? It's the only chance for you to survive.''

''Work is the only way for me to survive. Poverty and an empty stomach will kill me much faster than some games. I need the job, Mister Janus, please. If you don't give it to me, I will look for it elsewhere.''

The man thinks, his forehead creased with worry. ''Fine, kid. But be careful—get enough rest and don't push yourself too hard. We are here to help if you need us to.''

''Thank you, thank you so much!'' YN smiles, a few tears escaping her eyes. She hugs the man tightly, a glimmer of hope finally appearing. ''Thank you, Mister Janus; I will not let you down!''

Mistes Janus smiles back, patting her back. ''Go before it gets too dark; I'll see you tomorrow at five thirty.''

He watches as YN turns the corner of the street before returning to the warmth of his house. How much do these kids have to endure in this world?

-

YN didn't push herself too hard; she simply did what she was supposed to do. At six, she returned to the shop after the shift at the factory—butcher's opened at eight—so she had two hours to wash the dirt and sweat away with the old basin and a little warm water from the kettle and to master something edible on the stove. When that was done, she would dissect the meat and check the dates on milk bottles; the soon-gone bad would go to the sale section, and the new ones took their place. Then, the doors of the butcher's opened—people still needed to eat, and YN wasn't about to let them starve because of her own ''tiredness.''

The heaviest flow was in the morning, with the shop becoming quieter in the afternoon—that's when she took most of her sleep in, resting her head on the wooden counter and closing her eyes for a second. Oftentimes, customers would find her like this—they gently shook her shoulder and woke her up before ordering. Each time, YN felt shame creep to her cheeks, but each time, no one said a word to her; they just smiled, thanked her, and left the shop with a big brown bag in her hands.

That's how the rest of the year passed, with it becoming slightly easier when Grandpa was finally discharged from the hospital. His right arm didn't move like it used to, and it was hard for him to walk, but it was still better to have someone home to return to. Besides, he insisted on still serving the customers, so YN had an opportunity to sleep in her own bed for a few hours before a new portion of cut meat was delivered.

That's what she thought about standing in the main square in a crowd of children—how much meat she needed to cut before her shift. Grandpa was also here; some man had to hold him up so he wouldn't fall from being on his legs for too long, but he could at least enjoy the fresh air, which YN was grateful about.

The reaping was going quickly; the girl named was from the academy, so they didn't have to go through all that volunteering. YN didn't know her personally, but she saw her a couple of times; she was good with knives. As for the boys, it didn't go as smoothly—some poor eleven-year-old's name was called out, and he burst out crying on the spot.

''I volunteer!'' the voice boomed through the street, and YN turned with everyone to see who it was, although, in her head, she knew the answer.

Cato. He walked to the stage calmly, his legs conquering the steps in no time. He looked determined and happy, but YN knew better—that's what they taught them to present. Ruthless. Bloodthirsty. Killers. She hears distant cries from the crowd behind her—it's probably Miss Hadley. YN clenches her jaw, her teeth grinding together until her head rings. It isn't the time for her to break.

-

Cato can't bear to watch his mother's puffy face as she clenches her arms around him, whispering something like a prayer into his chest. His father is silent, a lonely tear escaping his eye as he holds Cato's youngest brother closer. The twins are also here; both of them are at the academy, so they have a faint idea of what he is doing. They tell him he will win because of how big he is, and that will be very easy. Cato smiles at them reassuringly—if only it were that easy.

''Dad,'' he nods in the direction of his crying mother.

''Come on, darling, you will upset him before the games,'' his father tells her, carefully pulling her way and placing a hand on Cato's shoulder. ''Stay strong, my boy. We will all be rooting for you every second you are in that arena; don't forget that.''

''Thank you, dad. Boys,'' he watches as twins show each other away, trying to get to bed first. He hugs them both; he has two hands for a reason. ''Behave and don't bother mom too much, or I'll have to kick your ass once I get back,'' he whispers into their heads.

The youngest one waves goodbye, blowing him a kiss. Cato smiles, watching his family leave the room. He wants to remember this moment forever, to put it in his pocket, and to never let it go. He knows why he is doing this—for them to have a better chance at life, for his father to finally have a day off, and for his mom to have new pots she secretly gazed at when she thought he wasn't looking.

''Hadley. Seven minutes.'' The peacekeeper announces, opening the door once more, even though Cato doesn't expect anyone else. Well, he hoped she would come—he really wanted her to—but he believed she never would. YN is not the type. Still, she is here. Closing the door behind her, in a simple blue jumpsuit and a nice scarf around her head.

''Hi,'' she nods. ''I came to say goodbye.''

Cato's heart skips a beat—those words hit harder than seeing himself on the big screens, with a tribute written under them. Soon, he may be dead; she will watch him on her small TV in the living room.

YN speaks quickly, almost in a rush. ''I know we don't speak anymore, but I know how you fight—you are capable of winning more than everyone else out there. Please, just don't think too much about what you are doing; just do it, okay?''

''Yeah, I'll try.'' He finds it weird that she doesn't want him to think, but Cato doesn't question why—she does know him better than anyone, having been training for a lot of years side by side.

''You have to return; your family needs you.''

''Don't worry too much about them; we already got the money for my volunteering from the mayor. They will be fine; dad can still work, and twins could help out. You have enough on your shoulders as it is. How is Grandpa Marc?''

''Better. He can't move like he used to and still needs help with walking and eating, but other than that, it's good. Although he is devastated that I didn't let him handle the meat, you should've seen how he tried to sneak a few knives at night.''

Cato's lips turn into a smile. ''That does sound like him.''

''Oh, I almost forgot. Here,'' YN rumbles in her pockets before taking a few pieces of candy out. ''We thought you should have a few.''

''You are kidding me? Lucky-talkies? I haven't had one in ages!''

YN laughs at his excitement, carefully placing the sweets in his hand. ''I know. They are as hard as they used to be; don't chip your tooth; it'll look bad at the promotion.''

Cato chuckles, pocketing the candy before his mentors have a chance to take it away. ''Thanks, YN. For everything.''

''I'll give you as much as you want if you don't die in there. Just try to stay alive, okay?''

''Easier said than done. But I'll try.''

YN smiles. Their time is up. The peacekeeper opens the door for her, his gun tangling dangerously around his neck. She doesn't turn around as she exits; her walk is steady. Cato thinks that he caught her shoulders shaking, but it could be just a twist of his tired brain.

-

The days after that are agony. YN doesn't know if it was her tiredness that finally caught her in a narrow corner or the grim reality of her life—it was definitely both. Even her favourite silent friend didn't cheer her up like it used to—the sun shone almost violently, burning her skin and leaving her body dizzy. The rotten cycle was now worsened by the non-stopping playing of what seemed to be a thousand screens, with stomach-curling screams echoing from time to time. They were everywhere—at the shop and their small flat above it, on the main square she passed each day, and, what was worse, they were at the factory, where she couldn't pretend to watch even for a second.

The work she does is heavy—carving the stones on the machinery bigger than her; her muscles were constantly aching, begging for a break. The suit she wore was too tight and too hot, and the annoying voice of the announcer blared through the speakers, stealing the air in her lungs. YN wanted nothing but to make it stop—for the world to go silent and still, even if just for a moment. But wonders didn't happen with people like her, so she continued to work, pushing herself through her gritted teeth.

''Welcome, welcome to what seems to be the last day in this beautiful arena!'' The blue-haired man spoke, his accent making YN's head hurt even more. ''To remind our dear viewers all across the Panem, here is a small recap from my colleague and sometimes friend, Claudius.''

''Thank you, Caesar. We are left with only three tributes on day eighteen—the first, of course, being Cato from District 2. His strategy has proved efficient so far; no doubt, he is one of the best contestants we've seen in a long time. And then, much to my surprise, a pair of tributes from District 12 are still in the games—their love story truly captivated the audience. Let's see what this day, or should we say night, brings us today and who will have the odds in their favour in the end.''

YN doesn't react to their comments; it feels wrong to compare herself to the kids out there, being selfish enough to think she deserves a break. She should be counting her lucky stars; it isn't her there, going through the bodies of the competitors one by one. Cato received body armour from the sponsors; that was good. He also lost his district partner; YN remembers her now; she was in his ''new'' friend group. She feels sorry for the girl; her death was awful, and her screaming Cato's name will forever be engraved in YN's memory.

''Aha, here he is! Our gladiator from District 2—he is running from—what's that?—wolves! Look at that speed—he surely is a good runner!''

YN turns her attention to the giant screen—surely enough, Cato is running from some monstrous creatures. He is bloodied; his skin is covered in bruises. YN prays it all will stop soon and he will get home safe. He doesn't even flinch when the arrow shot by twelve hits his chest; he just keeps running towards the Cornucopia.

''Please,'' YN whispers. He can't die, not when he has survived for so long.

''Look at them—all of the tributes managed to get on the Cornucopia just in time! Oh, here is a clever move from Cato's side: having Peeta in a headlock is a classic move. Now, he is sort of a ''human shield''. Brilliant!''

"Go on, shoot.'' Cato's voice booms through the speakers, sending shivers down YN's back. She missed hearing his voice, but it didn't even sound like him anymore. Like a stranger talking from the inside of what looked like her friend. '' And we both go down, and you win. Go on. I'm dead, anyway! I always was, right? I didn't know that until now. Isn't that what they want, huh?''

What the fuck was he doing? YN's mind raced—why won't he just kill him and get it over with? She doesn't notice how her hands begin to shake and how everyone else in the room seems to be eyeing her.

''No! I can still do this. I can still do this. One more kill. It's the only thing I know how to do. Bring pride to my district. Not that it matters."

''Kill him! For fuck's sake, just kill him!'' YN stands up, her nerves getting the best of her. Her voice echoes—she didn't mean to say it out loud.

''No talking!'' The peacekeeper in front of her shouts, his hand steady on the gun.

YN turns to face him slowly. Who was he to tell her to shut up when it was her friend who was dying right before her eyes? She feels her hands clench into fists; she will be able to take him down in a fight, maybe even kill him. YN was willing to try, at least.

''She won't talk no more,'' one of the older men in the group mutters, his voice bitter. ''Sit down, child.''

YN wants to argue, wants to scream or run until the bullet catches up to her, but she doesn't. What use would her dead body be to her grandpa? So she sits down, biting her cheek until her mouth fills with a familiar iron taste. Everything she wants to say, she tastes in her throat instead.

''Wait, can we zoom in on here?'' One of the announcers asks. ''Here, yes, what exactly are they staring at? It fell from Cato's pocket, right?''

'''Well, Claudius, it looks like a candy wrap to me. The real question is: why does Cato have one in the first place? He didn't strike me as a big sweets fan. ''

''Well, whatever it is, it seems to have changed his mind—look at how masterfully he throws Peeta down, like a feather! Oh, and now he is lurching for the girl on fire!''

A loud snap is heard through the speakers, and the girl falls, lifeless. YN covers her face with her hands, the dirt from them leaving a mark on her sweaty face. A choir of relieved exhales rings through the room.

''Ladies and gentlemen, I believe we have our 75th victor!''

- 

It's hard, the first thing Cato realizes. Being here, breathing in the air that feels like spikes inside his lungs—everything was supposed to be easy, but it's so far from that. They have a nice house now; it has a room for each of his brothers, and even twins don't have to share anymore. His dad doesn't work; it's not fitting for victor's family to do so, so he takes up gardening instead. If a few years ago Cato heard that his father would ramble about how badly roses had grown on this soil, he would've checked himself into a mental asylum.

He isn't very loved in the Capitol, but his mentors said it was for the best. Cato believes them, but it stings a little. He wanted glory but got disgusted instead. It was not a fair trade, but at least his debt is paid, as is his brothers'. Money could buy a lot of things, just like he predicted, but it couldn't buy him peace. Cato has nothing ahead of him; he can't study like his peers do, can't work, can't live, and pretend it didn't happen. It very much did—when he closes his eyes, he can still smell the blood on his hands.

That's why he is here instead of Victor's village, eating ice cream on the empty main square in the warm evening. It's funny to think how he wanted to try it, collecting the money his father let him have for almost a year before ordering his first chocolate scoop. It was the tastiest thing he had ever eaten; now, it tasted just like every other one.

He hears the nearing footsteps—the people are returning from the day shift in the factories. Cato nods to a few of them—old neighbours, parents of classmates, or dad's friends. The men are all different—short and tall, ginger, blond and brunette—but they all bear the same expression that Capitoleers called ''a district 2 glare'' once. Cato used to get angry when he heard it, but now his face is no different—the word is a heavy thing to endure.

His eyes drift to the only person looking up and not on the road ahead—of course, it's YN. She thinks about something only she and the sun know, her steps mirroring those of the people ahead. One of the men notices him watching; he gently shoves her shoulder, whispering something in her ear before pointing in the direction of his seat. Suddenly, Cato wants to hide the ice cream in his hand and run away, but he doesn't.

''Enjoying your victory, Mister Hadley?'' Her voice is loud and filled with teasing, and a few men snicker at them.

Cato isn't angry; he deserves it, quite frankly. ''Always was known for the sweet tooth,'' he shrugs. ''As a matter of fact, are you free any time soon?'' He asks when the crowd is far enough away.

YN raises an eyebrow at him. ''Why is that? You know I work.''

''I was hoping you and your grandpa could come by sometime. Mom is awfully lonely, and the boys would love to see you, too.''

She nods. ''I am free on Sunday, but Grandpa is still a little shy about eating in front of people.''

''I'll ask mom to cook a soup then—it's better?'' He would cook the damn soup himself if it meant seeing her for longer than five minutes. If it meant not being alone in that house, that reeked of the arena.

''Yes, I think we can do that. What about 12? We could be a little late with all that walking.''

''Thank you; it's perfect.''

YN smiles at him. For the first time since he won, someone smiled at him. Cato smiles back, although he is sure it comes out more as a grin. YN doesn't notice or pretends to do so.

- 

''Oh, come in! Janus, come right down; the guests are here!''

YN and her grandpa are greeted with Miss Hadley's voice, her warm hands wrapping first around her, and then the older man. YN smiles; she missed just sitting down for a meal without having to worry about how much money she was going to need for the next one. The boys have grown. They shout, each trying to be the first to show her their own rooms and the cool things they have. YN tries not to get lost in the maze of toys, balls, books, and a thousand other different things, while Grandpa talks with Mr. Janus.

When the boys start to embark on what feels like a fifth circle around the house, Miss Hadley puts an end to it. ''That's enough! YN, darling, come sit here—what would you like to eat?''

The table is full of different things. There are so many that they could eat for a few weeks and be full. YN doesn't think she saw that many vegetables and fruits in her life. She asks for what everyone is having and is happy to have her plate full. Grandpa also seems to be enjoying himself; he insists on wearing his best shirt for the occasion and now listens attentively to what the twins have to say. They make a good team, YN thinks—twins finally found free ears that are not yet tired of them, and there is nothing that Grandpa loves more than a good story.

When the dinner is over, YN speaks, talking to Miss Hadley beside her. ''Thank you for the invitation; your house is just lovely.''

''Cato made us clean every corner of it before you came—I didn't even have time to play outside!'' The youngest boy whines, pouting slightly.

YN chuckles as she watches colour gather at Cato's ears, his eyes glued to the dish in front of him. ''Well, it was definitely worth it—I had the most marvelous time with you here. And the food was delicious! But I am afraid we have to go; Grandpa should walk when it's still light outside.''

''We will take you home,'' Cato announces, nodding to the twins to put on their shoes. They do so happily, grabbing them and their jackets before Grandpa has a chance to stand up and stick to his side like glue.

The evening is pleasant; the wind is quite chilly, but Cato doesn't mind. The only sound on the street is twins arguing over who will help Grandpa Marc with his cane for the next two minutes.

''Thank you for coming,'' he says, looking at the woman walking beside him.

''Of course. We had a good time, - I hope you did too. How's life been? We haven't talked in a while.''

''Good,'' Cato lies. ''And yours?''

''Better. Since your dad quit, I got the day shift; it pays better, and I can finally get rid of those horrible dark circles.''

Cato nods. ''I've been thinking a lot about our past these days, especially our childhood. It feels like a lifetime ago.''

''Things change,'' YN shrugs. ''We've grown and become different people since then. I would've never imagined working at the factory, but here I am. And you win the games—that was your dream.''

''Don't you miss it? How easy were things back then?''

YN smiles. ''They never were easy, I think; we just couldn't understand them properly. Besides, not much changed, if you think about it.''

''Maybe not for you.''

''Why?'' YN turns to look at him.

Cato swallows. ''YN, they made me different. The games, all those kills—they changed me.''

''You did what you had to survive. It doesn't matter now that you are here.''

''You think I don't notice how people tiptoe around me now? How can Mom stand to look at me for more than a minute? How do boys try to avoid me at all costs? And dad—he doesn't even speak to me! ''

YN is silent. Cato curses in his mind—he shouldn't have said that. He takes a deep breath. ''I'm sorry. It just feels weird. It's like I don't have a home to return to and can't get into a new one. Just hanging there, mid-air.''

''When Grandpa was in the hospital, that's how it felt. I was too young to be alone, but there was no choice but to watch as everything I once loved fell into ruins. I was supposed to be going to movies, partying, and sneaking out, not juggling the bills from medication and the shop. But life decided otherwise. So, I built my own home within myself—one that nothing could tear down or take away.''

''I don't think there is anything left to build on. I'm not like you; everything anyone sees when they look at me is a monster .''

''I don't.'' YN stops. ''I see the boy who brought me a pretty big book with pictures so I could give the change correctly; I see a man who volunteered for his family to have a chance at a better life. I see you, real you, not the role mentors or Capitol made you play. Just Cato.''

''Can I hug you?'' His voice is barely above a whisper.

YN doesn't answer - she just takes a step closer into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder.

''I'm sorry; I am so sorry for everything I've done," Cato mutters, his hands trembling as he holds onto YN tightly. ''I should've said it sooner. ''

''It doesn't matter now. We survived this; we are still here, you and I.''

Cato nods; his tears mix with hers, pooling in patches on his shirt. They are different—children who were forced to grow up too early in a world that wasn't for them. ''I think I never lost it—my home. It was always here, with you, on this street. Isn't it funny? All those years of searching, only to return here, where we truly belong?''

''The butcher's, you mean? If you wanted more candy, you could've just asked,'' YN smiles, whipping away her red eyes.

-

''Fucking finally,'' an aged voice mutters from behind the corner.

''Grandpa Marc!'' the twins turn to him, surprised.

The old man just smiles, his wrinkled face appearing younger with joy. ''Don't tell YN I said that. She'll never let me live it down."

The twins giggle, their happy laughter echoing on the street. A few moments later, Grandpa Marc joins in, his breathy laugh adding to the chorus. It's not the first time the street leading to the butcher's was woken up by sounds of joy, and he hoped it wouldn't be the last.

[cyn--ical]

September

Jeremiah Fisher x Conklin Sibling 

*moments of months with Jeremiah until next Summer -takes place between the first and second seasons*

.Conrad sending you videos of Jeremiah sulking in the backseat as everyone leaves Cousins

.Late night phone calls every night till school starts again, then again the first week Conrad goes off to college 

.Calling you any time he misses Conrad because he’s too stubborn to talk to him 

"You know you could just call him"

"Yeah, but he’s not as pretty to look at"

.You groan at how sweet he is and tell him to stop or you’re hanging up

.Jere making it onto the football team and showing up at your house the same day to tell you

.Laurel over hearing your excited voices in the hallway and coming to congratulate Jere

.Making him stay for dinner, making Steven drive to Costco to get a cake

"Its a celebration! we need cake" she stated

"Why me" Steven moaned 

"This is what happens when you wont let anyone else drive your car" Belly smiled at him with mock sweetness 

Steven rolled his eyes at her "This house is gonna fall into ruin when I leave for Princeton"

"And don’t forget the candles" you called out as the door slams shut behind him

.Steven brings leftover fourth of July sparklers instead

"Its what Susannah would have done" he shrugs to Laurel and she nods in the way you know she's holding back tears.

.Laurel tells Jere to stay the night cause its getting too late 

"but on the couch..and no funny business" she says looking at the two of you

.She gives Jere a hug, you notice its longer than usual, before she heads up to bed 

."She thinks I’m going to break like Connie"

"She’s just worried Jere, my mom loves you"

"Do you?" he smirks

.Neither of you have said it yet, not since Jeremiah had that night at the boardwalk

You lean up on your tip toes and put your lips gently on his 

‘Sometimes’ you say pulling away and smirking back at him 

.Jere sneaking up to your room at 2am and curling up next to you

.Pulling your hips back into him. You press up closer next to him and stifle a laugh as he groans into your hair 

‘I’m not gonna be responsible for what happens if you keep doing that’ he whispers

.You turn around to face him, he’s still golden in the dark 

."Will you come to my games?" he sounds like he’s scared to ask, scared of the response 

‘Every one’ you say 

.You know his Dad wont and Susannah’s too sick now 

.Jeremiah gets all shy and smiley the first time you come to his game

.You’re wearing your cheer outfit, wrong colours, but you’ve got his number painted on your cheek 

.Thats all he can focus on, that and how short your skirt is and 

"how come I’ve never seen you wear this before" he says pinching the hem of your skirt, his fingertips brushing an inch higher up your thigh

"I’ve been a cheerleader since freshmen year" you shove him away as he tries to wrap his arms around you

"Not mine" he says pulling you towards him and pinning you against his car door 

"You think you could keep this on for me tonight"Jere whispers into your neck 

"I’m going home Jeremiah" you laugh pushing him back enough to kiss him 

He grins at you. 

.You show up to every game like you promised, sometimes with Belly and Taylor, sometimes with Laurel, sometimes alone

.Always wearing his numbers

.Always holding up a dumb sign making him laugh every time he looks over at you 

.Jere looked amazing in his football gear, he'd gained more muscle from training and Laurel's never ending cooking, one thing she was gonna do, was take care of Susannah's boys. He played amazing too, almost as good as Conrad and you'd wished his dad would come to just one of these games

.But Jere had lost some of his sunshine, that 'golden boy sparkle' fading with every doctors appointment

.Jere picking you up and spinning you around, leaving kisses all over your face whether they won or lost and for a moment he was the old Jeremiah again, the one without the weight of a sick mother and absent father

.Wrapping up in blankets at his games when the leaves start changing colour

.Hugging him in it when he walks of the field

.Walking the long way back to the parking lot, with pink noses and chilled fingers intertwined, letting go only to race through piles of brown leaves

"Its not about how fast you get through them its about how many you crunch" he stated matter of fact, ignoring the amused look on your face

.Jere could never wait till you got inside the car to start kissing you, he'd pin you up against whatever surface was closest, one hand gripping your waist the other resting on your neck

."Opening the door takes 2 seconds" you smiled, still trying to catch your breath

."Sorry" he shrugged "haven't seen my girlfriend all week" he grinned down at you

.Making out with him for 'five more minutes' had turned into 2 hours trying and failing to keep his hands off you and eating leftover lunches, while whatever song of the week played on repeat in the background

"Its too late to drive" he said

"And who's fault is that...I've got to get home J" you sighed

"Let me drive you" he said, shifting your weight on him and letting his head rest back against the drivers seat

"No, then how will you get back?" you asked softly, leaning into him, leaving a trail of kisses on his neck

"Then stay" he tightened his grip on you, not wanting to lose the feeling of you on him

"I can't" you said

.His eyes plead with you and you silently cursed how far apart you lived

"Your mom's already here"

"Exactly why I can't stay Jere" you said resting your back against the steering wheel "She'll want me at home with Belly"

"Belly's not even at home with Belly" Jere let out an exasperated sigh

.You laughed and leaned back into him, foreheads pressing against each other

"You're right, take me to yours then boyfriend" you smiled, biting your lip

.Jere bumped his nose against yours

"Five more minutes" he whispered against your lips already pulling you back into a kiss

[jfleamont]

never, sometimes, all the time

a snippet from my upcoming uni/band au - 1701 words

The kitchen is scarcely lit and there's a faint smell of burnt eggs. Someone cooked during the party, probably Marlene. Nevermind that this isn’t her flat; the boys don’t mind. They’ve known her for a couple of months, but they welcomed her with open arms, just like they did with Lily. They’re good, she thinks. These kids are good. They let her smoke inside the house tonight— well, James did. She only smokes every once in a while. Mostly when she’s nervous.

He's sitting across from her, one arm draped across the chair beside him, his head thrown back. His eyes are closed and his lips are slightly upturned; he looks content. Lily thinks he's smiling. 

No, he definitely is.

Maybe it's the alcohol in his system. Or the music, which is still playing, though at a much lower volume than before; the others are already in their rooms, passed out, so they don’t care. This is just for the two of them.

She doesn’t know why she hasn’t left.

“You didn't keep your word,” she tells him. He'd promised Sirius he wouldn't get drunk. They hadn't said why, and only exchanged what looked like a meaningful look that she couldn’t decipher. Not yet, at least.

He chuckles, his eyes still closed. “I've only had one drink. And I didn't know you paid so much attention to me.”

“Remind me not to do it again. Also, it was a Long Island Iced Tea. A strong one, from the looks of it.”

He shrugs. “The situation called for it.”

She leans forward on the table, lowering her voice just a little. “Is this about Peter?”

“No. Maybe. I don't know.”

She waits for him to continue. He does. “It's just that we were so close to being great.” A humourless laugh, “Maybe I'm kidding myself. We weren't close at all.”

She notes the perfectly relaxed line of his brows. Maybe it’s just because he’s tired, but there’s no hint of anger on his face. “You don't seem too bothered by this, though.”

“Oh, well, I'm doing okay now. It's not too bad, I suppose.”

Lily snorts, and knows that he isn’t lying. “Yeah?”

He opens his eyes - they’re tired and soft like she’s never seen them - and fixes them on her.

“Yeah.”

“Always the optimist, you.”

He mirrors her position, resting his chin on his palm. “I had a good night, that's all.”

“I don't think that's all.”

“You’re right, it's not,” he shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. He laughs quietly, a hint of anxiety colours his voice.

“So? Tell me,” she prompts him.

He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and looks behind her for a moment. “I have a plan. Mind you, not a good one, but it's a plan. It's sort of insane and if I'm being honest, it’s probably the worst idea I've ever had.”

“Are we still talking about the band or…?” 

“I found a solution for next week's gig,” he announces grandly, smiling from ear to ear. The only thing that is missing is the jazz hands.

“You found a bassist? That was quick. Who is it?” 

“You.”

She blinks. Several times. James’ smile has faded a little, and his expression looks careful.

“You've got to be joking.”

“Told you it was a crazy idea.”

Lily doesn’t want to think about the implications of this. Being friends with the people Severus couldn’t stand was one thing, but actually performing with them? That couldn’t happen. It’s not like she cares about him anymore. No, that’s not it. Maybe a part of her misses him still, and she used to be a people pleaser when she was around him, but this has nothing to do with that. It’s the fact that she has been questioning every single decision she has made ever since she left Severus behind. With him, it felt right… until it didn’t. Who’s to say that this won’t happen again? She doesn’t trust herself anymore, and this is brand new territory.

“You want me to join your band. You?”

James sits up straighter and gives her a funny look. “Why do you sound so surprised? You're brilliant.”

“But… I can't.”

“You can't or you won't?”

“Can't! How am I supposed to learn your entire setlist by next week?” she exclaims. She doesn’t mean to raise her voice, but she can’t help it. The more she thinks about this, the less confident she feels.

“Actually it would be better by Wednesday.”

He doesn’t look apologetic at all. Strange, since he was so worried about asking her a minute ago. Either he’s mad - and this is a very real possibility - or he just believes she can do it, which, really, is another form of insanity. 

She tells him so. “You're not right in the head.”

“Evans—”

“I've got two papers to submit by the end of next week! There's no way I can play with you,” she says in a whispered shout, and now she’s the one with her hands in her hair.

He’s grinning. “But you want to.”

She suppresses a smile at his bravado, but he’s right. “I want to help you. But I can't.”

He leans in conspiratorially, and his enthusiasm almost wins her over. Almost. “Come on, it would be fun! And it's just a one time thing, okay? Or at least until we find a new bassist.” 

“Can't believe you're asking me this.”

“Please?”

He’s not pouting, but he might as well be, and Lily can’t deny it: she’s thought about this exact scenario. She’s seen them on stage, she knows how good they are: they’re miles better than everyone else in their local music scene, really, and Lily can’t help but wonder if she’ll feel out of place up there. She loves performing, but being in a band with Severus showed her how awful it feels to be overshadowed by someone else, and she doesn’t want a repeat of that.

“… Can I think about it?”

James’ eyes light up. “Is this a yes?”

“It’s a question.”

“Of course you can think about it! Take a couple of days,” he waves a hand around and sits back in his chair, looking triumphant. Lily smiles; she’s about to burst his bubble. 

“Hmm,” she rubs her chin contemplatively, “What do I get in return, though?”

He furrows his brows, not expecting her question. “Oh… We're not getting paid for this gig, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I know, Potter,” she deadpans, rolling her eyes, but there’s no real annoyance in her tone. “I've performed there too. I'm talking about something else.”

The side of his mouth quirks up. Cheeky boy. “Anything in particular?”

“I'll let you know. After the gig,” she adds nonchalantly.

“What if I refuse?”

“These are my terms. Take it or leave it.”

James is thinking hard, by the looks of it. She doesn’t know what kind of favour she’ll ask him, but simply knowing that she has the upper hand in this situation makes her euphoric. He knows he’s signing away his soul if he agrees. She still hasn’t decided if she’s going to mess with him or not. Perhaps she’ll be nice about it.

“Fuck it. It's a deal,” he extends an arm to shake her hand and she’s about to do the same when a thought occurs.

“Hang on, did you say this was the worst idea you’ve ever had? What the fuck?”

“Shot myself in the foot, haven’t I?”

“I’m giving you one chance to recover from this. One.”

“Fuck,” he covers his face with his hands, and she thinks he’s blushing a little but she isn’t sure. “Remus is much better at this. He was supposed to broach the subject but he refused to, thinks I’m mental.”

She drops her smile and freezes. “Is he even okay with this? And Sirius?”

“Don’t worry, they both think you’re great. Sirius says you’re the female Flea.”

She beams at the compliment and relaxes into the seat. “Do you agree?”

His eyes roam around her face and Lily feels warm all over. It only lasts a moment, and then he’s smirking again. “You’re easier on the eyes, so…”

Right. He’s just messing with her. 

“Twat,” she responds, and kicks his chair.

His gaze softens. “But to me you’re more Macca than Flea,” James continues, tilting his head to the side as he studies her once again.

“He was fit when he was younger, not going to lie,” she deflects, because she knows she’s talented - she does! - but she feels the impostor syndrome kick in any time she is compared to another great bassist‒ she has a list; Paul McCartney is at the top. Wait, is James aware of this? She hopes not.

He laughs and nods vigorously. “Especially in the late ‘60s with that beard.”

“Shame he never grew it out again after that,” she sighs, and feels the tension dissipate.

James raises an eyebrow. “Wanna watch the Get Back documentary?”

She’s pretty sure he’s joking, but the last time she saw it she cried, and she doesn’t have the strength to hold back the tears in front of him. Besides, her eyelids feel so heavy that she would probably fall asleep ten minutes in, and she’d rather sleep in a bed tonight. “As much as I’d love to, you’re dead on your feet and I’m not doing much better so… I’d better walk home.”

James sits up straight, suddenly very alert. “No.”

“What do you mean no?”

He gets up from the chair and grabs the remote. “I don’t want to walk in the cold and neither do you,” he says with his back to her as he turns off the music, “so just do me a favour and use my bed.”

She can’t possibly sleep on James Potter’s bed. “You don’t have to—”

“It’s not up for debate,” his tone is resolute but he’s wagging his finger at her, which makes him look kind of ridiculous. “The sheets are clean, changed them this morning.”

“I can’t let you—”

“I’ll take the sofa, goodnight.”

And with that he walks to the bathroom and closes the door.

[mossmotif]

teeth; gum; metal (g.suguru)

a follow up on this post

suguru doesn't understand it, how you can be in so many places at once. some mornings, you're the chill on his back, the warm water dripping from the faucet and onto his hands, and the tight feeling in his earlobe when he forces in his plugs.

"those look a little tight." you've put on perfume today, mixed it in with some essential oil he can't quite place. he almost buries his face in your neck to find out. "don't they hurt?" you ask; and you used to be interested in piercings yourself, so there's a small hole where a stud should be on your nose. the scar suits you, it moves when you smile.

one day you call him "alluring". the word leaves your lips like it isn't a word at all. instead it's the smoke he offered to blow into your mouth the night you caught him smoking outside the gym, the burgundy lipstick he saw shoko plant on your neck for a funny photo, it's the look in your eye when he's stretching.

people laugh at your choice of words, some even blush in your place before moving on in conversation; but he can't ignore the way you shrug. your tongue pokes into your cheek.

winter break steams by and you start the new year by buzzing all your hair off. you hadn't told anyone so the shock lasts some time. people have mixed feelings, but you smile either way. suguru doesn't feel the need to tell you what he thinks, but the thoughts pass anyhow. your face looks clearer, sort of like curtains have been drawn, and your hair had been hiding a mole on your face this entire time. he's picked up a habit of staring at it more often than he should.

you still try and tuck nonexistent strands behind your ears when you talk about topics from your major, the motion embedded deep into you still. suguru tucks away the detail and thinks of it anytime he ties his hair up when it's in the way. i happens often. he thinks of you often.

"ever think of cutting it?" bracelets hang off your wrists like ornaments today. you struggle to roll them up to your forearms so they don't get in the way of you eating. the beads catch the light of the sun well.

"like yours?" suguru asks, a half smile on his face.

you laugh, a gentle snort that halts you from chewing for only a moment. "no, not like mine. just in general. as an idea."

"i used to." suguru spares a glance to your hair before popping another boiled egg in his mouth; it's more grown out now, somewhat close to an awkward stage that somehow suits you. you said you felt like growing it back again.

"not your style?" you question, and in a way that used to come off as surprisingly delicate to him, you wipe your mouth with a napkin and tap at the remaining gloss on your lips, evening it out before reapplying.

suguru swallows, picking at his already fading nail polish. "i guess not."

your exchange for the year ends rather mundanely. two semesters felt a whole lot longer before he met you.

a small get-together is organized between your group of friends, inviting anyone who can make it despite difficult scheduling. it's nice, the lights are warm, and people are making fun of how little you've packed between bites of finger food and sips of stray alcohol. for some strange reason, it feels like the two of you should be alone for this. he keeps locking eyes with you from across the room. by the third time, he jerks his head in no direction in particular and a message is sent.

you can smoke on your own now, sparingly, but independently none the less. suguru would be lying if he said he didn't miss the proximity from before.

it's cold enough for thicker jackets now, but suguru can still spot the body glitter you applied for no particular reason creeping up your neck, hidden but thoughtful. your earrings match the colour of the street lights. suguru's nails are freshly painted and match the dark streets.

"i'm going to miss you." you speak through a cloud of smoke. "don't tell everyone in there, but you're kind of my favourite."

suguru pretends not to blush. "i won't tell satoru," he responds. you smile, all teeth, all gummy, all metal and words he's never heard about himself. you stretch in a tired state of content, a flash of the band of your boxers peeking from your jeans.

suguru takes a long drag from his cigarette without looking away.

"hey." he calls out to you before you start heading back inside. he doesn't think.

he wonders how you manage it; being everywhere all at once must be so tiring. yet, you wear it beautifully and so does he. you're the lace on his hips and he's the silk on your skin; and you're the rough feeling of his hands after sculpting class and he's the warmth on your cheeks after a lengthy debate; and your body is his and his body is yours. he's seen it in the mirror a thousand times.

the skin is the same, the hair, the scars. there are parts of his life he wishes he could give to you.

the kiss you share before you leave is warm against all the cold, chapped lips are wet and softened by spit. he pulls away from you slowly, savouring what he couldn't taste by just looking.

you beam at him, a glint in your eye that matches the glistened look of your lower lip. there's a word at the tip of your tongue that's somehow worse than "alluring". he thinks that hearing you say it might burn him.

"i'll stick around after everyone leaves," he says, more of a statement than a question. you nod in agreement, but reply with something that seems out of the blue. it's a violent sort of affection. you bring his hand up to your mouth and bite into his wrist, enough to leave a mark. he bites at the fat of your palm in return, the cold air dries his pink gums and you laugh at the way he runs his tongue over them once his mouth closes.

the marks aren't a complete match, but when they're lined up suguru sees every indent as something the two of you share.

[mooooooooooooonnnnnn]

A New Sorcerer

Chapter- 2 ocean eyes

Synopsis - reader beginning a new life in the jujutsu world. The reader shifted to jjk high! Creating special bonds with satoru and reader and basically continuing the series.

"Waaaa this place is hugee!" I wandered my eyes around the corridor looking at the row of rooms together with funny little stickers hanging on the doors. One of the doors had a sticker of white kitten with blue glasses which I found adorable and couldn't help but ask. "Whose room is that? "The sticker looks adorable!" I chuckled slightly touching the sticker. "Oh that's of satoru".Suguru replied with a warm smile. My smile faded away as I realised the name and looked at the white guy and he was already smiling at me like an idiot. "You like that huh? I'm sure you'll like me soon too~" he had that sarcastic smile plastered on his face like it's stapled permanently. Ngl he is handsome but his flirty personality did not flatter me. "Oh yea?" I rolled my eyes. Shoko smacked satoru's head for this cheesy comment as he rubbed the back of his head in acting in pain. This is your room y/n. Shoko showed me the room as I thanked all three of them for helping me out. "I'll see you guys in the evening I'm really tired." I chuckled nervously. "I see rest well and if you want we all can hang out as well in the evening, how's that?" Said suguru. "Very well I'll be there." I smiled and they left as I shut the door. I sighed deeply as I threw myself on the bed and closed my eyes.

What does he think he is? I thought about that white hair guy gojo. Acting all flirty and tough. I scoffed as I turned my head on the other side. Staring at the sun rays entering from the little spaces on the window blinders. I was lost in thoughts. I mean he was handsome but his personality is hell out of my type and in the end he just became silent. I sighed as I just tried to sleep off the thoughts.

Time skip 7 pm (oh yes you slept that long)

I opened my eyes fixing my vision as I held my phone and looked at the screen. 10 missed calls...... wait 10 MISSED CALLS?!!!! From shoko?! How did she get my number??!! I panicked. oh wait- maybe Yaga sensei shared it. I calmed down, sitting on the bed, head all dizzy and painful but I still decided to just go out and check on those three people. Wearing some loose sweats and bottom I left my room. from the information there's a canteen nearby the corridor I'll just get some drinks. Making my way there just to see a white haired man sitting on the chair leaning his head back, sipping on the cold coffee. We both made eye contact, of course it had to be awkward but the first few seconds were absolute bliss cause his eyes.... Oh my god. Those ocean blue eyes, it had so many colours. He was wearing his glasses back then so his eyes were blinded with curtains. The can dropped from his hands which made both of us flinch and break the eye contact as I quickly went to the vending machine for a coffee. He sat on the chair more formally than usual as he scratched his head with embarrassment.

"Wh- what are yo- you doing here?"

Taking the coffee from the vending machine as I tried to calm myself down and sat on the chair in front of him.

"I- I was just waiting for yo- no I mean waiting for shoko and sugu they both left a few minutes ago."

"O-oh.."

A moment of silence as I tried my best not to make eye contact with him but failed cause it was as if it was attracting me towards his eyes. I tried taking a glimpse and he was already looking at me. I then quickly looked away and maintain my composure. "Y-your eyes a-are beautiful."

"Huh?"

To be continued....

Yesss I'll try to post it as soon as possible if I find it's engaging to you all. :)

[purpleprincessonfyre]

Marvel AU - Monster (or coward?)

Timeline: During The Battle of New York, but what if Sylvie and Loki invaded New York together?

Characters: Liane Felton, Loki Laufeyson, Sylvie Laufeydottir

Features: Ethan Lensherr, Rochelle Romanoff-Felton and some characters from Liane's past

IB: Monster by Imagine Dragons, Avengers (2012)

'Ever since I could remember

Everything inside of me

Just wanted to fit in,'

"We need to get out of here, this building isn't stable!"

"Funny, I was about to say that about your mental state!" Ethan joked, holding back debris as Liane ran for safety. The battle of New York was raging as heroes ran left and right trying to get STARK staff members away from the tower in a hurry.

"You're cute. Come on, I don't wanna drag you out from underneath rubble."

"Go, I'll hold it off until everyone's safe."

Liane nodded and ran towards the exit but as she ran through what she thought was the door to outside she found herself inside a box that seemed to be made of pure gold. When she turned around the door was gone and she was entirely surrounded by walls of gold, from floor to ceiling. Liane growled, her fists balled as her anger rose.

'If I told you what I was

Would you turn your back on me?

And if I seem dangerous

Would you be scared?'

"Dammit Loki or whatever, let me out!"

A dry chuckle echoed through the hollow space, clearly enjoying this.

"My my, Miss Felton. You forget yourself. That's hardly the way a polite young lady would address her father..."

"What?"

Liane turned to follow the sound and saw her father before her, standing in her family home with her, her surroundings now resembling her family's dining hall. She knew it was magic but she could hear the ticking grandfather clock on the floor, she could feel the heat from the roaring fire, she could smell the sharp scent of the lillies on the dining table and the hairs on her neck stood straight up as she heard the unmistakable voice.

"Come on little lady, say you're sorry and give me a smile."

"I won't fall for your tricks! That's not my father!"

"How dare you, you insolent girl!" Her father snarled, leaning in to hit her, booze on his breath.

"I'm not scared of you, your stupid magic can't hurt me, you're gonna have to try harder than that if you want to hurt me, Dumb and Dumber."

'I get the feeling just because

Everything I touch isn't dark enough

That this problem lies in me.'

The image of her father melted away and suddenly she was in her childhood bedroom and the scent of nail polish hung in the air as someone approached her, someone looming over her by miles. Then she saw his eyes and his wicked grin and felt her heart race. It was Quentin. She felt so much younger in his gaze, so much smaller and so naive. It stung her eyes seeing him like that before her, as if she'd never even left.

"Little Sister...myself and the boys want to play a little game and we need a damsel in distress."

"You're a liar, you always were!"

"What? We simply want to rescue the pretty princess but you will have to get in the boat and let us tie you up. But don't worry! We'll rescue you. Eventually."

"Rot in hell, Quentin!"

"Have it your way..."

Liane's eyes stung with tears as her eyes changed colour.

"Stop it, stop it Quent!"

"Awwww baby's crying! Look at the baby crying!"

"YOU SHUT YOUR MOUTH QUENTIN OR I WILL BURN YOUR STUPID HEAD!"

'Can I clear my conscience

If I'm different from the rest

Do I have to run and hide?'

The illusions faded as she was transported back into the box.

"Now there's the Felton I was told about..."

"You could do so much if you weren't so pathetic and predictable all the time..."

"Who ever heard of a hero that can burn you alive?"

"You can both shut up! I changed! But you...you never will."

"Shame. We were really getting somewhere for a minute there. Shall we?"

"Go on then."

The room melted away all over again and now Liane saw a place she'd tried to forget. A room she wished she'd never entered. Seeing a face she never wanted to see again. And hearing that voice that haunted her days and nights ever since she put him away.

'I never said that I want this

This burden came to me

And it's made it's home inside,'

"Guten tag, frauline...."

"Edmund..."

"Awww no pet name this time? Aw you are shaking like a leaf. Would you like my coat?"

"You stay away from me!"

"But why? You knew this was happening, und you never said no to it before. You befriended those girls, you bought them the drinks, you made them your friends all happy, and you let me take them away..."

"I was drunk! You always made sure of that, you filthy monster!"

"Nein! Nein, I am not the only monster here. You were, how you say, complicit in the crimes? You could have said no. You could have said you wanted no part in my plans. But you were just so desperate to be loved and adored that you turned a blind eye! All those innocent, naive girls! The blood of those girls is ON YOUR HANDS ALONE! You, are the true monster, Frauline."

'A monster, a monster

I've turned into a monster

A monster, a monster

And it keeps getting stronger.'

Every wall started to reflect just Liane's reflection back at her but each one was different. Her childhood, her teens, her eyes bright purple in all of them, each reflection whispering the same word over and over again as the word started to ring in her head like a death toll.

Monster.

Monster.

Monster!

"ENOUGH!" Liane screamed as the room was consumed by flames, the reflections all melting and the illusions shifting in a jarring fashion from Edmund Zola, to Quentin, to Milton and then back to Loki, who was grinning from ear to ear.

"We finally broke her...told you it was easy."

"You were right, turns out if one's heart is so blackened and bruised, then it won't be tricky to turn it darker."

"I'm not a monster!"

"Oh really? Monsters are born from anger, pain and hatred. Monsters act without thought. Monsters are ruthless. And what does that make you? A monster? Or a coward?"

"I'll take coward over monster any day, and for the record I was tricked!"

The two Lokis laughed, holding their stomachs as tears rolled down their cheeks as if Liane had just told the funniest joke.

"Were you now? So you lashing out at your father, was because of a trick?"

"You hurting your brothers, that was the fault of a trick?"

"You turning on Edmund and testifying against him, all because you were tricked? No my dear sweet monster, you knew exactly what you were doing. That rage, your fire, you deliberately took that rage and damaged them.

"Scarring your father's face, burning your brother's hair, and don't forget that scar running down Eddie's chest, right over his heart. That was all you. That was the monster. And it's getting stronger. But the longer you hide it with this...hero act? It'll get murderous. It will hurt people you care about. That boy you like? Your precious cousin? Your new friends who just started to trust you? They'll all be ashes on the ground. And you'll be painted as a villain. Just like us."

Loki and Sylvie approached, as Liane looked up at them, tears in her eyes as Loki grabbed her chin harshly.

"Shhhh it's alright little Mutant, it's very simple. Either wait until your actions destroy everyone you love, or give in to us and follow the future rulers of Asgard."

"We could make your our little princess. Put a pretty crown on your golden curls. Keep you in a lovely little box where you won't hurt anyone back on Asgard. And all you'll have to do is just prance about and play dress up, ride on your very own pegasus, we'll make you your own boyfriend or girlfriend to play with, all day long. Or....you and your precious little team die. Either by your hands, or ours. Your choice, Princess."

Liane looked around her and saw her team through the confines of the box she was trapped in. All of them fighting tooth and nail to take out aliens and get the people to safety. All things she would have scoffed at a year ago. She saw Ethan, doing everything he can to help the citizens get away. Rochelle, fighting aliens left and right even as she's injured. Her team doing whatever it takes to save the world. They were better off without her.

'I'm only a man with a candle to guide me

I'm taking a stand to escape what's inside me,'

Liane hung her head and looked up at the Lokis, resigned to her fate.

"Do what you like. But don't hurt my friends. Lock me up, tease me, play with me, whatever. But you don't touch them. Please." There was shame in her eyes but Liane had decided she was better off a coward than a monster. Loki nodded his approval.

"Glad you came to your senses, Little Princess. They didn't need you anyway. Sylvie?"

Sylvie wrapped chains around Liane's neck and wrists, leading her to a portal as a voice rang out, beyond the box, from the outside. Liane was barely paying attention when it hit her ears. And a smile spread on her face as it repeated. And she could see outside the box his big green eyes, his dark hair and the concern and worry in his face as he shouted across the battlefield. Ethan was calling to her.

"LIANE!"

"Silly boy, come on pet, we've built a cage just for you."

"Shame."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said, shame. Cause your pet just remembered what freedom tastes like!"

The entire box was set ablaze as Lianes eyes glowed, her chains sizzling to dust as she approached the two Mischief deities.

"Turns out I can be both. I can be the daughter of a sleazy businessman and a hero. The sister of a disgusting politician and an Avenger. The ex fiancée of the leader of HYDRA, and the girl about to kick. Your sorry. Asses!"

The box crumbled away to nothing as Liane approached the two co-conspirators with fury in her eyes, her fists aflame.

"You'd better keep fighting cause I'm gonna make damn sure you go back where you came from AND YOU NEVER COME BACK!" Liane roared as airborne fire seemed to burst from her lungs and out of her mouth, sitting the pair ablaze as they disappeared in a poof of magic.

As she managed to find her bearings a hand reached and squeezed hers tightly. It was Rochelle's, and her bright blue cousin was smiling.

"Let's end this fight."

"Together."

And the two fighting Feltons rushed back into the fray, a new sense of courage now fostered in Liane's bruised and blackened heart, slowly starting to rise to reflect on her face. Maybe the past wouldn't define her forever. And just maybe, she would get through this and move on. But not today. That battle was for another time, in another place. Probably in a doctors office somewhere. Monster, coward, hero was starting to sound pretty good from where Liane was standing.

Hope you enjoyed!

Tagging: @gcthvile @jackiequick @blueboirick @meiramel @cherrysft @askstevella @ask-missparker @ask-starrk @therealdaydreamstark @thechoooooosenone @wizzzardofoz @finlayholmes @ethan-lensherr @marvelsfavoriteuncle @rickb-chaos @luna-d-marsh @missstrawbs2001

[ihatecoconut]

Canpes

Also on AO3!

kind of based on @softest-punk hobsbandverse

The only information Hob gets from Destiny is that whoever is accompanying him to the event will be waiting in the passenger seat of his car. There’s a certain petulant tone to Destiny’s voice that suggests it is not going to be him.

Delirium is waiting when he climbs in the driver’s side, dressed appropriately in a pretty pink dress and with the colours in her hair faded to a more respectable level – i.e., they won’t burn out anyone’s retinas. She beams when she sees him.

“Hi Hob!”

He laughs, “Hey Del, you were destined to accompany me?”

She leans in, close, like she’s imparting a secret. “There was a fight.” She tells him. “’twas funny, everyone was stood in their galleries and yelling at the other sigils.”

That does sound funny, actually, Hob can imagine them all getting increasingly irate at each other over something as simple as who gets to come with him to an admittedly boring faculty party.

She giggles suddenly and leans in even closer, pressing their noses together. “Even Death and Destiny.”

“And you?”

She scrunches her nose up. “I would have if I had had an opp… opp…”

“Opportunity?”

“Yes! Opportunity. Destiny kept speaking when I wanted to.”

Hob laughs again. “Didn’t he already know it was going to be you?”

“He wanted to change it.” She settles back in her seat and lets him start the car. “He only said it was me when he lost.”

It warms something in him to know that they were all so determined to be with him, even to the point of trying to change the Book.

“Good to know.”

 They pull into the carpark and Hob is not surprised to see that there is already a reasonable number of cars present. The event did technically start almost half an hour ago.

“Alright.” He turns the engine off and turns to face Delirium. “You ready to schmooze?”

Her face screws up. “Schmooze.”

“Yeah. Don’t repeat that in front of anyone, yeah?”

She nods, incredibly serious, and Hob just has enough time to think that he might want to rephrase that to explain that while it was a joke, he also doesn’t want her referring to it as schmoozing in front of anyone, when her face breaks out in a brilliant and mischievous smile.

He grins back, holds up a fist. “Let’s do this?”

Del hits it with her own. “Do this.”

The Dean sweeps over as soon as the two of them enter, taking in Delirium – undeniably a child – with not a small amount of trepidation.

“Rob!” She says, somehow managing to incorporate both an exclamation mark and an ellipsis into her voice. “Who is this?”

He wraps an arm around Delirium’s shoulders. “Uh, this is Del, my partners’ sibling.”

“They’re busy.” Del offers, polite and reasonable. Hob wonders who gave her instructions on how to act.

The Dean’s face clears slightly, not completely, because Hob loves to keep people guessing on how many partners he actually has, and this does not at all clear anything up for her. ‘They’ could be one, or two, or in this case actually seven, but she doesn’t know that. “Oh, well it was so nice of you to join us instead.”

Del nods, seriously. “We could not let him face you alone.”

Hob manages to restrain the shocked laugh down to a snort. That is almost certainly something he said to Dream, about not wanting to face the faculty alone when everyone else would be with their partners. “She means because no one else will be.”

“Oh!” The Dean laughs as well. “I’ll introduce you to my husband at some point,” she waves a hand vaguely across the room, “unfortunately he has been drawn into a different conversation.”

“Ah, well, there’s no rush, right? We’ve got all evening.”

Del nods again, serious. “And if that falls through there is always the rest of your lives.”

The Dean cups a hand over her mouth, apparently already getting used to Del’s particular chain of thought. “Very true. It was nice to meet you.”

“You also.”

She wanders off again, probably to greet someone else, leaving the two of them hovering by the doorway and looking out across the room. Hob wonders if Delirium is going to whisper the weird hallucinations and beliefs of the people present, the same way Dream tells him their night time fantasies and Desire lets him know their waking ones.

Instead, she tugs on his arm excitedly. “Look, Hob, canapes!”

He lets her pull him over to the ‘buffet’ an admittedly poor selection of tiny foods, and watches her try one of each, accepting every time she pushes one, she particularly likes on him. It’s a new way to experience these sorts of events and he thinks that maybe that’s the point, maybe that’s why the Book decided she would be the one to accompany him.

Del bops him on the nose, pulling him out of his musings. “Thinking?”

“Yup. ‘bout you.”

She beams at him and holds up a tiny eclair. He opens his mouth and lets her stick it in, chewing obediently when she pulls her fingers back and stares expectantly.

“’s good.”

“Death says ones from France are better.”

“We’ll have to go to France sometime then.” Hob replies without really thinking about it.

The hopeful way she looks up at him in response almost breaks his heart. “Really?”

“Of course.”

He thinks she might be about to say something else, but his office neighbour appears beside them before she can.

“Rob! And who might this be?”

Del wipes her hand on her dress before offering it to Ally and Hob winces internally. Money he might have, but the dress she (or someone else) has conjured up looks incredibly expensive.

“I am Del.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Del, I’m Ally.” Ally shoots him an amused look out the corner of her eye.

“Yes,” Del says very seriously, “of medieval literature.”

The amused look becomes impressed, “Yup, you heard about me?”

Hob is very certain that he doesn’t talk about work when he hangs out with Del, which means that she must have gained this information from one of her siblings, and she’d confirmed earlier that they had literally argued over who got to accompany him, but this means that they talk about him when he’s not there. It settles something in his chest that worries sometimes they are all just humouring him.

“Lots.” Del agrees. “Hob is very fond of you.”

She softens visibly, “Well, I’m quite fond of him also.”

At the other end of the table, a waiter lays down a tray of new things and, rather than responding, Del lights up excitedly and scurries off to try one, leaving Hob to face Ally.

“Thought you were bringing one of the undefined number of partners. That’s a child.”

“I know.” Hob replies, because he does. And, sure, Del might technically be eons older than him, but she has the mind of a child – Destiny had described her as ‘not quite broken, almost shattered’ once. “She’s their sibling.”

“Which one’s?”

“Uh, all of them?”

Ally visibly processes this information. “I’m sorry.” She says in a voice that is anything but. “The undefined number of mysterious partners are… all siblings?”

“I think they have a shared calendar.”

She looks like she wants to say more in response to that, but Del reappears with two of the new canapes and holds one out to each of them. Whatever bone Ally has to pick with this weird arrangement of his apparently has nothing to do with Del because her face softens immediately, and she takes the offered food. Hob does as well.

“There are people over there who want to talk to you,” Del adds, helpfully, “I heard them talking.”

Hob follows her gaze to some more members of the faculty. “Alright, might wanna grab some more snacks, I don’t know how long this is gonna take.”

She nods and bounces off down the table, grabbing a paper plate because they might be in a fancy establishment, but G-d forbid anyone has to do any washing up.

Ally presses a hand to his arm, concern gently written in her eyes. “Rob, I’m not gonna tell you what to do with your life, but… are you sure about this?”

He looks down to where Delirium is weighing up how many of something to put on the plate and can almost imagine Dream peering over her shoulder, nose scrunched up in distaste, Death at his side laughing, the twins whispering about the people present, Destiny watching over them and Destruction watching Hob himself. He blinks and the images vanish.

“Yeah, yeah I’m sure about this.”

[graceisinthelibrary]

My take on the prompt "bow tie".

@acgasfanchallenge

"What's in a bow tie?"

“Oh bugger!”

Audrey could hear Siegfried’s angry tantrum from the hallway upstairs. Glad that Helen and Jimmy had spent the night at Heston where they certainly didn’t hear Uncle Siegfried blustering all about the house, she closed the door to her linen cupboard. It was shortly after seven, time for breakfast and he was already in one of his moods.

“Blast!”

Knowing his cursing was nothing but a cry for her help, she shook her head and ascended the staircase.

“On me way!”

The door to his bedroom was wide open and their two very curious four-pawed friends were lying on his unmade bed, watching him attentively as he was fiddling with a piece of clothes she had never seen before dangling from his neck.

Amused by the sight, she leaned against the doorframe and chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” He asked, visibly offended. With his hands firmly planted on his hips he stared at his own reflection in the mirror at the wall.

“You,” she answered nonchalantly.

“This blasted thing just won’t… for heaven’s…” The rest of the sentence was swallowed by another spate of unruly cursing.

“Let me have a look!” Trying not to look too cheerful, she walked over to him and ordered him to face her. With childish reluctance he did as ordered and she smiled softly at him.

“That’s a new one,” she said when she pulled the loose fabric from his neck and let it glide through her fingers. It was a burgundy coloured bow tie made of velvet - one that perfectly matched his favourite tweed suit.

“It is,” he confirmed as his eyes flickered over her fingers as she straightened the fabric.

“It feels expensive.”

“I wanted to treat myself a little,” he admitted, somewhat hangdogged. He held his breath when she leaned in a little and placed the bow tie around the collar of his shirt.

“It’s been ages since you’ve worn one of these,” she remarked when she carefully started to intertwine the loose ends. Sometimes her fingers were brushing against his neck and he felt her breath, warm and sweet from her first cup of tea, against his skin. She was standing a little too close for him to ignore her physical attributes he was only too aware of, even though they were hidden under her apron. Last night she must have washed her hair, because he could smell her shampoo and the faded scent of her lavender bath oil.

“I thought it was time to update my wardrobe,” he replied as he tried not to look at her. “Turns out I’m a bit out of practice.”

“There’s no shame in that,” she countered. “But you mustn’t shout around the house like a mad man.”

“Why not? You’re here now, aren’t you?” The words had been out before he could stop them and she laughed in response. “Am I that predictable?” She wondered as she added the finishing touches and straightened the knot in the middle and pulled it in the right position.

“I knew you wouldn’t leave me in tatters,” he answered, glad she took his slip lightly.

“Course not,” she mused and stepped back, admiring her work on him. “There you are.”

He turned towards the mirror and looked at his own reflection. “Do you like it?” With pointed fingers he touched his new accessory, unsure whether it was what he imagined it would be.

“It suits you,” she answered and looked at his reflection. With obvious curiosity her eyes searched for his in the mirror and she reached out to touch the bow tie once more.

“Did Richard inspire you?”

“Why would you think that?” He returned the question.

“Just wondering…” She shrugged and nibbled at her lower lip.

“But you like it on him, don’t you?” His question hung in the air like a cloud over the Dales.

“There are a lot of things to like about the lad,” she answered tentatively. ”And there are even more things I like about you.” Her hand was now lying on his chest. The warmth of her skin penetrated the fabric and he was sure there was no way she could miss how his heartbeat increased under her touch.

One day he wanted to feel that hand on him without separating barriers.

One day he didn’t want to throw a tantrum to get her undivided attention and one day he wouldn’t buy new clothes just to impress her, because he wanted her to accompany him when he chose them.

One day…

The touch of her lips against his cheek was light and tender. The sweetness in her breath that he had felt earlier was now evident in her gentle kiss. He was glad he saw her kissing him in the reflection of his mirror, because otherwise he wouldn’t have believed it.

“You don’t have to change, you know,” she whispered into his ear and her voice was sending small shocks throughout his entire system. “Not for me.”

With bated breath he turned his face to meet her blue eyes. He saw the tenderness in them, the devotion and smiled. She could read him like no one else. Some years ago this would have scared the daylights out of him, but now it just gave him comfort and a warm sense of belonging.

“You’re marvellous.”

“I know.” She blinked cheekily at him and caressed the outline of his beard with her thumb. “Will you come downstairs for breakfast now?”

“Gladly,” he replied.

“Good…” She placed a soft, chaste kiss on his mouth and left. With a low whistle she ordered the dogs to follow her and they obediently jumped from his bed to run after her. He waited for her footsteps to fade before he slipped into his waistcoat and straightened his shoulders in front of the mirror. Once again he touched the unusual garment around his neck and couldn’t help but smile.

There was something about his bow tie that had just made his life even more worthwhile than it already was. He silently thanked Carmody, his lucky stars, and last weekend’s jumble sale for this strike of inspiration. And then he was on his way downstairs to have breakfast with her. It was going to be a good day.

[somerandomjewelleryonthefloor]

"was it always me?"

{Solrin's past relationship 1- Clear Bias} (based on this)

Small warning: implied/racism + toxic ex. You've been warned about the dead dove- so don't eat it.

TAGS?: @cadybear420 @lover-also-fighter-also

"well you're just... Not what I was expecting! You're very... Colourful, yes..."

I never thought I could be a problem.

"son, I just don't know what you see in her, she's not... You know..."

I always tried my hardest for you. Tried my hardest to make your parents like me, tried my hardest to make you like me, tried my hardest to be loved... It was a mistake. But I didn't know it'd cost me so much.

"you're quite loud darling, yes, could you be quieter?"

I tried my damned hardest to be someone your family would gladly take pictures with during holidays or family barbecues... In the end though, I knew deep down I could never be the girl your parents were fine with.

.ೃ࿐

We were at a carnival, I showed up to help support your parents chilli booth. In my faded low waisted jorts, my white converse and knee high socks, my purple bikini top, and my oh so sparkly thick fishnet top ON top of it all... I had holographic makeup on, bracelets and necklaces, and my hair in a high ponytail. My outfit was what most carnival goers would wear, at least I thought so until you called me a 'sparkly hooker'.

"that was uncalled for! Besides, everyone else is dressed like this!" I argued, there were girls in skimpy dresses, in booty shorts, guys with no shirt on and other various people who looked as sparkly and colourful.

We were behind some caravans, so no one could see us. the warm and inviting light of the rides and the path inside the carnival were blocked, we were stuck in a dark spot as you scowled at me.

"well you're the only one here getting attention from everyone!" Rud yelled at me. He rolled his eyes, pushing back his dark blue hair, "why are you even here?"

Like he had to ask.

"to come and support your parents chilli booth? And fine, if you're that worried I'll put a jacket on"

"oh please, just fucking leave! They don't even like you anyway!"

His words shook me, to my core. Rud was a blunt guy, always calling me out for how bitchy and rude I could be, but to hear him admit that his parents didn't like me hurt. It hurt in a way I couldn't explain. I didn't solely want their approval, I just wanted them to be fine with me coming over for dinner. To talk to me. To cook with me. To crochet with.

"w-what?" My voice was shaky. I didn't want to cry here. I really really didn't... But I could feel the waterworks slowly turning on.

"They both think you're "not fit" for me. I mean, I did tell you that I was nervous telling them I was even with you... Look at you, you look nothing or act nothing like the girls I'm supposed to bring home." He spat out. "Just get out of here, you only make things worse for me."

He then left. He left me there as my eyes filled with tears. I tried blinking them back but they fell out anyway. Nothing like the girls I'm supposed to bring home replayed in my head. Because I wasn't a sweet southern belle who knew how to make quiche and spoke like how your family spoke, they disapproved of me?...

It didn't take long before you left me and got with a new girl. What was funny was that the girl you dated next, I knew.

She was basically me. Colourful hair, loud spoken, confident, and incredibly emotional. She was everything besides the fact that she looked like the women who were in your family. The soft brunette that peaked out of her colourful highlights that resembled your aunty's hair, the Hazel eyes your grandmother had, the lovely... Pale skin... Everyone had...

I never knew why your parents never truly liked me. But I finally understood. And it fucking killed me. Because I wasn't the typical southern girl your family liked, but instead was a mix of 4 different heritages instead- they disapproved of me. They didn't even give me a chance as I realised as they usually always pushed me out of their conversations when I sat next to you for dinner.

I spent the next few days questioning myself. If I was worth anyone. I always had a problem. My gender, my confidence, my heavy emotions, my race even- for fucks sake my rainbow highlighted hair was a problem once too!

No one liked me. Only my partners, yet I was too much for either of them both and they ditched me for someone quieter and someone you could always bring home.

I wanted to dump black dye on my head, straighten my hair, wear less flashy clothes and tone myself down a bit. Would that make me wanted? Would people love to take me home to show me off then?...

Was it always me?

[spokenvessel]

Lucian Archie Bane

Name: Lucian Archie Bane

Nicknames: Luci, Luci Lu, LuLu, Lu, and LuLu Lemondrop

Birth Date: 03'11

Birth Place: Hell (Pride Ring)

Star Sign: Pisces

Race: Demon/Angel

Occupation: Striper/Hooker/Pornstar

Status: Alive

Age: 28 (Looks)

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He.His.Him and They/Them

Sexual Orientation: Pansexual & Polyamorous

Height: 5'5

Weight: 150 (depends)

Skin Tone: Caramel Tan

Hair Colour: Ebony Black, With Pastel Icy Sky Blue fading to Indigo Puprle for the bangs

Hair Style: shaggy mullet, down to his ankles, and scene/emo bangs

Eye Colour: Pastel Icy Sky Blue

Eye Shape: siren

Features: freckles all over his body, and a heart shape beauty mark under his right eye, a clover beauty mark on his left upper hip, and a rose beauty on his back side (upper right hip)

Weapons: Double Swords and Scythe

Skills:

Abilities: Neon Green fading up to neon blue with gold sparkles (Shadow Flame) and Magic

Last Resort: Potions/Weapons

Strengths: Is knowledgeable and fast. Can fly and shapeshift

Feats: is to afraid to show his true form and use his real powers.

Weakness: Wolfsbane and Silver

Family: Chaos and Nyx Sterling

Love Interest: Castiel (His Contract Holder.) (Not actually in Love)

Crush: Adam (First Human/Man) & Lucifer Morningstar

Enemies: Lute & other angels

Lucian Bane's Backstory:

Lucian was born in hell because of his mother, Nyx. (Who is the Demon/God of: Darkness/Abyss) She was once married to Chaos, the creator and the destorier. She birthed Lucian and his twin brother Nova. Nova became born angel fronting. And second form demon. Lucian was born fronting as a demon. The second fronting was angel. Lucian doesn't get along with the angels as much as the demons. The angels find him an obamnation and tainted. That he is bad blood. And he should be killed. But the demons don't care as much. But they do ignore him depending on the demon.

Lucian most of his life played alone and did his own thing. Being a hellborn also means watching others be killed by other demons or angels. It was annoying and very upsetting. He hated how it was. But probably at that age couldn't really change anyone's mind. So he kept it to himself.

As Lucian grew up learning how Heaven and Hell actually was. He didn't trust anyone. Not even his mother's new husband. Which was whatever. He could take care of himself as he always did. Just because he lived with his mother and her servants caring for him. Doesn't mean he can't do anything on his own. And take care of his business alone. He didn't ask for help. At least outloud. He was alone a lot. And that made him realize no one can hurt him that way.

Lucian did end uk making mistakes. Falling into an angel's trap. His name is Castiel. Who has male skin, crimson red eyes, and long blaxk hair to his shoulders. He was an Arch Angel. Who has with black wings with red tips/ombre. Who seeked out Lucian for years. He made a deal with him. And now his soul belongs to Castiel. He would have to go to heaven and help Castiel make money there and in hell. It was dirty and really bad.

Bur over time he got over it. Abuse or not. It was the life he chose.

And one day he ended up meeting Charlie ans Vaggie. And some spider demon named Angel Dust. They invited him to live with them at a hotel. To redeem demons.

Lucian did shit on it. Because heaven was shit. But that was fine. At least he could be away from the world outside.

Over time he did form friendships and bonds with everyone.

And the world Changed underneath Lucian when he met Adam and Lucifer.

Personality:

bubbly, flirty, confident (most of the time), Timid/Shy (sometimes), cocky, random, playful, temperamental, funny (kind of), and outgoing

Quotes:

"Come on! I so had that! He really wanted my fake drugs. How dare you!" Lucian to Charlie

"Cigarettes and Cock Rings are a turn on for me." Lucian To Adam

"Folding was never an option." Lucian to Lute

"Did you see that!? He wanted to suck my dick!" Lucian to everyone at the hotel about some creep

"Sorry? What? I can't hear ya. I think the lines are breaking up." Lucian to Castiel (when in the same room together.)

"Would you like Coconut and Caramel Cream Pie in your mouth?" Lucian to Lucifer (Lucian's scent is coconut and Caramel along with his taste.)

Likes:

Bubble gum

Music

Singing

Dancing

Movies

Sex

Kissing

Blow jobs

Gaming

Cooking/Baking

Cuddling/Snuggling

Plushies/Stuff Animals

Blankets/Forts

Diskikes:

Abuse

Fighting

Yelling

Death

Angels

Hobbies:

Sewing

Collecting Stickers

Collecting Crystals

Writing

Reading

Fears:

Losing his loved ones

His life to angels. (Castiel or Lute)

Rejection

Trivia:

Lucian has a pet hellhound/wolf (feral wolf)

Named: Storm

Favorite Animal on earth: Frog

Favorite Drink: Blue Raspberry Juice, Dr. Pepper, Orange Juice, and Chocolate Milk

Favorite Foods: Tacos and Chili

Goals: To save others and to escape Castiel hold on him.

If you like to know more. Just ask.

I do write stories, songs, poems, rp/role-playing.

Canon and Fanon ships. Yee!!!

Art is by my partner. Their name is (TimidLittlePupen/LittlePupen) CrystalLunaStark

[watatsumiis]

Coming out - Gorou edition

I dunno why this came to my mind, but I've been thinking on it a bit. This features a trans!reader (but done in a way that's pretty neutral I think, so you can imagine it how you like!) having just come out to Gorou (who also happens to be trans, unbeknownst to the reader).

Content warnings: General kind of trans talk, mention of Gorou having top surgery scars, hormone therapy (if Teyvat can have magic elemental keychains they can have HRT i will not take criticism on this), a bit of suspense as you await his reaction (which comes off as a little incredulous but it really isn't, Gorou is just Like That when presented with heavy news) but a happy ending! A completely platonic pre-established relationship with a trans guy!Gorou. He also has a prosthetic left leg because I said so.

Word count: 605

The silence between you two is palpable as you await Gorou's response to your announcement. You can feel your heart beating in your throat as you stare at him, trying desperately to read his carefully neutral expression as he processes the news.

It all came out in a big burst, all at once, not necessarily unplanned, but you definitely gave him all the information before he could get a word in edgewise - your name, your pronouns, how and when you realised, everything.

He wets his lips, his fluffy tail meandering off to one side as he tilts his head slightly. Then his face sort of crinkles towards the middle in amusement.

"What's wrong?" You ask nervously - you were already terrified of not being taken seriously, and his delayed reaction is making it significantly worse.

Gorou lets out a sharp bark of laughter before slapping a hand over his mouth. Your heart breaks a little - you thought that Gorou, of all people, would get it.

"W-wait, no, no!" Gorou exclaims upon seeing your face fall. "No, nonono, it's not like that!" He says quickly, his ears flattening in mortification. "I just...I..." He wrings his hands, glancing around to double check that the two of you are well out of earshot of anyone else. "Is there a reason you came to me first?"

"I just... you're my friend, and I..." You murmur out through half-closed lips, tilting your gaze away from the general - you feel like he's not taking you seriously at all. "Thought you'd understand..." You blink a few times, trying to keep a firm lid

"Hey, hey, waitwaitwait." Gorou bounces on his toes, tail flip-flopping side to side a few times in what can almost be read as frustration as his prosthetic squeaks with the awkward movement. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just - it's funny, is all."

"What is?" You all but demand the explanation, crossing your arms over your chest, trying to hide how upset you are.

"Not you, not you! Well, kind of you, I just-" Gorou's hands flutter as he tilts his head to one side, then the other. "I am too!" He announces finally.

"What?" You're a little taken aback at the announcement.

"Y-yeah, look, see!" With no hesitation, he tugs up his harness, usually so carefully positioned, to reveal two long, horizontal scars across his upper chest. They're old and faded, from a distance looking like nothing more than the shadow of his pecs, especially with the generous amount of hazelnut coloured hair smattered across his torso.

You relax a little as you process this revelation - you're still a little hurt at his initial reaction, but Gorou has always been a little like that, reacting before he thinks. "Ah." You let out a tiny sigh of relief.

"It's gonna be so great to have someone else around who understands!" He gushes excitedly, his tail beginning to wag as he pulls his harness back down and steps a little closer to you, fingers twitching in a silent request of permission for a hug.

You can't help but smile, letting your arms fall open as he swoops you into a tight hug, pressing his face against yours as his tail wags. "I really am glad you told me." He mutters to you - you can feel one of his ears prodding at the side of your head as it twitches about. "And I'm ready to do anything and everything to support you." It's a solemn promise, and it makes you feel warm and safe inside, even as he releases you and steps back, grinning reassuringly.

"It's all going to be okay, I promise. You're gonna do great."

Please don't repost, steal, copy or otherwise plagarise my writing!

[laliloon]

I couldn’t be arsed to do another redesign of the mask and I’ll probably just stick to the plainer version I used on Isaacs redesign but anyways here’s some of the Will redesigns I was planning out and here’s some additional information about him:

Full name is William Elijah Clement.

Date of birth is August 28th 1977.

19 years old (my version of Creeps takes place around 1996-1997).

5’7.

Autistic. He was diagnosed when he was six.

Born in South London.

His father was a man named Oliver Clement, who was directly descended from Isaac, hence Will’s connection to Jack. Oliver was a full time worker as a paramedic so Will doesn’t remember much about him, the main thing he remembers is that he was extremely jittery and paranoid.

His mother was a woman named Irma Clement (née. Levin). Will was extremely close to his mother as she was the parent he most often saw.

Will has lived with Jack since he was a teen. He’s known Jack for a lot longer than that though.

Jack sees Will as a son to him. He’s dead protective over him and shelters him as much as possible. Will doesn’t really see Jack as a father, he mostly just sees him as “sometimes funny clown man that takes care of me.” Granted, he still likes Jack, even if he is a bit suspicious of him.

Dresses like the fifth member of Blur. Lots of striped shirts, loose jeans and colourful necklaces.

Loves birds, comics, medieval history, Edgar Allan Poe and all things 70s.

Speaking of birds, he has two budgies. They’re called Zazel and Blondin.

Listens to David Bowie, Fleetwood Mac and nothing else.

Tried to dye the ends of his hair pink but he forgot how it turns out with red undertones so now he just has faded orange ends.

Taught himself how to cook. It was a matter of he either learns it himself or spends the rest of his life eating takeaways or whatever Jack brings back whenever he goes out. Still can’t bake for shit though, the only thing he can do decently is brownies.

Pretty damn good at fighting. Despite being pretty thin and not particularly strong, he’s very fast and agile. However, if he gets too close to an opponent and they manage to overpower him then he is fucked.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: has killed, can kill and would kill if need be.

Tries not to kill in general though, he feels bad about it.

Doesn’t really see a point in going to the institute, since he knows enough about fighting to pass his classes.

Kind of naïve to how the underrealm works (Jack’s fault, not his), and as a result can be overly optimistic. Less about the creatures there, more about the people.

Reserved. He mainly keeps to himself and tries to keep his head down. Whilst he’s pretty naïve about the underrealm, he does know that being a human there is risky.

Bit of a pushover, he’s not really a fan of starting fights, mainly because he can’t be arsed, so he just kind of puts up with people.

His worst trait is absolutely he fact that he can be snobbish as fuck and I’m sorry for what is going to be the first few chapters of this rewrite.

Best trait is that he does genuinely care about pretty much everyone he knows. If someone were to make friends with him and he would literally die for them.

Slightly addicted to black jacks candy. And cigarettes.

Yeah so that’s about as much as I’ll give for now. Might update later. Feel free to chat.