#pancake district

[ambitionectomy]

For a special section in The Boston Globe’s Ideas section about revitalizing downtown Boston.

[meiieiri]

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐩 [toji fushiguro]

synopsis: toji will never forget the first night he spent away from the zenin clan and the day he met you.

pairing: toji fushiguro x f!reader | song inspo: saw you in a dream, timeless | hidden inventory: the lost tapes series masterlist

warnings: mentions of emotional abuse but generally pretty much a fluff fic where toji and y/n meet for the first time. | a/n: finally launching my little love project called “hidden inventory: the lost tapes”! 🍒

Now isn’t this just perfect?

Toji’s is just one inconvenience away from just going back to the Zenin clan with his tail between his legs. First, he underestimates just how expensive living in Tokyo is so, with what little pocket money his emotionally distant mother gave him before he left the estate, the first thing he does is spend it all on a girl — in broad daylight — he’s heard his brother, Jinichi, talk about those cute little call girls that crawl the streets of Kabukichō with flyers in their hand for thirty-minute “massages”. Naturally, as a young man who is only first experiencing the carnal joys the city has to offer, Toji was curious and he took the bait.

A bait that cost him ¥30,000 and the girl was unfortunately sloppy at best.

Now, he doesn’t have money to buy so much as a soggy red bean pancake for dinner. He doesn’t know how long he’s been walking around this dingy part of Shinjuku but as long as the red light district’s trashy ambience is distracting him from the growling of his stomach, then, he’ll stumble around this hellhole until morning.

“Ha! You won’t even last two minutes out there!” That’s what Naobito Zenin, the head of the clan said to him when he left. “Only two things await you when you get out of here, either you’ll die hungry or a cursed spirit will get to you first — either way, you’ll die with your eyes wide open with no one!”

Overrun by his thoughts, Toji doesn’t even notice that he accidentally intruded on a random cockroach and curse-infested alleyway that apparently belonged to some junkie who is now angrily telling him to get lost. “I was just looking for a place to sit down,” Toji scoffs. Weren’t they both bottom feeders in this city? Why was this rancid-smelling meth addict acting like he’s any better than him?

“Well, go sit somewhere else, this place is off-limits!”

It was almost funny how Toji thought that the world beyond the gates of the Zenin estate was any better than the shit show he was born into.

He should have known better than to be enticed by the glitz and glamour of living independently from his abusive family who at least had the decency to feed him maggoty rice from the estate’s second storehouse dedicated to prepare the animals’ food. They also gave him shelter, of course, he’s had to live in the Zenin estate’s shed for a while now since his father discovered he was born useless without an ounce of cursed energy. But at least he was warm, and the termites made him feel less lonely.

He continues on in his aimless quest. The night is still young. There’s plenty of time for self-depreciating introspection.

Hopefully, that grade three cursed spirit that’s been following him around the block for a while now gets to him first before the rain does.

“That guy over there,” your coworker whispers to you from the cash registers. “He’s been there for a while now and he hasn’t ordered anything.”

You look up from your pocketbook, your eyes curiously trained on the rugged looking man whose eyes were downcast, trained on the service water he requested from the counter when he came in. As if he could feel a pair of eyes on him, he looks up, and glances your way for a bit but you quickly hide your face behind your book.

“He kinda looks like trouble, no? Shady too, just look at the scar on his lip…”

“It’s not fair to judge someone like that, Rika-chan,” you whispered to your junior, turning to arrange the menus, painstakingly wiping each one clean with a cloth dampened with sanitizer. A small smirk appears on Toji’s lips at your passive defense of his character and as if to goad you on, he drums his fingertips against the table daring you to say another word. “Anyway, I’ll handle closing the shop tonight. You need to get home since you have class in a few hours.”

That seemed sudden. Rika looks at you funnily before shrugging off her apron in favor of her raincoat. “Well, alright, if you insist. Should I clean up the kitchen at least?”

“I’ll handle it,” you give her a thumbs up, waving her goodbye as she leaves through the backdoor. Now that you’re alone, you could hardly stop yourself from glancing at the mysterious man, and Toji himself wonders if his presence here is starting to turn into a nuisance. You were probably waiting for him to step out so you could close shop for the night but it’s raining hard right now and there are no other places open nearby to take shelter in.

The chair’s feet screeches against the wooden floorboards and you head to the restaurant’s kitchen. Toji stares at your retreating form, looks like he overstayed his welcome. He searches around for a few coins to give to you for your hospitality, of course, it probably doesn’t mean jack shit, but you must have known he didn’t have enough money for a meal when he came in here. You would have realized that immediately. But you allowed him to stay regardless.

You return a couple of minutes later with a bowl miso soup with ginger pork gyoza and shredded cabbages. You set the bowl down in front of him and Toji is thoroughly taken aback, he looks at you dumbfounded. “I don’t have any money,” his voice comes out a little gruffly but you barely flinch at the sharp edge of his tone.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Refilling his water, you explained that while you could have easily stuffed those leftovers back in the freezer, customers wouldn’t want to eat frozen food, so, you decide to heat these items up to give to him instead. “Oh,” Toji answers a little dumbly. “Or you could have thrown them out.” He stares at the sumptuous meal in front of him. Even in the Zenin estate, he never had such good food laid out in front of him before and it was surreal to see a stranger do the things his family should have done for him.

You return to the counter, leaning on your forearms as you engage in light banter with him. “You’re saying I should feed rats over people?” you chuckled, sitting back down, smiling softly when Toji gingerly bringing the bowl of miso soup to his lips, the rich earthy broth warming his throat that he lets out a content sigh.

He smirks at your little remark. “I’m saying you shouldn’t make a habit of feeding strays.” He polishes his soup bowl clean within minutes and you have to remind him to slow down every now and then as you watched him eat ravenously. “You never know when you could get that dainty hand of yours bitten off.”

You blushed pink at that. He was right, being too generous could cost you dearly one day but being the altruistic soul that you are, you’ll probably continue to be graciously selfless despite the risk of being taken advantage of. It’s just how you are as a person who believes that a little kindness can make the world better than it was yesterday. “I…don’t really know about that…whether I get bitten or not by the people I help isn’t really something I can control. The world would be better off if people just learned to be kind to one another.”

Toji hums at your naive countenance, folding his arms over the table. The room is silent for a few minutes save for the occasional rumble of thunder in the distance. “You’re kinda dumb, aren’t ya?”

“And you’re a pessimist,” you answered, quirking an amused eyebrow at him. “Who doesn’t even know how to say thank you.” You stand up to clear out the table, a teasing glint in your eyes as your curious orbs collide.

Toji scoffs, leaning against his seat, crossing his legs. At his reluctance, you shake your head, giggling softly. What an infuriating interesting guy. Toji hears the rushing of tap water from behind the counter and he smiles inwardly. The rain begins to slowly stop and he takes this window of opportunity to leave.

You don’t even try to hide your disappointment when you come back to the dining room only to find it empty, the stranger having left nothing in his wake — not a goodbye, not a thank you, and certainly not his name — except a single rusty five yen coin on the table.

Clang-dong!

“Hello, welcome—“ You stop mid-sentence. Your throat constricting with a mix of emotions, the most dominant one being joy at this happy chance, you’d recognize those sharp dark green eyes anywhere despite only first seeing them a week ago. After all, they looked so dangerously beautiful under the dim light of the dining room’s ceiling lampshade. “—back. Welcome back,” you smiled brightly at Toji.

Toji nods, his hand coming up to cover his lips as he coughs once. “Thanks…ah, right — shit, where is it?” After rummaging around his parachute jacket’s many pockets, he finally takes out his wallet and you look at him, bewildered, when he hands a few hundred yen bills to you. “For last week. Sorry I couldn’t pay you back then.”

“It’s fine.” You take his larger, calloused hand and return the money which Toji responds to by stubbornly placing it on the table.

Toji pinches the bridge of his nose when you playfully return the gesture by rolling it up and placing it in his jacket pocket, buttoning it. “Look, it was real nice of you to treat me back then, but I’m not a charity case, alright? I just wanna pay my dues.”

“Then, a simple ‘thank you’ is enough.” Toji just couldn’t understand you. You have absolutely no reason to be nice to him, but you are. For a moment, he begins to fall into the enticing thought that maybe life outside the Zenin estate won’t be too bad after all if there are people like you still around just waiting at random corners to be found in joyful happenstances such as waiting out a storm at a random family-style restaurant over a heartwarming serving of miso soup with tender pieces of gyoza and cabbage.

Relenting, he smirks at you, unable to figure you out. “Thank you.”

“Anyway, need a table for lunch?” you smiled warmly at him as you lead him to the table he sat in a week ago which you now affectionately refer to as ‘his’ table instead of table number four.

Toji nods following your lead and chuckling when you hand him the menu. “Where’s that thing I had last time?“ he oddly flips through the booklet.

“Oh uh…it’s not on the menu actually, but I could make that for you if you’d like.”

“Sounds good.” Toji hands you back the menu. You are just about to scurry away to the kitchen when he calls out to you. “So, do you have a name or should I just keep referring to you as gyoza girl or something?” Embarrassed at the way your knees seem to become weak at his boyish grin, you have to take a few deep breaths before turning around to face him again. “I’m Toji.”

He doesn’t say his last name. He doesn’t feel the need to anymore now that he’s finally closing the door to his past. You nod, noting how the name suited him. It’s brief but strong, muted but loud in its rhythm. Toji. At that moment, you find it impossible to name a prettier sound. After a few excruciating minutes in the kitchen, you come back out with two bowls of miso soup this time around and you sit down on the chair directly in front of him.

“Y/N.”

Toji repeats the melody of your name in his head. “And how much do I owe ya for this, Y/N?”

You shrugged as the two of you dig in, your hand coming up to cover your mouth as you chew the steamed gyoza, joining him as he laughs (well, he’s scoffing more than actually laughing, really), his eyes alight with wonder, when you simply say, “Five yen.”

[goldenamaranthe-blog]

Date Expectations 4: I Should Have Bought You Flowers

Charviathan

Charlie: (walking through Pentagram City upper class district with Seviathan on a "lazy" Sunday)

Charlie: (Sees a flowershop across the street and tugs on Seviathan's sleeve) Sev, darling?

Seviathan: What's up, sugar?

Charlie: Can... Can I get some flowers?

Seviathan: Huh? (Glances at the flowershop) Why are you asking me. You got your own money.

Charlie: (huffs) Let me rephrase. Would you be a dear and buy me some flowers? You haven't done that since prom... years ago....

Seviathan: Oh, sure. Here. (Hands Charlie a 50) Go nuts. I'll wait for you here.

Charlie: (Deflates as she hands the money back) Nevermind... Let's just keep walking.

Seviathan: Whatever you say, sugar.

-Not Much Later-

Charlie: (enters her room and sighs as she pulls out her phone. A single message notification from her dad)

Lucifer: Happy Birthday, Kiddo!

Charlie: Yeah.... happy birthday.....

Chaggie

Knock! Knock!

Charlie: (wakes up groggily) Who is it?

Vaggie: Uh... Vaggie, Charlie. Not really anyone else in this castle you call a mansion.

Charlie: Oh, fuck! I'm so sorry, Vaggie! (Scrambles out of bed only to get herself tangled in her own blankets and fall out of bed) Ah, shit! I'm still trying to wake up! Y'know. Get the brain back online! Ha! Ha!

Vaggie: (soft chuckles) Charlie, it's nine in the morning. I'm surprised you're still asleep.

Charlie: Just.... uh.... wanted to sleep in a little! (Untangles herself and rushes to the door, nearly throwing it off its hinges as she opens it) Did you want some break.... fast.....

Vaggie: (standing awkwardly with a serving tray holding a stack of chocolate chip pancakes with whipped cream and sprinkles, fresh strawberries in a bowl, a glass of milk, and a small bouquet of lavender, baby's breath, and white roses in her hand)

Charlie: (blushing as she takes the bouquet) Vaggie.... what's all this about?

Vaggie: (smiles bashfully) Um... Happy Birthday?

Charlie: (blushes harder and tries to hide behind the flowers as tears springnto her eyes) You made me breakfast in bed.... and got me flowers... for my birthday?

Vaggie: Well... yeah... was.... was I not supposed to? I kind of figured that you'd be the type to like birthday celebrations. And I didn't know what to get you, since you're kind of the Princess of Hell and can really buy anything you wanted....

Charlie: (grabs the tray of food, sets it on the floor, and hugs Vaggie tight while smothering her in kisses) This is the best birthday gift ever~

[etfrin]

❝ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴄʀᴜꜱʜ❞ — chapter twenty-three | coriolanus snow

「ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ:」 NSFW | coriolanus snow, canon typical violence, canon typical death, oral sex (m. receiving), implication of committing murder | lmk if I forgot anything

「ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ:」 young! Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

「ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:」 coriolanus gets more blood on his hands, he also gets his cock sucked.

「ᴀ/ɴ:」 two more exams to go!! can't wait for it to finish! Make sure to reblog and give your feedback! <33

beta read by the birthday girl @nowitsmissing

masterlist | navigation

The next days of Coriolanus Snow are spent in constant paranoia. He avoided you and refused to make eye contact. He was simply so afraid of what was going to happen. Before him, you were much closer to Sejanus. Snow briefly wondered if you interacted with Sejanus because of the power his family held. But he quickly dismissed that thought. Surely you wouldn't have been so calculating since childhood.

District 12 was in chaos trying to find out what happened with Mayfair and Billy Taupe. Spruce had kept his lips sealed. However, he knew that won't be the case for long.

Sejanus Plinth would be dead. And Spruce would know exactly who is responsible. But Coriolanus thought that he would escape to the north before it happened. Lucy Gray was in a hurry too. She was the lead suspect as Mayfair was the reason she was in the games.

Today was the day the bodies were found. Rotten. It was a miracle it was hidden for so long. He had an inkling it was due to you. Because the bodies weren't found at the original place of murder but on the outskirts of District 12. People rarely go there.

The Peacekeepers were talking about it right now. Coriolanus carefully listened, trying to see if anyone had any knowledge of what had actually happened.

“They’re both locals, but one of them is the mayor’s daughter. The other one’s a musician or something, but not one that we’ve seen. They were shot dead.”

“Did they find who did it?” asked a Peacekeeper.

“Not yet. These people aren’t even supposed to have guns, but like I told you, they’re floating around out there,” another replied. “Killed by one of their own, though.”

“How do they know that?” asked Sejanus.

‘Shut up!’ thought Coriolanus. Knowing Sejanus, he could be one step away from confessing to a crime he didn’t even commit.

“Well, she said they think the girl was shot with a Peacekeeper’s rifle, probably an old one that got stolen during the war. And the musician was killed by some sort of shotgun the locals used for hunting. Probably two shooters,” Smiley reported. “They searched the surrounding area and couldn’t find the weapons. Long gone with the murderers, if you ask me.”

Coriolanus’s nerves unwound a bit, and he ate a forkful of pancakes. “Who found the bodies?”

“That little girl singer — you know, the one in the pink dress,” said Smiley.

“Maude Ivory,” said Sejanus.

“I think that’s it. Anyway, she freaked out. They questioned the band, but when would they have had time to do it? No guns were found, no prints either,” Smiley told them. “Shook them up pretty good, though. I guess they knew the musician guy somehow or other.”

Because of the past night’s events, the commander locked down the base for the day.

He and Sejanus floated around, trying to look normal. Playing cards, writing letters, cleaning their boots. As they knocked the mud from the treads, Coriolanus whispered, “What about the escape plan? Is it still on?”

“I’ve no idea,” Sejanus said. “The commander’s birthday isn’t until next weekend. That was the night we were supposed to go. Coryo, what if they arrest an innocent person for the murders?”

‘Then our troubles are over’, thought Coriolanus, but he only said, “I think it’s highly unlikely, with no guns. But let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Coriolanus came into your room that night. Ready to confess his sins and come clean. His mouth went dry when you opened the door. Your lips stretched into a lazy grin. “Hi, Coryo,” you said, as your hand was on the shirt, getting a grip on the fabric to pull him inside of the room.

“What did you do?” you asked him as you pushed him down onto the bed. You stood at the side, towering over him. Your arms crossed in front of your chest.

“I- I didn't do anything,” he said, “I missed you.”

You raised your eyebrows. “You fucked up. Real or not?”

“Real,” he muttered.

“Worse than murder?”

Coriolanus winces.

“Do you care about Sejanus?” He asked, hoping that the answer would be in his favor. He could feel his palms sweating, and he pressed his hands onto the sheets.

“No.”

Coriolanus blinks in shock. “No?” He questions, visibly confused, “But- but-”

“Is this about you sending the jabberjays to Dr. Gaul?”

Coriolanus managed a nod. In truth, he had suspected you would find out as Dr. Gaul seems to trust you. Which was one of the main reasons he wanted to come clean beforehand.

You let out a harsh chuckle, “Yeah, Dr. Gaul told me to keep an eye on the boy. I told her he murdered innocent citizens who were against the rebellion. You presented a death warrant to her, I signed it.”

You eye Coriolanus with a smirk. “You should know you can't keep secrets from me, baby,” you shake your head, “I don't know why you try when it's so obvious.”

“Sejanus Plinth and Spruce, the leader of the rebellion, will be dead soon. No need to worry about them, Coryo. Good job, Dr. Gaul is impressed, she sees your potential even more so than before.” you add.

“Is there anything else or…?”

Your eyes turn lustful as you begin to slowly check him out. His heart starts to beat faster, his blood rushing downwards. A tent quickly forms in his pants. It was from your heated gaze alone.

You tease him with a smile, “You're such a boy.”

“Shu- shut up! It's on you- it's because you're looking at me like that,” he whispered.

“Like what?”

“Like you'll eat me up,” he replied.

“That's the plan,” you whispered, as you went on your knees in front of him.

He lets out a desperate, needy noise at the sight. You looked so pretty like this. He spreads his legs, making up space for you. You bite your lip in anticipation. Your mouth salivating for his taste.

“Holy shit, dove,” he whines when your hand presses into his bulge. You palm him through his pants.

“So needy,” you murmur. “Do you want my mouth on you that bad?”

“Yes,” he gasps out, willing to beg. “Please.”

“That's a good boy.”

You unzip his pants, dragging them down around his knees. His dick is strained against his boxers. A wet spot on the fabric. It was clear how much pre-cum he was leaking. It was pathetic too. But you didn't blame him for it. You pressed your thumb on his clothed tip, and gently slid your fingertip back and forth, letting his sensitive slit feel the slick texture of the fabric.

“Fuck,” he curses, “Don't tease me.”

“I am not teasing,” you lie.

You pull his boxers down, letting his cock spring free from its confines. The tip is red, the veins on his length popping out, just waiting to be traced with your tongue. You don't let a second go to waste as you let yourself lick his slit. You hold his cock by the base, as you make sure to enjoy his taste like it's a lollipop.

You lick all over, slathering his cock with your saliva. You make sure to trace his veins before you find your way back to his tip. You take his cockhead inside the warmth of your mouth. Coriolanus groans, it took him an iron of will not cum right then and there.

You slowly take more of his length inside and he lets out a whimper. His hand rests on your head, trying so hard not to pull you forward and make you choke on his cock like you were supposed to.

His free hand fists the sheet, as he bites his lower lip to stop a groan from escaping. He could feel that he was getting close to snapping. “Fu-fuck,” he lets out, “Dove… that's so good.”

You continue to suck his cock. You hollow your mouth and he lets out a whimper, his hips bucking up. His cockhead reaches the back of your throat. Surprisingly you don't choke. With a moan of your name, Coriolanus could feel himself cum inside of your mouth.

You taste his salty, thick cum. Letting it coat on your tongue, some of it escapes from the corner of your lips. You pull away as his cock softens and wipe your mouth.

You sit down beside Coriolanus who is trying to catch his breath. He tucks himself in. “Thank you,” he said, “that was good.” You smile at him. Your hand on his cheek. You caress his face.

“You needed to relax, after all, you need to have more blood on your hands,” you said, your smile turning cruel.

“Lucy Gray?” He questions.

“Lucy Gray,” you confirm.

Coriolanus nods, “Yeah, I understand. She will be the only witness left except us.” Coriolanus takes a deep breath. “We'll need to find a way.”

“Let Sejanus die first. I can stay here for a few more days. I'll help you figure it out.”

Coriolanus agrees with you and turns to leave. Before you shut the door, you say to him,

“I was only friends with Sejanus because of you. Because you seemed to be close to him and I wanted to be closer to you.”

After everything, that's not a surprise to him. Though he feels his heart flutter. He falls asleep on his bed with a stupid, lovesick smile, momentarily forgetting about how red his hands are.

✧ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✦✧✦ ▬▭▬ ▬▭▬ ✧

The next day Coriolanus was instructed to stand in a squad flanking the hanging tree. Coriolanus knew why. He had already seen Spruce being dragged into the base. Likely to be tortured for information. Coriolanus knew he was protected by you, so there wasn't much to worry about. Sejanus has been missing since morning. He knew what that meant. Dr. Gaul had nailed his coffin.

The Peacekeeper van arrived and both Sejanus and Lil stumbled out in their chains. Sejanus Plinth was accused of treason. He was caught.

Arlo, an ex-soldier toughened by years in the mines, had managed a fairly restrained end, at least until he’d heard Lil in the crowd. But Sejanus and Lil, weak with terror, looked far younger than their years and only reinforced the impression that two innocent children were being dragged to the gallows. Lil, her shaking legs unable to bear her weight, was hauled forward by a pair of grim-faced Peacekeepers who would probably spend the following night trying to obliterate this memory with white liquor.

As they passed him, Coriolanus locked eyes with Sejanus, and all he could see was the eight-year-old boy on the playground, the bag of gumdrops clenched in his fist. Only this boy was much, much more frightened. Sejanus’s lips formed his name, Coryo, and his face contorted in pain. But whether it was a plea for help or an accusation of his betrayal he couldn’t tell.

The Peacekeepers positioned the condemned side by side on the trapdoors. Another tried to read out the list of charges over the shrieks of the crowd, but all Coriolanus could catch was the word treason.

He averted his eyes as the Peacekeepers moved in with the nooses, and he found himself looking at Lucy Gray’s stricken face. She stood near the front in an old gray dress, her hair hidden in a black scarf, tears running down her cheeks as she stared up at Sejanus.

As the drumroll began, Coriolanus squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could block out the sound as well. But he could not, and he heard it all. Sejanus’s cry, the bang of the trapdoors, and the jabberjays picking up Sejanus’s last word, screaming it over and over into the dazzling sun.

“Ma! Ma! Ma! Ma! Ma!”

Sejanus Plinth is dead.

It's Lucy Gray's turn now.

NEXT PART

[thisisourlovestory]

Safe and Sound

Finnick Odair x reader soulmate AU

Summary: you are a victor from district 4. The Quarter Quell has just been announced. How will you cope with the turn of events coming your way.

Word count- 2.8k

Notes: Happy New Year! Hope you enjoy this one. My phone deleted half of it so I had to rewrite it but that worked in my favour and I think it’s better than it was

Chapter 3

The next morning I was awoken by knocking at my door. Assuming it to be Lysander I ignored it and took my sweet time getting ready, taking a long shower under burning water, brushing my teeth vigorously, loosely clipping back the front strands of my hair and slipping on a pale blue dress from the wardrobe in the wall before making my way to the dining area. I followed the smell of freshly cooked bacon and pancakes, my mouth watering as I sat down and took a few pancakes, stacking them up, cutting a slab of butter that melted as soon as I dropped it on top, drizzling sticky sweet syrup over them and layering bacon on top. I grabbed a fork and dug into my towering pillar of food, the salty bacon contrasting with the sugary syrup. I polished it off in no time at all and reached for the piles of jewel like fruits, stacked in tiny ceramic bowls in the centre of the table. I had just bit into a slice of watermelon, pink juice dripping down the corner of my mouth, when Mags walked in with Lysander who flaunted a garish purple and gold striped suit and he began to speak as loudly as ever as I quickly wiped my chin.

“Good morning!” My head hit the table.

“Goodness Y/N, did you not get enough sleep last night?” He asked, looking at me with slight concern.

“I'm fine thank you for asking,” I answered, “Just woke up a bit too early.” I rubbed my head, smiling sheepishly and his gaze softened.

“That simply won't do!” He exclaimed, “We need you to be on top form for when you’re in the arena.”

“Lysander.” I called out softly, interrupting what was sure to be a long tirade. “I… I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for my outburst yesterday. I don't know what I was thinking. I suppose, well I suppose I was just a little overwhelmed by all this. I hope you can forgive me. “ I twisted a strand of my hair in my fingers and he took the bait immediately. I could almost see what he was thinking. Such a kind girl, she must be terrified, very sweet of her to apologise. His eyes gained a look of sympathy as he raised a hand to his heart and walked over to me.

“It's quite alright dear, no need for apologies. I completely understand you must be feeling absolutely terrified of all this. You did such a kind thing volunteering for Miss Cresta, so selfless, dear and I’m sure she appreciates it very much.” I nodded, going back to my food, and he clapped. “Now that's all sorted out, we need a plan for you.” He looked me up and down, assessing me as Mags grinned into her bowl at the look on my face. “I'm thinking we play the innocent card, the fact you were so young when you won will help with that a lot. You are one of the youngest in the games this year after all. We simply must also use the fact that you are a true performer and ballet is such a beautiful art form indeed so,” he turned to Mags, “I propose we paint her as an angel.”

I choked on a piece of watermelon, the apprehension on my face giving way to horror. Mags patted me gently on the back and I straightened in my seat, sending a grateful smile her way as Lysander continued, lost in his own world.

“Of course only your stylist can decide this but I’m fairly certain I can put in a word and if they didn't already have the same idea after watching the reaping then I'll eat my hat.” I eyed the purple monstrosity on his head and imagined it being stuffed into his mouth, wondering if maybe that would be the thing that would finally shut him up. I wanted to scream at him, tell him that I was no angel and he was a monster for finding some kind of pleasure in this, deciding what part I should play as I die. Instead I just smiled slightly and lowered my head to stop him from seeing the tears in my eyes. At that second Finnick walked in and Lysander's attention was immediately drawn to him. I sat silently as he practically interrogated him, asking how he was feeling, if he thought he could win. The answers were short, not letting anything interesting slip but giving enough to satisfy Lysander and fool him into thinking he was basically his new best friend. I zoned out part way through Lysanders rant about what the Gamemakers would throw at us this year- as if we hadn't all been thinking about it since they were announced. Suddenly, I was brought back to reality by the sound of my name.

“Y/N, Y/N.” I blinked and my gaze shifted to Lysander.

“Sorry.” I muttered

“Quite alright dear, you must be tired if you didn't get enough sleep. We're going to watch the games you were both in, for reference.” My mind didn't register the words and I simply nodded before I realised what he had said and my eyes widened in shock.

We watched Finnicks first, since he won before me. From the reaping all the way through to the crowning ceremony. He was confident in the interviews, dressed in the most impeccable suit and tie, clearly designed to show off his beauty, laughing at Caesar Flickerman's comments and responding with his own witty quips, not just a pretty face at all. Then utterly deadly in the arena. For the first few days he had lain low, not much excitement but enough to keep sponsors interested. Then he got the trident, the most expensive gift ever seen, and it was over. District 4 was fishing after all, and it seemed Finnick Odair was born to wield the trident. He captured tribute after tribute in a net and killed them all, offering no mercy. And finally the last cannon went off announcing him the winner. Fourteen years old and he had won, the youngest victor, the most handsome victor, the Capitol darling. Finnick Odair. If he was that good back then, I had no doubt he would be extraordinary now. He had it all as well, the looks which first made the Capitol love him, he was intelligent, and undoubtedly one of the best fighters that would be going into the arena. Mags and I sat there speechless as Lysander congratulated Finnick endlessly.

“And how you used that trident, extraordinary! I don't believe you'll struggle in these games now that you've had ten years to practise.” I could only think of how young he'd been, how he'd been forced to grow up so quickly after, how he'd won- but what was the cost?

Then my games were switched on; I saw myself going through it all over again. The walk up to the stage after my name was called, all eyes on me. The chariot ride where they had dressed me up as a mermaid, all shimmering fabrics and a golden crown. The interview, where Caesar asked me questions about my life back home and I answered quietly, barely audible, playing the sweet little girl as I danced for them momentarily. The arena, my frightened face as the boy from 10 died in front of me, running and hiding. Then a cut to as I made my first kills, I saw the light leave their eyes as the blood left their bodies. Another cut, to the chase and confrontation with Arion, the second the knife left my hand I closed my eyes and the thud as it hit him echoed in my ears.

They showed the crowning ceremony last, I stood calmly on the dais with my hands clasped in front of my body. I had been made to wear a white dress that fell to my knees and had a red bow tied around it. The same red adorned the pins in my hair, shaped like roses, and the single gem hanging from a silver chain around my neck. The significance was not lost on me, young as I was. I had killed three people in the arena so I wore three pieces of red. One for each of them, the crimson colour their blood on my hands. President Snow walked up slowly and placed the golden laurels on my head. He looked down at me, a small smile on his face as I gazed up at him, he whispered something that only I could hear. Words that left me pale and confused, words that could have been good but in the circumstances only sounded like the promise of a life of pain. His mouth moved on the screen and I read his lips.

“The Capitol will love you.” He stepped away and proclaimed me their victor. And it struck me how I looked so tiny compared to him and everyone around me, as the Capitol roared with applause and my big eyes stared out over them, disbelieving and uncertain before the tape ended leaving the compartment in silence.

I shoved my seat back, the legs screeching on the floor, and stood up quickly. Everyone turned to face me as I stayed still for a second.

“Y/N.” Lysander began but I cut him off.

“No, I just, I need to, I can't.” My brain was jumbled, old memories being dragged to the surface unwillingly. So I turned and I ran.

I sprinted along the train, pushing doors open as I ran through the compartments. Avoxes jumped out of my way as I barreled past them, looking at me in curiosity. I came to the end of the train and held my hands in front of me to push through the doors. I crashed through them and fell into the railing. I gripped onto the cold metal as if it was the only thing keeping me in reality, the wind rushed past me and my hair floated in front of me, strands whipping in the cold air. I could barely see, tears blurring my vision and hair covering my face. I took a shuddering breath, letting the cold air flood my lungs, and I broke. I cried and cried and cried. Letting out everything that I had kept bottled up for seven years. I had cried before, that day on the cliffs, that was for the games, for the fact that it was happening all over again for so many people across Panem. But this. This was for me. For every pain I had endured since I won, the evenings spent dancing and singing under lights focused solely on me, the fear of making a mistake stopping me from enjoying it fully, the nights spent alone, unable to sleep because of the nightmares, the days spent wandering around like a lost soul, wondering if it would ever be better than what it was.

So I cried for myself, in one selfish moment I allowed myself to only care about myself. Tears dripped down my face, droplets falling on the railing for what felt like forever. Eventually my throat grew raw and my eyes seemed to run out of tears to cry. I dropped my head forwards into my hands and my eyes glazed over with the memories I had suppressed.

I was no longer on the train headed to the Capitol. I was in the arena. Perched on an icy tree branch, pressed against the tree trunk to keep from slipping off. Hidden by the frozen leaves in the white fluffy clothing they had given us to wear. A tribute ran underneath my hiding spot, running away from something, two others followed chasing him. I immediately recognised them as career tributes, this was all just a game of cat and mouse to them. And they caught him. I shoved a piece of cloth in my mouth to stop myself from letting out any noise that would give myself away and clapped my hands over my ears to block out the noise of his screaming in pain and crying out for help from someone as they ripped into him, their laughter echoing in the otherwise silent forest. A warning that they were on the hunt and if you valued your life you would get out of there as soon as possible.

I had stayed in that tree for the first few days until I was eventually forced to move when the gamemakers released mutts into the arena. Great big slobbering beasts that lumbered along harmlessly until someone tried to kill one. Then all hell had broken loose as they chased tributes up trees and then hurled themselves unrelentingly at them, bringing them down and mauling them beyond recognition. They brought about the deaths of five tributes before they just disappeared, presumably called back out after doing their job.

I snapped out of my daze as I felt someone standing next to me. My gaze cleared as I pushed the memories back into a locked box in my mind. I didn’t need to look to know who it was, the mark on my wrist burning and on instinct I pulled my sleeve down and took a small step to the side to lessen the sting. It eased immediately from the small distance between us and faded to a dull throbbing. Finnick said nothing at my movement and we just looked out over the passing countryside, rolling green fields, trees that touched the sky and vast lakes stretching beyond the horizon. We stayed like that, peaceful, just taking it all in until he finally broke the silence.

“You were so young.”

I smiled bitterly, resting my chin on my open palm propped up on the railing.

“We all were but we had no choice. They just want to watch their games. And they don’t care if innocent children die so they can have them.” I laughed slightly. “Then they get the one that lives.” I shook my head, my fingers tightening on the rail, the cold metal biting into my skin. “They get to kill us then they get to keep us.” I turned around, leaning backwards onto the railing and looked up, watching the clouds move slowly away in the blue sea of the sky. Then the Capitol came into view, towering buildings taking up the skyline, marring it with grey,

“I'm going to go back in,” Finnick said, following my line of vision, “You should as well.” With that he stepped back into the train, not sparing a second glance as I watched him walk through a set of doors and out of sight. I relaxed as he left and stayed in my position, head tilted skywards, eyes closed until I felt tiny drops of water on my face. I opened my eyes to see rain falling, a light drizzle but enough to dampen my clothes and hair, I laughed slightly and walked inside, the warmth hitting me in a blast. I hadn't realised how cold I'd been before but the heat warmed me and my clothes quickly dried off. I looked over my shoulder as I walked through the doors that slid open, the rain pattering on the windows lightly, a last glimpse of normality.

I quickly made my way through the train, hearing Lysander screeching at unfortunate avoxes to find me as if I was missing and he had no idea where to find me. I stepped into the compartment to see him looking frazzled, he immediately caught sight of me standing unsurely at the edge of the room and gave a dramatic sigh of relief.

“Not to worry everyone she's here.” The train jolted to a stop. “We have arrived.” Lysander practically squealed and eyed me.” Dear, you should just fluff out your hair a bit, and try to look happy for the cameras.” I nod my head once and plaster a smile on my face. He nodded in approval.

We made our way to the doors. Finnick and I stood either side of Lysander and Mags was just behind us. I can see people through the windows already, screaming and shouting with excitement.

“Now everyone, remember this is the first time they will see you so make sure to leave a good impression. That means smile and wave, blow a few kisses if you have to.” Lysander told us, focusing his words mostly on me. A bell rang and he quickly turned around to me, perfecting everything he could see wrong, the tiniest hair out of place, my sleeves at different lengths and pushing my cheeks into a smile. Facing forward just in time as the doors slid open and we stepped out into the masses.

Taglist:

@nekee-lilac02 @hinata7346 @bambikitten @the-lonely-abyss @mxacegrey @m-maxie-ie @not-aya @camatchoum @maw1dk @avoxrising @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @somdreamy @thehairington86 @millzluvrs @val-writesstuff @erindiggory @reader-bookling123 @elisa20beth @maxinehufflepuffprincess @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @mystargirl-interlude @ponkaniee @missunicorn @purplelavin @user123453226780536 @littleanubis21

[indestructibleheart]

Hi, fam! Okay, so I'm going to be out at an appointment tomorrow morning, so I'm kicking this off a little bit early. It's technically Wednesday in several timezones and very nearly Wednesday in mine. I'm... also a bit eager to share this, ngl.

I know that I've shared a lot of angst lately, but I swear that's not all I'm doing. 😅 In fact, the actor/playwright AU decided to wallop me in the face out of nowhere after sitting in my WIP folder for months. I'm really excited about it, so I'm gonna share the first scene!

(Also, those of you who have been to New York with me will recognize my favorite brunch spot in this scene lmao.)

---

You probably didn't even know I was in the room, but I noticed you straight away. You were talking with your friends, happy and animated and fully alive—a person living in dimensions I couldn’t access—and so beautiful. Your hair was longer then. You were the center of attention, but you weren’t afraid. You had a yellow ipê-amarelo in your pocket. I thought, this is the most incredible thing I have ever seen; I'd better keep it a safe distance away from me. I thought, if someone like that ever loved me, it would set me on fire.

INT. MOM'S KITCHEN & BAR - HELL'S KITCHEN - LATE MORNING

"I'm telling y'all," Alex is saying, punctuating with dangerously large bites of his pancake burrito. "The dude's a dick." 

It's been two hours since the nightmare audition, but Alex has been on this tirade since June and Nora first slid into the retro diner chairs across from him (at least forty-five minutes ago).

They're at Mom's: a restaurant-bar in midtown that can only be described as millennial nostalgia incarnate. The trio fell in love with it two years back—post-karaoke, stumbling in right before closing—when Alex saw God in their Fruity Pebble pancakes.  Since then, it's been his favorite place to eat his feelings.

Mom's is just really fucking comforting in general, honestly; whether it's the televisions cycling through episodes of 'Rugrats,' 'Dexter's Laboratory,' and 'Hey, Arnold!' or  the rainbow straws and Lisa-Frank-looking menus, Alex can't be sure. It doesn't hurt that they've made friends with several of the waitstaff, including an eccentric bartender, Pez, whose pink hair and painted nails fit right in with the decor. 

Today, it's the combination of breakfast sausage, bacon, eggs and cheese wrapped up in a syrup-soaked pancake that's really doing something for him. It could also be the margarita the size of his face, which Pez placed in front of him before making himself uncharacteristically scarce. But it's fine. He's probably just busy.

Alex won't admit it out loud, but what really helps is having June and Nora here to talk to… even though Nora is scrolling on her phone.

"I'm sorry," June says. She pokes an ice cube with her straw, and Alex watches as it bobs around her mimosa like a buoy. "That sounds like it sucked, but if he's really that rude… maybe you didn't want to work with him anyway."

Nora doesn't look up as she pops a home fry into her mouth. 

"Several sources say he's difficult to work with," she adds, evidently reading about Henry on the internet. "Though, in his defense, his dad did just die, like, three years ago… and there was that whole thing when he came out after. Remember?"

Alex does remember. Henry's grandmother, Mary Mountchristen, runs a pretty major company that used to own half the theatres on the West End. When Henry came out last year, she tried blacklisting his shows from her properties to punish him—which totally backfired when it got around. At least a dozen other queer writers and producers started talking about how they were also denied the space, and Mary was stoned on the streets of the theatre district. Like, metaphorically. 

Alex, Nora, and June had just moved to New York, but between June's position at Newsday and both Alex and Nora on the audition circuit, it was all anyone in their new circles could talk about. They were some of the first to know when the Mountchristens were bought out of their properties and Henry moved to the States.

This show is the first of Henry's being produced here—and it's autobiographical, which Alex has to admit is pretty fucking baller. So, yeah, Nora's not wrong. He has reason to be standoffish. Still, it doesn't explain why Alex was only halfway through his audition monologue when Henry abruptly stood up and exited stage left as if pursued by a bear.

He shoves another forkful into his mouth. "It's just, like, they're the only people who let me into the room," he says, barely finishing chewing. "Nobody wants to take me seriously, and I really thought this was my shot, you know?"

June and Nora both know Alex is having a hard time landing serious roles after growing up on a sitcom—Nora more than most, as his former co-star. What they don't know is that losing this role, specifically, feels like a kick to the stomach. From the moment Alex saw the script, he wanted to be a part of it. He can't even explain why, and now he'll never figure it out. Henry wouldn't give him a chance.

"It wasn't your only shot, and you know it." Nora fixes him with a look. "Seriously, I get it—I do—but it's just one play, buddy."

June nods. "Something will happen for you, baby brother."

At that, Alex finally groans. "Okay, calling me baby brother doesn't help me feel better about the entertainment industry infantili—"

"—itty bitty, teeny weeny—"

Alex throws a home fry at her face. 

It bounces off her forehead and into the giant gauntlet holding her mimosa with a very unappetizing splash. Just as Alex throws his hands into the air with a victorious whoop, his phone buzzes on the table. 

A glance is all it takes for him to see that it's his agent, Zahra.

"Damn," he says, deflating. There goes that upswing. "You answer it."

June balks. "Me?"

"I don't need to hear how fucking badly it went. Trust me, I got the message." Alex blinks innocently, like he's six years old again, asking her to lie to their mom about that broken vase. "Please, Bug? Besides, Zahra actually likes you."

"Everyone likes me." June rolls her eyes, but she caves—answering the phone with a haughty, "Alex Claremont-Diaz's office," before breaking into a smile. "Yeah, Z. It's me… No, Alex is feeling a little sensitive today."

(He throws another home fry at her. This one misses.)

To her credit, June's face remains totally blank as Zahra no doubt tells her how Alex insulted Henry Fox's name and all of his inbred ancestors just by showing up, or whatever—which is extremely annoying and unhelpful—but, once she says goodbye and sets the phone back down on the table, her face breaks out into a grin.

"Guess you didn't suck too bad," she says. "They want you for the part."

He doesn't know if it's Nora throwing herself at him or the shock that knocks him onto the floor.

Tagging some lovelies. If you haven't been tagged and you want to be, consider this your tag!

@anchoredarchangel, @barbiediaz, @cha-melodius, @cricketnationrise, @guillermosfamiliar, @hgejfmw-hgejhsf, @hippolotamus, @inexplicablymine, @jettestar, @junebugclaremontdiaz, @kiwiana-writes, @lizzie-bennetdarcy, @missgeevious, @mulderscully, @myheartalivewrites, @ninzied, @nontoxic-writes, @notspecialbabe, @priincebutt, @rmd-writes, @rosedavid, @three-drink-amy, @treluna4, @vanillahigh00, @welcometololaland, @orchidscript, @ships-to-sail, @stereopticons

[novistarplanet]

Baby Daddy eren pt2!

if you haven’t check the original

↳ baby daddy eren headcannons

also go check out my other writings🤭

i hope yall enjoy :)

eren loves doing wheelies in the parking lot with your daughter 😭

hes such a child

best believe everytime he drops hes baby at school she’s well feed! im talking Donuts ,pig n the blankets ,hell even pancakes!

whenever your daughter gets in trouble she always call eren

he’s definitely the type of parent to not care that their child got into a fight they just care if they won or not😭

they both watch gracie’s corner

he hates caillou😒

back to the drug dealer thing i said last post but after every deal he makes he always go to walmart and gets your daughter something

WAIT NO OMG LIKE VALENTINES DATES AND HE TAKES HER TO BULID A BEAR

Daddy daughter dances!!! Omgosh

he would be such a sucker for that he just wants to be in hes daugthers life :(

remember how i said you dont like Historia ?

i most DEFINITELY see her as the type to treat your child differently from hers

always trying to one up you at family barbecues

like hoe we got the same bd you aint no better than me

whats why you had to pull up on her🤷🏽‍♀️🤣

ill stop with the historia slander but after you beat her ass she’s been quiet even since

saddest thing is eren dont care🤷🏽‍♀️

he lets yall fight

he likes it when you braid hes hair

always show up in nike tech suits

He got the whole family a matching set of bonnets including hes mama

and mama carla is even WORSE then eren himself! So after the divorce with erens dad she went on to marry a rich man!

and girl it shows! taking your daughter out to high class shopping districts! BRUNCHS! even enrolled her into a french class!

so now your baby can speak german and french🧍🏽‍♀️

you honestly appreciate her she does so much for you she helps pay for your babys school funds :)

shes the reason you haven’t put eren on child support

literally your daughter already got stocks in her name from her

has you and your baby name tattooed on hes neck

he has a selve of tattoos

bc i said so

eren does not like your new man

any boyfriends you had in the past eren always scares them away

he would either threaten them or actually fight them

eren gets you pregnant again but this time he's actually there!

coming with you to ultra sounds

he asks dumb questions tho

"if we can see the baby...can he see us??"

he refers the baby as He/him even tho yall dont know the gender yet

he really wants a boy and you just want him to be happy

yk them baby shower videos when ppl get mad at the gender?

nah when eren finds out its a boy He goes BALLISTIC running around jumping😭 hes so happy

[formulaforza]

miss americana & the heartbreak prince

—02. over the ocean call —word count: 6.1k —warnings: language, sexual innuendos —a/n: don't get used to this update schedule my loves. school starts back up again on monday.

In late October, the sunrise is perfectly timed to be at it’s blandest point during Chris’ morning commute. 7:35am, and the sun painted the sky shades of pink and orange and yellow half an hour ago while Chris was curling her hair. Now, it’s not dark, but it’s definitely not light, either. More of a blue hue covering the entire state, painting the parking lot with the emotions of a sleepy Monday morning. For the first time since she landed back home, Chris is feeling the exhaustion of the weekend. 

She piles the bags onto her shoulder–a Jansport backpack and an Earth Day tote she’d been gifted by a student just before summer break last year. In one hand, she’s got a tangle of lanyards, one with her classroom keys and school ID, another with her car and house keys. In the other hand, an oversized travel coffee mug; one that made the morning commute perched between her legs because it’s too big for the cup holders in her car. 

She scans her badge at the office door, greets the secretaries while rummaging through her mailbox, ducks her head into the principal’s office with a single warning knock. He’s not in yet. Her keys jangle and the heels of her booties echo the entire length of the quiet hallway to her classroom. She unlatches the door with her elbow, opens it with her hip and flicks on the lights. The room still smells like shaving cream from the spelling activity she’d left for the substitute on Friday.

In the time it takes her to boot up her computer and answer some missed emails from the weekend, she finishes what’s left of her coffee and heads to the teacher’s lounge to brew another cup. On her way back, she swings by the cafeteria. 

Forty-percent of the district live below the state poverty line and qualify for free and reduced lunch. The lunch ladies are hard at work getting ready to start serving some hungry kiddos. All of the teachers in the district are allowed to eat breakfast and lunch as provided by the cafeteria, and even though Chris already ate breakfast, she snags a full tray–mini pancakes, syrup, a hashbrown, a clementine, and a carton of strawberry milk–and takes it back to her classroom. 

Chris has one student, Quinn, whose family can’t afford reduced lunch prices but also won’t request for Quinn to qualify for the free lunch. She thinks it’s an ego thing, that Quinn’s mom just isn’t able to accept that the family needs help. It’s a single parent household and the mom works two full-time jobs to try and make ends meet. After a newsletter was sent home in need of parent signatures at the beginning of the year and returned with Mama written in sloppy green crayon, Chris learned that Quinn was living a relatively self-sufficient life. As self-sufficient as a five-year-old can be. 

Chris sets the styrofoam tray down on the table in the front of the room and starts to get the place ready for students; she starts pulling down chairs, cleaning up the classroom library, updating the calendar on the white board and re-organizing the magnetic daily schedule. Normally she’d have a lot of this done before leaving the day before, but since there was a sub, nothing was done before locking the room up for the weekend. 

At eight-twenty, Quinn knocks on the open door and trudges in with a backpack that’s half the size of her. “Hi, Miss Elliott,” she says through a yawn, plopping herself into the chair in front of the breakfast tray and digging in. 

“Hi, Quinnie,” Chris smiles from her computer. Quinn relays that she missed Chris very much, a lot while she was gone on Friday and Chris’ smile grows. “I missed you, too. Did Mrs. Bliss do your hair up all nice?” She asks. 

Quinn nods around her spork, around a mouthful of mini-pancake. “She did a braid,” she mumbles. 

“You love braids!” Chris says, opens the bottom drawer of her desk and starts pulling out hair products. Quinn gives her a thumbs up as a confirmation of the braid love. 

She spends the next fifteen minutes brushing through Quinn’s tangled hair. Mondays are always the worst because Quinn has all weekend to get it knotted up. She settles for a ponytail, braids the strands after it’s all smoothed out and puts a pink bow at the base of the pony. After they’re both finished–Chris with the hair and Quinn with the breakfast–the kindergartener heads back to the gymnasium to wait with the rest of her classmates. 

She puts some final morning touches on the classroom before she goes to collect the kids and start the day, and like most Monday mornings around Robinson, time seems to move backwards. By the time she drops her kids off for their morning special–music on Mondays–she feels like she’s worked three ten hour days. She keeps busy during the downtime, making copies and grading word searches and putting newsletters into student mailboxes. It’s not until lunch, until her daily phone call with Hannah, that she remembers all about the unanswered text from the unknown number sitting in her phone just begging to be overthought. 

“Can I, uh, can I tell you something?” Chris asks Hannah. “You can’t tell Chase.”

“Did you kill somebody?” Hannah laughs, Chris doesn’t. Might as well have, she thinks, because flirting with a racing driver is just as bad, if not worse, when it comes to Chase. He and Bill forbid Chandler and Chris from ever getting with a driver, even just for a night, when Chris was barely old enough to conceptualize what exactly a one-night stand was. She was thirteen, at most, and was still under the impression she was supposed to stay pure until marriage or else she’d go to Hell. 

“Can I tell you, or not?”

“You can always tell me, c’mon,” Hannah says, and Chris suddenly feels guilty for suggesting Hannah was anything but trustworthy. They’ve been best friends for decades, a relationship that predates Chase and Hannah, predates Reid, predates puberty and elementary school and potty-training. They’ve always told each other everything, but, in the past couple years–since Chris’ best friend got engaged to her brother–she’s always a little hesitant with the stuff she doesn’t want to get back to Chase. 

Outside of the fact that she expects Hannah to put her partner before her best-friend, Chris hates the idea of having to put Hannah between the two of them. She hates it, but she needs to tell someone about the text burning a hole in her phone, and who else is she going to tell? “Okay, so,” Chris smiles, realizes she’s smiling, and forces herself to stop. “There’s a guy.”

Hannah audibly gasps on the other end of the line. “There’s a guy? What’s his Instagram? First and last?”

“Do you want his social security number, too?” Chris laughs. Do they even have social security numbers in France? She clicks the spacebar on her keyboard to wake the monitor, types the question into the search bar. Oh, they do. Now she just feels silly. “We met this weekend.”

“Oh?”

“He’s a driver.”

There’s a long pause. Chris chuckles, because she doesn’t know what else to do. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Hannah clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, exhales heavy through her teeth. “Is he hot?”

Chris nods, and with a smile on her lips again, “Very.”

“Did you hook up with him?”

“Hannah!” Chris whispers through gritted teeth, looks around the room for the sudden presence of prying ears, clicks the volume on her phone down a few notches. 

“Chris!”

“No, God. I just need to text him back.”

“You gave him your number?!”

She actually recoils out of surprise with Hannah’s tone. “That’s more absurd than the idea of me hooking up with him?”

“Yes,” Hannah deadpans.

“I don’t like you.”

“Well, little late on that realization, honey.”

“Can you just help me figure out what to say to him?”

“Yeah, but first,” Hannah pauses. Chris can hear the tapping of her freshly done acrylics on the glass phone screen. “I’m looking at a picture of all of them. Which one is he?”

“I’m not telling you that.”

Hannah groans, and Chris can imagine her pout so vividly. “You suck!”

“Okay,” she ignores Hannah’s temper tantrum. If she’s going to ask for help, she’s going to get the help. “So, he texted me and basically just said ‘hey,’ what should I send back?”

“Uh, just say ‘hi’ back?”

Chris pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs, “You literally have negative game.”

“I’m getting married in two months!”

“To my brother.”

“Got me there.”

Chris spends the next fifteen minutes drafting texts with Hannah as her peer-reviewer in the notes app on her phone. She doesn’t like any of them, they all feel forced, feel like they’re too strong or too weak or just all together strange and off-putting. Hannah calls her a chicken and Chris hangs up on her, sends a single kissy-face emoji in a text and calls it a lunch period. 

After lunch and after recess, Chris’ class does more English. They practice writing their names and their letters and working on the way they hold their pencils. Chris is a real stickler when it comes to the way children hold their pencils. She took an ergonomics class her junior year of college for extra credit and some of it still sticks with her years later. 

After that, it’s group reading and snack time. They read Rainbow Fish on the city-themed rug that came with Chris’ classroom when she started. They spend the rest of their afternoon crafting their own Rainbow Fish out of construction paper, glitter, and glue. 

The last task of the day, and arguably the most stressful, is pickup. She drops all of the bus-riders off in the cafeteria, and that’s the easiest part of it all. It’s the back blacktop that’s the horrifying part, the hoard of parents and the four and five year olds anxious to run off to their mommies and daddies without letting Chris know first. Everyday that she survives pickup without any of the kids being abducted is a gold medal day in her book. 

She heads to the Pre-K hall after that day’s episode of Survivor to pick up her nephew–Hannah’s son–Reid, and take him back to her classroom. She prints worksheets for tomorrow in the teacher’s lounge and when she comes back, has to re-tidy up the classroom behind Reid’s wake of destruction.

It’s not until she’s in the car, after she’s loaded up her bags and strapped Reid into his carseat, that Chris finally texts Charles back, and it’s about as creative a response as his original message. 

She regrets the double text before she even pulls out of the school parking lot, but there’s nothing she can do about it now. It’s been months since she updated her phone, and she’s sure she doesn’t have the ‘undo send’ feature in her outdated software. And even then, she’s heard it notifies the person that a message is unsent, and the only thing worse than regretting a double text is letting the other person know that you regretted it. 

It’s a fifteen minute drive back to Chris’ house, Reid in tow. By the time she gets back there’s a new message from Charles.

Okay, okay. The double text didn’t scare him off. He’s deeper than a Georgia frat brother, that’s definitely a check in the win column. 

Per usual, it’ll be another hour before Hannah is back from work to pick Reid up, so like always, he and Chris share an after school snack from her fridge. Reid is a talker. He can droll on and on about the most obscure, irrelevant moments of his day like they’re the greatest thing to ever happen to a human being, and can listen to the sound of his own voice until he’s blue in the face. He tells Chris all about his day, about play time with the kid who picks his nose and wipes his boogers on the rug, about David’s bad day from storytime and all about Chase’s race. If there’s one thing the world’s most talkative kid likes to talk about more than anything else, it’s Chase’s racing. 

Chris sips lemonade from a purple bendy straw and stares at her phone on the counter, open to the messages app.

“Are you texting to my mom?” Reid asks. 

“I have other friends besides your Mom,” Chris quips, slides her plate of animal crackers across the table to him. 

“Nuh, uh,” Reid shakes his head, chomps down on an animal cracker with the grace of a clown slipping on a banana peel, crumbs pouring from his mouth onto his shirt, his lap, the wood tabletop. Chris reaches over and swipes them onto the ground.

Chris laughs out loud, steals Reid’s attention away from playing make-believe zookeeper with the cookies in front of him. She wonders how quick he regrets sending it, or if she just has a one track mind. 

She giggles a kind of hair-twirling, blush-inducing, feet-kicking giggle that makes Reid sigh loudly. “I’m trying to focus!” He says, glares at her with a hippo in one hand and a gorilla in the other. She snatches the gorilla and eats it in two bites. Reid, dumbfounded, is met with a smile from his aunt who promptly and dramatically licks her fingers.

She wishes she could be having an, of course he remembers moment, but she is genuinely shocked by it, moreso by the fact that she doesn’t even remember telling him about it in the first place. It had to have been during the Hot Lap, surely, sandwiched between her screams at two hundred miles an hour and his giddy giggles with each gear change. 

Why would he ever remember that, she wonders. She’s sure that if she told Chase about it, under regular conversation standards on a regular weekend, he’d forget about it before the end of the hour, and he’s her brother. Her own blood. But here’s this guy, in the middle of this insane weekend, remembering a stupid little thing she tells him while he’s trying to focus on driving a car faster than any sane person’s reaction time could ever handle. It’s shocking. 

Reid is gone, picked up by Hannah, and dinner is started when she messages him again. Chris is terrible with crushes, really. She’ll tell you it’s one of her worst traits; how easily she falls into a crush, how quickly her adult exterior melts away into nothing but a teenage girl hoping to be asked to the homecoming dance. She’s simple, easy to attain. Call her beautiful or remember something she thinks is important and you’re in her good graces, racking up points in a pro and con chart in her head. Charles has already done both of those things.

Her phone rings three minutes after she sends it. Facetime call: Maybe: Charles. Crap. 

She checks herself out in the reflection of the microwave window. She’s still got on her morning makeup, and even it’s last leg is better than nothing. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, also from this morning, and falls messily around her face. She’s changed from work clothes into a pair of leggings and an old purple sorority hoodie, the neckline cut into a v and the ends of the sleeves tattered with tears and grease and loose threads from loving the cotton a little too hard. It’s not ratty… it’s just, comfortable. An acquired taste. 

Has her kitchen always been this messy? Did it come like this? Has she ever cleaned it? Why, why, why does she keep a high school picture of her and Hannah on the fridge?

She rolls her sleeves over themselves and tucks as many frizzy hairs behind her ears as she can manage before she sets her phone up on the counter, against the backsplash tile, and answers it. 

He’s greeting her with a smile, childlike almost, the way his dimples dig into his cheeks. Stupid. She remembered him as cute and she remembered right. She smiles back because even through a screen, even when you barely know him, it’s a contagious smile complimented with soft, warm eyes that manage to make it look like he doesn’t have a care in the world. 

“Hello, Chris Elliott.”

“Hello, Charles Leclerc.”

“Tell me all about this dinner you’re cooking?”

“If you insist.”

“I insist a million times.”

They talk all evening about dinner and rainbow fish and how Chris is not, under any circumstances, going to be one of his girls. His dimples make her worry that she could be convinced to, though. 

“Okay,” Chris says, sets her phone up against the hotel end table and takes a couple steps backwards so her entire figure is in frame. “Good? Bad?” She asks, spins, holds a thumbs up to the camera when she’s finished showing off the outfit. Charles smiles at the sound of her voice pouring from his airpod. “Keep in mind it’s the only thing I brought.”

She’s in a hotel room somewhere in Virginia. He doesn’t know where, exactly. He’s in Mexico, race day, breakfast in his hotel room with Joris and Andrea. The guys are bickering in the bathroom; Joris, attacking Andrea’s red on red ensemble, Andrea, attacking the seven hundred hair products Joris has stacked up on the vanity. They’d already eaten and knocked on Charles’ hotel room door until he woke up forty-five minutes later than he was supposed to. 

“You could wear a rubbish bag,” he answers because he’s almost certain she could, but also because he knows it’ll make her blush. He smiles when it does, when she pretends it doesn’t. “I don’t know that you should be asking me for outfit advice, my fans are not fans.”

“I think you dress well,” she hums, and he watches her catch her reflection in the mirror, analyzing the sundress from every angle. He doesn’t need to analyze it, always has been a fan of sundresses, no matter the color, no matter the fit. You can never go wrong with a sundress, he thinks. Never. “Like right now, you look sharp.”

“‘I’m in pajamas,” he says. 

“Sharp pajamas.”

He laughs, drops his head and shakes it. “You’re cute.”

“What about the outfit?”

“Cute too,” he says around a spoonful of food. “What’s under it?” He quips, bites the inside of his cheek so he doesn’t burst into laughter at her strawberry tinted cheeks. It’s exactly the reaction he’d been looking for, the one he’d found too much amusement in over the last few days. She blushes easier than anyone he’s ever met, and it’s more than just bright cheeks–it’s in her smile, pursed and big and adorable. It’s in her eyes, wide and unable to keep any semblance of direct contact with him. It’s a direct contrast to her normal state of being, to her normal attentive listening. She blushes too easily and he has too much fun making her. 

It’s her words that always seem to take him by surprise, when she moves close to her camera again and almost whispers, “You wanna see?”

He coughs, clears his throat and looks around the room to make sure neither of the guys have appeared over his shoulder. “Very much, I would like seeing.”

She laughs. “You wish.”

“You’re a tease.”

She shrugs, reaches over her phone and out of frame. She grabs her purse and when she does, the phone falls face down onto the wood. “Sorry,” she squeaks, picks it back up. “Good luck today, yeah?” She tells him, a confident smile on her face. He nods, mouth full, and holds up a thumbs-up, waves at her quick goodbye. 

It’s not even a couple minutes before his phone is buzzing against the plastic tabletop. A picture, from her, by her, of her. Her, and white lingerie and a little bit of imagination that has him doing all the blushing. 

Fucking sundresses, man.

She sends him a picture of the whiteboard in her classroom, decorated for the Halloween party that day with fake spiderwebs and ghost stickers and pumpkins and all things Halloween that don’t scare a five year old to death.  She also sends him a picture of two store bought sugar cookies with orange frosting, purple and black star sprinkles on top. 

It doesn’t take long for the time difference to bite them in the ass, for the optimal time for communication to be hindered by sleep and work and meetings and more sleep. An hour too early for him, a few hours too late for her, not that she’d admit it, miss I would be awake and grading these papers whether or not I was talking with you. 

That’s what she’s doing, sitting on her living room floor and grading papers on her coffee table. He’s making breakfast, but really he’s watching her grade papers and talking to her whenever she remembers that they’re having a conversation. 

It’s cute, he thinks. Extremely so, the way she struggles to multitask. The way her voice will trail out into silence in the middle of a sentence because she’s trying to decipher a kindergartener’s little chicken scratch handwriting. It’s cute, the way she carefully flips through her book of stickers to find the perfect one for each and every paper, the way she carefully puts them on and makes sure they’re pressed down firmly so they don’t fall off somewhere between her coffee table and their desk. It’s cute, the purple pen with the sparkly gel gripper. 

“I want to see you,” he blurts out in the middle of it all and it takes her a minute to process it. He watches the gears turn, watches her practically jump out of her skin at the sound of his voice like she really forgot he was there for a moment. 

“You’re looking at me.”

“In person,” he laughs. “I want to see you in person.”

“I’m going to Arizona this weekend,” she says, and he can’t even believe she’s entertaining the idea. He was sure, actually, that he’d be getting another one of her I’m not going to hook up with you, Charles, lectures. It would be the second or third of the week, and no matter how many times he’s told her do you think I’d be up this early for a hookup, she remains unconvinced of his motives. 

“I know.” She’s going with her brother. It’s the finals, or the playoffs, or something like that. He’s listening, trying to remember, he really is. None of it makes any sense, though. Formula One is so much easier to wrap your head around.  “What about next weekend? You could come to Brazil.”

“No,” she yawns. It’s gotta be at least one-thirty there, she should be asleep. He shouldn’t be keeping her up. “I’m too busy with work that week. How about the one after?”

“Abu Dhabi.” He says it like a statement, not a question. Like, if we're going to wait that long, might as well wait until I’m home.

“I could come,” she says, and it surprises him because nobody wants to come to Abu Dhabi. He doesn’t even particularly want to go to Abu Dhabi. It’s felt a lot this season like it just never stops. Like, no matter what he does, he and the car and the team can’t get in sync. He’s ready to reset for next year, really, to challenge Max instead of shaking Checo off his ankles for a few more weeks. 

“You want to come?”

She looks up from the papers at him, confused, clicking the back of her pen against the pages. “Do you want me to come?”

“Do you know how long that plane is?” He asks. “My family will be there,” he adds, and now you’d never guess he’s the one who wanted her to come in the first place. He doesn’t tell her all these things because he doesn’t want her there, he does. He just also wants to make sure she knows what she’s getting herself into, the lion’s den she’s climbing into, the shallow end of the pool and the nose-dive she’s taking. 

It’s crazy enough to meet up somewhere neither of them live. It’s a whole other monster to do it at a race, where his family is also present. 

“Do you,” she pauses, pointing the pen at the screen, “want me,” and then at herself.  “To come?”

He shrugs. “I would not have said I want to see you if I didn’t want you to come.”

Even though he didn’t want to keep her up all night, he kept her up all night with planning. And, despite the incessant need to make it clear she isn’t a hookup, Chris also refuses to come under the guise of any sort of label. He’s not mad about that, flying her in under the implication to anyone that she’s his girlfriend… especially when she’s not? It’s a recipe for disaster, for drama and death threats and cross paddock glares for just existing. It’s something he wants to avoid for himself, but more importantly, something he wants to avoid for Chris, who didn’t sign up for any of this, who doesn’t reap any of the benefits of his life. She’s too good for the drama, he thinks. 

Somehow, the conversation about the rooming situation requires more dancing than the refusal to put a label of any sorts on their… acquaintanceship. Where does she stay? With him, he wants to stay–stay with me, please stay with me. Does he see if someone can pull a few strings and get her a room in the same hotel, or would it be better for her to stay somewhere else? Better for who, he doesn’t know. He wants her with him, wants to pretend he doesn’t know half the drivers and half the teams stay at the same hotel, that people are always waiting in the lobby and outside waiting for pictures and signatures with their favorite zoo animals. 

He scratches the back of his neck, “You could stay with me, if you want to.”

“Yeah,” Chris nods. “If you want me to.”

“If you want to.” They both chuckle, horribly nervous and awkward because they’re so terrified of making a wrong move, of coming on too strong or too careless. 

“It’s your job,” she says, still fidgeting with her pen. Actually, now it’s just the glitter gel gripper that she's messing with. “Your life. I’m the intrusion–”

“You’re not an intrusion,” he interrupts, because she isn’t and he needs her to know he doesn’t think she is. 

She smiles, looks up from the pencil grip in her hand to smile at him. “Okay, I’m the… guest. Tell me what you want me to do.”

He wishes he could reach into the phone and grab her hand and still it from bouncing the gel grip against the coffee table. Softly, he replies, “I want you to stay with me.”

She nods, and equally as soft, biting down on a smiley bottom lip, “Then I’ll stay with you.”

She mentions to him in passing that she’s on Thanksgiving break for the week that follows, letting it hang in the air with silent implication. He knows her game, completely aware that she wants him to make the next move–invite me to stay, I'm not going to say no, she’s telling him. I’m not going to say no, you just have to ask.

And so he does ask. Something about it’s only fair that you see my home country after I’ve seen yours. Really, he couldn’t care less about being in Monaco. He just wants to see her. Her and the purple pen and sticker book and nose crinkle when he tells a bad joke and the tug of the corners of her lips when she tries not to blush. He wants to see it all in front of him, right there where he can reach out and touch it. 

He wants to take her on a date. He wants to take her on more than one date. Cook her dinner and show her around and memorize her presence when she’s not with her dad, when she isn’t screaming in a speeding car, when she’s not on the other side of the globe. 

“Well,” he hums. “Now I’m excited.”

“You should be,” she says, smiling at a stack of spelling tests as she tucks them away into a folder. “I’m great fun.” He pauses, watches her with a small smile. She yawns again, stretches her arms above her head with a quiet groan. She’s up entirely too late. He’s kept her up entirely too late. I bet, he thinks. “What?” Chris laughs. 

“You’re adorable when you are sleepy.”

She plays the voice memo and listens to his voice echo off the wall. He’s laughing, and she wonders what it would be like to be the wall his voice bounces from. You look like a commercial puppy, he says, it’s adorable. 

“You’re so annoying,” she says into the phone microphone, “How’s the weekend going?” When she listens to it back after sending, you can still hear the congested sniffle in her voice even though she’s regained her composure. 

Screwed by the weather, he responds. Sprint Race is soon. 

“Good Luck!”

Enjoy your movie day. 

—

He calls on Sunday night, late and unplanned. She’s already in bed, reading her book to wind-down before turning in for the night. His name on her screen makes her smile, even if she doesn't know the reason for the call. They’d been careful, when it came to calls, tried to make sure they planned them out so they didn’t spend all day, every day talking to each other. 

“Hi,” she greets, hesitant. “Everything okay?”

“Uh,” he chuckles, but it’s tired. Tired and upset and far away from the phone. He doesn’t really answer, he just sighs. 

She slides her bookmark between the pages and sets the book on her nightstand. “What’s wrong?” She asks, adjusts in bed so she’s sitting up straighter and pulls her legs close, crosses them under the sheets and puts him on speaker phone.

“I wish I was home,” he finally tells her. “Race today fucking… it’s like this, I don’t know.”

She didn’t watch the race. He knew she wasn’t watching it, that she was practically hibernating this weekend after a crazy week at work with what seemed like a never ending series of state testing. She didn’t watch the race, but now she’s really, really wishing she had. “You don’t have to show face with me,” she tells him. “Tell me what you want to say.”

“My fucking boss isn’t even here,” he starts, and he doesn’t stop. He’s got a lot to say. A lot to say about strategy and the championship and the car and himself and the season. It’s more than this race, it’s a lot of races, a lot of meetings, a lot of things she doesn’t really understand. 

Chris just listens, because it’s about the only thing she can do. She can’t give him answers or solutions or advice, and even if she could, it doesn’t sound like he’s looking for any of those things. 

She gets out of bed because she’s terrified that she’s going to fall asleep on him. She takes her water bottle and a blanket to her screened in porch, sits on the patio furniture and sips water and listens to the hum of the bugs and the sound of his voice on another continent. 

She calls him in the back of her Uber, on her way to Atlanta to catch her flight. She’d debated with herself about telling someone she was going, just out of pure convenience, saving the hour drive to the airport by just… flying there. That would require telling one of the two people in her life that know how to fly a plane–Chase and Bill–that she was going to Abu Dhabi and Monaco to see a racing driver. That would not go over well, even a little bit. So, she doesn’t tell anyone where she’s going and Hannah is the only person who knows that she’s going anywhere at all. Chris is sure her best friend could guess where she’s going, but she can’t prove anything, not when Chris has turned off her location sharing and refuses to confirm or deny what flight she’s on. 

“Are you gonna be weird when you see me?” She asks him, because this whole thing is so incredibly weird. It’s not normal, flying for seventeen hours across the world to hang out with a guy you haven’t even gone on a date with yet, a guy you haven’t spent more than a few minutes with. It feels almost illegal, letting a guy pay over a thousand dollars–he refused to tell her how much her ticket was, but she possesses the ability to use google flights–to come hang out with him. She’s not a sugar baby, right? Right? No, she isn’t a sugar baby. 

“Yeah,” Charles says through a yawn. He’s already in Abu Dhabi and it’s the middle of the night there, half past midnight, at least. He should be sleeping. “So weird.”

“You should go to sleep.”

He smiles. “Sleep is for the weak.”

Chris rolls her eyes with extra gravitas. She knows he sees it because he laughs. “Good night, Charles. I’ll see you in…” she checks her watch, “nineteen hours.”

“I can’t wait to be sooo weird when I see you.”

“I’m going to watch Cars 2 on the plane. As preparation.”

—

She does watch Cars 2 on the plane. She watches Cars 2 and eats a shitty chicken Caesar salad as dinner with a ginger ale, because ginger ale is only good when you’re on a plane or have a stomach ache. After the stale meal in the stale air, she takes two melatonin gummies, shuffles her favorite playlist, and sleeps. 

She wakes up an hour before they land in Paris, where she has a short layover. It takes the majority of said short layover to figure out where the heck she’s supposed to go. Once she’s figured it out, she spends the rest of the layover walking around the gate area, already exhausted with the idea of sitting still. She eats a chocolate croissant and has a coffee and listens to the people around her speak different languages with fluent ease. 

The flight to Abu Dhabi is shorter, but she’s awake for all seven hours of it, so it feels a million times longer than the first one. Also, somewhere between the first and last sip of what might be the best coffee she’s ever drank, nervous little butterflies have begun wreaking havoc in her insides. She’s giddy, the kind of giddy that should be reserved for little kids. Giddy and fighting a stupid little crush with the most insane stakes. 

It’s six o’clock local time on Friday evening when she lands in Abu Dhabi.

<last chapter masterlist next chapter>

[rheya28]

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[berrymascarpone]

A Brief Tour of Seireitei

So I’ve been reading the Soul Society Arc again after finishing the Bleach manga a while back and now that all the plot tension has already been resolved, I’ve found myself looking at the scenery. And by scenery, I mean the architecture and city planning of Seireitei.

Now, the good thing is Ichigo and co really get around a bit in this arc, not to mention the cuts to the captains and lieutenants doing there thing in the background, so here’s a brief tour following along with them.

The first thing we notice about Seireitei is that clearly they spend much more on infrastructure in the city than in Rukongai. That is where all your tax money has gone folks, to nice tiled roofs, whitewashed walls, fancy windows.

But also, considering the magically appearing wall that just straight up falls from the sky when you go near, it’s probably a good idea to have some way of demarcating where you have to stay away from in order to stay un-pancaked.

(Also electrical wires? Just what era is their infrastructure from?)

It looks like there’s a pretty open layout here, but later on, the streets get more labrythine, with long walls splitting the space into narrow roadways.

However, from above, it appears that these complicated halls are actually just blocks of mazes, separated by normal roads. Are they compounds? Is this just the geography of that particular area? Are they individual houses? Who lives there?

And although the streets look pretty narrow from these angles, another ground angle shows that they are actually pretty wide. But also, you might run into something like, uh this.

We all knew the Gotei 13 was pretty fucked up, but uh, yeah. Makes me wonder which earlier generation captain had this installed.

Anyways, after destroying many of those walls, Ichigo and Ganju eventually make it below the uniformly tiled floors to make it to the sewers (or are they storm drains? They feel very tall for sewers.

These remind me somewhat of the Tokyo Metropolitan Area Outer Underground Discharge Channel, which I had to look up once for a fic, so that makes me think it’s more of a stormwater system. Also, apparently they don’t mark their manhole covers in Seireitei? And it looks kinda fragile too, what with only that tiny little ledge to hold up such a big board. What happens when a particularly heavy person (and we know there are some real big boys in the Gotei 13) steps on one of these tiles and falls through? I imagine Komamura and Zaraki Kenpachi have learned to memorize the locations these manhole covers, or they accidentally step through the floor every few blocks.

Once we exit the underwater canals, we arrive at Sōkyoku Hill, the most scenic view of Seireitei, and also where they lock up and execute their prisoners. I guess they would at least get a good view before they die?

Not only is it on a hill, but the architecture takes quite a brutalist turn. All square blocks and flat tops (except for the nice little row of towers up there? And also a few sky bridges, for the scenic view.)

As a side note, this area appears to be surrounded by several warehouse-like buildings. Not sure if it’s actual warehouses, and this is the prison/industrial district of Seireitei, but interesting to note.

But also, when Ichigo and Renji absolutely wreck a few of these buildings in their fight they appear to contain…absolutely nothing?? Like not even some broken furniture, or debris.

Anyways, after a bit of regrouping back in the underground waterways (which also have some room-like areas a bit further away from the water…for…reasons…) our heroes finally venture forth into brutalist architecture wonderland.

I assume this area is a prison complex, since, judging by the texture, it appears to be made out of Sekkiseki, the reiatsu-suppressing stone. Also interesting to note, the buildings appear to be placed haphazardly, at odd angles. Is this to confuse invaders and/or escaped prisoners? Is it because their city planning consisted of Yamamoto scribbling out something on a napkin? Is it because this hill was one big sekkiseki deposit and they had to carve buildings out from the ground, so their planning had to follow the natural contours? And why is there absolutely no one here? Like the empty warehouses, this area seems to be abandoned. Are there not enough prisoners, or did the last crisis in Soul Society wipe out enough people that there aren’t enough to fill these houses? Is it like those fake buildings that are actually subway stations and the top part is just for show?

Anyways, it seems like I’ve hit the limit on the number of images I can add on the mobile app, so I’ll continue in a part 2 once I get around to it.

[diacripticcomplex]

Ayayui?

Ayato's POV:

There's this one human holiday I'm fond of, I think it's called Halloween or something like that, humans get to dress up and scare each other, a concept called "trick or treat." I told Yui about it, and she said it was just for kids. Kids get to scare the living shit out of people on this day? I'd love to be a human child if that's the case. It wasn't halloween today or anything, but it would be fun to scare the fuck out of her, and fuck her in the process too.

When I was at the shopping district yesterday I found a ghostface mask, the ones that were used in that American Movie about the killings, it wasn't even scary, I've killed people in more creative ways before, they should take notes from me. Anyway, I ended up buying the mask, I'm going to use it for a scheme.

"Hey tiny tits, wanna watch a movie with me tonight? There's no school tomorrow." I ask her, then state. She gives me that suspicious look, she's really learning. "What movie..?" she questions. "It's an American movie, I know you suck at English so I purchased it with subtitles, what do you say?" I asked her again. She still is giving me hesitation. "You know I went out of my way to do this, the least you can do is watch it with me." I guilt trip and it works, she agrees. "Alright, I'll meet you in your room in a few minutes, get comfy." I command. "Why not the living room?" she asks, I smirk at her. "Cause' we might get horny and start fucking like rabbits." I let out, jokingly but I wasn't actually joking. She rolled her big eyes at me, anyway I went back to my room to retrieve the mask and I hid it well.

We plopped onto her bed, after I turned on the movie, "I said get comfy, this is your bed. Why are you sitting all the way over there?" I ask her, she scoots over a little closer and I grab her, getting us in a cuddling position. We start watching the movie, I believe this was Scream 1, the original it was old but still pretty good quality.

Finally the movie was over, “Ayato why do you like watching such strange movies at night?” She asks me, I yawn “they just help me sleep better, I’m gonna call it a night” I tell her, then leave. She didn’t seemed scared it wasn’t really scary to begin with. But I was going to wait for her to go into the bathroom to mess w her. I put on the ghost face mask and hide in her bathroom, I take out a dagger, it was a real dagger too. Maybe 10 mins go back and she finally goes into the bathroom, she took off her towel she was nice and naked, I wanted to just rail her by the sink instead at this point- that would be an even better idea. I ran up behind her and cover her mouth, holding the dagger to her throat. “What’s your favorite scary movie?” I say in an attempt to sound like a ghost face killer. “What the..?! Ayato let go of me!” She yelled out, “I’m the ghost of billy loomis if you watch that movie you summon me.” I said to her, trying to sound convincing who knows if it’ll work or not? Would be hilarious either way.

She tries wrestling out of my grasp but I have a secure grip on her, I pressed up myself against her ass, I got a little hard in the process I’ll admit that. “You like it rough don’t you pancake?” I say then realized I slipped up by calling her that. “Ayato…it really is you??” She sounded relieved. I grab her ass cheek, then bend her down, I wiggle out of my pants a little and slide my dick right into her, fuckkkk it felt so good that first insertion always does it. I start fucking her fast, pulling her head back and keeping my hand gripped to her throat, I kissed her shoulder blade . Fucking in this mask made me feel super hot. After a few minutes I change the position, I turn her to face me, and I lift her up fucking her standing up, she had her legs crossed on my wait and held me super close, I wasn’t going to drop her but I definitely was going to nut. A few more strokes and I really did.

[coriolanussnowslover]

The Ballad of Snakes, Songbirds, and Sorrow.

A Coriolanus Snow x Fem!Reader FanFiction.

He saw everything in her, so why is he so intrigued by her.

Word Count: 3,621.

*Reader is from a prestigious family in the capital. They have been best friends their whole lives and dating for years now. Cearo means Sorrow. Follows the film loosely, but as canon as possible.

*Warnings: Genral Hunger Games Canon Warnings. Death. Etc. Some Suggestive Themes. Possessive Behavior. Not Proof Read.

Masterlist

Part Two.

The Night after the Reaping

(Y/N) sat with Tirgirs and Grandma’am at the table while Coriolanus paced the dining room in front of her. She tapped her fingers against the table, the tips of them wrapped in gauze from Tirgirs when she arrived with the bloody raw skin picked off around her nails. She knew Coriolanus was having a meltdown about his tribute, sure most everyone was, but all she could think about was Wovey. She looked so small and sweet, reminding her so much of Wilby. She had already cried to Coryo in the back room of the academy while nervously snacked on whatever he grabbed off the buffet on their way out.

“You saw her. She's underfed, unstable.” “The dean said it's not just about winning.” “Everything is about winning! If not the games then the crowd!”

(Y/N) was tuning them out at this point, she knew Coryo needed to win this for their future. She was not about to let him lose everything he fought so desperately for to Highbottom’s distaste for his last name. They needed a spectacle. The capital loves anything showy and daring, and that they could work with. “I wouldn't sing a note for you if I was her.Imagine it was your name they pulled and you were ripped from your home! I’d just wanna know somebody still cared about me.” ���She's district, Tigers. She knows we hate her, and she wants us dead.” “Don’t discount her just because she's district, Coryo. You might have more in common with her than you think.” (Y/N) watched the cousins discuss Lucy in front of her.

“Why don't we go meet them tomorrow at the train station Coryo?” They both turned to her, eyes the size of pancakes at her suggestion. “They get here tomorrow, why don't we go there, meet Lucy and Wovey. The Dean said we have to help them win over the capitol hearts, but so do we. What if we show the capital how caring and dedicated to our tributes we are. If we show them we feel something for them, they will too, boosting their incentive to watch the games. Plus we can show them we care about them, like Tirgris said. All I’d want is a friend.”

Coryo walked over to (Y/N) and planted a long kiss on her lips, his smile contagious. “You’re Brilliant (Y/N/N). That's my first lady of Panem.” He pulled her up and dragged her back to his bedroom, grin on his face. She loved when he called her his.

—

They waited hand in hand at the train station, both taking turns squeezing the other's hand in reassurance. Coriolanus had picked her up that morning, both clade in their academy uniforms. She had brought Wovey a scone and a small juice box wrapped in one of the many handkerchiefs her mom had given her years ago. He had a rose pinned to his coat, as did she, and one in his hand for Lucy, a peace offering.

They stood and watched as the tributes were taken off the train one by one, waiting to see their tributes. (Y/N) watched for Wovey as Coriolanus spotted Lucy, dragging (Y/N) by the hand over to her.

“Welcome to the Capitol.” Coryo extended his hand with the rose out to her, his eyes locked on Lucy Grey’s.

“When I was little my mother used to bathe me in buttermilk and rose petals.” (Y/N) watched as Lucy Grey plucked a petal from the rose and ate it. Eyes never breaking contact with Corilanus.

“Tastes like bedtime.” Her thick accent made her seem so kind. Even with the bizarre actions. “You two look like you shouldn't be here.” Lucy snickered a bit. We shouldn't be, (Y/N) thought.

Then (Y/N) spotted Wovey. Breaking her hold on Coriolanus’ hand to walk over to her.

“Hi Wovey!” (Y/N) knew her voice went up an octave, it always did around Wilby. “Welcome to the Capitol! I’m (Y/N) Cearo, your mentor!” Wovey looked at her inquisitively.

“Hello….” (Y/N) smiled at her even wider. She was smaller than Wilby height wise, big eyes looking up at (Y/N) with so much fear.

“Here, I brought this for you.” She crouched down to her height and held out the small package for Wovey, her eyes lighting up immediately at the colorful gift.

“What is it?” She looked between her and the package. “It's a snack, I know you probably haven't had anything since the reaping and so I packed you one of my brother’s favorites! And my boyfriend’s, the other boy in the red over there but don't tell him I said nothing.” She winked at the small girl as she took the little gift from her with a small laugh.

“I promise I won't.” Wovey clutched the snack to her chest, the older boy from eight nudging her along to the truck meant to take them to tribute holding. As Wovey and Lucy got into the truck (Y/N) saw Coriolanus trying to ask the peacekeepers if they could escort their tributes when all the sudden one of the boys ran off.

“Come on.” Coryo grabbed her hand and dragged her onto the back of the truck, both staying turned away from the guards.

“What’s a matter pretty boy, you in the wrong cage?” one of the male tributes taunted. Coryo instinctively pushed me behind him as he turned to look at the tribute addressing him.

“No, this cage is delightful.” Coriolanus tried to sound kind, she assumed, but if anyone didn't know him they might find it condescending, as the other boy did.

She heard the other boy yell and was knocked to the ground as Coriolanus was shoved against the back wall by Reaper.

“Ill kill you right now!” Shouted the boy, Reaper she heard someone call him. “He’ll do it too, Reaper killed a peacekeeper back in eleven.” “Quiet Dill!” “I say we kill him! Her too.” “I’m in.”

(Y/N) sat on the ground looking at the people around her nervously as they plotted her and her boyfriend;s “Are you okay?” (Y/N) looked up and saw Wovey sitting with her gift on her lap above her and next to her she saw Lucy, who was looking at her shoes, when she suddenly spoke up.

“Y’all got family back home? They’ll kill them if you hurt either of them. Then you.” She locked eyes with (Y/N) for a brief moment, then looked up at Reaper and Coriolanus.

“Besides, he's my mentor. I might need him.” The short red headed girl leaned over Lucy’s lap to get in her face.

“How come you get a mender?” She practically spat in her face.

“Mentor.” (Y/N) spoke up. “You all get one. I’m Wovey’s mentor.” She said from the ground still.

“Oh, and we’ll just trust you, right?” the girl replied back sarcastically.

“We’re just here to help you guys.” Coryo spoke up this time. As he looked between Lucy, her, and the redhead, Coral if (Y/N) remembers correctly from reaping day.

“Why aren't our menders here?” Coral asked, looking also between the four other kids.

“Just not inspired I guess.” Lucy smiled as she looked back down at (Y/N) on the floor, suddenly she felt a little insecure under the gaze of the girl who, even on her way to her death, looked so put together. (Y/N) stood up and dusted herself off, looking at Coryo then down again to Wovey’s toothy grin at her.

Suddenly the truck started to rattle and shake as it tilted upwards.

“Alright, hold on!” Coriolanus grabbed the bar in front of him as he reached for Lucy. (Y/N) reached out and grabbed Wovey along with the district eight boy and then grabbed the seat. (Y/N) was practically clutching Wovey in her lap as the eight boys held her legs,the younger still clutching the gift still to her chest, as they started to slip.

‘Coriolanus!” (Y/N) looked up at him as she screamed. Feeling the boy slip and fall as she still held Wovey. When suddenly the truck reached peak height and all four of them started to fall, all three tumbled down the rocks into the zoo exhibit.

(Y/N) landed first, still holding Wovey surprisingly, then was immediately crashed into by Lucy and Coriolanus.

“Ow…” She held her head as she sat up. “Are you okay?” she looked at Wovey.

“Mmmhmm, so is my gift!” Wovey smiled at the girl, she stood up and tried to offer (Y/N) a hand in getting up.

“(Y/N)! Are you okay!” Coriolanus had pulled himself and lucy up and wiped the dirt off himself. He immediately ran over and picked (Y/N) up off the ground by her armpits and started dusting her off, she felt like a child.

“I’m fine, just a few scratches. Are you two okay.” They locked eyes for a minute as they checked each other over.

“Excuse me! Hello Sir! Hello Ma’am!” (Y/N) and Coriolanus turned towards the voice neither of them could miss from outside the cage bars. Lucky Flickerman. Coriolanus’ neighbor and dear friend of (Y/N)’s family. Great, she thought, more people to tell her dad she was out here. He’s gonna love this one. “Yes you two, in the red! Who are you! And why are you in there with them! We’re live, the capital is watching!”

“Oh great, live television coverage. My dad will love this.” (Y/N) rolled her eyes, sweeping off the dust from her outfit. Even Coriolanus looked shaky with the knowledge the capital was watching their performance.. (Y/N) took his hand in hers and gave it a squeeze.

“Own it.” Lucy said to the two of them, though with the look she was giving him, (Y/N) felt it was more towards Coriolanus then her. Coriolanus locked eyes with her, a smile on his face.

“May I introduce you to my neighbors?” If his grin wasn't enough, the second Coriolanus dropped (Y/N)’s hand in exchange for putting the rose he bought in Lucy’s hair, she felt extremely uncomfortable. The way they looked at each other was interesting for two people who just met, at least in (Y/N)’s opinion. When he proceeded to take Lucy’s hand in his was when (Y/N) started to feel like maybe she was third wheeling her own boyfriend.

“Maybe you can introduce Wovey as well, (Y/N).” Coriolanus looked back at her as he started to walk Lucy over to the cameras. Leaving (Y/N) standing alone. Well with Wovey, but without her boyfriend. Maybe (Y/N) would have thought more about it if it wasn't for the small girl next to her.

“Well, that's something you don't see everyday! They're holding hands! Who are you sir, what are you doing in the cage here?” (Y/N) heard Lucy say as she turned her attention to Wovey, she had almost forgotten her job here.

“Wovey, would you like to say hello to the capital?” (Y/N) crouched down to the small girl’s height. Wovey looked at the cameras and then back to (Y/N).

“Can I open my snack first?” Wovey looked up at her with the biggest eyes.

“Of course, would you like help?” Wovey nodded and (Y/N) gently unwrapped the small package. She handed the scone to Wovey and opened the juice box for her. Wovey looked at the snack and then shoved about half of it into her mouth.

“Don’t choke now!” (Y/N) laughed at the face she was making, cheeks stuffed and face smeared with blueberries. (Y/N) pulled a, less extravagant, handkerchief out of her bag and whipped the girl’s face. “Here, you keep this one for later.” (Y/N) took Wovey’s arm and tied the handkerchief around her wrist in a bow.

“Now isn't that pretty, all the capital will be copying this soon. You’ll be a trendsetter!” Wovey raised her arm to inspect the bracelet as she ate the last of her scone, taking a large sip from her juice box with a smile.

“That was the best thing I have ever eaten. Thank you Miss. (Y/N).” Her toothy grin made (Y/N)’s heart melt.

“Well, are you ready to say hi!” (Y/N) tried not to dwell on the fact this poor girl was probably going to die after she just ate her first scone. She’d have to bring her another one. At the very least. Maybe too. Wovey nodded and took her hand as they walked over to Lucky, Coriolanus, and Lucy.

“(Y/N)! (Y/N) Cearo! How are you? Does your dad know you're in here?” Lucky recognized her right off the bat, she knew he would, they have dinner at the same restaurant every weekend.

“If he didn't before he does now!” She laughed along, playing up a smile as the cameras rolled. “To be fair, no one said I couldn't be here though! Plus I wanted to make sure my tribute, this beautiful young lady here, got the introduction she deserved!” (Y/N) crouched down again to Wovey’s heigh, taking both her hands in her own.

“And who might this be?” Lucky also crouched down and pointed the mic towards them both.

“My name is Wovey and I’m 12 years old.” Wovey spoke shyly, earning aws all around.

“Well Wovey, aren't you just the sweetest thing? And what district are you from?”

“Eight.” Wovey nervously shifted a bit in place with the spotlight on her.

“Well, that's great. For the record I think you both are about to be whisked away.” (Y/N) turned to see the peacekeepers coming to get her and Coriolanus. She turned back towards Wovey as she stood up. She could hear Lucy talking to Coriolanus.

“Be safe, I will bring you some more food soon. I promise.” Wovey nodded and ran over to Bobbin as (Y/N) and Coriolanus were dragged out of the Zoo by the peacekeepers. (Y/N) could hear Lucky closing out his show. Her dad was gonna kill her. — They both got a slap on the wrist for what happened and told to get back to the academy as soon as possible. What was worse punishment was the walk back to the academy. He held her hand, the same one he held hers with. Which was fine, she gets it, or at least she guesses she does. Their future relies on making sure the capital thinks he cares about Lucy, but he didn't have to be so convincing. Although she herself couldn't help but care for Wovey. So she guess she got it, in some way. What she couldn't stand was the smile on his face. He looked so. Happy. Like meeting Lucy Grey Baird was the best thing that's happened to him yet. Did he smile like that with her? Has he smiled at her like that? Of course he has you've talked of marriage and kids. Just last night he held you in his arms, not her. He loves you.

Or at least, that's what (Y/N) was telling herself to feel better.

As they walked into class to take their seats Dean Highbottom spoke up. “You two’s little excursion was in violation of about five different Academy rules, Mr. Snow and Miss. Cearo. Chief amongst them endangering Capital Students.” Coriolanus looked between the class and Dean Higbottom, his face reading one of shock.

“What? Who?” (Y/N) looked down at her shoes. She couldn't think of a single time either of them had been in trouble in class. Especially herself.

“Yourselves. I'm moving for the gamemakers to disqualify you both as mentors.” (Y/N)’s head shot up at that. Wovey.

“That’s not fair!” Her voice spoke before her brain caught up.

“You said we had to get our tributes to perform, not that we had to stay away!” Coriolanus fought back as well.

“I’ll add insubordination as well.” Dean Highbottom added, still not looking at either of them.

“Holding their hands, introducing them to people, guys. You make them look as if we’re one in the same.” Clemmie spoke up next, (Y/N) shooting a look at her from her seat.

“They both didn't show those people anything they didn't already know!” Serjanus spoke up next. The anger in his voice as a previous member of the districts. (Y/N) felt bad for what was happening now.

“I don't need your help, Serjanus.” Coriolanus’ voice sounded angry too. This was all getting out of hand, but he went wrong.

“That the tributes are human beings, just like us.” Serjanus continued even though Coriolanus told him to stop.

“We just wanted to make sure our tributes knew we were there for them.” (Y/N) spoke up now, she knew this fighting was unnecessary but she was in this now too. At least for Wovey’s sake.

“It's because people know, deep down, that winning a war ten years ago doesn't justify starving people’s children, taking away their freedoms, their rights!” Serjanus’ voice was rocky at the end, his feelings on the matter strong. They knew the games were wrong. No one wanted to admit it but him.

“Snow fell down in the cage. It fell down in the cage but it landed.” Dr. Gauls' voice silenced the whole class. “On Stage.” She stepped down to the bleachers to look at the class.

“You're good at Games, Mr. Snow. You too Miss. Cearo.” She smiled at them and (Y/N) felt a shiver down her spine. “Maybe one day you'll be a gamemaker, like me.” (Y/N) knew she should take the praise as an honor, but she felt uneasy in the woman's presence.

“If the games continue at all.” Dean Highbottom replied to her, tapping mindlessly at his paper.

“Oh, they’ll continue. With performances like young Mr. Snow and Miss. Cearo in that zoo.” She stepped down a bit more, turning her attention to Corilanus and (Y/N). “and I came here to ask your star mentors a question.” The class around them started to mummer.

“What are the Hunger Games for?” Dr. Gaul may have said she asked you both, but her stare locked on Coriolanus. Which (Y/N) felt relief for.

“They are to punish the district for their uprising, to commemorate the end of the war.” Coriolansu answered.

“Commemorate the… dull dull dull.” Dr. Gual started. “Punishment can take many forms. Why not drop bombs! Cancel food shipments. Stage executions? Why Games?” She looked around the class now, waiting for an answer from Coriolanus.

“Shouldn't we be asking ourselves whether or not the games are right?” Serjanus spoke up again now. (Y/N) looked at him. He was right, but that's not what the games are for.

“You don't like my games?” Dr. Gaul now turned to Serjanus, eyes wide with interest. “Some of those kids were two years old when the war ended, the oldest of them only eight. The capitol is supposed to be everybody’s government now. It's supposed to protect us all. I don't see how making children fight against each other is protecting anyone!” “That sort of Sympathy may interfere with your mentoring assignment.” “Perhaps the Capital students are ill-suited to be mentoring tributes. Perhaps the game's times have passed.”

“The Hunger Games are a performative way to instill fear.” (Y/N) spoke up now. “After 13 was destroyed they were instilled as a reminder that the people, the rebels, who turn against the capital are against Panem in whole, and the capital will do what it takes to protect Panem.” (Y/N) looked up at Dr. Gaul, waiting for a reaction.

‘Now that's a different take Miss. Cearo. A strong one.” Dr. Gaul’s stare made (Y/N) uncomfortable to say the least, but all eyes were on her now.

“I say performative because theyre a show, you want us to have our tributes perform, you want people to be invested in the games. We were simply trying to push our tribute's popularity ratings by showing the capital who they're watching.”

“Dean Highbottom is wrong.” Now Coriolanus was speaking up. “My classmates too. Serjanus may be onto something though. Maybe we should be viewing those tributes as human beings. I mean you saw those kids at the zoo. They just wanted to get to know Lucy Grey. If we need people, we should be letting them get closer to the tributes before the games. To make the stakes personal. Who will watch the games if they care what happens to the tributes.” (Y/N) was proud of Coriolanus, he would make a great public relations specialist if not president.

“Everyone.” (Y/N) replied. “Everyone loves a good competition. Sports were popular in the old world, and maybe people chose and rooted for specific teams from each sport. Everyone wants someone to root for.”

“Especially if they thought the tribute they cared about had a chance of winning. We need people to invest.” (Y/N) was liking this side of Coriolanus, even if she knew it was just for the Plinth prize.

“Look, I know Lucy Grey may not win in the arena but if you give her a chance, I would bet the Plinth Prize she can win people’s attention.”

“I’d like you to write up a proposal of these thoughts tonight, Mr. Snow.” Dr. Gaul was gleaming at Coriolanus. Yeah, (Y/N) had spoken up too but she was okay with not having Dr. Gaul’s attention on her.

“Wait.” (Y/N) turned to Clems as she now stood up. “You mean you might actually use his ideas?” Now she was just feeling ignored.

“If it helps the ratings, why not.” Dr. Gaul replied with a eerily cheerful tone.

“Coriolanus and I are class partners, Dr. Gaul. We do all our assignments together.” (Y/N) watched as Dr. Gaul laughed at her friend.

“It'll be an interesting test.” She said as she began to walk out of the class.

This will be an interesting experience indeed, (Y/N) thought to herself.

[hccn-overseer]

Issue 2, 4/26/2023 - The Overseer

Issue Masterpost About the Overseer

This week in the Hermiticitzen Hub has been nothing less than eventful! Citizen numbers are still growing, having reached above 600 as of the writing. Voting for music bots have opened, with Pancake immediately taking the lead and winning the race! Go enjoy your pancakes and music in #music-commands. There have been debates about hiring Quinn and Joe Hills, as that would be lovely, however that seems to be out of the Hermitcitizen's grasp, for now.

In addition to this week's news, The Hermitcitizen Grapevine is also now up and reporting stories about your fellow citizens. Go check them out at @hccn-grapevine!

Have a lovely week and respect your fellow hermitcitizens!

Warden Accidents: How to Deal With Them

By Lee

A week ago, an accident happened regarding a Warden. A prank on Hermitcraft's most masterful prankster, Grian, was done by the GGG via placing multiple Wardens on his base. However, one of the Wardens was accidentally aggravated and followed one of the pranksters to the Shopping District. This caused havoc and death for many of the players alongside those who tried to help. After much struggle, it was finally slain by Patch9649.

There have been many accidents regarding Wardens. This is just one of the most recent incidents. In this article, a list of tips will be given on how to deal with them. To have concrete advice for those reading, I interviewed an expert Warden wrangler from Decked Out named Glypharia who agreed on an interview about wrangling Wardens. 

1. The More People, the Merrier.

If you decide to wrangle Wardens, it’s always best to have people with you to help you out in moving not only the Warden, but also due to other factors that would be a struggle dealing on your own. It’s not the best idea to wrangle one on your own due to its dangers and risk of losing inventory.

There is not a specific amount of people really needed, other than that it should be more than yourself.

2. Snowballs, Always Have Snowballs on Hand 

Whether it be Warden wrangling or simply getting away from Wardens in the Deep Dark, Snowballs are one of your most important tools needed in your inventory, to the point that it was mentioned not once, but thrice in the interview due to how important they are.

Simply throw the snowball away from your direction and it will be distracted by the sound, letting you get away or making the Warden go to a certain area that you want it to go to in an easier manner

3. Wool Paths and Swift Sneak Are Your Saviors

Added to the second tip, wool paths are extremely important if you want to make a quick getaway or simply want to have a safe place to walk across on without being noticed by a Warden (especially if it is after wrangling one, as to make sure it does not follow you).

Swift Sneak in your leggings or pants armor is also a good way to help you sneak away from a Warden. It helps in making you go faster while sneaking, which is good for those who at times get antsy with how slow sneaking may be.

4. Deal With Mobs First

Glypharia suggests that it’s best to deal with mobs first when wrangling a Warden, as it makes things easier for the wrangler and ensures that they do not get distracted from moving the Warden due to mobs attacking them. That would make things much more difficult and more prone to respawning multiple times and losing your stuff. Light up the place or have others continue to deal with the mobs so that you and the remaining people can focus on wrangling.

It’s also good to be rapidly moving backwards, but to make sure not to put yourself between a wall and the wall. They say from personal experience it is a bad idea.

5. Do It One by One, Be Patient 

If there are multiple Wardens to be wrangled, do it one by one. It is way safer to do so than doing it all at once, as it lets you put all your focus on each individually, just in case something goes extremely wrong and it needs to be quickly fixed. 

Wrangling all the Wardens at once will cause more accidents, more deaths and more despawned inventory, so it’s best to do it one at a time.

Those are all the tips given, and we hope this helps you out in the near future. Just remember to keep quiet and be careful. If not, you’re more likely to lose all your inventory and get several death messages in global chat for all to see.

Now onto other news below the cut!

Hermitcraft’s Top 10 Most Dangerous Places

By Virtual

We all know that Hermitcraft is the pinnacle of Minecraft server safety, but in such absolutely secure lands, one must wonder about the places on the server that are a bit more… exciting. For this week’s issue, we’re breaking down the top ten most dangerous places on the Hermitcraft Season 9 server. 

(Note: This list is not to be used as a travel guide. Travel guides for dangerous places can be found in the Shopping District next to the Empires brochures.)

(Note 2: Electric Boogaloo: The danger level of this list is not in order. Danger level fluctuates by the hour and may go up or down depending on if Grian is online.)

Decked Out Decked Out is a legendary feat of redstone engineering. It is also a death trap.  Out of 456 ravager deaths reported this week, 375 occurred within the bowels of Decked Out. We would like to remind the unpaid interns living in Tango’s walls that the ravagers, though friend shaped, are not for cuddling. 

Spawn Ghasts in the sky, Wardens on the ground, and only a matter of time before something is in the water, Spawn Town is a favorite holding spot and dumping ground for any dangerous mobs people happen to be carrying around. In addition, it is a certified Not Scar Safe area. 

Scarland Studies show that the moment you step within render distance of Scarland that your chances of being Hotguy-ed go up by 67%. Do not let the beautiful facades, fun rides, Jellie-themed popcorn, kind balloon vendors, dubiously employed tour guides, and path-eating security guards lull you into a false sense of security. Hotguy has been known to frequent the skies above Scarland for reasons unknown to those of us at The Overseer, and he tends to make target practice out of staff and visitors alike. If you hear a distant call of “Hotguy,” duck and cover. We would say to avoid the area, but the view of Main Street may be worth a respawn.

Doc’s… Whole Thing We’re not sure what he’s doing. DocM77 is a mystery not even the devs could unravel. If you want to catch sight of anything that this weird creeper goat man has been up to, remember to wear your best helmet and leave before the radiation poisoning sets in. The Perimeter is an astonishing sight, but it is also radioactive, explosive, and filled with bosses. Enter at your own risk.

The Shopping District The Shopping District is the lifeblood of the server. Citizens come to this hub to buy materials, relax at the coffee shop, and sell their wares to their fellow citizens. The Shopping District is also radioactive, explosive, and full of Wardens. We’re also not sure what the entity is, but it’s probably dangerous. Get your concrete and get out as fast as you can.

Decked Out Many incidents have been reported of staff getting caught in the machinery and pursued by Vexes. This is bad for both the machinery and your inventory health. Please report all Vex and Evoker related deaths. (Somebody completely unrelated to the newspaper, with no conflicting interests whatsoever, has made a bet that Vex-related accidents will outnumber Warden-related accidents in the next issue.)

Grian’s Weird Robot Dungeon We’re not quite sure of the extent that Grumbot’s cavern actually exists on this plane, but your own likelihood of existing drops drastically the moment you dip beneath the sculk tunnel and catch sight of Grumbot and the Rift. The evilness of both Grumbot and the Rift is still up for debate, but we can confirm that touching either of them is a gamble of your mortal soul. Furthermore, we are looking for people who know how to get someone out from behind the Rift, as all attempts at freeing Grian’s employee have thus far been unsuccessful.

The Nether Hub Essential to traveling the far reaches of Hermitcraft, but dangerous nonetheless. Though free of the hellish monsters and flaming pitfalls typical of the Nether, this area has a secret weapon up its sleeve: Lag. If you don’t want to lose your items to kinetic energy a thousand blocks away from your spawn point, and then die again because you got distracted by the time-stopping creeper, then we suggest flying through the Overworld instead. 

Gem’s Base While the base itself is lovely, we must remind citizens that, no matter how charming she is, to stop accepting duels from GeminiTay. You will lose, and your head will be added to her collection. Learn from the mistakes of Ethoslab, dear citizens, and walk away from a fight.

Zedaph’s Base Entering Zedaph’s base is a lesson in the odd and whimsical. You will see wonders unlike anything you’ve ever known. Dangling horses, flying melons, and rainbow beacons enchant all those who come across them. This is not where the danger lies. Entering Zedaph’s base could involve you in Zedvancements, which are likely to end up with you or someone you know exploding, as creepers, TNT, fireworks, and lightning bolts are often involved. This also increases your chances to get a Zedvancement trophy, which could be worth it. Approach with caution.

Honorable Mention:

Etho’s Base Despite the inherent danger of being anywhere near this mad genius, Mr. Etho S. Lab has been unable to beat back the washed up allegations. Though the honorable Bdubs has attempted to help him, Mr. Slab has been absolutely destroyed. From all of us here at The Overseer, we wish him a swift recovery. 

Astrology Corner

By Corundumcat

Have you been feeling without guidance? Do you look at your birthday and look up your star sign and wonder, “Does this mean anything?” Don’t worry, here at The Overseer, we can help you.* 

Aries: You have just found out that you will be paid by whoever you are aligned to. However, if you are born on the odd day of the month, you will have to go on a Warden clean up. 

Taurus: This week you will be very productive. This is not in a negative or positive light. Get a lot done.

Gemini: It will rain inside where you go. You’ve annoyed someone this week.

Cancer: You will start a war at Beast #003’s funeral. :0

Leo: One day this week, you will take part in an ethical experiment and be forced to sign an NDA. Don’t worry. This will happen again next year.

Virgo: This week you will start an investigation into who let the Wardens out. 

Libra: You will find out some great news. Someone you know has obtained a child. 

Scorpio: You will be shot by Hot Guy for standing still in iBuy. (It rhymes.)

Sagittarius: You will have a week to remember. It will be a week. Flip a TCG token to determine the outcome. Heads are good, tails are bad.

Capricorn: You will get to see the stars up close and personal. Take that how you will. 

Aquarius: You will get to commit one(1) act of pranking, you get to choose the scale of it. 

Pisces: You will see a horrifying vision. That vision is Beast #003 being kidnapped. When you come to, you will figure out that you saw the past. Given that you saw this, you now must go to the funeral of Beast #003. 

All star signs: Don’t worry, you are not being watched… yet. 

*Ignore how blatantly specific these are. Nothing bad will happen to you.

From the Sidelines

by StarryFelix Cats and Pearl-affiliates  

Who doesn’t like cats? That seems to have been the thought someone had when changing all things they could to cat related names on the server this week. The mischievous little furballs of which we know GoodTimesWithScar to be a big fan (we all also love you very much Jellie) have taken over specifically the moderator role names! As someone who is now dubbed a trial-meowderator it was an interesting return on the server after this was changed. Allegedly (read: we got an immediate admittance of trying to catgirl-ify the server) this was done by someone with a plant related name…

Honestly, just wandering around seems to be giving me a lot of odd impressions of what continues to go on on the server, even if I have been wandering around since season 6. You’d almost say nothing would surprise me anymore, however the people working and living around Pearl’s place have started calling her just “She <3” . This phenomenon has been going on for quite a while now. I have to agree that that is indeed a very correct way to describe her, I am however not sure what Star Soup and Nebulas in soup colours are supposed to mean, maybe I will be able to figure that out by observing them more closely. They seem friendly! Albeit a little supportive of Pearl committing war crimes in the life-series… 

That was it for me for this week, as I have to rush off someplace else, but maybe this column will return with some more insights and observations of the different groups and beings running around on this server.

P.S. Please don’t forget to remind your Hermit/boss to eat this week! And make sure to tell them Sculk is not good food to consume, we don’t want another Cub-situation.

Lost and Found

By Virtual

The following items and chest monsters were found across the server, and nobody knows who they belong to. If you recognize one of these as yours, please contact The Overseer’s lost and found office at (fake email here ig)

Item 1: A Hotguy bow, found on top of The Entity All attempts to contact Hotguy about this bow have been met with radio silence, and since citizens are being Hotguy-ed as normal, we assume that he has found a suitable replacement, or this bow was never his to begin with. If you are in need of a bow or Hotguy memorabilia, collect this item within the next week, or we’re keeping it.

Item 2: A chest monster made of exclusively purple shulker boxes, found below Joe Hills’ pinball machine.  Joe Hills has denied any ownership or knowledge of this chest monster, and has handed it off to The Overseer office. Within the shulker boxes are several stacks of end stone, seven pairs of nearly-broken golden boots, twelve feathers, and a block of obsidian. If this chest monster belongs to you, please pick it up from The Overseer office, as the boxes have taken over all available desk space.

Item 3: A spyglass renamed “Peekaboo” and enchanted with Curse of Vanishing, found on the doorstep to The Overseer office. The intended recipient of the telescope is unknown, and since it was not addressed to our office, we can only assume it was not meant for us to receive. When in the same room as the telescope for too long, a palpable feeling of being watched settles over your shoulders. Attempts to cover the telescope do nothing to diminish this effect, and we have settled on keeping it inside of Item 2. If “Peekaboo” belongs to you, we will pay you to take it.

META REPORT: MONO-PRANKSTER 

Written by Arsène

The deck that everyone’s been talking about (especially when it comes to potential nerfs and building around), Mono-Prankster has been a definite set that has single-handedly changed the way tournaments rule for deck-building. Now, with the current 42 token-cost rule for fan games, and the upcoming limit on the number of rare Hermits that can be put into the deck, it’ll look very different from how it may have over the last few weeks of play. I’m here to deep dive with you into a current state of it, the point of the deck, and why it’s been so strong recently!

DECK LIST ( ® denotes a rare version of the card in the case of hermits!) 

Grian ® x1

Mumbo ® x3 

Stress ® x2

Gold Armor x3

Mending x3 

Milk Bucket x1

Water Bucket x2

Iron Armor x1

Knockback x3

Looting x2

Chorus Fruit x1

Curse of Vanishing x1

Lead x1

Double Prankster x4

Prankster x14

PLAYING THE DECK

When building and playing a deck, I like to look at three different factors, and Mono-Prankster delivers on three fronts. Versatility, Consistency, and Win Conditions.

The deck has many different tools at your disposal for forcing opponents into poor positions off the bat, running three Knockbacks, Curse of Vanishing, and Lasso. All three, with opportune use (and potentially with the effects of Mending up to do it again) can easily put the opponent on the backfoot, forcing them to rely on an AFK hermit instead of the main one they may have already set up on. The deck also runs defensive options in three Gold Armor and Iron Armor, meaning that you’ll most likely draw into at least one, and with how much HP all three of your Hermits have, there’s good options for all of them.

The deck is certainly not short on win conditions, with Mumbo ® having a very strong second attack for only two Prankster items. Quite Simple, with good luck, has potential to sweep a game when you have another Hermit on board with him. However, consider using Moustache if you are in a position where you do not need to push, whether it be trying to do consistent chip damage and set up a quick double knock-out with Knockback or guarantee a knockout to Chorus Fruit into another Hermit who can swiftly take a kill, like Stress ®. 

Speaking of Stress ®, this is your finisher if you have her on board. A well-timed Chorus Fruit into YOLO when you’re ahead can guarantee a win, whether it be completely knocking out the opponent’s board or taking their last life. Just be careful, as taking yourself out also means that the three Prankster blocks put on her are gone with her. Consider solely using YOLO as a finisher, as a strong tempo move when you are up a heart, or if there is a high-priority target on the board that needs to be dealt with.

Lastly, the main kicker in the deck for defensive prowess and potential, Grian ®. Grian tends to be my target for my double Pranksters, since Borrow is not only a strong offensive tool against opponents running armors or strong upholding effects like Mending, but also great for offensive plays. Because the Hermits in this deck take up so many token spaces, we do not have room for good defensive cards like Diamond Armor, so a well-timed Borrow from Grian on a Diamond Armor lets you take it for yourself. 

The deck has a few floating cards, mainly in Milk Bucket and Water Bucket (x2), so if you’re playing into a definite matchup in which you are not worried about fire or poison, these can safely be rotated out for other strong single-use effects, such as Invisibility Potion or another Looting. 

Expect more changes to the deck through the upcoming weeks, whether it be through changing game mechanics like token costs or limits on how many rares can be put in a deck, or direct nerfs to cards that make Prankster worthwhile. Also, word through the street says that a new set may be hitting us soon that might work to heavily counter the Prankster strategy! For now, though, Mono-Prankster is a strong option for people wanting to learn the game, provided you get lucky enough to pull the cards from the trading packs offered around the server! Good luck, and may you forever draw your Mumbos on turn one!

Who is Hot Guy?

By Corundumcat 

Who is Hotguy? Many citizens wonder this day in and day out. We all know for certain that Hotguy is … something. Shooting the workers in Scarland, shooting those who stay still for too long, it's hard to figure out the truth from the lies. Here are the top 5 theories on who it is and one theory on who it isn’t. 

THEORY NUMBER 1: Grian. Some might recall a few years ago that, to the shock of the citizens, Grian was revealed to be Poultry Man. Now you may be wondering, didn't he get tired of the Vigilante stuff? And I raise you the point of what if he decided he wanted to start something. What if he saw how Scar was having such a wonderful time and why can’t he have some fun. It was rumoured that he became a single dad for a while, so why not while Grumbot was asleep he started this life of crime. We have never seen Grian and Hotguy in the same room together.

Theory Number 2: Joehills You all know how Joe Hills doesn’t go for all the LARPing. He never fully commits to the bit. Except for one time. Remember when there was the universe wide beauty contest? Remember how he put up posters which none of us had seen before. Honestly it shocked us all that he could come out of the woodwork and do some Lore. The thing is, he won that contest. He won the beauty contest. Hence the name of this persona, Hotguy. Also, have you met the guy? Joe Hills NEVER gets shot by Hotguy. Either they are friends OR Joe Hills is Hotguy.

Theory Number 3: Cub Have you met Cub? Cub loves to cause chaos. Heck, he even has a game called Total Chaos. Hotguy has caused so much chaos that it only seems fitting. One citizen brought up the point of Hotguy having Vex Wings. I know Hotguy has vex wings. ‘Shame he didn’t match his wings. I feel like I also need to point out, they have the same hair colour. Remember, once you take off the glasses you are a completely different person.

Theory 4: Yes. It’s every Hermit EXCEPT Scar One theory that was brought up is that it's everyone but Scar. It would explain why Hotguy has changed targets AND has different ways of aiming. We have seen Scar in the same room as Hotguy, so it can’t be him. Hotguy changes height all the time, who knows what they are doing and who they are. Only the Hermits know. 

Theory Number 5: ZloyXp  Have you met Zloy? Zloy works their way around town convincing people to video for them but never videos Hotguy. ‘Seems suspicious, never getting the Recap team to video Hotguy. How strange. Also, a few of the team have said that Zloy is never at their desk when Hotguy is committing crimes too horrible to mention in this newspaper. Perhaps Zloy got tired of recapping everyone else’s story and is finally writing their own?

Theory Number 6: Scar is not Hotguy. Scar is not Hotguy. He never was. Have you met him? He is such a sweetheart, and a clutz. He always checks in on everyone, making sure they are ok after the villain tries to rip the server apart. A few Scarland residents saw him pick up a bow and almost drop it on his foot. Why would Scar attack his own residents? Scar wants Scarland to be the Happiest Place on the server and Hotguy is ruining that. Another thing is that he came second place in the beauty contest without campaigning. I do believe he was nominated as beauty of the heart. He has even started having Hotguy evacuation zones. 

Decked Out 2 Workplace Conditions

By Nes

Spurred on by rumours of Decked Out 2 workers going without pay from their employer, Tango Tek, the Overseer launched an investigation into working conditions at the beloved minigame. Seven of the twenty workers currently employed at the site volunteered for an interview, with their answers bringing new light to the situation. However, it’s questionable if their answers quelled our worries or only made them worse.

Of the seven workers interviewed, none of them could confidently say they were officially employed by Tango Tek. The closest to a solid ‘Yes’ regarding being employed was from Golden Latina, stating “I would hope so, unless he thinks a ghost is working the effects. So, yes.” Other answers varied from definite no’s, to maybe’s and unsure’s. This raises many questions concerning if they’re entitled to payment seeing as they don’t seem to legally be employed at the location or by the owner. 

Regardless of if they’re employed or not, it is important to note the conditions they are working under. While the majority of those interviewed said they made their own schedule, it seems the workers are just as obsessed with the game as their alleged boss. Of the seven interviewed, two said they had a good work-life balance, two would have good work-life balances if not for other duties outside of their alleged employment at Decked Out 2, and the remaining three could have a good balance if they weren’t workaholics. Despite the concerning lack of personal time outside of work, it does not appear to be an issue caused by the employer but rather the workers needing a lesson in self-care.

Returning to what spurred this research in the first place, and the answer all of Hermitcraft is hoping to be answered today, do the alleged Decked Out 2 Employees get paid? No. Of the seven I spoke with, zero were being paid, with four not minding the lack of payment. Shadowscome presented an interesting perspective on the lack of payment, discussing in length the logistics of being paid by the brokest man on the server. When asked if there were plans to acquire payment for their work, Shadow said this: “Tango would have to start charging a fee to play DO if he were to gather enough diamonds to pay us all... and that would make the game unfair, so I don't think so.” Another worker, RedFeather, commented that “The wranglers deserve hazard pay, at least…”

Not enough information was gathered to comment on the effects that lack of payment has had on employees outside of the workplace.

In conclusion, Decked Out 2 workers appear to have a friendly and tight-knit work environment. However, it’s questionable if the workers are even employed. Most agreed that Tango Tek is aware of their presence, but no official employee documentation has ever been signed or submitted. Due to this lack of official employment, it is debatable if the crew at Decked Out 2 is even eligible for pay, which is unfortunate considering the amount of work many have put in fixing redstone, building rooms, and caring for the ravagers and soon-to-be Wardens being housed at the minigame.

Ask The Seers

Needing lovelorn advice? Having nightmares you don't understand? Being followed by Horrors you cannot stand? Come tell The Seers Now, and take the weight off your shoulders! A burden is always light if it is carried by more people. Inquiries are accepted via the ask box and are collected every Monday!

Dear The Seers,  Everyone wants to know, WHO are The Seers? - Inquisitive In Overseer HQ

Hey! I'm Seer Jester, she/it, plus neos to taste, and The Seers are... Well, let's find out, shall we? This'll be fun.

The Seers are visionaries who know the secrets you wanna keep hidden. And when we don't, we promise it's just a matter of time. You may call me Seer S, it/its pronouns, your local messenger.

Who are The Seers? Well, to be honest, we’re just a bunch of cryptic gossips. I’m Vindemiatrix, though you may call me Seer Vi, any and all pronouns. From my time working with Hermitcraft’s resident mad scientist (no, not that one, no not the other one, it’s Zedaph, for goodness sake) I’ve had to come up with my fair share of creative answers to strange problems. So if you want to hear all of your options, I’m your Seer.

The Seers are actually just four people not qualified for this job, which makes us the perfect people to have these positions. Me, personally? I’m Seer Nes. I go by She/They/He pronouns and am a master of terrible jokes, not having a sleep schedule, and not having a life. I will give you the worst advice possible, Hermits honour!

- The Seers

I fell down a hole Hi The Seers,  I fell down a hole and was near the Perimeter. How do I get out of this situation? I was supposed to go the Beast #003 funeral. - Stuck In A Hole

Hi Stuck In A Hole,  I have good news and bad news! Good news is you’ll still make it to Beast #003’s funeral, bad news is the only way out is via respawn so you too will be having a funeral very soon. Sorry about that! - The Seers

Dear Overseer, How does one deal with the shock of a fully formed building popping up overnight, right in your own backyard? - A Very Confused And Mildly Concerned Citizen

Dear Confused in Construction: Ah, just moved in? It can be disorienting at first to see your landscape changed so dramatically - but it's all part of the local charm! I would suggest watching the constructions during the timelapse - just look around when you hear the music - and then go poke around later and explore, get more familiar with this new structure in your environment. Pretty soon it'll feel like it was there all along! If it being right in your backyard is the issue, just work around it. Or move your house several blocks in any direction, if that's an option. Also, a fence around anywhere you wish to keep your own could help discourage people from placing structures in it, as (most?) builders will respect a clearly delineated claim. Best of luck! - The Seers

ADVERTISEMENTS

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All Hermitcitizens are cordially invited to the wedding of The Evil Goblin and Azalea! We’ve been eagerly awaiting this celebration for quite some time and are thrilled the event is finally going down

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Are you in need of a Piglin trading hall but don’t want to build one? Well, you’re in luck! Our friendly neighbourhood Piglin Geek, has a trading hall in the west tunnel of the Astral Library! Bring your gold over and she’ll give you some goods!

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Do you think your boss doesn’t pay you or give you workers rights? Find Corundumcat in the Astral library! They will be happy to help you.

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Hey, you - YES, YOU. Are you in the market for a little trouble? Do you enjoy stirring up danger? Well then, join the Scar Unsafe Services (SUS)!! We are a brilliant group working to make sure that Hermitcraft keeps everyone on their toes!

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There’s a sale going on at the Enchantea Shop! Bring some daisies and your favourite book on the 28th to enjoy some of the best tea on the server!

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Unfortunately, Decked Out’s Ravager #003 was tragically killed by Melody on April 21st as an act of self defense. The funeral will be hosted at the shopping district on Saturday the 29th. #003 was loved dearly by everyone at DO2, had the highest kill count out of all the ravagers, always had a braided tail, was a wonderful picnic guest when not committing murder, and was definitely a ravager! 

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Created by The Lamb Sauce

Fun and Games

And now some fun and games brought to you by Sirius for the crossword and wordsearch and Morph for the coloring page yet again, as well as Azure adding another coloring page as well!

Coloring pages:

Transparent versions

Thank you to Snuffy for this week's comic!

And that’s all for this issue folks! Thank you so much for reading, and have a wonderful week!

[hamsterclaw]

Bad Angel

Yoongi acts like he doesn't care one way or the other. When you get to know him, you realise there's more to him than he lets on.

Pairing: Yoongi x F! reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Dystopian future, smut, fallen AU

Word count: 6.3k

Warnings: Sex, swearing, major character death

This is the second story from the Fallen AU but can be read as a standalone. Read the first, featuring Namjoon, here.

You’re looking out at the city from the rooftop terrace of the party you’re at.

The night air is cool, the imposing sky lit from below by the burn of neon, pinks and blues blazing bright.

Your silky dress isn’t enough to keep you warm but the burn of alcohol from the sake you’re sipping is.

The man leaning on the balcony next to you smells divine.

You glance at him curiously.

He doesn’t seem in a hurry to talk to you, even though he’s clearly chosen, out of all the empty space on the terrace he could have gone to, to stand next to you.

You’re not really in a hurry either.

‘Want another drink?’ he asks, nodding to your now empty glass.

You take a moment to look at him.

He’s got dark eyes, pale skin and hair that’s calling out for you to run your fingers through it.

There’s the low gleam of silver in his ears, and from the chain around his throat.

He’s beautiful.

‘Sure,’ you say. 

He takes your glass from you, depositing it onto a table as he goes.

He comes back with another, handing it to you wordlessly.

You thank him and take a sip.

‘I’m Yoongi,’ he says. 

‘Y/N,’ you reply, smiling.

He leans against the glass balustrade that provides the only barrier between the rooftop and the pavement eighty eight floors down.

‘The food at these things is always shit,’ he says, lip curling in a sort of half-smile, half-sneer that you think you like. ‘Want to go get something to eat?’

You find yourself at an all-night diner with Yoongi.

The fluorescent lighting is as kind to him as the night sky was. 

He lives close to you, it turns out, in one of the repurposed office buildings. It had been owned by a bank before the financial district collapsed in the late 2990s.

The band on Yoongi’s wrist flickers between green and blue as he talks. You find it calming.

Your own band is a serene purple, steady as the beat of the pulse in your wrist.

He’s telling you about a bookstore in the Renaissance Quarter that his brother owns, with real physical books.

You don’t see the appeal, words are beautiful to you in any format, but you appreciate his enthusiasm.

You also appreciate that he insists on sharing his pancakes with you.

You wonder, as you say goodbye after the meal, if all he’d wanted was company, because he doesn’t try to kiss you or touch you in any way. Instead, he thanks you politely and it’s you who suggests going to his brother Namjoon’s bookstore at the end of the week.

***

You meet Yoongi at a corner of the Renaissance Quarter, close to a quaint arcade with vintage machines from a millennia ago, the golden era of gaming, supposedly.

It takes physical tokens which you’re told were once used as currency. Half the machines don’t work but you like the noise and the lights.

Yoongi seems to fit in quite well here somehow. He’s wearing a black jacket today.

You greet him with a happy wave. He asks, like it doesn’t matter to him one way or the other, whether you’d like to play some games.

You choose a shooting game with zombies that jump out at you. The plastic weapon you’re using feels clunky in your hands. You try not to stare too much at Yoongi’s long fingers, the veins running along his forearms, the silver rings gleaming in the blue light from the screen.

Yoongi barely blinks at the blood splatter as he offs a particularly burly zombie that’s attacking you.

‘Thanks,’ you say.

Yoongi gives you a look you don’t quite understand. He clears the screen then drops his gun back into the holder.

‘Tea?’

At the cafe next door, Yoongi scans his wristband and comes back to the booth with a pot of steaming tea and two cups.

The tea is fragrant, some sort of herbal blend. You think it suits him.

You wonder what he thinks of you.

‘Tell me about Namjoon,’ you suggest.

Yoongi gathers his thoughts. ‘He’s a good man. He loves fully and wholeheartedly. He appreciates art and music.’ 

He looks at you. ‘His partner is just like him. He calls her Angel.’ There’s a flicker of something wistful in his eyes as he talks about Namjoon and Angel. 

You sense there’s more to the story but you don’t want to pry.

You put your hand on his arm. ‘Let’s go to the bookshop.’

Namjoon’s bookstore is warm, welcoming, like you’d expected.

Namjoon himself is like Yoongi, almost intimidating in his good looks until he smiles and dimples appear in his cheeks. Angel is beautiful, even with the scars running along her arm. It’s obvious they’re very much in love.

Yoongi’s greeted with affection, pulled into hugs he pretends not to enjoy. The brightness of his eyes gives him away.

Namjoon takes you to the back office to show you a printed version of a classic book you love published in the early 21st century. 

You admire it and ask if Yoongi has any favourite authors. 

Namjoon laughs and says that he prefers music and to ask him to play you some one day. 

When you’re back in the shop Yoongi turns to you. ‘Want to go get some food?’ 

You tuck your arm into his as you leave Namjoon and Angel. 

There’s a light rain falling from the purple sky. Rain isn’t as toxic as it was before the global carbon cull. 

Yoongi and you are waiting to cross the street when a hub lands too close to you, right in a huge puddle. 

Yoong’s quick on his feet, grabbing your arm and turning you around like he’s spinning you in a tango. 

The movement keeps you dry from the resulting splash and, more distractingly, pulls you close against his chest. 

He holds you for a beat, two, then he drops his arms, loosening his grip. 

You look up into his intense gaze. 

‘You’re quick,’ is all you can think to say. 

Yoongi smiles. ‘I’m wet,’ he tells you. He’s right, he’d put himself directly in the path of the splash, and his back, even the ends of his hair, are wet. 

‘Thanks for pulling me out of the way,’ you say. 

Yoongi shrugs, not looking at you. ‘Your dress is pretty,’ is all he offers as an explanation. 

You end up going to Yoongi’s place so he can change. 

His living pod is small, functional, free of clutter.

There’s another black jacket hanging off a bar stool next to the breakfast bar. There’s a real piano in the corner. You haven’t seen one in years.

Yoongi calls from the next room, ‘help yourself to a drink if you want.’

You look out the tiny window at the view of the city. 

Yoongi comes out, dressed in a white tee and black pants. His chain’s half in, half out of the neck of his tee. 

You step forward and pull it out, arranging it around his neck. Your knuckles brush the warm skin of his neck.

You put a hand on his chest. 

‘There, perfect,’ you say.

Yoongi looks at you quietly. 

‘Thanks,’ he says. His voice is gravelly, you like it.

Christ, you like everything about him.

‘No problem,’ you say, stepping back.

You clasp your hands to stop yourself touching him again. ‘Food?’

***

Yoongi walks you to your place after dinner.

You’re thinking, trying to come up with an excuse for seeing him again.

He stops by your door. 

‘If you like games, maybe we can check out this other arcade sometime,’ you say. 

Yoongi looks at you.

‘I’m not much of a gamer,’ he says.

You try not to let your disappointment show on your face.

‘Sure,’ you say. You muster a smile. ‘Thanks for dinner, Yoongi, and for taking me to Namjoon’s store.’

You’ve turned away to press your wrist band against the entry scanner when he says, ‘do you like music? There’s an old school rapper performing in the Renaissance Quarter this weekend. I have two tickets.’

You’re smiling, turning back around. ‘Sure.’

‘Who do you think you’re going to bring?’ he asks.

He acts like he’s reaching for his wristband to ping the tickets over to you, and your face drops.

He looks up, and you haven’t the time to change your expression.

He smiles then, lips curving, flashing his perfectly straight teeth.

‘I’m just fucking with you because you’re so cute,’ he says. ‘I’ll pick you up on Saturday, ok?’

He leans close, lips brushing your cheek, and then he’s walking away.

He’s gone before you can even think of anything to say.

***

Yoongi looks incredibly attractive in black, you think to yourself. You sneak a glance at him walking alongside you.

Without turning his head, he says, ‘something on my face?’

‘No, just your face,’ you reply. You smile. ‘You look pretty.’

Yoongi turns to you, eyes flicking down to the area of skin exposed by a cutout on your top.

‘You look beautiful,’ he says. 

You’re thinking about the compliment as he scans his wristband and the door to the underground club opens.

The atmosphere is pulsing with energy and a hypnotic beat, and it’s crowded. Yoongi wraps a hand around your wrist and shoulders his way through the throng of people. He nods to someone, and moments later drinks are brought over.

He passes you a glass, then pulls you closer gently as more people pass behind you. His thumb lands right where the skin of your ribcage is bare, and you can’t help the sound you make.

Yoongi’s eyes snap to yours. His thumb strokes over your skin, and you press your lips together so you don’t moan.

He licks his lips, eyes on you.

The pulse of the bassline feels heavy, thick, making your thoughts scatter. Everytime they reform you think about his lips on yours.

Your cunt tightens at the idea.

Yoongi moves his hand to an area of your torso covered by clothing, but he doesn’t let go.

You lean into him a little, sipping your drink.

The lights dim, and the show starts.

It’s you who initiates things, in the end.

He seems content to nod his head, sip his drink, listen to the verses. 

You put a hand on his shoulder and press a kiss to the hollow between his collarbones. Your bottom lip presses on the chain around his neck.

You pull away, and he’s looking at you.

Then he slides a hand under your jaw and kisses you back. 

He tastes like whiskey, like honey, warm and sweet. His lips are firm, you can feel his confidence in the way he nibbles at your bottom lip. The way his tongue licks into your mouth.

You love kissing, and Yoongi’s a good kisser. 

He’s turned himself to face you completely now, and you’re thankful for his solid strength because your knees are a little weak right now.

Yoongi puts a hand on the small of your back, drawing you closer.

‘Let’s go to mine,’ he says.

The walk to his home pod is filled, for you, with anticipation. He holds your hand the whole way, thumb smoothing over your skin almost absently.

He scans himself in and turns you around, pressing you against the door.

You tip your head back and your lips meet again. He leans an arm against the door, wraps the other one around your waist, and kisses you, long, slow, deep.

Your hands flutter over his sides before you give in and slide them around his back, under his jacket.

He moves his hand so it’s against the cutout on your top, directly against your skin.

His thumb circles the bared side of your breast, and you sigh.

You hook your fingers in his belt and pull him closer.

He tears his lips away from yours just long enough to say, ‘my bed,’ and then you’re stumbling through the doorway of his bedroom with him, shedding clothes along the way. 

You tumble onto his bed in a tangle of limbs and bare skin. His hand slides between your legs and he groans when he feels the wet warmth of your cunt. He lowers his head to taste you, and you nearly come undone at the first stroke of his tongue.

Yoongi pushes your legs apart to better display you for him. He presses his mouth to you, lips sealing over your swollen clit, and you can’t stop the sounds that fall from your lips.

Yoongi moans against your folds, a rasp in his voice that wasn’t there before. He buries his tongue in your pussy, reaching deep inside you.

You’re lost, whining and gasping as he makes you sticky and wet and licks it all up.

You grab his forearm and tug him up to your face.

‘Get inside me, Yoongi.’

Yoongi’s hard, thick as he pushes into you.

He grunts a little, a furrow between his brows, teeth stuck into his bottom lip, shiny still from you.

You cant your hips to ease the slide, and he grabs your ass as he rocks in, to the hilt. 

‘You good?’ he asks, laying a kiss on your cheek, eyes searching yours. 

‘Depends,’ you say, unable to stop the silly smile on your face. ‘You gonna fuck me good?’ 

Yoongi smirks at you, cocky, devastatingly gorgeous. 

He starts moving, slow at first, trying to find out what you like. He fucks you like he doesn’t give a shit who can hear you, grunting, moaning, hissing when you lift your hips to his. 

You hadn’t expected him to be so vocal, and to enjoy listening to him so much. 

Yoongi groans, deep in his chest, when you tell him you’re cumming. 

‘Fuck.’ He hooks a hand under your knee to slam into you harder, grinding against you. 

You grab his ass, nails digging in, and he groans again. 

You say his name, and he grabs you, mouth hot and sloppy on yours, as he fills you. 

He collapses on top of you, breathing hard. 

You think you could get used to the weight of him. 

Yoongi gets up first. He reaches for the briefs he shed, and you stare at his bare back. 

There are two vertical lines of scar tissue running down his back, raised areas of skin that look reddened, angry. 

You catch him staring at you staring at him, in his bedroom mirror. 

‘Does it hurt?’ you ask. 

‘Not anymore,’ he says. There’s a tension in his voice you don’t fully understand. 

He leaves the room and brings you back a glass of water, sitting on the bed next to you. He runs a hand through his hair. 

‘I need to go and see Namjoon,’ he tells you. 

There’s no inflection in his voice now, he’s sitting next to you but he feels distant. 

You wonder if it’s because you were staring at his scars. 

‘Sure,’ you say, easy. ‘I’ll get dressed.’ 

You gather your clothes and get dressed quickly. 

His expression is unreadable. 

‘I had a nice time,’ you say, because you don’t want to just leave him, not like this. 

‘Yeah, me too,’ Yoongi replies, but he doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t make a move to kiss you or touch you. 

You let yourself out and wonder what you’ve done wrong. 

***

It’s been a week or so since you last saw Yoongi, and there’s been no contact. 

You’d thought about getting in touch, but keep remembering the way he’d been before you’d left. 

You’re picking up groceries at the corner stop near your place, trying to decide between apples and oranges, when you catch a glimpse of a familiar black jacket and dark hair out of the corner of your eye. 

It’s Yoongi.

Your first instinct is to turn away, face hot. 

You stare at the fruit in front of you blindly. You don’t know if you want him to see you or not. 

A voice next to you says, with barely concealed amusement, ‘It’s a tough choice.’ 

You look over at Yoongi. He’s looking at the oranges. 

‘Yeah,’ you say. ‘I’m getting apples. It’s nice to see you, Yoongi.’ 

You smile politely and start to walk past him. 

To your surprise, he follows you. 

‘How’ve you been?’ he asks. He sounds like he’s interested in the answer. 

You flick your eyes at him. ‘Yeah, good.’ You wait a beat. ‘You?’ 

‘I’m ok,’ he says. 

You head for a kiosk to pay and bag up your fruit, a bunch of apples you don’t really want but chose so you wouldn’t have to reach past Yoongi. 

He puts a hand on your bag. ‘Let me carry these for you.’ 

You eye him. ‘Why?’ 

He shrugs. ‘Apples are heavy.’ 

His ridiculous statement pulls a laugh from you, and then he’s leading you out of the store, your bag slung over his shoulder. 

‘You could just say you want to carry them for me,’ you suggest. 

You’d wanted to make him work to talk to you again, after he ghosted you for a week, but you can’t help yourself. You’ve missed him. 

Yoongi looks at you but doesn’t say anything. 

‘Like the other day, when you said my dress was pretty. You could have just said you didn’t want me to get the splash from the puddle.’ 

You nod to yourself. 

‘It’s romantic anyway,’ you tell him, reassuring. 

Yoongi’s lips quirk up, and then he leans forward, pressing a kiss to your parted lips. 

‘You’re cute,’ he says. 

His words are sweet, but it’s the look in his eyes that warms you, setting your heart aflutter. 

‘Why haven’t you got in touch?’ you feel brave enough to ask. 

‘I wasn’t sure that this was a good idea,’ he says. 

Your fluttering heart stops. 

‘You mean us dating? Or us fucking?’ 

You’re almost afraid to hear the answer. 

You’ve reached the front of your building. 

Yoongi says, gently, ‘Can I come up? We should talk.’ 

Your home pod isn’t as neat and functional as Yoongi’s, and you would have tidied up if you’d expected company.

You scoop a handful of washed lace panties off the sofa and toss them on your bed. 

‘Laundry day,’ you say. 

Yoongi’s standing politely by the sofa. 

‘Tea?’ you offer. 

Yoongi accepts the mug you hand to him. 

‘The thing is,’ he says, once you’ve sat down next to him, ‘I’m an angel.’ 

You don’t know what you’d been expecting him to say, but it hadn’t been that. 

***

Yoongi says, ‘Remember that first night we met? I approached you because there was a demon watching you.’

You frown. ‘Watching me?’

Yoongi’s jaw tightens. ‘He would have hurt you, badly.’

A shiver runs down your spine.

‘Are you a —-‘ 

You feel stupid, but you say it anyway. ‘Are you a guardian angel?’

Something flickers in Yoongi’s gaze.

‘I’m not a good angel,’ he tells you.

You think about the scars on his back.

‘Also, you’re not the —‘ he pauses, formulating his words. ‘You’re not the focus of why I’m here, in this place. I’m here for Namjoon.’

You wait for him to explain.

‘I told you Namjoon and I are brothers,’ Yoongi says, carefully.

You’re trying to put the pieces together in your head.

‘Is Namjoon an angel?’

Yoongi pauses again, and you sense this is difficult for him. 

‘Namjoon was an angel. He fell in love with a human and he gave up immortality for her.’ Yoongi sighs out a breath, and you can feel the fatigue in his voice.

‘This was a millennium ago, in the 21st century.’

There’s something here he’s not saying. 

‘He dies, and every time he comes back, he looks for her.’

‘Angel,’ you breathe. 

Yoongi nods. ‘It’s ironic that he calls her Angel, not because she isn’t good, but because he was the angel.’

Yoongi looks out your little window at the darkness outside. ‘I want him to always be happy, whatever life he’s living.’ He sounds wistful now, you can hear his love for Namjoon in his voice.

He looks at you. ‘So if they don’t find each other, I help.’

He smiles. ‘They’ve managed to find each other the last few times, though, without me.’ 

You’re awed by his devotion to Namjoon. 

‘How can you call yourself a bad angel?’ you ask, softly. ‘What you’re doing is the definition of love.’

Yoongi looks uncomfortable. ‘Angels aren’t meant to pursue their own thing like this. I should be helping.’

‘More. Others,’ he finishes, when you keep looking at him.

‘You helped me,’ you point out. ‘Doesn’t that count?’

‘That’s different. I couldn’t — let him hurt you.’

You’re rubbing his back, you’re not sure when you started, but he’s stretching out on your bed in front of you, skin warming under your touch.

Your fingers brush the scars you know are there, and he shivers.

‘Sensitive?’ you ask.

‘I got a demon I saved to carve them off. I don’t deserve them,’ Yoongi tells you. His expression is blank now save for the anguish in his eyes.

Your heart, already soft for him, melts a little more.

‘Your wings?’ you ask.

He nods. He’s having difficulty looking you in the eyes. 

You lift his shirt up and kiss down his smooth back, following the line of his spine, the dip at his waist.

His skin seems sensitive over his scars, so you don’t touch them.

You reach around the front of him to undo his pants, and he tries to turn around, but you stop him.

‘Stay still, Yoongi. Let me love you.’

You tug his pants off, then sit up and slip your dress over your head.

You kiss the back of his neck, nipping at his skin with your teeth. 

You turn him on his side, snuggling close, pressing your bare breasts against his back.

You slide a hand around the front of him, down to where his cock is rigid, smooth like velvet over stone.

Yoongi groans, vocal in that way he is that makes your cunt clench for him.

You turn him over, flat on his back.

You slide his cock between your folds, letting him feel how wet and slick you are for him.

Your hands stroke over his bare chest, and he hisses when you pinch his nipple. 

You’re so wet now that you can see the gleam of your arousal on his skin. Pre-cum leaks from his tip, and his cock is now so hard it looks painful.

You lean back, supporting yourself on your hands, and take his cock in, sheathing him to the hilt.

Yoongi looks up at you, face and chest flushed, a sheen of sweat on his face, hair sticking to his forehead.

‘Can I move?’ he asks, voice strained, low.

‘Do it, Yoongi,’ you say, teeth sunk into your bottom lip.

He grabs your hips and helps you ride him. You climb higher with every pass of your hips over his, and when your thighs tighten and tremble, he pulls you to him and turns you both over, fucking into you until the last waves of your orgasm subside.

You’re not sure when he cums, blissed out as you are taking his cock, but eventually he presses an open mouthed kiss to your jaw and stills.

‘Fuck,’ he says, his heart still beating so hard you can feel it against you.

It seems an apt summation of recent events.

You smile at him, affectionate. ‘You thought you were gonna tell me about saving my ass and I wasn’t gonna fuck you stupid?’

Yoongi stares at you then, mouth still open. 

Then he laughs and kisses you again.

***

Yoongi spends a lot of time out of his living pod, you realise once you start seeing him more often.

You’re not sure where he goes, you don’t want to pry and he doesn’t volunteer the information.

It gets to be a regular thing, him stopping by at the weekend.

You’re running a diagnostic on your heating system, the heater’s on the fritz and the weather’s getting colder, when Yoongi asks if you’ll meet him at the snapball pitch near his.

Namjoon and Angel are playing in a match when you join Yoongi in the viewing pod. 

Yoongi looks pleased to see you, well, as pleased as he ever looks. You’ve started to tease him about his lack of happy expressions, they’re all just variations of grumpy and put upon. 

‘Do you play?’ you ask. 

‘Only if I have to,’ he tells you. 

You yawn and stretch next to him, and you spot the way his eyes drop to the band of your lacy panties, just visible below where your top’s hiked up. 

‘See something you like?’ you ask. 

‘I like all of it,’ he tells you, poking his tongue in his cheek. 

‘It?’ you ask. 

‘You. I like all of you,’ he corrects. 

‘I like you too,’ you tell him. You slip your hand under his, laying on his thigh. 

His hand tightens over yours, briefly. 

‘Let’s get out of here,’ he says. 

‘I thought we were watching a match,’ you protest. 

‘I can sit here for the next hour watching the match and thinking about fucking you, or we can go now and spend the next hour fucking,’ Yoongi says. 

‘Can we go to yours? My heating’s down.’ 

‘What’s wrong with it?’ Yoongi asks. 

‘I’m running a diagnostic now,’ you tell him. 

Yoongi says, ‘Let me take a look.’ 

At your place, Yoongi rolls up his shirtsleeves and gets to work. 

You spend the time pretending to make tea but really watching the way his forearms flex as he works. 

Finally he says, ‘just re-booting now.’ 

Your heating clicks on and you grab his arm as the floor and walls heat up. 

Yoongi sits up from where he’s been sprawled on the floor fixing your heating. 

‘It’ll get warmer now. You’ll be able to take some layers off.’ 

His voice is carefully neutral. 

His eyes meet yours. 

You unzip your jacket and toss it on the couch. ‘Like this?’ 

He hums. 

You grin at him as you slip your top over your head. ‘LIke this?’ 

Yoongi’s gaze drops to your lace-covered breasts. 

‘Like that,’ he agrees. 

You unbutton your pants and slip them down. 

‘Like this?’ you ask. 

Yoongi’s hand curls over the front of his pants, outlining his hardening cock. 

‘Just like that,’ he says, voice gravelly, low. 

He starts walking to you, and you let him back you into your bedroom, onto your bed. 

He puts a hand on your neck and pushes you back onto the bed. 

You’ve barely time to squeak in surprise before he’s hooking his thumbs in your lacy panties, slipping them down and off you. 

He taps your chin. ‘Open.’ 

Your lips part, and Yoongi pushes your panties into your mouth, thumb brushing your lower lip briefly. 

His fingers curl under your jaw. ‘Close.’ 

You look at him, wide-eyed. 

‘I want to see if you can be quiet for me,’ he says. ‘Can you do that?’ 

He pulls you down to the edge of the bed and kneels between your legs. 

He spreads your legs apart. ‘Pretty,’ he says, admiring your cunt. He leans his head forward and licks your cunt quickly. 

You cry out, muffled by your panties. 

Yoongi’s lips press against your cunt, and he kisses you, sloppy, wet. 

He grunts as you gush onto his face. He hooks his forearm around your thighs, holding you still as he moves his head, lips and tongue working between your legs.

You reach down to curl your fingers in his hair, tugging gently. Yoongi comes off your clit with a smack of his lips, and slaps your pussy with his free hand. 

‘More, baby?’ he asks.

You don’t think you could form words even if your mouth wasn’t filled with your panties.

Yoongi swears then. ‘Fuck, you look so good.’

He goes back to kissing your cunt, tongue licking into you.

His thumb teases over your clit, and you cry out, muffled, as you cum.

Yoongi waits until you’re loose-limbed and boneless on the bed, then he taps your chin.

‘Open.’

Your lips part, and he hooks a finger into your mouth, pulling your panties out.

They’re barely out before he leans down and kisses you.

‘You did great, baby,’ he praises.

You can feel him pressing against your folds. You shift your leg and he plunges into you.

‘Yoongi,’ you cry, breathlessly.

‘Let me hear how much you like my cock,’ he utters, hips rocking against yours.

He pulls out, then pushes his way back in. You’re so wet the glide is frictionless. 

Yoongi looks down at you, eyes so dark they look all black. 

You moan helplessly as he fucks you. His thrusts are slow, deliberate, building you up so he can take you apart again.

You marvel at his patience.

‘One more,’ he urges. 

You writhe under him as he moves. He looks so beautiful like this, brows furrowed, pupils blown all the way, jaw tense.

You curl your legs around his hips, and Yoongi groans.

‘Love, I can’t —-‘

He doesn’t finish his sentence, but you wouldn’t have heard it anyway. You’re cumming again, pulsing around his cock, and you can feel the gush of wetness inside you as he spills. 

He calls your name, and you hold him close to you, anchoring him until his thrusts slow and he collapses on top of you, spent.

***

Some days with Yoongi are spent talking about all the things he’s seen, about his brothers, who he sees often when he skips between realms.

He speaks with such love it even makes cynical you feel warm inside.

Some days are spent with him inside you more hours than not. He’s got so much affection to give you can’t help but like him more and more the more time you spend with him.

He’s finally pulled out of you, and you’re still warm from his skin and his cum when he reaches into his jacket and hands you a small box.

‘Here,’ he says.

You raise an eyebrow at him. ‘What’s this?’

‘Wasn’t it your birthday last week?’ he asks.

Your heart races as you lift the lid and see the silver necklace inside. It’s got a tiny pendant in the shape of wings.

‘Yoongi this is beautiful,’ you say, eyes glowing with pleasure. 

He looks at you for a moment, then leans forward and quickly presses a kiss to your lips.

‘What did I do before I met you?’ he asks. 

‘Who knows what you did,’ you agree.

You hold it out. ‘Can you put it on me?’

You pull your hair up so he can see. He fastens the necklace around your neck, then presses another kiss to the back of your neck.

You turn, and his eyes drop to the necklace on your otherwise bare chest.

‘Stunning,’ he says, so seriously that you can feel your cheeks heat.

He just smiles at your discomfiture. ‘Why are you pretending to be shy when my cum’s still inside you?’

He slips a finger between your legs and scoops up his cum, pushing it back inside you. 

‘What a waste, baby.’

You moan as he fingers you. You’re sensitive still from your last fuck, but he feels so good.

Yoongi curls his fingers, and you moan again.

He gives you a half smile, nodding in satisfaction when you tighten around his fingers. 

‘Luckily, there’s plenty more where that came from,’ he tells you, spreading your legs and settling himself in between them.

***

Yoongi and Namjoon are arguing about something ridiculous, the low rumble of their voices a comforting background to the dinner he and Angel are hosting.

Angel tops up your drink, waving away your protests. 

‘Yoongi’s walking you home, isn’t he?’

She’s got a point. You gaze at Yoongi, aware that you’ve got a ridiculous smile on your face but unable to do anything about it.

She puts her hand on your arm. ‘He seems really happy. Half the arguments he has with Namjoon these days are purely out of habit. He speaks very highly of you.’

You’re sure she’s exaggerating. 

‘We haven't been together long,’ you say, vaguely, downplaying it.

You think about Angel’s words as you head home on Yoongi’s arm.

You love their love story, and you love Yoongi’s devotion to his brother. 

You’re just not sure where you fit in to all of this.

Yoongi touches your cheek. ‘Hey, where are you?’

You smile at him. ‘Just thinking.’

‘Yeah?’ he asks. ‘About what?’

‘About your fat cock,’ you say immediately.

Yoongi snorts. ‘That’s a given. What are you really thinking?’

‘About the meaning of life,’ you say, solemnly. You lay your head on his shoulder.

‘I get infro - introspective when I’m drunk,’ you inform Yoongi. ‘But also horny. Can we fuck?’

‘Always,’ Yoongi vows. 

Afterward, you’re laying with your head on Yoongi’s chest. 

He knits his fingers through yours. 

‘Do you ever think about where we go from here?’ he asks.

You’re too drunk, and too emotional to talk about this right now.

All you know is you’re happy now, in the today.

Tomorrow can wait.

You press a kiss to his chest. ‘Did I not make you cum hard enough, my love? Why are you still awake?’

Yoongi laughs. 

When he speaks again, you’re drifting off to sleep. 

You think he says he loves you, but you couldn’t swear to it.

***

Yoongi’s watching you eat crepes, amusement in his eyes.

‘Why do you always eat crepes like it’s the last time you’re going to eat them?’ he asks.

You shrug. ‘This place could shut down tomorrow,’ you say, seriously. ‘You need to enjoy things whilst they last.’

Yoongi rolls his eyes. ‘If this place shuts down, I’ll learn how to make you crepes, since you like them so much.’

‘Put that in writing,’ you retort. 

You exchange a smile.

You sip your tea and look out the glass front of the autocafe. 

It’s early morning, but there’s already a tonne of people around, going about their day.

You spot Namjoon and Angel in snapball kit crossing the path in front of the autocafe.

Further up, a sudden flurry of movement catches your eye. 

It’s a terrestrial hub, one used for ferrying groups of people, and it’s going fast. Too fast.

Angel’s on the pavement, but Namjoon, lagging behind, is directly in its path.

You’re up, dashing out the door, shouting out a warning, but everything’s moving too slow, Namjoon is too slow.

You take a look back at Yoongi, a few steps behind you.

He’s looking at you, mouth open in a shout.

You think he says your name.

You know he cares about you.

You know how much he loves Namjoon. 

And you love Yoongi. You love him so much it hurts.

You take three steps and plow straight into Namjoon, pushing him out of harm’s way.

You have time to wonder if this is the right thing.

You have the sense of a tremendous impact. Then, nothing.

***

Lifetimes later

It’s a particularly busy day at the diner. Autocafes are out of fashion now, the current trend is for human contact, human service.

Customer service is a total ballache, in your opinion.

People suck.

You wonder when androids will go back into fashion again.

You go to greet your latest customer, a dark-haired man sitting alone.

You put on your best smile. 

‘Hello, welcome to the diner. What can I get you?’

He looks at you, and you realise how attractive he is.

Dark hair, pushed back from his face and long enough to touch his collar. Dark eyes, an almost uncomfortably intense gaze. Creamy skin you want to lick.

There’s a silver chain around his neck, an unusual design, probably vintage, with a pendant in the shape of wings.

‘What would you recommend?’ he asks. 

He doesn’t look away from you, looking at you like he’s drinking you in.

It would be weird if he wasn’t so hot.

And oddly familiar.

You smile at him, friendly. ‘I like the crepes,’ you offer.

He laughs a little. ‘I learned how to make crepes at home, years ago. We’ll see how these compare to mine.’

You put in his order and bring him some tea.

When you collect his plate, you ask, ‘how were they?’

He smiles. ‘They were good. I can make better though. I’ve been perfecting the recipe for years.’

He pauses. ‘You should let me make them for you sometime.’

You love his confidence. ‘Sure,’ you say, easy.

‘Also, what time do you finish work today? Can I take you for a drink after?’

You look at him, considering.

He looks back at you. 

Your gaze falls to the wings around his neck.

‘Sure,’ you say. 

He holds out a hand. ‘I’m Min Yoongi,’ he says. You clasp his hand and shake. He’s warm. You like the way he feels.

‘Y/N L/N.’

At the end of your shift, Yoongi’s waiting outside for you.

Darkness is starting to fall, but there’s enough light to see he’s as gorgeous as you remember.

You’re waiting to cross the road when a hub lands in a huge puddle by the side of the road.

Yoongi tugs your arm, turning you away from the resulting splash. 

You end up pressed against his chest. 

You’re opening your mouth to thank him, but you falter when you see the tenderness in his eyes.

‘I never wanted you to be splashed by the puddle,’ he tells you.

You have the oddest sense of deja vu.

You almost want to ask him about his phrasing, but he’s already turning away, holding out his arm for you to take.

You put your hand in the crook of his arm. You like the way he feels.

You have a good feeling about this.

©hamsterclaw 2022

[stabbyfoxandrew]

Hello, could I have Arsonist Neil? I love this au so much!! Thank you!!

WIP Wednesday (9/13) | Arsonist Neil / Firefighter Andrew AU

At around eight, Andrew rolls out of bed without sleeping a wink. And he goes to the kitchen to find the rest of the crew in the middle of pancakes. He takes his seat at the far end of the table and waits for Kevin to pass him a plate. Kevin is Wymack’s son, so he hangs around the station a lot even though he's not park of the crew. Pancakes are the only things Kevin can cook. They eat pancakes a lot. But Andrew doesn’t mind. He likes pancakes.

“So,” Wymack starts as Andrew stabs his fork into his food. “I called up some of my colleagues and it turns out there’s been a string of self-reported arsons across the state. From what I’ve heard, he always calls from a burner phone and—”

Andrew laughs through his nose, because he's had no sleep and there’s a pun buried somewhere in that statement. And when Boyd realizes it he laughs aloud, to Wymack’s annoyance. 

“Matt, there’s an actual psycho out there burning buildings down in our district. It’s not funny!” Wilds says.

“Oh, come on.” Boyd raises his hands. “Arsonist, burner phone. That’s kinda funny.”

“Not to me,” Kevin says dryly. Then he takes his plate to the other room so he doesn’t have to hear the details. Wymack claps him on the shoulder on his way out.

“You—” Wymack points at Andrew, who shrugs.

“I didn’t say a word. In fact, I’m the only one not interrupting.” Andrew says. “Besides Renee.”

Wymack huffs. “Anyway, this guy starts his fires then calls the nearest fire station—”

“Not 911?” 

“Nope. He knows the direct numbers.” Wymack answers. “And he speaks with a different accent every time. That call last night, he sounded British. I can’t remember the one before that, maybe the same. But he’s always polite to whoever picks up the phone. Always makes sure to say thank you.”

“How strange,” Renee says. And Andrew couldn’t agree more. What a novelty, a good-mannered arsonist with pretty blue eyes.

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@traveling-khajiit: How quickly do you realize that chapter needs a rewrite? Is it easy for you to make those decisions of what to throw out/change?

Well, I am an extremely messy writer. I almost never sit down to write a chapter beginning to end. I write scenes, moments, snatches of conversation, then develop them out. This means that I do sometimes end up writing several different versions of the same scene and have to combine or delete them. Not very efficient but that is just how my brain works. Final drafts are all about the vibe and rhythm and atmosphere and I cut what jars. Most of the stuff that gets cut that I like ends up somewhere else in the story.

There are some scenes that never made it in anywhere. Here's some extracts from those.

In "Bombs", there was originally a scene with them talking in the rose garden. But it just repeated the beats of what they discuss later, when he gives her the knife, so I didn't keep it.

There was a scene where Snow hosts a dinner party and the guy Katniss is chatting with thinks she's basically a sex worker and grabs her thigh, and Katniss stabs him with a fork. That was fun, but it didn't accomplish much that "Killings" didn't already accomplish, and it was hard to imagine anyone would be stupid enough at that point to grab the thigh of the president's wife.

The mayor of District 2 puts his hand on her thigh. Katniss has two thoughts. The first thought is: Only Snow touches me like that. The second thought is: The forks are the closest weapon. She doesn’t think about the rest. It’s pure instinct to reach out, grab a little fork, and drive it with all the force she possesses into the man’s large, spider-body hand. And then he’s screaming, and everybody is looking at them: first in alarm, then in confusion. ‘You bitch!’ shouts the man. ‘You fucking stabbed me! You crazy bitch!’ All eyes are now on Katniss. She regards them with the same coolness she has watched Snow employ a thousand times. ‘He put his hand on my thigh,’ she says; and then, in case this is not sufficient, she clarifies: ‘Only my husband is allowed to do that.’

There was a scene where they ate breakfast together and Katniss was in full dissociation mode. (I remember having my biggest anxiety attack writing that one.)

Pancakes again. Katniss turns them over with her fork, over and over. They’re always making her pancakes. Is it because they know her mother made them? Is it to try to make her feel better, remind her of home? Or hurt her? Make her miss what she can’t have? She cuts them into little pieces and makes towers. She builds the town hall of District 12 and the square, and she smiles as she makes the street with the bakery. She imagines Peeta, coming and going from the little pancake house. He would think it was funny to live in a pancake.

Sulla dress scene was funny:

She turns her back to Snow. ‘Unzip me?’ ‘What? No.’ The refusal comes too fast. There is that edge of discomfort in his voice that even at his most guarded he is unable to suppress. Katniss keeps smiling. She shrugs. ‘Okay.’ She opens the hovercraft door and sticks out her head. ‘Sulla?’ she calls. Snow sits and watches and does an admirable job concealing whatever he’s feeling as his head of security appears at the doorframe. ‘Ma’am?’ Katniss presents him with her back. ‘Sulla, would you unzip my dress?’ There is a moment of silence which must surely be the most uncomfortable of Sulla’s life as he tries to process this request and analyze the situation. Snow gives a sharp sigh. ‘Get out, Sulla.’ Obviously relieved, Sulla nods his curt goodbye and leaves rather more quickly than he entered. Katniss smiles. She waits expectantly as Snow comes to stand behind her. She can feel his breath on the back of her neck, she can smell him. She feels a shift in the fabric as Snow pinches it, finding the zip, trying not to touch any other part of her back. ‘You don’t like other men touching me, do you?’ ‘Not particularly.’ ‘Why?’ She hears the sing of the zip and feels the pressure of her dress freeing her, and then she feels Snow’s presence retract. She turns and sees him sit again, keeping away from her, as though air and distance will be sufficient to cure the terrible cancer brewing between them. ‘You’re my wife. It’s not seemly for other men to touch you.’ His voice is absolutely immaculate.

And I also cut a lot of sexual stuff, Katniss masturbating, Katniss harassing Snow, them having to make out for the cameras, Katniss dressing very provocatively, lots of stuff. I didn't want it to get gratuitous though so lots of that got cut.