#tw: mentions of alcohol use

[simvanie]

7 Sins Legacy - generation 5 (gluttony)

Yasmine: Hey... I decided to drop by again to check on you while I have my break. How are you holding up? Temperance: I'm... managing. I hate that the last thing we did was argue over the phone- I wish that I just told him that I love him...

Yasmine: Oh Temperance... Don't be too hard on yourself. He knows that you love him. You couldn't know that this would happen. Temperance: It's been almost two days since I found him and everything since then feels so surreal... I wish I could just stay here-

-But I need to take care of the twins. They need their routine so I have to be there for them... Also thank you for bringing them some toys. Yasmine: Of course! We have more than enough in the children's ward. Just let me know if you need me to bring some more.

Temperance: Are there any new notes from his doctor? Yasmine: ...It says he hasn't made any progress overnight, but he also didn't get worse, which is good. And his vitals are still stable. Temperance: Do you know more? About... his condition?

Yasmine: This does sometimes happen. In Gulshan's case his excessive food consumption, his drinking and smoking addictions, working too much, stress, and not getting enough sleep all added up to his body shutting down... Which caused him fall into a coma.

-It's his body telling him that it can't go on like this any longer. It's very important that he changes his lifestye if he wakes up, otherwise it can happen again... And then the chance that he'll wake up is going to be smaller and smaller every time that happens.

Temperance: You said if he wakes up. Do you know what his chance of waking up is? ....And what if... what if he doesn't? Yasmine: I wish I knew, but the only thing we can do is just wait. Just try not to think too much about if he doesn't-

-I believe in my brother and have good hope that he'll pull through. I know he loves you. A lot. and I refuse to believe that he'll give up on that-

*alarm beeping*

Yasmine: That's my sign to go. One of my patients needs me-

-I'll drop by later if you're still here. And of course you can always ask any doctor to bring me here if you need me. Temperance: Thank you Yasmine. I really appreciate you. Yasmine: Of course! Anything to help.

[elderwisp]

◁ || ▷ now playing

Frances: Did you invite all of these people? Dan: Not really, but it’s fine. They’re supplying all the good shit. Mi casa es tu casa.

Frances: Like hell it is! The neighbors are gonna be so pissed- Hey watch the piano!

Dan: Frances. Chill. Have a drink, smoke a joint. Tranquilo tranquilo.

Frances: Hmm okay, but you’re cleaning up tomorrow.

Dan: Fine by me queen.

Frances: [ phone dings ] Oh my god, he actually came! I’ll be back.

Dan: That’s the guy?! Bitch he’s hot!!!

Kai: I see why she works so much. I’d do the same like yes sir. I’ll wipe anyone's ass for you.

Dan: I’m WEAK!

Frances: You made it.

Icarus: I promised you I’d be here, didn’t I?

Frances: Ah, yeah! I wanted to introduce you to some people if that’s cool.

Icarus: Lead the way.

Frances: Icarus. Dan. Dan. Icarus. Icarus. Kai.

Kai: Dude, what kind of introduction is that?

Icarus: [ snorts ]

Kai: Hey man, I just wanted to say, you’re really attractive.

Frances: JESUS KAI-

Kai: Someone hotboxed the bathroom earlier and I’m pretty sure I’m high. Can’t feel my cheeks.

Icarus: High Kai. 

Kai: I like him. 

Frances: Wonderful. [ mutters ] Kill me.

Dan: So you’re the reason why my girlfriend comes home late.

Icarus: Girlfriend? 

Dan: Yeah, you got a problem with the LGBT?

Icarus: No. No! 

Frances: Dan- Please don’t listen to her, we are very much friends. Guys, shut up.

Dan: Anyways, Icarus, our friend is silencing us so it was nice meeting you.

Icarus: Likewise.

Frances: Come on. I’ll show you around.

Icarus: Okay.

Dan: Hmm.. Do you think he likes her?

Kai: Definitely. I wouldn’t be surprised if they kissed already.

Dan: Oh they have. 

Kai: What?! [ giggles ] Oh my god, scandalous...

Kai: Speaking of scandalous… Who invited him?

Dan: Me, because he is still our friend. Be nice.

Dan: Hey loser- And girl? Hello. 

Syx: Sup. Y’all got a bathroom?

Dan: Imagine if I said no.

Syx: And then you point to a shrub.

Dan: PFFT! It’s right behind you.

Syx: Thank you!! 

Kai: I’m gonna grab a drink, want anything?

Dan: I’m good, be safe, drink water.

Kai: I’ll think about it.

Dan: Welcome to my apartment.

Ares: Nice, although I can’t see much due to the enormous crowd.

Dan: Honestly, I don’t know half of these people.

Ares: [ laughs ] Then how did they all get here?

Dan: I might’ve invited a bunch of people and used the phrase, invite your friends.

Ares: That’ll do it.

[temnayazima]

𝐲𝐞𝐬, 𝐢 𝐚𝐦 @𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. 𝐲𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜, 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐲𝐞𝐬, 𝐢 𝐚𝐦 @𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐬𝐭@𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬. 𝐲𝐞𝐬, 𝐢 𝐚𝐦 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧. 𝐲𝐞𝐬, 𝐩𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐱 𝐦𝐞.

[ryems01]

The 24th Sunrise

(Contains SPOILERS for Sunrise on the Reaping)

Read on A03 here

The reaping for the 74th Hunger Games from Haymitch's point of view.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Happy Birthday, Haymitch!” 

The haunting voice of my dead brother washes over me like ice water. I snap upright from where I was slumped across the kitchen table only to see Effie Trinket standing in front of me.

“Get ready,” she says, turning around. “It’s going to be a big, big, big day!” 

She must have grabbed my knife before waking me because I see her place it down at the end of the table. Just like that morning of the victor’s tour. Just like every birthday morning since the arena. 

“I can’t stay, now that I know you’re up. You know how it is, so much to prepare! Wash up, dress nice, and don’t forget to be in the square by two o’clock. Don’t be late.”

Effie has just opened the door to leave when she doubles back. “Happy Birthday, again, Haymitch.” I can hear the door close behind her.

Right. Today is my birthday. Today is the reaping for the 74th hunger games. Today marks twenty four years of celebrating by sending kids to their deaths. Twenty four sunrises on reapings I couldn’t stop. 

But time keeps moving. And Lenore Dove has condemned me to life with her last wish. So, instead, I ignore Effie’s instructions and convince myself I’m content with drinking into oblivion. Better to forget today ever happened than face that broken promise. 

I only realize I’m running late when I hear the mayor’s voice. Not from the speakers they’ve set up in the square, but from my living room. I brace myself against the table as I stand, the booze making me unsteady, and make my way over to the television. I can see the mayor beginning to recite the history of the hunger games, live on the capitol news station. Which means I’m really late. 

I take a minute to throw on a pair of shoes before leaving the house. Half my focus goes into moving as quickly as possible to avoid the peacekeepers who will surely drag me on stage if they think I’m trying to skip. The other half goes into not falling over as the ground moves beneath me.

Between the panic of being late and the haze that’s fully descending over my mind, I’m grateful for the seat I drop into upon climbing the stage steps. My head is drooping towards my chest, but I pick it back up at the sound of clapping. As I look out towards the crowd in front of me, I catch a shock of bright pink in my periphery. 

Suddenly, I’m back in the arena. Watching as those bubble gum colored birds tear at Maysilee. Except it’s not Maysilee sitting in front of me, it’s Effie. The only friend I have left. The only person I’ve allowed to get close over these twenty four years. I left my knife back at the house, but I reach out anyway to try and protect her. 

Except she pushes me back until I’m sitting again. With the extra space, I realize there are no birds. I’m at home in district twelve. And I’ve just knocked Effie’s pink hair out of place, which I’m sure I’ll hear about later.

I watch as she makes her way to the podium.

“Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!”

I don’t want to see her pull the names. To watch as she reaps another Maysilee, another Louella, another Wyatt, another Lou Lou. But there’s nothing I can do as Effie makes her way to the first glass bowl. 

She digs deep into the slips of paper. When she pulls one out, the crowd goes absolutely silent. All I hear are her heels striking the floor and my own heart trying to race out of my chest.

Effie reaches the podium, smooths out the slip of paper, takes a breath in and names this year’s female tribute.

“Primrose Everdeen,” she says in a clear voice.

Distantly, I can hear the crowd murmuring with displeasure. I’m too busy doing the math in my head. Twelve years old. That’s how old Asterid and Burdock’s youngest is as she walks towards the stage. 

Prim is just reaching the stage steps when I hear another voice call out from the crowd.

“Prim!” Her voice sounds tight, like she had to force the name out. Then it comes again louder, stronger, more desperate as Katniss Everdeen rushes to her sister. 

Katniss shoves Prim behind her as soon as she’s within reach and, for just a second, I swear I see myself standing in front of Sid. 

“I volunteer!” she gasps, staring straight at Effie Trinket. “I volunteer as tribute!”

And somehow, the thought of having to send Katniss into the arena is so much worse than sending Prim. Katniss, who reminds me so much of my best friend. Of my Sweetheart. Of myself. I’ve seen her selling game in the Hob in more recent years. She clearly knows how to wield a weapon and she’s smart enough to sell to the right people. With Prim, I could help her achieve that last wish, but she would never survive the Games. What makes Katniss so terrifying is that she might stay alive. And I wouldn’t wish the life of a Victor on anyone, let alone my best friend’s daughter.

“Prim, let go,” Katniss says harshly. “Let go!” 

I could always tell when Burdock was trying not to cry. He would get a deep wrinkle between his eyebrows. It isn’t until this moment that I realize Katniss has the same tell, watching that wrinkle get deeper as Prim clings to her from behind. 

Don’t do it Katniss. Don’t let him use your tears.

Thankfully, her savior comes from a tall Seam boy who grabs Prim, lifting her into the air and away from Katniss. Prim is thrashing, screaming, trying to get back to her sister, and I don’t hear what the boy mutters to Katniss. Whatever it is, it seems to help as that wrinkle disappears and Katniss climbs onto the stage.

“Well bravo! That’s the spirit of the Games!” Effie practically beams at Katniss.

I think the spirit of the Games is better reflected by Prim still trying to escape as she’s carried away.

“What’s your name?”

I think of that baby, held high in Burdock’s arms as she replies, “Katniss Everdeen.”

“I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don’t want her to steal all the glory, do we? Let’s give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!” 

Not a single person claps. Well, besides Effie but she’s always seen the games through the Capitol’s twisted point of view. 

Then, one person at a time, the crowd touches the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and holds it towards the stage. And I’m thrown back into another memory. Into that day, surrounded by people, staring at those graves. Of saying goodbye to Wyatt, Louella, Maysilee, Ma & Sid. I can feel the heat from the fire. From the explosives I set off in the arena, from the inferno that took my family. Red starts to fill my vision as I feed Lenore Dove a gumdrop.

My gaze moves from the crowd to who they’re saying goodbye to. To Katniss, who has inspired such unity from the district. Which is being broadcasted on live television. Where Snow might see. 

No more. Not again. No one else.

It’s all I can think as I stagger over to Katniss and throw my arm over her shoulders. It’s clumsy and I think she might be holding me up as I struggle to say something to take the attention off of her.

“Look at her. Look at this one!” For once, I wish I hadn’t made such an effort to forget a reaping. 

“I like her! Lots of…” One more word, any word, “Spunk!” I finally spit out.

I’m so tired of being afraid all the time. Of having to distance myself from people just to protect them.

Then I spot the camera and, well, old habits die hard I guess.

“More than you!” I scream as that red fills my vision again, stepping away from Katniss and towards the camera.

“More than you!” I’m pointing now. At the capitol. At Snow, if he’s watching. Since this is all his fault. 

I open my mouth to yell again, but I’ve forgotten how unsteady I am without the support of another person. Instead of stepping up to the lip of the stage, I go lurching over the edge. I feel weightless for a second before my vision blacks out.

Next Chapter

[aspd-culture]

aspd + probably delusional culture is feeling like some kind of substance abuse will fix you (it definitely wont but can't hurt to try right?) (it definitely can but oh well)

aspd-culture-is

[aspdboy]

ೀㅤㅤAlchie / Alchy

A flag for beings who are called/considered alcoholics or reclaim the word alchie / alchy for themselves. Can be used regardless of age.

⚠️ NOTE : for awareness and pro-recovery. not made to romanticize or encourage alcoholism, it's exclusively for those who suffer from alcohol addiction and alcohol addiction disorders.

 ྀི◟ ͜ ̣̣̥⠀ self-indulgent, flag by me. inspo from this post

[bayetea]

weird things I drew while intoxicated pt. 1

♡ my daily pjo art tag ♡

[fanged-fanfics]

Very specific fic ask with Vittorino, but could request an x fem reader fic of him introducing us to Accardi and Juliek? (Or him taking us to one of their little hangouts lol)

Thxxxx 💚

(P.S. you and your writing for 8:11 is super duper awesomesauce :P)

☆ Meeting The Trio — Vittorino x Fem Reader Fic ☆

Genre: Fluff || she/her pronouns for reader || TW/CW for implications/references to drug and alcohol use

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

You stood before a home unfamiliar to you, Vittorino beside you as he knocked on the door to it. You gave a cautious glance his way, and despite his stoicism, he gave you a brief smile. "I know these guys, don't worry. It's about time they met you, lord knows they've been asking for ages". You gave a little snort at that "I'm in high demand, huh?". "Just be careful" Vittorino replied "They're real vultures"

Before you could ask what that meant, the door pulled open, a man with a large pink fluffed accessory around his shoulders answering the door. "There you are! I was wondering when you'd make it, did you get stuck at-?" The man began, before his words abruptly cut once seeing you. "Oh.. one moment" he said, disappearing back into his home. After a few seconds of distant chatter, the pink man held open the door once again "Come in, come in, just don't get your shoes on my rug"

Once you entered, a man clad in mostly purple was awaiting inside on the couch. Bottles were on the table before it, and the pink one sat right next to the purple, leaning onto his shoulder. "This, Accardi, is that friend we've been waiting to see" he said, and the one revealed to be named Accardi looked to you. He gave you a reassuring, easy grin. You sat on the rug after taking off your shoes, beside Vittorino. "You've heard me mention her before, don't be coy, Juliek" Vittorino said. Juliek gave a grin as he sipped wine from a wide glass "No need to be so defensive, my dear priest, I'm just glad to see you're in such good company"

Vittorino just sighed, sliding out a tied bag from beneath his robes. He placed it on the table "I brought what we need. Home-brewed, as always". Before you could even get a glance, Accardi had snagged it up, Juliek quickly putting down his glass "You're a lifesaver, Vitto, you know that?". "I prefer miracle worker" Vittorino said with a little grin. He then stood, addressing you "I'll be heading to the kitchen, can't trip on an empty stomach. You need anything?" He asked you. "No, I'm okay" you said, giving Vittorino a smile that he returned before stepping out of the room.

As soon as you turned back, the eyes of his two friends were on you. Not judgemental or cruel... you think. The way they had such languidly confident grins made it seem hard to gague anything about them, but you knew they were sizing you up. "So, how did you do it?" Accardi asked. "Did what?" You asked back. "Get close to Vittorino" Juliek replied for his friend "We've been trying to get him out of that Basilica for ages, for more than just these little meetings we do. He's so withdrawn, we were surprised to hear he'd found company other than us"

"Ohhh. That's a little complicated, and it wasn't necessarily easy" You responded "But he's a good guy, I'm sure you two agree". "Eh, he's okay" Juliek shrugged. Accardi gave him a little nudge, before wrapping his arm around Juliek's shoulders. "He's been distant from us. We were worried, really. But you.. he hasn't stopped talking about you" Accardi said. You perked up a little at that "Really?". "Absolutely" Accardi responded "Almost every time he's around, we hear about this mysterious ally. You, as we came to learn". He then leaned forwards, and Juliek willingly let the man sip from his glass, holding it up for him. "You seem to keep him grounded" Juliek went on "It's nice, really. I was almost convinced he'd forgotten what sunshine was, with how pale he is"

You chuckled right as Vittorino came back, wiping the remnants of what he'd eaten off of his mouth "You're making a laugh out of me, Juliek? I wouldn't speak too loud if I were you". Juliek grinned rather than bristled, leaning into Accardi more "Nothing like that, don't worry that ragged head of yours over it. Just chatting with your friend". Vittorino went back to sitting beside you, leaning his shoulder against yours. "Don't listen to him, he'll peck at anything if it'll cause a rumor". "You say that like it's a bad thing" Accardi chuckled. Vittorino laughed with him, before having the bag slid his way. "Ah, right" Vittorino began, looking to you "I've told you what happens at these hangouts, you don't have to take part in it"

"Though it might help you loosen up" Juliek added in. Accardi pat his shoulder "Don't be that way, let her go at her own pace. She can make sure you don't do anything stupid". Juliek just huffed, pouring himself a full glass again. "Apologies in advance, ma'am" he said, giving you a more friendly smile "It's our way of bonding. We'll find a way to get you a cab, if you ever want to leave". "Thank you" you said with a returned smile, feeling Vittorino link his arm with yours as he leaned his head upon your shoulder. You returned it, patting his back. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

[asirensrage]

Saudade - Chapter 45

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Mikey x OC, Hanma x OC, Ran x OC, Mikey x OC x Draken Fandom: Tokyo Revengers Warnings: swearing, violence, threats of violence, murder, smoking, sex, consensual sex between teenagers, alcohol, recreational drug use, mention of trafficking, torture, family neglect, mentions of sexual violence. isekai OC. memory loss. unbeta’d **warnings are not exhaustive** Summary: No one seems to realize she doesn’t belong until she finally runs into her “new” brother, Hanagaki Takemichi. Now, hearing his story, Takara makes the choice to help him and hopefully find her way home, but faking it til you make it only lasts so long when you start losing the memories of the life you had before. As Takemichi becomes the only family she’s ever known, how far will she go to protect him?

notes: Sorry for the delay…aka not updating yesterday when I had planned. I meant to and just…forgot lol. I hope you're enjoying the fic so far. We have some…big things coming. As always, please let me know what you think! <3! Expect spoilers for the manga from here on out.

also on ao3 fic masterlist - prev chapter

When she’s sitting on Mikey’s lap, half naked and resting her chin on his shoulder, she makes a choice. She kisses his neck. “I think I’m ready to talk to Draken.”

His fingers trail up and down her back. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” she says softly. “It’s been too long and I can’t ignore him forever. Not when we’re doing this together,” she laughs slightly.

“Fucking?”

That makes her snort and she smacks him. “I’m not fucking him.”

He hums softly, kissing her shoulder. “He’s probably outside. Not talking to you might be killing him.”

“Mikey!” She sits up, looking at him. “You never told me.”

He shrugs. “He deserved it.”

Takara sighs softly before smiling and leaning forward to kiss him. He kisses her back instantly until she pulls away. “You’re so good to me,” her voice is quiet.

“You’re mine,” he says. “Promised to take care of you.”

“And I take care of you.” He kisses her again, harder this time before she breaks it. He chases her lips until she’s laughing as she leans away, pushing him back. “Okay, okay! Let me go talk to him.”

It takes five more minutes before he finally lets her go so they can both fix their clothing.

⛸️

Mikey follows her out, arm around her waist to keep her at his side and support her weight off her ankle. True to his word, Draken is outside the door as if he’s standing guard as he leans against the wall. Takara swallows at the pink on his cheeks.

“Hey,” she says softly, trying to ignore the fact that he clearly heard them. Again.

He looks down at her in surprise and she thinks she can see his shoulders drop as if in relief. “Hey.” There’s a moment of silence before he continues. “I need to talk to you.”

“I know,” she nods. “We can…” she stops herself from offering going back into the room she just had sex with Mikey in. “Let’s go do Karaoke.”

Both of the men turn to stare at her, confused. “What?”

“Karaok..” Mikey trails off, seemingly lost in thought.

Takara nods. “Yeah. We can talk there.” She’s not entirely sure why she suggests it, she’s never actually been to Karaoke before in this life, but maybe that’s why. It’s a neutral place where they won’t really be overheard or seen and if things go wrong, she’ll leave and never have to go back to face any potential bad memories. It’s all about mitigating the problems before they actually become one.

⛸️

Draken leads the way, paying for an hour in a karaoke room without grumbling. They grab drinks simply to erase any suspicion while Takara takes her time to browse through the song selection. If this goes well, she’ll have to come back. Maybe with Yuzuha. Just to try it out.

Once the door closes and the lights dim automatically, Takara sits down on the couch facing the television. Mikey sits next to her, thigh pressed against hers. Draken remains standing before he shoves the table over with his foot and kneels in front of her. Watching him bow, head to the floor in a deep apology makes her throat tighten.

“Dra-”

“I’m sorry,” he cuts her off. “I made a foolish mistake, one that sprung from memories of the last dinner I had in the Sano household. I didn’t mean to call you her name, Takara. I know you’re not her.”

“I–” she forces herself to take a deep breath, trying to keep herself from crying as she can feel the lump in her throat grow. “I don’t want to replace her.” Mikey’s arm moves, curling around her and lending her his strength in this moment. He’s stiff though, a reminder that they’re talking about his dead sister. Takara can’t imagine losing a sibling. She hopes she never does. She places a hand on his thigh, trying to ground both of them.

“You won’t. You aren’t,” he insists. Draken doesn’t raise his head though.

She doesn’t know if she believes him. The doubt festers in her, even as she's aware of how much he means this. He wouldn’t have his head to the ground if he didn’t. “I…I accept,” she finally says. They need to work together and even though his words have reopened old wounds, she needs to heal. Grief isn’t linear, she remembers someone once telling her. Accidents happen.

“Mikey, I owe you an apology to you too,” he says, still not moving from his position. “My actions ruined your birthday, one we should have all been celebrating together. It’s my fault. I broke a good moment with the reminder of your loss.”

Mikey seems to stiffen further and Takara looks over at him. His gaze has shuttered, eyes going blank like they do when he’s overwhelmed. She’s seen him too much like this. It’s only when he wakes up from the nightmares, remembering the feel of Emma’s body going still and cold on his back, that he reacts with his emotions. They’ve spent too many nights with Mikey curled into her arms, face buried in her neck as he cries.

She reaches out and weaves her fingers between his, holding his hand and leaning further into him.

“Our loss,” he finally says. “Emma loved you as much as you love her. We share her loss.”

Now, she feels like an outsider. Emma was her friend but they weren’t close. She pulls back slightly but Mikey tightens his grip on her hand. “Takara’s forgiven you. There’s nothing else to apologize for. Get up.”

Draken rises first to his knees and Takara’s breath hitches at the sight of him there before them. Mikey’s grip on her hand tightens for a second, quick enough that she thinks she almost imagines it before remembering how his emotions and jealousy have already been heightened this day. She hopes she hasn’t made it worse.

Draken finally meets her eyes. “It’s never going to happen again.”

Takara nods because she’s not entirely sure she can speak without saying something that’s going to end up pissing one of them off. She doesn’t believe him because the truth is she’s taking over a spot that really shouldn't be hers but she’s forced her way in. Again.

He looks at her like he knows what she’s thinking but he doesn't press. Neither does Mikey. Draken pulls out a prerolled joint and the three of them learn how to smoke it together, laughing as they all cough and get used to it. Takara’s experience in smoking cigarettes leaves her coughing the least. Surprisingly they don’t get kicked out.

She ends up squashed between the two of them, Mikey’s head in her lap, as they sit in silence…aside from the music that’s playing automatically. She feels a little light headed and dazed in a way that feels good. It’s not that everything’s heightened, but she feels like she’s left any of her stress and worry behind. The weed works to break down the last of the tension that remains from the apology and reason it was needed between them.

Pressed between their bodies, Draken leaning into her and her fingers running through Mikey’s hair as he rests on her is more comforting than she expected. It’s not as awkward as she thought it would be. Then again, Draken has heard them having sex multiple times already, so she doubts there are boundaries even left at this rate. She rests her head against his shoulder and closes her eyes. She feels good.

⛸️

“You look like shit.”

“Well, we can’t all look like supermodels,” Takara teases as she laces up her skates. Draken and Mikey are both here, but they’ve given her space to actually talk to Yuzuha. It helps that her friend is willing to skate with her. “Come here, you need those tighter,” she says, motioning to the skates Yuzuha has on. They’re both in figure skating skates this time. Takara relaces Yuzuha’s, pulling them tight to support the ankle better.

Takara didn’t break her ankle, thankfully, and it’s not a bad sprain but she won’t be able to do any tricks this time around. They really will just skate.

“What happened this time?”

“South tried to recruit me. Didn’t like my answer.”

“You ran your mouth off to him, didn’t you?” her friend asks, laughing slightly.

“It’s not my fault he’s a giant! All I did was ask where his beanstalk was!” That makes her laugh harder and Takara grins back before leading the way to the ice.

It isn’t her first time skating with an ankle that is still healing and she knows she needs to take it slow, but the temptation to pick up speed and thrive in this environment is tempting. Yuzuha seems to know it because she keeps their arms laced together as they skate around the rink.

“Your brother came to see me,” Takara says softly. The motions of skating come as easily as walking but Yuzuha is not as steady and she has to hold her up to keep her from falling a few times.

“I know,” she doesn’t look at her, focused on staying upright. Ice skating is harder than the rollerblading they did last time. “He asked to meet me.”

“Did you?”

Yuzuha nods. “I wanted to hear what he’d say. It took a bit, but I think he was actually listening this time.” She snorts softly. “You’d almost think he was different except for how he ranted against our friendship. Told him to go fuck himself.”

Takara lets out a sharp laugh at that. “This is why you’re my favourite,” she says, pulling Yuzuha closer.

She grins at her. “Not Mikey?”

“Well, if we’re not counting how well they get me off…”

Yuzuha laughs, startling herself before she covers her mouth and downright giggles. It sets off Takara and both of them have to stop because they’re laughing too hard.

⛸️

“So I’m gonna do what you’d classify as something stupid,” Takara says on their third lap around the ice. She’s waved to the guys each time they pass them, but the first time sent Yuzuha giggling again when Mikey tried to stop her and that made Takara laugh as she darted them out of the way.

“What now?”

Takara falls silent, wondering how to say it. She’s already told Mikey and Draken about it, but asked them not to say anything. The only reason either of them know is because she knows Mikey would never let her out of his sight without a good reason. Takara tells Yuzuha quietly, making sure they’re not heard despite the way their voices can echo if they’re loud enough. Yuzuha stops skating and forces Takara to follow.

“You’re sure?”

Takara nods. “I know it’s extreme but I think it’s…the best choice. It’s not going to be easy, but it’ll end things quickly and we won’t have to worry about…” she trails off.

Yuzuha stares at her for a long moment. “Do…do you need help?”

Affection floods through Takara at the question. Yuzuha doesn’t try to convince her to change her mind, doesn’t really question it. It’s complete trust that her friend has in her and it’s enough to cement this choice in Takara’s mind. “No,” she says softly, hugging the girl quickly. “I’ll be fine.”

⛸️

tag list: @raith-way @zeleniafic @veetlegeuse @chickensarentcheap @residentdormouse

@themaradwrites @kingsmakers @thatmagickjuju @awkwardchick87 @hayatoseyepatch

tr tag: @mitsuwuyaa @blackfire2013 @bleach-your-panties @reiners-milkbiddies @tenjikusstuff4

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network tag: @pixelcafe-network

[snakeautistic]

Are any other autistic people unable to tell if people are drunk or high based on their behavior??? Like when it comes to someone I know well I can parse out differences.

But multiple times I’ve have an interaction with someone, and maybe they’re acting a little strange but I don’t think much of it, assuming that’s just their personality, and then they leave and the person next to me is like ‘dude they were totally baked’ to a chorus of agreement.

Like idk I thought they were just a little silly I get a little silly myself all the time

[eff-ston3mblogs]

[the-raccoon-empire]

My family turned waiting for the election results into a drinking game. The only bad thing is I'm surrounded by six Trump supporters who think I voted for Trump. I'm drunk rn and am laying in bed because I'm more of a lightweight than others in my family lol. How are other people doing?

[ryems01]

The 24th Sunrise Ch. 3

Read on AO3 here

Previous Chapter

They’re staring at me. I can’t see them, but I hear them screaming, clapping, cheering. My hands are slippery with blood. I hold them tight over my stomach, trying to keep my insides where they belong.

My legs give out and I can see where the cage bars meet in the center. Like the top of the birdcages they take into the mines. The whole fixture is swaying back and forth, back and forth. I sit up and the eyes are back. Thousands of faceless figures standing before me. They’re not cheering anymore. The weight of their stares threaten to crush my chest.

I’m running. Running home, so glad it’s over. Everything can go back to normal now. Except there’s smoke in the air, and I see the inferno now. The eyes are pinning me down and I think someone’s screaming. 

But I’m in the meadow. I see the geese slowly waddling past where I’m sitting. And there’s Lenore Dove, walking towards me, a smile growing on her face. I can feel my own cheeks starting to hurt as I stand to meet her halfway and-

My head is killing me. I open my eyes but the light leaking from the bathroom is so bright I have to shut them again. I roll over so I’m facing the other direction and my stomach flips in protest. I definitely took it too far yesterday. I can feel my heart racing in my chest and I’m shaky from dehydration. 

I open my eyes again, this time with more success, and notice that I’m in different clothes. Last night comes back to me in flashes. Right, Peeta basically carried me to bed after washing me off and helping me into new clothes. I can still taste vomit in the back of my throat and across my teeth, which makes my stomach flip again. I swing my legs off the bed, walking over towards the bathroom where I promptly brush my teeth, and chug as much water from the tap as my stomach can handle. 

Walking back into the bedroom, I notice that the sun is just starting to rise over the horizon. I should really eat something before I start drinking again, but breakfast isn’t served for another hour or so. 

Sitting back down, I resolve to watch the recap of the reapings. I vaguely remember watching it live last night, but don’t remember any individual tributes. Watching the first few districts is a shock. The career pack this year seems more intimidating than usual. Mostly due to the fact that I can’t help but imagine Katniss facing off against each of them. Yesterday I was so afraid that she would be able to survive, so confident that she had a chance to win. Today, it seems more likely that both Katniss and Peeta will fail like every other kid I’ve sent into the arena. 

Yes, I’ve seen Katniss selling game in the hob, but that doesn’t necessarily mean she was the one who took the animals down. She might be relying on a friend or partner, like the boy who carried Prim away during the reaping.

I watch as Katniss is, again, brought up onto the stage. As the district responds to her sacrifice, I’m hit with that same feeling of unease. There’s something deeper going on here. I’ve seen enough reapings be altered when something unfavorable happens. The fact that there weren’t any cuts, only comments from the broadcasters, is unsettling. It almost feels like someone left that moment on purpose. Like they’re trying to draw attention to it. 

I can feel someone staring at me again. Like the ones from my dream, except this one feels different, more familiar, more urgent, angry. I know that if I turn around, there won’t be anyone standing there. But it feels like Lenore Dove is right behind me, stuck with me until I fulfill that final promise. The feeling lasts until I fall over the front of the stage and the broadcasters start laughing at my expense.

Unsettled, but not surprised, I watch Peeta as his name is called and he slowly walks up the stairs to stand beside Katniss. He’s taller than her, with more of a muscled build. But the way he carries himself, clearly afraid of what’s to come, might be problematic. 

I make my way towards the dining car for breakfast, the reapings having lasted long enough for the sun to make a full appearance.

Crossing through the threshold, I see Effie already sitting at the table sipping a cup of coffee. She barely looks up as I pull out one of the chairs across from her and sit down. I pile some food onto my plate and slowly start eating. I’m starting to think Effie will give me the silent treatment all day, when I reach for the nearest bottle of white liquor and she breaks her silence.

“Is today going to be a repeat of yesterday, then?” 

My hand hovers around the neck of the bottle as her eyes bore into mine.

“We go through this every year. You can’t help them if you keep drinking yourself into oblivion. In case you haven’t noticed, the tributes this year have some real promise. That one girl even volunteered! I won’t let you waste this opportunity,” arms crossed and chin slightly raised, she certainly looks determined.

I slowly lift the white liquor bottle, maintaining our impromptu staring contest as I bring it closer to me. Her expression darkens, but smooths back out when I reach over to grab the large glass of cranberry juice. Grabbing a cup, I measure out exactly one shot of white liquor before filling it the rest of the way with cranberry juice. 

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch. You and I both know reaping day is the worst.” 

“Oh, yeah? Tell that to last year’s tributes.”

At that, I have to break Effie’s stare. Last year’s kids were half starved when they were reaped. Next to no muscle on their frames. I knew they wouldn’t last five minutes in the arena, no matter what I did. Instead, I spent the week in the capitol trying my best to forget how I could count every one of their ribs.

“That’s a low blow and you know it,” and she does look slightly ashamed when I look back up at her. “There was no chance of keeping them alive. There almost never is.”

Thinking back to the reapings I watched though, I can admit that Katniss and Peeta have more potential than most tributes I’ve mentored in the past.

I hear the whoosh of the door opening on my left. Peeta pauses briefly in the doorway before walking over. He pulls out the chair directly in front of me and sits down. One of the capitol attendants brings Peeta a glass of orange juice and a mug of hot chocolate. 

I turn back to Effie, a plan forming in my mind. 

“Besides, yesterday wasn’t that bad.” I lift my glass back up to hide a smile.

“You can’t be serious. Your behavior yesterday was positively unacceptable. Showing up late, falling off the stage,” her eyes are as wide as saucers. “I mean, really Haymitch. Do you even remember what happened last night?” 

And there it is, the perfect opening. I make a show of choking into the glass before dropping it back to the table.

“Oh, shit. Your panties aren’t literally bunched up somewhere in my room, right?”

Effie stands quickly before throwing her hands in the air, “Ugh! You’re unbelievable!”

She storms from the room, muttering curses under her breath, and nearly running Katniss over as she crosses the threshold.

I can’t help but start laughing, both at Effie’s reaction and the look on Peeta’s face. Katniss has paused and seems to be assessing the room.

I lift a hand to wave her over. “Sit down! Sit down!”

At the prompting, she finally enters the room and takes Effie’s abandoned seat.

Most of my symptoms from this morning have gone, with the exception of a slight throbbing at my temples. With Effie out of the room now, though, it should be quick work to get rid of it for good. I grab the bottle of white liquor and start pouring a bit more into my glass of cranberry juice while Katniss and Peeta continue to eat breakfast. 

The hopeless feeling I had while watching the reapings has fully retreated again, now that the two kids in question are sitting in front of me. I still need to find a way to figure out what they’re capable of. Katniss, to know if she really does have a chance of making it back to her mom and sister. Peeta, to know if he’s a threat to Katniss’s survival or if he’ll help me get her home.

Katniss, I’m starting to realize, is at least slightly impulsive. She also saves me from having to start the conversation by starting it herself.

“So, you’re supposed to give us advice.” Her words are short, angry. I can tell I’m not exactly the model mentor in her mind, and honestly who am I to blame her for this assessment. So far, all she knows is that I’m a drunk and I haven’t been able to keep a single other tribute from district twelve alive.

“Here’s some advice. Stay alive.” I don’t think about the words before I say them, a sort of hysteria looming over me as I start laughing again. Maybe Effie was right to limit the spirits in the morning or maybe I need another swallow to restabilize my mind. I grab the glass off the table again when Peeta responds.

“That’s very funny,” except, even in my current state, I can tell he isn’t amused at all. 

Peeta stands so suddenly that I don’t have time to prepare myself before he’s batted the glass out of my hand and onto the train floor. The glass smashes upon contact, spreading white liquor and cranberry juice moving towards the back of the train car.

“Only not to us.”

I’m not laughing anymore. I’m actually kind of pissed. 

Now, normally, I’m the kind of guy who goes around and hits kids. But, I need to see what these two are capable of. And with this perfect opportunity sitting in front of me, it’d be impossible not to push back to see what happens. 

So, I bring my fist back and punch Peeta square in the jaw. Hard enough that it sends him sprawling from the chair. It’ll definitely leave a bruise - good. He needs a different image from the scared boy standing on stage during the reaping.

I reach for the bottle of white liquor on the table and almost lose my fingers to Katniss’s knife, which is now buried in the table between my hand and the bottle. I look over at her in time to see the slight flinch in her posture. Her eyes stay on me, but she seems to shrink slightly, preparing herself for a hit like I gave Peeta. 

And I quickly decide that’s not the kind of mentor I want to be. I sit back in my chair, taking care to put a bit more distance between myself and the other two. 

“Well, what’s this? Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?”

Peeta stands back up and scoops some ice from the fruit display, starting to raise it to the mark of his jaw. Which would defeat almost the whole purpose of the punch to begin with.

I raise my hand out to stop him, “No. Let the bruise show. The audience will think you’ve mixed it up with another tribute before you’ve even made it to the arena.”

Peeta needs some sort of edge. He’s too nice on his own. He could’ve taken a swing at my face, but instead he targeted the glass. He could’ve left me in my room to deal with myself last night, but he stayed and helped. 

“That’s against the rules,” he hesitates before dropping the ice back into the fruit bowl.

“Only if they catch you. That bruise will say you fought, you weren’t caught, even better.”

I turn to face Katniss again. “Can you hit anything with that knife besides a table?” 

I remember Burdock being pretty good at knife throwing, but I need to know if he taught Katniss.

She gives me a look before ripping the knife free from the table and throwing it across the room towards the far wall. Not only does it stick, she’s managed to wedge the knife directly between the two slats in the wall. The force of her throw has pushed the knife deep into the gap.

I stand from my chair and point the the end of the table. “Stand over here. Both of you.”

They move where directed and stand still as I move closer to get a good look at them. 

Peeta’s taller and stockier than Katniss is, though the careers would easily outmatch him. It’s clear that years helping his family with the bakery has provided a fair amount of muscle to his frame. 

Katniss is almost directly his opposite. Shorter and slimmer, Katniss would likely be overlooked as a tribute if she hadn’t volunteered. They’d miss the lithe muscle she has though, clearly a hunter’s build. 

Where Peeta might have a chance at holding his own against an opponent in close combat, Katniss would have an easier time moving quickly and quietly.

Neither one of them is overly attractive, but they aren’t going to push sponsors away either. Which is good. More attractive tributes usually have a rougher time of it after they win anyway.

“Well, you’re not entirely hopeless. Seem fit. And once the stylists get hold of you, you’ll be attractive enough.” I can’t help but think that, together as allies, these two might have a chance to send the other home.

“All right, I’ll make a deal with you. You don’t interfere with my drinking, and I’ll stay sober enough to help you,” I shift my gaze to look directly at Katniss. “But you have to do exactly what I say.” 

Peeta speaks up from beside Katniss. “Fine.”

But Katniss seems less satisfied by the deal than Peeta.

“So help us. When we get to the arena, what’s the best strategy at the Cornucopia for someone–”

I hold up a hand to cut her off. Of course she’d want to go into the Cornucopia. I think back on all the kids I’ve lost to the Cornucopia. It’s the perfect source material to imagine Katniss being cut down by that monster of a boy from District 2, Cato I think. 

I try to push the image away from my mind and replace it with more pressing issues. Like the stylists, for instance. I remember my own experience with the prep teams, being shoved into that room, naked and unsure what was going on until they started spraying us.

Technology has advanced a lot since my games and the general treatment of the tributes has also improved, but they’re not immune to repercussions should they lash out at the prep teams. I remember one girl a few years ago must’ve freaked out and hit a few of her prep team. She was still black and blue when she was sent to the arena.

I take a deep breath before responding, “One thing at a time. In a few minutes, we’ll be pulling into the station.You’ll be put in the hands of your stylists. You’re not going to like what they do to you.”

I pause and really look at the two of them, wanting them to understand what I’m saying.

“But no matter what it is, don’t resist.”

Peeta is kind of nodding in acknowledgement, but I can tell Katniss is gearing up to protest. 

“But–” 

“No buts. Don’t resist,” my voice is firm. And to make sure they know the conversation is finished, I leave the room and go back to my room.

Speaking of not resisting, Effie was right. They do have a lot of promise. Which means I need to hold up my end of the bargain and find some sponsors. 

There are clothes in the dresser drawers, nicer quality than anything I could’ve gotten at home. The train is slowing to a stop by the time I’m fully dressed in the capitol garments. I make my way towards the main train exit, wanting to leave as soon as we’ve completely stopped. It doesn’t happen very often, but every now and then there are a few prospective sponsors waiting to chat my ear off about sending a gift.

When I leave the train, though, I’m not met with future sponsors. I’m met with a capitol attendant, moving swiftly in my direction. He’s got a white envelope held in his hand and I can just make out the swooping cursive of my own name scrawled across the front. 

He comes to a stop in front of me before extending the envelope. I take it, giving a short nod of acknowledgement, and he moves back the way he came. Opening the letter, there’s only one line in the very center of the page:

‘We need to meet’

– Plutarch Heavensbee

Next Chapter

[f4ilure-g1rl-fuyu]

today we got lectured for drugs and stuff and the person telling us things told us no one cares if we die because our health is our responsibility

[azuramarigold]

Chapter 2 coming soon...

[helluvabossrewrite45]

Hazbin Hotel Rewrite; Opening up at the Bar

From what I seen from hh with how it handles sa topics, it's very...questionable. Now the show hasn't still come out yet so I won't go into detail about it, but with how they use the song 'poison' and behind the scenes of it (viv making a sex joke as marketing the song and the lead storyboard shipping val x angel despite what it's meant to portray in canon) makes it understandable for people to critque the show's portrayal of it. So for here, I want to approach Angel's truama as respectfully as I can with Angel opening up to Husk as it seems to be the same episode where both of them improve their relationship. I hope I'm able to address sa well because I know it's a very delicate topic that shouldn't be written lightly (especially for truama responses like hypersexuality) so if you have any problems with how I written it and how I should change it, please let me know. I will rewrite it until I portray this topic properly and credit you for your critque/help (unless you don't want to)

Content Warning; SA and mention of drug/alcohol addiction

A bar full of bottles and boozes sitting there in windless silence, aching for their next customer. Its emptiness is numbing, the stranded desert of this hotel. Husk, tapping his fingers in rhythm, halts it as though the ticking of a clock stops and sighs in relief, grateful that his work is now done. He takes a bottle of booze, fulfilling its fate as he opens the lid to drain it all down, until he hears the door creaking. 

He groans “Oh it’s you,” as Angel Dust drags himself towards the bar, collapsing his face to the poseur table. “What do you want now? Bar’s gonna close soon. So hurry up.” 

Angel’s face tilts up. “A drink, please.” His voice is soft yet hoarse.

Husk rolls his eyes, wishing for that sweet graveness to enter this bar once again. He goes through his bottles. “Which one?” He asks with a hostile glare.

“Any.”

Angel Dust slowly lifts himself up from the table, staring in discomfort at Husk grabbing a random bottle from his shelf, a sense of dread lingers onto him. 

“Husk…” His voice grows quiet.

“What?”

“I’m…sorry.” His eyes not meeting Husk’s gaze. 

“For what?” He responds snappily, placing one hand to his hip.

“For earlier…” Angel answers, his eyes still refusing to see Husks. “For saying and doing all those weird things to you, I'm sorry.”

His grouchy face still remains. “Whatever,” firmly placing the bottle to the table and swishing it towards Angel. “Don’t do that again.”

“Yeah,” his body tenses, “I hope so…”

Husk brows raised. “Hope so? What do you mean?”

The question hangs on as Angel Dust fiddles their hands, looking down at the wooden dry floor. The room has been fogged in silence as Husk finds himself repeatedly tapping his fingers, wondering when the clock will finally end its grating tick. 

“Well…” His voice quivers, tracing his eyes back to Husks. “I don’t know…”

Husk’s face turned puzzled. “The hell you mean you don't know?!” 

“I-” Angel pauses himself for a moment, “I don't know. I just don’t know.” His face bangs on the table as his arms come to cover.

“Ah well, might just be a you problem then.” He cackles at his own joke, with hollow applause. 

Angel huffs, “That’s what you all think.” His voice became more irritated. 

Husk’s laughter abrupt into cold stillness, his voice freezes with the rest of his body. 

Angel continues, “All of you think i’m just some dirty sex pest, huh? A running sex joke?” Anger starts to rise through his voice, “Even Charlie thinks what I do is just who I am- like I chose this!” He cuts himself off, facing down to the lifeless floor again. “Like I chose this…”

Husk words vanished, his voice having trouble coming out of his mouth. All he could do is stand there, watching Angel Dust ponder through his thoughts. 

“You know I don’t actually like being sexual twenty-four seven? Crazy right?” He formed a smile, though not by sweetness, but by bitterness. “I don’t actually like making endless sex jokes or dirty talk, I don’t actually like to constantly fantasise or masturbate or sleep around with a bunch of nobodies,” bitterness starts to spread through his voice, “and I especially don’t like working in that place!” He holds his breath, exhaling to serene air. “But I do it anyway, no matter how hard I try.” His finger scratched the table harshly with a melancholic frown. “I don’t know what is wrong with me, I didn’t used to be like this, it was only after-” Angel cuts himself off as his body starts trembling. He places a heart on his hand, feeling the rapid sounds of his heartbeat. “After…” He slows himself, unable to muster anything else to speak of. 

His eyes lift to Husk, seeing the statue that he became, his widened pupils not even taking one blink. Angel’s face rose with worry, “Oh uh…sorry.” He murmurs. “Sorry, I’ll just take the booze or-”

“Go on.” Husk's voice comes back again.

“W-what?” He quivers, taken aback by what he heard.

“Go on…” Husk's voice trails off, still a statue of himself.

Angel Dust pursed his lips, facing down once more. “There was a time back then, when I sneaked into a bar for some alcohol, the thing that helped me most when I was alive. There was a really fancy bottle, porcelain white shimmering with bubbles, I couldn’t help myself. I had to have it. Then he caught me, I thought he would kill me. Instead, he made a deal; that if I work in his business, I won’t need to steal anything or even need a place to stay…” He breaks off, his fingers scraping themselves to a shell. “So I worked as one of his sex workers; a stripper for his bars, an actor for his films, anything to do with sex, really. It wasn’t what I was always interested in, but it felt…better? Being more open and honest about myself that I never got to do on earth. That is, until I came back to his home…He told me he wanted to show me something, my ‘reward’...” He holds back on his words, wrapping his arms around in a warm embrace. “After that, I…I don't know, I guess that’s where I started becoming more sexual. It’s like a switch where my mind now constantly thinks about sex, even if it’s not what I want. It’s my poison.” He holds onto his words again, reflecting his thoughts. “Maybe it’s a way of control, to take back what he did to me, not letting him hurt me…but is it any good if you can’t control it yourself?” He finds himself eyeing at the bottle of toxicated liquid. “That’s why I came here, I couldn’t find any drugs. So alcohol will just have to do.”

Husk exhales a quiet breath, with Angel’s words stalling through his mind. He saw Angel reaching for the bottle. “Wait!” He alerts, taking the bottle before Angel could have the chance. Angel looks at him, confound. “Why?” Husk fell silent, wavering on his memory like a lightning struck in a bottle. He places the bottle back to its fateless place and starts rummaging through the tea bags until one reads ‘Black Caravan Tea’. He places the tea bag in a muggy cup and clicks the kettle to brew. Minutes go by as the kettle finally makes its thump, breaking Husks trance as he pours the steamy water onto the cup and gently pushes it over to Angel. “Here” He says softly. “Careful, it’s hot.” Angel slowly directs his eyes to the hot tea, then back to Husk, his mouth making a quiet gasp. “I know it’s not much,” He adds. “But for you, I hope it can be enough.”

Angel dust calmly blows the steam off his tea and takes a sip, warm smoky sweetness filling his mouth in peaceful bliss. He continues sipping it at a slow pace, enjoying each moment with him and his magical tea, transforming his mind to ocean waves, hearing its soothing whooshes and the pleasant echoes of bird’s chirping. After taking one last sip, he notices Husk with his own muggy cup, cooling off the steam before slurping down the whole tea to an empty cup. His grouchy face disappeared, replacing it with a genial smile; friendly and relaxed. Like warming his face with radiant golden sunlight. 

“What’s this?” Angel asks as soon as Husk tastes his last drop.

“Black Caravan.” Husk replies, licking his lips. “My Babushka always makes this tea, saying ‘If you get upset, don’t waste your mouth with vodka, relish it with Caravan.’” He glimpses away from Angel dust, shining a little star in his eyes before glaring at the shelves of bottles and boozes. “Heh, no wonder I hadn’t remembered…” 

Angel snickers. “My Nonno says something similar. He said; ‘You don’t stuff your mouth with alcohol, you stuff it with Frittelie!’” They both chuckle with each other, reminiscing of their old lives before the room went to silence. Both eyes looking away from each other as Angel proceeds to fiddle with his hands and Husk tapping his table, now only slow and with no rhythm. A clock’s final strikes till midnight. “You know,” He spoke solemnly. “After you're done with work and all, instead of finding drugs, you can come straight here to talk or have some tea. Either one or both to get off some steam.” 

Angel glances back to Husk’s sentimental gaze, his eyes lit up. “You’ll…You’ll do that?”

“Yeah.” He responds, keeping his gaze to Angel Dusts. “I’d do. For you…”

Their eyes locked in their gazes, their beating hearts twined to one another. Angel’s eyes turn away from the burning faint shades of pink of his face, looking steadily at the cup. “Yeah,” a small line shaped to a tender smile, “I’d like that.”