#He's trying his best to pick up the plot in the middle but this soap opera has been running for like 50 seasons

[februairy]

grief that disguised as love

chapter two of an english version of acesabo fanfic based on an indonesian movie; jatuh cinta seperti di film-film (literally translated into falling in love like in the movies)

warning: spoilers for jatuh cinta seperti di film-film, past sabolaw, minor character death, grammar mistake as english isn’t my first language (but i did try my best!), grieving theme.

note: koala and deuce were married only for plot convenience and because they suited as acsb sidekicks

ep. 1 english version [here]

you can find the indonesian version ep. 1 [here] and ep. 2 [here]

enjoy!

-

hastily arriving at the apartment, accompanied by a cup of instant coffee and the sun which began to dim through the window, ace's fingers typed slowly on his laptop.

s e q u e n c e    t w o

sequence two, hm. this was the part where the character found their goal. after a few hours been spent thinking about it, producer shanks’ feedbacks were spinning in ace’s head. this and that and all manner of things that made the story even more complicated.

ace sighed, enough for today. he picked up his phone and started chatting with his closest friend while he was studying film in university.

ace: u home tmrrw with deuce?

koala: what

a few minutes later;

koala: deuce’s shooting had been canceled anw

koala: yea well be at homw

koala: home

-

"how was it? my idea?"

ace leaned his head hard on the sofa of koala and deuce's house, he sat on the floor with his feet stretched out and there was already a gaming console controller in his hands (a sign that he had used to come arbitrarily and relaxing around the house of the video editor and actor couple). 

next to him, koala sat in her home attire and a shoulder massager in her hand. her face looked as if it was swallowing bitter food after hearing ace's script idea, "honest opinion? tacky."

"why is it tacky, huh? won’t it be cute if sabo watches it, and then at the end he will realize that it turns out to be my confession?" ace scowled, turning his body slightly to face koala. "anyway, why aren't you shooting, deuce?"

deuce, who had just entered the living room with his laundry basket, simply replied with a flat face before continuing. "my director is annoying," he put the basket on the sofa, then began to fold the clothes one by one. "well, yeah, this happened a lot with a newbie director. suddenly, he went away in the middle of shooting. i don’t know when we will resume the shooting again."

"this happened often with newbie directors, huh?" ace showed interest and suddenly remembered producer shanks' words. "hey, deuce. do you want to be in my movie if you are being offered by shanks?"

the blue-haired man paused for a moment before stacking up his already folded t-shirt. "soap opera adaptation again?" his voice was a little doubtful. 

this time, it was the koala who answered (while still beating her shoulders with a massage stick). "no, this one is ace's first original script. based on his personal experience, he said. the film is intended for confessing to his high school crush. i’m so grossed out."

ace looked at deuce, looking for an ally, but deuce just turned his face away.

"hey, ace. have you asked sabo’s permission? that's his life, no? i will be furious if i'm in his shoes." said koala, as if she was trying to force a common sense to get into ace’s head.

"won’t he be moved?" deuce replied while still meddling with his laundry, he had this questioning expression, ace sticked out his tongue towards koala, 'hah!’. koala stopped her movement, she lifted her shoulder massager stick, motioning to throw it at ace. 

"now sabo is still grieving, koala. how can i tell him? he will see me as heartless." ace chimed in, his shoulders shrugged.

"what if he hasn't moved on?" koala asked, sharply.

ace was silent. "then it will be a sad ending, huh?" his hand began to touch his chin, doubting. "but, listen. the production of the film is about a year or so? i can approach him for the time being, and when the film’s aired, i will invite him and confess my feelings. that sounds great, doesn’t it?"

koala made a vomiting expression. 

"it's been a year, koala. surely, he will have moved on, right?"

annoyed, koala's voice sounded harsh by the next she spoke up; "you can't tell when people are done grieving."

deuce, who had been lost in the conversation between his friend and his wife, stared back and forth between ace and koala. confused. "aren’t we talking about ace’s film?"

the light brown-haired woman raised her hand, defeated, and stood up to walk to her desk behind the sofa. giving up talking with ace for further discussion. surprisingly, their debates often ended in nothing, but koala and ace were still friends from their university days until now. 

"whatever. i will continue my work. get out of the way, ace. i want to use the TV for editing." koala grabbed the controller in ace's hand while ace was lost in his own thought, thinking about the koala's words which, according to ace, did not make sense.

is it true that sabo won’t have moved on for over a year?

the whole pile of deuce's laundry was neatly folded, but the confusion still didn't disappear from his face.

"so… is this a true story or…?"

-

sabo was busy discussing orders with his employees when he caught ace's figure from the corner of his eye, he saw ace hesitated to enter sabo's flower arrangement studio before being allowed to.

"just come in, ace," sabo coaxed with a chuckle. it was actually casual, but sabo himself didn't know how big the effect of his smile was to ace, because ace wanted to melt in front of the door right away. "you're not lost, are you? how did you get here?"

ace pointed at his car which was parked in front of the gate of sabo's house, to which sabo replied with a thumbs up before walking towards the rows of flower arrangements in his studio. "sit down, i'll take care of the orders first. you can have a look and take photos."

after getting permission and approval from his friend, ace walked around sabo's studio while occasionally nodding a little to the employees of the flower shop. sabo’s flower arrangement studio occupied one of the room in the old house of sabo's parents, a modest house with colonial architecture in the old housing area of the capital city. during the day, the studio was only illuminated by sunlight that seeped in from the gap of windows. 

the floral fragrance mixed with the weathered wood of an old shelf, that ace could guess was an old shelf handed down from the sabo’s parents too. there are many crumbs of dry leaves and spots of blackish stains on the floor, a sign testifying to the high intensity of activity and mobility in the room. the flowers were lined up in a plastic bucket (which arranged alphabetically by the type of flower, ace noticed).

ace smiled. after so many years of not meeting sabo, this small space was able to provide a small part of sabo that ace had not had time to know. about sabo, who turned out to had participated in flower arrangement certification several times (there are four certificates displayed on the wall), about sabo, who once received an order from the mayor of a neighboring city (his photo was at the top corner of the shelf).

about sabo– 

ace's steps stopped at a framed photograph hanging on the innermost side of the studio with fresh white flowers embedded between the frame carvings.

–who started this business supported by law. 

there was sabo's sweetest smile in the photo, sabo's smile that had always taken ace's breath away since they were in highschool. a photo of sabo in front of a flower shop in his old town, embraced by a taller man with a sheepish smile and looking at sabo lovingly. 

and suddenly, all the information ace had just learned about sabo seemed meaningless.

ace's fingers, which were holding the camera, were frozen. 

from the gap of the shelf, ace turned his head weakly towards sabo who was still busy directing his employees to move the flower arrangements into the delivery box, making sure the destination address was correct. really, the grief was not visible in ace’s eyes, covered by sabo's usual attitude in carrying out his daily activities. 

but the fresh flowers in the frame said otherwise.

one year. would ace be able to make sabo drew his grief to a close?

"ace?"

sabo's voice from behind the other rack pulled ace out of his thoughts. ace hurriedly approached sabo while trying to cover the confusion on his face, "have you finished your business?" ace asked nervously which, hopefully, was subtle. 

"yes," sabo's eyes glanced at the shelf aisle that ace had just passed through and deduced that ace had seen the photo hanging there. for some reason, there was pressure in sabo's heart that passed by, but sabo ignored it. "by the way, how is it? how can i help you with the survey?"

"i– " ace cleared his throat, his fingers fiddling with the camera he was holding. "i want to see your daily life as a florist, sab." 

"are you free tomorrow?"

ace blinked confusedly. "yeah?"

"tomorrow morning, would you like to come with me to the flower market? usually, i buy flowers early in the morning at the flower market," sabo's hand moved, sweeping to one of the flower arrangements on the shelf. "because i restock fresh flowers everyday. but it will be suuuper early in the morning–"

before sabo could continue his words again, ace had already shown an affirmative nods. the opportunity to be alone with sabo? certainly ace wouldn’t miss it. their plan was further confirmed after ace promised to pick up sabo tomorrow at five in the morning.

-

sabo and ace just got to the flower market at nine in the morning. 

"so... you go the flower market this early every day, huh, sab?" 

sabo's footsteps slowed down, adjusting to ace who was busy taking photos with his camera to all corners of the flower market, as documentation for spots that would be good for shooting later. 

sabo looked back, flashing a small smile. "well… i think… this is unusually late for me." which was followed by a small chuckle. ace's face flushed, saying sorry at sabo because he overslept and was late to pick sabo up from the promised time. sabo laughed back, patting ace on the shoulder, reassuring that it was fine.

some time later, colorful flowers had diverted ace's mind from his steps with sabo getting at the same tempo. 

"why do you want to make the main character as a florist?"

ace turned his head, somewhat flustered by sabo's sudden question. he scratched his neck, looking for answers. "you see... in my mind, florist… is lovable, isn’t it?" it was sabo's turn to turn his head before ace continued “and later, the setting will also be pretty, there will be lots of flowers and very colorful. well, even if the film mostly is going to be black-and-white, anyway." 

only a small hmm came out of sabo as he continued to walk across the sea of flowers while looking right and left, trying to find fresh flowers that he could buy today. the minimal reaction from sabo made ace a little uneasy, and his brain started looking for a way to break the silence. 

"can i ask something? if you don’t mind?" ace asked, while sabo was busy bidding for flowers with the seller. sabo turned his head slightly, nodded, allowing ace to continue his question. "why did you open a flower-arranging shop?"

sabo's face looked like he was looking for an answer in a few seconds of pause.

"after graduating from uni, i came to take a liking to flowers. i think…flowers can say things that can't be conveyed with words." the tip of sabo's lips lifted slightly, but his eyebrows said otherwise, showing a bitter smile. ace caught on, there was something deeper from the colour of his voice and all of that was instantly answered in sabo's next words;

“actually, i was already going to stop this business,” and in between his words, sabo chose another bouquet of flowers. "but this was one of my dream that was realized by law’s support. for me, this is all that left of law. so… i can't stop doing this."

ace and sabo were silent.

sabo blinked quickly as if he was processing something in his brain. it was like he had just got an epiphany. he turned and looked at ace.

"i realize something because of your question, ace... not all my dreams were buried with law–"

at that instant, something felt like hitting ace's chest, pressing like it was taking his breath away; who would have thought ace's own words would strengthen law's presence in sabo's memories. 

“–my flower shop is one of them." 

sabo lifted the flowers he had just bought, then tilted his head at ace. for some reason, his movements were like slow motion and, oh god, that smile... the smile that was painted on sabo's face, which ace knew, only appeared when law crossed sabo's mind.

“pretty, right?”

this time it was ace's turn to smile bitterly. not sure how to answer; yes, pretty. but, which one is pretty? the flowers or sabo in his eyes?

sabo, who still bore the pain of losing, was still as pretty as sabo that made ace fell in love; was it mean if ace thought so?

-

the flowers that sabo bought were neatly stored in the middle of sabo's car and trunk. ace was seated behind the steering wheel, while sabo was already leaning his head on his hand draped over the window. 

sabo's eyelids felt heavy, the faint sound of ace's voice and the radio gradually sounded quieter in his ears. 

"sabo?" 

his eyes suddenly opened. "i'm sorry, i was a little bit sleepy," he smiled, scratching the back of his neck. "i only got a few hours of sleep last night because i was occasionally awoken."

ace's gaze remained fixed on the road, but sabo could see his fingers tightening on the steering wheel after hearing sabo's answer. without heeding what ace had in mind, sabo continued his own words. somehow the company of his old friend brought back the old habit of sabo with ace; pouring his feelings out without notice.

"since law passed away, i haven't been able to sleep in our room anymore," sabo's eyeballs glanced at the road, not thinking deeply about the words that came out of his mouth. maybe sabo really just needed a friend to tell stories, sharing his grief. "law's bedside was empty, ace. i can't. that's why i sleep on the living room’s sofa."

all those words were honest and sabo did not try to cover it up. in the past four months, sabo had never expressed his feelings like this. but this was ace. this time, like water in a cracked dam, sabo’s feeling seeping out, raw and bleak in the face of ace's presence. 

there was no reply from ace and sabo appreciated that. sabo just needed a person to listen to his mechanism in overcoming his grief. the silence in the car and the song that sabo did not know the lyrics couldn’t win over his sleepiness.

slowly, sabo finally fell asleep with the increasingly dense traffic, driving him slowly back to his house, until he didn’t realize ace had parked in front of his gate.

ace turned his body towards sabo, resting his face on his hands and staring at the sleeping face of the blonde man beside him. sabo's face was so calm and peaceful with no signs of fatigue on his face if ace didn’t catch the bags under his eyes that were so obvious.

ace wanted to sweep sabo's hair that fell over his face, but ace canceled his intention as means of keeping the boundary line between them or just to not wake sabo up.

ace sighed for the umpteenth time today, then he took his notepad from his bag, started typing the continuation of the script that had been running in his head this whole day long.

N A R R A T O R

In his tiredness, Sabo fell asleep like an exhausted child running all day, playing with grief that disguised as love.

there was a weak groan coming from sabo in his sleep, making ace immediately closed his notepad. 

sabo woke up and ace put the manuscript back in the bag, together with all his feelings.

#jatuh cinta seperti di film film!au #acesabo #saboace #revolutionary sabo #portgas d ace #portgas d. ace #ace x sabo #one piece #me trying to write #snowcurtain writing archive

[aestivetic]

My Celebrity Opinions

Here is my current list of all the celebrities I can pull up full-on opinions on. I don’t know if they count as “parasocial relationships”, but here they are.

Don’t see a celebrity here? Either I don’t know them, I don’t care enough about them to have an opinion, or I have forgotten what opinions I have on them. Or they’re not online. Or they’re dead. Or I forgot their names. Look, this list was hard enough in thinking of how many celebrities I actually have an opinion on beyond “Eh, they were good in [X], hope they did alright for themselves”.

Robert Carlyle: True character actor. Incredibly talented, but has an equally strong talent for picking wretched material. Seems to keep his head down and show up, perform in whatever Q-tier soap opera he’s in, take his paycheck and go home. Hope he’s doing well.

Benedict Cumberbatch: Better at comedy than he is usually allotted. Looks a little inbred, but that’s what happens when you go to Eton.

Felicia Day: Glad she’s on MST3K and gets to play a very ace villainess after being slavered over for the past decade-ish. Seems alright, better comic timing than usually given credit for.

Guillermo del Toro: Seems like a really fun guy, going on his interviews, writing, and films. Seems to keep his nose clean. Hope he keeps making films, they seem to stay quality. Good sense of decoration.

Neil Gaiman: One of my top-ten favorite living authors. Very beautiful, hope he’s doing alright. Have considered writing  to him, but keep putting it off.

Doug Jones: Seems like a cool guy. Glad he’s still getting work. Amazing physicality.

Matthew McConaughey: Good actor. Lanky and pretty. Would watch him in most things. One of the few actors who can play butch. Hope he takes on that Rust prequel series. Astounded that he decided to act in Reign of Fire. Appreciate his constant shirt allergy.

Mads Mikkelsen: Very still face, making him one of the few people I can reliably recognize on sight. Seems to keep his nose clean. Glad he’s getting work.

Ben Miller: Liked him in Death In Paradise. Unsurprised that he turned out to be anti-trans, given he’s a middle-aged British man.

Patton Oswalt: Very funny, talented writer of imagery. Some of the best writing about fatness I have personally come across. Glad he’s on MST3K.

Jared Padalecki: Very pretty. Dumb as a bag of hammerstones. Has managed to look startlingly like a trans guy throughout his career. Has appeared in Men’s Health (aka Sports Illustrated for gay men) 6 times, a fact I find endlessly hilarious. Can’t hit marker tape for beans.

Michael Shannon: Scary-looking, but he seems alright. Enjoyed his work in The Shape of Water and Boardwalk Empire. Good comedy talent, though it doesn’t get used a lot.

Mark Sheppard: Talented, great sense of timing, openly a short fat guy who’s not played for comedy or gross-out. Appreciate that he seems to keep his yap shut and make good money. Good inkwork.

Rainn Wilson: Better dramatic actor than usually allotted. Gave an incredible performance in Backstrom. Hope he gets work, because political commentary is not his strong suit. But if people kept trying to make me act like their fancast of a job I’d given up ages ago, I’d probably go nuts, too.

Steven Moffat, Bryan Fuller, Ryan Murphy, George Lucas, Tarsem Singh: Can and will be devoured by plot bunnies unless kept on an incredibly tight rein.

Dan Olson; “Andy” of Atun-Shei Films: Voice like butter that makes you smarter. Glad he stays pretty private. Attractive. Incredibly talented writer/performer.

MST3K Crew: Have, by extension, helped me with my lifelong insomnia and nightmares. Glad Mr. Corbett is sober, it’s an inspiration to me. Also inspirational in building a reliable brand with reliable and affordable output, and leaning on clean(ish) humor.

#celebrity #blog guide

[giacofmanytrades]

MR SLIME MAN MAN ME A SLIME

Do you like slime? Do you like men? Here’s a snippet of a book I’ve been off and on about for a few years. I call it Obnoxious, basic plot is a chemist has a freak soap accident in the 80s. Cue lots of him, his best friend, and a class of middle school science students dealing with the consequences.

Alan Mortimer’s fingers tremble on the steering wheel. The radio grates on his ears and nerves. He dials down the volume, fixes his stare on the horizon, and drives for town. Where in town is the biggest question. Where does he even take something like this?

“Aw, c’mon,” his passenger says. “Turn the tunes back up!”

“Now’s not the time.”

“Please, Mo?”

“Nick, stay back there!” Alan’s right hand leaves the wheel, batting the orange figure in the rearview mirror out of the van’s cab. “We can’t let anyone see you like this.”

“But it’s a good song,” Nick insists. He sways a little as he tries to stay standing, hands oozing slime on the frame of the door that separates cab and cargo. More of the translucent fluid that covers his body drips to the plastic floor. “And it’s my van.”

“It’s Holly Hemlock’s van.”

“She gave it to me!”

Queen swells from the speakers, louder than before now that Nick’s nudged past and turned the dial. He flops right down in the passenger’s seat. No seatbelt on, the fluid on his body soaking into the pleather seat cover, he does a little shimmy with the music.

Alan’s knuckles go white. His back hunches in until his shoulders brush his ears, his eyes set on the road straight ahead. Every new pair of headlights makes him flinch. “Nick,” he says.

Nick croons along with Freddie Mercury. It’s a bouncing melody about lazing on a sunday afternoon. Nick wiggles his shoulders in time with it, like he did on the drive over. All of him glows orange as a traffic sign, getting brighter as the guitar solo fades into the DJ’s upbeat transition to the next song.

It all began that afternoon.

Alan, better known as Mr. Mortimer in the halls of Barks Junior High, was just finishing his last period of the day. Seventh period is always a challenge, but on a Friday it got even harder to catch his students’ attention. Most of his kids were counting the minutes and tuning out his explanation of atomic structures. Today he’d had to send his biggest troublemaker, Jimmy Rodriguez, out into the hall.

Jimmy picked at the frayed cuffs of his denim jacket. The kid had come with a warning label from the teachers at Anais Elementary. He’s become known for tearing his sleeves and leaving threads all over the linoleum, throwing wads of paper at other students, gouging marks into tables, and coming up with creative new ways to disrupt lessons. He’d tested Alan’s patience today by trying to pull the fire alarm with only fifteen minutes of class to go.

Jimmy stared at his grubby sneakers instead of meeting Alan’s gaze.

Alan sighed. “Are we going to have to do this all year, Mr. Rodriguez?” he asked.

The boy scratched his face. Alan frowned. His usual tactics for snapping metaphorical fingers in front of his kids had failed with this one, along with several others in his class. Alan planned to double down if the attitude didn’t shape up.

But it was Friday. October, too. There was a whole year for improvement, and problem students like Jimmy could be solved by the end of it. “We’ll try again next Monday,” he said, and reached for the boy’s shoulder. Jimmy shrugged away with a sniff and marched for Principal Miranda’s office.

Alan picked at his sweater vest, a striped pink number he’d selected from his eye-searing closet. Part of him cites this style choice as a way to keep students’ eyes on the garish colors. The part he rarely admits to just gets a warm fuzzy feeling from seeing them. His wife Mary-Anne claims not to know which reason is worse. Aside from these vests, he’s an otherwise well-kempt man of Indian descent. Tall, dark, and handsome even with his pocket protector, chalk-dusted piano fingers, and general air of teacherly campiness.

He walked back into his classroom to fading mutters. The next few minutes he spent watching the clock just as much as the kids. With the bell’s final toll, students milled out, ready to run home and enjoy their weekend.

Alan used the next hour to wrap up. He swept up the threads from Jimmy’s jean jacket, scraped the gum from under one of the tables, and finally sat to review the curriculum for next week. Once everything was in order, he locked up to go home.

He strutted the vacant halls of red lockers and beige floors, through doors overlooking an empty parking lot. The lines of parents waiting to collect their children were long gone. So were the buses usually stationed at the curb. Decorative gravel and ancient gumwads embedded the walls of Barks rising behind him, facing a courtyard where students sat and gossiped before the doors opened.

If this was Alan’s story alone, he’d walk a few blocks to his tidy house on Cleary Street and wait for his wife to come home from her clinic. Being married to the town’s primary care provider meant Alan had a lot of time to himself on weekdays. Most nights he hosted other teachers or fixtures in town, but he expected to fill tonight with grading, cleaning, and preparing dinner. He could already feel the future Sunday paper in his hands and taste coffee from a pun-emblazoned mug in his mouth.

Instead, a van waited at the curb.

The white utility van had Hemlock & Co. painted on one side, ringed in tiny white flowers. Alan could also see the van was parked backwards so the driver’s side door was facing him.

Alan squinted at the tinted window. He’d read about the old cookie factory being replaced by Hemlock’s in the paper. It was a nice addition to Perkins, he thought. While a lot of his students’ parents had already lined up jobs with the company, he didn’t expect to see its logo around so soon.

Then the window rolled down. The man behind the wheel was tanned as a surfer, with sandy curls and a chubby build that reminded Alan of a fluffy labrador rolling on the carpet. His arms were crossed over the door, a set of aviators on his nose.

The man nodded to reveal round-rimmed glasses underneath. “How’s it hangin’, Mo?” he drawled.

Alan’s face lit up. He hadn’t seen his best friend in almost five years. So the visit was unplanned and unexpected. He couldn’t keep the grin from his face.

Nick Cervos, over the top entrance complete, bounded from the van to hug Alan. He squeezed tight, lifting his friend off the ground. Alan had to tap his back for air.

“Sorry!” Nick cried, and set him down. Alan adjusted himself. Still, he couldn’t stop smiling. Nick mirrored the smile and looked Alan over. Nick had changed a lot. Over the years, he’d evolved from lettermen’s to leather jackets to lab coats. He wore one now, over a pair of beat up jeans and a bleach stained t-shirt. His shaggy mop was long and tied back in a ponytail, and he’d even shaved off the beard he used to have. Alan thought his face looked bare without it, but Nick never kept the same style long.

Alan himself hadn’t changed a bit. He’d traded the bellbottoms of yesteryear in for real slacks, sure, but he’d maintained his spick and span exterior. Nick chuckled. “Wow.”

“Wow, what?” Alan asked.

“You look good! Like you’re doing good,” Nick said. He hugged Alan again, gentler this time. Alan had enough warning to hug back.

Alan weighed his own response. Among the style changes, Alan could see Nick’s face had new lines, shadowed under the eyes. Nick caught him inspecting and straightened up.

All Alan could say was, “I didn’t know you were coming. I thought you were still in Seattle.”

Nick laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nah. That’s the thing. I just got a job down here.”

Alan held his messenger bag close. “You’re kidding,” he said.

Nick gave a wave to the van’s logo. He did a little dance as Alan processed it all. “Just got this beaut yesterday! I’ll explain the whole thing on the way. Annie asked me if I could pick you up. That okay?”

Alan stiffened a bit, his grip tighter on his bag. His eyes traced the path out to Cleary Street, behind the van parked backwards on the curb.

Nick followed his eyes, head cocked. Alan blinked out of his haze. A change of routine wouldn’t kill him. “That’d be nice. You know where I live now?”

Nick made a vague motion with his hand. “Somewhere close, I was told? She only gave me the directions to get out here. But I have you with me now! Get in! I wanna know everything.”

Nick hopped back into the driver’s side. Already the van had Nick’s signature scribbled all over it. Sarapes covered the seats, stacks of several more and some scratchy wool blankets tossed in the cargo behind. Those were thrown haphazard over stacks of boxes with the Hemlock logo. Stuffed animals lined the dashboard, Muppets and Pooh Bears sticking out from the menagerie of crane machine prizes.

Nick booped a finger to a toy lion’s nose. Alan sat back in the passenger’s seat. “Here I thought you’d changed,” he teased.

It didn’t faze Nick. He pulled out of the lot. “C’mon, man,” he said. “What about you? What’ve you been up to?” They’d called each other so infrequently since Alan got married.

“You’re looking at it.” There was no disappointment in Alan’s voice, not really. He probably should’ve been a little bitter, but he held a lot of affection for Perkins, Oregon. Nestled in the eastern armpit of the state, it’s a cross between desert and forest. Winters are below freezing with heaps of snow that degrades into pebble-peppered sludge. Summers are balmy and swelter until residents are inside with fans bought from whatever corner store is closest.

In mid-October, it’s all crisp leaves and damp, squelchy grass where it’s not clay. It’s Alan’s favorite time of year. He can already see students of past, present, and future shopping for Halloween costumes or bundling up for the cold months to come.

“Whatcha teaching?”

“Sixth grade physical science,” Alan said. “This year, anyway.”

“That’s good! Really good. Glad you found your niche, Mo.”

“Sounds like you’ve found one, too,” Alan said, giving the boxes a wave.

Nick flushed. “I don’t know about all that,” he said. “More like I got a niche, for the next year or so. The company’s launching this new soap in ‘88, so I’m on the hook at least ‘til then. Friend in the community said Hemlock wanted top of the line for her quality assurance.” He kept his eyes on the road. There was a pause, something Alan wanted to reach across until he saw those lines on Nick’s face again.

Alan knew what community Nick meant, and could only infer what Nick had been studying in Seattle. They’d gone to college together with dreams of becoming a physics professor and an enzyme pathologist respectively. Alan had followed his then fiance north and taught middle school science, but Nick had followed through on his PhD. He thought Nick would have been doing alright since then. Now he’d gone from researching fatal diseases to soap, of all things?

He didn’t get the chance to ask before Nick thumped the steering wheel. “Ah, shit!” He craned his neck to check the stacks in the cargo. “I knew I left them on the counter. I can go back to the factory tomorrow.”

Nick’s hand was on his mouth, his brows down. Alan jumped on the subject. “The Hemlock factory?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Nick said. “I forgot those samples I was supposed to test at the lab. Base lab, not my little off-premises one. It’s just out-”

“Off Sundale, I know,” Alan said. “That place used to be called Flour Pour.”

“Wait, like flower power? Not floor poor?”

“Nope,” Alan said.

Nick laughed. “Damn. Place with a name that good never should have gone under.”

Alan chuckled. Nick echoed it. The sound hung in the van, clinging to the air between them like tar as they stared down the road. Gradually, twenty years or so of familiarity found purchase and settled.

Alan jostled Nick, who perked up. “I don’t mind going to get your samples,” Alan told him.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. There’s been a lot of buzz about Hemlock’s.”

Nick hummed. He turned onto Sundale, a road that wound the edge of the desert. They passed an A&W and a gas station on the way, before the newly christened Hemlock factory loomed ahead. Behind the big warehouse stood a scraggly patch of forest, behind which was the residential part of town.

Nick parked his van in the corner of the gated off lot. He hopped out to open the door for Alan. “My good man,” he said, with a bow.

Alan rolled his eyes, smiling again. This would be fun, having Nick back in his life. Whatever funk Nick had been in before he arrived, it couldn’t linger long. Alan’s tamed since their wild college nights, or even their rowdy days as children in San Alphonsa, but excitement overshadowed any worry he had about Nick’s move.

Nick bit his lip. “Sorry, again,” he said.

“It’s fine, seriously,” Alan said. The factory had already been spruced up with a layer of yellow paint, Hemlock’s logo slapped on the doors they entered through. He’d heard rumors in the staff lounge that the founder was some New York lawyer elevating a housewife she’d befriended. This housewife, the eponymous Holly Hemlock herself, had ads on the radio in her trilling voice, all about making homes fresh and clean as a garden green. Alan had considered buying some of her soaps once they were available.

Nick led Alan through the office building, already done up with marketing material of a pale cartoon woman in a cocktail dress. Sprays of baby’s breath came from a bottle in her hand. Nick pointed to one. “She really does look just like this!”

“A cartoon?”

“Nah, but how cool would that be?” Alan gave him a look, but Nick shrugged at him. “I think there’s a movie like that. If getting hired means I get to be a toon, I’m all ears.” He mimed Mickey ears over his head and giggled.

Alan followed him through a set of double doors onto a long catwalk in the warehouse. The floor below contained half a dozen vats formerly used for mixing doughs and frostings. Now the Flour Pour’s old shortbread aroma had a hint of lemon drowning it out. It got stronger toward the middle of the catwalk, overlooking an open vat filled with a thick yellow brine.

“Get a load of that fake citrus,” Nick sighed, hand to his heart.

Alan indulged and breathed it in. The smell had been written into his memory with a warmth even real lemons couldn’t surpass, all from days of polishing furniture or dusting down his parents’ house as a kid. He liked the thought of the scent drifting down to Perkins proper once this place got really up and running.

Nick ducked into a door at the end of the catwalk. Sure enough, his box of samples was waiting in what used to be a test kitchen. He hefted it onto his hip and met his friend back in the middle. Alan stared into the vat below, then rose a brow at Nick’s box.

“That’s it?” he asked. It was just a box of dated bottles, the fluid inside almost clear unlike the yellow vat below.

“It’s just some samples to go over when I get home,” Nick said. “Holly gave me this grace period to set up and all, though.”

“You have a place down here already?” Alan asked.

“Yeah, I’m good. Thanks for coming with.”

“No problem.”

Nick brought the box under one arm. “You are not gonna believe my lab! I have, yanno, actually decent assets, plus I brought this great couch. Still needs cleaned up but I’ve got time for- ah, shit!”

Alan pivoted. Nick flailed. Something wet had burned a hole in his sock. He almost dropped the box bending down to tend to it. Alan took it from his hands.

“Did you spill something?” Alan asked.

None of the bottles were leaking, but Nick could have. He winced. Looked like a chemical burn, the chemical doing the burning unknown. They were over an open vat. Maybe a bubble popped up and splashed him? It just seemed too far down.

Nick braced on the railing. Taking even a small step on his foot had to hurt. He had to bite his lip to keep from swearing up and down about it.

Dimly Alan heard a creak beside him. A groan like an old door being forced open, metal protesting weight. Yellow dribbled at the base of the railing. Nick saw it before Alan did. “Mo.”

“What is this?” Alan said, careful not to touch it. “Detergent shouldn’t cause a burn like this.”

The metal creaked louder. Nick set down his burning foot and breathed through his teeth. He couldn’t stand without supporting himself on something. He waved for Alan to get back. “Mo, I think it’s gonna-”

It was all he could get out before the metal cracked apart with a violent jerk, like a huge hand yanking the bars from the catwalk. Nick’s full weight was on a railing that was no longer. He fell with it. Alan yelled for him and grabbed at his lab coat but too late.

***

Nick had a split second to twist and see the yellow reaching up to meet him. He landed with a smack, given just a blink to hold his breath before he got sucked inside.

It didn’t take him long to let it go. His mouth opened to scream from the acidic goo eating away at his skin. The fluid poured down his throat, suffocating him until he was so full of the stuff he could feel it eating away the inside like he’d huffed a lungful of termites. Stuck as a fly in jello, the skin dissolved in seconds as the rest of his tissue was devoured cell by cell. Muscle and bones and nerves broke into microscopic pieces until he found a blissful, empty numbness.

With the pain gone, he found he didn’t mind being stuck quite so much. Something around him seeped in, calming yet utterly ecstatic. He knew these feelings were coming from somewhere else, but he didn’t mind feeling them either. It was like a song, a chorus he couldn’t really figure out how he was hearing. The voice vibrated through the new frame forming around where he was.

He could see it now. Just this mass of material he could move when he thought about it, quick to take on the shape of the last thing it remembered. Another layer formed around it, separating him from the rest of the vat. This done, the goo around him glowed orange.

His own material mimicked the color and glowed, too. Happy, loving vibrations hummed through his whole body like a strummed guitar. He glowed brighter.

The goo sang at him. The same syllable, over and over. It was like drowning in this innocent sorta happy, like his relief to be alive reflected back at him and then some. He reached for where it came from.

It was interrupted by a voice. Alan’s voice, shouting. Nick. “Mo!”

The word echoed around Nick, bouncing through the goo and off the walls of the vat. He was Nick, and he was in a vat, and he’d just been drowned and dissolved. And his best friend was all alone.

Nick’s body reacted. He rose to the top until open air hit him.

It was a strain, pulling his gooey shape out limb by limb. Everything was weighted wrong, his new self held together with strands of thick, yellow goo until he had himself looking close to what he’d been just a moment ago.

He laughed. It was a waterlogged, gurgly laugh, but it was mostly his own, rippling out like a wave. He was not dead. Not dead was good.

“Nick?” Alan’s voice, in disbelief.

Nick squinted up. His eyes must have changed with the rest of him, yet somehow his view of Alan was still blurry without his glasses. No glasses, and no clothes either, but he didn’t seem to need them now. This fact should probably have bothered him more. At least he found the weight of his ponytail at his neck when he sat up.

Alan just stared down, horror and relief duking it out on his face.

“Mo!” Nick called. “I’m right here. This stuff is amazing!” His new sort-of flesh fascinated him as he looked it over now, glowing orange again with his glee like before. He rubbed his hands together. The outer layer of himself oozed transparent off his fingers, making webs when he spread them. Still couldn’t see anything far off so well, though. That would be a problem.

“I’m gonna need new glasses,” he mumbled.

As he moved to stand, he could feel the top of the goo peel from his backside. Sort of rough, like the humming vat didn’t want to let him go.

Then he just… hovered above it. Like a ghost. He laughed again. When he thought about it, he moved up higher.

“Wait,” he told Alan. “I think I got this!”

Nick willed himself higher and just found more laughter bubbling out of him. He was floating. Actually floating, at least ten feet above the vat and twice that off the ground. Good thing he didn’t mind heights! He did have to stick his hands out to stop his ascent, tumbling end over end until he was on his backside a few feet over Alan.

Alan was back up against the other railing. He had a sample bottle in hand and was searching Nick’s face for… Nick’s face. Nick needed a mirror. Did he look like himself. His voice definitely sounded like himself. “It’s me, Mo. Can’t believe I lost my glasses. I think I have a back up pair in the lab. I think.”

Trembling, Alan approached. Nick rubbed at his face with his hands. The outer layer still didn’t stick to itself, though a few strands of it came off when he pulled away. He flicked them off. “Man, Mo, you will not believe what just happened in there. I scared you good, didn’t I?”

“How are you alive?” Alan breathed. His fingers tangled around each other. His palm was a bright, scalded red. Couldn’t be the chemical burn Nick had gotten before he fell, but, dang, was he alright? Not that Alan seemed concerned with himself just now. “The heat by itself should’ve killed you.”

“Gee, good to see you, too.”

“Shocked you! Fine! I just mean-”

“I know what you mean, but I’m fine!” Nick spread his arms. A few drops of that outer ooze dripped to the vat below. Little drops of inner, opaque goo sank in and out of his body, but it didn’t feel painful or anything. Seemed like breathing or blood flow, something autonomic he didn’t have to control. Basically the same as circulating anything else in a body. “See! Still alive!”

The fear on Alan’s face made Nick’s body warm. He found himself a hot white color. Fight or flight, like the goo heating up to move quickly. He calmed and willed the goo back to a yellowish orange. He grinned. He was getting the hang of this quick! “C’mon, Mo, don’t get dark. I’m still me.”

“What’s going on up there?”

Their attention shifted to the steps approaching on the floor far below. Nick and Alan exchanged startled looks.

“What do we do?”

“Uh.” Nick’s first instinct was to dive down, back into the safety of the vat. He at least fumbled his hover lower, just over the goo so the vat’s walls concealed him from whoever was shouting at Alan.

Nick peered over the vat’s edge. The man was a security guard, in navy blue with a gut and a walkie talkie at his hip. “You alright up there, sir?” the guard called up to Alan.

Alan took a moment to reply. His voice cracked at first, but he calmed to his usual tone before the guard could register it. “The rail’s broken! I was just on my way to find someone.”

“I can see that! You okay?” the guard asked. Nick stayed hidden as Alan gathered the box of samples into his arms and tapped down the stairs to the factory floor.

They carried on in their conversation. Nick tuned out as something batted at his ankle. No burn this time, just the goo rising a tendril and clinging to him. It buzzed again. Sadness chorused into him with a new sound, a purring pbbt like the saddest raspberry Nick had ever heard. The humming little song continued until Nick was almost guilty to leave the goo.

But he had Alan to worry about. Nick floated over the wall of the vat, then drifted slow and wobbly to the factory floor. Now for the tough part. Alan had the guard’s full focus, telling the half truth that he’d been here with an employee friend. The guard just rambled about drifters and needing to up the safety measures on this hunk of junk. Famous last words for a guy who left the door propped open for Nick to slip through.

His float picked up speed once he got out of the factory. He wanted to go full Superman, up and away to test this new ability, but he spotted his van and darted for the driver’s side. If he could get in and drive him and Alan to his lab, maybe he’d be able to learn more about what this all was.

But his fingers slipped on the handle. He couldn’t get his thumb to put enough pressure on the button to even wedge it open, the ooze on his hands making it impossible to get a grip.

“Shit.” Anxiety washed over him, setting his body blazing white. He patted himself down. His wallet had been left in the glove compartment, and he had a spare set of keys from Holly, but his other effects had been dissolved with the rest of him. What’s the use of spare keys if he couldn’t hold them, anyways? Could he drive at all?

He got a pretty good look at himself in the side rear view. His face was definitely less defined, even if it was a pretty good approximation of the human Nick Cervos. He angled the mirror. Peered for the deep brown of his eyes, but these ones were white with an orange pupil. “Jesus,” he mumbled, and his mouth moved but he could feel the word vibrate from all over his body.

He was studying the inside of his new mouth- no individual teeth, but there were ridges to mimic them and a tongue, and it’s only hollow to the back of his throat- when he heard voices.

He ducked behind the back door, hovering so his feet couldn’t be seen underneath. Alan and the guard again, casual and cordial about whatever was being said.

“You take care, Mr. Mortimer!” the guard called.

“I will,” Alan said back. “Have a good night!” He sounded almost relieved, like nothing in particular had happened at all. Nick glowed a peachy orange, proud. Alan kept so calm under pressure.

Alan leaned against the passenger door. Sighed, hugging the box to his chest. “I thought I just saw the craziest thing happen, Nick. You should tell your boss her products might cause hallucinations.”

Nick laughed, but it was a false laugh. A laugh who didn’t know who it was kidding, it was so fake.

Alan froze in his slouch, eyes wide. “Nick. It didn’t actually happen.” Not a question, just a statement of what he hoped to be fact. Nick’s silence earned a more insistent, “Nick!”

“Surprise, Mo,” Nick said, floating into view. Arms spread and glowing with a forced pep, but getting more real by the second. There was so much he had to learn, and Alan had made it out okay so this was all going to be fine. “At least you’re not crazy, huh?”

Alan just stared. Clutched the box in his arms, eye twitching.

Nick waved his hands and flicked a little ooze on the van. “Surprise!”

#obnoxious #writing #uhhhhh #body horror #transformation #rest in slutch nick cervos #rose ramblin

[falcoworks]

"So he's her... brother?" "Uncle. But she doesn't know that." "And they're... dating...?" "Yeah, see he's planning to seduce and then murder her to replace her with her evil twin so he can control the family fortune." "Is that how family fortunes work?" "Hell if I know."

#He's trying his best to pick up the plot in the middle but this soap opera has been running for like 50 seasons #Indy Montoya #Pen Woodlock #deer #tufted deer #coyote #anthro #furry #furry art #environment #scribble

[dodgefred]

do you have any ideas as to how you would direct abh/certain scenes if you had the chance

short answer: yes

long answer:

i think overall i would do similar things from mcc because the directing in mcc was exquisite and jessie nelson did a wonderful job, but i would also incorporate some other elements into the show like having an ensemble onstage at all times, having the ensemble integrated into the set like the spring awakening revival does, and i would want everything to feel much more intimate. mcc already does a great job with the intimacy but i really would want to expand on that feeling and make the audience feel as if they’re a member of the bunker listening to this story too.

another thing i would keep is the parallels between bunker visuals and wonderland concepts, like the gas mask flamingos. i would like to expand on this, though, and make the parallels used in the costumes much more noticeable.

the plot structure of alice by heart, in my mind, is alice spencer telling the story of alfred’s death (whether she realizes it or not). i’d have alice begin and end the show reading her book. the music of west of words would begin as soon as alice opens to page one, and the sirens wouldn’t get introduced until after her first verse. this lets us get introduced to alice as a character before we’re introduced to her situation. this also should be the only time alice is alone onstage, and the stage would be bare.

after the siren, the rest of the ensemble would run onstage with furniture and build the bunker in a flurry of bodies and chaos surrounding alice. alfred would run in front of alice before running to his cot, and the rest of this scene would proceed with alice still standing in the middle of all of the chaos around her. her book is still open in her hands. she is our narrator.

my next major point of change would be with down the hole. the bunker kids changing into their wonderland forms would be more clear, and would feature more dramatic onstage quick changes during each of their respective verses or lines. instead of alice twirling into her blue dress, she manipulates the rest of the cast into changing themselves. i don’t think alice would change into her blue dress until alfred sings his “down and down we fall” verse. alfred would playfully remind her to change herself, too. they’re best friends and have played this game countless times and we need to show it onstage. also i think alfred deserves to wear rabbit ears. that’s all.

an alternative decision would be alice starting the show in her blue dress in order to represent how she’s constantly with “[her] head in wonderland.”

i think mcc didn’t do enough with still. a bit of a spoiler for later is that i really want to keep the lobster dance, or at least something similar to it. however, i’d introduce it in still rather than in those long eyes. i’d introduce it as an overarching theme of their relationship. just like wonderland, the lobster dance is something they do quite often; often enough for alfred to know how to do it even when he isn’t fully paying attention. in still, alfred would still try to be evading the discussion and escape alice’s grasp, but she’d try and do their dance together. they don’t finish the dance before the end of the song.

the only major change i would make to chillin the regrets is i’d have the caterpillars lay down more for the scene before. they can get up and do fun choreo with alice afterwards (during the song) but i think she should work more for the attention they give her (during the scene), like alice has to in the original story. they should definitely be more apathetic towards her at first. i’d also like to introduce some sort of dance motif in chillin that alice echoes to alfred in the key is when she tries to get him to smoke. in chillin, i also think it would be cool if there was a smoke machine onstage making the stage as foggy as alice’s head is. if she as our narrator doesn’t know what’s going on, how are we supposed to? i think the smoke can fade for the key is, because we actually need to see that one for the plot, but i think even so there could be some sort of playing with shadows and silhouettes that would be really cool.

i think the bird scene would be really fun with puppetry! the puppets could be made out of items that would only be found in the bunker, like the same fabric the cots are made of, buttons that match the ones on the characters’ clothes, and the gas mask beaks. the birds would just be so much fun as puppets. skipping ahead a bit here, but i also think the duchess in manage your flamingo should have a pig puppet to reference the original a bit more closely.

as mentioned earlier, those long eyes would have a dance motif that would continue throughout the show, and i think while the dance in those long eyes lasted longer than it did in still, it still should be cut off by the sirens and shouldn’t be complete. alice still doesn’t have closure for their relationship by this point, so the dance shouldn’t either.

for most of the show, the cheshire puss should be hooded and perched on an upper platform whenever shes giving alice advice. when alice wont listen to her, she finally snaps and sings some things fall away. she gets on alice’s level and finally reveals her face.

i don’t have many more specific ideas until the end because most of the songs in the middle chunk of the show are just alice running around wonderland and i’m not a choreographer so i’m not really sure what i’d do exactly with these. but i do want to bring up the jabberwocky. i’m obsessed with what mcc does by making alice’s fear of the doctor and the soldiers physical, but i think we could take brillig braellig as an opportunity to bring back the puppets. i think it could be an entirely dark stage except for alice and the jabberwocky. the jabberwocky can be made entirely of white fabric and have images of war and alice’s other fears and traumas projected onto him. the stage can be lit from below so we get some interesting shadows. if we want to incorporate something like mcc did with butridge literally being the jabberwocky, he can be dressed in all white as well and have the puppet follow him around the stage to have more physical interaction with alice. in this scene, i imagine the puppet being pretty big so the ensemble’s place onstage would be helping in puppeteering so the stage would feel emptier than it actually is.

i’m obsessed with the falling rose petals and the coughing before another room in your head in mcc but i think that part could really benefit from some modifications. instead of them being in an empty stage, i think there could be a carpet of white roses beneath them and soap blood could literally come from alfred all over them and all over him. the roses aren’t the only roses in that scene.

in i’ve shrunk enough, i think it would be cool for the characters to go up in a puff of smoke and exit out of a trap door in the stage when alice poofs them out of existence. alice should be the only one poofing everyone away, as she is our narrator. i also think there could be a moment where alfred quickly runs backstage and changes back into his original hospital gown for the final scenes. (in terms of logistics i think the hospital gown could stay beneath his white rabbit costume so he’s able to more quickly change). when he returns onstage, it should be the end of the song. in the vassar reading, at the end of i’ve shrunk enough, alfred says “time’s up” after the final notes of the song. i would want to bring that back. alfred says it as he returns onstage, and the lighting suddenly shifts to two spotlights — one on alice and one on alfred — that merge as the two get closer throughout the next scene.

in afternoon, we bring back the lobster dance. this should be the only time the dance comes to a close. alice isn’t ready for alfred to die, but she’s a hell of a lot more ready than she was during still. she can continue doing the dance by herself after alfred leaves.

after alfred leaves the stage, alice also picks up the book. throughout the show it was probably left downstage in one of the corners of the stage, so here alice picks it back up and finishes it on alfred’s cot. the spotlight follows and doesn’t disperse to reveal the rest of the ensemble until the final notes of the song when alice finally closes the book.

throughout winter blooms, the characters should dismantle the bunker like they brought it on in the beginning. they each change into their wonderland costumes once again (or at least bits and pieces of them, since winter blooms is a pretty quick song, but i doubt their wonderland costumes are too drastically different from their bunker costumes regardless) throughout the rest of the song. at the very end, i’d have alice come centerstage once more, standing in the same place she was during alfred’s death. she’d sing to an empty stage, for the most part, until her final “and there you are.” alfred comes onstage (whether he comes onstage himself or he’s brought up through the stage on a lift or a turntable, i don’t know) in his white rabbit costume once again, and alice pulls him into an embrace as the stage fades to black once more.

#can u tell ive thought about this a lot #alice by heart #answered #anon #this wasn’t proofread sorry if it’s bad

[jensenswinchester]

Lie to Me

Summary: The classic truth spell trope with a wicked twist.

Pairing: Dean x Female!Reader

Word Count: 4948 

Warnings: Dean’s an asshole. Angst makes the world go ‘round. Insecurities briefly mentioned. Did I mention Dean’s an asshole? Fluff if you squint.

A/N: I’m back! This is my entry for @jawritter‘s Make Me Cry challenge and @deanwanddamons 2k Celebration! My prompts are in bold. I hope y’all enjoy!

It was no secret that Dean had changed since he took the Mark of Cain. He was more reckless than normal, which only progressed after taking out the entire Stine family for what they did to Charlie and almost did to Y/N. Y/N was in the bunker when the Stines invaded, resorting to hiding in one of the trunks of the classic cars in the garage to stay safe. Once Dean left Castiel bloody and battered in the library, he raced to the garage, having told Y/N not to move until he came for her. When he found her, his features only softened once he saw how terrified she was of him; the amount of blood covering his clothes and hands was enough to turn her stomach. Y/N, as usual, did her best to clean up the older Winchester, using it as a way to distract her from what happened only hours prior. When it was time to say goodbye to Charlie, Y/N separated herself from the brothers, the tension between them so thick you needed a chainsaw to cut through. Dean tossed some heated remarks to Sam and Y/N sank to the muddy ground, furious that this was happening in front of the pyre that held their dear friend. Dean stormed off and Sam came around to help her up, the pair watching the bow-legged hunter climb into his Impala and drive away.

Dean was angry, and the only way he knew how to release that anger was to hunt and kill whatever he could. He scoured the news, desperate to find something he could take down, preferably alone. He couldn’t look at Sam, blaming his brother for the death of his surrogate sister. He didn’t want to bring Y/N with him, he just wanted to drive, hunt, and kill.

Dean found a case, one that would hopefully settle the Mark’s need for blood and his own anger. The fact that it was a witch was an added bonus.

He left in the middle of the night when Sam and Y/N couldn’t try to stop him or tag along. He felt a little bad leaving Y/N behind but the Mark stung too badly for him to care at the moment. He wouldn’t be gone long, the case was only two states over, he’d back soon enough. 

In the bunker, Y/N was pissed that Dean was ignoring her calls. Sam expected it, he knew how angry Dean was, so he expected for his brother to ignore him, but Y/N? He adored her, for Dean to ignore her was unlike him. Y/N was confused, she wasn’t part of the plot to save Dean, Sam explicitly kept her out of the loop because he knew asking her to sneak behind Dean’s back was out of the question. She was loyal to the older Winchester, to a fault, and asking her to go against his wishes was more than even Sam could muster. 

Ever since the Stines invaded and killed Charlie, Y/N was thinking about her feelings for Dean. She called him immediately when they broke the door down and he’s the one who instructed her to hide in the garage; it was a plan the two agreed on for these situations. While she was hiding in the trunk of one of the vintage vehicles, all she could think about was that she could die and never be able to tell Dean how she felt. She decided then that she’d tell him, and soon. That’s why she was so upset that he left without telling her, it just prolonged her getting everything out in the open.

While the two waited in the bunker for Dean’s return, Dean handled the witch with ease. She tried at the last minute to hit him with what he assumed was a spell of sorts, but the witch killing bullet was in her before she could finish the incantation. He felt better, the Mark’s hunger was satiated, and there was one less witch causing trouble. A win all around, in his book.

Y/N was sitting in the library researching when the bunker door opened three days later. She was trying to keep the hurt and the anger at bay, still upset that Dean was ignoring her for reasons she couldn’t figure out while she was ready to tell him how she felt. Sam was out grabbing dinner, she assumed it was him.

“That was fast,” she remarked, getting up to help him unpack, until she was face to face with Dean. “Oh, not Sam. Welcome home.” She moved to greet him with a hug, only for him to step back out of her reach. Her face fell, Dean never rejected her touch, even with the Mark. “Dean?”

“Don’t touch me,” he growled, “I hate it when you throw yourself at me like that.”

“You…what? Since when?”

“Since forever. Just shows how clingy you are.”

Y/N stared in shock before letting her eyes cast to the floor, the heat in her cheeks so warm coupled with his venomous glare that she was growing physically uncomfortable before him. “I’m s-sorry. I didn’t realize…I thought we…I thought you and I…“

“What? You thought there was something here?” Dean motioned between the two of them. “Far from it.” He looked her over, his eyes running over her figure. “You think I’d ever want you?”

“I…I thought m-maybe…”

“Well I don’t. I don’t even want you here.”

“That’s not true,” she whispered, knowing if she was really that unwelcome, he’d have no problem kicking her out.

“True? You want the truth? Oh, sweetheart, you can’t handle the truth. But I’ll give it to you. Don’t you think if I wanted you, I’d have done something by now? You’re just another burden that was dumped on me that I didn’t ask for.” He paused, circling the war table, Y/N visibly shaking before him as she tried to keep herself composed, though it was obvious she was already broken at his words. “You’re always in the way, you know? You’re one more person I have to protect on hunts, since you’re not exactly reliable these days. Maybe if you were in shape you’d be less of a liability, then I wouldn’t have to constantly be saving your sorry ass-“

“Dean!” Sam barked, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Y/N hadn’t even heard him come in, the blood was pounding in her ears as she fought back tears, refusing to cry in front of Dean for fear he’d throw that in her face, too. He already implied she was fat, using her biggest insecurity against her, she didn’t need him throwing another one her way.

“What? I’m just saying,” Dean shrugged.

“You don’t just say that,” Sam glared before shooting a knowing look to Y/N, nodding his head towards the kitchen. She took the hint and all but ran out of the room. “What the hell could she have said to make you say that to her? She didn’t do anything to you.”

“She’s just annoying, another mouth to feed, a cockblock at the bar. We don’t need her here bringing us down. I wish she’d just leave.”

“Do you even hear yourself? That’s Y/N. She’s done more for us than anyone else has. She takes care of us when we’re sick and hurt, she puts up with our shit, specifically all of your shit and you…what the fuck Dean?”

Dean rolled his eyes, picking up his bags and turning to leave the room. Sam watched in disbelief before joining Y/N in the kitchen finding her with her head in her hands at the table. “Hey, hey, shhhh,” he whispered, sitting down next to her and pulling her into his arms. She sobbed harshly into his flannel. 

“He h-hates me,” she cried, the words muffled against his shirt. Sam shook his head, furious with his brother.

“He doesn’t, he couldn’t.” He rubbed her back soothingly, gently rocking her from side to side. “That wasn’t my brother.”

“I…I d-don’t understand,” she whimpered, sniffling.

“What exactly happened? Can you tell me?”

Y/N sat up slightly, wiping the tears off her cheeks and taking a deep breath to steady herself. “I thought he was you, I said hello, went to hug him. He backed up and when I tried to see what was wrong, he just started in on me.” She looked down. “I was finally ready to tell him, Sam.”

His eyes widened, knowing exactly what she meant. “Oh fuck no,” he muttered, pulling her back into his embrace. “Something must’ve happened while he was gone…but even then he had no right to talk to you like that. For everything that he’s been through, even with the Mark, he’d never, ever, talk to you like that. If it was anyone else, they’d be dead. If he could’ve heard himself…“ Sam stopped, shaking his head in anger. “Something’s not right.”

“Am…am I clingy, Sam?” Y/N asked quietly, Dean’s words echoing in her head.

“God, no, Y/N. You’re not. A few hugs and cuddles here and there doesn’t make you clingy.” Sam smiled sadly, tucking her hair behind her ear. “You are one of the best things to happen to Dean and me. You look after us, keep this place running, you help with hunts and research. You’re incredibly important to us and you’re a part of this little family, regardless of what my brother said. I love you, he loves you…hell, the real him adores you. You’re the little sister I always wanted, I always want you around. You’re not a cockblock or another mouth to feed and you certainly don’t bring us down. You build us up and help us keep going, every day. And before you say anything, no, there is nothing physically wrong with you, so please don’t get back into that headspace. You’re doing so well, don’t let this bring you back into that dark place. I’ll talk to him.”

Y/N smiled weakly, eyes brimming over with tears at Sam’s reassurance. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“You’re welcome,” he smiled, placing a soft kiss to her forehead. “How about you go take a bath and relax a bit while I try to figure out what’s going on, okay?”

She nodded and he squeezed her in another hug before letting her go, watching her leave the kitchen and make her way towards her room, which was unfortunately next to Dean’s. Y/N tiptoed passed his room, terrified of doing anything to set him off on her again. Once in the safety of her bedroom, she gathered her comfiest pajamas, slippers, and her favorite bath soap to bring to the bathroom. She set those items aside, rummaging for her duffle. She didn’t like being so close to Dean after what happened, so she decided to throw her necessities and some clothes into the bag, topping it with her favorite pillow and blanket. She knew the bedroom next to Sam’s was empty, for now she’d make that her room until she felt comfortable being around the older hunter again.

On the way to the bathroom, Y/N dropped her bag, blanket and pillow into the spare room, closing the door behind her before heading into the private, smaller bathroom in the bunker. She turned the water on in the tub, adjusting the temperature before plugging the drain and adding her bath soap before shedding her clothes and sinking into the water below the bubbles.

Down the hall and a few twists and turns away, Sam was making his way to Dean’s room, having already sent a quick prayer to Castiel in hopes he could help him figure out what was wrong with his brother. 

“Sam,” Castiel greeted with a flutter of his wings, “what’s going on?”

Sam sighed heavily. “Something’s wrong with Dean, I don’t know what but the way he just lashed out at Y/N tells me it’s bad.” They stopped outside Dean’s door, Sam knocking hard three times before opening the door, not bothering to wait for an invitation.

“Get out,” Dean growled, ripping his headphones off his ears. 

“Not until you tell me what happened when you were gone to make you come back a grade A douchebag,” Sam shot back.

“Nothing happened, now get out.”

“Dean, you’re not yourself.”

“I’m fine,” Dean glared, his eyes on Castiel. 

“The Dean I know never would’ve said what he did to Y/N, so that’s bullshit,” Sam argued.

“She had it coming,” he shrugged. Sam’s eyes widened and his nostrils flared with anger. “Oh, calm down.”

“You know what Dean? Maybe you should leave for a while,” Sam started, advancing towards Dean, “sort your shit out.”

Dean rose from his bed, glowering at his little brother. “You’re really gonna kick me out? For her?”

Before Sam could respond, Castiel took the opportunity to move around Sam, placing his fingers to Dean’s forehead to see if he could use his grace to identify the problem. “He’s under a spell.”

“A spell? What kind of spell?” Sam asked, looking between the angel and the thoroughly pissed off hunter.

“I’m not sure, but it’s there, clinging to him.” Castiel pressed his fingers to Dean’s forehead again to try and ease him a bit to get him to cooperate better. Dean sat back down on his bed, a little more relaxed.

“Dean, you have to tell me what happened when you were gone,” Sam pleaded.

“I was on a hunt, it was a witch.”

“Do you remember anything that she said?”

“She was chanting something but I killed her before she could finish.”

“Or maybe you didn’t,” Sam sighed. “I’ll call Rowena, see if she can maybe give use insight as to what kind of spell the witch used.” He pulled out his phone before looking at his brother again. “You stay the hell away from Y/N, got it? You’ve done enough damage.”

“I’ll watch him,” Castiel offered, Sam nodding in agreement before shooting his brother one last look and heading to the library, dialing Rowena’s number.

“Samuel,” she answered.

“Rowena, I need your help.”

“You seem to be needing a lot of that lately, Samuel. And yet you’ve done nothing for me in return.”

“I’m working on it,” he responded curtly, “the quicker you get to the bunker, the faster I finish the deal. It’s about Y/N.”

The witch sighed, having developed a soft spot for the girl. “Fine, fine. I’ll be there soon.”

After her bath, Sam informed Y/N that Rowena was coming and that there was some sort of spell involved. Y/N cringed at his brother’s name, her body tensing. Sam explained that he knew the spell wasn’t an excuse for what Dean said to her, but it helped piece a few things together. Y/N just wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to look at the hunter the same way again.

Until Rowena arrived, Y/N stayed in her new bedroom, locked away from everyone but Sam. He brought her meals, knowing she wasn’t up to wandering the bunker halls and risking the chance of running into Dean. As strong as he knew she was, even he didn’t think she’d be able to handle another run-in with the older hunter. 

Two days later, Rowena made her way down the steps of the bunker. Sam did his best to fill her in on what little information he got from Dean, which was a terrible pronunciation of whatever the young witch chanted at him, plus the crap attitude he’d been exhibiting ever since, including what he said to Y/N.

“But here’s the thing, I know my brother and I know how he feels about her, and it’s…it’s like everything he said to her is the exact opposite of what he’s ever said to me about her. He’s said some pretty fucked up things in his life, even to me, but to her? He’d never. It doesn’t make sense, he said the witch didn’t even finish the spell.”

“Perhaps your brother changed his mind.”

“Rowena, no. Cas was able to detect the remnants of a spell that seems to be stuck to him. That’s why I need your help, I don’t know what spell it could be.”

“Your brother, he possesses the Mark of Cain, correct?” Sam nodded. “Then whatever spell she cast…the Mark in a way protects the person who bears it. The person can’t die, as you know. In this case, it sounds like the Mark warped the spell that was thrown at Dean and it’s now sticking to him instead of wearing off like it normally would after a few days.”

“But what kind of spell? A truth spell wouldn’t make him say all that…”

“No, but the Mark could twist a truth spell into making him lie, instead. Do you know anything about the witch?”

“She was casting truth spells and tearing couples apart around town,” Dean answered, making his presence known as he entered the war room. “She was angry that her husband had an affair and she took it out on everyone else.”

Sam groaned. “So that’s it. It was a truth spell but the Mark made you lie instead of actually tell the truth.”

Rowena rolled her eyes, “and turned you into quite the dick.” Dean shot a glare at the red-head, ready to bark a nasty reply when Sam stepped between the two.

“You don’t speak unless we ask you to,” he ordered, staring down his brother. Dean’s eyes widened before he cocked a brow, smirking.

“You don’t think there’s more I could say to you this time?”

“I don’t care what you say to me, I know it isn’t you. But Y/N? She’s off limits.”

“Too late for that-“

“ENOUGH,” Rowena yelled, both hunters jumping in surprise, “now, Samuel, you can fetch me these ingredients and Dean, well, you can sit down and keep your mouth shut.”

As Sam went to the storage room to gather the ingredients needed for the spell to reverse the one stuck to Dean, Rowena followed him to Y/N’s makeshift room, knocking on the door. 

“Go away,” Y/N answered pitifully.

“Someone’s here to see you, honey,” Sam answered, “its safe, I promise.” He unlocked her door and left her and Rowena alone while he went to find her supplies. Y/N sat up on her bed, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the witch.

“Hi,” she smiled weakly, moving over on her bed to make room for the witch.

“Oh darlin’, Auntie Rowena will fix it,” she soothed, sitting at the foot of the bed. “You see, Dean was hit with a truth spell, but because he bears the Mark, the spell backfired and made him lie instead. Sam’s fetching me the ingredients I need for a reversal to get rid of the spell that’s clinging to him because of the Mark.”

“So…all the things he said…”

“I’m guessing whatever he wanted to say, he said the opposite. Apparently the witch was cheated on by her husband and due to her anger she took it out on everyone, especially men, and cursed them to tell the truth. But in Dean’s case, he was cursed to lie.”

“And be a douche,” Y/N muttered. “He said some awful things, Ro.”

“The man’s not exactly kind on a good day if you’re on his bad side,” Rowena noted. “I’ll fix him. He’s going to remember everything and run in here and apologize, you’ll see.”

“I’m not sure I can look at him, I mean, he was so cold…so brutal. If I look at him that’s all I’ll see.”

“I think once he realizes what he said and how badly he hurt you, you’ll see a side of him you’ve never seen before. Dean’s very protective of you, we all know it, so once he realizes he’s the one who hurt you, he’s gonna be devastated. You just have to remember, it wasn’t him.”

Y/N nodded, though still apprehensive. Rowena smiled warmly, patting her legs before leaving the room to see if Sam found everything. Y/N curled back up under the covers, thinking about what Rowena said. Knowing that a spell made him say those things made her feel the smallest bit better, but it was still replaying in her head since it happened. She could still see Dean’s look of disgust and hear the hatred dripping off his tongue. The idea of facing him, even after he was cured of this spell, still terrified her.

In the library, Dean was sitting at one of the tables nursing his whiskey while Rowena and Sam worked on the spell. Cas was on standby, ready to intervene if Dean got out of hand somehow and also to see if the lingering spell faded. 

Minutes later, Rowena was chanting the incantation for the reversal, Sam and Cas on either side of Dean as a precaution. A beat passed before Dean’s stoic expression faded and his eyes glowed green. Rowena sighed with relief and Cas pressed two fingers to Dean’s forehead, nodding. The spell worked, Dean was back to normal.

And oh, what a crash it was.

Dean blinked a few times, looking around at their worried faces as he registered what had happened. When he realized who was missing in the room, his eyes widened as it all came flooding back like a movie scene in his head. 

“Where is she?” He choked, a wave of panic washing over him as he realized the magnitude of what he said to her.

“You remember?” Dean looked at Sam, shame and regret on his face.

“Everything.”

“She’s in the room next to mine, just go easy on her, Dean. You really did a number on her.” Dean nodded, hastily leaving the library and racing down the bunker halls until he got to the room Y/N was in. He took a deep breath before knocking softly.

“Come in,” she called, voice quiet. Dean turned the knob slowly, opening the door to find her curled up on the bed. The blatant fear on her face didn’t go unnoticed by Dean, the grimace leaving a sharp pain in his chest.

“Sweetheart,” his voice was barely above a whisper, “we need to talk.”

“I think you’ve said enough,” she answered, less bite in her reply than she would have liked.

“That…that wasn’t me, you know I’d never-“

“I thought I did, Dean. But that…even with a spell…,” She looked away from him, shaking her head. Dean’s face fell, eyes filling with tears. He really fucked up and it wasn’t even his fault this time.

“Y/N, I swear on Sam’s life, I didn’t mean a single word that I said to you that night. That wasn’t me talking, that was the spell. It’s like everything I wanted to say to you came out the complete opposite, the Mark completely took over and I’m so fucking sorry.” Dean paused, slowly making his way to her bed. When she didn’t object, he sat down by her feet.

“Sweetheart, I need you to look at me,” he begged. Y/N looked up from the spot she was fixated on on the floor, her eyes meeting his teary ones. “I wouldn’t change a single thing about you, you are perfect exactly the way you are. I wouldn’t be able to go on day after day without you supporting me. You aren’t a burden and I never want you to leave even though I think you deserve better than this life. Selfishly, I can’t let you go. You make this place feel like a home and I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re not clingy…you mean so much to me, Y/N. I can’t tell you how sorry I am and how much I hate that I’ve hurt you. I’m supposed to protect you and you’re…you’re scared of me.”

“You looked at me with such hate,” she whispered, cringing. “I can’t unsee it no matter how hard I try.”

“Sweetheart, I could never hate you,” Dean breathed, “not when I’m too busy loving you.”

Y/N’s eyes widened, “You…what?”

“When I got back that night you said you thought there was something between us and I told you there wasn’t because of the spell’s influence. Under normal circumstances, I would’ve agreed with you. There’s always been a different connection between you and I. I don’t see you as a little sister the way Sam does. I know what I said, but Y/N, how could I not want you?”

Y/N blinked, trying to process what he was saying. “Uh, well, for starters, look at me.”

“I’m always looking at you. I think you’re beautiful exactly the way you are. You take care of me, you put up with my shit, and you’re my best friend. I can’t see myself with anyone else.”

“Dean…I-“

“You don’t have to say it back. I put you through hell, I don’t expect you to feel that way about me anymore.”

“No, I do, and that’s been the hardest part.”

Dean smiled sadly, reaching out to cup her cheek. “If you let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life, however long that is, proving to you that I mean everything I just said.”

“It wasn’t you,” she whispered, “you don’t have to.”

“But I’ll do it if it means you’ll forgive me.” He wiped a few stray tears off her cheek, his thumb grazing her cheekbone. “Can I hold you?” He asked meekly, biting his lip. She nodded into his palm before getting scooped up in a hug, her face buried in his neck as Dean finally broke, tears landing in her hair. “I’m so sorry,” he cried, squeezing her to him.

“Dean,” she mumbled, her lips against his skin sending shivers down his spine. “Please don’t cry.” She rubbed his back softly, trying to soothe him. She didn’t expect this. 

“I hate this thing so much,” he muttered, her eyes casting down to his forearm where the Mark was hidden by his henley sleeve. “All it does is make me angry and it’s getting harder and harder to control it, especially after…”

“I know,” she nodded, knowing he meant Charlie and the Stines. “That whole thing…that’s what made me want to tell you how I felt about you. Waiting for you in the trunk of the car felt like an eternity and I knew I would be okay as long as you got to me. I always feel safe when I’m with you, Dean, always. But I was so scared that they’d find me first and I’d die before getting to tell you. You were so angry and it felt wrong to tell you right after we lost Charlie, but I gathered the little confidence I had while you were gone-“

“And then I came home under a spell and said what I said.” Dean sighed, his grip tightening on her. “When you called me and told me the Stines broke in, Y/N, I’ve been in awful situations like that before with Sam but this…this felt so different. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, not until I saw you and knew you were okay. Everything felt like it was going in slow motion, no matter how fast I drove.” Y/N shuddered at the memory, digging herself deeper into Dean’s chest, face pressed against his neck. She inhaled deeply, relaxing as his scent that can only be described as Dean calmed her senses. “You’re okay, you’re safe,” he whispered, kissing her hair. He laid them down on her bed, tucking her under his chin.

“Dean,” she whispered, fisting his henley. 

“Yeah baby?”

“I do love you, you know.” She could feel the chuckle rumble through his chest.

“I maybe had a small feeling, or at least hoped I was reading everything right.” He ran his fingers through her hair gently, breathing in her shampoo. “Will you give me a chance to make it all up to you?”

She pulled back to look up at him, cupping his cheek. He nuzzled against her palm, eyes locked on hers as his stubble tickled her skin. “Of course, handsome.” He grinned, pressing a kiss to her palm as she blushed. She couldn’t stay mad at Dean, never was able to. But knowing how he truly felt about her, that everything that happened was the work of a witch, she knew she couldn’t hold a grudge. That wasn’t her Dean, the man who sang her back to sleep when her nightmares took over even though he hated singing to anyone but Baby’s steering wheel. The man looking at her so intently, holding her so tightly, this was her Dean. “And Dean?” 

“Sweetheart?”

“I forgive you,” she smiled, Dean’s eyes softening as he let out a breath of relief he didn’t know he was holding. 

“Thank you,” he whispered, pulling her impossibly closer. He kissed her forehead and her nose before softly kissing her lips, pulling back and brushing his nose against hers. Dean knew what happened wasn’t his fault, and Y/N may have forgiven him anyway, but he fully intended on spending the rest of his life, however long it may be, making sure she knew just how much he loved her, and doing his very best to deserve someone as incredible as her.

#jensmakemecrychallenge #deanwanddamons2kcelebration #dean winchester x female reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #supernatural fanfiction

[elizabeethan]

Spaces Between Us Chapter 10: Over Again

The hardships of real life separated them six years ago, and Emma has been struggling to put that fact behind her ever since. But then, only after she’s convinced herself that she’s moved on and that her new life is enough, Killian Jones comes back.

A Captain Swan Modern AU

A/N: Not much to say here. Mentions of what Emma went through in the previous chapter, as well as some minor medical stuff. Message me if you need more info!

Thank you, as usual, to my beta and friend @the-darkdragonfly, and to @donteattheappleshook and @xhookswenchx for listening to my ramblings and helping me figure out the plot to this <3

Read the Rest

Read on Ao3

Read my Other Stuff

~~~~

Emma is stuck. She knows what will make her happy, what will make things right for her, and she can’t get there. Any move she makes, someone suffers, and she can hardly stand it any longer. While she originally thought that a separation would lead to her potentially losing her son, she fears now that doing anything to inconvenience her husband could mean real, immediate threats to their physical safety, and she has no idea what to do. She’s feeling so hopeless that she can hardly get herself out of bed on time to walk Henry to school the next morning. 

 Walsh isn’t home when she wakes, although she isn’t sure when he left because she spent another night in the guest room. While she would normally text Killian minimally, she found that she felt so despondent last night that she couldn’t pick up her phone. While he normally makes her feel a sense of calm safety, her argument with her husband and the imminent threat of danger against her and Henry erased any feelings of positivity that she had. 

 Of course, it was foolish of her to use Killian as a means to feel good about her life when she knows how bad it is. Having him has been great, but it doesn’t address the root of her problems, and she’s starting to see that with more and more clarity. She can see now that, despite how soothing his presence has been over the last few months, things are as bad as ever-- worse-- and last night served as a wake up call to that fact. The depression that has plagued her for six years, the blackened shadow that she thought Killian had shown a light upon, has settled itself over her heart once again. 

 Henry’s quiet on their short walk to school, as if he can read her demeanor, and it makes the tears continue to flow from her eyes until they feel frozen on her cheeks. She can’t believe that she’s let this affect him so much that he can tell that she’s feeling this way. It only serves as another reminder of her shortcomings as a mother. 

 He hugs her so tight when they get to school that she dreads letting go, wishing she could steal him away and run as fast and as far as they can, but she knows that could never happen. Whatever she does, Walsh and his cohorts will find them, of that she’s certain. 

She’s on her way back to the house, unsure of how to spend her Friday and desiring not to see anyone who can tell her something she already knows. She doesn’t need to hear from her sister about how horrible her life has become. She doesn’t need to hear from Killian about how desperately he wants to get her away from her husband. 

 Of course, what she needs doesn’t seem to be on the universe’s radar, because before she can make it halfway home, the squad car is pulling up behind her and parking, the driver’s door swinging open violently. 

 “Emma!” he calls, jogging towards her and stopping short just in front of her. “Emma, what’s… I didn’t hear from you last night.”

 There’s nothing she can say or do, because his tone suggests that he’s upset with her, and she can’t handle that now. So she cries. 

 “Killian,” she sobs, flinching away from him when he reaches his arms out towards her. 

 “Love, talk to me. Come on, we can go somewhere safe.”

 “I’m not safe,” she shakes her head. “We aren’t--” 

 “Emma,” he says, trying hard to calm her panicked breathing by lightly holding the tops of her arms. “You’re safe right now. Henry’s at school and he’s safe too. Let’s go to the station and I can jump your car, aye? Or, my mate, Will, works at a garage. He can sort it out. Let’s just… let’s get off the street, alright?”

 She looks around, worried that someone may see her mid-breakdown, but there’s no one around so she follows him and gets into the car. 

 It takes longer than it should for her to realize that they aren’t going to the station. Instead, he parks in his usual spot in front of his apartment, turning towards her after he surveys the area and determines there to be no one around. With urgency, he gets out of the car and rounds to her door before she can even undo her seatbelt, opening the door and holding his hand out for her. 

 She squeezes his hand harder than she needs to, her knuckles going white as they walk up the stairs and inside the door. He says something when they get inside but she doesn’t hear him, the whole world sounding like she’s under water as she continues to realize just how bad things have gone for her. He says her name again and again, running his thumbs along her cheeks to wipe away her tears until she can finally meet his eyes with hers. It’s only once she recognizes the pure fear in his eyes that she’s able to snap herself out of it and focus on the sound of his voice. 

 “Killian,” she croaks, and he breathes a sigh of relief. 

 “Emma, please talk to me,” he practically begs her, his voice soft and gentle but filled with terror as he kisses her eyelids and her cheeks and the tip of her nose. “What’s going on? What did he do?”

 “He didn’t hurt me,” she promises. She finally allows herself to take in a deep breath and falls against his chest, practically collapsing against him and letting him support the full brunt of her weight. Before she can say anything else, she lets out a loud, painful sob. 

 He scoops her up easily, cradling her against his chest as he carries her to the couch and holding her in his lap, grabbing for a throw blanket and wrapping her up tightly and holding her together both literally and metaphorically. He whispers in her ear about how he’s here, she’s safe, he won’t let anything happen to her, but she knows he has little control over that. 

 “I’m so scared,” she cries against his neck, squeezing her thighs over his hips to try and get closer to him. 

 “Would you tell me what happened, my love?” he asks gently, and though she can tell that he’s still a ball of nerves, he tries to hide it in order to soothe her. “Why don’t we get in the bath, aye? A nice warm tub always makes you feel better.” 

 “Stay with me?” she asks, almost begging, and he nods. 

 “I’ll always, always be by your side, love.” 

 She nods, letting him help her off the couch, though she’s starting to think more clearly. He guides her into the bathroom, and although the tub isn’t too big, he always holds her close enough to keep her warm despite her shoulders and knees sticking out of the hot water. 

 He starts the tub, filling it with the soap he knows she likes the best and sitting her on the toilet gently and running his fingers through her hair. He takes the elastic from her wrist and starts delicately pulling it around her golden strands, lifting them into a high bun so that they can escape the water. Once her hair is taken care of, he starts at the zipper of her sweatshirt, trailing his fingers slowly as he opens it and pulls it off of her shoulders. He folds the garment carefully and places it on the counter before returning his hands to her back, unhooking her bra and placing it atop her shirt before he drops a tender, loving kiss to her forehead that silently tells her everything she needs to hear. 

 The act of him undressing her seems so simple, but it’s so incredibly personal and intimate. She’s finally able to breathe, to let her mind rest, to close her eyes and not see burning anger staring back at her. She knows she can’t rely on him to make everything better for her, but she can certainly appreciate how much he helps her. 

 He takes off her leggings too, pulling her underwear down with them, and folds each piece of clothing to add to the small pile. Once she’s undressed, he places her towel around her shoulders and begins to remove his own clothes, placing them next to hers, and she can’t help but long sadly over how good the two outfits look together on his bathroom counter. He plants another soft kiss to her forehead, then her eyelids, then her lips, before he turns and determines that the tub is full enough. 

 He instructs her to stand with a gentle, “come, love,” placing his hand on the small of her back and carefully guiding her to the tub. He holds her hand as she lets herself sink, feelings of panic and hopelessness melting into the hot water and dispersing further when he climbs in and settles against her back. She lets her head drop backwards against his shoulder and holds his forearms as they wrap tightly around her middle. 

 In the gentle silence of the tub, the only sounds filling the room their breathing and the steady drip from the faucet, she finally feels somewhat glued together. She can stop thinking about how her life is crumbling around her and allow herself to feel whole in his arms. It’s a reminder of how easy the last few months have been. How easy it’s been to ignore the weight of her situation and of her desperate depression in favor of focusing on the light and warmth he’s brought into her life. 

 She gives herself a few moments to feel at peace, safe and comforted in his arms, before she moves to turn around. It proves difficult in the small tub, his legs getting tangled in hers, but she’s eventually able to settle herself on his lap and face him, her fingers sliding into his hair and dampening it slightly. He rests his own on her waist, soothingly scratching her skin with his soft fingertips. “Love,” he murmurs in the quiet, and the soft word is enough to break her just enough. 

 Falling forward, she lets her lips envelop his and holds him to her as closely as she can possibly manage. He kisses her back easily, letting his tongue smooth over her bottom lip as she sighs into his mouth. She feels a sense of desperation to be as near to him as possible; to allow him to care for her and love her in the way that her husband would rather die than do. 

 “Emma,” he breathes against her mouth, and she whimpers at the loss of him as he pulls away to look at her. 

 “I need you,” she pleads in a whisper. “Please, I just… I need you to love me.” 

 “I do love you,” he promises, matching her tone. “More than anything. Nothing will ever change that.” 

 He can read her, of course. She knows because he takes her face in his hands and kisses her with hot ferocity that gives her exactly what she needs. He tells her again and again that he loves her as she desperately lifts her hips over his and slides him into her. She’s hot and tense and needy, and the feeling of him gliding into her brings her home. 

 She’s never cried during sex before. But the way he kisses her and cradles her in his arms and bends his knees to support her backside against his thighs makes her feel so solid. She feels the opposite of how she felt last night and the opposite of how she feels each time she’s with Walsh. She loves Killian so much, and it’s killing her to be so trapped in her marriage to another man. 

 Emma cries out her love for him while she comes hard around his cock, and he kisses away her tears and holds her as close to him as he can while he comes too. “Baby,” he chokes out as he bites her shoulder, the way he only does when he’s so emotional and he’s come so hard that he doesn’t have a filter. 

 Finally, when their breathing has quieted and they’ve loosened their grips on each other just slightly, he mumbles into her neck, “I just want what’s best for you and your boy, Emma.” 

 “It’s you,” she says without hesitation. “It is. But he--” she chokes on her words and lets her head fall against the warm firmness of his chest. 

 “Emma, please,” he begs. “Please talk to me. Let’s get you dried off and I’ll make you something to eat.”

 “I can’t eat,” she whispers. 

 “Please,” he says again, kissing her temple. “Just try for me, alright? I’m sure you’ve barely eaten since yesterday.”

 She nods, and when they finally make their way out of the water, he dries her tenderly with the towel he keeps for her and gives her the privacy she needs to get dressed. Being alone in his bathroom isn’t as bad as she was expecting, her feelings of anxiety and terror creeping back but not debilitatingly so. Just being in his home where she knows no one will find her is enough to soothe her aching heart. When she’s finally dressed, she creeps into the kitchen slowly, hugging her arms around her waist before he hoists her up onto the counter beside the stove and kisses her nose softly. 

 He cracks a second egg into a bowl and starts beating them quickly, reminding her where she got the recipe for Henry’s favorite scambied eggies in the first place as he splashes in some cream and dusts in some seasonings. He holds his hand over the pan to test the temperature and then pours the eggs in slowly, the mixture looking more perfect than anything she’s ever been able to duplicate. 

 “There we are,” he says as he plates them and places them on the small table, the very one they sat at months ago when they decided that they could never be apart from one another. She hops down from the counter and follows his lead, sitting at her usual seat and poking her fork into the perfect, fluffy eggs he’s prepared for her.  

 He jokes with her lightheartedly as she eats, and she feels herself smiling at him although her sordid mind tries to stop her. He tells her about the shenanigans his friend Will has gotten into while he’s been sheriff, and about his worries that he’s bending the rules by letting certain things slide. He tells her how much he enjoyed spending time with her son yesterday, and she’s reminded of how much his own father resents him. 

 “Okay,” she finally mumbles, fueled by how horribly her husband has wronged her son. She stands up, places the empty plate in his sink, and moves to sit on his lap.

 She recounts the evening as best she can, telling him about how Walsh had kissed her and taken it farther than she was comfortable the moment he touched her, although he didn’t stop right away. He tightens his grip on her, holding her close against his chest as she goes on about his fist colliding with the wall just beside her head. He runs his hand up and down her spine and kisses her temple as she tells him what her husband said about being a father. She tells him what Walsh said about her ruining his life and his desire to punish her, and she feels his breathing quicken. He listens to every word and stays silent long after she finishes her story. 

 “Emma,” he finally chokes, “I need to get you out of there.” She shakes her head forcefully against his chest. 

 “He said--”

 “Fuck what he said,” he says, cutting her off more forcefully than she thinks he meant to. “I’m the sheriff. What you’ve described is abuse. Physical threats. Unwanted sexual advances. Even punching the wall qualifies as interpersonal violence. All you have to do is make a report and--”

 “No, Killian, I can’t. He’ll know…”

 “Darling,” he insists, cupping her cheek and massaging his fingers against her scalp, “the law can keep you safe. I can keep you safe. I know I’m biased, but I have dealt with things like this in the past. I have experience supporting battered women.” 

 She gulps and takes a heavy breath, her lungs burning as she does so at the mention of her being battered. The title makes her cringe. She feels weak. “He has his… bodyguards. I’ve never seen them do anything, but I know they have a reputation. They’ll find me and Henry and they’ll… they'll make me pay.” 

 “So we leave, get you the protection you need. We can get you a safehouse, I have pull here, love.” she sighs. “I know it’s difficult to think of yourself as having fallen into this situation. A lot of women struggle to see themselves as a victim. But you are, my love, and the department can help you.”

 She sighs again and rests against his chest. Just as she’s about to formulate her thoughts, to try and put into words just how terrified she is of how wrong things can go, how scared she is to make any more waves, but how badly she wants to escape-- just as she’s about to agree with him and make a plan to get away-- her phone starts ringing and she jumps. Killian reaches for it and shows her the screen. 

 Storybrooke Elementary flashes across the screen, and her heart drops into her stomach as she slides her finger across to answer the phone. 

 It’s Henry, of course. They've called an ambulance; it’s five minutes away. His rescue inhaler isn’t working. 

 Killian has his coat on before she even finishes the call, ushering her towards the door and slamming the car into reverse before he throws the sirens on. 

 ~~~~

 The world is a blur, and he’s never seen his Emma in such distress before. He thought he’d seen the worst of it earlier while she was recounting the way her husband had attacked her the night before, but when she watches helplessly as her son struggles for breath, clinging his hands to hers in fear, he goes white and feels nauseous. He’s never met someone stronger than Emma Swan, and right now, she’s breaking. 

 She cries into his chest while the doctors wheel him through the double doors through which she isn’t allowed to follow. The boy has lost consciousness, and they must act quickly. Her fingers dig into his neck and shoulders as she clings to him as if it’s the only thing keeping her from drowning in her sea of terror. If she loses her son, she loses everything. 

 Eventually, blessedly, after she’s caught her breath and exhausted herself to the point where she can no longer shed any tears, a doctor comes out to meet them and informs her that her son is alright. His asthma has gotten worse and they will need to begin more extensive treatments, but he’s sleeping soundly in bed and she can go and see him in a moment. But first, he asks to speak with her alone, and Killian steps away out of ear shot, only able to watch as her face falls and her shoulders sag. 

 ~~~~

 “Henry’s asthma is very severe, and it seems to be getting worse,” the on-call pulmonologist, Dr. Whale, says. “Is that from your’s or dad’s side of the family?” 

 Emma shrugs anxiously. “Neither of us have it in our family. He was premature.” 

 He raises a brow doubtfully and gives her a look that makes her feel small and incorrect. “Are you sure? What was his birth weight? Perhaps you got the date of conception wrong?” 

 “I didn’t,” she snaps sensitively. The judgement she’s receiving from him is setting her on edge, even more so than she has been all day. “I knew the exact date of conception, and he was a month early.” 

 He sighs, rubbing his hand over his face, and says, “Mrs. Oswald--” 

 “Emma.” 

 “Emma… Henry’s asthma is severe. It’s indicative of being genetically inherited. While four weeks is certainly early, being premature would not have led to this level of symptomatology.” 

 She screws her brows together and glares at him, her heart beating forcefully against her chest as she asks, “what are you implying?” 

 “What I’m implying, ma’am, is that your son’s condition is more than likely a genetic one. Meaning it was inherited from either yourself, or his father. If you don’t have asthma in your family, perhaps you missed something. Or your husband did. Or… I might suggest that Henry’s--”

 “That’s enough,” she demands, holding up her hand to silence him. Through her denial and her refusal to consider something that seems more and more possible, she lets her shoulders drop in defeat. 

 When Killian came to her months ago, she refused to hear his suggestion that he was actually Henry's father. It wasn’t because she didn’t want him to be, or because she was desperate for Walsh to be. It was because, if Killian truly is Henry’s father, that means she spent six years of her life with a man who hates her and her son. She put her child through emotional neglect for his entire life without meaning to at all. The last night they spent together, with the breakup sex and the crying, Emma was on the pill, but looking back, she hadn’t been taking it regularly enough in her stress as they considered ending their relationship. 

 When she found out she was pregnant, she couldn’t stand the idea of it being Killian’s because it would mean she made the wrong decision. She shouldn’t have given him that ultimatum and she should’ve swallowed her pride and gone with him to London because that’s what you do when you become a parent. You make sacrifices. And she didn’t do that. 

 So she unwittingly convinced herself for over half a decade that the man she spent one night with had impregnated her and went along with his charade of a happy, well adjusted family. It isn’t as if she ever truly knew that the baby was Killian’s, not really. She hardly noticed any pregnancy symptoms until a few weeks after she was with Walsh, and unknowingly allowed that to trick her mind into thinking it was his. Her denial was so strong, her heartbreak so painful, that she didn’t even allow herself the chance to consider another possibility. When she realized her terrible mistake soon after they were married, she realized she couldn’t undo what she’d done, so she let herself fall deeper into her denial and held her head up as she grinned and beared the treatment she now realizes she never deserved. The treatment she now realizes she never had to endure in the first place. 

 “What, um,” she starts nervously, gnawing at her bottom lip as she turns quickly towards Killian and then back at the judgemental face of Dr. Whale. “What sort of information would you need to determine whether… whether Henry is…” 

 “Do you have any inclination on who the father could be?” He asks, seemingly able to read her mind. Neither of them proposed the possibility of Henry not being Walsh’s son, but it seems as though this doctor senses the source of her internal struggle. “If we had information on the genetic factors of his condition, it could help us determine the best course of treatment.” 

 She nods immediately. “Yes, I do.”

~~~~

~~~~

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[ibijau]

“Stop borrowing flowers out of my garden to woo people who don’t even treat you right.” said by Jiang Cheng! Hm, could you make this mingcheng???

This one got away from me so it’s a tiny bit longer than the usual, oops?

The problem was that strictly speaking, it wasn’t a garden. It was just a patch of dirt on the side of a long abandoned construction project that had never been completed due to lack of funds, or embezzlement, or some other bullshit that Jiang Cheng had never cared enough about to try and find out.

It wasn’t a garden.

But Jiang Cheng had been planting flowers there, out of sheer boredom, because he lived right next door and missed the greeneries of his parents’ house. Their garden had always been gorgeous, perfectly maintained by his mother, an absolute work of art. It was the only place she seemed happy. It was the only thing Jiang Cheng missed about his old life. Those quiet moments when his mother, in a fit of good mood, took him around her garden, her one true love, and explained to him about the plants and how to best care for them. People in their circle would sometimes joke that Zu Ziyuan loved her garden more than her family.

Jiang Cheng had never found it funny. Perhaps because he knew what it was like to envy mulberry leaves for the tenderness with which Yu Ziyuan would remove caterpillars from them, when she could hardly be near her son without pushing him around.

For a while, Jiang Cheng had hated gardens. That wasn’t the whole reason why he’d moved to the city, but it had probably impacted his choice anyway. He’d wanted to get as far away from his parents’ life as he could.

But in the end, something must have run in his blood. After months of walking by that abandoned patch of dirt, Jiang Cheng had given in one day. He’d bought some bulbs and seeds, a beginner’s guide to gardening, and set out to work.

It had surprised him when flowers actually started growing. Jiang Cheng was used to failure, and his mother used to tell him he had no skill for gardening. No skill for anything really, but gardening in particular seemed to piss her off. 

But there were some wallflowers and geraniums to prove she’d been wrong about this.

About other things too, perhaps. For the time being, Jiang Cheng just clung to the gardening thing.

The entire first week after the flowers started growing, Jiang Cheng expected that whoever owned the plot of land would come to pour bleach on them. It was private property after all. But the plot appeared to be fully abandoned, and that meant Jiang Cheng was free to do as he pleased.

He got more flowers, making sure to pick varieties that were good for bees, because that would make his sister happy, if he ever got around to calling her. He also planted tomatoes, and after hesitation a few courgettes, because those grew like weeds and it wouldn’t matter if someone stole a few, or even all of them. It was the sort of things that’d make his brother happy, except he talked to him even less than to his sister, so Jiang Cheng wasn’t sure why that mattered.

What mattered was that the garden made him happy in a way he hadn’t been in a while. It gave him something to care about. To care for. Something to check on in the morning as he headed out to work, a place to spend a little time when he came home. It encouraged some of the neighbours to chat with him, when up until then they’d apparently half wondered if he was a serial killer with his constant angry face. The little old lady next door asked if she could borrow some of the vegetables growing, and gave him half the dish she made using them.

It felt like a homecooked meal, in a way the family gatherings he still occasionally attended never did.

“You should try planting daylilies,” she suggested. “Pretty and delicious, it’d be a win. My grandmother used to prepare them for us, I’m sure I can remember how to do it too.”

Jiang Cheng did as she asked, and sweet old madam Wen delivered on her promise when the flowers were ready. She invited Jiang Cheng to have lunch with him one Sunday, when her nephew and niece were there. It should have been awkward, but madam Wen was a cheerful old lady that managed to get all three of them chatting as if they’d always known each other.

Better than if they’d always known each other, in Jiang Cheng’s case.

He ended up trading phone numbers with both siblings. Not because he felt like flirting with either, as their aunt so clearly hoped for, but so he knew who to contact if something happened to the old lady. Wen Qing wasn’t very chatty, except to complain about their roommate from hell, but Wen Ning often asked for photos of the garden, and in exchange sent Jiang Cheng pictures of the dogs he got to see at the veterinary clinic where he worked.

For the first time in years, Jiang Cheng felt that things weren’t so bad.

So when one evening after work he dropped by his garden and saw a stranger in an expensive thought pacing by his courgettes, Jiang Cheng felt a familiar dread. If this was the plot’s owner, if he had come to ruin things…

Jiang Cheng rushed ahead, ready to plead his case.

Then stopped after a few steps when the man turned his way. He was handsome. Very handsome. The sort of handsome that belonged on the pages of a magazine, not in the middle of Jiang Cheng’s shitty illegal garden.

The man was also on the phone with someone, and apparently so deep in an argument that he didn’t even see Jiang Cheng just a few metres from him.

“You are the worst,” the man shouted at his phone, “and I swear I’m kicking you out this time. I will… no, don’t cry. Stop crying, it doesn’t work anymore! You…”

The handsome stranger started pacing nervously between the courgettes as whoever was on the other end of the conversation made their case.

“Listen, you are going to calm down, ok? I’m… hey, I’m bringing you flowers. How does that sound?”

He leaned down toward the daylilies, not yet picking one as he waited for the other person to reply.

“Of course real flowers. You… listen, I don’t have the energy for this. We’ll deal with it when I get home.”

The man hung up, and started tearing away Jiang Cheng’s flowers, roots and all, like a barbarian.

Jiang Cheng had always allowed everyone to take what they wanted or needed, but only if they showed some respect for his efforts.

“Stop borrowing flowers out of my garden to woo people who don’t even treat you right!” he barked, stomping toward the man.

The handsome stranger, startled, dropped the flowers.

“Your garden? What do you mean, your garden?”

“You think this got here on its own?” Jiang Cheng asked, gesturing at his garden. It wasn’t as beautiful as his mother’s, but it was his all the same and it loved his plants.

The man looked around with wide eyes, as if he hadn’t even noticed before where he was.

“Sorry, I thought they were just… wild flowers. Did you plant all of those?”

“Not the pumpkins, that’s the kids from down the streets who thought it’d be fun. And the herbs are madam Wen’s because she doesn’t like getting them from the store if she can get fresh ones. But the rest is mine.”

“Must have been a lot of work,” the man said with an admirative whistle. “I can make a cactus die of thirst, so I’m impressed, you must be really good. You’ve been at it for a while?”

“A couple months,” Jiang Cheng grumbled, refusing to let praise from a handsome man get to him. “I live next door and this place has been abandoned for ages apparently.”

“So it’s not your garden,” the stranger noted with a grin. “Well, if you’ve stolen the land, I feel less bad about stealing flowers. It’s not like you can call the cops on me.”

He bent down, ready to slaughter more flowers, so Jiang Cheng did the logical thing and pushed him to protect his daylilies. The handsome stranger fell in the dirt, which thankfully was dry and wouldn’t stain too badly. Jiang Cheng wasn’t sure he could afford to repay that suit.

“If you’re going to steal my flowers for your shitty manipulative wife, at least do it properly. Nobody wants a bouquet with roots.”

The man blinked a few times, a little disoriented after being pushed down. When he saw Jiang Cheng grab the torn daylilies and carefully cut the stems so he could replant the roots, the stranger laughed.

“You’re really passionate about this, uh,” he said, standing up and wiping the dirt from his suit. “That wasn’t my wife on the phone, by the way.”

“Your manipulative husband then,” Jiang Cheng retorted, cutting a few more flowers.

“Little brother,” the man corrected. “Apparently he got drunk last week, slept with my best friend, panicked, ghosted him, left town for five days to hide at his best friend’s house, and now he’s… ah, but you probably don’t care.”

Jiang Cheng shouldn’t care, no, but he couldn’t help laughing at the crazy story. It sounded like something right out of a shitty soap opera, or the kind of bullshit that Wei Wuxian used to pull all the time, back when he was still part of Jiang Cheng’s life.

“My brother’s the same,” Jiang Cheng said, handing out the small bouquet he’d managed to salvage. “Did you take those so he can go apologise to your friend?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure if he’s going to give them to Xichen or if he just wants to keep them to feel spoiled. I’m not sure I’ll give them to him, anyway. It’s not every day a handsome man gives me a bouquet, I’ll be tempted to keep it.”

Jiang Cheng shrugged and rolled his eyes, and absolutely did not blush like a schoolgirl being complimented by her crush.

“Just go give those to your brother. And learn to cut flowers properly, asshole.”

“If I drop by again, will you teach me?”

Jiang Cheng shrugged again and turned away, so it wouldn’t be too obvious just how red his face was. He’d have slapped himself if he could have. It was ridiculous to react so strongly. His only excuse was that the man was really, really gorgeous and had a really, really nice voice… and that it had been a long while since anyone had flirted with him, even this badly.

“Maybe I will, if I can find the time. My life’s not a fucking soap opera but I have my own stuff to do.”

“Fair enough. Well, I hope I’ll see you around. It was nice talking to you.”

Jiang Cheng shrugged, and refused to turn around to watch that too handsome man go, though he might have been slightly tempted.

He’d lost enough time to that asshole already, and the tomatoes weren’t going to water themselves.

#mingcheng #jiang cheng #nie mingjue #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #jau writes #nmj probably owns that plot of land #tbh I'd be almost tempted to expand on this but blarg modern au... #Anonymous

[ilguna]

Berceuse - Chapter Two

summary: you can’t protect her forever.

warnings; swearing. murder plot ?

wc; 10.1k

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

–

 It’s a good thing that Alyssum has a high pain tolerance, otherwise she’d be doing a lot more than gritting her teeth right now. The sound of the wax ripping off her skin is enough to bring tears to her eyes, even though it’s not actually taking any hair with it. 

The prep team is trying to be gentle, Alyssum can tell by their movements. They’ll warn her ahead of time, tell her when they know it’s going to be particularly brutal. It wasn’t until an hour ago, did she realize that they must have worked on you when it was your Hunger Games.

It must also be why they have this look on their face, like they know Alyssum but are too afraid to bring it up. She already knows Elysia has watched her grow up, so it’s not really a surprise that these people have watched her too. Of course, Alyssum hasn’t been in the public eye for nine years, this is her first appearance in a while. It must be some form of whiplash, from seeing a toddler to a teenager.

At the beginning of the session, the prep team had taken enough time to introduce themselves and what they would be focusing on. Cleo, a blonde girl with artificial curls, focuses mainly on the smaller details; Alyssum’s nails, special effects, and clothing adjustments if they’re needed. She’s talkative but polite and curious.

Leo, the only boy with dark orange hair and freckles like stars across his cheeks, is her makeup artist. He’s got gentle fingers, and a contagious laugh. His accent is stronger than the other two’s, and he always tilts his head when he's done with a sentence. He’s managed to find a way to reshape her face so far.

And finally, there’s Beth. Naturally dark and  wavy hair, pretty brown eyes. She’s the quietest, doesn’t talk unless she’s genuinely interested. She does Alyssum’s hair, scrubbing her scalp and carefully washing the soap and other products from her hair.

Alyssum can see why you like them. You don’t talk about them often, only sometimes in the boarding school, and if it’s at home, it’s always regarding parade outfits. Otherwise, it’s always in passing and never in detail.

Well, at least she can finally put a face to all the names she hears so often. It’s one thing to look forward to, to see all the people that had saved her older sister before she went into the Hunger Games. The ones that gave you a bright start and all the right pointers to help you win.

“I think we should hose her down one more time.” Cleo says, her hair is pulled up and out of her face, there’s a faint glisten of sweat across her forehead.

“And we can give her the lotion.” Beth says, giving Alyssum a reassuring smile, “Then she’ll be all done.”

Alyssum smiles back.

They took their time with the finishing touches, making sure they hadn’t missed any patches of hair, ticked everything off their list, and did any special adjustments that were required during the session. Once that’s done, and they’re sure that they’re not going to need her again, they leave to get Laurel, her stylist.

Alyssum vaguely remembers meeting Laurel, and it wasn’t during your Victory Tour when you’d won. No, she was too young to actually realize that she should be taking in her surroundings to hold to her memory. Instead, Alyssum remembers meeting Laurel during Annie’s Victory Tour, when she came to visit during the winter, at the very beginning. 

She can’t seem to recall much, besides the obvious fact that Laurel was much, much taller than she was at the time. Alyssum had only been eight at the time, and back then, she was only beginning her training at the boarding school. The reality of what type of world she lives in didn’t quite set in just yet.

Alyssum ties the robe shut, per Beth’s instructions. Laurel trusts them enough to not double-check their work. Not to mention, there’s not much to go over in the first place, she’s still very young.

When the door in front of her slowly starts opening, Alyssum sits up a bit taller on the medical table she’s sitting on. It reminds her of the check ups she has every month to make sure she’s growing properly. 

A tall woman with dark hair is revealed, and immediately, Alyssum knows that it’s Laurel. She can’t help herself when she gets off of the table and heads forward, arms extended for a hug. 

Laurel opens only one of her arms, but squeezes Alyssum into her side tightly, a slight laugh bubbling out, “How have you been, Aly?”

“Good, if you ignore the reaping.” She smiles, allowing Laurel to direct her out of the adjacent room and into the next one.

It has a few couches, and a coffee table in the middle of them with food displayed. 

“Still passing all of your classes?”

“Yes, of course. (Y/n) and Reed make it hard not to.”

Alyssum takes a seat on the couch, hands resting in her lap. It isn’t until Laurel motions to the food in front of her, does she realize that the food is for her, not for Laurel. It’s also at that moment, she remembers that she hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast this morning, which had to have been hours ago.

With no argument, Alyssum takes only the food she recognizes, not feeling adventurous. The food last night on the train was delicious, there’s no question about it. The problem is that, in less than two hours, she’ll be in front of a large crowd who already knows her name, and her entire background. The last thing that Alyssum wants is to get sick all over the chariot. 

“(Y/n) requested for me to be careful with what I dress you in.” Laurel says.

“That’s probably for the best.” she pauses between bites, “Reed likes it better if I don’t show too much skin. I think it was the same way for (Y/n).”

A knowing smile crosses her stylists’ face, “Yes, that’s why we had to change her outfit. I have something that’s a little more modest for you, too.”

“He’ll like that.” Alyssum rests her plate on her knees, “What will it be?”

“A dress, we’re going for an underwater princess theme. It’ll cover your skin in the right places, all while making you look appealing to the potential sponsors in the audience.”

“Has (Y/n) seen it?”

“Yes, she’s already approved of it.” 

Alyssum lets out a hum as she nods, trying to picture it to herself. It’ll probably be blue, that’s all that District Four is known for being. A vast blue ocean with violent waves, green seaweed that traps the legs, brightly-colored coral reefs that are a sore to the eye, and endless amounts of potential outfits that come from fish, alone. 

A blue dress, something breezy because it represents the wind that comes from the ocean. Likely ripped, or maybe wet to give the illusion that she’s just come out of the water, and plenty of jewelry to secure the idea that she’s a princess. This idea has been done before, there’s no doubt about it, it’s Alyssum’s turn to represent the idea.

She finishes her plate, setting it onto the table, then gives Laurel a bright smile, “When do we start?”

A couple of hours later, Alyssum is standing in front of a mirror in the dressing room. The dress she’s wearing is lopsided, with one side being shorter than the other. The short side goes to her knees, the longer going to her ankles. It’s ripped, just as she thought it would be, and layered to make the dress bigger. The fabric is soft against her skin, almost ticklish. 

The top half of the dress is halter--no sleeves, the support is in the neck--it’s a little tighter in the middle, but the back is open to make up for it. And then they gave her white no-show socks for her, also white, dress flats. As for jewelry, so far the only important piece seems to be on her head, the pearl crown.

Of course, she has the whole matching set; the pearl earrings, the pearl necklace, and the pearl bracelet. None of it compares to the crown, or even the diamond ring that they managed to find in the drawers.

Her makeup is mild, most of it being rainbow highlights so that the sun rays catch her face the right way. Leo insisted on light blue eyeshadow, blush, and clear lip gloss, Cleo made sure Alyssum had blue nails. As for Beth, she decided on a simple halo braid, with white ribbon woven through. There’s a few loose hairs hanging in Alyssum’s face that were promptly curled once the braid was done. And as if the ribbons weren’t enough, Cleo tucked in a few white flowers.

It isn’t until she sees Paslee at the chariots, does she realize how severely overdressed she feels. So much jewelry, flowers, and makeup. Only for Paslee to look simple, with a suit and a crown on his brow. She does notice the matching flower tucked into the suit’s pocket.

Alyssum has half the mind to glare at you for allowing this to happen. She understands that the stylists’ all have a vision, and in order to stay as a stylist, they need to go above and beyond. She just thinks it’s ridiculous, and embarrassing that she looks like a walking mannequin.

Until she takes a look around her, and realizes that she’s not the only one. She’s far from being the only girl overdressed next to their male counterparts. District One is dressed in glitter, District Two is a little more naked this year, and it’s all the same for the districts to her right. 

“It looks like you’re going to get most of the attention.” Paslee says, nudging Alyssum’s arm with his elbow. He gives her a grin, trying to be polite and calm her nerves.

She doesn’t know how he’s so at ease. Everyone back home is going to see them two, everyone from the boarding school will be taking pointers on how to or not to act. It doesn’t matter if they fail or succeed, the two of them will both be examples. Their mistakes picked apart and shamed by the other victors, by the future victors.

And her brothers, and family friends, who have seen you go through this exact same situation, will be seeing all the differences and similarities. Practically experts all by themselves since they experienced it second-hand. Affected, but not directly.

Still, Alyssum manages to muster a smile to give back to Paslee, “I’ll try and save some for you.”

Paslee laughs, not minding the fact that he’s drawing attention. As soon as you and Finnick approach, dressed formally in your own ways, business begins. Laurel circles Alyssum, trying to catch any last-minute mistakes, picking at areas in the dress she realizes she doesn’t like, and tucking any fabric that needs to get out of the way.

When it comes to Pleurisy and Paslee, he just has a few curls out of place, and they fix the flower in his pocket by safely-pinning it so it doesn’t move anymore. Other than that, his shoes are still shined, and he knows better than to make any big movements in the suit, afraid that it’ll rip. 

“Okay,” you breathe, “You two already know that there are cameras, so be wary of any facial expressions.”

Alyssum nods.

“Everything will come to you naturally, so don’t worry about doing the wrong or right thing.” Finnick smiles, “Just remember that whatever you do today, will be your personality for the rest of the week.”

Paslee stands a bit taller, “What about the arena?”

“Facades don’t last very long,” you say, “Remember when I showed you my games? Or what about Johanna’s?”

It dawns on him, “Wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

“Exactly.”

The anthem begins, silencing any other thoughts. The large doors slide open, allowing light to fill the hall they stand in, revealing them to the crowded streets. This is when Laurel and Pleurisy jump into action, forcing Alyssum and Paslee onto the chariot just as District One begins to move out.

“Turn inwards a bit!” You shout over the roar, hoping they hear it.

Alyssum turns her body so that she’s more towards Paslee, than the crowd. She takes in a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds while she feels her heart beat in her chest. When she breathes again, she feels slightly more relaxed, trying to ignore the impending doom feeling that’s stuck in the back of her mind.

The chariot begins moving, leaving her worries behind her. There’s no time to focus on the wobbliness of her knees, or the dryness of her mouth. She tries to suppress the smile sneaking onto her face, but the moment cheers erupt into screams, she can’t help it anymore.

Alyssum is your little sister, she has a big name to live up to. She may only be twelve, but there’s a whole list of people that are expecting great things, inside and outside of the arena. Forget everyone else here, Alyssum is underneath a microscope.

She lifts her hand and waves to the crowd of people on her left, trying to make eye contact with as many people as possible. How many of them were your sponsors? Will they sponsor her? Do any of them actually like her?

Then she hears her name screamed, head whipping in the direction, eyes searching to see a woman dressed in red. The woman hurls a blue rose at Alyssum, making her jerk to the side to catch it in time. Thankfully, all thorns have been removed from the stem, otherwise there’s no doubt that she’d be bleeding.

With the flower in hand, Alyssum holds it up for the woman to see, breaks a good portion of the stem, and then tucks it into her hair. Just as she moves on, more gifts are being thrown at her. Paslee, who’s begun to notice, can’t help but to laugh with her. It’s all so ridiculous.

Alyssum opens her mouth, leaning over to talk to Paslee, when the crowd explodes behind them. She thought that they’d been loud for her, but there’s another district that seems to have captured attention.

Paslee says something, she doesn’t catch it. Her eyes flicker upwards, looking to find some sort of indication on what’s going on. Should she be panicking or upset? All she knows is that she can’t turn around to look. It’ll just take the attention away from her, and redirect it to the other district.

She sees it on a television screen above her. Her smile slowly fades, she nudges Paslee with her elbow to get his attention. He follows her gaze, and soon, he’s no longer smiling either.

District Twelve is on fire.

Both of them, the girl and the boy, are on fire. They’re dressed in neck-to-ankle black, complete with a cape. They’re so bright, it makes the career districts forgettable. Alyssum tries not to be mad, making a genuine effort to convince herself that she should be happy for District Twelve, they’ve actually become memorable for once.

She can’t keep the thought process going on for long, though. The Hunger Games is a competition, tributes are posed against each other from the start. Those sponsors that could’ve been hers, are now possibly theirs.

District One’s chariot begins to enter the City Circle, signifying that the parade is already halfway over. All that’s left is the president’s speech, and then they’ll be on their way back to the hall that they came from in the Tribute Center.

Knowing that there’s going to be more cameras, Alyssum fixes her stance so that she’s standing taller again, forcing the smile to come back to her face. She can still hear the cheering and clapping behind her, the Capitol isn’t done with getting their fill of the Twelve tributes.

Each of the twelve chariots fill the loop of the City Circle, on the buildings nearby, Alyssum can see that every window is packed. With how close they are to the president’s mansion, it just means that these people are the most expensive. They are the ones that Alyssum should be wanting to sponsor her.

Since District Four’s chariot is already stopped, and now they’re just waiting for the others to come to a halt behind them, Alyssum looks up to the windows and gives a slight wave. Nothing hurts right now, anything she doesn’t do could set her up for failure. If she does too much, then it’s the same thing. 

With the music ending flourishly, she redirects her attention to the balcony, where President Snow has stepped on to make his appearance for the speech. He gives his traditional welcome, but Alyssum’s focused on the television screen still, watching as the camera crew does their usual stop-and-go on the tributes in the chariots. She’s happy to see that she does get a few extra seconds, probably just long enough for Caesar and Claudius to comment, before moving on to the other districts.

They stay on Twelve the longest.

When the speech is finally over, the horses bring the chariots around the circle one last time for a final look, then they bring the tributes into the Tribute Center. 

The chariot barely has enough time to come to a stop before the prep teams have surrounded Alyssum and Paslee, clapping their hands and squealing out praise. Alyssum tries to kindly accept what they have to say, but her eyes are on District Twelve, wanting to see who their stylist is. Only a genius pulls something like that out of thin air, and they’re brave to do it for Twelve in the first place. 

The first thing that she notices is how she’s not the only one looking. Many, many other tributes around the girl and boy from Twelve are staring, and they’re not friendly looks either. This is enough for Alyssum to decide that she doesn’t need to hop on the train of hate, the other tributes already have that handled.

Just as she goes to turn away, her eyes catch Twelve’s girl--Katniss’--eyes. And it’s in those seconds, does Alyssum realize she’s got this whole thing backwards. Yes, the Hunger Games is a competition, which is the exact reason why she should be trying to get ahead at any possible chance. Even if there’s no guarantee it works, or that it might mess up future plans, it’s worth a try.

This is why Alyssum smiles, and waves long enough for Katniss to wave back. The two of them have got a lot of spotlight on them at the moment, only for different reasons. They could always bounce back and forth, desperate for the most shining airtime, or they could become allies and use it to their advantage.

Katniss gives Alyssum a shocked smile.

A hand is placed on Alyssum’s upper back, drawing her from the interaction she was having. When she looks over, she can see that it’s you, and you’re giving a curious look to where Alyssum was just staring.

“Ready to go?” you ask, once you don’t see anything.

“Yeah.” She beams.

Together, in a group, they all move to take an elevator up to their floor. On the way over, Paslee and Alyssum take a look at the careers while they can, since this is their preview to the training rooms. Of course, they saw them on television, but it’s nothing compared to seeing them in the flesh.

And from what Alyssum gathers in less than a minute, the most threatening district in their career group is going to be District Two. Just like she had figured yesterday, when she saw the reaping recaps. The girl is short but bulky, and the boy is average and strong. He’s been training his entire life, Alyssum knows it.

Elysia calls for the elevator, and holds the door so that everyone can go inside, with the exception of the stylists and prep teams. Elysia presses the button that will lead them to District Four’s apartment, in the meantime, Alyssum stares through the glass walls and watches as the ground gets further away from her. 

This is her first--and probably last--time in an elevator.

In the apartment, Paslee and Alyssum suddenly have free reign until dinner. Elysia shows them their rooms again, and they’re bigger than the ones on the train. Alyssum figures that she may as well shower, not really wanting to stay in her costume until dinnertime.

She hums to herself as she picks out a comfortable evening outfit, jeans and a shirt, and gently picks up the shoes to lay by the door. The shower in the Capitol is much more complicated than the one on the train. She sets everything down on the counter, and messes with the control panel on the shower until it turns on, and it’s a respectable temperature.

The makeup runs straight down the drain, easily forgettable. She doesn’t need to wash her hair again, it’s been done plenty of times today already, so she just keeps it in the braid. The most she does is take out the flowers and toss them in a nearby trash can in the bathroom. After that, she’s left to scrub dirt and sweat from her skin, thinking how it’s such a waste of time to spend hours preparing her for just one chariot ride that doesn’t even last thirty minutes.

Just as Alyssum’s finished getting dressed, Elysia is knocking on the door to let her know that dinner’s ready. She slips on the shoes that she set beside the door, and then heads out of the room.

The first thing that Alyssum notices is how the stylists are here, which means they must be joining supper. It’s perfect, actually, because Alyssum has a question about District Twelve’s stylist, not really over how they gave Katniss and her tribute mate such a big debut.

You’re sitting at the table with Finnick, Laurel and Pleurisy, the four of you being engrossed in conversation. Elysia is nowhere to be seen, presumably retrieving Paslee. Alyssum almost feels like she’s intruding on the moment, until you’re motioning her over to join.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, giving her a side hug.

She smiles slightly, shrugging, “Good? I don’t know.”

“You’re not nervous or anything?” 

Alyssum pauses long enough to realize what you’re implying. It isn’t about what she’s feeling at the moment, it’s any worries that might have come up from this morning to now. For example, the tribute parade.

“Oh, well,” Alyssum moves around the table to take an empty seat near to you, “I just wanted to know if Twelve’s stylist was new, since it’s a different approach to the district, instead of the usual coal miner stuff.”

Finnick nods, a smug look on his face when he looks at you, “I told you.”

You briefly glare, “I said I wasn’t sure because I saw her waving to the tributes, I never said you were wrong.”

“Your tone of voice did.”

“That’s--” you start.

“--not the point.” Laurel finishes smoothly, looking over Alyssum carefully, “And you’re smart for picking that up, because he is new.”

“Should we be worried about the interviews?” Paslee asks, coming down the steps with Elysia. He’s also changed into something more comfortable, taking a seat next to Alyssum.

“It’s all about personality and becoming memorable, as always.” Elysia tries.

“That’s not what I meant,” Paslee shakes his head, “I meant outfit-wise. If he pulled that out of nowhere, then what else will he be able to pull?”

If Alyssum was worried about Paslee not picking up on things earlier, she isn’t anymore. She knows that he’s older than her and all, but sometimes people skip over the small details because they don’t think it’s important. 

“We’re going to try and find a way to make you guys pop too,” Pleurisy says, “We just have to change the outfits that we had originally laid out.”

“That’s comforting.” Paslee mutters, it’s hardly audible, and it looks like the others didn’t pick it up, with the exception of Alyssum.

It’s silent in the room for a long moment, allowing the tension to settle in further. Alyssum knows that all the outfits are supposed to be the stylists idea, which is the exact reason why they have so many outfits planned for the future. In a situation like this, though, planning ahead does nothing but screw you over.

Well, Pleurisy did just say they have to change the original outfits, anyway. It doesn’t hurt to try and throw out some ideas.

“What if the outfits changed pictures?” Alyssum asks Laurel.

She sits up taller, “What do you mean?”

“Um… well, like an optical illusion but if I moved my body, the scenery on the dress would change to something else because of how I was standing.” 

It’s quiet for a moment, Alyssum begins to doubt the idea, maybe it wasn’t smart after all.

“Oh,” Elysia says, “Oh, I get it, like those Valentines cards that kids hand out in school.”

Laurel shifts her attention to her, “Is that what she means?”

“People hand out cards?” Paslee asks.

“It must be a Capitol thing.” Finnick tells him.

The light goes off in Pleurisy’s head too, “Lenticular! It’s called lenticular, I was just talking to Esmeray about it.”

“Do you think it’s possible to pull off?” Laurel asks, “Besides the materials, I think we could order it all tonight.”

Pleurisy is nodding quickly, “Yes, we just need to figure out the pictures--”

Paslee pats Alyssum on the back, “Quick thinking.”

Alyssum smiles, “Thank me later.”

Dinner kicks off after that, the Avoxes serving the meals one at a time. It’s just like how it was on the train, starting lightly with savory soups, and slowly moving into more of the heavier, more filling, foods. About halfway through, Alyssum decides that she’s full and would like to give her stomach time to settle before continuing.

The conversation keeps on the interview outfits for a while, Laurel and Pleurisy allow everyone to chime in and ask questions. Every now and then, they’ll actually ask for input on what the dress should look like. Like base color, where the pictures should go, what the top half of the dress should look like--it’s already decided that it should be puffed out and end above her knees.

Or with Paslee, what type of suit, if the pants should be the same material or just a plain base color. If his pictures should resemble something different or similar to Alyssum. It even goes down to the question of whether or not Alyssum and Paslee should match during the interviews, it’s common but not exactly liked by tributes.

For now, the two of them agree to it, because they haven’t found a need to say no just yet. Maybe later on, if the two of them have suddenly lost interest in an alliance and found two different groups to stick with. Alyssum has a feeling that Paslee is going to naturally drift towards the careers, which isn’t a horrible idea for him. He’s seventeen, built like the rest of them. Alyssum is still small, she’s twelve, and she’d be the youngest out of all of them.

Then again, there’s no one else to really form an alliance with. Of course, there’s always the other twelve year-old girl from Eleven, or the occasional other young tributes from the less popular distracts. That’s a whole problem by itself, though, because they’re typically not prepared for the Hunger Games, and therefore become a danger the more that time goes on.

And Alyssum can’t forget about her interaction with Katniss just a few hours ago. She’s an older sister, Alyssum saw her volunteer over the younger girl. Alyssum knows it could mean a number of things, like Katniss just wanting to protect her. But out of all the Hunger Games that Alyssum has watched, she’s never seen an older sibling volunteer over the younger one, because either way it’s a death sentence. Both of them will die.

No one is driven to volunteer that quickly just because they want to protect their younger siblings. There’s always a part of them that knows that they can win the Hunger Games. And for that exact reason alone, makes Alyssum think that Katniss can be a good ally. It’s just a matter of getting close enough to see what she knows.

Also, if Katniss does end up showing promise before the Hunger Games, the last thing that Alyssum would want is to be an enemy of some kind. Even a little bit of friendship between two tributes can go a long way. She’s seen it happen before, and it typically pays off in the end. Even if that means to sacrifice certain alliances.

After dinner, the Avoxes bring around a tall cake, painted a light shade of green. When they cut it open, candy pearls spill out the middle, clattering against the glass plate. They dish out a healthy serving for everyone to have, but with how rich the cake is, Alyssum can’t get through half of it before feeling full.

Once they’re all done at the table, they move on to watch the recap of the tribute parade. Honestly, Alyssum doesn’t like having to watch it over, it just means she gets to see the Capitol freak out over Twelve again. She’s tired of talking about them, at least until tomorrow.

The good news is that Alyssum and Paslee had been the center of attention until they had come out. If there’s anything to build off of, it would be that. But she already figured that was the case.

“It’s been a big day,” you start, looking over to Paslee and Alyssum, “I’m sure you two are exhausted.” You reach over, tucking one of the loose hanging hairs out of Alyssum’s face and behind her ear. There’s a gentle smile on your lips, “Finnick and I damn near passed out after our parade.”

Finnick places his hand on your upper back, a smile beginning on his own face, “We skipped dinner entirely.”

“Rest.” your attention diverts to Paslee, “Meet us here tomorrow morning so we can help you with the training session. The first day always means the most, the two days that follow are just as important. We’ll be here if you have any questions.”

“I’ll wake you in the morning if you don’t get up yourself.” Elysia pipes, sitting up straight.

It’s clear that they’re queueing them to go, so Alyssum doesn’t argue. She looks at Laurel, “Thank you for the tribute parade. And if you see the others, can you thank them too? I appreciate them being gentle.” she turns to you and Finnick, “Goodnight, love you.”

“Love you too.” you say, Finnick’s voice echoes yours.

Just like that, Alyssum heads up the steps, leaving Paslee to say his own goodnight. She doesn’t go into her room immediately, though. She stands in the hallway, hands tucked into the pockets of her jeans while she waits for him to catch up. When he does, he notices her and stands on the other side of the hall to make it look like he’s gone to his room.

“Do you want to try out the career group?” She asks.

“What else do you have in mind?” Paslee asks back.

Alyssum tilts her head slightly, eyes drifting from his face when she hears you and the others start speaking to each other again, “Katniss and her friend have made a pretty good impression.”

“They’re from Twelve,” he says, tone disinterested. 

“(Y/n) and Finnick were fifteen and fourteen when they won together, an occurrence that the Capitol hadn’t allowed in like--thirty years!” she brings her hands out to motion, “I’m not talking about odds here, because they’ve always been wonky with my family. I’m saying we pool sponsors together if they end up showing some promise.”

Paslee doesn’t look convinced, his face twists and he’s shaking his head still. Alyssum’s only heard stories about what happened between you and Finnick during your time in the Capitol. There’s one story you tell to all the newcomers of the boarding school to give them an idea of what it’s really like. And the big lesson that normally derives from it, is that alliances don’t last.

You and Finnick had been allies until the two of you split, you to the careers and him to a group of lesser known tributes. In a way, it worked out in the end because the two of you did end up back together. The only problem is that’s not always the case. 

While Alyssum was watching the tribute parade, she noticed something very specific, and it’s that out of all of the districts, only two of them were friendly to each other. And she means that she and Paslee had looked at each other, and Katniss and her friend were holding hands. Out of the other ten districts, neither of the tributes even bothered to acknowledge each other.

Alyssum may not be perfect, but she’s not stupid enough to ignore the facts. She knows that it’s not often that tributes are going to like each other, especially coming from the same district. So, why not try and create an alliance that’ll actually work? Not even Districts One and Two were talking to each other. 

“Okay, well, you don’t have to like the idea,” Alyssum gives him a funny smile, “It’s just there in case it’s the better option.”

“I don’t…” Paslee trails off.

She’s backing away toward her room, eyebrows raised, “You don’t what?”

He doesn’t answer her, she goes into her room. You’ve said it many times inside of the boarding school, that only the tributes that have been drawn to go into the games can assign their fate. No one else can make these decisions for her, and dwelling on just one person can very well ruin her plan.

She gets ready for bed, changing into a pair of shorts and a shirt before curling into bed. The bed is soft and comfortable, the room cold enough to enjoy, and the blankets keeping her warm, she falls asleep in no time. Even though there are nightmares waiting in the days coming.

--

Elysia’s insistent knocking wakes Alyssum, she stands in the doorway, waiting patiently until Alyssum can finally comprehend what she’s saying, “First day of training, you’re not going to want to skip breakfast.”

Alyssum yawns, using the heels of her hands to rub her eyes.

“All uniforms are pre-picked by the stylists, yours should be in the closet.”

When she lifts her head, she sees a blurry image of Elysia standing at the door, one hand resting on the frame, the other on her hip. Alyssum has to  blink a few times in order to see better.

“Okay, thank you.” 

Elysia nods her head once, and then whirls around to leave. The door slides shut automatically, and Alyssum is left to get ready by herself. She silently makes her way around the room, throwing any blankets that might have ended up on the floor, back onto the bed.

The closet is still unnecessarily big, so it takes her a moment to scan the shelves to see which clothes Laurel had laid out for her. There’s a sports bra, a tank top and leggings all folded together on the shelf. She picks it all up, and grabs any extra items she’s going to need while getting ready. 

She spends a good minute staring at the window that takes up the entire wall, not liking the idea of the people below seeing her sleeping--and changing. She groans and heads into the bathroom instead, changing into the training outfit. It’s white in most areas, the accent color being black. Her leggings are entirely black, and the shoes are a repeat of the shirt.

Alyssum takes her time trying to brush her hair, knowing that there’s going to be snarls. The blow dryers that the shower comes with were extremely good at getting it all out last night. Today, it’s Alyssum’s problem. And she ends up tying it out of her face, anyway, not wanting to be bothered by it all day. 

It isn’t until she’s finished getting ready, does she realize that she’s missing something very important. She stands in the bathroom, staring at herself for a long time, going over each body part individually, thinking that she’ll catch it that way. She’s right, her eyes stop on her neck.

The necklace isn’t there.

Alyssum straightens up, the sleep completely leaving her body. Did she leave it on the train last night? You even went out of your way last night to ask to make sure she wouldn’t, and here she is. Then again, it could have happened this morning when the prep team had jumped at her for the grooming.

Did she even have it this morning?

Alyssum leaves her bedroom, going into the dining room. You’re already sitting out there with Finnick and Elysia, Paslee nowhere to be seen. He’s probably still getting ready, or searching for his training outfit, since it wasn’t in any obvious spot like Alyssum thought it would be.

“Good morning,” You hum, giving a smile to Alyssum, “How’d you sleep?”

Alyssum shrugs, “Pretty good, actually.” She takes her seat at the table, “Did you take my necklace off the train?”

Your smile widens into a grin, and Alyssum immediately knows that it’s the case, “Yes, and I already gave it to Elysia. The Gamemakers will have a look at it, and if it’s approved, Laurel will give it to you before you go back into the arena.”

“Okay,” she falls back against her chair, relieved that she’s not going to be in charge of it for the next couple of days.

“What about you?” Finnick asks Paslee, “Any tokens?”

Paslee nods a little, bringing up his wrist to show off a silver bracelet, “It belonged to Marsh. He forgot to take it into the arena with him.”

Finnick hold his hand out to take it, “Does it have any poison, knives, needles, anything that might get you in trouble?”

“No, it’s just this chain.” he drops it into Finnick’s palm.

“It should pass inspection, then.” Elysia takes it from Finnick, placing it into a pocket on the inside of her jacket. 

Breakfast is then served by the Avoxes, taking away the chance to continue the conversation any further. Alyssum eats the assorted dishes, being careful to avoid foods she knows that she doesn’t like, and anything that might make her feel sick inside of the training room. Not to mention, she will be able to eat lunch in a few hours.

You and Finnick finish much faster than they do, and don’t wait for them to finish eating before Finnick begins, “You have to remember that the Hunger Games is a competition. Save your best skill for the private session with the Gamemakers, that happens in two days.”

“Your goal is to impress the Gamemakers, not the tributes around you. Everything you do inside of the gym from today to the private session will be observed and noted. You are careers, they’re expecting great things from you. And there’s no use in saying ‘no pressure’ because the pressure is on.”

Alyssum’s nodding along, so is Paslee. They understand, the two of them have spent years in the boarding school for this reason. They have trained for years, and in doing that, have found the skills that they’re good at, and honed the ones that weren’t as good, they’re prepared. Especially Paslee more than Alyssum.

“Don’t force an alliance with the careers.” you say suddenly, eyes on Alyssum, “I’m talking to you, Aly.”

“I know you are.”

“The careers don’t like tributes younger than them because the younglings are hard to control and sometimes unpredictable. I’m not saying you are, but the more you force them, the more they’re going to deny.”

“Actually, now that you say that,” Finnick looks at you, “Maybe she shouldn’t try at all.”

Alyssum sits up in her chair now, mouth falling open. She wants to object, because that’s not fair at all.

“If she’s good in the training center and scores high, the careers will target her and take her down because they know that she’s weak to some capacity. I mean, look at her and tell me you wouldn’t be able to take her down in a fight.” Finnick explains.

“Well, of course I can.”

“No, I mean look at her from a tribute perspective…” he looks back at Alyssum, the room is silent for a while.

And then you blow air out of your cheeks, “The Twelve tributes we went against.”

“Exactly.” Finnick says, happy that you’ve figured out what he was thinking about, “We were young then too.”

You hum, “She still needs sponsors.”

Elysia clears her throat, “How about you try at eighty percent and not one hundred?”

“Yes, don’t make an actual effort to be noticed.” Finnick agrees.

Alyssum nods slowly, her mouth has since closed. She’s still not exactly thrilled by the idea of hanging back, because it could cost her the training score, but then she remembers that if it doesn’t work out with the careers, she has a backup plan.

“Okay.” Alyssum smiles, “Easy peasy.”

Elysia checks her watch, “We have fifteen minutes before we have to leave. Meet me at the elevator by ten.”

She stands from the table, gives a pointed look to Alyssum and Paslee, and then leaves to the back room. You and Finnick also take this as a sign to get up, knwoing how much work has to be done before the games. And the interview outfits!

“We’ll be here when you get back.” You smile, “Good luck.”

“Thank you.” Alyssum says, heading back to her room. 

She brushes her teeth first, making sure that her mouth hurts by how much toothpaste she uses. After, she searches the drawers for some type of body mist that she can put on, on top of the deodorant and everything else she applied before breakfast. She doesn’t want to smell horrible by the end of the day, so she’ll do anything possible to prevent it.

She spends her remaining time trying to find tomorrow’s outfit so that she doesn’t have to search. She places it in the same spot where she found today’s clothes, and hopes that no one will come around later to move it. By the time she’s done reorganizing the closet to her liking, it’s time for her to go.

Elysia is waiting at the elevator, just as she promised she would be. It’s a minute or so later before Paslee is joining them. She presses the button, the doors shut, and the only noise that fills the silence is the sound of the elevator going down. And right when Alyssum is prepared for it to stop at the base floor, it continues.

“The gymnasium is underground.” Elysia says, as if she’s reading their minds. When the doors open again, she starts off first, “I can’t go inside of the room with you, I’ll walk you as far as possible.”

And she does, taking them halfway through the hallway before she decides that they need to show some independence. If the other tributes see her in the doorway, then it’ll be obvious that they had her walk them up. Besides, it’s not really much of a problem, they can see the door now.

“Thank you!” Alyssum shouts, waving goodbye to Elysia before they both head inside.

The doors open automatically, allowing them to get their first look at the room they’ll be training in for the next three days. Alyssum can’t help but to look at each individual station, noting what they are and which ones she’d like to visit before the day is over.

They aren’t the last to arrive, and they aren’t the first either. That’s the good news, because punctuality is important, just not enough to be the first people inside. As long as they come inside some time during the middle, then they won’t be remembered. Even though the other tributes are looking at them now. She wonders what’s on their minds.

Paslee and Alyssum are stopped a little after the doors, being told that they need to wear a mandatory number. They don’t specify why, but it doesn’t take a genius to  realize that it’s because the gamemakers need a way to keep track of them. There’s going to be twenty-four tributes inside, she’s almost certain that the gamemakers just think of them all as a blur by now. So many faces, only one of them will survive.

Once the patch is placed on their backs, it’s time for them to pick a place to stand. Her eyes wander, dancing over the different Capitol personnel, glancing briefly at the gamemakers in the box above, and the tributes standing in a circle. Alyssum laces her fingers together, trying to keep level breathing.

These are her opponents. No one here right now is a friend. 

She doesn’t even see District Twelve.

The only thing that matters is that the other careers are here, standing together in a group. They’ve already formed their alliance, and they seem pretty friendly for the most part. At first, they pay Alyssum and Paslee no attention, continuing their conversation, filling the air with their laughter.

It isn’t until the blonde girl from One glances, and does a double-take, do the rest of them follow.

“Smile.” Alyssum murmurs, trying to be quiet as she looks away, “If they smile back, then join them. I’ll see you later, grab me if they’re interested.”

“Good luck.” Paslee says.

“Same to you.”

She moves away from the careers, choosing to stand in the back so she isn’t up front near the Capitol trainer. Her mind begins to run, starting slowly and speeding up the more time goes on. Is this the same head trainer that you had nine years ago? What about the people standing at the stations? Or the Gamemakers?

It takes everything in her not to hyperventilate, taking deep breaths through her nose. She’s walking in your shadow, everything she does will be compared to what you had done. Reaping, tribute parade, training score, interview outfits, first day debuts in the arena. It’s beginning to make her sick to her stomach. She shouldn’t have eaten so much this morning.

Thankfully, it’s only a couple more minutes before more tributes begin to trickle in. When District Twelve finally shows up and joins the circle, the head trainer is allowed to begin. Alyssum moves forward to see her, now.

Her name is Atala, she’s tall and clearly athletic. She says that each tribute is free to move station to station as they will, but the experts standing at each station aren’t allowed to move. Tributes are also not allowed to fight each other, which is why combat experts are provided if requested. It’s preferred that all items stay in their respective boundaries, but it’s not enforced.

Once the formalities are over, Atala begins going down a list of the stations available. Starting with survival, and moving on to combat. Alyssum can hardly note the names long enough to remember them. By the time Atala’s going down the combat list, Aly’s decided that she’ll just try and go to each station at least once.

Finally, Atala releases them, allowing everyone to move. Alyssum doesn’t move from her spot so that she can see exactly where everyone goes. The Careers, and Paslee, unsurprisingly head towards the weapons. She turns her body away from that direction, although she knows that she’ll have to go over there eventually.

It just leaves all the survival skills, like fire starting. 

She knows all of this already, the most she can do is a basic overview of it all. Ten minutes, at the very least, should be enough to refresh her memory. And hopefully the experts can give her new and improved ways of doing things. District Four’s boarding school is very good, you and every other victor have made sure of that. Sometimes the Capitol can pull tricks out of their asses.

So, Alyssum starts with the fires. The expert is clearly delighted, letting her sit around the ring of rocks before beginning. When they ask if Aly has any previous experience with starting fires, or any clue on how to, it’s an easy answer. She lists off three different ways, and demonstrates all three, before moving on to different ideas.

Since she clearly doesn’t need help, the expert settles for small talk. It’s polite, but they dance around questions, obviously wanting to ask them but are too afraid to go through with it. Alyssum gives up some information willingly, she just keeps the personal stuff to herself.

Once she finally grows bored, she bids the expert goodbye, moving on to the next lucky expert that gets to watch her do their job for them. It’s just as she expected, she knows all of these stations already. The most she can do is refresh her memory every couple of minutes.

Until she gives up the rotation entirely and just stands in the middle of the room, hands on her hips while she tries to make her next decision. All of her logic has secured itself on the idea of the weapons, since she hasn’t had full training with them yet. Even in the boarding school, she was only allowed to dabble in it. It was next year, and the year to follow, where she was supposed to fully begin to understand it all.

The problem is that’s where the careers are, where Paslee is. She doesn’t want to just go over there and make it seem like she wants their attention. If anything, she wants to get some practice of her own. All they do is hoard that area and intimidate anyone who thinks of going over, it’s unfair. And they’re supposed to do that all three days.

The only other option she’s seeing is actually settling on the survival stuff, but it’s pretty clear she doesn’t need to.

She takes in a deep breath, staring at the ceiling for a moment, and then begins to make her way on the far side away from the careers. Which starts her at axe practice, a top-heavy weapon that she doesn’t see herself willingly using inside of the arena. She’s not strong enough to lug a weapon like that around the entire time, something smaller--a knife--would be much easier.

The expert straightens when they see her approach, and are more than happy to begin her on basics. Immediately, Alyssum can see her mood uplift as she begins to learn new techniques, thinking that this is what she should have been doing the entire time. She spends a whole hour just testing out different sizes, and swinging them to get a feel for it.

By the time lunch rolls around, she’s learned how to wield an axe, carry heavier weapons, and only touched her toe to the water when it came to the spears. She knows how to throw spears, it’s the one skill that the victors teach at the boarding school for the younger kids, besides the knives. The smaller the items, the easier it is to work. That’s the rule.

It’s pretty obvious right off the bat that Paslee is stuck with the careers now, so she isn’t surprised when he sits with them and completely ignores her. Not a single glance has been offered her way this entire day. If he’s trying to play up an act, he’s doing a good job of it. She’s just hoping that he isn’t trying to shut her out already. She thought that he’d at least give her a chance to join the career pack.

Either way, it doesn’t matter. Alyssum gathers up a small plate of food that looks good before taking a seat at an empty table. She watches as the other tributes come into the adjacent lunch room, peeling apart her bread rolls and wondering if any of them are actually brave enough to sit with her. Not because she’s intimidating, or the sister of a victor, but because tributes don’t normally intermix--unless you’re a career.

She almost thinks that’s the case, until Katniss and her tribute counterpart are sitting at the end of her table. She shares a smile with the boy, dipping her spoon into the stew. Alliances are so delicate during the first few beginning days of the week in the Capitol, so it’s hard for her to force herself to speak to them.

“Your parade costumes were amazing,” she says, watching as Katniss looks over suddenly, eyes going over Alyssum. There’s no doubt that she’s sizing Alyssum up in some way, maybe figuring out her lifespan in the games will be. She wouldn’t be the first, and she’s not going to be the last, “I would’ve changed my mind last minute.”

The boy chuckles, “Trust me, I did.”

Katniss gives him a look, and then gives a sheepish smile, “Yeah, me too.”

Alyssum sits a bit taller, “I’m Alyssum.”

“Peeta,” the boy extends his hand, Aly moves to take it, shaking it once, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Katniss.” she holds out her hand too, but it’s not as smooth.

Alyssum’s a lot more gentle, and she ends up turning over Katniss’ hands to take a look at her nails, curious to see what her prep team had done to them. It’s just as she expected, fiery nails, flames of red and orange on a black background.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Peeta.” Alyssum let’s go of Katniss’ hand, moving back to her bowl of soup.

Conversation is light with the two of them, it gets a little awkward at times, but Peeta always manages to find a new topic to start with. No matter what, neither of them ask about you, which she’s a little surprised about. Everyone has been talking about the sister situation, so she’s sure it’s only a matter of time before the tributes are dragged in too.

As soon as lunch is over, Alyssum is the first to say goodbye to Katniss and Peeta, explaining that she wants the weapons that the careers were standing by before lunch. They understand, and she manages to take over the sword station, since the careers were dragging their feet.

She finds out early on that she’s not too shabby with a sword. She just needs a lot of practice, which she has more than enough time to do. The expert is polite, and doesn’t hide the fact that they’re surprised over her missing knowledge. Yes, she’s been excelling at survival skills, there’s no doubt that word has traveled, but it doesn’t mean she’ll be good at combat.

Either way, it’s clear that the careers grow impatient over her learning, and don’t give her anymore space. They move back in as soon as they’re ready to, making her a lot more stiff when it comes to swinging the sword. They’re so close, and she can hear their conversation, which is making her even more uncomfortable. Especially since they’re making bets on who’s going to run to the cornucopia, and making hypothetical kills with said tributes.

It all goes downhill once her name is mentioned.

Alyssum stops, sweat running down her temples as she looks over to the group. The girl from Two, the fifteen year-old who volunteered, is looking right at her with a dangerous smirk. The boy with her is also giving the same look.

Paslee glances over his shoulder. Alyssum slams the sword tip-down into the ground, knuckles turning pale from how hard she grips the other end.

“She’s only twelve, she’ll be dumb enough to run into the cornucopia,” the Two girl repeats, “And she’ll be the first I kill.”

Alyssum straightens, “Who says you’ll even be able to get your beefy hands on me?” her eyes wander down, face twisting, “Or that you’ll run fast enough.”

Two girl squints her eyes, starting forward. Alyssum keeps her stance, raising her chin a little when the girl comes close. Two girl is taller than she is, and she’s a lot bigger too. Alyssum knows exactly what you’d say to her right now, and it’s that she’s picking a fight she can’t win, one that’ll bite her in the ass later on.

However, Alyssum is part of the Gallows family, and she’ll dig her own grave if it means to defend the name.

“Say it again.”

“You heard me the first time.” Alyssum snaps, hand tightening around the sword, “If you can’t take the heat, don’t play with fire.”

The girl goes to open her mouth, but she’s stopped when Atala appears, clearly here to mediate.

“What’s going on?”

“Friendly banter.” Alyssum smiles, and then looks at Two girl, eyebrows raised, “She was just telling me how she’s going to kill me during the bloodbath. And I was just about to tell her that I’ll kill her in her sleep just like how my older sister killed Allio during her Hunger Games.”

Two girl jerks, Atala steps in-between before there’s an actual conflict. Alyssum dumps her sword in the bin by the station.

“That’s enough, stay away from each other.” Atala warns.

“If you’re going to get territorial again in the future,” Aly starts, beginning to move toward the door, going to leave early, “you might as well piss on the floor, bitch.”

Two jerks again, it takes two experts to hold her back this time. Alyssum doesn’t turn around after she leaves. It isn’t until she steps into the hallway, does she realize how jittery she is. The amount of adrenaline that must have been going through her body… for a second she had herself convinced that she was going to swing the sword. And she would have, if it had gotten any uglier.

She punches the elevator button, shaking her hands while she waits. She needs to tell you and Finnick before Paslee does, just so he doesn’t get the details fucked up. He might try to cut corners to save the relationship between you two and him, since being on good terms with mentors is an important factor. 

The elevator ride is short, and so is the walk to the apartment. By the time she gets inside, she feels considerably better, no longer as shaky, and her body has lost the heat factor. When she walks inside, she’s able to see that Finnick and Elysia are standing together, talking.

Their conversation falters when they both see Alyssum. 

Elysia immediately checks her watch, confused, “You aren’t supposed to be back for another hour and a half.”

All it takes is Finnick looking over her once to realize that something isn’t right, “What happened?”

“Got in a fight with one of the careers, and Paslee didn’t do anything to prevent it.”

Elysia’s eyes widen, hurrying over, “Did they touch you? How much trouble are you in?”

“Atala stopped it before we got physical, but I said something after she told us to stop so…”

“Tell me the entire story.” Finnick says.

Alyssum does, trying to be as transparent as possible, but it gets difficult at the end, especially when she starts telling Finnick about the conversation the careers were having right before. He slowly starts getting more angry, Elysia is more stressed than anything. It isn’t until the story is over, does Alyssum get the idea that the situation is worse than she thought it was.

“Well,” Finnick sighs, looking up to the ceiling, “You definitely left an impression.”

“Not the one you wanted me to, though.” Aly frowns, “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, placing his hands on the back of his neck, “You have nothing to be sorry for, I’m hoping the Gamemakers at least watched. That might do some good for your score.”

“Where’s (Y/n)?” Alyssum asks.

“Sleeping, but I guess we should wake her up.” Finnick bites the inside of his cheek.

“I’ll stay out here in case Paslee shows up.” Elysia says, “Make sure he doesn’t go far.”

“Thanks,” Finnick nods, and then jerks his head for Alyssum to follow him, “Do you have an alliance, at least?”

“I sat with Katniss and Peeta during lunch, they’re pretty nice. Didn’t talk to them much.”

“That’s good, try not to make any more enemies, okay?”

Alyssum gives him a funny smile, “No promises.”

--

BERCEUSE IS A SPIN-OFF //MASTERLIST//

add yourself to the TAGLIST

@amixedwitch / @justthatfangirloverthere / @fnnshelbys / @neenieweenie / @vxntae / @itsanantonia / @liaaacantwrite / @terezasworld /

#ilguna #berceuse #berceuse chapter two #halcyon

[r-redex]

If you are still doing fic request, AWO , Vincent/Leo Adopting a rescue dog( can be any breed)

Me, sobbing: please just let me write some short fluff This prompt, holding a gun to my head: plot or perish.

I’m sorry for making this so long ^^’ Anyways, this prompt killed me in every conceivable way, so thank you! It was genuinely fun to write, and I hope you like it!!

CW: (Very brief) description of animal neglect

“Leo, what the hell is this?”

Leo blinked at him, for all the world looking like an innocent man—despite the sopping wet, blanket-wrapped retriever he had just returned home with.

“I know it’s been like eighty years since you were in school,” he said, “but this, Vincent, is what they call a dog.”

“Funny,” Vincent deadpanned. He closed the door behind Leo to keep out the nearly torrential rain, grimacing when Leo knelt to place the shivering dog on the ground.

“May I ask why you thought it would be a good idea to bring a stranger’s dog into our house in the middle of a record-breaking rainstorm?”

Leo was already discarding the filthy blue blanket, tossing it to the side; it landed with a wet plop by Vincent’s feet, and he cringed.

“I don’t think she belongs to anyone,” he said, carefully running his fingers through the matted fur around the dog’s neck. “No collar. Besides, just look at her.”

Vincent had to admit that the dog did look rather worse for wear; its fur was tangled and muddy, and it was definitely quite thin. It looked up at him with big brown eyes, as if it were agreeing with Leo.

“Still,” he said, eyeing it warily, “you don’t know where it’s been. It could have fleas, or rabies, or god knows what else.”

Leo looked up at him, and Vincent was caught off guard by the intensity of his glare.

“So what, you wanna just kick her back out on the street into the rain?”

“Christ--no, Leo.” Vincent frowned, feeling a bit like he was being scolded. “But you need to think about stuff like this before you do it. We should take it to the shelter.”

Leo gave him an incredulous look.

“Are you kidding? Vince, half the city’s shut down from this rain; even if the shelter was open, there’s no way we’d be able to get there in this weather.”

“Well, we can’t just keep it here!”

“Why not?”

Vincent grit his teeth, resisting the urge to snap at him.

“Well, number one, we’re renting this house. Do you even know what the policy is on pets?”

“Do you?” Leo countered. Vincent took a deep breath.

“Number two: if it was a stray, there’s no telling what it could’ve picked up out there.”

“I’m not asking you to stick your head in her mouth,” Leo snapped. “We wash our hands regularly and make sure she doesn’t get into any of the food.”

Vincent pointed at him.

“Three: what will we feed it? It’s not like we keep dog food laying around.”

Leo huffed.

“Dogs can eat other stuff too, you know. And as soon as the rain dies down, I can run to the store and pick something up.”

“As soon as the rain dies down, we’re taking it to a shelter,” Vincent said firmly.

They stood in tense silence for a few moments, glaring. Finally, Leo sighed.

“Fine. But until then, she stays here.”

Vincent pursed his lips. It wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t like there was much of a choice.

“Fine.”

-

Leo insisted on giving the dog a bath that night, which Vincent didn’t protest--if they were going to be keeping it in the house, it might as well not be dripping mud everywhere.

Deciding to make himself useful, he opened the linen closet and started rifling through it to find some old towels or sheets they could use for a makeshift bed. Once he’d gathered a suitable pile, he made his way back down the hall. Passing the partly-open bathroom door, the sound of laughter caught his attention, and he peeked inside.

The bathroom was positively soaked--the floor, the towels, and Leo himself. He was kneeling next to the bathtub, holding a bottle of dish soap in one hand and trying to keep the dog at bay with the other. It had obviously perked up since coming into the warm house, trying to lick at Leo’s face while he scrubbed it down.

“C’mon, cut it out,” Vincent heard him chuckle. “Gotta get you all nice and clean, then you can have a little something to eat. That sound good to you?”

As if it could understand him, the dog’s tail gave a happy little wag. Leo grinned.

“Thought so.”

Vincent eased the door shut, a strange warmth in his chest.

-

To Vincent’s dismay, the rain hadn’t let up by the next morning. If anything it had gotten worse, dark clouds hanging low in the sky and the almost constant sound of rain against the windows echoing through the house.

“Said on the news that lots of roads are flooded,” Leo told him as he sat down with his toast and coffee. Vincent grimaced.

“No doubt. At this rate, even when it clears up it’s going to be a few days before everything’s dry again; not to mention how many basements have flooded, too.”

“At least we don’t have a basement to flood,” Leo joked. Vincent rolled his eyes, hiding his fond smile behind his cup of coffee.

He nearly jumped out of his seat when he felt something furry brush against his bare foot. He looked under the table to see the dog laying curled against Leo’s feet, sleeping quietly.

“Leo, why is it under the table?”

Leo shrugged.

“She wandered in while I was making breakfast. I think the storm’s scaring her; she hasn’t let me out of her sight since I got up.”

Vincent sighed, taking another look under the table. The dog definitely looked better since Leo gave it a good clean up the night before, and he figured that with some proper food and rest it would start to look like itself again.

Once they got it to the shelter, of course.

As if reading his mind, Leo piped up.

“She’s brightened up a bit since I found her. And she’s housetrained, which means someone did own her at one point.”

Vincent hummed, frowning.

“Wonder why they’d just abandon it like that.”

Leo huffed.

“I don’t know, but if I ever find them I’m going to kick their ass so hard they’ll be shitting out of their ears.”

Vincent snorted, failing to hide his grin.

“Classy.”

“I’m just saying,” Leo defended, raising his hands, “anyone who does that shit deserves to be put in their goddamn place.”

“Agreed.” While Vincent may not have been thrilled about their unexpected house guest, he wasn’t a monster.

The dog snuffled in its sleep, its tail flopping against Vincent’s foot.

-

“Vincent!”

Leo’s call rang out from the living room. Startled, Vincent poked his head inside.

“What?”

He was sitting on the couch, grinning excitedly and holding the old banjo they’d fixed up some months prior. The dog was sitting a few feet away, and it cocked its head curiously as Vincent entered the room.

“Watch this.”

Leo began to strum the banjo, playing a simple tune. As Vincent watched, the dog cautiously started walking towards the couch. Leo paused, and the dog stopped, then started again when he continued to play. He did that a few times, playing some sort of musical ‘red light, green light’ with the dog, until it was right at his feet. It laid its head on Leo’s knees, looking up at him as he finished the tune with a mellow strum.

Vincent couldn’t deny the way his heart warmed at the sight, but he still clapped sarcastically.

“Congratulations. You’re the pied piper of stray dogs.”

Leo didn’t react to the teasing as he scratched behind both of the dog’s ears, grinning at the happy thump of its tail against the carpet.

“Y’know, she looks like a Banjo.”

Vincent stared at him. “Leo, we’ve been rained in for less than a day. It’s way too early for you to be confusing animals with musical instruments.”

Leo gave him a look. It took a moment for his meaning to sink in, but when it did, Vincent’s eyebrows shot up.

“Oh, no. No, no no no. Leo, you are not naming it.”

“Why?” Leo ruffled the dog’s ears.

“Because we’re not keeping it.”

Tension thickened the air, the only sound the rain pounding against the window. Leo set his jaw.

“Yeah, you’ve made that plenty clear by now.”

Something in his voice made Vincent falter, but before he could analyze it, Leo was standing and brushing past him out of the room, leaving him alone with the dog.

Vincent sighed. The dog looked up at him, and Vincent had the distinct feeling he was being judged.

“Shut up,” he muttered to no one in particular.

-

Leo avoided him the rest of the day. By the time Vincent was able to get him to stay in the same room, he had already fallen asleep on the couch. The dog was, of course, laying on the floor next to him; it looked up when Vincent walked over.

He sighed, sinking down to the floor and leaning against the couch. Leo’s hand was hanging down by his face, and he gently lifted it and placed it on the cushion beside his head, giving it a fond pat.

A weight in his lap startled him. He looked down to see the dog looking up at him with big brown eyes, and he gave a reluctant smile.

“It’s not your fault,” he muttered, giving the dog a few gentle pats. “I’m...not used to dogs.”

The dog, of course, just stared. Vincent laughed under his breath.

“He loves you already, though. You must not be so bad.”

His smile fell, and he sighed.

“Though, maybe I’m not the best example.”

As if she could sense his sadness, the dog nuzzled closer to him and closed her eyes. With a soft hum, Vincent scratched her behind the ear as he leaned back against the couch.

“Not so bad at all.”

-

Despite Vincent being the one who fell asleep on the floor, Leo looked like the walking dead as he dragged himself into the kitchen the next morning. Vincent looked up at him from where he leaned against the counter, giving him an amused once-over.

“Morning, sunshine.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Leo grumbled. Vincent chuckled into his cup of coffee--at least he didn’t seem upset anymore.

“I hope you’re planning on changing your clothes before we go.”

Leo frowned at him, blearily rubbing his eyes.

“What?”

Vincent gestured to the window, where the heavy rainclouds had been replaced by a bright blue sky.

“Rain’s let up, and I called ahead to the shelter.”

Leo seemed to deflate.

“Oh. Right.”

“...They redirected me to the veterinarian, but luckily they’re open too.”

Vincent had to work to keep his straight face as he watched Leo process the words.

“What? Why?”

Vincent took a sip of his coffee.

“Well, they don’t do vaccinations at the shelter, and she should get a checkup and maybe some vitamins.” He nodded to the dog, who had padded into the room to sniff at Leo’s socked feet when she’d heard him walk in.

Leo looked at him suspiciously, but Vincent could see the faintest trace of hope in his eyes.

“Why do we need all that?”

Vincent let himself break into a grin then.

“As much as I love you, I think we could both do with the help of a trained professional to take care of our dog.”

Leo stared at him for a few long moments, face blank. Then he crossed the floor in three big steps, grabbed Vincent’s face, and kissed him hard.

“You mean it?” he asked breathlessly, a brilliant grin on his face. “We’re keeping her?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“Fucking--yes, of course! Oh my god--”

Vincent laughed as Leo kissed him again.

“Go change,” he said, gently pushing him back. “Don’t want the vet mistaking you for the stray.”

“Fuck off,” Leo laughed. He gave Vincent one last peck on the lips before hurrying off to their bedroom.

Vincent set his coffee down on the counter, still smiling. A gentle nudge at his leg made him look down.

“Don’t worry, Banjo,” he said softly, reaching down to ruffle her ears. “You’re home now.”

#a way out fanfic #a way out oneshot #vincent x leo #vincent/leo #reqs

[elisabethsdoppler]

martha & jonas ship meme!

also this is set in a world where none of the time travel shit happened and they’re not related!

who hogs the duvet

for sure martha! it always starts equally draped over both of them, but by the time they wake up, martha is in a sort of blanket burrito.

who texts/rings to check how their day is going

jonas checks up on how martha’s day is going, but martha has a sort of sixth sense about when jonas is feeling anxious, so she makes sure to check up on him a little more often.

who’s the most creative when it comes to gifts

i feel like jonas? i feel like he’s really shy and embarrassed about it though, and if he gives martha anything that he’s made she loves to show it off, which makes jonas blush like crazy.

who gets up first in the morning

jonas. he has a lot of nightmares and difficulty sleeping. martha has literally slept through a fire alarm, but if jonas makes the tiniest whimper or sound of discomfort she’s awake in a heartbeat

who suggests new things in bed

martha! she’s definitely more open about this than jonas, who would definitely be embarrassed to bring anything like this up

who cries at movies

jonas cries at literally everything, and martha only cries in movies if an animal dies (bambi, the lion king, etc) also they both love disney movies! one of their first dates was watching the little mermaid. jonas cried at least 3 times, because king trident reminds him a little of his dad.

who gives unprompted massages

jonas! he loves taking care of martha

who fusses over the other when they’re sick

both i think? jonas would be more openly concerned, and fuss over her a ton, bringing her soup and medicine and trying to make sure she sleeps and stays well hydrated. martha would just cuddle jonas and make sure he’s feeling content and safe.

who gets jealous easiest

martha! jonas kind of gets sad and insecure, but i wouldn’t exactly categorize that as jealous. jonas doesn’t really understand how beautiful he is, so he often doesn’t pick up if someone is hitting on him, and if someone is, martha immediately comes up and kisses jonas and gives that person her death stare

who has the most embarrassing taste in music

jonas for sure! he definitely listens to 70s soft rock music, which martha absolutely loathes.

who collects something unusual

i feel like neither of them collect things, but they are both quite sentimental so they hold on to things for a long time.

who takes the longest to get ready

martha! it was takes her a while to decide on what to wear

who is the most tidy and organised

jonas! martha tends to get distracted and often forgets she made a mess, she can be a little absent minded. jonas definitely puts his sweaters in rainbow colour order, which martha finds adorable

who gets most excited about the holidays

martha! she loves snow, and i feel like her and their friends would get really intense about snowball fights while jonas peacefully makes snow angels.

who is the big spoon/little spoon

most of the time jonas is the little spoon! but if martha is feeling sad they switch

who gets most competitive when playing games and/or sports

martha! i feel like when she was little her and magnus would watch sports with ulrich, so she would get really intense about it. also they were definitely on a little league team when they were kids!

who starts the most arguments

they don’t really fight much, but i feel like martha can get a bit frustrated with jonas when he’s really insecure, because she just wants him to know how much she loves him.

who suggests that they buy a pet

jonas! i feel like he’s always wanted a kitten but hannah never let him, so when him and martha get their own apartment she gets him a cat as a surprise! they take a really long time to decide on the name, but magnus calls him squishy and that just stuck. their joint phone answering thing (bc they totally do that) also includes squishy as a member of the nielsen-kahnwald family

what couple traditions they have

they always try to get out to the lake, and i feel like jonas would try to do something special on their anniversary. after they get married they try to have a date night at least once a month

what tv shows they watch together

martha loves loves loves soap operas! jonas isn’t really a fan, but he likes watching them with martha because she gets really excited and tries to guess all the plot twists

jonas really likes nature documentaries, his favourites are the ones about arctic creatures like polar bears and penguins. martha gets super bored and fidgety when they watch them together, so they alternate who picks what to watch

what other couple they hang out with

they occasionally go on double dates with magnus and franziska, but it always ends with martha and magnus bickering over the details of a childhood memory while franziska and jonas discuss quantum mechanics. canonically jonas spends a lot of time with noah and elisabeth, and i feel like martha and noah would get along really well.

how they spend time together as a couple

they mostly just talk and cuddle. they enjoy the little moments spent together

who made the first move

this is a hard question, and i feel like both of them would be too nervous to make the first move, which would eventually lead to magnus just telling them to kiss already. he now wants their first child to be named after him, but martha is trying to negotiate it down to a middle name. jonas does not approve.

who brings flowers home

jonas! he really likes showing his love for martha in little ways. he also will stop and immediately buy something if he thinks martha will like it

who is the best cook

i don’t think either of them are great cooks, but i do think since hannah was absent a lot, jonas is a bit better at cooking simply because he’s had more practice. martha has definitely helped katharina in the kitchen before, but she tends to spill or make messes so she only makes really simple foods

#jonas #martha #martha nielsen #jonas kahnwald #jonas x martha #martha x jonas #elisabethsdopplerwrites #otp: never believe anything else

[gmariam19]

I hit a follower milestone - yay! Thank you so much! Last time, I wrote a little drabble about Poe’s ring here. (You can read about his scarf here!) In honor of today’s milestone, I’m sharing something a bit longer. Background: As we often do, @mssr-cellophane​ and I were chatting about SW, about Oscar Isaac and Poe and Finn ETC ETC and they mentioned something about a shaving fic. Having written one for another fandom, I wondered if I could rework it for Finn and Poe. I had to take out immortality, a zombie doctor, and several coffee jokes, but I think it mostly works. It was a fun experiment, anyway! And so I am sharing it below.  Enjoy and thanks again!

A Quick Shave

"Finn! You're bleeding." Finn ignores her and continues toward an empty table in the dining area of the Tantive IV as if he hadn't heard anything. Rey frowns, hoping her friend isn't trying to cover up another injury. Ever since Starkiller, he'd developed a bad habit of hiding either the injury itself or the severity of it, which had got him in trouble several times—particularly when he had lost consciousness in the middle of a debriefing.

"Finn, there's blood on your collar. Are you all right?" Rey follows him sits down next to Finn, wondering if she should make a light joke, like Snap or Jess probably would. But she is too concerned by Finn's silence, so she doesn't.

"I'm fine," Finn eventually murmurs, hand moving toward a spot under his chin. He winces before he pulls it away, fingertips dotted with dried blood.

"Early morning training practice?" she asks. Finn shakes his head, mouth set in a line. Kriff, Rey hates the man's stubborn streak sometimes; he's definitely picked it up from Poe and the other pilots.

"We could go to the medical bay, maybe Kalonia can help." Finn vehemently shakes his head.

"I'll be fine, Rey," he tells her, sounding exasperated as he takes a sip of caf.

"You'll ruin your shirt," Rey replies, knowing how to get to him. He doesn't own many clothes and has developed an unexpected streak of pride when it comes to the ones he does have. "Come on, I'll clean it up myself, that way no one has to know." With a sigh, he turns and follows Rey to the medical area.

"So, are you going to tell me what happened?" asks Rey. Finn sits down as she takes out some cotton and antiseptic and begins cleaning several small cuts along Finn's jaw line. Finn glances up toward the ceiling and stays silent.

"Okay, do I need to check you for other injuries? Can you tell me that at least?"

"No," says a voice from behind them, and Finn rolls his eyes. He looks pointedly away from where Poe is coming toward them, hands in his pockets and sounding unusually contrite. "It was me."

"You?" asks Rey, glancing up in surprise. "What do you mean, you did this to him?" She stops and glances back and forth between the two men. "Oh no, did you have some sort of secret mission you didn't tell me about?"

"You'd know if we had a mission," Finn tells her.

"Not if it was secret," Poe murmurs, and Finn rolls his eyes again.

Rey holds up her hands to avoid getting in the middle of another childish argument between them, even if most of them are for show. "Look, these cuts aren't bad, but there's kind of a lot of them. What were you doing?"

"I lost a bet," says Poe.

"And I ended up losing blood," Finn throws back.

"It was your idea!" Poe exclaims.

"I didn't think you'd actually be able to do it, but I didn't think you'd mangle me trying."

Rey steps in again and begins applying bacta to Finn's cuts. Finn hisses, as it probably stings, but the cuts stop bleeding and the inflammation goes down quickly.

"So what was this bet? I hope it wasn't something…you know, unorthodox." She can feel herself blush as she says it. She knows something is going on between them, but Finn has been unusually tight-lipped about it, so she's not sure what.

"She means kinky," Poe offers, and Rey blushes even more.

"No, that one went much better," Finn replies. Poe nods and Rey almost chokes on her reply.

"I did not need to know that! Now tell me what happened—or is it that bad?"

"Rey, you're a Jedi. Haven't you figured it out by now?" Finn gives her a skeptical look, and Rey steps back, arms over her chest and feeling defensive.

"I don't read minds, Finn. I thought it might be from shaving, but you've been shaving since you left the First Order, and you haven't knicked yourself since you started, so…" She trails off as Poe sighs behind her. "What?"

"I told you—I did it," Poe says. "Shaving."

"Seriously? You did this?"

"Finn didn't think I could shave in less than three minutes. So I bet I could shave him in less than three minutes."

Rey turns back to Finn. "And you let him? Finn! What we you thinking?"

"I was thinking I'd get a week off from kitchen duty," Finn mutters. "And I still should."

"I'll do it," says Poe. "Since I…"

"Ruined my face?" Finn suggests, and Poe winces.

"And how did this even come up?" Rey isn't sure she wants to know the answer, but she's asked and can't take it back now.

"Because he takes forever in the fresher, Rey! I'm waiting at the door ready to leave before he's done half his face in the morning."

Rey shoots Poe a 'Seriously?' look that is returned with a very unapologetic shrug.

"I like to be thorough," Poe replies, running a hand over his chin. Which already has half a day's stubble.

"Thoroughly incompetent," Finn tosses out. "And don't get me started on the hair." He leans forward and stages whispers to Rey. "Do you have any idea how many hair products he has? That look is not natural."

"I'm not usually in such a rush," Poe says, sounding defensive, "nor do I usually shave other guys for fun." There is a pause. "Especially mouthy ones who like my hair."

"Some fun," Rey murmurs, head down to avoid laughing at them both.

"Not the best bet I've taken, I admit," Finn replies dryly.

"Not the best bet I've made, either," says Poe. "Look, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"Mince my face?"

"Yeah, that." He stops and glances sideways at Rey. "Can I kiss it better for him?"

"No, you may not," Finn replies, standing up before Rey can even think of a comeback. "Not until I show you the right way to shave."

Poe rubs his face. "I'm game, especially if there's lots of soap involved."

Rey groans and moves away from them both. "I'm still here, and I really don't need to hear this."

"He started it," they both say at the same time. Finn finally cracks a rare but broad grin, while Poe relaxes and smiles back with genuine fondness instead of his usual cocky charm. And despite Rey's presence and Finn's warning, he steps up to Finn and kisses him on the cheek.

"I am sorry," Poe murmurs. "Show me tomorrow morning?"

"Tomorrow morning, then."

Poe smiles, claps Rey on the shoulder, and leaves the medical area. Finn watches him go, but his smile slowly changes.

"You're going to get him back, aren't you?" asks Rey, recognizing the signs of revenge being plotted. She knows it will be swift and brutal if the pranks he and some of the other pilots and ground troops engage in are any indication. Rey is thankful to be left out, even if running through the jungle and floating rocks is lonely at times.

"Of course," Finn replies calmly.

"How?" she asks.

"Don't know, yet," he says. "But I'll think of something. Something good."

"You're a cruel man, Finn," Rey calls as he walks away. And then she realizes something. "Hey Finn…if Poe tried to give you a three minute shave this morning, does that mean…"

"Mean what?" asks Finn, innocent look belying the slight twinkle in his eye. He knows exactly what Rey is implying, but he's still going to make her ask.

"Did you, well, spend the night together?"

Finn merely inclines his head in answer, a small smile playing at his lips.

"So, you two really are …"

"Not the first time, even," Finn offers in reply. He is clearly enjoying Rey's surprise; they'd all suspected it, of course, but maybe it's more serious than most of them think.

"Wow," says Rey. "Right. Of course. You and Poe." She pauses, trying to wrap her head around it actually happening after watching them dance around it for so long.  "Finn," she says, unable to resist. "You know his…reputation, right?"

Finn raises an eyebrow. "It's why I'm here."

"I didn't mean his piloting skills, Finn."

"I know. Still why I'm here."

She ignores the implication. "Finn…he's older, more experienced. These sorts of things may be different for him."

Finn nods slowly, his face more serious. "And?

Rey feels like she's chewing rocks to get the words to work. "And I don't want to see you get hurt."

A funny look crosses Finn's face as he turns to leave. "I won't," he says softly. "It's good."

Rey doesn't know what to say. Poe may drive her crazy at times with his cocky charm and overconfident nature, but deep down, he is a good, honest, loyal man. Despite how Rey sometimes feels about Poe personally, she knows Finn really likes him. And from the expression on his face, maybe it's more.

"Well, at least give as good as you get," she replies, then immediately regrets it as Finn's eyebrows almost fly off his head. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Of course not." Finn grins.

"Just watch your back," Rey says, and grimaces again as Finn chokes back a laugh this time. "Kriff—never mind, you know what I mean. I hope."

Finn nods. "I think I do." He takes two steps before turning around one last time. "Thank you, Rey."

"You're welcome," she says, then calls after him. "And I'm happy for you!"

Apparently, there is more going on between Finn and Poe than she'd thought. She thinks they will be good for each other, but deep down, Rey hopes neither one of them gets hurt in the end, quick shave or not.

* * *

#Star Wars #Finnpoe #Stormpilot #Poe Dameron #Finn #Fanfic #Gmariam19 #A Quick Shave #Based on one of my own fanfics #so yes I guess i copied myself #i hope it works #it was fun to try adapting it to another fandom #milestone

[derangedangel]

Thanksgiving Invitation - Scott McCall

Scott McCall x Reader

Summary: You can’t fly home for Thanksgiving break, so Scott invites you to spend it with him.

Word count: 2,212

Author’s note: So I have a Stiles one that’s basically like this, and I know before I started writing, I requested someone else to do this same imagine. Apparently, I’ve got a thing for your crush inviting you home for the holidays. Sue me. BTW, this takes place Junior year of college.

Thanksgiving break in high school was great. A whole week off from school, a huge meal with your family, then shopping on Friday. In college, you were reduced to two and half days off. Wednesday at noon, the campus closed, but what were you supposed to do with that. 

On the Tuesday before Thanksgiving break, the cafeteria made Thanksgiving dinner at lunch. It was always a huge deal on campus. They had everything, turkey, dressing, mac and cheese. All kinds of cakes and pies. You and few of your classmates were in the caf just finishing your lunch.

“That was probably the best thing this caf has ever made,” Scott said next to you.

“I definitely prefer my dad’s fried turkey, but that was pretty good,” you said picking away at your slice of cake with your fork. 

“Oh, my mom makes a pumpkin pie you would die for,” Scott said as he patted his stomach. “This one can’t even compare. I can’t wait for Thanksgiving.”

“Well, have an extra piece for me,” you said sighing. You dropped your fork on your plate making a clink noise.

“What’s wrong,” Scott asked smelling your chemo signals. You were sad. Disappointed, maybe?

“I’m staying here for Thanksgiving.”

“What? Why?”

“Finals are next week. And honestly, I don’t have the money to fly home tomorrow just to turn around, fly back Sunday, then fly back for winter break.” You looked up at Scott with sad eyes. You already accepted you lame Thanksgiving weeks ago.

“But it’s Thanksgiving. You shouldn’t be here,” Scott tried to argue.

“It’s fine,” you said shrugging. “The international students are having an event and inviting anyone who can’t go home for break. I’ll just grab a plate from them and watch a movie.”

“Why don’t you come home with me,” Scott blurted out suddenly. 

You smiled softly at Scott. “Scott, that’s really sweet, but I’m not riding on the back of your bike for two hours. Plus, I don’t think my suitcase will fit.”

“Oh,” Scott said rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I didn’t think about that.” He thought for a moment then spoke again. “Give me some time and I’ll figure it out.”

You giggled. “Scott, it’s okay,” you said placing your hand on Scott’s. “I already accepted my sad little Thanksgiving. I’ll see my family in two weeks after finals.”

“No,” Scott said jumping up. “I’m going to figure this out. You’re going to have an actual Thanksgiving.” And with that, Scott grabbed his plate and cup and left the table. You turned and smiled at your other friends shaking your head about Scott. He was sweet, but as for now, a Thanksgiving in your dorm was scheduled on your calendar.

________________________________________________________________

A knock sounded at your door. You sat your laptop down, rolled out of bed, and then answered it. Scott was standing there with the biggest grin you had ever seen on his face.

“I hope you like pumpkin pie,” he said. You stepped aside to let him in.

“Uhh, I prefer pecan, but why the sudden urge for me to like pumpkin?”

“Because my mom would be really disappointed if you didn’t love her pie.”

“What are you talking about, Scott?”

“You’re coming home with me for Thanksgiving,” he said excitedly. He was like a cute little puppy smiling at you waiting for you to pet him.

“We talked about this already,” you said turning and hopping onto your bed.

“That was before.”

“Before what,” you asked.

“Before I called my mom and convinced her to drive down and pick the both of us up for Thanksgiving break.”

“What,” you asked shocked. “Scott, I can’t have your mom drive all the way down here-,” you began to argue but Scott interrupted.

“Too late, “he said shaking his head. “She already said yes, and she’s expecting both of us to be ready to go by 1 o’clock tomorrow,” Scott said proudly.

Your mouth dropped open in surprise. You weren’t sure what to say. “Scott, I..”

“Look, I know you were fine with not going home, but I couldn’t let you stay here alone over the holiday.”

“You didn’t have to do that, though. I don’t want your mom going out of her way for me.”

Scott stepped closer to you placing his hand next to you on the bed. “She wants to do it. I want to do it. You can stop trying to talk me out of it because it’s happening,” he said smiling sweetly at you.

“Okay,” you said smiling back.

“Good,” he said taking a step back, heading for the door walking backwards. “Pack a bag. I’ll come by your dorm tomorrow at 12:45 to get you.”

“Alright, Scotty,” you said happy about your new Thanksgiving plans.

________________________________________________________________

The next day Scott came by your dorm and helped you carry your bag to his dorm building where his mom was going to pick the two of you up. This was your first time meeting Mrs. McCall and she was incredibly sweet. The first thing she did was hug you and told you to call her Melissa, not Mrs. McCall. You were expecting the ride to be awkward. Two hours in the car with your male friend you had a crush on and his mom who you just met wasn’t something people really looked forward to. Surprisingly, the ride went okay. Melissa didn’t pry too much into your life or ask was anything happening between you and her son.

On Thanksgiving, Scott’s friend Stiles and his dad came over, and so did Melissa’s boyfriend Argent as well. It made you a little more nervous being surrounded by all these people from Scott’s life. You felt like the odd man out, but Scott constantly checked on you to make sure you were alright.

Everyone brought their own dish to the table. Sheriff Stilinski cooked the turkey. Argent, who didn’t seem like the homey cooking type of person to you, made the green bean casserole. Melissa made the macaroni and cheese and the pumpkin pie, which Scott kept raving about. You giggled at Scott’s contribution, which was just throwing the Kings Hawaiian rolls into the oven for a few minutes. He argued that it was more than what Stiles did which was just opening a can of cranberry sauce. You felt bad that you didn’t contribute to the dinner. Normally, your mom did all of the cooking and you just helped, so you didn’t know any actual recipes. Melissa assured you that it was fine. You were a guest and didn’t have to do a thing.

Dinner came and went. Everything was delicious and yes, Scott was right about his mom’s pumpkin pie. You and Scott washed the dishes together, bumping hips and throwing soap bubbles at each other. Scott, Stiles, and you decided you would go to the movies after everything was done. The adults were in the living room making small talk, so there was no point in you three hanging around for that.

Before you left, you went to go grab your coat and Melissa pulled Scott aside.

“I like her,” Melissa whispered to her son.

“Yeah, I do, too,” Scott whispered back looking up the stairs where you just went.

“Then do something about it,” she replied nudging him. “You haven’t dated anyone since Kira.”

“I know,” Scott sighed. “But I told myself I was just going to focus on school.”

“Oh, your grades are fine, Scott. It’s okay to date and fall in love. You can’t force yourself to be single all through college. You deserve to be happy.”

“I am happy, mom,” Scott pointed out.

“I know. But she makes you happy. And if you deny yourself that for some pre-college promise you made to yourself, you’re going to miss out on a good thing. You don’t just invite any girl home for Thanksgiving,” Melissa said then walked back to the living room.

The only decent thing to watch at the theater that wasn’t sold out was The Good Dinosaur, so you all decided on that. Scott sat in the middle of the three of you, holding the popcorn in his lap. Being the baby that you were, you cried as soon as the dad died in the movie and Scott reached over and grabbed your hand. You sniffled in his direction and smiled. He kept his hand there for the rest of the movie never letting go. The words his mom said echoing in his head.

After the movie, Scott drove you all back to his place. Stiles talked about the movie the whole way back and you couldn’t help but laugh. You sat in the passenger seat and Stiles stuck his head through the middle asking your opinion on the movie. When you pulled up to Scott’s house, you and Scott lingered out by the car but Stiles didn’t catch the hint.

“Is it like mandatory for Disney to only have one parent in their movies?”

“I don’t know Stiles,” Scott said annoyed his friend wouldn’t shut up for one minute.

“I mean, I’m sure they can make a good movie without killing off a parent as a plot device.”

“They’ve done it before,” you said sighing but smiling none the less.

“It was still a great movie though,” Stiles said. “I know it will get nominated for an Oscar.”

“I’m sure of it, Stiles,” Scott said attempting to casually nod his head to the door. Stiles stood there in silence while you giggled at Scott’s not so subtle attempt to get you two alone. It finally clicked in Stiles head what Scott was trying to do.

“Ohhh,” he said a little too loudly. He stretched his arms over his head yawning dramatically faking his tiredness. “I think I’m going to go ahead and head inside. Tell my dad it’s time we head home,” he said as he took big steps back heading towards Scott’s home. “It might take us a while to pack up our leftovers. Like ten minutes. Yeah.” Scott shook his head at his best friend watching him step inside the house.

“Sorry about him.”

“Don’t be,” you said. “He’s funny.”

“He talks a little too much sometimes,” Scott said running his hand through the back of his hair.

“I like him though,” you said shrugging. “It was nice to meet your best friend.”

“It was? I was sure he talked your ear off in the car.”

“He did, but I liked getting to see you in your element. School is one thing, but this is different.”

“So you had a good time,” Scott asked.

“Yeah, I did,” you said smiling up at him. “Next year I’ll have to bring you to my home. My mom makes the most incredible dressing. I still haven’t figure out how to make it yet. She literally throws everything in there but the kitchen sink and she doesn’t follow a recipe.”

Scott’s eyes lit up after you mentioned him coming home with you next year. He wasn’t really hearing anything you said about your mom’s dressing. He was just stuck on the idea of you and him together for another holiday.

“Next year,” Scott asked, a little goofy grin on his face.

“Uhh, yeah. I mean, you were nice enough to bring me home. It’s only right that I return the favor,” you replied fiddling with your fingers. Scott didn’t say anything for a moment and it made you nervous. Maybe you had been reading the signs all wrong. Maybe he was just a sweet guy that didn’t want you to be alone on Thanksgiving. “That’s only if you want to of course,” you quickly explained.

Scott sensed your nervousness and hurriedly tried to assure you. “Of course I want too!” He said a little too excitedly for his liking. “I mean, uh, it would be nice to meet your family.”

“It would,” you asked happily.

“Yeah,” Scott spoke softly.

Scott’s gaze dipped to your lips then back up to your eyes. You became even more nervous than before and began twirling your ponytail in between your fingers. Scott stepped closer to you, licking his lips. You eyelids fluttered shut as Scott leaned down to kiss you. At first, Scott only kissed your lips briefly before pulling back. Then you reached up connecting your lips again. The kiss was slow making your heart quicken with every second. Scott wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into his warm body. The November night air made you cold, but right now you didn’t care. Your hands slowly came up and rested on Scott’s shoulders.

Right as Scott began to deepen the kiss, the front door opened and Sheriff Stilinski, Stiles, Melissa, and Argent came outside. Neither one of you realized until the Sheriff cleared his throat. You and Scott jumped apart but it was too late. All the adults were just smiling down at the two of you.

“Alright Scotty,” Stiles cheered nodding his head.

Your cheeks grew red as you mumbled an “Oh my God” to Scott and buried your face in your hands. Scott gave his best friend a look and Stiles tried to defend himself.

“Hey, I tried to stall, but they already packed up all the food.”

#Scott McCall #Scott McCall x reader #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf fan fiction #teen wolf #Scott McCall imagine

[amethyst-dreams-and-candy-canes]

Winter’s Treat

This is my entry for @ne-gans 5.5K follower celebration! My prompt is in bold with Thor and I may have strayed away from my original plot. I think the most difficulty I had with this was the title.

Word Count: 1,749

Warnings: Smut, sex pollen themes (this is my first time with this troupe so I hope I did decent), threesome, oral (female receiving), unprotected sex, a little dub-con

Pairing: Thor x OC!Candice x Brunhilde

"Did you wrap this yourself?" 

Candice gave an exaggerated fake laugh as she clutches the rapidly falling sheet close to her body. Her clothes were discarded haphazardly about the room and the sheet was her only cover. A thin layer of sweat covered her exposed skin, the sheen making her umber skin glow. Thor couldn’t help but reach out to touch her but Candice shuffled away from him. Thor followed her movement and brushed his fingertips over her uncovered shoulder. Her skin was hot to the touch and she jerked away from him.   

"Once more, what transpired to cause this?" Thor asked as he poked at the sheet around Candice's rib cage. Candice yelped and swatted his hand away as Thor bit back the smile threatening to form. Sweat poured from her head, soaking the bandanna she had tied around her hairline. Thor looked from the woman to Brunhilde who hadn't said a word since Thor entered the room. Giving her a knowing glance, Brunhilde rolled her eyes.

"She went wandering into the garden when I told her to stay put." Brunhilde answered from her post by the door, arms crossed and trying her best to hide her merriment. Thor hummed as he regarded Candice as she moved the sheet off her right shoulder. 

"It was snowing and I wanted to see what the garden looked like covered in snow."

Brunhilde snorted and placed her hands on her hips. "All you had to do was look out the window." 

Candice groaned as her body heated further, her skin taking a glossy appearance. "But that's so boring! Plus Brunhilde said she had a present for me out there.”

"And look where it's gotten you." 

Another wave of heat hit Candice and she swore that she was standing in the middle of a furnace. Thor quirked an eyebrow as he watched the woman bend over and grab the bottom of the sheet to bunch it around her middle, her legs and thighs exposed. 

"I can't take this, I'm gonna die in a sheet." 

"I assure you, Candy, you will not-"

Candice pouted and turned on her heels towards the bathroom. "I'm gonna shower to see if it helps. Can you turn the air down please?"

"Down? It's below freezing outside! There is snow on the ground…."

"Please?" Candice yelled behind her as she slammed the bathroom door. 

Brunhilde stared at the closed door as Thor bent to pick up Candice's discarded shirt. It was soaked in sweat and smelled faintly of her perfume. Thor brought the garment up to his nose and inhaled deeply. His eyes snapped towards Brunhilde who met his glare with a knowing wink. 

"You did that on purpose." 

With a shrug, Brunhilde strolled towards the bathroom door and pressed her ear against it.

The water from the shower-head felt like pure lava hitting her skin. Glancing at the knob, it indicated that the water was at its coldest setting but the way her skin felt said otherwise. Tears pricked her eyes as her skin screamed at her. Washing quickly, Candice rushed to rise the lavender soap from her body before it too burned her. Stepping out of the shower, Candice examined her skin to check for injury because she was sure she had third degree burns. Unable to find an injury to her body, she gave a resigned sigh and  wrapped a towel around her. The friction from the towel brushed up against her nipples and a jolt of pleasure hit Candice who moaned before she knew it.  She hadn't even noticed that her nipples were erect and begging for attention. 

"You ok in there? We heard a sound." Brunhilde called from the other side of the door. Candice tried to answer but her body demanded her attention. Dropping the towel, Candice brought her hands to her breast and started to fondle herself. The simple touch sent a shiver down her spine and settled in her lower abdomen. Another moan came from her lips and she inadvertently clenched her thighs which sent a shock through her entire body. Her hand wandered down her stomach, goosebumps rising on her skin. Her mouth went slack as heat rushed to her lower body and when her hand reached the top of her pelvis, a powerful tremor rocked her body and a surprised gasp left her mouth. Her knees buckled under her and before she could hit the floor, the bathroom door flew open and a pair of strong arms wrapped around her. 

“Easy, easy.” Thor cooed as Candice grabbed onto his forearms. The feel of his skin on hers was sending shock waves through her body and her hands returned to her chest. He pulled her towards the bed as Brunhilde sat, her face full of mischief. 

“What’s wrong, Candy? What do you feel?” the question sounded so far away as Brunhilde placed her hands on Candice’s thigh. The contact made Candice flinch, the touch sending heat wave after heat wave through her.    

“I don’t- It feels-” Candice cut herself off when Thor pushes her by her shoulders to lay on the bed and sits next to her. His hands knead her shoulders as Brunhilde moved her hand up to her groin before traveling back down, her pace tortuously slow. Candice groans as her head lolls to the side and she subconsciously spreads her legs. Thor shoots Brunhilde an amused grin as he leans down to kiss the side of Candice’s neck. Brunhilde moves between Candice’s legs and push them open wider as she settles between her thighs. 

“Are you ready for your present?” Brunhilde speaks softly as she presses kisses to the inside of Candice’s thigh. A high whine from Candice is her response and Brunhilde laughs before leaning in and pressing her lips to Candice’s heat. Arching her back, Candice whimpers as Thor leans down to take one of her nipples in his mouth. Aware of her sensitivity, Thor sucks on her gently and brings his hand to her other breast. A stream of susurrus arises from Candice as she squirms under their joint stimulation. She begins to rock her hips as Brunhilde’s tongue circles her entrance before moving up to her clit and taking it into her mouth. Thor peeks to Candice’s face scrunched in pleasure as her hands grab at the sheets below her. His own arousal grows and he has to compose himself before he pushes Brunhilde off her and takes her himself. He watches as her body begins to tremble with the signs of her orgasm. Brunhilde has one of her palms flat on Candice’s stomach and the other is below her, no doubt touching herself. Candice comes with a cry and Thor peppers kisses to her forehead. Brunhilde hisses as her body trembles with her own release. The room is silent except for the heavy breaths of the women. Candice eyes flutter before she opens them fully and blinks several times before she focuses on Thor who is staring down at her with admiration. 

“What was that?” she asks meekly and eyes wide with curiosity. Thor kisses her nose as Brunhilde climbs on the bed next to Candice. 

“There is a flower on Asgard that if you inhale its scent, it produces aphrodisiac properties.” Brunhilde explains as she kisses up Candice’s arm. Candice hums in contemplation as she turns her attention to Thor who is watching Brunhilde. He grabs her forearm and yanked her towards him, the force sending her careening into him. Startled, Brunhilde goes to pull from his embrace but his lips connect with hers. Candice rolls onto her side as she watches them, both fighting for dominance. Brunhilde reaches a hand into his hair and she tugs roughly, making the god moan. Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, Candice begins to writhe as the heat returns to her body. Brunhilde pulls Thor hair again and the force of it breaks their kiss. 

“How does she taste? Our Candy?” breathless she runs her tongue over his bottom lip for emphasis.

Thor cuts his eyes to Candice who bashfully adverts her eyes from his lustful stare, her body teeming with arousal. “On your hands and knees, Candy.”

She doesn’t move right away, seemingly frozen under his gaze. Brunhilde chuckles and playful shoves Thor. “She needs a little help. I’m a tough act to follow.”

Thor huffs a response as he moves from the bed. Brunhilde lays on her stomach in front of Candice as Thor moves behind her. Propping herself up on her forearms, Brunhilde tilts her head and smirks at Candice who looks back to Thor. His hands massage her hip to coax her into complying and she does, rolling over to her stomach. She brings her legs under her and arches her back as she peeks to Brunhilde who is watching with anticipation. 

"Good girl." Thor praises as he slowly pushes himself into her and Candice preens at his words. A gasp leaves her as Thor bottoms out, his size causing a pleasurable burn within her. Brunhilde doesn’t take her eyes off Candice as Thor begins to move, his pace leisurely at first before he picks up speed. 

"That feel good, Candy?" The question soft and barely audible against the sounds of skin meeting skin. Candice nods when she makes eye contact with Brunhilde who pulls her in for a kiss, swallowing her moans. The two women make out as Thor watches them, the act sensual and seeming to goad him which turns him on even more. His thrusts pick up in speed and intensity which causes Candice to break the kiss and moan loudly. She moves her knees even further apart and deepens the arch in her back, allowing Thor to graze her g-spot. Her orgasm hits with no warning, her body seizing as wave after wave of euphoria washes over her. Thor fucks her through it and slows his pace briefly before picking back up. 

Brunhilde moves her hand down to where Candice and Thor are connected, stretching her fingers so that she can feel Thor as he enters her again and again while brushing the heel of palm onto Candice's bundle of nerves. Clutching onto Brunhilde's other arm Candice comes embarrassingly quick, moans falling freely from her lips. Thor pulls out of her with a loud groan, his release hitting the back of Candice's thighs. Heavy breathing fills the room before it's interrupted by Brunhilde's laugh. "Hope you like your present. Next time, no snooping."

Tagging: @ne-gans @avintagekiss24 @plussizeappreciationfics @golden-ariess @titty-teetee @letsby 

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