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infamous-if · 11 months

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I know, I know. It took 2 months to write the second drabble from the poll but...this is not even a drabble anymore. Instead, it's more of a collection of scenes mostly because if I do write how Orion found and began managing the band it would be an entire chapter. I will say that I condensed this due to that, but if I ever do write the whole thing it might look a *little* different. I had to cut corners and shorten scenes for the sake of length. Still, hope you like it! (This is 4, 363 words btw. what is wrong with me) I should probably find a more efficient way to share such long works but whatevs. As always, ignore any mistakes or typos or wordy sentences or sentences that probably make no sense upon reading it a second time. I don't edit drabbles and I always just publish the first drafts. haha.

“…Love me and hate me, I don’t mind as long as you take me—”

A low grumble rises in Orion’s throat when the song pauses, the car falling into an unfamiliar silence just as it slows in front of a red light. His large hands tighten their grip on the wheel, and his eyes glide to his co-worker, Marty, just as he’s pulling his hand away from the PAUSE button on the console.

“Is there a reason you’re touching my stuff?” Orion asks, his voice carrying its usual calm that holds a level of ice that has even his superiors shuddering when they think he’s not looking.

Marty licks his lips, his face twisting into its usual expression of guilt. Orion softens his face for his friend’s sake.

Orion Quinn knows the impact he has on people. The rumors that plague him have reached his ears on multiple occasions; he’s a shell of what he once was, never having gotten over the one who got away. He’s detached, the merciless worker that the boss goes to when he’s in need of someone who can do the firing.

He’s the one people are afraid of crossing or talking casually to in fear of letting something slip. People fear him more than they fear the execs.

It wasn’t always like this, sure. Once, Orion used to smile freely, used to talk openly and wear vulnerability like a favorite coat. But then the divorce happened and sides were taken. Suddenly, the armor he didn’t know he had was reinforced, dented and bruised from a battle he didn’t expect to fight, but reinforced nonetheless.

Never date your co-workers.

“The song is terrible, man.” Marty sighs, running a hand through his oily brown hair when he plops back in the seat. The same seat he pushed back at a 120-degree angle. Admittedly, it makes Orion’s nerves flare up. He says nothing; he has enough self-awareness to know that complaining about his seat is a bit too much, even for him. “I was doing both our ears a favor.”

The light changes and Orion absently drums his fingers on the wheel as he drives on ahead, eyes gliding outside to soak in the densely populated street underneath the rising sun. “Yeah.” The word comes out in a resigned breath. “I was hoping it’d get better.”

“We were on the bridge,” Marty throws back. “The only way it could get better is if it ended.” Orion’s lip twitches and of course, Marty can’t let it go. ”Oh! That was an almost-smile.” He leans forward to poke Orion’s rib.

Orion lets out a laugh before his face quickly drops.

Marty grins, plopping his elbow on the ledge of the car door. “All I’m saying is you’ve been listening to demos nonstop this whole month. Not once have I seen you even mildly excited for any of them.”

Orion grits his teeth. “I haven’t had anything substantial to show the team in ages. Our last artist pulled out on signing with us last minute. Our established artists aren’t selling as well anymore. The industry is getting oversaturated—“

“—and we need to be ahead of the curve. Yadda, yadda.” Marty rolls his eyes. “Do you ever just relax? Damn. That stick up your ass is ten-feet lon—“

Marty chokes on his words when Orion’s eyes cut to his. “Say anything else and I’m kicking you out of my car.”

Marty pouts but relents anyway, choosing to change the subject. “What about dating?”

Orion keeps his eyes on the road but quirks a brow. “What about it?”

“You know…” Marty starts, gesticulating vaguely as he searches for the right words. “Maybe putting yourself out there could help you relax. Or even inspire you—“

“No.”

“What? Okay, but—"

“Not interested.”

“You didn’t even know what I was going to sa—“

“Don’t have to.”

Marty huffs and says nothing for a long moment. Neither of them rush to fill the silence; normal for Orion but unusual for his infinitely more talkative friend. It’s only when he pulls into Carolina Records’ parking lot that Marty speaks again and Orion realizes his silence was really just contemplation.

“I know the divorce was difficult,” he starts, delicate, “but—“

Orion’s jaw clenches.

“— that doesn’t mean you should give up.”

Orion sits there a moment, fingers clenching into fists. “It’s not giving up if I never tried in the first place.” He swings open the door and steps out, the car door slamming with a hint of finality.

. . .

Carolina Records boasts a twenty-floor skyscraper made up of floor-to-ceiling glass windows and sleek, dark marble floor. Orion has been here since he graduated college; going from a measly intern to an A&R representative responsible for finding two of the most promising artists in the company.

That was a year ago. Since then, the well of new talent has dried up and Orion doesn’t know what to do.

Of course, he was offered higher positions, all of which he quickly denied. Orion always had a knack for numbers and trends, discovering what new genre is going to come to the forefront, seeing what kind of music the general public is listening to. Music: he understands it better than people. His understanding is almost clinical: while people listen to it for enjoyment, Orion seeks the patterns, the feelings that every beat and scale and vocal run they invoke. He takes it apart and puts it together like a surgeon does a patient. It just makes sense to him.

He could do so much more, he knows that, but none of that interests him.

The music—that’s what he likes.

Discovering new talent is what excites him. Which is why this odd dry spell has him walking with gritted teeth and tension between his shoulders-blades. He has to do something.

“Mr. Quinn.”

Orion nods at a woman who passes by the hallway, ignoring the way Marty does a whole spin when he tracks her retreating frame down the hall.

Another one. This time a man from the marketing department. “Good Morning, Mr. Quinn.”

“Morning.”

Marty scoffs when the man continues walking, not sparing him a glance.

“Am I chopped liver or something?” Marty complains.

“Mr. Quinn, hey!”

“Hi.” Orion nods his head once and presses the elevator button. When his eyes land on a frowning Marty he says, “You’re just not sociable.”

“Huh?!” Marty then lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched sputter of a laugh. “And you are?”

Orion frowns. “Yes.”

Another laugh. “You’re smart, dude, you know it’s more because of that”— he gestures vaguely at him—“than your social skills.”

The elevator doors open with a cheerful bell and they step inside. “What?”

“You know.” Marty shrugs. “Your face. You look like you should be on a billboard advertising overpriced cologne with your shirt unbuttoned and your hand in your hair talking about your luxurious life or something.”

“That’s…specific.”

Marty shrugs. “I read a lot of GQ.”

Orion wrinkles his nose when they spin to face the doors. “While it is true I would be considered objectively handsome by societal standards—“

“Oh, fuck off.”

“—I don’t think that’s the case.” This time Orion lets out a small smile. “Or maybe it is?” He quirks a brow at his co-worker. “Should I send a gift basket to my parents? A ‘thank-you-for-the-superior-DNA gift?’”

Marty shakes his head. “You know, when you do try to be funny you still sound like an asshole.”

Orion hums, the joke tickling him enough for him to let out his first smile of the day.

The elevator doors sing their arrival and they bid farewell once they part to go to their respective offices. Orion strides to his corner office where another one of his co-workers, Kass, is standing with a box in her hands.

“This week’s demos.” Orion is just putting his arms out when she plops the boxes on them. “You should really stop requesting unsolicited demos. It’s such an outdated way of doing things.”

Orion ignores her and unlocks his office door, turning the knob and pushing it open with his hip. His office is barren but spacious, with high windows overlooking the city. Marty told him once that people would kill to have his office, but really it’s just like any other space. What’s an office without a productive person to work in it? Orion hasn’t done anything of meaning in weeks.

Sighing, he drops the box on the table unceremoniously, picking up the first CD on the top of the pile. GROUNDED IN REALITY reads the title, and it’s so apt that he almost chucks the CD in the trash on that very fact alone. Still, he’s nothing if not fair. Another sigh escapes him and he gets to listening.

. . .

Helpless.

That’s how he feels.

After hours of listening, the music has long since blurred together in a portrait of uninspired melodies and generic, radio-friendly lyrics. Nothing stood out, nothing made him want to dig into the song in search for more, nothing made him feel.

Is it me? Am I the problem?

Jaw clenched, Orion fishes out his phone, the usual flinch coming to him when he sees the background. He forgot to change it, and it’s always an (unwanted) surprise whenever he sees a picture of them together.

One year ago. The beach. Happy.

Shaking his head, he sends a quick text to his mother telling her that he’ll have to raincheck on their dinner. He still has half a box of songs left. Looks like he’ll be staying late.

“Yo, Orion!” A knock. “Let’s go! I want to driiink.”

Or not.

Marty strides in without waiting for an invitation, a grin on his face. “Tab is on me.”

“Do you ever work?” Orion asks, eyes half-lidded in equal parts annoyance and indifference.

His friend frowns. “This is work.”

“I don’t think getting drunk is in the job description.” Orion looks down, absently clicking on the button of his mouse in an effort to busy his hands.

“Wah, wah. Don’t be a fucking party pooper.”

“Too late.”

Marty shoots him a look. “A few artists are playing tonight. Call this recruitment.” He uses spirit fingers. “Maybe you’ll even loosen up for once.” When Orion looks at him, a brow raised, Marty drops his hands. “Yes, I do my job sometimes. Don’t look so surprised.”

“It’s not that,” Orion starts. He doesn’t immediately continue. Instead, they simply stare at each other. Marty wiggles his brows as Orion narrows his gaze. “When you say the tab is on you—“

Marty whips out a black card. “Company card, baby!”

Orion palms his face with a long groan as Marty begins to moonwalk across Orion’s office. “I was perfectly fine staying inside.” Even though he says this, a moment later he stands and grabs his trenchcoat from the back of the chair. “And you’re driving.”

“What!” Marty stomps his foot as he follows him out. “Nooooo.”

. . .

The bar sits in a livelier part of the city, a part that Orion doesn’t often find himself in. It’s less about the scene and more about the memories associated with every damn corner of this place. Orion can pluck a memory from his mind like a petal from a rose garden: the diner they went to and fought for fifteen minutes over who would get to pay the bill, the park they spent their lunches at.

The shop where he bought the ring.

“This place is golden,” Marty says, breaking Orion out of the string of memories he wishes he could erase forever, “it’s like a real gritty, underground hole-in-the-wall vibe.”

“Sounds like fun,” comes out of Orion in a dour tone that has Marty rolling his eyes.

They stride through the neon glow of the brick hall until it opens up to a dimly lit bar. The space is humble; the sparse crowd is compensated by the energy of the performers on the stage.

“Stacy, do you remember when I mowed your lawn…?”

“Is the band really covering Fountains of Wayne?” Orion says through gritted teeth.

Marty bites his lower lip, his obvious attempt to stifle laughter only making Orion’s faux horror flare even more. “Maybe.” Marty spins around, shimmying his shoulder. “You don’t agree that Stacy’s Mom Has Got It Going on?” Marty then realizes something and laughs. “You know, I dated a Stacy once. Weirdly enough, her mom wasn’t that bad looking—“

Orion sighs and quickly moves to the bar. “I need a drink.”

Whatever hope Orion had of finding new talent is gone in the face of the line-up. It quickly becomes obvious that the performers are composed of people who aren’t taking the ‘gig’ seriously or patrons that are half-drunk and stumbling on the small stage.

Worse that the place is pathetically empty; it’s only them two and three other stragglers eating stale fries and bobbing their heads to the music, more out of obligatory politeness than anything else. Orion is suddenly regretting taking Marty up on his offer.

Orion drinks his lager through periodic gulps, his desire to forget this night growing with every person that performs. The memories of this area coupled with his lack of work lately make him dizzy. He wants to escape. Quit. Scream. All of it.

“Get me another,” Orion says, much to Marty’s delight.

More and more people perform until Orion has lost any focus on the stage. Instead, he entertains himself by watching the game on the TV, having long given up on finding any new promising talent in a place like this.

“Next up we have”—the bartender stops, her eyes narrowing as she tries to read something off an index card—“er, [band]. Yeah. Give them a round of applause.”

With how few people are in attendance, the applause is less applause and more awkward clapping that quickly dies after two.

The people on stage are younger. Immediately, Orion notices that they’re equipped with actual instruments instead of relying on the karaoke machine in the corner. A decisive point in their favor, he decides.

“You said this was a gig…” He hears one of them say to what appears to be the lead singer. The boy wears a red hat, as well as an assortment of chains on his neck. Three other band members set up their instruments, trying not to look too disappointed by the turnout. Still, even with the lager creating a slight fog in his head, Orion knows that look. The moment when hope dies, burning like a napkin to a flame.

“No,” the lead singer says pointedly as they adjust their mic, “I said this was a favor.” In that moment, the singer nods their head at the bartender, who shoots them an appreciative thumbs-up. “A paid favor.”

The boy shakes his head but snorts. “I guess.”

Once they’re set up, the singer looks ahead, gazing at the bar. Their eyes briefly settle on Orion as they gaze at the few faces in the room. “Hey!” they say, chirpy. “We’re [band]. Thanks for coming out!”

A chorus of muttering replies.

Marty taps on the bar. “Wanna head out?”

Orion, unable to look away, shakes his head. “No. I want to see this.”

The next few minutes feel like a dream. Orion is in a daze as the song plays, the beats piercing through him. The voice sends goosebumps up his arms, the instruments weave together in a perfect harmony that has Orion’s heart racing. When the song ends, it’s too soon. He wants it to keep going. He doesn’t want it to end.

He wants more.

“Thanks!” The singer says to a smattering of slightly enthusiastic applause. This is the most energy everyone has had all night. They turn, grab their things, and disappear through the curtain. Orion bursts up….

…spilling his drink on the table.

“Oh!” the bartender squeaks as Marty hisses.

“Aw, fuck.” Orion curses, and then flinches. “Sorry. Uh….sorry.” He doesn’t know what his apology is for. Dropping the drink, cussing, or speeding away before he could help clean it up in order to catch the band backstage?

“Hey!” Marty calls. “Where are you going?”

Orion ignores him. He has a one-track mind right now, one focused on finding the band that just made him feel like he hit the jackpot. This. This is what he’s been looking for.

The door swings open, and the band stop mid-conversation to look at Orion, who busted through the door without so much as a plan or script in place. Instead, he simply stands there.

“Uh.” One girl, flaunting bright blue hair, says. “Yeah?”

Orion reveals his card, feeling a bit like a robot. He moves on automatic, working through the many thoughts in his head to utter the rest of his words. “Do you have a manager?”

. . .

“You want to manage us?”

The din of the coffee shop sings with the sound of plates and aimless chatter. It’s been two days since he heard them perform back at the bar, and Orion has been running through his pitch the way one does before an interview. He’s never been this…nervous? Uncertain? In his life.

“Yes,” is Orion’s only response. He sits on one side of the table while the band sits on the other; an invisible wall between them. He can see it, their apprehension. He is not one of them.

Not yet, at least.

“Wait.” The boy Orion learned is named Rowan leans forward, fingers on the table. “How do we know this isn’t a scam?”

“I’m not asking for money. All I ask is for you to show up to play for my boss. That’s it.” Auditions are a lost art. Nowadays artists are recruited through viral internet songs and connections. Two things that always exhausted Orion. It hasn’t been just about the music in a long time.

Their eyes widen. They all exchange looks, equal parts excited and wary.

“Why?” [MC], who he learned is the sole singer of the band, asks.

Because you made me feel something. Because listening to you is the first time I felt human in a long time.

He imagines himself waving off those words like mist. “Because you’re the first band that has caught my attention. And it’s not easy to catch my attention.”

The band member named Iris snorts.

“I’m not trying to be arrogant,” he says blandly, leaning back in his chair to fold his arms over his chest. “It’s the truth.”

“Where do you work?” Another member, Devyn, asks.

“Carolina Records.”

Multiple pairs of eyes widen.

“Holy shit.” Jazzy laughs. “The Carolina Records?”

Orion nods, used to this kind of reaction. Starry-eyed artists are pretty much the same when it comes to Carolina. “Yes.” He leans forward, his heart racing. “Just one audition. That’s all I ask.”

He watches as they all exchange looks; a silent language only they share. After an agonizing moment, [MC] turns to him and nods. “When?”

. . . .

Orion has been pacing for the last half hour.

He stands outside Carolina’s humble theater space, chewing on his nails as he waits for his boss, Jacob Hill, and a smattering of other executives and shareholders that will be the final word in whether Orion can work with [band]. He hasn’t asked for something this big in so long that Jacob Hill immediately said yes, more out of excitement and surprise than anything else. Orion did produce two of their most profitable artists in the company.

The elevator doors open and Orion stops in place, head whipping up to see them walking through the hall in a wave of black suits and greased hair. Orion brushes down his shirt, trying to dampen his nerves. Jesus. Nerves? Get a grip, Orion.

He doesn’t know how to stand as he waits for them to approach. Hands in pockets? Arms crossed? Orion is so indecisive he just resorts to standing straight, arms at his sides.

“Mr. Hill.” Orion shakes his hand, clearing his throat. He makes his polite greetings to the rest of the team and says, “Thank you for making time for me.”

“Always, Orion.” Jacob slaps a large hand on his back. “You’re one of my best. You should ask me for favors more.”

Orion lets out a small, slightly nervous laugh. “Ah, you know. I like to—“

“—do things on your own,” Jacob finishes, a soft smile on his face. “I get it.”

He slowly looks up, meeting Jacob’s eyes. In them he can see the familiar pity he’s gotten since the divorce.

It’s Orion’s fault, really. If he didn’t isolate himself and turn into what he is now, people wouldn’t look at him and assume he’s broken inside.

Would they be wrong in their assumption, though? Am I broken inside?

“Shall we?” another executive says, and Orion bobs his head in a nod, pushing away the image of Jacob’s face.

Inside is a small theater, the stage just big enough for one artist. The seats are plush leather, the lights dim but blue. Jacob always likes the spectacle, and he catered this space to feel like a real performance for possible signees. Orion decides against sitting, too nervous to do anything but stand in the back, giving them the signal he taught them in his pep talk before they came.

[MC] nods. “Um. Hi. We’re [band]. I’m [MC] and this is Iris, Rowan, Devyn, and Jazzy. And um…this is [song].”

Orion flinches at the lackluster introduction. Doesn’t matter, he thinks, unfamiliarly optimistic, the music will do the talking.

And it does.

But not in the way he thought.

All throughout the song, Orion peeks at Jacob and his team. He wants to celebrate when he sees them bobbing their heads, wants to curse when they get on their phones. Orion has never worried this much in his whole career. He’s never wanted something so bad.

He’s never allowed himself to want. Not after the divorce.

He didn’t think he was deserving of getting what he wanted.

The song ends, and Orion lets out a breath. There’s muffled chatter between the men, and on stage the band crowd together, hopping in place as they let out their remaining nerves.

Jacob stands, the rest following. Orion speeds ahead, wanting to see the thoughts on his face. Instead, Jacob simply regards him with thin lips.

“They were…good,” Jacob whispers, putting a hand on Orion’s shoulder and guiding him out of the room and to the empty hall, “but I think we’re going to go in another direction.”

Orion’s positivity leaks out of him like an open faucet. “What.”

Jacob inhales through his nose. “Look, the singer is talented. They all are. I understand why you like them but…” He shakes his head. “I don’t think the guys see it. And plus,” he shrugs, “they don’t have what we’re looking for.”

Orion’s brows furrow. His stomach drops in itself and his mouth dries. “They have another song. They could play it—“

“Orion.” Jacob gives him that pitying expression again. Fucking hell. He wants to smack that expression off his face. “I know you’ve been…off, since the divorce. You haven’t been on top of your game, and I’ve been giving you your space. It’s not easy, especially since you worked together—“

“I’m fine,” he says tightly.

“—but you can’t…fixate on something to get over it. You need to do it the healthy way. The old Orion would’ve brought me someone with pizzazz. With that unique Orion touch, you know?” Jacob pulls him close. Orion is reduced to a scolded child, unable to do anything but listen. “This isn’t the Orion I know. You usually bring me diamonds.”

“I—“ Orion swallows. “I’m trying.” And it’s the most honest thing he’s said in ages. He’s trying. And it’s not working. He’s been trying the day he signed that fucking divorce paper and signed the only life he’s known away.

“I know you are,” Jacob says, squeezing his shoulder. “Sometimes we miss, and that’s alright.”

The rest of the group filter out and both Jacob and Orion step back, trying to hide any sign of their tense conversation. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Orion nods slowly, the lump in his throat growing as he feels multiple eyes on him. His jaw is clenched, his eyes are downturned. He can hardly look at his boss.

He stands there, frozen, forced to listen to their careless chatter as they walk down the hall. The moment they stepped out of those doors, they forgot about the band. The same band that made him feel something, the first time since his divorce. The same band he can’t get out of his head. The same band that proved he is not broken. He can still feel.

And they don’t even fucking care.

“I quit,” Orion says, the words coming out of him before he could even think. Jacob and Co turn around, twin expressions of shock on their faces. Orion looks up, straightening, trying to look even an inch of the Old Him.

“What?” Jacob blurts.

“I quit.” Orion swallows. “I’ll formally hand in my resignation tomorrow.” He bows, trying to muster up the little respect and professionalism he has in him. “I’m sorry.”

“Orion—“

He spins around, walking back inside.

The band is still on stage, this time all packed up and ready to go. When the door closes, they all look up, their hopeful and wide eyes on Orion as he walks down to the stage.

He stops in front of it. He puts two palms on the stage, looking at the members of the band he will take to the top. He promised it to himself…two minutes ago.

“I’m going to ask again,” Orion says through his teeth, his heart racing with the adrenaline of his quitting. What the fuck is he doing? And why does it feel so good? “Do you still need a manager?”

When he looks up, the band stares at him in silence.

He witnesses [MC] look behind him at the door, where Jacob and his team left. As if realizing something, they look back down. “Yeah. You okay with another artist in your roster?”

“Yes.” Orion nods. He’s okay with it.

Because all he needs is one.

#orion quinn #drabble #looks around #scratches head #infamous

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fatallyfalling · 5 months

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Bitter Water 0.00 ~ ♆

“ Let the Reaping of the 67th annual Hunger Games begin, “

warnings: typical Hunger Games violence/trauma/themes, language, blood, injury, insinuation of forced prostitution, enemies to lovers, slow burn, etc.

{{ word count }} 2.6 k

{{ prompt }} Panem is cruel - bloodthirsty even. Every year twenty-four children must fight to the death as a sick form of entertainment. Today is the 67th annual reaping in the seaside District 4 - may the odds be ever in your favor.

{{ a/n }} Warning there’s a lot of exposition for what i think life in District 4 would be like though it may not sound 100% accurate to the canon ideation! I did way too much research on District 4’s presumed location and the general pacific northwest seafaring system for accuracy. This chapter is a lot of scene setting to reference later on top of the reaping occurring - please enjoy !

The Pacific-Northwestern region of Panem was home to District 4. Otherwise known as the “Fishing District”.

Most of its citizens are concentrated directly on or near the salty coast of the sea, working the many sailboats or on the bustling ports that harbored them. Children of the district learn to help from an early age, shucking oysters and various mussels or helping their mothers weave and repair nets for the local fishermen. Everyone smelled of the sea - fresh air, sea salt, and a damp pine, with sand clinging to their shoes and linen clothes.

Though a majority of the year brought overcast skies and rainy weather, the better parts of mid-July through late August were filled with warm, sticky sunshine and cloudless skies. Come autumn and winter, cold snaps and heavier rain storms were regular visitors, with many homes donning rain barrels to collect the excess liquid to be boiled down for drinking or bathing. The northernmost edge of the District sometimes saw snow, bringing ice fishing and skating to measured popularity amongst locals.

The port towns were anything but sleepy. Community in a constant hustle and bustle while watching out for one another in tandem with the intense seafaring labor. Days spent on the beach were filled with tugboat horns, captain's orders, and elated shrieks of children wading in the spray of the ocean. There was always a game of who could find the best cliff to dive from, or conch shell to hear the distant whispers of waves inside and whatnot. A group of older kids developed a make-believe currency of sand dollar bits to trade wooden beads, small clusters of natural quartz, seashells, rope bracelets, and more to entertain the younglings on an outcropping speckled in tide pools on the rocky shore.

More often than not, a walk down the boardwalk as dusk neared brought warm golden lights flooding from old taverns with deep, joyous shanties of the past and banter amongst hardworking sailors merging with joyous whoops and hollers of young women and barmaids. Everyone knew one another like family, and the seaside town practically breathed on its own with the rolling push and pull of the tide.

However, the Fishing District was silent today.

Waves crashed on the beach as boats creaked in their ports. Scarred wooden tavern signs wailed in the eerie breeze on salt-rusted chains. The absence of sound in the sand swept cobble streets was almost unsettling. There’s only one day a year that invokes such an abrupt halt in District 4’s beating heart.

The annual Reaping of one female and male Tribute set to compete in a fight to the death against twenty two other children from the districts all for the Capital’s sick reminder of what rebellion once cost the “great nation” of Panem.

The Hunger Games.

You knew the odds were never in anyone's 'favor'.

“It’s fine. Everything - everything is going to be fine…”

The repeated mantra is barely a whisper under your breath as you make a futile attempt the smooth the front of your lightweight, sage colored ensemble. There was a tremor in your fingertips. The idea of getting cleaned up like this just to attend your own prospective funeral made your stomach twist painfully. Tucking a few stray hairs behind your ears and a deep sigh through your nose, you take one last look in the foggy mirror on your dresser before making your way out to the main room of your home.

Although the Fourth District was deemed wealthy among the remaining 12, your seaside cottage was quaint - and quite a ways from the beach, in all honesty. The home was small, if not cozy. The outside wooden panels were worn with smears of grey from age due to the weather, paired with a tin slabbed roof that allowed every raindrop to be heard throughout the house when it rained. The inside wasn't much better. Little furniture adorned the household and appeared washed out in the summer light. Ivory walls were marked with the mayhem of childhood and clumsy hands. The large main room held a mantle and hearth with a makeshift stove built in and a rickety dark stained wood table with four chairs connecting to a barebones bathroom and two bedrooms. There were fixtures and switches for lights but no electricity. Candles were placed where lightbulbs would be for nights when the hearth wasn't keeping the house warm.

"Come on, we've got to get moving, or we'll be late."

You groaned as the younglings, twin boys with hair like your father's, sat on the oval roving rug you had finished braiding two springs prior. "You were supposed to get them washed up." You quip towards the older man seated at the worn-out table. His only reply is a gruff rumble as you scoff, stooping to rub soot off the boy's cheeks with your thumbs. They burst into giggles, and you can't help the tight-lipped smile that crosses your lips.

You tried to be patient with your father. There had been too much loss in recent years, but it wasn't an excuse to neglect his boys. You had enough trouble picking up the slack as it was, from taking extra hours on the shipyard and staying up late mending sails like your mother used to. She passed away some years ago. There had been complications delivering the twins, and there wasn't anything the midwife you'd called could have done. It left your father resigned to himself, taking up more time at the nearby tavern than on the shipyard hauling crates due for the Capital. A foolish miscalculation and one too many drinks ended up costing him his dominant hand and forearm in a freak accident at the port.

To say you had fallen on hard times would be an understatement. It was more akin to plummeting down one of the tall cliffsides bordering the port and smacking face-first into the water like concrete.

Eventually, you managed to wrangle the little rascals into their shoes and straighten the collars of their matching olive-green tunics. Hoisting one onto your back with a huff, you tried to calm the drumming of your racing heart. Your father stood with another grunt and shrugged on a deep brown leather coat to cover what was left of his arm. Allowing the other half of the youngling pair to weave their fingers through his, your father offered a firm nod in your direction, and the four of you set out toward town.

Looking back on that moment, you regret not taking in that quaint little cottage one last time.

The trek to town was about a mile or two. The beat down from the summer sun brought sweat to your brow and the nape of your neck, forcing you to set down the toddler on your back halfway. "I know it's hot, but we have to keep going," You cooed when the pair began complaining about the lengthy trip. This would be the first Reaping they might remember, not to mention the first they weren't in diapers for. You'd done your best to keep them healthy, sometimes at the expense of yourself, but it was worth all the risk in the world.

With a little more commentary from the twins, the tall brick clock tower above the judicial complex at the center of town came into view above the pine trees, and you let out a shuddering breath that made your chest squeeze. "Almost there," You muttered. Averting your gaze to the dirt path under your feet. The sun was almost at its peak when you converged with the lines of other citizens. Many reeked of sweat and body order, having traveled through most of yesterday and this morning to get to the Reaping on time.

You didn't allow your fear to show more than a tightness in your jaw as you gripped your siblings tight in an almost bone-crushing hug. You refused to say goodbye as it felt like admitting defeat before the duel with death had even begun. After a few long moments, you heard the automated voices of Peacekeepers in stark white uniforms and government-ordered guns slung across their chests, and you had to let go. "I'll come back in just a few minutes," You promised, though your voice felt meek and caught in your throat. Ruffling their hair and sparking a fit of spritely laughter, you lifted your gaze to the hardened eyes of your father. "See you soon."

"See you soon."

Another brief, tight-lipped smile, and you forced yourself to turn away and join the other prospective tributes for check-in. Families were forced to remain in a balcony above the judicial complex due to such a large population and past "complications" from reaped children's family members. Anxiety and anticipation brought a tension thick enough to be cut by a knife through the courtyard of people. Wetting your lips following a thick swallow, you tried not to focus too much on the looming Peacekeepers overseeing the procession. When it was your turn to check in, you didn't stutter when asked for your name but scrunched your nose as they pricked your finger, squeezing to pool the blood before pressing it into the paper list and scanning with a device that flashed green. "Next!" The peacekeeper barked, shooing you away with a wave of their hand. Your gaze danced around the all too familiar formation of children as you fell in line with the older Tributes.

You were led in groups through a few back hallways before being brought into a widely open auditorium. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the back wall with long Red capital banners hung on the dividing stone pillars. Clenching your trembling hands into fists, your fingernails digging into your palms, you tried again to steady your racing heart as it pounded against your ribcage.

Things were going to be fine.

Another thick swallow forced its way down your throat, and you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth. The anxious habit often left your bottom lip puffy, if not bleeding from the repetitive action, but you couldn't help it. Shuffling into place to stand in rows and columns with the other prospective Tributes, you had to will yourself not to look anywhere but ahead. You couldn't break till this was all over. It was a long process to get everyone inside. But once the large wooden doors behind you slammed shut with a contagious shudder shifting through the crowd, you knew this was it.

The deafening cry of an unfocused microphone wails through the room, causing your nose to scrunch and your head to lean into your shoulder in discomfort. A stocky, overdressed Capital escort appears on the short stage made of stone to match the rest of the auditorium. They release a small gasp at the noise and allow a brief dismissal before tapping the microphone twice, the poor device exerting two loud "thumps" for good measure. Clearing their throat with a phlegmy cough, the escort begins a crawl of lines that were evidently rehearsed and regurgitated the same way every year to every district.

"Welcome, welcome! Happy Hunger Games!"

The escort's tone is elated, making you feel sick at the pride they seem to take in their position. Your jaw set in place as they continued their spiel.

"Before we begin, I'd like to share this wonderful message from our dear President and our beloved Capital!" They exclaim while gesturing to a letter they seem to pull from thin air. A small "shink" whispers through the mic as the letter is opened. The escort pulls a sheet of parchment out, discarding the envelope in a dramatic toss behind themselves and another phlegmy cough before reading the page.

"Dear Prospective Tributes,"

"It is an honor as the President of Panem to welcome you all to the annual Reaping for this year's Hunger Games. As you all have learned from birth. War, destruction, and rebellion have brought great shame to our nation. A shame that runs so deep that our Districts must be reminded of the consequences and retribution that rebellion costs. War brings death. War brings dead children, dead mothers, dead sisters, and dead brothers. To raise war against your Capital, which has provided you all you've ever needed, is treacherous. To bring war against your home is treason. These Games preserve our past. And these Games protect our future."

Signed, President Coriolanus Snow."

There isn't a single round of applause that rolls through the crowd once the escort finishes reciting the letter. The letter has been identical at every Reaping you've attended since you were twelve. The silence in the auditorium is loud enough to hear a pin drop. Your palms grow warm as blood slowly seeps from where your nails dig in, but you don't bother to take notice.

"Well then, if all is said and done, we shall now move on to selecting our two wonderful tributes who will hold the greatest honor of representing District 4 in the 67th annual Hunger Games. As always, ladies shall go first." The escort exclaims once more, accompanying animated waves of their gloved hands towards the pristine crystal fishbowls on either side of the stage. Both bowls are brimming with slips of paper. Your heartbeat thrums in your ears now.

Everything is going to be fine.

The escort all but skips their way to the crystal mouth of death on the right side of the stage. Your heart feels like it might as well burst out of your chest and splatter against the backs of those in front of you. Your eyes are glued ahead as the escort makes a show of sifting their gloved fingers through the name slips for what feels like an eternity. At last, a slip is chosen in a dramatic swipe up into the air to be displayed to the crowd.

The anticipation is suffocating.

The escort comes back to center stage, coughing into the microphone again as they peel away the black seal of the name.

As the chosen name booms through the auditorium, it's as if you're suddenly underwater. But you can't be underwater because you're standing still, and nothing's wet.

The name booms through the open room again.

This time, you're shocked out of your thoughts at the recognition.

It's your name.

You have been chosen as the female Tribute for the 67th annual Hunger Games.

You barely register the prod of a gun at your back or the jab to your side to force you out of line towards the stage.

This really was going to be your funeral, and you couldn't stop it.

A wail rips apart the blanket of silence as one of the twin younglings cries out for you. On instinct, your head whips towards the cry, but your temple connects with the butt of a gun, and you're knocked to the concrete below. Somehow, a sound akin to a growl emits itself from your throat on your hands and knees as you force yourself to stand back up. Your head throbs with white hot pain from the contact point, but a bitter, spiteful decision solidifies itself in your mind as you're led towards the jaws of certain death on that stage.

You will not die.

@emerald-09 @reader-bookling123 @finnickodaddy

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simpcityy · 8 months

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First off, love your stories. Second, can I request a Miguel O'Hara x daughter! Child!reader (maybe 4 or 5 or whatever age you want it to be) gets adopted by him and he notices how extremely shy she is from the trauma she has. Like one day he took her to HQ for the first time to make her open up more and Hobie or Peter B (anyone really) scared the hell out of her and she was crying loudly and they tried to make her smile and Miguel just slaps one of them and it makes you laugh (have you seen ice age? The scene where Manny and Diego hit him and the baby just laughs? That's what I'm thinking that happens. The video is linked just in case)

First off, I would like to apologize for how long this took to complete, I swear I didn't forget! The cons of being a young adult in this world but finally! I was able to write this wonderful idea of yours into a short one-shot. Yes! Ice Age was my childhood movie and that particularly scene was my all-time favorite.

Word Count: 744 Warnings: Trauma, adopted child, Ben being smacked...ughh that's all

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Being a hero came with pros and cons. Miguel, who is currently Spider-Man 2099 was facing with a problem, you. A small 5-year-old child. Your parents were gone thanks to a villain who was after you. Sitting on the rooftop, Miguel held you as you slept in his arms after the intense crying of seeing your parents gone. Thinking carefully what he was going to do. "What will it be Miguel?" Lyla appears in front of him, glancing at the small child. The man only grunted, " If I were to drop them off at the orphanage, most likely they will get them...I have no choice but to adopt her." He gets up holding you close as he swings off the roof.

It's been weeks now, close to 3 months. Lyla was having blast teasing Miguel seeing how protective he was over you. A small call from the daycare and he was out to pick you up right away. Miguel grumbles as he waited in line at the daycare with you clinging to his leg as many mothers were whispering how adorable you were and how hot Miguel looked being a protective and active father. He watched a young boy of your age walk over to you. He raised an eyebrow when you rejected the offer of wanting to play outside in the playground with him." ¿Qué pasa, cariño?" He kneels down to your height rubbing your cheek as you cling to him more, to the point he's back up carrying you in his arms. The sight of Miguel carrying you made many of the parents' awe. "Mr.O'Hara?" Your daycare teacher calls out the next person on the list. " Now, go out to play with your friends?" He smiles before it slowly fades as you only shake your head no and cling to him. Leaving him no choice but to hold you in his arms throughout the meeting.

During the meeting, Miguel nods as your daycare teacher express her concerns. " I know (Y/N) was adopted by you Mr. O'Hara but...is there any sort of trauma that prevents them from having a social life? They are too shy, to the point they even refuse to play with their peers, and I fear this can prevent them from building a social life." The woman explained as Miguel nodded, paying attention. He knew she was right; you were too shy around strangers and whenever he took you to the park, you would beg to go home right away and watch movies with him instead. He was mad at himself for not seeing those struggles and odd behavior right away. Mad at himself for sheltering you from the cruel world when he should've been exposing it you slowly so you can fight you way around it. As it was told by all dimensional Spider-Mans, being a Hero has many pros and cons, mostly cons.

After the meeting, Miguel held your hand as you both walk home " (Y/N), don't you like making friends?" He looks down at you as you ponder his question. "No..." You whisper holding his hand tightly. "por qué?" He picks you up in his arms walking home faster. "It's hard" was your only answer that lingered in Miguel's mind. As nighttime came, Lyla appears on Miguel's shoulder seeing him look up programs to help children with trauma. "Are you really considering that?" The AI asked before Miguel shook his head "No, I'm just seeing what the programs are based so I can do something similar with them at home." He mutters as he kept reading and reading till Lyla's idea turned the light bulb in his mind.

"Why no bring them to HQ and meet Mayday, maybe they feel less shy around someone who's younger than them" The AI shrugged.

The next morning, that's what Miguel did. You looked around both in awe and fear seeing so many people in this big place. "¿Te gusta?" He whispers to you, holding your small hand into his larger ones. You only shrugged feeling mixed emotions. Upon arriving at his office, he hands you a couple of papers and crayons. " I'll be up there working, soon, I want you to meet someone okay. ¿Puedes hacer eso por mí, cariño?" He smiles petting your head. Once the words meeting someone has gotten you on edge but slowly nodded, knowing this meant a lot to your adopted father. "Okay" You whisper and began to color waiting for the suppose someone you were meeting.

After a while you were busy drawing a picture of you and Miguel before seeing small hand grabbing your crayons. Looking up, you saw a small baby. Slowly, sitting up on your knees, you kept coloring. Miguel watched carefully with Peter. "Relax, they will click soon alright Miguel, and here I thought I was the overprotective father." Peter smiles before sighing seeing Miguel wasn't even listening to him as he was busy watching the interaction between you and Mayday. After a while, Miguel smiles a bit seeing you help Mayday color and stopping her whenever she tries to put the crayon in her mouth. Peter kept quiet watching Miguel, enjoying the small smile before it could fade. Both fathers watched afar their children enjoying their company until Ben walked in.

"Woah! Is this Mini Miguel?!" Ben walks over and picked you up from the back of your shirt taking a good look at you. Miguel and Peter stood stiff seeing your tears forming. You looked at the masked man and all hell broke loose. Ben panicked as you wailed reaching for miguel. "papá!" You cried as Miguel jumps down his platform with a frown. " ¡Idiota! Everything was going well until you came!" He yells and grabs you, holding you close. Trying to calm you down but so far nothing was working. He sighs and curses at Ben. Meanwhile Ben apologizes over and over, "Look, I am so sorry, I didn't know they were going to get scared!" He looks at Miguel before being smacked behind his head "OW!"

Miguel felt somewhat satisfied after smacking Ben before hearing your small giggle. He stops and looks down at you, seeing a small smile covering your mouth. He slowly smacks Ben again causing you to giggle out again. "Oh, let me try!" Peter walks over holding Mayday and smacks Ben behind the head. "Ow!" Ben yells as both you and Mayday giggle. "This is really a stress relief." Peter admits waiting for his turn as Miguel smacked Ben again. Ben held in the pain as his punishment for scaring you. "Anything for Mini Miguel!" He says acting like a tough guy as both fathers took turns, the room filled with giggles from you and Mayday. Lyla recording the whole thing.

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Spanish Translation: 1. Qué pasa, cariño - What's wrong, Sweetie? 2. por qué- Why? 3.Te gusta - Do you like it? 4. Puedes hacer eso por mí, cariño - Can you do that for me, Sweeite? 5. ¡Idiota - Idiot

#miguel ohara fic #across the spiderverse fic #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel ohara x fem!reader #father figure miguel ohara #miguel ohara x platonic reader #answered asks #Miguel ohara x daughter!reader

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buddhamethods · 4 months

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10 BL Characters I Would Hit With My Car

(I don't have a licence and can't drive so this is just for fun OBVIOUSLY)

LISTEN, I love these characters. They are complex, they are human, they are flawed and yet you can't help but root for them. Or they are just giant assholes.

Regadless, I think they would all benefit from getting hit by a car as a little treat.

Feel free to tag yourselves and participate in a bit of lighthearted negativity and media complaining.

1) Ben From Never Let Me Go (2022)

Of course he would be on this list. Mainly because how are you, a closeted gay in a coming of age bl drama, sitting down in front of a piano next to a beautiful boy and not just completely eat his face in a passionate life altering kiss? I understand that was the whole point of the scene, but personally I would rise above the narrative that was trapping me.

2) Dan from Not Me (2021)

Being a cop, killing Sean's father and selling NFTs is bad enough on it's own, I agree. But Dan's biggest sin was taking the cigarette out of Yok's mouth and depriving us of seeing sad First Kanaphan smoking near a body of water-THE queer cinema experience.

As it turns out, you can be gay and homophobic at the same time.

3) Kenji from My Dear Gangster Oppa (2023)

So you have funky hair and kawnty fashion sense? Oh, you partake in fun bathtub threesomes? What, you're a little unhinged and psychotic? Perfect! THEN WHY THE HELL YOU SUCK AT BEING A VILLAIN SO HARD HUH???

Kenji you better put your helmet on, I'm turning on the engine.

4) Kanghan from Dangerous Romance (2023)

Rich people don't deserve rights in general so Kang was already on thin ice to begin with. But being a bully on top of that? UNDER THE HOOD OF THE CAR YOU GO!

Also he is so attention starved on account of his father being a negligent asshole that he will jump in front of my car willingly just to get a drop of love from dad and Sailom.

5) Yu Xi Gu from HIStory3: Make Our Days Count (2019)

(I'm so so incredibly sorry but I HAD to okay you don't underst- *gets shot immediately*)

6) Mork from Fish Upon The Sky (2021)

I looked at Pond for 0.1 second and fell so embarrasingly in love that for the entirety of FUTS I saw no flaws in Mork's character at all. All he did made sense and I was blissfuly having a great time! So I'm pummeling him to the ground for my own sake I CAN'T KEEP BEING THIS STUPID ABOUT HIM HE IS OBJECTIVELY CREEPY!

7) Vee from Love Mechanics (2022)

Was he in my "I want them carnally" list? Yes. Do I find him beautiful and incredible? Double yes. Am I smearing him on asphalt like a squished bug for causing Mark so much unnecessary pain and heartbreak? More likely than you think.

8) Jiwoo from To My Star/ To My Star 2 (2021-22)

MY BEAUTIFUL BOY!! A crumb of healthy communication is all I'm asking for!

Jiwoo was so emotionally bricked up for the majority of both seasons that it caused ME damage. So me hitting him with my car is both a revenge plot and an attempt to let loose some of those pent up feelings of his.

(But also I'm dead meat if Seojoon finds out it was me behind the wheel. He loves that boy too much.)

9) Zee from Twins (2023-24)

I'm volunteering to do this as public service to keep Sprite and First together without any twins switch drama. One gremlin down, one successful volleyball couple UP!!

10) Winner from Pit Babe (2023-24)

I want to do it as an experiment. I feel like he would make a funny sound under the wheels, like when you sqeeze clown's nose or step on a rubber duck. I would also like to see how this will affect his character. Will he become even more annoying? Will it fix him completely? ONLY ONE WAY TO FIND OUT!!

(This was so fun I love inflicting imaginary violence on fictional men. If you read this far into this incoherent insanity, consider yourself tagged!💖)

#tag game #never let me go #never let me go the series #pit babe #pit babe the series #dangerous romance #dangerous romance the series #to my star #to my star 2 #history 3: make our days count #twins the series #love mechanics #fish upon the sky #my dear gangster oppa #thai bl #kbl

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topguncortez · 2 years

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Dash- T. Kazansky

pairing: Tom 'Iceman' Kazansky x female!Kerner (call sign: Dash) word count: 3.8k warnings: top gun shit, misogyny, cannon character death. from this request

thank you for @imjess-themess for beta reading!:)

“Ice, it’s Dash. There’s been an accident.”

The words were ringing around in her head since they had left Chipper’s mouth all of five minutes ago. Everyone here knew that accidents were possible, things happen, mistakes happen. They spent their day flying at top speeds, dancing in the sky trying to fight one another for the first place trophy. Dash Kerner was sitting in third, behind Goose and Maverick, and her brother and Iceman. But now, the sinking feeling in her stomach was telling her she was about to move up, and by default.

Dash, aka Y/N Kerner was Slider’s younger sister, only by two years. Even though Ron knew that, he still acted like there was a ten year age gap between the two of them. He made it known that she was his little sister, always introducing her as such. Even when she graduated from the academy, and got her wings she was still introduced as: “This is my baby sister, Dash.” It was Ron’s way of trying to ward off unwanted eyes from his fellow pilots, which he thought he had succeeded, but boy was he wrong. Ron thought he had to worry about the careless and reckless Pete Mitchell, and didn’t even think to look much closer.

Tom Kazansky had fallen in love with Y/N the moment she opened her mouth and told Maverick off at the O Club. Maverick had tried his usual advances, trying to smooth talk the civilian looking woman into believing he was some hotshot pilot (which he was, but Ice wasn’t going to admit that to his face), and Y/N was just eating it up. Pete thought he had hooked the line, until she asked him a basic question.

“So, do you usually go after mig-28s in a negative 4 G nose dive? Or were you just trying to prove how big your dick is?”

It had spent Pete spiraling, as she grabbed the beer from his hand, and walked over to where Slider and Ice were trying not to burst out laughing. Pete watched her walk over there, and cursed himself as Slider threw his arm around his little sister. He couldn’t hide the look on his face as Goose appeared, and looked at the same scene.

“Oh no, no, Mav, I know you did not try to get with Dash?” Goose groaned.

“I didn’t know she was Slider’s sister!”

Ice knew from that moment on that she could handle herself, he always knew that. Ice had felt a sort of protectiveness over Y/N, not just because she was his RIO’s little sister, but because he loved her. She was also the only female in a room full of jacked up caffeine fueled cocky pilots, who had been told all their career they were the best. Y/N had had her fair share of dealing with men like this, she grew up in a household where Slider was on a pedestal, and she was climbing for an ounce of attention. Unlike the others in her class, she was not told she was the best. She was often overlooked, and it made her work harder than anyone else.

And having to have to work harder, also made her reckless sometimes, which was one thing Tom couldn’t stand about her. She wasn’t like Maverick, not in the slightest, but sometimes she did maneuvers or moves that weren’t entirely othrodox, but it also made her a challenge to try and shoot down. She liked to keep everyone on their toes, especially Slider, who had gotten after her after one of her more dangerous dogfights.

“It wasn’t even that big of a deal!” Dash yelled, as she took her helmet off, chasing after her brother. She had just come down out of the air with Hollywood and Wolfman, after successfully taking down both Viper and Jester.

“That big of a deal?!” Slider stopped in his tracks and turned around to face her, “You could’ve gotten yourself killed! What the hell was that?!”

“That?! That was me getting a win. That was me proving that I am good and can get both Viper and Jester.”

“Leaving your wingman, doing some outlaw shit, god you’re flying like Maverick!”

“I’m flying better than Maverick!”

“No you’re flying unsafe!”

“Oh get a new fucking line, Ron, and quit stealing shit from Ice.”

“Quit trying to be like Maverick..”

Y/N scoffed and brushed past him, purposely knocking her shoulder into his. Ron clenched his jaw, his mind telling him to turn around and apologize, knowing how much his little sister hated that people insinuated she was one to trade favors to get ahead. He did turn his head, when he felt someone clap him on the back.

“Way to go Slider,” Maverick smirked, and walked off towards the locker rooms.

Ice had been drawing up his next flight plan when Dash came into the room, throwing her helmet down on the table and letting out a frustrated groan. He had heard over comms that her hop went well, she was the only pilot to get both Jester and Viper in one dog fight, probably bumping her up into second. She should be happy, celebrating, taking a shower to relieve the tension in her shoulders, but instead she was taking deep breaths to calm her down.

“Wanna talk about it?” Ice said, and Y/N snapped her head up, now seeing the blonde pilot, “Or not.”

“You don’t talk about feelings Ice, you’re ice cold for a reason,” Dash said, shaking her head.

“Well, when it looks like its really messing with someone then I might,” Ice said, standing up from his spot and walking over to her. He leaned against the table she was standing at, “What’s up? Heard you got both Viper and Jester.”

“I did, and I should be happy, but I’m fucking pissed off,” Y/N groaned, running her hand down her face, “Why do you think I’m here?”

“Cause you’re the best-”

“No, none of that shit. Pretend you don’t know me, that I’m not your RIO’s little sister, that I’m not Captain Kerner’s daughter, I’m just some other female pilot. How do you think I would’ve gotten here? Or to the rank I am?”

Ice sighed and shifted in his spot, “I wouldn’t think any less of you, if that’s what you’re trying to say. Whether you are Captain Kerner’s daughter, or the daughter of some junkie, you are the person you chose to become, and that was a good pilot. You’re smart, level headed, a little reckless-” Dash laughed at that, “But if I was in a dogfight, I would want you as my wingman. I trust you, Dash, and that’s saying something, cause I don’t trust a lot of people in the sky, but you’re one of them.”

“You’re not just saying that to make me feel better are you?”

“No,” Tom shook his head, “I’m saying it because it’s true.”

“Thank you, Tom,” Dash said, and wrapped her arms around his midsection. Ice stiffened at the feeling at first, but quickly melted into it, pulling her in tightly. She was significantly shorter than he was, so he rested his chin on the top of her head, and took a deep breath, trying to freeze the moment for as long as he could. Sadly, it ended far too early for either one. Dash gave Tom a shy smile, as she picked up her helmet and walked towards her locker room.

Tom had a smile on his face as he returned to his spot and worked on his flight plan, and Dash couldn’t help the blush on her face as she walked into the locker room.

After that day, neither one seemed to hide the mutual pining for each other. Wherever Ice went, Slider and Dash were sure to follow. Ice had spent less time at the O Club, flirting with women and more time in the classroom after hours with Dash, working on flight plans or talking about their dogfights or talking about some random topic like baseball. Tom had fallen in deeper love for the girl, watching as she would close her eyes and tip her head back when she laughed, or when she’d sass back to one of their fellow pilots.

And Y/N had fallen for Tom. It was the way that he was a dick to everyone, but her. He also cut back on digging at Maverick, much to her request. He would listen attentively when she was up in the air, holding his breath as she did some maneuver, or she’d go silent on comms. Slider had even caught up on the way his pilot would turn all smiley whenever Dash would walk into the room, or the way his hand would brush her hand or the small of her back. Slider even noticed that lovesick goofy look in his little sister’s eye, one that she only seemed to get when she’d see a picture of Nikki Sixx.

“Do you like Ice?” Slider asked her, as they were taking a break during their volleyball game. Her eyes had barely left Ice’s sweaty, tan torso, and Ice could hardly look away from her perfect tan legs.

“What? What kind of stupid questioin is that?”

“So, him talking to that brunette over there isn’t making you jealous?” Dash looked over her brother’s shoulder just as some brunette in a skimpy cheetah print two piece put her hand on Ice’s bicep. Dash gave her brother a tightlipped smile and shook her head, “Good thing you’re a good pilot, cause you’re such a shitty liar.” Ron laughed. Dash scoffed and hit his shoulder, “Hey! I’m just saying. You’re the one all googly eyed over him.”

“I am not!” Dash groaned and rolled her eyes, “I thought we moved past this stage in our sibling-ship.”

“Never, littler sister,” Ron teased, “I will always make fun of you and your school girl crushes,” He took another sip of his water, before handing the bottle back to Y/N, “Try not to drool.”

“I hope you get hit in the head,” Dash teased and pushed her brother away back onto the court. Ice looked over at her and sent her a nod of his head. She smiled at him, and Ron saw the whole thing go down.

“Yeah, you’re both shit liars.”

They only had three weeks left, when the final placings came out. It was a close run for first place, each of them a point behind the other. Dash had focused less time on her crush on Iceman, and more time on perfect plans and her skill. She was determined to rise above Maverick and Iceman. She needed to win, she had to win. Not only to prove those who told her she couldn’t do it wrong, but to show the other young females that they could do it too. It made Ice fall in love with her even more, seeing her determination as she worked harder and harder.

But it also made him falter a bit. Dash was colder, spending less time chatting with him in the work room, and more time studying the F-14 book cover to cover. Ice wasn’t used to her being closed off, but Slider assured him, it was just how she got. She had come down from her dogfight with Sundown, and was pissed.

“I fucking had it!” She yelled as she took her helmet off.

“Sure you did,” Sundown rolled his eyes, “That’s why we both got shot down.”

“Cause you got in my way! When I say I have something, I got it,” Dash said, and turned to walk off the tarmac.

“Quit being a fucking girl,” Chipper spoke.

“What did you just say?” Dash stopped in her stride. Most of the pilots that had been milling around had stopped as soon as the words left Chipper’s mouth, including Ice and Slider.

“I said, stop being a fucking girl. You didn’t have the shot, and Sundown did.”

“A shot he missed.”

“If you would’ve moved. You’re not as good as you claim, and you’re probably sucking dick to get by. Face it, you’re just not as good as you think. Having Ice as your fucking playboy is going straight to your fucking head.”

Dash felt her cheeks get hot, and the anger slowly crawled up her spine. She knew she couldn’t make a scene in front of the admirals and the other aviators, but she wanted to defend herself. But Chipper was right, if she made a scene she would be acting like “A girl.” Instead, she swallowed her pride and walked towards the hanger.

“Dash-”

“Save it, Tom.” She said as she passed the aviator. Ice’s icy blue star went from her body, to Chipper, who was now talking to Hollywood about what happened during his dog fight. Ice made a move to step towards him, but Slider stopped him.

“You going and saying something isn’t going to help her,” Slider said, “She might be my little sister, but she’s a big girl. She can handle this shit. You’ll make it worse for her if you start defending her against every small dicked man with a fucking bone to pick with her.” Ice looked down at his boots, “Come on, we gotta get ready, we got Wood and Wolfe today.”

“Fantastic.”

Dash didn’t even bother to go to the rec room when she got in. She knew that the story of what happened on the tarmac was going to spread, and she would rather not deal with the stares and whispers. She went straight to her locker room, and jumped into the shower. She basked in the feeling of the hot water as it hit her sore muscles. The female locker room was on the other side of the building, so she got the silence of being alone. The only person who would wander over here to tell her something was Charlie, and she only did that once to ask her a question about Maverick.

She washed her body and her hair, washing away the sweat and dirt from the day. She wasn’t trying to dwell on the words that Chipper had spewed, but she couldn’t shake them. Dash had heard it all before, the only way she was going to make a career in the Navy was if she was on her knees. She usually ignored all the talk, most of the gossipers too scared to say it to her face, but having it delivered right to her, was something she didn’t expect.

Dash knew her time to get into first was winding down. Her next flight was going to be with Mav and Goose. She was nervous, she hadn’t flown with Maverick yet. Maverick hadn’t slowed down at all with his dangerous flying, if anything, he got even more reckless with the way he flew. It made Ice and Slider nervous too, knowing she was going to be sharing the air with someone who they all considered ‘unsafe’. Everything felt good when she got up in the air, but it all turned very quickly. One second, she was lining up to take the shot, the next she was burning in, going into engine failure from a bird strike. Mav had flown through her jet wash, as she bailed out, trying to get away from Jester to correct the damage from the strike.

Ice had been shaving his face in the mirror, half listening to the conversation between Sundown and Slider, when the locker room door banged open. Ice looked up in the mirror, seeing a panicked Chipper, and his head started to spin.

“What-”

“It’s Dash,” Chipper stated, which got the attention of Slider as well, “There’s been an accident.”

Both men had never gotten dressed quicker in their lives, as they ran down the hall towards the hangar. Hell, Slider was still buttoning up his shirt as they came to a stop behind Viper and Jester, as they were whispering to one another.

“Sir, do you know-”

“No,” Viper said, cutting Slider off. He licked his lips and turned to look at them, “They should be landing soon. Hollywood and Wolfman were up in the sky too, they’ll be landing as well.”

Slider nodded and looked up towards the clear blue sky. All he could see was the trails of where the planes had been. Ice felt his hands shake as he clenched them into fists down by his side.

“Search and Rescue said there’s one confirmed casualty, won’t identify over comms, taking them straight to the hospital.” Jester spoke, his brown eyes glancing over to Ice, “There was a bird strike, as one bailed out to correct it, another flew into the jet wash, the comms cut out before I could hear on who.”

“Alert who we need,” Viper said, and Jester nodded walking off, “You should call-”

“If you’re saying I should call my family, I’m not. And I’m not leaving until I see their plane land. I don’t care who it is,” Slider spoke, and Viper nodded.

The men stood there as they heard the familiar rumble of an F-14 flying over. Ice held his breath as he watched the gray plane come in for landing, squinting trying to read the small writing on the side of it. Wolfman was the first out of the jet, as another plane came in for landing. The second the canopy was off of the second plane, Wolfman was helping the pilot down from the plane. Ice recognized the red and black paint of the helmet and took off running towards the pilots.

She felt shaky as she stepped down from her plane. The flat spin Dash had been in was terrifying, and she felt both sick from the spinning and from the fear that she was going to burn in. Dash had taken a couple shaky steps, her voice wavering as she called out for Wolfman, who had helped her navigate out of the confusion she had been in. Her RIO had passed out from the G’s of the spin, and was slowly coming to as Wolf and Hollywood got them down to the ground. Wolfman had quickly ran to her, catching her in his arms before she could collapse.

“I got you, I got you,” Wolfman said, grunting under the weight of her body, “Hey, hey! Help! I need help!” Wolfman went down to his knees, still holding Dash’s unconscious body, as Ice, Slider and medics came running out. Wolfman shook Dash’s body, trying to get her to wake up, gently tapping her face. “She just collapsed!”

“It’s from the adrenaline wearing off,” A medic said and gently took Dash’s body out of Wolfman’s arms. Wolf stood up and backed up, watching as the medics took over checking the girl. Her RIO was also getting medical attention, as Slider ran over and tried to get his way through.

“What happened?” Ice asked, his heart beating in his chest.

“I-I don’t know,” Wolfman said, “Wood and I were doing a hop with Admiral Jackson, when we heard her call mayday. She lost control, and Mav tried to help but lost control himself, burning it. Him and Goose. . . they had to eject.”

Ice looked back over to the small crowd around Dash, and watched as one of the medics placed her on a gurney. Slider never left her side as they moved towards an awaiting ambulance nearby. The heavy feeling in his chest never left as he ran to his car, and drove to the on base hospital, or as Slider invited him to wait by his sister’s bedside or when they heard that Goose Bradshaw had been the casualty they reported. The heaviness never left until the next morning, when her eyes fluttered open and she searched around the room, finding Tom Kazansky passed out on a small plasticy couch in her room.

“Ice?” Dash called out softly, and Tom woke up quickly at the sound of her voice. He looked around, blinking the sleep from his eyes before his blue eyes landed on the girl in the hospital bed. She stretched softly, groaning as she did, “Is-is-”

“Corduroy is okay,” Ice said, answering the question about her RIO, “Little shaken up, but he’s okay. But, uh, Bradshaw, Goose, he didn’t make it.”

“Oh my god,” Dash said, feeling the tears well up in her eyes. She covered her mouth with her hand as she let out a sob. Ice moved quickly, sliding into the bed next to her, and holding her in his arms as she cried. He shushed her, running his hand up and down her back soothingly, “What did I do?”

“Nothing, Dash, you didn’t do anything,” Ice said, and kissed the top of her forehead, “You had a bird strike, you did everything you could to correct the spin, and got you and Corduroy back down safely.”

“But Mav-”

“He flew through your jet wash, he didn’t see it and you didn’t know. There was nothing you could do but save yourself and your RIO,” Dash looked down at her hands in her lap, and Ice softly lifted her chin with his finger under her jaw to make her look at him, “I am glad you are alive. I thought. . . When Jester said there was a casualty, I thought the worst. And then you got out of the plane and collapsed and I just-”

Y/N cut him off by placing a kiss on his soft lips. He hesitated for a second, but relaxed and cupped her face with his hands. Y/N sighed as her body relaxed into his arms. Ice pulled back and rested his forehead against hers, running his thumb over her cheek. They both were startled when the door opened, and Slider let out a loud groan.

“Jesus fuck!” He said, running a hand down his face, “Listen, I’m glad you’re done pinning over each other cause it was starting to get annoying. . . But swear to God Kazansky, I walk in on you banging her, and I’ll kill you. You make her cry? And I’ll kill you. You knock her up before marrying her? And-”

“Kill me?” Ice asked, cutting off his best friend.

“Precisely.”

Y/N groaned as hid her face in Ice’s chest, as a rumble of laughter rolled through his body. Ice kissed the top of her head again and pulled her tighter into his chest.

“I don’t think you have to worry about that, Slider. I’m not going anywhere and neither is she. And I’ll make sure to leave a sock on the door.” Ice smirked as she looked up at him.

“Sounds like a plan Lieutenant,” Y/N said, and leaned up to kiss him, as Slider made a gagging sound.

--- --- ---

taglist: @alanadetigy @aerangi @n3ssm0nique @ellabellabus07 @persondoingstuff @blindedbyyougrace17 @sugarmelonwater @chaoticassidy @spider-d00d @callmebymym @oliviahave-25 @multifandom-fangirl4 @bellamy1998 @the-hottest-lieutenants @nilspettersson @milesrooster @bl6o6dy @lunamoonbby @hrandomthoughts @18crazycutebutalsopsyco @thesithdiaries @shizzybarnaclee @malums-trash-can @dempy @sakari_yura @teti-menchon0604 @bxwitched @ltllemer @sleep-whose-that @callalily2000 @blue-aconite @gspenc @wildxwidow @littlebadariell @sweetheartlizzie07 @xoxabs88xox @seventieswhore @localhockeygirl @dannyavi @zzsloth @lareinedumal @flowerpetvls @the-raegan-whittemore @prongs_girlfriend @criminalmindsandmarvel @sayuri9908 @hopefulinlove @uwiuwi @ayanasstuff @bittergomez

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spiraledfaun · 2 months

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Sweet or Sexy?

1. What's your favorite candy?

2. What sex toys do you own? Do you have a favorite?

3. How many blankets do you sleep with?

4. Do you regularly have sex while wearing clothes, and if so, what kind?

5. Baked goods or ice cream, and what's your specific favorite?

6. What's the best way to be restrained during a scene/sex in general?

7. What is your carbonated drink of choice?

8. Have you ever done something sexual in a moving vehicle? If so, tell us about it (to your comfort)!

9. What kind of cuisine do you enjoy the most?

10. If you or your partner wore a collar (either during sex, out and about, or both), what would your perfect design be?

11. What cookies are the best you've ever had?

12. Have you ever tried electrostim play? If not, would you?

13. What cartoons did you watch growing up?

14. What is your strangest kink?

15. What food could you eat a lot and never get sick of?

16. Do you prefer servicing or being serviced?

17. Create your ideal edible cookie dough mix.

18. Do you prefer to give or receive dirty talk?

19. How do you feel about flavored sparkling water?

20. What's the sexiest lingerie your partner could wear during intimacy/a scene?

21. What combination of colors is your favorite?

22. Would you ever get a piercing on an erogenous zone? Where?

23. Do you own any stuffed animals, and if so, who's your favorite?

24. Tell us about the best orgasm (or denial!) you've ever had.

25. Cupcakes or cake? What flavor should the batter be?

26. Favorite method of giving or receiving oral sex?

27. What song/artist do you listen to when you need a pick-me-up?

28. What's the best form of foreplay for you?

29. What's your favorite kind of flavoring (natural or artificial)?

30. What kind of aftercare do you typically like to receive?

Hypnokinky or Sexy?

(all questions assume prior consent)

31. Have you ever age-regressed, intentionally or unintentionally, while in trance?

32. Do you feel sexual stimulation adds to or takes away from a hypnosis scene?

33. Which is better: scenes where you are compelled to move, or stay still?

34. Denied Orgasm or "Forced" Orgasm?

35. Have you ever done a transformation scene, and if not, would you?

36. What (hypno)kinky trope or scenario turns you on the most?

37. Do you prefer being the Hypnotist, the hypnotee/subject, or do you like switching off?

38. Have you ever used a fucking machine or sybian? If not, would you?

39. Gradual induction or rapid induction?

40. Have you ever orgasmed hands-free? If not, would you like to?

41. Eye fixation (spirals, pendulums, crystals) or auditory stimulation (verbal induction, hypnofiles, binaural tones)?

42. Is hypnosis a means to have sex, or is sex a means to deepen hypnosis, for you?

43. Owner/owned dynamic or tech control?

44. Would you or have you ever taken aphrodisiacs or performance enhancers?

45. In-trance suggestions or post-hypnotic suggestions?

46. Have you ever had consensual sex while drunk or high? Was it enjoyable, or a disaster?

47. What other kinks do you most enjoy pairing with hypnosis/trance?

48. What's the longest period of time you've had sex for? (times with breaks in-between still count as long as you kept going back to it regularly)

49. What's your favorite kind of induction?

50. Do you prefer to touch yourself or have someone else touch you?

51. Titnosis or dicknosis?

52. Have you ever done watersports or omorashi? If not, would you?

53. Warm and floaty or blank and mindless?

54. Do you enjoy dressing up for scenes/sexual encounters?

55. Erotic hypnosis or meditative trance?

56. Do you have any erogenous zones that you enjoy stimulating more or as much as your genitals or chest?

57. What non-human mind controller appeals most to you? (ex. vampire, suc/incubus, alien, tentacle monster, etc.)

58. Have you ever penetrated or been penetrated by more than one thing (in multiple holes or the same hole)?

59. Do you prefer mushy and fuzzy in trance, or clear-minded and focused?

60. What is your favorite position to have sex in?

#hypnokink #nsft #t4t nsft #cnc kink #send to ur friends n crushes!!#^-^

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teyvats-worst-hero · 1 year

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Diluc Ragnvindr is a Fucking Menace

(A fight style analysis for @moonilit )

Do you see this man? Do you SEE him???? THIS MAN HAS 3 FUCKING FIGHT SCENES IN THE PROLOGUE ALONE.

And you know what I’ve gathered from this?

1. He’s a menace to society and needs to remember that fire kills people

His burst is a giant fuck-you phoenix flying directly across the battlefield. Diluc. Diluc do you THINK???? That is SO much collateral damage! That’s SO FUCKING DANGEROUS!

This supports my own personal theory that he’s totally not used to fighting near… Well, people. And residential buildings. And… Things in general.

He’s used to being hunted through the snowy wastes of Snezhnaya by the Fatui and their harbingers. That is not a place where you’re thinking of collateral damage! That’s just survival!

Even though there are other characters with huge bursts, they usually don’t share the intent of clearing a battlefield. Diluc’s burst pushes you back. It’s unusual! It’s utilitarian! It’s specifically meant to compensate for being outnumbered or overpowered.

This whole “utilitarian use of elements to push mobs of enemies away from you” thing reminds me of a certain…. Someone.

(Which is incredibly fitting for an early game player. You’re likely to get these two characters during the part of the game where you’re constantly overwhelmed by even basic enemies.)

2. Sick hops

Speaking of being outnumbered and overpowered, this guy can hop 20 feet in the air, do a sick flip, and land in running form approximately 4 times per fight. Incredibly anime of him I must say.

Usually a guy relying on pure firepower and brute strength wouldn’t be so acrobatic. But yet again, I look at his coming-of-age murder crusade and I go “yeah that checks out.” He was running away and trying not to get skewered for like two years.

He seems especially well versed in ice, because in the next scene, he’s encased in ice and melts himself out in seconds.

Isn’t that adorable? Kaeya gets the fire trauma and Diluc gets the ice trauma!

3. Former Cavalry(?) Captain

His normal, charged, and skill attacks seem to be closer to what he just learned. He swings are heavy and brutal. Exactly when you’d expect from a local anime vigilante.

IF HE WASN’T SUPPOSED TO BE THE FORMER CAVALRY CAPTAIN!

You can’t use a fucking GREATSWORD on a fucking HORSE. It makes even less sense than Kaeya. I cannot see Diluc “You killed my father, prepare to die” Ragnvindr learning to use a bow or a polearm as a kid either. He would fucking break them. Like Noelle.

I wanna see that interaction

But this leads into my theory that “Cavalry Captain” is legitimately just a front for the position of “Spymaster.” It would make a lot of sense actually. Only deeply trusted individuals, highly skilled in intelligence work with significant connections, seem to get the title. And why is it that two Cavalry Captains were chosen, or at least, were likely to be chosen, as the third in command? That’s so specific and weird.

Diluc likely never needed to learn in-depth cavalry techniques to become Cavalry Captain. That wasn’t his job. Therefore, he is not a bow or polearm user, and he appears to work best in melee combat.

In Conclusion:

Diluc Ragnvindr is used to fighting for his own life in the snowy wasteland, not working around collateral damage and moral quandaries about vigilantism.

#genshin fight style analysis #genshin impact #genshin #genshin diluc

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ubejamjar · 9 days

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15 Lines of Dialogue Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

Tagged by the darling @thevikingwoman ! Thank you ❤️

Tagging (with much affection): @viiioca @pumpkinmagekupo @paintedscales @thewitchofelpis @otherworldseekers @sasslett @khaiens

Ajisai is what happens when you take a girl from a Doman backwater, beat Imperial rhetoric into her, then set her loose in Limsa Lominsa . She’s rough around the edges, but, gods be damned, she’s trying. Very “If I don’t laugh I’ll cry.”

Remember, you can take the rat out of the street but you can’t take the street out of the rat.

1) “I’m not trying to provoke anyone,” she protests, because that would suggest she hadn’t succeeded. 2) “What in the hells is ‘crudités’?” 3) “Respectfully, I disagree— that is a stupid idea.” 4) “I am well aware this is none of my business, that’s why I’m doing it.” 5) “No no, don’t stress yourselves out, I’ll handle it.” 6) “It does sound stupid when you say it, which is why I’m doing the talking.” 7) “When in doubt, run and hide. Scream at your own discretion.” 8) “I brought you flowers because I— you look— you are— you fight well.” 9) “Actually it’s ‘And to each soul, the Fury imparts a trial; by fire and ice shalt thou be tested, and through perseverance shall thy spirit be tempered’. Honestly, it’s as if you’ve never read the scriptures.” 10) “That wasn’t a stupid question— you just gave a stupid answer. It’s indicative of lackluster critical thinking skills.” 11) “I believe I misunderstood what a ‘high society party’ would entail and I must say I am sorely disappointed.” 12) “I am not above selling my body. The problem is no one can afford me. It’s tragic, really.” 13) “It’s alright, little star. Nothing’s going to harm you, not while I’m here.” 14) “I wasn’t going to ask if you slept well, I know you didn’t. I was asking if you’d like cream and sugar with your coffee.” 15) “It’s called a ‘charcuterie board’ because the nobility would never serve their guests ‘cheese and cold meats on a plank’.” Ajisai slips on her best Ishgardian impression with a haughty wave of her hand, “Pray Reynardanaud, prepare a charcuterie, we’re expecting the Lord and Lady de Dullard for dinner this evening, and you know how the lord loves his meat.”

I don’t have any actual WiPs at the mo. For writing. I have two art WiPs and a fucking character profile I need to finish and an ask box crying, pleading to be emptied. These are like if Ajisai had dialogue as a Dragon Age companion, it's fine, let's not dwell on it.

Thanks again for the tag, lethallen!!

#ajisaijar #writingjar

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zprites · 1 year

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April TMNT All 4-1!

IT'S FINALLY HAPPENING! I WROTE ABOUT BLUE OMGOMGOMG lol - Honestly had such a hard time with writing this month's prompt, hence why it didn't come out sooner... I kept losing concentration while writing buuuttt I think that's my mental illness talking. Plus the new Dragon Age playthrough I started, shhhh lol.

Apologizes in advance if it's kinda lacking 😭

The Lovely Hosts - @thelaundrybitch, @post-apocalyptic-daydream, @leosgirl82, and @turtle-babe83!

Prompt - “What are you doing in my bed?”

Rise! Leo x GN! Reader and SFW -- Characters are in their 20s! Enjoy!!

Taglist: @turtle-babe83, @manduse, @morning-sun-brah, @crazysarah-98, @pacoholin, @iamdefinitelytheratking

Close Your Eyes, I Got You Now

Close your eyes I got you now Fall into me, and I'll catch you darlin'... Fall Into Me - Forest Blakk

It started off like any other day for you - your alarm blaring after you hit snooze several times too many, tripping over that damned rug in your bathroom you always swore you’d replace if it happened again (which it always did), speeding out the door after hastily pulling yourself together with nothing in your stomach besides a few sips of coffee you’d managed before you cursed at the time. You moved seamlessly through the crowd of New Yorkers as each one made their way to their destinations. The nearby subway station was packed as usual yet you were able to squeeze your way onto the last train that would allow you to make it to your job just in time for your shift.

After five stops you stepped out of the car and briskly walked toward the stairs leading up to the streets above, taking two at a time. A quick glance at your phone showed that you would make it on time with only seconds to spare.

However you ended up misjudging the amount of steps left until you reached the landing causing your feet to blunder beneath you. Your hand clamped around the metal railing that was thankfully beside you, allowing you to catch yourself before you got a mouthful of concrete. Unfortunately at the same time the person behind you bumped into your body, their coffee (iced, thankfully) spilling over your form. Instead of apologizing for their lack of attention to the world around them, they shouted obscenities at you for a moment before rushing past you, nose going back into their phone within seconds as they blended into the sea of people.

You arrived at work five minutes late. Your boss took one look at the liquid dripping from your hair and work uniform and ushered you into the bathroom for you to clean yourself up. Thankfully your uniform was dark colored though your hair remained sticky and grimy, the scent of coffee lingering on you throughout the entirety of your shift. Your coworkers did little to help your evergrowing foul mood, one of them being particularly inept for one reason or another, leaving you to deal with the brunt of customer scrutiny. To top it all off, a particular encounter with an elderly woman who wanted to return merchandise they purchased over a year ago with no receipt had you at your absolute limit.

And it wasn’t even noon.

You were so fucking done with the day…

After clocking out you made the trek back to your apartment, wanting nothing more than to take a nice long shower and enjoy the comfort of your home in solitude. You had nothing planned and you were so, so ready to veg out in your bed with nothing but a glass of wine and the cast of The Office for company.

You let out a sigh of relief once you stepped through your front door, kicking off your shoes with dramatic flair as you locked the door behind you. A yawn escaped you as your sock-clad feet padded lightly against the wooden flooring as you moseyed over to your bedroom.

“Sweetie! You’re finally home!”

You stopped dead in your tracks and groaned a bit on the inside when you took in the scene before you. Your boyfriend, who you noticed was wearing only a pair of joggers, was laying on your bed though upon seeing you he instantly sat up, beaming at you as his dark eyes shone with glee.

While this wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, and normally a welcome one at that, today was different. When you didn’t want to deal with anyone for the remainder of the day, you meant it. This included your loving, handsome turtle mutant boyfriend.

You blinked a few times at him as the frustration that had been building up inside you threatened to boil over. A moment passed as you struggled to say something that wouldn’t come across as completely rude - you didn’t want to take your foul mood out on him.

“What are you doing in my bed?”

As soon as the words left your mouth you cringed inwardly, slapping a palm to your forehead in your mind at your choice in words. The way you said them wasn’t any better if you were to be honest. Your voice asked the question with a tautness you had hoped wouldn’t upset him.

It didn’t. Leonardo kept his smile plastered on his face as he began speaking.

“Well after you texted me during your lunch break, I thought it would be nice to surprise you.”

You frowned a bit. Did you text him? You couldn’t remember…

Which only frustrated you further. On top of your evergrowing irritation, you didn’t even realize you had texted your boyfriend to complain about the world that seemingly had it out for you from the moment you woke up.

“- wanted to cheer you up! I just placed an order for take-out from that chinese place you love a few minutes ago and…”

And here he was.

The overwhelming feeling that you didn’t deserve him hit you like a ton of bricks in that moment.

“- watch whatever you want while I rub your feet… Hey, why are you crying?”

You were crying?

You brought a hand to cheek and felt the saltwater trail from where a single tear had escaped from the moisture that had accumulated in your eyes. A dam broke and you began sobbing in earnest, letting out all of the stress and annoyance that had built up over the day in a matter of seconds.

“Hey now… C'mere." Leo soothed as he took your hands in his, gently pulling you closer to him. You let him, allowing him to maneuver you so that you were sitting on his lap sideways, head tucked into his neck as your shoulders shook.

The two of you stayed that way for several minutes until you felt yourself eventually calm down, your eyes no longer producing tears as your crying had seemed to run its course. Leo held you firmly against his plastron, rubbing circles across your back to comfort you.

“I’m sorry…” You got out past a sniffle.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He spoke barely above a whisper.

You let out a shaky sigh. “It’s just - today sucked. I was so happy to be home and have some much needed alone time, to decompress and forget about all the bullshit I had to deal with. I guess when I saw you here, I got even more upset, which is silly because I know you only want to help… I don’t know…” You trailed off. It was true, you felt extremely silly for the way you had reacted.

“It’s okay, I understand. If I had known you wanted to be alone I wouldn’t have shown up unannounced like this.”

You felt bad. Now that he was here, the idea of spending your evening with him sounded more favorable than spending it by yourself. You just wish you hadn’t broken down to the extent that you did.

“I can go, if you still want to be left alone…” Leo offered with a hint of dejection laced in his words that would have been missed by most people. But not to you.

“No no no.” You lifted your head up to meet his gaze. “Stay, please.”

He smiled down at you, bringing a hand to wipe away the streaks on your cheeks. “Alright.”

The evening passed by slowly. Leo catered to your every need, insisting that you relaxed as he drew you a bath after the two of you had eaten. Once in bed he held good on his promise to massage your feet as the two of you laughed over several episodes of The Office. Eventually you started dozing off, your head rested on his shoulder as it became increasingly difficult for your eyes to stay open. You felt his lips press a kiss to your forehead as one final thought passed through your mind before sleep overtook you.

You knew that you could always count on him to turn even your shittiest of days into a good one.

#tmnt all 4 1 challenge #rise leo x reader #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt fanfiction #rise leonardo x reader

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drapopia · 9 months

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la squadra headcanons

authors note: hello everyone! i've been dead for a while, but my la squadra fixation has once again returned, perhaps even stronger than ever. honestly, i'm not phased. but my brain has stronger, more coherent thoughts about this bushel of babes. enjoy, and my inbox is always open to thoughts!!

risotto

joined la squadra at age 21 shortly after his cousin's accident/incident.

he is egyptian and sicilian.

he is the leader of la squadra, and appointed gelato as his second in command due to his intelligence in the area of arranged killing and his general ability to command a room/read his teammates (with the help of his stand, of course)

risotto may be slightly standoffish, but he truly does care for his team. he is also a natural worrier, and tends to check in with them often. whether it be strict business, or just in general keeping up.

his sclera are tattooed because of his stand's general changing of his appearance and his eyesight. after the gradual change of his whites, he decided to jump the hurdle and get it professionally blacked out.

considers himself to be on good terms with everyone on the team, but gets along best with formaggio. he appreciates that formaggio is spunky, and makes him chuckle to himself.

loves to draw, and has a notebook in his room of nonsensical drawings. one of ghiaccio's greatest treasures is a drawing risotto did for him after an especially bad morning (he accidentally left his car windows open during an entire night of rain without his knowledge) it's of a cat on a park bench! it is framed and on his dresser

his favorite ice cream flavor is either double chocolate, or raspberry.

he wants to learn how to ride a motorcycle so badly, but is scared of being too big and crashing. he knows how to ride a bicycle, it's just hard to find something that adequately fits his body.

his favorite genres of music are goth (duh), metal, and shoegaze. he wants to feel the bass in his feet. has gotten into several (mostly) lighthearted arguments over the punk rock scene with formaggio and gelato

he sleeps in a tanktop and extremely large sweatpants. he wears socks while he sleeps, an abysmal sight. he does have some trouble sleeping at night, but once he's out, he lays stiff as a plank. his thoughts before he goes to bed are of the general day, and random thoughts. often times he will remember something random, like he forgot to switch clothes from the washer to the dryer, and will bolt up and ruin his sleepy groove. (we're all guilty risotto, it's okay)

his favorite movies are the exorcist, carrie, and trainspotting. he likes most movies, but he HATES jaws. it makes him viscerally upset to think of the way sharks are treated because of these movies

prosciutto

he joined la squadra shortly after illuso, did, still one of the first to be initiated. he joined because he it was just the family business, it was why his father had moved his entire family to the country. while he doesn't consider it to be in his blood by any means, he finds it is remarkably easy for him to take on the role of a mafioso.

originally born in prague, his family immigrated to italy when he was around 4 years old. so while he grew up in florence, he had strong czech influence in his childhood

he feels like he should be the one in the team that people should feel inclined to go to for advice. he also thinks he's mysterious and seductive, and while he has an air of confidence and and elegant stride, the others have all seen him standing in his bathrobe screaming at the espresso machine for not working (it's not plugged in prosciutto.)

despite seeing him at his goofiest, the others on the team know that they can go to him for a lot of stuff that needs help. after all, he's the best marksman on the team and taught melone how to shoot. he's also the best to go to for advice on high end stuff.

his favorite genres of music are big band music, jazz, and psychedelic rock. he also loves blues and some occasional soul.

he used to have his bellybutton pierced for an entire year, but he almost had it ripped out on a job, so he had it retired.

he is a surprisingly good cook, and makes a mean roast pork, and knows exactly how long to bake a good sourdough bread to get a pleasantly crispy exterior. also, he somehow learned how to make an absolutely delectable hummus, and will not tell anyone how he knows. (prosciutto, spill your secrets, you devilish man!)

his favorite flavor of ice cream is either plain vanilla bean or coffee. would much rather have a pastry of some sort, but he gives in too quickly for anyone to believe that he hates sweets.

he sleeps in silk jammies, with no socks on. he is serious about his bedtime, and hates whenever people interrupt his sleep time. his thoughts before bed are similar to risottos, going through the day meticulously. he also thinks about his errands for the next day, often stopping to think of his grocery list for the coming day or so.

he does not exercise often, only opting to do some light walking, and uses the small personal gym that la squadra owns occasionally. has a freaky fast metabolism

his favorite movies include overboard, the man who fell to earth, and what ever happened to baby jane?

gets along best with sorbet. regularly lament over old man things, even though sorbet is substantially older than him. the stingy old bastards are fond of sitting on the veranda outside and mocking each other

pesci

pesci was the last to join la squadra, and joined because of pressure from his family, and low income from his family back in prague.

he is prosciutto's cousin, and immigated to italy with prosciutto's family when he was around 2. his family was in dire straits, and could not afford to provide for themselves, let alone pesci. he is still in contact with them, and regularly sends most his income to them. he hopes that they're doing better.

he is very unsure of his abilities as an assassin, and of his abilities in general. he has so many good traits though! illuso would never admit it, but he finds himself spending a good chunk of his socializing talking to pesci because he's so personable. he has good advice outside of work, and prosciutto is proud of him for being a good source of wisdom. (even if it's just for pesci knowing where the best place to fish is.)

pesci has tattoos! (and he also gets bitches!) he has the third most tattoos out of anyone on the team. his most special one is an intricate vine piece on his thigh representing his journey from prague to italy. only prosciutto and ghiaccio know that though. his second most fond piece is a petite tattoo of a turtle on a skateboard that he got on a night out with formaggio and melone. does not regret it whatsoever.

pesci's favorite genres of music are surf rock, pop, and a bit of hip- hop! he loves a good surf guitar.

his favorite ice cream flavor is mint chocolate chip, proud defender until he passes

pesci is BUFF, let's get that out of the way. he, formaggio, ghiaccio, and risotto often work out together. he thinks it's genuinely so fun, and loves that good content feeling after a rewarding session. he spots for ghiaccio, and risotto spots for him. (formaggio HATES lifting weights)

gets along best with everyone, but he does have a soft spot for gelato. gelato was worried about pesci's adjustment to mafia life, and checks in with him personally. whether this is lunch at a local thai restaurant, or just a chat while brushing their teeth at the sink in the base. pesci often feels incompetent next to prosciutto, so he appreciates gelato's encouragement.

makes a mean baklava, like is such a good baker

he sleeps in comfy jammies, and no socks. such a deep sleeper, will not wake up even for the apocalypse at his door. does not remember falling asleep at all, so no coherent thoughts are really going through his head while he drifts off for the night.

his favorite movies are steel magnolias and uncle buck, loves john candy almost reverently

illuso

was the next to join after sorbet and gelato were assigned to risotto's team. is a former mercenary for hire from argentina. he emigrated from argentina to multiple different countries, but stuck in italy because he got into some trouble with passione. nothing too serious, he paid his debt, but he vibes with mafia life.

south american and italian!

illuso wouldn't admit that he gets along with anyone in la squadra, he enjoys teasing them a little too much to ever admit that out loud. he is an avid gossiper, and tends to bond with everyone in the group because of this. he's an information fiend, and this reflects in his work.

illuso's room is a calculated mess, and it is BEAUTIFUL. a comfy bed draped in luxurious blankets and throw pillows, extravagant rugs and lush carpeting, and ambient lighting that makes you instantly relax. he loves shoplifting, and uses his stand to his advantage. he used to steal jewelry from his grandmother when he was a child, and you can find it draped over a lamp or two.

for workouts, he loves pilates. (pilates princess all the way). he will occasionally join melone to work out, but that's just code for jogging on the treadmill and talking shit lol. melone tries to cajole him into yoga, but illuso ate shit stretching once and his ego was bruised

his favorite genres of music include psychedelic rock, pop, disco, and hip-hop. he occasionally enjoys metal, but he has to be in a very specific mood or else it just gives him a migraine. he just loves some sensual music that makes you wanna lounge on a love seat dramatically

has a smattering of ear piercings, his favorite is his conch piercing. formaggio is trying to convince him to get his nipples pierced, but illuso hates needles. he especially doesn't want needles near his sensitive bits.

his favorite ice cream flavor is either blueberry cheesecake, or bubblegum. not bubblegum with huge chunks, but just the flavoring.

of all the people on the team, he is closest to either melone or formaggio. being partners with formaggio is comfortable, and puts him at ease whenever they're on the job. formaggio can reciprocate his crude and teasing humour, so they mesh well. they watch trashy soap operas together. he can't explain why he and melone get along so well together, only that they're both smarmy bitches.

wears silk jammies to bed, and sleeps with a silk eye mask as well. has his hair in a bonnet, and has a complicated bed setup. he is a light sleeper, and sleeps in the mirror world to reduce the risk of being woken up super easy. his thoughts before going to bed are of things he wants to buy, and an uneven flow of things that happened that day.

has skin care nights with ghiaccio and melone, or anyone else that wants to join. risotto and formaggio join occasionally

his favorite movies are black christmas and girl, interrupted.

formaggio

formaggio joined after ghiaccio, so right in the middle! he fell into the mafia, and was originally a part of polpo's squad after gelato was reassigned to risotto's squad. after polpo discovering how useful and destructive formaggio's stand ability was, he was reassigned to risotto's squad.

if you want fun and some healthy emotional balancing out, formaggio is your guy! he is the one on the team who the others go to for some fun and laughs. while he is a calculated and malicious killer, he is also very lazy and loves a good nap.

spanish and italian, his mother is from spain and his father is from genoa, italy.

he has the second most tattoos of anyone on the squad. while some are emotionally rooted, like the heart tattoo of his mom's name, some are for goofs, like an american traditional pinup of a woman with a cat tail. (formaggio what are you telling us)

his cat is named amoreena, and he is exceedingly fond of her. he used to have two cats, amoreena and cecilia, but cecilia passed away from a urinary tract infection. at the time of his death, he was actively looking for a kitten for amoreena to bond with. that is why she seems so agitated, she's just a sad girl at the moment (and formaggio shoved her into a damn bottle LMAO)

his favorite genres of music are soft rock, blues rock, and punk! he loves himself some music that reminds him that he's a tough guy and that he is rough and tumble! is a sucker for some celine dion and cher though

formaggio makes his own clothes from punk diys, and is very proud of his fashion. sticks very true to punk ideals and tries not to consume what fashion he could just make himself. definitely owns crust pants lol

as stated before, he regularly works out with pesci, ghiaccio, and risotto. he's mainly a cardio guy, and some light agility based stuff. i don't believe he likes weight lifting mainly because he hates how his arms ache a little the next day. he finds it irritating, and just generally agitating. my mans also loves jump roping

his favorite ice cream flavor is chocolate and cookies and cream! will genuinely eat any flavor though, he is not picky by any means, he loves food

is such a good cook, i am being so serious right now. his food has that home cooked and feel good taste, one bite will have you pleasantly smiling. he will casually say "let me make something super quick" and make the most mouthwatering, delectable meal known to man. he used to get put on timeout often when he was a kid, and spent that time watching his momma make food from his seat at the table.

formaggio considers himself a fan of everyone on the team! sure, ghiaccio may be prickly, and illuso can be a little too catty sometimes, but he vibes well with everyone. if you forced him to choose, it would be either gelato or pesci. he thinks they're both fun and down to earth, and he admires that they know who they are pretty well!

he sleeps shirtless with some boxers or lounge pants. his bed, to put politely, is kind of a mess. he snores, and he is also a deep sleeper. his thoughts before he goes to bed are goofy, like "i wonder if prosciutto has ever pissed himself" or "is ghiaccio's hair naturally that color?" also thinks about things he said that day, or he could have done differently.

his favorite movies are jurassic park and interview with the vampire (don't ask him why, he'll just talk about how sexy antonio banderas is)

melone

melone joined after formaggio, and before pesci. he joined the mafia as a means to pay for his university tuition, but got in way too deep and lost much more than he ever imagined he could,

melone knows the nature of his stand is offputting, a reflection of his mind that he tends not to reflect upon. however, he does find that despite that, his relationship with the others is well off. they come to him with strange questions that they know melone would have the best answer for. he is the only one on the team with a higher education. (highest being melone, lowest being sorbet).

korean and italian! his mother is korean, while his father was born in florence. he was raised in florence, but he visited korea with his mother every year or so for the summer. he feels very in touch with his roots on both sides.

melone has his nipples pierced! he has one tattoo, a small gene sequence of his grandmother on the inside of elbow. besides this, i don't believe he has any more body mods. he likes to make his fashion more flashy instead.

he is most fond of ghiaccio on the team, they mesh well. ghiaccio and he spend so much time talking about such strange topics, and he doesn't get offended by ghiaccio's frustrated and impassioned outbursts. he finds them endearing, actually. melone is a naturally levelheaded person, so ghiaccio appreciates him for that. they can be caught playing games on their nintendo 64 at 3 am

i don't believe that melone is a sexually oriented person, if that makes sense. i think he's someone who believes very strongly in sexuality being an inherent part of the human experience, whether you feel it or not. he thinks nudity is natural, and being a person is naked! we are all born naked, and we leave the world just as naked when we decay. (in the manga, he isn't as much of a pervert as the anime portrays him). he is a very logical person, but his spiritual beliefs are wide and varied. he shares them with ghiaccio and have conversations frequently with him about culture and their views on things similar to sexuality, natural expression, etc.

don't get me started on how his stand is a small reflection on trans parenthood

he does workout, and he does mainly yoga and pilates. he likes to stay toned and fit, not overly muscly. he workouts mainly with illuso and ghiaccio. ghiaccio tries to make him lift weights and he gets fussy.

his favorite genres of music are r&b, bedroom pop, and anything sensual! he loves him some britney spears. he also dabbles in techno and perv digital. (he likes the sound)

his favorite flavors of ice cream are strawberry and lemon! he prefers a nice melty sherbet.

he has only purple lights in his room, and he wants to own a ferret.

owns extremely expensive hygiene products, just like illuso

sleeps naked lol, likes to let his body breathe. (again, firm believer in casual, non-sexual nudity) he likes to meditate before he goes to bed, and has a nice linen bedspread and fluffy pillows. has similar thoughts to formaggio before he goes to bed, like "hmm, should i buy a fish tank?... probably not." drools SO MUCH

favorite movies are suspiria and phantom of the paradise

ghiaccio

joined la squadra after illuso, was officially inducted into the squad after a disastrous turn of events after dropping polpo's lighter and killing multiple people. with the destructive ability of his stand, it made sense to assign him to risotto

ghiaccio finds it hard to control his temper and be a welcoming person. he resents that he can be so anal-retentive about stuff. thankfully, most of the team just accepts it as part of ghiaccio. they know that he's just.... very passionate about stuff. however, ghiaccio is very knowledgeable about most topics along with melone, so anyone can go to him about the most random thing and he will probably know. he also has good workout tips!

he is italian and he is very, very proud, don't get that mixed up.

has no tattoos, but he has his ears pierced. he just doesn't think he would look that appealing with tattoos. and no, he doesn't mean appealing to others, he could care less about what others think about his appearance. he just doesn't believe he could be truly comfortable with something on his body for the rest of his life.

ghiaccio gets along the easiest with risotto and sorbet! risotto took him under his wing whenever he entered the criminal underworld, and he internally thanks him every day. sorbet is also very caring towards him, doing for him what gelato is doing for pesci. sorbet is levelheaded and solemn, and can keep ghiaccio's temper where it needs to be, and assessing where that feeling is coming from. risotto and ghiaccio also love metal, so it's a funny pairing (tiniest on the team and the tallest on the team)

ghiaccio's favorite ice cream flavors are green tea and lemon. he prefers sorbet, but those two flavors together are heaven to him. he once tried a limoncello cake ice cream and he went bonkers. (this actually exists in america guys, it's in most chain stores, PLEASE TRY IT, it's limited edition)

workouts so much, with literally everyone! loves cardio, and is extremely in shape. he uses it as an outlet for pent up energy. he's like a cup of water with energy, it keeps filling up so he has to drain it using excess means.

collects books about his favorite topics, and regularly watches lectures online about culture and linguistics.

LOVES LINGUISTICS, he knows three languages fluently !

his favorite genres of music are glam rock, some bedroom pop, and METAL. he loves metal because risotto introduced it to him when he was formative, and now we have this amalgam of music.

ghiaccio sleeps with a band shirt too big for him and some lounge pants. his thoughts before sleep range from "oh my god that is the most embarrassing thing I have ever done, please stop brain" or "wow ghiaccio you are so smart and funny and everybody on earth wants to give you a smooch to show that you are the coolest boy ever!!" and sorbet and risotto give him an award. he sleeps the earliest and wakes up the latest out of the team.

his favorite movies are the dark crystal, what's eating gilbert grape, and poltergeist.

sorbet and gelato

first guys to join the team! they were both first on polpo's team as reconnaissance and information, but gelato switched over to risotto's team. at polpo's reluctance, he allowed sorbet to go with as well. both joined the mafia to find something. sorbet joined because he thought it was the last thing he would do, gelato joined after the military. they found one another, and the rest is history. both were late teenagers.

gelato is belarusian, and sorbet has no clue of his ancestry because of lost adoption records. he suspects he is italian and some asian descent.

as second in command, gelato is sought after for advice and direction commonly. his job is to keep the risotto's schedule and jobs for everyone bundled together, and to keep everyone else's shit together. as a bubbly guy, leadership comes naturally to him, although he doubts that often. sorbet may not have a leadership position, but he does have seniority over all in the squad, seeing as how he has been in passione longer than a lot of them have been alive even.

as of being fond of anyone in the team, they are biased towards one another. they are a package deal, and everyone is aware. if you see sorbet, gelato is lurking close by, and vice versa for sorbet. otherwise, gelato is closest to formaggio because they're both lighthearted guys with superstitious hearts! as for sorbet, he is closest to prosciutto or risotto. gelato and sorbet both have a fondness for ghiaccio, he's so pumped up!

sorbet will only eat plain vanilla ice cream, and gelato loves strawberry!

gelato loves cooking! sorbet is so bad at it <3

sorbet collects knives, and gelato collects old vintage vinyls, especially the ones with vintage sexy music lol.

sorbet and gelato take dual self defense lessons in lieu of working out. they also do martial arts lessons, and regularly teach everyone as best they can, or if the other members ask. sorbet also sticks to weight lifting, and gelato does cardio mostly.

for music, these two like different things. gelato is a pop fan! he's fond of 80's pop mainly, but he also rolls with psychedelic rock if he's feeling nostalgic for his younger days. sorbet prefers jazz and blues. the best way to describe it is lower class songs that remind you that everyone is just a normal common person. (examples: tom waits, johnny cash, warren zevon, the talking heads, dolly parton)

sorbet sleepwalks, and gelato splays out on the bed like a ragdoll. neither of them are the type to remember what they thought about before they slept.

their favorite movies include the rocky horror picture show, the labyrinth, possession (1981) and 9 to 5.

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bun-lapin · 4 months

Text

The Gingerbread Gauntlet (part 4/END)

Summary: The housewardens have a gingerbread house competition

A/N: Part 4~!! This is the last part!! <3 I've also included a link to the fic on AO3 in case anyone wants to read it in the long/whole format. I'm really glad I was able to finish this and share it with you all! I've always wanted to write a longer form silly fic. I had so much fun with this! Thank you so much for taking the time to read this! I hope you all have a happy new year~! <3

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4/END - AO3 (whole fic)

Word Count: 1.6 k CW: crack, silly, shouting, insults, mild swearing, candy/gingerbread

Malleus looks over at Vil with a kind smile on his face and says, “Take heart, Schoenheit. In my personal opinion, your gingerbread house still looks quite magnificent.”

Vil nods his head politely towards Malleus and elegantly replies, “Thank you for your kind words, Malleus.” Turning back to his work, he adds in a quieter and slightly drier tone of voice, “However, I feel like your praise is a bit biased since you’re such a big fan of ruins.”

Holding up a gingerbread cookie decorated with pale silver icing and opalescent candy eyes, Kalim chimes in with a sleepy sounding voice, “That’s a good point. Malleus-sama, it’s a bit surprising that you decided to construct a wholly intact gingerbread castle, instead of the ruins you seem to favor.” Kalim then raises a cookie decorated with mint green chocolate curls and a wide, open mouthed scowl drawn in icing. In a loud and brash voice, he shouts, “Shut up, Silver! How dare you disrespect our lord in such a manner! WAKA-SAMA!! YOUR GINGERBREAD CASTLE IS THE PINNACLE OF ARCHITECTURAL ACHIEVEMENT!! A LEGEND FOR THE AGES!!”

While the others wince at the sudden and dramatic increase in volume, Malleus simply laughs softly. With a fond smile on his face, he gently taps a finger on the gingerbread versions of his loyal retainers and replies, “While ruins have their innate charm, I decided to build a castle fit to be a home for all of the gingerbread people I made. I was inspired to make them by witnessing all the fun that Al-Asim was having with his cookie recreations.”

Kalim jumps to his feet with a pleasantly surprised gasp, joy and excitement radiating from his smiling face. “Really?! You were inspired by me?! Let me see, let me see~!!” he yells out as he races over to Malleus’ spot at the table.

Rising up from the table in front of Malleus is an intricately designed gingerbread castle, complete with a functional drawbridge spanning a moat of bright blue icing. An expansive wall of wafer cookies surrounds the castle and an idyllic countryside stretches out beyond the walls, filled with tiny gumdrop farms and farmers hard at work. At the gates to the castle, stands a little gingerbread king, adorned with a tiny candy crown, surrounded by a handful of gingerbread cookies decorated as knights and aristocratic members of the court. The king faces a large crowd of gingerbread cookies decorated like farmers, many of them holding tiny candy pitchforks and covered in chocolate mud.

From his seat next to Malleus, Idia leans closer to better examine the scene and asks, “Uhh... Are they moving around?”

With a low chuckle, Malleus nods his head and answers, “I cast a trivial spell on the gingerbread people to animate them.” He smiles and adds with an elegant wink, “I thought it would make the scene a little bit more cute.”

Vil looks up from his work at the other end of the table and says somewhat reproachfully, “Don’t forget, one of the rules is that we can’t use magic to build our gingerbread houses.”

Azul peers over a messily frosted gingerbread wall at Vil and replies, “Technically, Malleus only enchanted the gingerbread people, not the structure itself. So, by the wording of the competition rules, he should be safe.”

Vil rolls his eyes at Azul’s patronizing tone and returns to his work without another word.

Kalim leans closer to get a better look at the gingerbread king and his subjects. Tilting his head inquisitively, he asks, “Hmm? What’s the king doing? Is he giving a little speech to his subjects?”

Malleus, Idia, and Kalim watch with curiosity as the little gingerbread king waves a tiny scepter in the air, his icing drawn mouth opening and closing silently. After a few moments, his speech seems to draw to a close and a flurry of activity erupts from the crowd of gingerbread farmers listening to the king’s speech.

Idia raises his eyebrows at the sight of the little farmers stomping their tiny cookie feet while angrily waving their candy pitchforks in the air and mumbles, “Wow, must’ve been some really bad news.”

Kalim suddenly points in alarm at the crowd of gingerbread people and exclaims, “Look! The knights are taking the farmers�� gumdrops by force!”

The group continues to watch as the gingerbread knights, presumably acting on the orders of the king, begin to forcibly make their way into the crowd and begin confiscating the harvested gumdrops. The farmers, already enraged by the king’s speech, begin to resist and push back against the knights. The conflict quickly escalates and a full out brawl with candy weapons breaks out between the two sides.

With a gasp, Kalim raises his hands to cover his mouth in horror and then cries out, “Oh no! They’re fighting!” The sounds of fighting cookies intensify and Kalim gasps again, even louder than before, “Oh my-!! Is that a catapult?! And the farmers have brought out a battering ram!! Where’d they even get that from?!”

The battle between the farmers and the king’s knights rages on for several minutes. Soon enough, the action begins to subside as both sides incur many casualties. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the fighting completely stops and the castle stands half ruined and completely empty of any gingerbread life.

Kalim and Idia sit in stunned silence, eyes wide at the sight of cookie crumbs strewn about everywhere in the once flourishing gingerbread kingdom.

Malleus shakes head slowly and sadly. In a low and thoughtful voice, he remarks, “To rule as a tyrant, means to die as tyrant.” He then picks up some chocolate gargoyles from a nearby bowl and begins placing them all along the crumbling castle walls.

In a very soft voice, Idia whispers into the heavy silence, “Well, that was horrifying.”

Before any of the other housewardens can say anything in response, the cafeteria doors suddenly swing open with a loud BANG. Rushing into the room in a dramatic fashion, Crowley opens his arms wide in a theatrical pose and exclaims, “Good afternoon, everyone!” His gaze sweeps over the slightly startled group of housewardens and he lowers his arms, tilting his head questioningly, “How odd! There are less of you here than I anticipated.”

Vil nods politely to the eccentric headmage, “Good afternoon. It seems Leona and Riddle decided to bow out of the competition a bit early.”

Crowley clears his throat, almost nervously, and replies, “Ah! Yes! The competition! That brings up my next point quite nicely. It seems I somehow got my dates mixed up and the Isle of Sage’s gingerbread house competition was actually last weekend. So it seems like we’ve missed our opportunity to enter!” Shaking his head a bit regretfully, he adds, “My, my! What a mysterious and regrettable turn of events this is!

The initial reaction from the remaining housewardens to Crowley’s news is one of overwhelming dismay and confusion. Idia lets out a tiny, almost inaudible scream, and looks to be on the verge of fainting.

Dropping his head into his hands, Vil bitterly mutters to himself, “Why was I even here in the first place? I don’t even need an extra PE credit. No amount of potions will cure this migraine.”

Slamming his fists down on the table, Azul shouts in an almost hysterical voice, “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!” Jumping to his feet, he angrily points at Crowley and yells, “I will sue you! I will blackmail you and frame you for a capital crime if you don’t make this right!”

Crowley raises his hands in a calming kind of gesture towards Azul, “Alright, alright! I hear your concerns Mr. Ashengrotto! Because I am so benevolent and kind, I will still bestow a free PE class credit on one of you today.”

Taking a quick lap around the table, Crowley examines the various gingerbread structures on the table. Clicking his tongue in a slightly disappointed way, he murmurs to himself, “Oh dear, most of these are looking a little too rough around the edges.” When he reaches Kalim’s seat at the table, his eye is caught by the little gingerbread cookie decorated in his image. Scooping it up with a little gasp of admiration, Crowley coos, “Oh my! What a devilishly handsome cookie! Is this your work, Mr. Al-Asim?”

Kalim nods silently in affirmation, looking more puzzled than anything.

Turning on his heel, still admiring the cookie in his hands, Crowley yells over his shoulder, “Congratulations! Mr. Al-Asim has won the free class credit!” He quickly exits the room and the cafeteria door slams shut behind him.

Malleus laughs softly and turns to Kalim, “You have my congratulations, Al-Asim. This has certainly been a lively afternoon.”

Bolting up from his seat, hair turning a fiery shade of orange with rage, Idia shouts, “Are you serious right now?! I absolutely refuse to accept this result! Kalim didn’t even make a gingerbread house! I definitely should have won!”

Azul scoffs at Idia and shouts, “You?! Please! Don’t make me laugh. Mine is clearly superior to yours! I should have won!”

Idia and Azul continue to shout at each other for the next few minutes. During this shouting match, Malleus and Vil silently shake their heads and leave the cafeteria without a word. Kalim looks back and forth between Idia and Azul with a worried expression on his face. In a slightly panicked voice, he chimes in between the shouting and yells, “Guys, guys! Calm down, please! Let’s all get along! What if we just shared the prize?”

Turning to Kalim in unison, both Idia and Azul shout, “YOU CAN’T SHARE A CLASS CREDIT!!”

-The End-

#the moral of the story is that it pays to be silly <3 #also crowley is the worst (/affectionate)#twisted wonderland #twst #twst imagines #twst fanfic #twst housewardens #vil schoenheit #malleus draconia #kalim al asim #idia shroud #azul ashengrotto #dire crowley #bun lapin écrit

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