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abiiors · 10 months

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haunt // bed - pt. 2

a note about the banner: the photo in it is only meant to describe the dress, not the race, body type, hair colour, etc of the reader <3

a/n: truly out here manifesting the g and charli wedding with this one

minors dni!! part 1, part 3

wc: 3.3k

matty gently clinks a fork against his champagne flute, demanding the attention of the room.

you are standing in a corner, leaning against one of the pillars and surveying the room as you casually sip on some champagne yourself. it’s good stuff, bubbly but not too sweet. it fills up your head with fuzzy goodness. enough to make you smile at the insufferable man in the ridiculously nice suit over the rim of your glass.

“speech!” someone yells at the back of the room and a few weak laughs echo before everyone focuses their attention on the best man.

“george, charli,” he raises the glass at the couple who have their arms around each other, leaning into each other. “six months ago, you asked me if i would write something for the first dance. i was terrified, at first,” he laughs, “of fucking up, naturally. i wanted my best friends to have the perfect wedding that i did.”

you’re suddenly aware of his eyes on you; a kind of soft intensity that’s hard to look away from. his wedding—your wedding—was indeed perfect. you just didn’t think he would still have that opinion. a warmth spreads through your chest; it’s the alcohol, you tell your brain. stop drinking like a fish if you don’t want heartburn by the end of the night. but this warmth is tingly…it lingers too long in your stomach, perhaps in your whole body.

“i did write something for you,” he continues, looking away after a second, “and i hope you love it as much as i love you.” he smiles and a cheer goes up.

you straighten in your spot, no longer leaning leisurely against the column. someone brings out an acoustic guitar, making you very aware of the fact that this is the first time in almost a year that you will hear him sing. a small tremor goes through your hands and the liquid sloshes dangerously in the flute.

someone brings out a stool for him to sit on, and fixes a mic in front of him. people clear the dance floor, making room for the newlyweds. you stay transfixed in your spot; unable to move and desperate to flee.

what’s worse is that his date is already behind him, running a hand over his arm. she stumbles slightly and it’s not a surprise, you’ve already seen her down two glasses of wine. maybe that’s the key to this evening.

you look at george and charli on the dancefloor, already swaying softly in each other’s arms before he’s even begun strumming the guitar, completely lost in each other. is this what you and matty had looked like all those years ago?

your sour mood is not fair to them. this is their day, not yours. you should be honoured that charli’s asked you to be in the wedding party, not sulk in the corner like a seven year old being denied her favourite toy.

you stare at the champagne, at the bubbles rising up to the surface rapidly. time to suck it up and stop being a little bitch. with a surge of newfound annoyance, you knock the glass back, drinking the entirety of it in one go. you stagger, lightheaded for one solid moment, but it passes and matty strikes the first chord on his guitar.

his voice is all around you, echoing so clearly that for a second you wonder if it’s just the two of you in the room. his fingers move effortlessly on the frets while his other hand stums away at the strings, slows down to pluck them individually during slower moments and then speeds up again.

it’s not surprising that he sings of love and happiness. his words are full of emotions and when they fall short, the sweet tune compensates for it. what surprises you is how it makes you well up with tears.

matty has his eyes closed, smiling softly as he sings the lyrics. “so splash me with water / when we do the dishes together / i’ll take it over kisses in the rain”

one perfect curl falls on his forehead and just like that you’re back in a warm kitchen, past nine in the evening, hands slippery from the dish soap, singing along to the best of queen. matty’s hips bumping into yours as he gets too immersed into a song and forgets to rinse the plate properly. you reaching up to immediately flick him on the wrist. him tickling you as revenge, wet hands leaving damp spots on your old t-shirt.

there were happy days. in your heart, you knew it wasn’t all lonely nights and a cold bed.

his voice is replaced by loud claps and cheers as soon as the song ends. you open your eyes to a room full of people in some state of tearing up. charli has her head on george’s chest, blissfully unaware of the others. you’re glad the tears running down your face are not out of place.

“matty, that was wonderful!” his date chimes in loudly, breaking the spell.

this is the first time you’re hearing her voice. it’s high-pitched and american so when she says his name, it sounds more like ‘maddie’. and you’re once again fighting a losing battle with your brain not to stereotype her further.

“thanks, babe,” he turns to her and gives her a warm smile. the kind that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners, the kind that makes him look twenty-two again.

the kind that feels like a gut punch to you.

“careful, darling,” denise’s voice startles you. she’s been standing close to you this whole time—just a bit ahead, watching matty just like you had been.

“careful,” she says again, “the glass might break.”

“what?” you follow her line of sight, right down to the glass in your hands and your death grip on it. your knuckles are white, clutching the delicate stem so tightly. she’s right, the glass might break any minute.

“oh…uh, sorry.” heat rises up the back of your neck and up your cheeks. “i didn’t realise.”

“‘s alright,” she smiles, studying your face for a moment. “i just don’t want you to get hurt.”

the party is in full swing around you, and you have found one more thing your ex-husband was wrong about. whiskey does start to taste exceptionally amazing; especially when you’re trying not to throttle not one but two people in front of you.

“dance with me!” charli calls for you from somewhere on the dancefloor.

she’s already discarded her heels somewhere in the corner in favour of comfy shoes and sweated off her makeup. but she still looks stunning and radiates with joy at the centre of the dancefloor. “come onnnnn,” she calls for you again, almost slurring her words, and makes a run to drag you to the dance floor.

“i can’t dance in heels,” you laugh, trying to get out of the dancing without offending her. the heels do hurt, not as much as you’re making it out to be but your feet are starting to get sore now.

standing and sulking in one spot all evening will do that.

“so take them off!” she’s in front of you now, holding onto your wrist and pouting like a kid. she knows you can’t resist that face. “please!! you can’t say no to me today, come on!”

it takes absolutely two seconds for you to give in. she’s right, you can’t—you shouldn’t—say no to her. not today of all days.

“only for ten minutes,” you grumble and set the glass aside. then, on second thought, you pick it back up and down the last two sips. it burns as it goes down but this fuzz is good. this fuzz will help you ignore the man and the blonde in his arms.

as long as it makes charli happy. and by the looks of it, she’s ecstatic; loudly singing along to a brittany spears hit. you shake your head at her, laughing at first and then joining in. this is fun—normal wedding fun. this is what you’re supposed to be doing at a close friend’s wedding. you are meant to get wasted and dance like a dork on the dance floor.

you even get twirled around by ross as soon as he sees you dancing. it’s almost like the old times, all your friends having fun together again. and for a brief, blissful moment the presence of the date doesn’t even bother you.

until you feel yourself trip over your dress and stumble. right into a pair of familiar arms.

he grunts, first from being so unexpectedly knocked into and then when your elbow hits him in the stomach. a small amount of satisfaction sparks in your brain but quickly gets overshadowed by a flood of mortification.

your entire back is pressed up to matty’s chest, almost a lovers embrace as he steadies you on your feet.

“careful, darling” he warns, bending to whisper it right in your ear. funny how he repeats the same words his mother had said twenty minutes ago, yet you doubt the thumping of your heart has anything to do with the dancing you’ve been doing.

the retort is on the tip of your tongue, don’t call me that, four small words that simply refuse to come out.

“thank you,” you reply breathlessly, clearing your throat against the sudden lump that’s lodged there.

“steady?” he asks.

his scent is all around you, the same fucking cologne he has worn for the last decade. the same perfume that you can still smell on your pillows sometimes, no matter how many times you wash them.

“mm-hmm,” you nod, “you can let go now.” you make it a point to stare straight ahead at a bland spot on the wall. fuck your body for hyper-focusing on his heartbeat, fuck your head for spinning at one whiff of his cologne. and absolutely fuck your heart for breaking the second he lets go of you.

you stay still, only just touching him, still staring ahead until charli comes in your line of vision again. from this close you can smell the alcohol on her breath. she’s almost wasted at this point.

which is why it’s not really a shock when she gasps loudly.

“oh my god!” she slaps a hand on her mouth, eyes wide and excited. “you, me, george, and matty. like the old times!” she squeals, slurring half the words.

“char, no. no—”

“we should dance!” she declares.

“no, pl—”

“george, come here,” she yells over you, unbothered by your protests. and you know you’re doomed when an equally inebriated george comes into view.

there’s no way of getting out of this. the brittany song is on the last of its notes, about to change into something else. a sense of dread gnaws at your stomach.

“no, cha—”

“let’s get it over with.” it’s matty, placing a hand on your elbow and spinning you around to face him. he is so close, close enough for you to note the light stubble on his face; not clean-shaven like you’d thought at first. you know exactly what the stubble would feel like if you ran a hand over his face.

his pink lips are parted slightly, his chest rises and falls with each breath he takes, and his curls fall on his forehead. your hand twitches, desperate to brush them away because you know by the end of the night, they will be falling into his eyes. your stomach turns at the thought of how easily the urge comes. every feeling, every old habit rushing back to hit you full force.

“shall we?” he asks again, hand extended and waiting for you to take it. but all you can do is stare at it dumbly.

“right,” he says, placing his hand on yours for emphasis, “i don’t want to do it either. but i want to make my friends happy.”

his friends? indignation flares in your chest, burning hotter than the alcohol. suddenly any and all resurging feelings you’d felt for him just minutes ago evaporate into thin air. if he wants to act like he’s doing you a favour, then fine! if he wants to be an asshole then you can be a bitch right back. the song begins, something sweet and romantic but you narrow your eyes at him, ready for the battle to begin.

and if you are to win it, then you can’t be focusing too hard on the way his hand comes to rest on the small of your back; warm and reassuring and so so familiar. you can’t be relishing the feel of his warm breath on your shoulder, sending small, delicious tingles down your spine; can’t deliberately feel the way his hips press into yours, creating friction and something much more urgent.

no! so you square your shoulders and stand tall.

let’s get this over with then.

he steps to one side as the music begins to pick up; ever accustomed to taking the lead, and you step to the other side; equally determined to make this difficult for him. he knows of course, because he knows you and how your mind works. more importantly, he knows how your grudges work.

“are you really going to be difficult again?” he asks, just low enough for you to hear it over the music. “you can’t keep your pettiness aside for five minutes?”

his voice skitters over your bones, taunting and gravelly; matty from years and years ago who would raise goosebumps on your skin and make your blood heat up just by looking at you.

“my pettiness,” you grit out, “is none of your fucking concern.”

“it is when it’s my best friend’s wedding,” he cuts you off sharply.

“your best friend? as if they are no one to me?”

he tuts, condescending little shit, “can’t have the attention taken away from you for one second can you?”

your voices are rising; no longer the harsh whispers from before. and the distance between your bodies is almost negligible. his hand clutches tightly, is it his intention to hurt or to hold on? you don’t know. you don’t think he knows either.

“says the man who constantly whines for validation like a little baby,” you spit out, noses almost touching each other’s.

his eyes, warm and hazel once, are cold hard chips of brown. the anger in them turns his veins red. you imagine he’s seeing red right now, especially as his gaze dips to your mouth—painted red and curled in a sneer.

“you really have reached a new low, haven’t you, matthew?” you laugh in his face, brutally and sharp enough to cut. a sick and twisted part of you relishes in the fact that his date can see you in his arms. “oh, what must your arm candy think of you for twirling your ex around like this.”

“arm candy?” he scoffs, clearly taken aback. he must have imagined the wedding to be a fancy affair where he would get waisted and twirl his date around until they go back home and fuck in a drunken, sloppy rhythm. he would grope at her breasts like a starved man and she would hook her legs around his waist; much like how you once used to. then she would fall to her knees and satisfy all his needs. “don’t bring grace into—”

“grace?” you snap out of your disturbing train of thoughts about your ex-husband’s bedroom habits. instead, you choose to find happiness in the fact that it won’t be as smooth sailing for him as he thought. “oh, you’ve got to be fucking with me, yeah? your toy is called grace?”

you regret the words as soon as they’re out of your mouth. and not even for the right reasons.

“that sounds an awful lot like jealousy, darling” matty croons, finding his footing once again.

your breath hitches. the word is meant to be a weapon, hell, you two are right in the middle of an almost screaming match (again) yet he precisely knows how to wound you with his words (like always).

“don’t,” you warn. you’re falling for the bait by doing so, you know it, he knows it. but you’ll take the small bit of defeat over this. for emphasis, you yank your hand out of his and place it on his chest, as if to push him away.

his chest heaves slightly and suddenly you’re very aware of the muscles under the fitting white shirt. you should move away, fuck, you should stop touching his chest but your blood turns to lead, heats up your entire body as rage courses freely.

“don’t pin this on me.” you push him back just slightly, “it’s your need to overcompensate,” another push, “that’s why we’re here,” a third push.

and then his massive hand is wrapping over yours. you have no time to involuntarily mourn the loss of it on your waist; those tingles have already moved to your hand.

“losing your cool?” he tuts.

the infuriating bastard!

there’s a sudden urge to stomp on his feet with your four-inch heels, or better yet, to just knee him in the crotch. but you happen to catch the look on charli’s face. her eyes are wide, worried. this shouldn’t be happening. none of this should be happening. you’re not supposed to be creating a scene at one of your best friends’ wedding.

“would you look at that…” you peel yourself off him. the lump in your throat is almost overwhelming now and you’d be damned before you cry in front of him again. “you’re ruining your best friend’s wedding.”

before matty can reply, you turn on your heel, keeping your eyes sharply on the exit. this is too much. this evening was a mistake. saying yes to the dance was a mistake. coming here…

a lone tear escapes, tiny and pathetic. it makes you want to slap yourself that you would put your disdain for matty over your love for charli. after everything she’s done for you in the last ten months, after every night you’d spent crying in her bed and in her arms, this is the least you could have done. and yet you’ve failed; as a friend, as a wife, even as a person at this point.

footsteps slap on the marble floor behind you, getting closer as you step out into the corridor. of course, he’d follow. of course, he wouldn’t know when to leave it alone, picking at all your wounds that are only just scabbing over.

“stop!” he calls out, “you fucking coward.”

the shock of it alone is enough to freeze you in your place.

“what did you just say to me?” you blink at him slowly, taking in his cold eyes and lips pressed in a thin line.

“you fucking coward,” he repeats, “running away from every situation when it gets tough.”

“fuck you, matty,” you spit out, taking a step forward. “fuck you, fuck you, fuck you,” you punctuate each of them with a jab to his chest, stabbing your nails repeatedly into the soft spot over his heart. let him feel it. let him experience a million small deaths.

“what? nothing witty to say now?” his hand wraps around your wrist, holding it still in place. no matter how much you struggle, he won’t let go.

his face is inches away. he moves forward, backing you against the wall, holding onto your wrist tightly, mouth open and almost panting as if he can’t get enough air.

you can’t either. your head spins; so close to him, too close. your faces are inches away and involuntarily you stare at his lips, trembling with rage. this whole evening was a mistake but that doesn’t stop you from fisting your hands in his shirt and crashing your mouth onto his.

lemme know what you think pls <33 🤭

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a-cryptid-called-magetha · 5 months

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i was thinking™️ and had a eureka moment, so here’s TADC characters as Lemon Demon songs!

pomni - spiral of ants. are you gonna look at me and tell me that i’m wrong. no. “the circle rules your life”, “you’ve got no choice but to dance in a spiral of ants”, “you can’t remember where you came from/you’re going”, cmonnnn. pomni-coded.

caine - reagonomics. i don’t know how to explain it but its just—hhhhhh. caine. like i can imagine him singing this or doing a little dance to it. all the lyrics work okay 😭 trust.

jax - eighth wonder. this one i was kinda unsure about, but it’s very laid back while having that air of mystery that reminds me of jax. “i’ll never die, i am a freak” and “thou wilt never know what i am” especially.

ragatha - no eyed girl. the softness of this just screams ragatha to me. from “it’s alright, it’s alright” to the “knowing what we know, knowing what we do not know, this is gonna change our world” reminds me of her usual positive attitude despite being trapped in the digital circus.

gangle - dizziful bliss. soooo anxiety coded like our favorite mask-ribbon…thing. i feel like gangle’s that “got pulled along for the adventure” character. i have this image in my head where the “we're wobbly, staggering, dizzy, confused” part is all the times gangle’s comedy mask has been broken.

zooble - flamingo legs. this song is a lil crazy and has all these descriptive words that sound like different parts that zooble would use.

kinger - amnesia was her name. originally i was thinking soft fuzzy man was a little more kinger-core, but i settled on this one because you can tie it with queenie and—y’know, kinger’s a little crazy.

kaufmo - when he died. the lil intro sounds very funny™️ and could be bros abstracting. the song’s all about what this guy left behind (ex: strange symbols, painting of a clown) and kaufmo’s room is full of things scratched into the wall. the lyric “but gradually her voice began to fade, to nothing, and the Laughing Record played.” bro is haunting the narrative, kinda like this song.

#mags rambles™️#me thinking is never a good idea #the amazing digital circus #tadc #tadc pomni #tadc ragatha #tadc jax #tadc gangle #tadc zooble #tadc kinger #tadc kaufmo #tadc caine #lemon demon

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i4bellingham · 1 year

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Ugh, pt 2 for the choice!! Maybe when she goes home and tells Jude what happened? (Here’s to hoping she comes to her senses and sticks with him)

THE CHOICE part two : jude bellingham x reader

part two to this jude fic right here !! + not proofread !!! and can i just mention how my fondness for musiala and bayern grew basically a ton since i last posted a fic ?? like i've been rewatching games that i missed and have been binge-watching their entire content in youtube like ???? bruv i need to calm down

Everything was a blur.

A series of images flashing by your eyes in a fuzzy memory.

One minute you were answering your phone, mumbling a hurried “I’m on my way back home,” before you're wrenching your car door open in a frenzied state just to get away from Trent’s grasp.

You can faintly remember him calling out for you, a soft grip on your wrist as he tried to pull you back to him but you prevailed, an angry set of muttering leaving your lips before you now find yourself in front of your home.

Jude’s car is parked just beside you, signalling he's probably home now after hearing the shakiness and stress in your voice during the call that didn't even last for a mere minute.

The engine was already shut but you still remained stationary inside the warmth of your vehicle, with your thoughts running in crazy directions inside your head.

Jude is not aware of what truly transpired between you and Trent, and although you feel like he's got the gist of it, he doesn't know the entire thing that went down.

You feel like an absolute shit. Both as a person and as his girlfriend. You knew you should've told him everything before you said ‘yes’ to his question of being his girlfriend, sure you might hold some residual feelings for Trent and they're not as strong as the one you hold dear for Jude but the thing is, there is still a remainder fondness for the guy who you should have never let cross boundaries with you like that in the first place.

And worst of it all, Trent kissed you not even a full hour ago and you weren't there fully in your consciousness to stop it.

You don’t want to tell Jude and hurt him. But either way, you know there is a possibility that you'll end up doing just exactly that if the secrets and lies keep on piling up.

A heavy sigh leaves your lips at the thought. You really really don’t want to hurt Jude. It's the last thing you'd want to do especially to him but if you truly want to move past this stage, not just for your own self but for your relationship as well, you knew that coming clean to everything is the right thing to do.

And that's exactly what you're about to do.

The unmistakeable pounding in your chest and the clammy palms you wiped a few times over your shirt made breathing normally a tad bit challenging for you.

You take another deep breathe before pushing the door to your home open, immediately being greeted by the soft savory smell of a familiar dish you loved.

As you emerged from the hallway, you notice Jude on the open kitchen right away. There are drying pots and sauce pans on your sink, to which you presumed he used when cooking. The man himself was busy wiping down your marble countertop and mouthing the lyrics to a song playing in the background to notice your arrival.

In the dining table, two plates of your favorite pasta dish, a box of your favorite pastry and a bottle of your go-to non-alcoholic drink sat.

The temptation of punching yourself straight in the face was more than just a reoccurring thought. The guilt and anxiousness the brewed in the pit of your stomach made you want to throw up.

You could lose Jude after this.

There is a possibility that you'd lose him after this.

But you knew that he deserves to know the truth, for the entire thing even what happened tonight.

You're not certain how he'll react to it and you know losing him was feasible at this point. But if you have to beg on your knees to keep him, to make him stay, you will. If you have to endure a lot of things in order to keep him, you will go through them painstakingly.

Because you can’t lose the only man who showed genuine care and love for you. You can never get back up if you lose him, not after he picked up the only remaining fragile bits of you. Most importantly, you certainly can not let the man you love go even if it means not having some form of connection with Trent after this entire dilemma.

Slowly and silently, you walk over to where Jude was.

You wrap your arms around his waist, burying your face against his back feeling him jump at the sudden motion.

“Bloody hell- love!” Jude sighs at the sight of you, turning his entire body around to properly face you before he encircles his own arms over your shoulders. “You scared me! Do you want to give me a heart attack or something?”

He plants a kiss on your head, brows wrenching when you remained unresponsive.

“Surely you're not upset you didn't give me that no?” He jokes, almost making you cackle had the weight of this entire situation not been dragging you down. Jude shakes your shoulders, slightly pulling you away from him to take a look at your face. He immediately sees the tears pooling at your lash line, and with this he grabs you by the shoulders before pulling you with him on the couch; the food on the table he'd cooked all forgotten.

He sits you down on the couch before crouching in front of you, cupping your face on his palms.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen? Are you hurt? You were at Trent’s right? What's wrong? Did you guys fight-?”

“Jude.”

Sensing the seriousness and dread in your voice, Jude fixes his stance in front of you as he anticipates for the next words to come out of your mouth.

If you had a choice, you would take some time to collect your wits. Maybe spend a day with just yourself and think everything that you needed to tell him through. Just to settle down everything you wanted to confess to have your thoughts enunciated clearly in the manner that Jude can understand better.

But you don’t have that opportunity as you sat now, mouth opening and closing for a couple of times before you're being instructed by your boyfriend to breathe.

And take a deep breathe you did before the words came tumbling out of your mouth in a succession of how the events took place.

You told him about your feelings for Trent, what went down during the New Year’s eve and how your supposed best friend acted during his own birthday. You told him about how incredibly grateful you are to find him as a friend, before that title was ultimately changed into being your boyfriend. You told him about how you didn't want to lose him and everything you both got, not even in exchange for a future with Trent. You told him about your lingering feelings for Trent, one that he shouldn't worry about because you know they're only there and existing because you still care about him and the memories you had together. You told him about what happened during your visit at Trent’s tonight, how his friend and your best friend had kissed you and how you weren't able to push him fast enough because you were shocked and in disbelief. You told him everything, not leaving one single thought and memory behind, all the while gripping onto his hands that grew loose the moment you mentioned about the residual feelings you still hold for Trent.

Jude was silent the entire time you rambled, now hanging his head low as the space between you two grow silent.

He was still crouched down in front of you, but the hold on your hand had loosened incredibly that made your worries grow tenfold.

You know the thought is still a possibility, with the entire thing being let out in the open and susceptible for him to know of and understand, you know he could potentially break things up with you.

And the thought scares you more than you let on.

“... Jude?” You grip onto his hand harder, lightly shaking his wrists. “Baby please talk to me...”

But he doesn't.

Not straightaway at least.

When Jude removes his hands from your grasp, you almost felt like your entire world collapsed from that alone, thinking that everything was gonna be over for you and your relationship and the reprimanding thoughts spread wide inside your head, thinking that you deserved every bits of it if it did came down to having Jude break it off with you.

You wanted to breath a sigh of relief when he instead moves to sit down beside you, an arm's length of space dividing you both.

But you don’t. Not until he says something anyways, even if you're gonna be on the receiving end of his harsh remarks and accusations, you'll gladly open your ears to accept them.

Jude swipes a thumb over his lips, eyes fixated on the carpet underneath the coffee table as he speaks.

“Do you still love Trent?”

“Not in the way you think I do, but yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before? Everything that happened?”

“Because Trent and I swept it under the rug ourselves. That night you and I met at the party, Trent and I didn't really talk and meet up after that. We only started communicating back when we began dating officially and the whole thing kind of was just forgotten... until tonight.”

Jude takes a glance at you, seeing the pout in your lips and the tears that gathered once more on your lash line. “Why didn't you tell all of this to me by your own then?”

You grow silent at this for a few moments, fingers swiping underneath your eyes before a shaky breath leaves your chest, fingers fiddling with the loose ends of your shirt as you recollect yourself.

“Because I’m scared.” You whisper, shoulders sagging. “I’m scared that you'll leave me the moment you find out about my history with Trentㅡnot that it's impossible right now anyways but I’m just scared... I was scared that I’ll lose everything we have and that I'd lose you because of this. So I kept a tight mouth about it thinking that I’ll tell you everything once Trent and I talked, but obviously shit went down tonight so here we are.”

Jude didn’t show any reaction as he listened to your explanation, just sitting still on his spot with a nonchalant face that gave you no leeway to gauge of his thoughts.

Knowing how extremely expressive your boyfriend is regardless of the situation, this sight of him with a deadpan face on just concluded the thoughts racing through your head.

“... I feel betrayed and hurt.” He starts off, eyes meeting yours for the very first time since you've done your ramble. “I had an inclination of what happened between the both you, just that I thought you'd liked him and he didn't reciprocate the feelings or whatever but I didn't know you guys hooked up-”

“We made out a couple of times Jude I swear to you that's all there is to that.” You chime in. You sit in front of him, taking his hands in your shaky, cold ones. “I’m so sorry for keeping this from you. I’m so sorry that it had to end up like this but I swear if I had known Trent would try something like that I wouldn't have gone to his house in the first place. Jude, please believe me. I would never intentionally hurt you... please, I don’t want to lose you.”

Globs of tears freely rolled on your cheeks as you drop your head low, voice turning into a mumble at the end of your sentence to stifle down the sobs that wracked your body to quiver.

“Please believe me... there was not a single time in this relationship that I lied to you. I would never lie to you Jude, please don't hate me-”

He'd never pinpoint what it is, but Jude thinks it's the amount of love and trust he has for you that made him pick you up from the ground and onto his lap, securing you with an arm around your waist and one over the back of your head, cradling you as you wept for forgiveness against his chest and wetting his shirt with your tears.

Love is such a fickle thing. One moment he was ready to pack some of his things, let the entire situation cool down and give you a moment and space to think about everything.

Jude did feel hurt, and upset and betrayed and angry. But he couldn't entirely shift the blame of how this night ended on you. He did have a clue of what your previous connection to Trent was, he knows he could've done something then to prevent it from spiraling out of control entirely but Jude himself was afraid.

What if everything you both had and built was from a foundation of lies? What if you still loved Trent? What if you were still seeing Trent behind his back? When he wasn't there with you?

But Jude wills himself to stop forming these kinds of thoughts; ones that places you in a bad light because if he's being honest, all he's ever seen and felt from you since you started dating was your genuine fondness and care for him. All he's gotten being on the receiving end of you attention was nothing short of your love shown in many different ways. You were always so lovely, so kind and so thoughtful of him that there's not a single day where he doesn't think that he got lucky to have you as his girlfriend. You've never once lied about anything except for when the playful conversation starts.

And your panic and anxiousness from when you answered the phone and when you got home was also enough for Jude to believe you. He's not gonna question if it's the right thing to do or if he's gonna regret doing this, all because he trusts you.

If Jude had diminished all of it the moment you told him the truth, he wouldn't even bother hearing you out for every questions that you answered with a worried gaze to him, as if you're anticipating for him to just up and leave through the front doors.

Jude kisses your hairline, planting a few more over your head. “It’s alright love, I believe you... it’s alright, I don’t hate you...”

But you don't stop muttering apologies against his chest, almost as if you didn’t hear him.

“’m sorry please don’t leave me... I’m sorry...”

Jude holds you close to him, not even minding the time and how late it had gotten since your conversation. Your cries had simmered down now and your pleas had reduced into a sporadic whisper. There is a huge wet patch of where your tears had drenched his chest, almost soaking the fabric through and through. The hold you had on his arm was still in the same tight grip as he's carrying you to your shared room, never once faltering in their firmness even as you slept in his arms.

Jude places you on your usual side of the bed, taking of your shirt, pants and shoes and replacing them with your go-to nightwear that's basically just an old plain shirt of his. He takes your makeup wipes from the bathroom, slowly and carefully wiping away the residue of any cosmetics before he's doing it two more times just in case he didn't get all of them in three tries. He also combs your hair, unknotting the matted parts from the cold air before letting it freely lay on your pillow.

Jude himself freshens up, changing his shirt and throwing the dirtied clothes in the hamper along with yours before he's sliding underneath the blankets with you, throwing an arm over your waist as you turn around in your sleep, wrapping a hand over his biceps and a leg in between his with your head against his chest.

Jude holds you close to him, laying wide awake on your bed as you slept soundly. There are no other thoughts in his head, but he knows the both of you needs to talk this through if you want the relationship to work.

Though he feels as though you're not the person he should be having the conversation with the next time. Jude had already heard your side of the story, it's only a matter of time before a confrontation between him and Trent happens too.

And if sensing that he's in Jude’s intrusive thoughts, your charging phone on the night stand lights up before it shortly begins to vibrate against the wood. And the name that used to be on good terms with Jude flashing on your screen now brought nothing but a knitted brows and a frowning face.

Jude reaches out to take the device from the table, unlocking it briefly before swiping the icon to the left, red button and ending the on-going call immediately. Jude doesn't waste any more of his time before he's sending a message to the contact number, and not long after that he blocks the contact off your phone too.

　　　　　　　　　　ㅡ

　　　　　　　　to: trent AA

　　　　　　　　　　　 3:06 am

nice try mate

some good friend you are

don’t contact my girlfriend ever again.

　　　　　　　　　　ㅡ

#☆ i4bellingham writes.#☆ jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham x fem!reader #jude bellingham fanfiction #jude bellingham

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jinkoh · 20 days

Text

'the way that you look tonight got me feeling like damn, i might be the luckiest man alive'

slow dancing

younghoon x gn!reader

tags: established relationship, hurt/comfort, comfort after a panic attack, fluff, yh is a sap, reader is implied to be shorter; SFW

wordcount: 712

a/n: this was supposed to be a songfic for pow's 'slow dancing' but it has somehow become a songfic to sinatra's 'the way you look tonight' instead--either way it's just a tiny little comfort drabble~

Masterlist

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled for the nth time that evening, curled up on the couch with your favorite blanket that Younghoon had wrapped you up in.

He let out a little huff. “Why are you still apologizing? There’s nothing to apologize for in the first place.”

You pulled your knees closer to your body. “It’s just—we’ve been planning to go to that party since forever.”

“I’m sure there’s still a bunch of other parties we can go to. It’s fine.”

“Really?” You finally dared to raise your head and meet his gaze with your puffy red eyes. He was smiling softly and it made you tear up all over again.

His eyes widened in surprise and he immediately reached out to you, using the sleeves of his hoodie to gently dab the tears away.

“Don’t cry, don’t cry,” he almost begged and you heard the way his voice quivered and saw how his lower lip trembled. “You know if you cry, I’ll cry too.”

“Sorry,” you pressed out, the tears falling non stop now, “it’s just—I was really looking forward to this party, I really wanted to go, but now I ruined it all with my dumb panic attack and—I really wanted to go.”

“I know, I know,” he replied, still softly wiping away your tears, “but we can go to other parties.”

“But there’s not many fancy ones like that." You sniffed. "I wanted to slow dance with you."

That put a smile on his face. "Is that why you're so sad? Because you wanted to dance with me?"

You shrugged. Maybe it was a silly reason. But somehow that kind of thing just seemed so romantic to you. You'd never gotten to go to a prom with someone you'd liked or even dated during your schooldays, so attending this fancy party with Younghoon had somehow felt like a chance to make your little teenage dreams come true. Not that it still mattered now that you were staying home because you didn't feel stable enough to be in a crowd, not to mention the fact that you probably looked like a pufferfish from all the crying.

"We can dance here though," he grinned, already pulling out his phone and connecting it to your speakers. Frank Sinatra's The Way You Look Tonight started playing and it felt a little ironic with Younghoon still in his dress pants and white shirt, practically ready to go, while you had tousled hair and wore ratty pajamas. He reached for your hand that was hidden somewhere under the fuzzy blanket. "We'll have our own party."

"That's not the same," you complained but you let him pull you to your feet anyway.

"Because it's better," he said, resting his free hand on your back and moving to the jazzy music. You let him do as he pleased and when he playfully twirled you around you even found yourself smiling. Spurred on by your reaction he did it again and again, until you were a dizzy giggling mess, almost collapsing into his arms. He easily caught you, resting his hands on your lower back and pulling you a little closer. You looked up, your lungs still full of laughter, to find him already gazing at you with the fondest smile on his lips.

"What?" You asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Mhm," he shook his head, "nothing. I was just thinking I might be the luckiest man alive."

You let out a chuckle. "What would make you think that?"

Younghoon shrugged. "Maybe it's the way you look tonight."

"Really?" You looked down at your sorry state. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," he leaned down and left a small peck on the tip of your nose. "You're lovely with your smile so warm and cheeks so soft—"

You giggled, recognizing the lyrics even though the song was long over. "Are you stealing from Sinatra right now?"

"Well, it's because he has a point. There is nothing for me but to love you and the way you look tonight."

You playfully nudged his shoulder, but you couldn't deny that his words made you feel warm and loved. "You're a sap."

"I'm your sap."

"Yeah," you got onto your tippy-toes to kiss him and you felt his smile against your lips. "All mine."

Masterlist

#younghoon x reader #the boyz x reader #tbz x reader #kim younghoon x reader #the boyz fanfic #the boyz oneshot #the boyz imagines #the boyz drabbles #the boyz scenarios #the boyz fluff #younghoon imagines #younghoon drabbles #younghoon scenarios #younghoon fluff #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #gn reader #younghoon x gn!reader #kebbis.writing

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strange-creature-with-a-hat · 16 days

Note

can you tell I use this as messages more than messages (I don't know why but there's another person who I do this to and I don't know why)

Heres an actual question so it counts uhhh what's your favourite lemon demon song I must know and album and why and tell me I love lemon demon and talking about lemon demon too

Ooo yeah its pretty much impossible for me to choose one favorite lemon demon song, so here's a list of ones I really really like

Being a rockstar

Hip hop cherry pop

Ask for nothing

The Afternoon

One weird tip

Soft fuzzy man

No eyed girl

Man made object

Ancient aliens

Musical chairs

Go to Hollywood

Pumpkin pie

Without my tonsils

Switzerland

Dizziful bliss

Mold en mono

Lifetime achievement award

Ok longer list than I thought, see that's the thing, I can't just choose one song, especially because I like some of them for different reasons

My favorite album is probably view-monster, because the songs are very catchy and silly and has a lot of songs that are fun to sing, Spirit phone is a very close second because I love the noises and lyrics and all the parts that build up/crescendo, I also love when weird spooky stuff that sometimes seems funny from an outside perspective happens to people (very deep secret about me you'd absolutly never find out on your own: I really like The Magnus Archives), and I got records of both of them fairly recently

I also like damn Skippy but haven't listened to it as much

#it posted before I added tags as was #Any time I think “this ones my favorite!” My brain goes “well what about that one?” and then it's back to the drawing board #At some point it was lifetime achievement award #and then one weird tip #And then I couldn't just choose one #I love lemon demon so damn much #creatures faves #creature answers #silly music people doing silly things

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read-weep-repeat · 1 year

Text

A Letter of Affection (1)

Summary: A letter you never thought would be read turns your life upside down.

Warnings: Age regression, use of title “daddy”, pet spider.

_____________________________

The laptop burned bright luminescence at red eyes, signaling its bitter need for rest. You ignored the woeful cries of your battered keyboard. Pages needed to be written and editors needed to be satiated so that they could take red pens and slash through ideas, plots, characters, hopes, and dreams. You were on the final page of this month's deadline, perfectly timed for a much-needed vacation.

You finished as the sun rose and pressed send just as the clock struck seven. You leaned back into the plush comfort of your couch and looked across the room.

“Hanging in there, webster?”

Webster burrowed further into her substrate, only fuzzy legs visible. The tarantula's pink toes wiggled around the dirt before finally stilling. You smiled, eyes pinned on your companion as she started to snooze.

You moved your laptop to the side and fell back into plush pillows. You had no more work, no place to be, or responsibilities to fill. Webster's water bowl was full, Editors had their new pages, and you were free to do as you wanted. You sighed. Pulling yourself off the couch, you shuffled to your bedroom. A pink box stared at you from under your bed, waiting for you to slip and fall into its contents. You obliged and slid it across the soft carpet into the living room.

—--

"He's gonna love this." You whispered.

You threw the marker cap down onto the pink rug below you, that you were kneeling on. You had on a shirt two sizes too big, a unicorn displayed proudly on the front. fuzzy pink socks covered your feet while you rubbed them together to soothe your buzzing nerves.

But what if he didn't like it? What if he threw it out? Sure, the stickers were pretty, the glitter sparkly, and the contents sweet, but what if that wasn't enough?

"He not gonna love it." You cried, fat tears welling in your eyes. You wrapped your hands around your legs, burying your head in between your knees. Your shoulders shook as you whimpered.

Suddenly, through your bleary sight, you saw a glimpse of pink beneath the table. You pulled your head out from between your knees and bent down to the floor.

An envelope! Small and pink, it stuck out from the pile of crafting supplies strewn haphazardly across the floor.

You pulled it from the pile and set it atop the coffee table proudly.

"He gonna love. Gotta love. Daddy."

You caught yourself as you stuffed the letter full of your sweet words.

"He not daddy. Don't have daddy."

You shook your head, trying to focus your thoughts as you licked the envelope.

"Don't need daddy." You grumbled, stumbling up to your front door.

You wobbled as you put on your slippers. The apartment complex had four floors, the mail drop-off box being on the first.

"Ok," You whispered, "I can do this."

"I'm a big girl."

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

"Do you want to go through fan mail?" Hoseok asked, sipping a coffee as he slumped into the couch in Namjoon's office.

He looked up from his notebook. The lyrics weren't flowing like they needed to. Only a chorus had flowed from him in the 3 hours he'd been holed up. A break didn't sound so bad.

"As long as we go by the cafeteria." He eyed the cup in Hoseoks hand.

Hoseok gave him a slow nod and pulled himself up.

"Let's get going."

-----

Hoseok scoffed, tossing another letter in a pile of torn envelopes and thick pages.

"Some chicks are actually insane, man."

Namjoon hummed, fiddling with the half-empty cup. he moved the latest letter to the side, his pile a neat stack compared to Hobi's maimed mountain of parchment.

He grabbed the next without a glance and brought it forward.

A pink letter.

"Interesting." He mumbled, twirling the letter forward to see the bubbly handwriting.

“What’d you say?” Hoseok asked, sparing a glance up from scribbles on notebook pages.

"Oh, Nothing." Namjoon sputtered. He carefully opened the letter, trying his best not to rip into the handwriting.

He pulled the contents from the envelope, spraying pink glitter onto his sweatpants.

"Fuck." He whispered, brushing it away. Most of it fell to the floor, but pink sparkles still winked at him from his lap. He flipped the pages open. A scribble caught his eye.

Dear Mr. Joon!

The exclamation point was written in a blue glitter pen.

Cute. He thought. Creative. I haven't heard Mr. Joon before.

He kept reading.

Your music really helps me be small. I make things too! Big me is a writer, and my company isnt always super nice about my ideas. But I really like listening to your music, hopefully, your company is nice. I hope. Dont want you to be sad like I am sometimes. But its not like sad sad, being small makes it better. I get to watch cartoons and use a sippy and take a lot of naps. I even got special clothes!! Im wearin my unicorn shirt right now! I really like it.

Do you have things that make you feel better? I hope so. you deserve to feel nice! you seem like a really nice daddy man mr. joon. have a good day!

(y/n) (l/n)

He read it over. He read it over again.

I've never gotten a letter from a little. He mused, leaning forward in his seat. He put his chin in one of his hands and let his eyes wander to the sides of the page. Little stickers littered the edges. There were stars, pink flowers along the sides, and a small pink gemstone sticker in all four corners.

She's so sweet. He read it again. Daddy?

Does she not have a caregiver? He thought, eyes widening.

How sad. She seems like she'd be really nice and behaved. Not that brats are bad, I'd still take care of a little that was a brat. Only one as sweet as this though. He nodded to himself. Only one as sweet as this.

"You ready to go? I think I've had all I can take." Hoseok groaned, leaning back in his chair as he yawned.

Namjoon's head shot up. "Uh... Yeah." He cleared his throat. "Yeah, let's go."

As they made their way out, that pink letter crept into his pocket.

—-

“Goodnight, Hyung.”

“ ‘Night, Koo.”

Jungkook slipped into Namjoons arms. Affection was common in the family they built in dorm rooms, tours, and countless hours with no one but each other, and this was no different. Namjoon pulled away first and patted Jungkooks shoulder.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He said. His hands were on his doorknob, already twisting it open before Jungkook could respond. He barely saw Jungkooks mouth twitch before the door was shut and locked. The letter was burning a hole in his pocket, pink turning to a fiery red as he threw it onto his desk.

Why this letter? He read at least 100 others before he got to it, it shouldn’t bother him like this. He shouldn’t be writing out a reply. He shouldn’t be asking about you. He shouldn’t be writing a return address. This was his real address, what the fuck was he doing?

He kept asking himself that as he snuck down the hallway, waiting until all the lights under his bandmates' doors went dark. He knew what they’d say if they caught him responding to fan mail. They’d snatch it from his hands, lecture him, give him the silent treatment, or read it. He didn’t know why, but the latter thought annoyed him most. This was for him. She wrote to Namjoon, not BTS.

The letter made a faint thump as he slid it into the mailbox. Stickers and a small tea bag added more substantial weight to the envelope. He sighed, nerves and contentment spread along his skin and raising goosebumps.

“No turning back now,” he whispered, before closing the mailroom door.

—----

You pulled your coffee mug closer to your chest, mittened hands encasing the warm glass. It was all you could do to keep from throwing it across the room. You stared at the mail on your kitchen counter, bills and junk mail spread out around a single blue envelope.

It couldn’t be. You had kicked yourself when you realized what little you had done, but decided that it would be fine. They didn’t actually read fan mail. No harm, No foul. Right?

Apparently fucking not. Your hands shook as you put down your mug and slid off your mittens. One finger gently reached out to graze the looping scrawl of the envelope's return address. This wasn’t the HYBE office. You remembered how you searched for the fanmail address in little space, distracted by toy ads and BTS fancams. This address was entirely new to you.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you peeled away at the envelopes. You worked slowly at the paper to not rip it. Slowly, the contents revealed themselves. A sweet, honey-scented tea bag fell onto your counter. Then, a small sheet of stickers emerged. Little blue koalas stared back at you as you giggled.

“This is so cute.” You breathed. You dropped the stickers, letting them fall onto grey granite as you pulled a smooth paper from its blue container.

You slowly unfolded it, and your breath hitched.

Dear, (y/n)

#letter mc #bts x reader #namjoon x reader #tw age regression #yandere bts x reader #yandere namjoon

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ifonotlnow · 4 months

Text

ALBUM REVIEW NOBODY CARED ABOUT PART VII: SPIRIT PHONE EDITION

Lifetime Achievement Award: 7.75/10

It took me embarrassingly long to realize that the first letters of delta echo alpha delta spell out “D.E.A.D.”. Anyways, EVEN AS WE SPEAK WERE SYNTHESIZING BLOOD AND ORGANS SYNTHESIZING HEART AND SOUL.

The slow part’s sick as hell (I’m writing this album review as i listen)

It also took me embarrassingly long to catch the Michael Jackson ref

Touch Tone Telephone: 7.75/10

Fun fact: this was the first lemon demon song I actually liked enough to listen to it repeatdly. After i stopped liking this song, i stopped listening to lemon demon, then I found cabinet man, and i started listening to lemon demon more and started liking this song again.

Caminet Man: 5/10

Ehh. I get why it’s popular cause it’s a great song. I just stopped liking it as much when I listened to the rest of the album. Also, it’s probably too late to say this, but I’m rating on how much I like it, not on how good it is.

No Eyed Girl: 7.5/10

Love how the bass Im this song is Neil with a voice effect. Great.

Also, if i’m correct the lyric is “without proof i know” but i thought it was “without proof, oh no!”

When he died: 8/10

Unfortunately, instead of listening to this on Spotify or something, I’m listening to it on audiomack, so i doubt get to hear the great transition from “no eyed girl” into “when he died” :(

Never noticed the slight echo on Neil’s voice before, sick

Sweett bod: 8/10

Don’t play this one in front of your parents!

Who else but Neil would write a song with the lyric “some sexy shaking tumors”

Sick ass guitar solo

Eighth wonder: 6/10

Don’t LOVE it, but it’s a great song.

Fun fact, this song’s only slightly younger than me.

Ancient Aliens: 7/10

I litened to it too much and now I don’t like it anymore :(

Soft fuzzy man: 8/10

One time in math class, we were listening to the class playlist and this song started playing. My math teacher immediately said “this is horrible, who requested this” and as soon as he read who made the song the whole class looked at me.

As Your Father I Expressly Forbid It: 9/10

This song sounds like the red angry bird

I Earn My Life: 9/10

Reaganomics: 10/10

Hell yeah

…

With reaganomics

Baby

BABY

YEAHHHHH

Man Made Object:7/10

I now realize how good the percussion in this album sounds.

This song has the vibes on an instrumental without being one

I love the delivery of the lines “I am an altogether different man by day / I have the influence to send that man far away”

Spiral of Ants: 8/10

The perfect ending to a perfect album

OVERALL ALBUM RATING: 9/10

FAVORITE AND LEAST FAVORITE SONGS:

Probably sweet bod, reaganomics, or as your father i expressly forbid it (yeah i know, not at all consistent with my ratings)

For my least favorite, easily cabinet man

#neil cicierega #lemon demon album review #lemon demon #ines's album review #spirit phone #lifetime achievement award #touch tone telephone #cabinet man #no eyed girl #when he died #sweet bod #eighth wonder #ancient aliens #soft fuzzy man #as your father I expressly forbid it #I earn my life #reaganomics #man made object #spiral of ants

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xticklemeemox · 2 months

Text

The Love You Want: III, Part Two

III, Part Two

Masterlist (with links to other parts of this series)

AO3 Version

The Love You Want: III, Part One

Word count: 9,666 (wattpad which I write on has different word count than the word counter i use ;-;)

what slow burn there is no slow burn how does one write a slow burn they see each other and immediately fall in love what am i supposed to do about it

Fic under the cut.

Towards the end of the week, II finds Vessel at his piano, trying his best to get a certain tune right. Its sad, as all of Vessel's songs seem to be, haunting in its melody as the notes carry through the room. The large instrument has been cleaned of dust and now shines as much as it can with its age and clear signs of use.

II perks up at the sight of Vessel anyway, a smile pulling at his lips as the other man scribbles furiously in his worn but well-cared for notebook that II knows holds all of his lyrics and melodies. II makes sure to knock on the practice room door and knows Vessel is alerted to his presence by the full-body flinch, though he doesn't turn his head, continuing to play softly. II had had a nightmare during the night before it settled into a restless sleep, but he was still exhausted from it bringing his death to the forefront of his mind again. All he wanted was to go lay with Vessel, to be in his presence even if they couldn't talk, but Vessel's door was closed and the bond a dark void. So II went to lay with III instead, to keep an eye on them as he pet Elvira to soothe himself as best as he could. It worked, somewhat. When the sun rose, II went searching for Vessel, knowing the other man was usually in the practice room about this time.

Wanting affection in a way it used to be so freely given, II rests his head on Vessel's thigh and looks up at him through tired eyes. Vessel hits the wrong key and his breath hitches, interrupting his playing and singing, but after a moment, he continues. When that song is done, he continues playing with one hand, letting the other come to rest on II's head, carding through his hair gently. Vessel doesn't speak to him even now, but II doesn't mind that much, accepting that he simply can't force any words out, even if it hurts to not hear him. Vessel isn't pushing him away and that is all II can ask for.

While Vessel plays, II feels himself drifting off, watching every movement Vessel makes through half-lidded eyes. Vessel's thigh is cool under his cheek through the material of his loose jeans and the bandages. With Vessel by his side, it is easier for II to find rest, having become used to his presence for months before things went to shit. The hand through his hair is soothing, and II loosely wraps his arms around Vessel's leg in an awkward position as he kneels on the ground. Its comfortable being with Vessel, but II knows his knees, his back, his neck, will all hate him later. Sleep welcomes him into their realm with open arms, and II is lulled to sleep with the comfort of Vessel's hand upon his head and the sound of the piano.

Vessel refuses to move his legs. He doesn't know what made II decide to lay on him like this, but Vessel has missed the closeness. II's head is warm on his thigh though it stings the cuts beneath his bandages, and Vessel makes no move to get up. Not when he can feel III's soft breath against the material of his jeans as it seeps into his skin slowly. Vessel continues playing, only moving his hand from II's hair when a song requires it, and he purposefully plays songs that don't need it too often. After a while, II begins to snore softly and Vessel huffs a soft laugh, allowing himself this moment with II when things will soon change.

It must have been about an hour later when Vessel feels III's bond become active, the fuzziness of sleep making way for wakefulness. He waits for the inevitable pain, how unfortunate it is that he will need to wake II, but finds that none comes. He thinks he should go and be there when III wakes from his transformation, but isn't willing to move II, isn't willing for the moment between them to end. He wants this to last forever, this moment of peace Vessel is allowing himself.

Footsteps alert Vessel to the thirds presence, and turns his head to find them at the door of the practice room. Their mask is off, a fanged grin pulling widely at their cheeks and there is amusement and something else laced into their bond. Curly blond hair is loose, greasy from not being washed, and their ocean eyes are surrounded by pitch darkness. Elvira lets herself hang in their arms, looking pissed at the world but making no move to escape. He's beautiful, and Vessel doesn't want to look away, breath caught in his throat.

The hand that still runs through II's hair hurriedly lifts to Vessel's lips in a shushing motion as III opens their mouth to speak. He stops playing the piano entirely, pointing at II and shaking his head. III pauses, gaze flitting down to the bandages on Vessel's arms, then nods, making their way over as quietly as he can. Vesssel appreciates the thought, even as III slams their elbow into the doorframe as they pass with a wince. Vessel huffs a laugh, a smile pulling at his lips without a thought as his hand returns to the mess of II's hair.

III keeps his grin at the sight, taking a seat on the ground beside Vessel and the bench, opposite of II. Elvira jumps from their arms, brushing III with her tail as she saunters off. They both watch her go.

III asks her name and Vessel takes his notebook and turns to a back page, writing it out. Their shoulders shake as they laugh with a bright smile, whispering quietly that the name is fitting.

II lets out a particularly loud snore and Vessel smiles, running a gentle hand along his cheek with reverence before letting it brush through his hair again, a practiced motion Vessel only allows himself when II is asleep.

"You guys are cute together." III comments, and Vessel's head shoots up, shaking it frantically before he begins to write, nervously fiddling with an angel bite piercing with his available hand once finished.

'Not together.'

"Well, with the way you look at him, and the way he looked at you when I last woke up? You should really confess already." III states, tilting their head to the side in confusion even as they admire (and struggle to read) the elegant cursive that Vessel writes in.

Vessel elects to ignore the part about how II looks at him. III must have seen wrong. In as much pain as they were, it would have been easy to mistake a simple glance for something more. Shaking his head, Vessel is glad when III takes the end of that line of conversation for what it is.

"Oh! You have a bass! I know how to play that!" III exclaims, a bit too loudly as they gesture at it wildly, and when Vessel flinches back from the loud sound, eyes tracking III's hands and body language, they quiet down with a sheepish apology.

Vessel ignores how cute the expression is, ignores the embarrassed heat rising to his cheeks, and turns to look where III had excitedly pointed, and sure enough, a shiny white bass guitar sits next to Vessel's electric guitar. Sleep must have placed it there at some point, but Vessel isn't sure when.

He tries to reassure himself that III isn't upset with him, that when they raised their hands, it was just out of excitement.

"Do you play?" They ask, voice just below normal volume so as to not wake II, though Vessel imagines it won't matter.

He can feel II beginning to stir, knows the moment will be over soon, and Vessel will force himself back to a safe distance to protect his heart.

Vessel shakes his head, pointing at III, opening his mouth with hopes that he can get the words out. He manages a whisper and nothing more, "Sleep-... knew."

They're stilted, quiet, but Vessel is glad he managed to say anything at all. "Sleep knew I could play? I should've figured He would, now that I think about it. He is a God after all. Do you mind if I play it sometime?"

"Y-ours." Vessel chokes out, but there is a small smile on his face anyway.

III wants to see him underneath the mask, but doesn't dare ask. If Vessel wants to keep the mask on, then he's well within his right to no matter III's overwhelming curiosity.

"Okie dokie, thanks! Oh, also, I appreciate both of you taking care of me. It must've been difficult. I can't imagine it was, uh, fun." III grimaces but Vessel shakes his head in denial.

'Not your fault. It is what it is.' He writes, and as he does, II's eyes blink awake as they sit up quickly.

"Three!" He blurts, rubbing sleep from his big blue eyes, "You're awake!"

"And pretty." II mutters as III smiles down at him, like a ray of sunshine has been cast into the room.

"Suppose we're both back in the land of the awakened, huh?" Humor dances in III's eyes, scrunched at the corners so that the question mark freckle disappears almost entirely into the crevices.

II laughs, and Vessel lets a smile mar his features even as it threatens to slip into a grimace of some odd sense of both jealousy and envy. He doesn't know if he wants II's attention on him, or III's. Perhaps both, if Vessel were to let himself think about it longer than a millisecond.

"Are you feeling well enough to go to the store?" II inquires, looking them over for any visible signs of distress even as the bond remains a healthy mix of calm, amusement, and something else Vessel can't name.

Uncertainty and fear crash down the bond like a tidalwave and both Vessel and II physically reel back at the sudden onslaught. It takes a moment for their brains to realize that it isn't their fear, but III's. "I-I'm sorry! We don't have to go, just tell me what size clothing you wear and I'll go myself." II races to fix things, not sure what he said to cause this.

"No, it's okay. I'll go. We're going to be wearing our masks, right?" III tries for a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Yeah, we prefer to." II keeps his tone level and volume soft, reaching out to hold III's hand in his while one remains around Vessel's leg.

III clutches II's hand like a lifeline, some of the fear down the bond abating, "If no one knows who I am, I'll be okay. I-"

Vessel and II share a look of concern, but let III gather their thoughts. "I... I don't remember what they look like, but I think I knew them- They- I was killed. Murdered." He blurts, finally, after stumbling throughout their sentences.

"Three, you don't have to-" II starts nervously, but III barrels on.

"No, its okay. I want to get this off my chest. Maybe it'll help me move past it because it's all I can think about...! I- I think one of them thought I was hitting on them, and, and that sort of thing, uh, man to man," III winces, "Isn't exactly normal in town and, well, I wasn't hitting on any of them at all, only being friendly and everyone I've met always says I'm too friendly and its creepy but- I was only being nice cause his outfit was really nice and you don't really see that sorta thing here on men and-"

Vessel and II can only stare in mounting horror as III's anxiety skyrockets and the fear continues buzzing down the bond and II wants to hold him, to keep III here and not let him leave the house at all. He wants to hurt the people who did this to III, but focuses instead on comforting them.

Vessel's six eyes darken to a deep red, shadowed behind the mask as his lips pinch together to hold back the snarl of fury.

How could someone- How dare they hurt- kill-

"Well, they didn't like it. The compliment, I mean. I- Should've just kept my mouth shut. The man and his friends got... upset. For lack of a better word. I don't remember much past the hit to the head, or when they started kicking my chest- or was it my stomach? Uh, anyway, I don't even remember much about them, or me for that matter. I don't even know my own name, from Before, but- I... I don't want anyone in town to know its me." III finishes in a rush, and II and Vessel are left reeling trying to process the onslaught of distressing information.

"I- I'm so sorry Three. If you don't want to go into town ever again, neither I nor Vessel would blame you." II settles on, but Vessel cannot force words out to agree, or to speak on his anger or his sadness on III's behalf.

He takes III's hand instead, trying to keep his claws from digging into their hand. Vessel wants to hurt, hurt something, and if he can't hurt whoever had the audacity to- to lay a finger on III- who has been nothing, nothing but kind the short amount of time they've known him- who treated Vessel like he was more than the dirt under their shoe when Vessel can count on one hand the amount of people his entire life who had done him that kindness-

II squeezes Vessel's hand, a tight pressure that forces Vessel back into his body and out of his mind and Sleep is disappointed, upset at Vessel for not continuing his thought process. Sleep would enjoy Vessel hurting something, be it himself or the people who killed III and Vessel finds he wouldn't mind whichever option was the correct one. Wouldn't mind if it was both. His anger slowly fades, but doesn't leave entirely. It simmers, just under his skin, and he knows it will not leave any time soon.

"It wasn't your fault." III is quick to state, "But, will anyone in town remember me when I don't remember them?"

Vessel frowns and shakes his head, but he's unsure. Vessel didn't care to ask when he was Made, knew in his bone marrow there was no one who cared enough about him to want to remember his existence, if he died.

'I will ask.' He writes, and reaches into his soul for the bond he shares with Sleep.

Pulling on it gently to get their attention, Vessel sends his question to the God and gets a quick response aloud for the others to hear.

"As long as you don't remove your masks, there will be no way for anyone in your pasts to recognize you. I have taken your bodies from their graves, and your previous identities from your minds, but who you used to be remains, out of your reach."

II cannot help but be unsettled by this new knowledge. He supposes he shouldn't be surprised that they all had graves... Who they were Before died along with their bodies. He wonders- detachedly almost, if the people he has memories with faces or names of, buried him. II decides it doesn't really matter. There will be no going back to that life. He from Before is dead, and he is The Second now. As Vessel is the First, and III the Third. Casting a look at III confirms much the same thing, but when his gaze moves to Vessel, there is a troubled pinch to the thin line of his lips.

"Ves?" II asks, squeezing his hand a little tighter but careful, so careful not to hurt him.

Ves looks at him, one pair caught somewhere near II's eyes, the bottom watching III, and the top avoiding any eye contact at all. There is such profound sadness in his gaze, even as the bond remains shut, and II longs to know what Vessel is feeling so he can help.

He shakes his head, refusing to answer, but there is a faint trickle of reassurance that II feels down the bond, for him only.

III moves on quickly after that, anxiety slowly fading away, fixing some strands of hair that had gotten stuck in the open, spiked ring of his eyebrow piercing, then beginning to braid a chunk beside his ear, "When can we leave? Are we all going? Do we own a car?"

"Um, as soon as you're ready, it's up to Vessel, and yes." II answers, turning to Vessel for his own response.

'Not going.' He writes, avoiding II's probing gaze.

"Are you sure? You're welcome to stay in the car, or I can hold your hand like usual?" II's gaze is hopeful, reaching into Vessel's soul with his pretty blues like the sky.

Vessel doesn't meet his eyes, knowing he'll cave if he does, and Vessel wants to rest. He needs it, desperately, to slit a vein, and slip into nothingness for a little while.

"Alright, well, would you mind keeping the bond open while we're gone? I- I'll worry about you." II asks while standing, letting go of both III and Vessels hands.

Without much thought, he tucks a strand of hair behind each of their ears, enjoying the blush it causes to spread along Vessel's ears and the bright smile it pulls from III.

Vessel contemplates his response as III stands too, wiping off their jeans and reaching for II's hand. He watches enviously at the ease in which II accepts it, and wishes he had the courage to reach out and do the same.

'Okay. Will be worshipping later.' Vessel scribbles, pretty letters losing some of their elegance in his haste.

Vessel really, very desperately, needs to shut his mind off. If he sits in this anger, this envy, this self-loathing and guilt, he may just go insane.

II nods along, knowing Vessel prefers to worship in isolation, holding a hand out for Vessel to take, trying his best to hold back the sting of rejection from the bond as Vessel shakes his head in refusal. II just wants to hold him like he used to.

III looks between them, confused, but can't stop the way their face lights up in awe as Vessel turns the bond on right away, keeping it a bit calmer intentionally, despite his anxiety over III being aware of his souls presence for the first time. He lets that anxiety be known though, which II is proud of him for.

"Is that... you?" III wonders aloud, pawing at his chest like they could feel the bond physically if they tried hard enough.

Vessel tilts his head a little to the side as he nods, confused as to why III seems so... enraptured. "I changed my mind. You're not like the sun at all. Still radiant, but in a more subtle way, like the moon. Gentle like a dream. A parallel to Sleep's presence, like an overwhelming nightmare." III states, but rushes to clarify on Sleep's behalf, "I mean that in a positive way! Nightmares can force us to confront things we might not want to think about, they're not just abstract terrors."

He cannot stop the way his mouth falls open just slightly in shock. Vessel turns to look at II, in some mix of confusion and wonderment, but II is nodding along like III's words make perfect sense. "Soothing, isn't it?" II asks III, and they nod eagerly in response, drawing random patterns into II's hand with a thumb.

"Thank you, Vessel. I appreciate you doing this for me." II says softly, placing his free hand against the cheek of Vessel's mask.

Vessel still won't meet his eyes, but let's himself lean into the touch anyway, though he can't feel it through the masks material. Vessel is caught between accepting any affection II will give him, like his heart wants, and doing what his brain desires and pulling away to protect his battered heart from more damage.

II and III begin to talk quietly about what they want to get from town, and Vessel listens for a moment as he follows them out of the practice room. Before long, feeling out of place, Vessel leaves and heads upstairs, silent as a ghost. He is eager to free himself from the mounting envy and the longing burying itself into his muscles, tensing them. Eager to free himself from the migraine and the nausea and the way his entire body aches.

III and II watch him go, feeling that envy, the pain of the migraine, but also the unwillingness to do anything about it. When III makes to follow, to ask him to join them once more, II holds him back, "He won't let you help. Give it time, he should warm up to you soon... hopefully. For now, we'll just- Lets leave him be."

III nods slowly, but it's clear with the bond and the expression on his face, that he doesn't agree. II doesn't agree with himself either.

"You don't have to keep the bond open, if you don't want it to be." II states, feeling like a coward when he can't meet III's searching gaze.

"I don't want to. I like it, I like being connected to you both this way. It will make communication easier! And- well..."

"Its okay, say whatever you want. I won't judge you for it, Three, I promise." II urges with a soft smile, feeling III's hesitation.

"... I know I was meant to be with you two, and Sleep. So, I feel like I can be myself but- I don't want to be too much. I've always been too much and I don't want you both to grow tired of me."

"You will never be too much. I feel you were meant to be here just the same as Vessel and I. Sleep chose us for a reason, they knew we would be compatible."

III smiles, and II melts a little inside in the face of such blinding beauty. "Its a crime you're so pretty." II states, and III laughs, his shoulders shaking with the action, pulling the shorter man closer to them in a side hug.

Vessel is a mess of anxiety, but some small part of himself is glad that II and III get along as well as he knew they would. He had paused at the top of the stairs, just out of sight, and listened as they talked. Vessel couldn't help himself, couldn't stop himself from pausing as the longing to join them again kept him from moving any further towards his room. There was an ache in his chest, like someone had taken the heart that no longer beat in his chest and squeezed.

Vessel forces himself forward as he hears III laugh, a smile overtaking his lips at the sound. It was pretty, loud too, and Vessel wonders if III's whole body moved with the action.

The door to the altar room is closed after Vessel enters and he stares, head tilted, at the sight before him.

A drawing of a hydrangea has been placed on the offering plate. A burned stick of incense lays off to the side in its simple holder. If Vessel remembered right, a hydrangea symbolized gratitude. Whether he remembered correctly or not, Vessel knew it must have been III who had been here most recently. To Vessel's knowledge, no one at the manor knew more about the language of flowers than III. Vessel tried his best, but ultimately ended up confused by all the different cultural meanings of the same flowers.

With careful fingers, Vessel moves the drawing off to the side, leaning it against a candle they can no longer burn but keep to one side of the table anyway. II thinks its pretty, to have so many candles of varying stages of use, and Vessel agreed wholeheartedly. The surrounding candles are lit, only the largest one, red as blood, left untouched. No one ever lights it for it is not their place.

The knife that helped tear Vessel's heart from his chest is pulled easily from its hiding spot, in a place too high for II to see. Vessel supposes he'll have to find a new hiding spot since III would be able to see it easily, as the other is taller than even him.

Vessel shuts off the bond, with such ease now he barely has to concentrate at all, and II and III are suddenly distant. Vessel wishes they weren't. It is his own doing, so Vessel will wallow in the regret but make no move to close the divide he is forcing between them. Vessel cuts them off entirely, and hates how he misses how soothed he felt by their presences alone. Then, he kneels before the altar to his God, lighting a stick of incense. Its gentle scent beginning to waft around the room. He opens his mind and body to their presence, feels it begin to fill his bloodstream, his heartbeat echoing in his ears, and all else slips away.

The single red candle flickers alive, surrounded by many white and black candles, the flame a starkly golden color compared to the red, yellows and oranges of the other flames.

With every flicker, it dances in tune with the sound of Vessel's heart.

Sleep has arrived.

Where once III felt the warmth of Ves' presence, growing used to it quickly once open to them, it is a dark void, an expanse of nothingness in their chest so suddenly it steals their breath away. III is left feeling like the rug had been pulled out from under him. Its jarring. Like Vessel has simply disappeared from the face of the Earth. Like he never existed.

"Don't." II warns, sadness being shared freely over their bond.

"But, I can't feel him. He's- He's gone. What if he's hurt- I-" III barely contains himself from going up to the altar room and barging in.

"He does this sometimes, no, often, when he's trying to hide. I- I told him he could, a while ago when I first got here." Regret comes across clearly as II continues, pulling on III's hand to tug them along and out the front door.

"Why would you do that?!" III exclaims, tugging painfully on the braid in his hair, reaching forward to wrap II in a hug, desperate for affection and feeling that regret, that sadness from II.

"You don't know what he was like, before. He's a bit better now, but when I first got here, he shut himself away after the bond was formed, closed it off entirely. It freaked me out, and Sleep was so- uncaring when I asked. The God doesn't understand pain like we do, doesn't feel it. He doesn't realize that what Vessel does to himself isn't healthy." II leans his head on III's shoulder while III's head rests on his own head.

"Th- the bandages." III states softly, afraid for his voice to be any louder.

"Yes. I found him in the bathroom, bleeding and sick when he'd gotten his second and third set of eyes. Vessel wasn't going to tell me, I could see it on his face. He was going to keep that mask on for the rest of eternity if he could. I sat outside that door for hours, listening to him cry and vomit and unable to help, until he finally let me in. I think Sleep convinced him to, to be honest. He was better about touch after that, about coming to me when he was sad, or hurt but I knew it was never every time. I could tell when he was hurting himself, or wanted to, because he shut the bond off."

"Its agonizing. To not feel him. Its like he's- like..."

"Like he's dead, yes. You know, I don't think he realizes what it does to me- to us, now. I love him, but he cannot see it past the abuse of the people in his life from Before. They shattered him, and I'm trying so hard to help pick up the pieces."

"I want to help him, if he'll allow it. If he wants to be helped." III adds, rubbing their cheek against II's soft hair, taking in his unfamiliar scent. "And I want to make sure you're cared for too. I want to be someone you both can lean on, and I want to be able to lean on you when I need it."

II lets himself be enveloped in III's arms entirely, doesn't think too much on how right it feels to be in their arms. When he met Vessel, he was drawn to the other in the exact same way. Something in his soul knew that II was meant to meet him, and it is the same now, with III. It feels like they've known each other their entire lives, and yet, in reality, they know next to nothing about one another. Its alright though, they have time to learn. They were Sleep's vessels, and their souls were irrevocably intertwined. Perhaps that is why they were all so drawn to each other upon first sight, but to be frank, neither II nor III, or even Vessel if he were to admit it to himself, would be able to refute that something, be it fate or their God, brought them together in a way that could never be replicated with any others.

Still, something- someone was missing. Not that they knew it, not that they could tell. It was only a matter of time before their group was complete, and only then would the reality of what they all were to each other would come to light.

Blood was spilling over his arms. Darkness was beginning to creep along the edges of his vision. Vessel was at peace, the touch of his god like a gentle breeze as it drifted leisurely over his prone form. The golden bladed knife was held loosely in his grasp, dripping droplets of crimson that disappeared in swirls of inky black like smoke. Sleep was pleased, and with every drop, their power seemed to grow an infinitesimal amount. It spills over the edges soon enough.

'My God?' Vessel asks, and Sleep urges him to continue with a delighted hum, relishing in the taste of their vessels blood.

'Can you- is there a way to bring me back from death... faster?' Vessel still can't manage to speak aloud, not even to his God, and its frustrating beyond compare.

'Whyever would you want to cut your rest short, my dearest Vessel?' Sleep queries, curious.

'Two asked me to keep the bond open. He's- He's never asked that of me before. Just this once, I want him to be pleased with me.'

Crimson is dripping over the edges of the offering plate, splashing onto the wooden table and disappearing into mist. Vessel is captivated by the sight of his own blood, the sight so familiar. He thinks red has never looked so pretty than this moment, his lifeblood surrounded by such ornate golden baroque detailing of swirling filigree and flowers.

'It will be done, my Vessel, but it will be much like you woke from slumber hours earlier than your previously human body required.'

'That is fine. It won't be much different from my day to day anyway, then.'

Vessel's knees ache against the hard wood where he kneels, awaiting the welcome void of death. His heartbeat thumps loudly in his ears, echoing all around the altar room. His blood sings with euphoria as Sleep becomes one with him, with every drop of blood into the offering plate. Vessel lays back against the cool wood flooring, pleased that his blood can help strengthen his God. Its an easy thing since he already cuts into his own body anyway. At least right now, the blood is being put to good use.

Dizziness and nausea run rampant through his body, but he is content with the numbness spreading steadily. It will be nice to not think, for his brain to turn off.

He fears II and III won't come back.

Fears that if they do, the rift he put between them won't just be of his own making.

"My dearest Vessel, you've done so well. Rest in the only way you can. I will be here." Sleep's voice is tempting, a low croon in Vessel's ear when they usually make no attempt to keep their voices bearable to hear.

There is warmth on his cheek, a breeze brushing over it, and Vessel leans in to the touch, pretending it is his Gods hand. His eyes flutter closed, and he lets the full effect of his Gods presence crash over him as he slips away into their realm.

He rests, in the only way he is allowed, in the only way he knows how.

II was trying his damn hardest to remain positive when there was a void where his heart should be. To be able to feel III so clearly makes Vessel's distinct absence all the worse. III goes upstairs to grab their mask, coming back down with their hair pulled into a bun at the back of their head, flyaway strands still managing to get in their eyes. He's pretty, and II can't hide his grin.

III's hand in his was warm, and II relishes in the touch as they head out the door. The keys to the car feels heavy in his pocket, and it feels wrong to just leave Vessel alone here in this big fucking house.

He tries to fill that void in his chest with idle chatter, though he is genuinely interested in all III has to say. Sunlight causes III to wince and cover his eyes. After a few moments, pain lancing down the bond like an electric current, they manage to squint them open, blinking profusely to rid themself of the spots dancing in their vision.

Sensitive vision for a time, II explains, side effect of now having night vision. III lights up at the thought of being able to see in the dark, and II supposes its a cooler concept than he'd given it credit for, at first.

The car is parked nearby, and II chuckles at the joke III makes about them barely fitting in the damn thing, and that it must be like those clown cars that are bigger on the inside than they look on the inside.

As they drive, III excitedly chatters about all the different plants that he sees in the forest, moving on to talking about another after only just beginning to describe one. The entire time, even as they make their way into town some time later, the radio playing softly in the background, III fills the car with so much life. A big grin pulls at their cheeks beneath the mask, the hand held in II's and on his thigh as they drive moving animatedly in their excitement. II is sad to see that glee dim as they enter the town itself, as III nervously pulls their mask down further on their neck to hide.

The usual looks the vessels get from the townspeople are seemingly amplified and more hostile. II and III remain polite as they buy III whatever foods and snacks and drinks they enjoy. II suggests they get different bedding but III is content with what they have for now, keeping close to II's side as they make their way to the garden section. III beelines to the seed section first, grabbing a few packets that he hides from II with a cheeky smile, before moving on.

There was not a single braincell in II's head that would've conjured the thought to refuse III as they asked, batting their pretty eyelashes and ocean eyes at II as he asked if they could bring some plants home.

Turning red under his mask, II was quick to agree. They left the garden section with four different kinds of plants, some pots to put them in, a few basic gardening tools, and a very, very happy III already planning where he wanted to put them in their room. The book section is a bust on any of III's preferences, claiming that anything good will be at an actual book store. Looking over the selection himself, II agrees and they move on to the music section.

III picks out a radio and a few CD's to play on it, and II thinks the choice of ABBA was very fitting. III didn't really care for the clothes in stock, and knew they wouldn't like anything new they got in either. It was decided that any stylistic clothes would be purchased at a later date, when Vessel could come along. They'd make something of a date out of it, maybe, if III got their way.

Purchasing everything and loading it into the small car was an ordeal in and of itself and test in how well II and III could stack items and keep more fragile things from buckling under the weight of other items. After closing the trunk, pushing down on it firmly for good measure, II turns to see III watching him with a tiny smile under his mask.

"There's a bookstore just a few stores down, same parking lot, even, if you don't mind us going there too."

"Whatever you want, Three. I don't mind." Even as II says it, he worries about Vessel and the still dark bond and wants to get back to him faster, but III asked and II couldn't refuse when they looked so hopeful, so pretty.

II and III leisurely walk down the sidewalk, linking hands like it was second nature, arms brushing from how closely they walk together. The bookstore is bigger than where III used to work, leaning more towards romance and fiction books than anything Vessel would like, but II doesn't mind, thinks Vessel would still like the shop. III bounds off to the dystopian section while II lingers in the horror. After only twenty minutes, III comes back with an armful of books he can barely hold all at once, and II laughs lightly as he takes some from them to help carry.

They leave with a bag each, filled with both of their choices, and a couple they picked together that Vessel might like. III has a lot of questions, and he doesn't want to ruin the careful calm II is clearly trying to project, but they really need to ask someone, and it's either II or Vessel. Vessel isn't here.

"Sleep said the transformation would hurt? It did, for like, a few minutes but I mostly slept through it." III says suddenly, head tilted a little to the side in confusion as they nervously eye everyone passing by them.

II doesn't pause in their stride though they are startled by the sudden subject.

"I slept through much of mine too, I believe. I was definitely in pain for a while though. I didn't notice anything different until I woke up. Vessel was there, every time, but I was so tired through most of it, I just slept the whole time." II replies, as III begins swinging their hands between them causing II to smile wide in adoration.

"What about Vessel?" III asks, and II's smile turns downwards into a frown.

"I asked once, but all he said was that he was tired during his. I, well I never put much thought into it and accepted his response."

II slows down, feet beginning to drag as a conclusion slowly forms. He would have to ask, though he knows any response he gets would be downplayed.

"Vessel doesn't sleep though, right? As some obligation given to him by Sleep...?" III trails off as they come to a stop at II's side.

People move around them, throwing odd and angry looks their way, though II pays no mind. He doesn't give a shit- not, not when he had never fucking thought of this before-

"Oh." II breathes, heartbroken as a memory surfaces from some deep corner of his mind. "Sleeping was our reprieve from the transformation but Vessel... Vessel didn't have that."

"M-maybe Sleep let him rest?" III is so hopeful that II hates to crush it so brutally as he carefully pulls them towards the car.

"No, I know they didn't.-" II begins, but III cuts him off firmly.

"Sleep prefers He/him pronouns. I asked." There is a sternness in III's gaze that II hasn't seen from him yet, a trace of resignation and premature disappointment.

II smiles softly before apologizing, "Ah, sorry. I never thought to ask, and I don't think Vessel did either. We'll have to tell him, and I'll be sure to use the correct pronouns from now on."

III positively beams, and there's a surge of happiness as they lean down and kiss II on the forehead so quickly he can't really even process it.

After a moment of silence, III asks II to continue, hanging off of every word. "There was a time where I was aware, at the beginning, but I was in so much agony, I'm not sure even now if I heard right. I hope I didn't. Vessel was speaking to Sleep, aloud in my room. He wasn't allowed to sleep and so our God, thinking his transformation went well while Ves was awake, did the same with me. I- I dont remember what happened, after that. Vessel was upset, I think. There was- He touched my temple, and then there was nothing..." II cannot hide his bitterness, cannot keep it from tainting his voice.

His bond is a mess of bitter fury and such aching sadness, feeling III's disbelief and mirrored sadness, too.

III's voice is small, and II turns his head to look at him properly after giving their hand a gentle squeeze of reassurance, "I could feel and see everything, before I fell asleep. I was aware of everything happening to me, everything. I could feel the skin at my fingertips changing to what it is now. And I hurt. My whole body hurt and my head ached fiercely. I felt like I was on fire, and I couldn't speak, I couldn't move- I heard you two talking but I couldn't make it out through the pain- I- Did Vessel go through that alone? How- how long was I out for?"

"A few weeks, like I was."

"Then, was Vessel just- was he just suffering that entire time? I- I wouldn't wish that agony on anyone for as little time as I went through it- I-" III pauses, breathing quickly through his nose with wide eyes, shaking hands clenching tightly to II's. "Can we ask Sleep? There's- He would tell us if we asked, right?"

"No, I don't think he will. He and Vessel have secrets between them. They're allowed to, of course, but I don't think any of them are in Vessel's best interest. We'll need to ask Vessel, when we get home."

"Two, I- that week before I woke up for the final time... when you left the room, Vessel, he- he put his hand on my temple and then I- I think I fell asleep. Right away." II takes in this information, mouth pulled tightly into a grim line.

From across the street, an obnoxious laugh booms. III's head turns in the direction of it so suddenly II fears their neck will snap. There's a wildness in their eyes, muscles tensed as fear spikes along the bond, but there is confusion, too, like they don't realize why they're afraid.

The laughter fades further into the distance before either one of them can catch who it came from. III is shaking like a leaf, a tremble transferring over to II's hand. Giving it a light squeeze, II leads them back to the car, leaning partially on III as some attempt at comfort, and III leans into him heavily as well.

"Lets go home and get you settled in. I'll- We'll talk to Vessel about it later." II affirms, and III smiles, shaky at best, still trembling.

The drive home is quieter than the drive to town, but neither mind, content to sit in silence this time. III's hand is in II's, where it rests on II's thigh. Their hands are warm, body temperatures melding together where their skin touches and for just a moment, II thinks how strange it is that Vessel is always so cold to the touch.

That thought passes before he can really latch on to it.

"If I asked, would you show me who killed Three?" Vessel inquires, quietly contemplative, brushing his hand through a galaxy and watching the trail of stardust following the motion as it breaks apart beneath his fingers.

His thoughts are quieter here, body not weighed down by his own mind and the aches he has grown used to, the pains he brought upon himself as punishment or to protect those he cared for. Here, he does not need to use his voice, easily speaking with his God with his mind. His own words echo in the space around him, but his lips do not move.

"Are you requesting it of me, my dearest Vessel?" Sleeps croons, voices gentle in his ear, and there is the sensation of a weight upon his shoulder, trailing down his back to rest just above his tail bone.

Vessel shivers at the feeling, but shakes his head 'no' in response to his God. "Perhaps later." He settles on.

Sleep hums, and there is movement through Vessel's hair like a hand running over the messy fluff. The sensation trails along his jaw before a weight presses down on his bottom lip, slowly dragging it down to let it pop back in place.

Secretly, Sleep wishes they could touch His First. He cannot feel his Firsts skin under his own. Alas, He is not strong enough to manifest a physical body, not yet. Soon, hopefully. His First's worship helps, an offering of blood is not a small thing. With time, Sleep hopes that the other vessels will raise the power He gains from their musical worship. Even with just the two vessels, that first day they Worshipped properly was the most powerful Sleep had felt in eons. He wants to feel that way again, to feel even a fraction of His power at his metaphorical fingertips once more.

"The others are entering my realm in your lands, my First. It is time to wake." Sleep murmurs regretfully.

Vessel cannot help the instant relief, nor the following anxiety. They've not left him, yet they're going to return and Vessel will be forced to watch as they grow closer and leave him behind in a different way.

He is not a fool. He saw the way they looked at each other.

Vessel closes all six eyes as he feels awareness sinking back into his body's bone marrow. Nodding, he lets his Gods next words pass over him like water under a bridge, without a care. He knows already, accepts what is to come.

"That power was not yours to use, and yet you use it again on the Third. You know what is coming. I eagerly await the next time you visit me here, my dearest Vessel. For now, it is time to suffer the consequence of your decision to use that which does not belong to you."

Vessel nods again, not trusting himself to speak. His consciousness slips from this realm and into his physical body.

When Vessel wakes from Sleep's realm, he feels as though he's been hit by a truck. Up until that point, he had been able to hold back the effects of using Sleep's power so often to keep III asleep, keeping his mask on to hide the flush of his fever, the bond tightly shut to hide the pains of a migraine and his body aches...

But the bond is open, like II asked, and Vessel is so tired, eyelids heavy but his body never slips into the void of sleep, remaining on the cusp of delirium.

He is not allowed even a moment of peace to come back to himself properly. Rolling over from where he lays, he barely manages to not puke all over himself, letting what little contents of his stomach and black sludge splatter on the altar room floor.

Nausea churns in his gut, a headache beginning to pound away behind his eyes, spreading to his temples. He heaves himself up from the floor and nearly loses his balance twice on the way to the door. There is no blood stains, Sleep taking pity on him and cleaning up his mess, including his vomit.

How many times can his God reconstruct his body before something comes back a little messed up? He wonders apathetically, body rebelling against him.

Stumbling to his room, Vessel jokes to himself somewhat distantly that he has made something of a habit of getting sick after a new vessel arrives. It falls short, and he can't even find any true humor in it, not with the way a jackhammer is slamming into his skull. Its well worth it if Vessel can spare them even a modicum of the pain he faced.

He can hear movement in the kitchen as he weakly kicks his door shut, not noticing as it stops just inches from being fully closed. His side of the bond is a mess of anxiety and pain, and before long there are footsteps up the creaking stairs and the vague feeling of II getting closer.

II knocks on his door, pausing for only a second at the silence from thr other side, even as the hinges creak when the door opens a bit further from the force of his knocking. III comes up behind him, and the both of them peek in as quietly as they can manage.

"Vessel?" II's voice is barely above a whisper, pushing the door open firther.

The light from the hallway is brighter than usual in the dark room, and Vessel cannot help the tiny whimper of pain as his eyes register it. The door is pushed open enough for both of them to come in, closing it shut behind them. The erasure of the light is a salve to his aching eyes, the mesh of his masks' eye holes not saving his sensitive retinas.

"Ves, are you okay? What's wrong?" II moves forward steadily, and III follows closely, eyes flitting back and forth between Vessel and II unsurely.

Vessel can barely look at them, leaning over the bed and reaching for the trash can placed nearby at the same time, vomiting into the waste bin as tears leak down his jaw, face hidden by his mask.

He gives a weak thumbs up, but he knows it won't do any good. II and III's worry is prominent, as they each step forward to pull his hair back and crouch before him, respectively. II swipes a tissue off the nightstand from its box, dabbing at Vessel's mouth during a break in his heaving. III has taken residence at the very edge of the bed, careful fingers pulling Vessel's hair back and beginning to braid it. A hair tie around his wrist is used to tie it off, and III thanks Sleep for the miracle that he managed to not lose that one like they've lost so many others.

"Is- Is he sick?" III asks, trying hard to keep quiet but even that small amount of noise causes Vessel to flinch as he lays back on the bed.

Vessel turns to face away from them, hiding his masked visage away with help from his pillow. He shakes his head profusely, trying in vain to wave them away. Neither move except to comfort, III clutching the leg of his pajama pant and II reaching to take his mask off.

Vessel doesn't fight it, doesn't glance II's way as the mask is unbuckled and lifted. II is glad III was careful not to braid the buckle or strap into Vessel's hair, and sends that emotion down the bond, assured by the answering acceptance. Vessel's face is flush as he refuses to meet II's searching gaze even, a warm hand reaching out to lay against his perspired forehead.

"You've got a fever." II says, quiet, more for III's benefit than Vessel's.

III cannot look away from Vessel, gaze caught on how pretty the man is, cheeks flushed with fever and eyes a little unfocused, lips dry and chapped.

"I'll go get a damp rag and ice. I- Well I don't know where those are kept so it'll be a minute." III jumps on the chance to help, hopping up and already heading towards the door.

As III leaves the room, his eyes catch on something pinned to the wall next to the light switch. Their eyes do not struggle to see, everything in perfect clarity and color, as though it were daylight. It's the receipts they'd given Vessel, folded neatly and with care to showcase the flowers drawn on them. III smiles despite the situation, and leaves the room with a determined set to their brow.

"How long have you been this way?" II asks gently, brushing sweaty strands from Vessel's face.

He moves out of the way quickly when Vessel sits up and heaves into the trash bin again, the bottom of the bin covered in black sludge. II eyes it with distaste as he keeps hold on Vessel's arms to help balance him, pulling him back into bed when Vessel moves to lay back down.

Vessel's response is barely more than a whisper, by sheer force of will past the thorns around his vocal chords, "'while. 'M fault."

II draws conclusions quickly after his conversation with III earlier and the memory of when Vessel got his eyes, how sick he was afterwards. "You used Sleep's power again, didn't you? Something similar happened last time, when you got your other eyes."

Faced with II hitting the nail on the head, Vessel can only nod reluctantly. "Why?" II asks, "When it does this to you? Why would you do this to yourself?"

Vessel's lips thin, and he doesn't meet II's searching gaze with any of his eyes, and II sighs, resigned.

"We need to talk about this eventually Vessel. I- I'm worried about you, and I don't want you to keep using a power that makes you sick every time you use it."

I did it for you. Vessel wants to say. I did it for III. I would suffer this sickness a million times over to spare you the pain of the transformation.

Ves finally meets II's eyes with his top pair, gaze boring into II's own with the need for II to understand, even if Vessel can't say it, afraid as he is, unable to speak but wanting, needing II to know that Vessel cares for him so deeply.

Just this once, Vessel wants to tell II exactly how he feels and not worry about the consequences. The fever has reduced his resolutions to shambles, and Vessel just wants to be cared for.

III comes bouncing back into the room, bond a myriad of emotions but most prominently the same worry II feels. Vessel cannot fool himself into thinking their bonds are a lie. Sleep had tried to tell Vessel to let himself be loved, and Vessel wants to so badly. He aches for it with every bone in his body, every atom and cell, his very soul screaming for something he has never once received.

Vessel doesn't fight it, doesn't attempt to refute their care as III places a cool cloth over Vessel's forehead, ice scrunched up in the folds of the material. He lets II hold his bicep and help him sit up enough to get under the covers as shivers wrack his body. He feels cold, even though he knows that he has a fever, that by all logical means, he shouldn't feel temperature at all. He usually doesn't, wearing hoodies and clothes that hide his body more for comfort than anything else. The temperature of the air around him has not affected his body since he tore his heart out of his chest.

III takes the cloth back for just a moment to let Vessel get under the bedcovers, before replacing it on his forehead. It feel wonderful on his warm skin, and Vessel lets out an imperceptible little sigh at the sensation. His bond calms, and II is glad for it, for once able to feel every little emotion that is reflected on Vessel's face. Feel the pain that furrows his brow and pinches his mouth, feel the anxiety that causes him to pick at the bandages around his arms. Vessel is letting the full scope of his emotions be felt and despite the negativity of them, of his resignation and his depression and such aching fear, II is reveling in it.

II brushes a hand against Vessel's cheek fondly, staring down at him with such adoration that III doesn't understand how Vessel can't see it for himself.

Already III adores the both of them in a way he knows with every atom of their body he has never felt for anyone or anything before. They send a prayer of gratitude to Sleep, thankful for being brought to these two. There is a faint tickle of answering gratitude as III lays across the covers, an arm slung over Vessel's legs as II curls up beside the ailing man, his head leant against Vessel's shoulder.

#vessel sleep token #poly sleep token #sleep token iii #sleep token band #ii sleep token #sleep token fic #am i tagging this right #polyvessels #sleep token sleep

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the-force-awakens · 4 months

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Top 5 songs you associate with Poe and top 5 songs you associate with Marc 😊

Oh bless, I love me some music themed questions, thanks Chrissie! As we go into this I would like to state that I......do not control the music associations my brain makes lol.

Songs I Associate With Poe:

Holding Out For A Hero by Bonnie Tyler. Yes...I am a gayass. This has been well established, but it really does fit him imo. I mean... it just does. One day maybe I'll get up the nerve to finally edit him to it. gif or otherwise.

Come and Get Your Love by Redbone (the album version). This one's entirely @leiakenobi's fault with her delightful Damerey fic, Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy. The association of Poe dorkily dancing to it with Rey is forever going to be in my brain.

Kerosene Dreams by X Ambassadors. This one's @hermitmoss's doing, but it's one of my favorite songs, and it just...sounds like Poe. Specifically, it's a Poe and the Resistance song, as much as it is just a Poe song to me. I feel like it fits his relationship with the Resistance extremely well.

Children of the Sky by Imagine Dragons. Speaking of songs that just sound like Poe to me...when I first heard this song boy did I get hit with emotions, both for me and then later for Poe because...yeah. Yeah that's him alright.

About Love by Marina. I almost went with Little Black Submarines for this, but I wanted something a little lighter. I associate About Love with Poe mostly because it was one of the first songs I began associating with my canon/oc pairing for him, and some of the lyrics wound up being the title for the first ever fic I published of them. So, it just gives me soft and fuzzy feelings.

Songs I Associate With Marc:

Style by Taylor Swift. No, I do not know why. Well actually, that's a lie - I do know why. I saw a tiktok vid of him and Layla to this song, right around the time Moon Knight was first airing and....well now the association is stuck in my brain? So. Yee.

Cairo by San Fermin. I mean...yeah.

Night Crawling by Miley Cyrus and Billy Idol. Honestly, I associated this one so hard with Marc, that I ended up making a little vidlet of him to it.

Dreams by the Cranberries. There's this ambience thing on Spotify for Marc that I listened to a couple of times, and this song plays in the bg, so now it's a Marc song to me. [smacks the top of the song] this bad boy can fit so many of my blorbos in it (went from being an 11 song to a Poe song to a Marc song).

......Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight) by Abba. Look... I said I don't control the brain associations, and I meant it. I legitimately have no good reason for it!!! No vids no memes, nothing. But at some point, I started associating it with him, I'm guessing because of the whole midnight thing? Marc would absolutely hate that I associate it with him, probably, which...makes it so much funnier than it already is.

Ask me my top five anything!

#ask box #nowritingonthewall #the gimme gimme gimme thing is even funnier when i somehow skipped completely over the very popular fanon that poe would love that song #???????? my brain just yeeted over /that/ association and went with marc instead

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jhsgf82 · 2 years

Text

Purple Hearts Ficlet

So, I recently watched Purple Hearts and really enjoyed it, and a few of us wanted to Everlark it. @daydreamsandcaffeine, @absnow

@absnow, you had some ideas for this fic but no time, and you gave the green light on this one. So anyway, I got inspired today and quickly wrote up the scene where they meet. I can’t say if/when I’ll continue, but I hope you enjoy. Tossing the Darius/Rue pairing in there was just a last minute impulse. And yes, due to a couple pieces of dialogue I put in, I will have to change something later on.

The Meeting

“Alright, sweetheart, one set,” drawls Haymitch, giving her a rare smile. “Go for it.”

Katniss smiles back and rushes giddily off to get Delly and the boys.

Once they’re set up, Katniss whips her braid over her shoulder and warms up her vocal chords with a cover of “Sweet Caroline.” Her voice starts off quiet, but after a few encouraging cheers from the audience, it builds. Midway through the song, her confidence is soaring on wings, and she’s belting out the lyrics back to back with her guitarist, Delly Cartwright. The crowd in the bar is clapping to the beat and singing along with the chorus.

She finishes strong and makes it part way through “Feel It Still.” She’s in the middle of singing ‘I’m a rebel just for kicks now’ when her vision begins to blur. The room starts to spin and darken, and her ears are buzzing.

“Kat!” she hears Delly call out just prior to feeling her arms wrap around her. Supporting her, Delly leads Katniss off the stage.

“Hey,” she says gently, looking into her eyes. “You okay?”

Katniss takes a shaky breath. “Y-yeah.”

Delly presses her lips together. “Why don’t you go take a breather and take your insulin.”

“O-okay.”

Delly releases her slowly and holds out her arms, just in case, as if she’s sending her off to walk for the first time, and Katniss goes for her purse. She makes her way outside to take her injection.

Katniss stares down at the bottle, noticing that it’s nearly empty. “Shit.” She sighs. Only two more doses. She’ll have to hit up the pharmacy first thing tomorrow. She hopes to God she can get a refill.

When she goes back inside, Katniss catches sight of Delly, who immediately heads over.

“You alright?” Delly places a hand on her shoulder.

“Great,” says Katniss, faking a smile.

“Do you want to sit this one out?” Delly asks.

“No. Let’s do this.”

As Katniss finishes an old favorite song of hers, “The Valley Song,” she notices a raucous group of guys off in the corner; they’re applauding, cheering, and whooping loudly, and it brings the briefest of smiles.

“Well, back to work,” says Katniss to herself, heading over to the bar. She notices Delly is taking the guys’ drink order, even though they’re in her section. Probably trying to help her out, which is unnecessary. She decides to go and take over.

When she gets closer to the group, Katniss notes that the one in the middle looks familiar, very familiar. It couldn’t be…

It is.

A smile spreads across her face. She hasn’t seen this boy in quite some time. No, not a boy anymore. He’s a man now.

“Darius?” For the most part, he looks the same, only he’s taller now, more muscular, and his once thick head of red hair is buzzed short.

He sees her, and his mouth drops open. “Katniss?!”

Smiling, she makes her way over to him and throws her arms out. He catches her around the waist and spins her, grinning and laughing.

“It’s been too long,” he exclaims, setting her on her feet. Then he turns to his buddies and motions between them and Katniss. “Can you believe this girl was my babysitter?!”

“Okay, now you’re just making me feel old.” Katniss ruffles his barely-there ginger hair‒it’s so fuzzy and soft.

“Nah, Kat, you were the youngest, prettiest babysitter ever, and I think you’ve only gotten more beautiful.”

“You flatterer.” She gives his still-slightly-chubby cheek a playful smack.

Darius chuckles. “You know, I had a major crush on you back then.”

The group of guys reacts to this, a combination of oohs and laughter.

Katniss’s gaze then flickers across the group of men, her eyes landing on a stocky blond off to the right; he’s flashing her a pearly smile, and he’s got the bluest eyes she’s ever seen.

She snaps her eyes away and looks back at Darius. “I had a feeling.” She smirks, ignoring the pair of blue eyes trained on her.

“Really?” Darius laughs. “Oh man, I’ll bet I was so subtle.”

The other guys laugh, too, and the blond guy with the blue eyes pats him on the shoulder.

“I thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world,” Darius goes on to say. Katniss flushes lightly. “‘Course, I can’t say that anymore, since I’m engaged, but you still come in second.”

The other guys holler and cheer.

“You’re engaged?” Katniss’s eyes widen with delight. “Who’s the lucky girl?”

“Oh,” Darius’s cheeks go bright red. “Rue is her name. She’s great. I’m so lucky. Well, actually, we’re not engaged yet, but I have the ring, and I think she’ll say yes... I’m hopeful, anyway.”

“She’s gonna say yes, for sure,” says the blond guy, and a copper-haired guy gives Darius a shoulder squeeze and chimes in with a ‘definitely.’ One of the other guys starts talking about those great benefits military spouses get.

Darius laughs, and he’s wearing that boyish grin of his that’s never changed. “So, uh, these are the guys from my unit,” he tells her.

“Hi.” Katniss holds up a hand in a static wave, and the guys give her an enthusiastic group greeting.

“So, what can I get you boys?” They’re amused by her calling them boys, and the tall, dark-haired one in the back is quick to correct her, saying they’re ‘men,’ not boys. “Alright, men, what’ll it be?”

They give her their orders; most of them want beer (and she’s pretty sure she’s gonna have to card at least one or two of them); the guy in the back wants a whiskey sour, and oddly enough, Blue Eyes wants sugarless tea.

“Oh, my kinda guy,” she flirts, though she doesn’t know why. The handsome blond just grins.

She leaves to get their drinks. When she returns, she overhears Delly telling them that Katniss just loves military men. That gets them pretty excited.

For crying out loud, Dells.

Katniss shoots her a glare‒she hates when her friend tries to fix her up‒and Delly quickly changes her story. “Actually, I was just kidding. Katniss has a strict no soldiers policy.”

“But we’re Marines!” one of them shouts out.

They all stare at her expectantly, as if they want her to up and choose one of them right now like this is the military version of The Bachelorette‒a show she doesn’t watch but hears waay too much about from her little sister, Prim.

Katniss shakes her head. “Sorry.” And she starts handing them their drinks off the tray.

“Come on, baby,” the one in the back, who definitely gives her the strongest asshole vibe, cajoles with full-on pouty lips.

“No,” she says flatly.

His pout fades away into a grimace. “Oh, I see, so we’re good enough to fight for your ass but not allowed to touch it.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, you’re excused. This time,” the dick says.

Katniss glares at him a moment, then spins on her heel to leave. As she’s speed-walking off, empty tray knocking against her thigh, she hears the guys talking.

“What the hell is your problem?” one of them says. “I’m gonna go talk to her.”

Another one replies, “Good luck. Behave yourself, baby boy. Don’t do what he did.”

Katniss is leaning against the bar, waiting for Haymitch to bring back the drinks for one of her tables, when she sees Blondie approaching. She exhales heavily and stares out straight ahead, ignoring him.

“Hey,” he says, leaning against the bar a couple feet away from her.

“Hey,” she deadpans, resting her cheek in her hand, glimpsing him out of the corner of her eye.

“You know, I think Darius was wrong.”

“What?” She turns slightly to look at him.

“About you being the second prettiest girl,” he says. “I’ve seen his girlfriend, and while she’s super cute, you’ve definitely got her beat.”

“Oh? Well, I’m sure D would just love to hear that. Why don’t you go say that to him?” She waves him off with a hand.

“Look,” the guy sighs, “I really just came over here to apologize. Marvel can be a real asshole sometimes, but we’re not all like him.”

“His name is Marvel?” She rolls her eyes, then turns to face Blondie, one hand on her hip. “Well, your friend, Marvel, was just talking about his right to touch my ass, and apparently you also think you’re entitled to do so.”

“That’s not what this is,” he defends.

“Oh? Then what is it?”

He sighs again. “We meant no harm; we’re just here blowing off some steam. It’s our last night on leave, and we ship out to Iraq in two weeks, so we’re a little geared up.”

“Yeah, well, that’s really no excuse for casual misogyny.”

He opens his mouth to speak, then shuts it. “You’re right, it’s not. But I’m hoping you’ll let that go. When guys get together in a group we can get pretty stupid.”

“I’ll say.” She huffs. “We done here?”

“Not yet. We haven’t even been properly introduced. I’m Peeta.” He sticks out his hand. When she doesn’t take it, only stares down at it, he slaps it against the side of his jeans. “And you are?” He raises his brow.

“Your waitress/bartender,” she dismisses. “Excuse me.” She moves past him, but he jogs backwards until he’s blocking her path, and suddenly, she’s staring at a wall of broad chest draped in a snug-fitting green tee.

Katniss stops short and scowls at him. “Look, let’s get this out of the way right now. I’m not interested in you.”

“Why not? Because of what my friend said?”

“No, because I know your type.”

“What’s my type?” Peeta persists.

“Well, let’s see... You’re cute and all too aware of it. You’ve got those boy-next-door good looks, and you’re a soldier, so you probably have the girls lined up. You were probably super popular in high school, too. Prom king? Captain of the football team‒?”

“Wrestling team, actually,” he interjects.

“Same thing.”

“Not actually.”

Katniss raises her eyes to the ceiling and huffs. “Anyway,” she rolls her eyes, “you’re nice enough; you compliment women and hold doors for them, and you’re able to charm your way into the pants of most women you meet.”

“You’re being extremely complimentary of a guy you’re shooting down, you know?”

“Oh, you think I’m paying you compliments?” she snarks.

“Sounds like it,” he snarks right back.

He clears his throat. “I know your type, too, you know,” he adds after a moment.

“Oh, do you?”

“Yep. You’re strong and stubborn. Closed-off. You hate macho, asshole guys‒”

“Who doesn't?” she cuts in.

“But the nice guys don’t stand a chance, either,” he continues. “Because you keep most people at arms’ length.”

Katniss scoffs.

“Am I close?”

She folds her arms and looks away, and he keeps going.

“You don’t date soldiers because you don’t agree with what we’re out there doing. You’re a pacifist, aren’t you?”

“Actually, I’m quite deadly with a bow. And my best friend enjoys making homemade explosive devices in his garage.”

Peeta gapes, and she smirks satisfactorily at shutting his mouth. “That’s not funny,” he says.

For a moment, at least.

“There’s nothing wrong with pacifism, but there comes a point when it no longer works. You can complain about the government and Tweet about people’s rights all you want, but that doesn’t change what’s going on in the world, or how serious the situation we’re in really is.”

Katniss scoffs. “Ugh, do you have a Ph.D. in mansplaining?”

“Sorry, but am I wrong? Sometimes you have to stand up and fight, you know. Turn around and face what wants you dead.”

Fed up, Katniss turns her back on him.

“Hey, you have a tattoo on your lower back. Peace dove?”

She turns around to glare at him over her shoulder. He’s smirking at her. “Actually, it’s on my ass, which you can’t touch, but you can kiss.”

*** (this happens later on)

“Let’s get matching tattoos or something to seal our…marriage.”

“Peace doves?” he teases.

Katniss smirks. “Actually, I was thinking dandelions. They symbolize rebirth, abundant strength and power. Also, hope.”

Peeta smiles. “I like that. Let’s do it.”

…

“Where’d you get yours?” he asks.

“Wait and see.” She grins back at him.

#JHsgf82 writes #Purple Hearts AU #Everlark

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