#this is me just expressing frustration for trapping myself into a corner--nothing else | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ca-8 · 3 years

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Yakko x Reader Scenario: When You First Meet

'This is it. The beginning of the end.'

Gripping on the straps of her backpack, (Y/n) exited the bus and stared up at the water tower that displayed the famous Warner Bros. logo. As expected, it emitted a smug aura onto the entire area; however, surprisingly, there was a slight twinge of mystery to it as well. But she didn't have time to ponder about it, so she only gave it an uneasy look and headed straight for the entrance.

Her heart stopped. She knew the place was going to be busy, but it was like an entire New York City packed in one section! So many writers, producers, actors, large men carrying heavy sets, every type of person working in film was scattered all over the place. It was like an ocean, with the people as marine life doing what they're designed to do, and (Y/n) being the puppy that was abandoned at sea.

The moment it all settled in, an involuntary realization invaded her thoughts. 'I don't belong here.'

The young girl reminded herself to breathe and rushed over to a vacant wall, then pulled out her phone. She had already sent her mother about a thousand messages telling her she was here, but since she hasn't responded, a few more shouldn't hurt. Fingers rapidly typing away, she bit her lower lip, already wishing she had stayed on that bus.

"Oh, you're just gonna love it!" Her mother's squealing voice had already filled her skull. "You're so talented, I know you're gonna fit right in."

'Yeah, standing around all day with a bunch of people I don't know while doing something I suck at is exactly how I wanna spend my summer.' She let out a soft sigh. 'It's fine. Just shut up and make her happy, (Y/n).'

Several attempts of calling and texting later, no response. (Y/n) sighed again, and her eyes wandered over to the bustling crowd. 'No way. Absolutely no way.' But if she wanted to get the day over with, absolutely yes way.

First, she walked up to a lady looking down at the clipboard in her hands. "Um, excuse me," (Y/n) said.

The lady's head snatched up. "KYLE!" she yelled, her eyes now ablaze with fury, "YOU IDIOT! THAT GOES IN THE WAREHOUSE ACROSS THE STUDIO!" And like there was nothing but a breeze behind her, the lady stomped off to the poor soul that had to face her wrath.

The breeze took a step back and ran around the corner. 'Maybe I'll find someone else instead…!' (Y/n) stopped and spotted a man sitting on the steps that lead to the entrance of a small building. She swallowed whatever was left in her mouth and reluctantly approached him.

"E-Excuse me, sir?" she stuttered, hoping her voice was louder than the last time. As she got closer, (Y/n) noticed he was chuckling, and his gaze was glued onto a small piece of paper.

"I...I did it…!" he said. She yelped and shrinked back when he suddenly jumped to his feet. "I FINALLY DID IT! WE'LL SEE WHO'S REGRETTING THE DIVORCE NOW, MARGARET!" And with a manic laugh, the man dashed into the building.

'...Or maybe I'll just find it myself.'

It wasn't too long before (Y/n) got herself lost. Despite the help of maps that were stuck to some of the buildings, all of them seemed exactly the same. It was like a maze, and with each passing minute, she was more and more convinced that there was no finish line. Even worse, her mother was too busy to respond to anything she sent her.

'Oh, what should I do?' (Y/n) thought for the thousandth time. No matter how hard she pinched or held them, her arms refused to stop trembling. Not too long ago, the outside of the studio became deserted and she'd hate to walk in a warehouse and possibly interrupt something important, so asking for help again was out of the question.

...Or, perhaps it wasn't.

A tiny, hopeful smile crossed (Y/n)'s face when she heard the sounds of frustrated grunts around the corner. It was the first time she was so relieved to see a stranger.

And thank god that stranger was a security guard. Though she wondered why he had a giant net in his hand, she shoved the curiosity as far in the back of her mind as she could and reached up to gently tap his shoulder.

"Um, excuse me sir?" she asked as loud as she could.

His head whipped around, revealing angry eyes and a scowl that said he was ready to kill. But right as his gaze landed on her, it changed within an instant.

"Oh, hello!" he said with a bright smile.

(Y/n) blinked, cocking her head. ‘What was this guy up to?’

"I'm sorry to bother you, but do you know where (M/n) (L/n) is filming? I'm her daughter, (Y/n), and I'm trying to look for her. She's not answering her phone either."

His joyful expression slowly melted into a confused one. "Uuhhh…(M/n) (L/n)?”

“Yes. She’s a part of Animal Kingdom? Do you know where that’s being filmed?”

“Oh! I know there’s a zoo around here called Animal Kingdom! I don’t think you’ll find it in a film studio, though.”

(Y/n) frowned. “...No, I mean the show. Aren’t they filming in a warehouse today? Do you know where that is?”

“Who’s ‘they’?”

Her eye twitched, and she was just about ready to drown the entire studio in the nearest ocean. “N-Nevermind, I’ll just-”

As if the universe wasn’t satisfied with tormenting her enough, the security guard suddenly launched up into the air and flew into the sky. Right before her eyes, the heavens were coated with explosives of every color that ever existed.

“Oh my god!” (Y/n) yelled. ‘Who strapped fireworks on that guy?!’

“Oh, I knew you’d love it!”

Her eyes were ripped from the loud fireworks show as she was immediately smothered in a hug. “It’s so nice that another girl’s here! All the other ones here are either too busy or just keep shouting about a restraining order for some reason. I dunno, but anyway, I just know you're gonna love it here! Anyway, my name’s Princess Angelina Louisa Cantessa Francesca Banana Fanna Bo Besca the third! But since we're friends now, you can just call me Dot.”

This confirmed it. This was a trap set up by her mother to deliberately drive her insane, because how else can someone explain the nut jobs and talking dogs in pink dresses?

A combination of those two things happened to be clutching her head and digging her face into hers. “...Huh?” (Y/n) mumbled.

‘Dot’ jumped off of her and smiled widely. “Sorry about Ralph by the way. I figured out you were coming at the last second and I really needed someone for your welcoming gift.” she said.

(Y/n) glanced up at the sky where the fireworks were slowly dying down. “Um...Is he gonna be okay?” she asked.

“Of course he will!” her backpack said.

The teen screamed and threw her bag on the ground. A hand popped out and unzipped it with impossible ease, then a taller boy version of Dot jumped out, pulling up his long brown pants and flashing a grin.

“H-...H-H-How did you…?!” (Y/n) stuttered, pointing at him.

“What? Never heard of cartoon logic?” he said, approaching her. “And Ralph’ll be fine. His skull’s so thick, concrete’s the last thing that can kill him.”

“What-?”

“Anyhow,” he walked over to Dot and put an arm over her shoulder, “The name’s Yakko, this here’s my beloved baby sister Dot, and this is-” He stopped, staring at the empty space to his left. He leaned into Dot, whispering, “Say, uh, you don't mind looking for Wakko, do ya sis?”

Dot glanced at (Y/n) for an uncomfortable moment and suddenly shot her brother a glare. "I've got eyes all over this studio, Yakko," she warned, slowly stepping away.

Now (Y/n) certainly knew she didn't see pairs of eyes appear around every inch of her sight. 'Oh god, I didn't breath in drugs on the way here, did I? Actually, that would explain whatever the heck's going on.'

Yakko smiled as he watched his sister leave and turned to (Y/n). He walked closer to her, and she realized that his half-lidded eyes had a strange glint in them. “Sooo, your name’s (Y/n), right? A pretty name for a pretty girl.”

(Y/n)’s face heated up. ‘First I get lost, then see a guy get blown up, and now some other guy’s flirting with me? ...To be honest, this is still better than what Mom had planned for today.’

“So what brings ya’ here?” he asked.

“O-Oh, well, my Mom was supposed to give me a tour of the studio, but I’ve been giving that to myself all day. I tried finding her, but I’m pretty sure I’m nowhere near it by now.” Her eyes wandered over to the ground, but a realization made them perk back up and over to Yakko. “Hey, do you happen to know this place by any chance?”

“Know it? Please, my sibs and I live here, we know this place by heart and soul!” He mumbled something else, along the lines of “Basically made our hearts and souls”.

Her heart jumped; finally, a piece of good news. “Really?” she said, a smile spreading across her face.

He nodded. “So where do ya’ need to go?” Before she could answer, he pulled out a piece of folded paper and moved in so close, their shoulders were smooshed together. Yakko unfolded it, and it turned out to be the biggest map (Y/n) has ever seen. “Well, from here, you’re gonna need to take a right and continue straight until you get to the Harry Potter and Fantastic Beasts exhibit. But be careful, I heard some of them escaped, and if anyone asks if you’ve seen any of them, don’t tell them I gave one to Dot as a late birthday gift. Anyway, you take a left from there, then a right where you’ll see the lot where they used to shoot Game of Thrones. Now this is only a rumour I’ve heard, but I think some of the producers are still on that set. If you happen to see them, do not, I repeat, DO NOT mention season eight, or maybe just don’t mention the show at all. Actually, don’t even look at them. As a matter of fact, you probably shouldn’t even go there at all, just keep heading straight until you get to the D.C. Universe lot. Then you just take left there, then a sharp right over over, then you keep going straight until you get to here, turn up over there, turn right there, and then you’re there. Did ya’ follow all that?”

(Y/n) stared at his face, which was practically radiating with enthusiasm, and she felt her eye twitch again. “...No,” she said, shaking her head.

His smile dimmed, but it became just as bright as the sun again a split-second later. “Ah well, maps are gettin' old anyways,” he said, throwing the map over his shoulder. “WAKKO!!”

And, low and behold, another anthropomorphic dog popped out of nowhere, and (Y/n) was starting to question if there was an army of them hidden somewhere. But she had to admit, it was pretty cute how this one was dressed in an oversized blue sweater and red hat.

“Tablet, please,” Yakko said politely, holding out his hand.

‘You're not gonna walk me there-?'

Wakko suddenly held his head back with his cheeks puffed out, then leaned into Yakko’s hand as he forced out a small object from his mouth. After an incredibly uneasy moment, a tablet glazed in spit was in Yakko's grasp. While he praised the little guy, (Y/n) forced back the urge to vomit.

“E-Ehhhh…?” She couldn’t say anything else while her gaze frantically went back and forth from Wakko and the regurgitated tablet.

“Oh! Where are my manners?” Yakko said. “(Y/n), this is my dear little brother, Wakko. Wakko, this here’s our new special friend, (Y/n).”

“Hello!” Wakko greeted, who was suddenly in her arms. “You’re really pretty!”

“Ehh? Thank you? I guess??” she said apprehensively, and finally managed to make eye contact. Despite his...quirks, he's actually a little adorable... She let herself grin a little.

The moment of semi-peace was ruined when she took notice of Yakko’s narrowed eyes. “ALrighty, (Y/n)!” he said loudly, grabbing his little brother by the collar and gently setting him on the ground. “Animal Kingdom, right? Let’s get ya’ right over there.” He moved right beside her and taped the screen a couple times.

“Um, what’re you doing exactly?” she asked.

“Doing what every person does to get somewhere nowadays.” He grabbed her waist and pulled her against him, and (Y/n) flinched from his touch. “Please keep your arms, legs, and personal items inside the tablet at all times.”

Just when she was about to question him for the hundredth time, he pressed the screen again, and her vision became nothing but white. Her body felt like it was launched into a tornado; a strong force of wind thrusted her back, and somehow, the boy’s arm kept her from flying off from his side. A second later, her feet were back on the ground, the sky was where it needed to be, and reality was back in place.

Except for (Y/n)’s mentality.

She stumbled around, trying to find her balance as the world unbearably whirled around her. Finally, she shook her head, and quickly turned back towards Yakko, whose face tried to tell her whatever happened was perfectly fine and normal.

“What was THAT?” she yelled, staggering towards him and gripping his shoulders.

And he still had the audacity to have that 'why-are-you-freaking-out-so-much-we-do-this-every-Friday' smile. “Thank you for attending Warner’s Travel Tours! I would say my Agent Ralph’ll take your bags, but I left him alone with my sibs, so he’s probably in the middle of the Pacific Ocean by now.”

(Y/n) could only stare at him. Her mind was twisting and turning, trying so hard to make any sense of what happened but only making her headache grow larger and larger. And then, her thoughts just went blank.

She smirked. Then giggled. And a few seconds later, she had burst out laughing whilst holding her stomach. (Y/n) looked back up at Yakko, wiping a tear from her eye. “Th-Thank you…” she said, catching her breath.

His smile had grown and she thought his white cheeks were red for a moment. Yakko had opened his mouth, but whatever he was about to say was cut off by a net suddenly covering his entire body. Ralph was behind him, his skin and clothes burnt and ears practically smoking. “You’re coming with me, Warner!” he said.

And yet, Yakko only grinned. Like physics was his enemy, he disappeared from inside the net and appeared sprouting from the security guard’s back, cheerfully waving at (Y/n). “I’ll see ya’ around, yeah?” he said, then ran around the corner with Ralph sprinting right after him.

(Y/n) giggled and reached for the straps around her back. But when she only felt the (f/c) fabric of her shirt, her smile dropped, and a deep sigh escaped her lips. “Great…” she whispered.

“(Y/N)!”

She gasped as a pair of arms squeezed the life out of her. Her mother spun her around to face her gleaming smile, which was immediately replaced by an apologetic frown. “I’m so sorry I didn’t get your texts! That scene took forever, but I’m glad you found your way here! You’re so smart! Anyway, I know we don’t get as much time now, but there’s still so much we’ll be able to see!...”

She rambled on and on and on and on. Her daughter’s shoulders slumped and she followed her to where she wanted her to go, but the frown on her face didn’t last long when she remembered the fun she had just a few seconds ago. ‘Maybe this summer won’t be that bad.’

#is this how you write him lmao #i love this boi so much #animaniacs #cartoons #x reader #fanfiction #the reader in this is like 15 dont worry lol #im bored #yakko warner

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writerofthecourt · 3 years

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reciprocal

pairing: sakusa kiyoomi x reader

summary: for the past few days, the injuries on sakusa’s body couldn’t just be attributed to his soulmate’s clumsiness anymore. it was up to him to figure out the truth of the matter

warning: some references to bullying, some blood and injury

a/n: if this story seems familiar to anyone, it’s because i had a quotev account back in the day that used this same premise with different haikyuu character

Bruises and scrapes were a common sight that littered Sakusa’s body. With a soulmate such as yourself, it was no surprise to anyone that Itachiyama’s ace was usually painted black and blue from his injuries.

Soulmate bonds were both a blessing and a curse. To be so intimately connected to someone to the point of sharing and manifesting their pain was the tragic beauty of having a soulmate. Some people found this to be romantic, while others found it to be a liability. For Sakusa, it was more of a nuisance than anything, considering your unique ability to be so undeniably clumsy.

For the past few days, the injuries on Sakusa’s body were becoming much more frequent and annoying, especially since they were starting to become a hindrance during volleyball practice. When he had asked you about this issue, you had just smiled and pretended to be clueless. His worrying only lessened once you had repeatedly assured him that you were fine and sent him off to practice with a peck on the cheek.

Of course, everything would have been fine if it wasn’t for the pain now igniting from his right shoulder. The pain was so great that Sakusa felt his knees hit the floor, his hand clutching the spot where the pain was radiating from. Practice immediately halted as his teammates gathered around in worry.

Komori was the first one to reach him as he kneeled next to the ace. “Are you all right, Sakusa?”

“I’m fine,” Sakusa managed to say, though that was a complete lie. His shoulder felt like it had been set ablaze, and the wince on his face wasn’t convincing anyone.

“Maybe you should sit out for the rest of practice, Sakusa,” Iizuna calmly suggested.

“I said I’m fine. Let’s just get back to practice.”

Reaching out for Komori’s hand, Sakusa hoisted himself back to his feet and returned to his place on the court. Soon enough, everyone else began to follow his lead.

“I wonder what that was all about,” Sakusa heard his captain mumble.

“[Y/N]-chan probably fell or something,” Komori tried to rationalize before noticing the confused look on Iizuna’s face. “Oh, [Y/N]-chan is Sakusa’s soulmate, and she’s super clumsy. Don’t worry, this is normal for them…I think.”

“If you say so…but make sure Sakusa checks up on his soulmate. Just in case.”

Sakusa couldn’t help but scoff as he tuned out the rest of Komori and Iizuna’s conversation. He didn’t need to be told to check up on you, he was already planning to have a ‘little’ talk with you sometime tomorrow, and he was expecting answers.

Returning his attention back to practice, Sakusa tried to focus on his spikes and not the wave of concern that washed over him when his mind drifted off to the thought of you.

At the beginning of lunch the very next day, Sakusa promptly left his seat and made his way down the hall to your classroom. Loudly sliding the door open, a few students jumped in surprise and fear as Sakusa glared into the room, searching for his target. Spotting you at your desk, he quickly marched in and took a hold of your wrist, dragging you away to a remote corner of the hallway.

“Kiyoomi, you’re hurting me!” you said as he trapped you against the wall. Realizing that the pain was beginning to manifest on his own wrist, Sakusa immediately let go of your arm, but his glare stayed ever present.

“What happened?” he demanded more than asked.

“I-I don’t know what you mean.”

Not wanting to play this game, Sakusa brought up his hands and started to undo the first few buttons of your uniform top without a single word.

“Kiyoomi!” you whispered indignantly as your face began to heat up in embarrassment.

Ignoring your protests, Sakusa pulled the sleeve of your shirt down to reveal your right shoulder. His eyes widened in shock before anger overtook his pretty features. Your skin, once beautiful and perfect, was now decorated with a dark purple bruise. He had seen the same discolouration on his own shoulder earlier that morning when he was getting dressed, but he didn’t want to believe it.

He raised a hand to gently brush his fingers against the injury, but he immediately retreated once he saw your face contort in slight pain.

“I guess there was really no point in trying to hide it, huh?” he heard you say.

“What happened?” Sakusa repeated in a lighter tone this time, now looking at you with gentle concern.

Sakusa saw something spiral within your eyes before you diverted your gaze, suddenly finding the floor to be much more interesting. He lowered his hand and laced his fingers with yours. If not for the current situation, he would have mused about how perfectly your hand seemed to fit in his.

“[Y/N], tell me what happened.”

“I-I bumped my shoulder against a shelf while cleaning up my room yesterday,” you mumbled as you started to play with your sleeves, a habit of yours whenever you lied.

“You don’t get a bruise this big just by bumping into something,” he reasoned with a frown.

“It just happened, okay?” you snapped quickly.

“I don’t see why you just won’t tell me!” Sakusa retorted angrily, now matching your tone. “You’re supposed to-”

“Kiyoomi!” you shouted, and Sakusa felt himself slightly taken aback with shock. “Just trust me, okay? I can handle this myself. I don’t want to keep relying on you for everything, so just trust me!”

“…Fine,” Sakusa conceded after a moment of silence.

Feeling agitated and defeated, Sakusa backed away from the wall before letting out a frustrated sigh. As he began to walk away, he suddenly felt something knock itself into his back. Your arms locked around his stomach as you leaned your head against his back.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “Thank you for trusting me, Kiyoomi.”

Turning around to give you a proper hug, Sakusa securely wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on top of your head, not at all minding the possible germs that came from this interaction. You were always worth it.

“You really are a lot of trouble, you know that?” Sakusa sighed while rubbing circles on the small of your back.

“I love you too,” you giggled.

Using the tip of your toes to reach him, you pulled down Sakusa’s mask and gave your soulmate a quick farewell kiss. After fixing his mask and your shirt, you sent Sakusa a small smile and wave before walking off to class. On the way back to his own classroom, Sakusa couldn’t help but wonder if he had made the right decision.

“No,” Sakusa tried to convince himself. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

Sakusa hated days when you had cleaning duties. It meant that you couldn’t walk with him to practice. His schedule was always busy, so Sakusa tried to spend as much time with you as possible, even if it was something as simple as holding your hand while walking to volleyball practice.

“And then he said, ‘What will you have after 500 years?’ And Mark was like—you aren’t even listening to me, are you?” Komori asked with an exasperated sigh, finally noticing that Sakusa’s attention was elsewhere.

“I can’t find my math notebook,” Sakusa replied plainly, still focused on rifling through his bag.

Komori paused for a moment before snapping his fingers in realization. “Didn’t you lend it to [Y/N]-chan at lunch today?”

Sakusa’s eyes lifted from his bag when he realized he had lent you his notebook. It wasn’t in his character to let anyone borrow his belongings, so whenever he did lend you something, it usually escaped his memory.

Sakusa muttered a low curse. “I’ll be back in five minutes.”

Komori only grinned in amusement before walking off to the gym on his own. “All right, I’ll see you soon.”

Nodding his head, Sakusa turned back towards the school. If he had to guess, you would have to be done cleaning up the classroom by now, meaning that he’d have to hurry if he wanted to catch you in time.

Hurrying down the halls and up the stairs, Sakusa soon found himself turning the corner that led towards the second year classrooms. Although there was no one in sight, Sakusa picked up on the quiet murmur of some voices, along with girls’ laughter. He thought nothing of it until a large crash captured his attention, and everything turned dead silent. At that moment, Sakusa felt the air being knocked out of his lungs as pain jolted throughout his body, and he almost staggered off his feet to the ground.

That could only mean one thing.

Running to the classroom, Sakusa saw a sight that had his blood boiling like never before, and he felt his mind go numb. He didn’t even notice how his nails were slightly drawing blood, as he only felt rage at that moment.

You were lying on the floor, blood pouring from the cut on your head that you had probably received from being pushed against the desks. Three girls surrounded your unconscious body, looking around frantically and panicking at the turn of events.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Sakusa managed to shout out.

“S-Sakusa-san!” one of the girls jumped. “W-we were just playing around, honestly! We never meant for this to happen!”

“I’m not in the mood for your excuses,” he said before his expression turned dark. “Leave, now.”

In an instance, the girls were gone, shivering in fright as they ran off. Sakusa felt himself calm down a bit after releasing a shaky breath, but he soon felt his rage reignite when he saw that the wound on your head was still bleeding profusely.

Kneeling next to your body, Sakusa hoisted you up and began his trip to the nurse’s office. In the middle of his maneuvering, you had quietly woken up and reached for his forehead where blood was spilling from the same wound.

“Kiyoomi, you’re bleeding…”

“And why do you think that is?!” Sakusa snapped at the mention of your matching wounds.

Ignoring his comment, you chose to ask where you were going.

“The nurse’s office to fix your idiotic mistake,” he replied harshly.

After arriving at the office, the nurse gave you and Sakusa a questioning look, but she said nothing as she swiftly wrapped and bandaged your injuries. She soon left for a faculty meeting, leaving you at the mercy of a very angry soulmate.

You sat against the headboard of the office’s medical bed, while Sakusa stood across from you with his arms crossed and a glare on his face. His mask was no longer present, having been abandoned, as it had been contaminated by the blood of his injury.

“So,” you began. “Lovely weather we’re having…”

“That’s not funny, [Y/N]. Now, start explaining.”

“All right, all right,” you sighed. “I guess it started a few days ago. At first, they were small favours, like buying them a few drinks. Then the favours became more demanding…I tried to tell them today that I wasn’t going to be their little servant anymore, but you know how that turned out…”

“So the bruise…?” Sakusa asked inquisitively.

“Yes, it was them,” you answered quietly.

You said nothing as Sakusa continued to frown before he eventually asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because,” you started. “I knew that you would worry. You’re already so busy with school and volleyball, I didn’t want to add to your list of worries…”

“…You really are an idiot,” Sakusa mumbled before running a hand through his hair. He soon moved to sit next to you on the bed and took a hold of your hands in his. “I’m only going to say this once, so you better listen carefully. We’re soulmates for a reason. We’re supposed to be there for each other. Whenever you have a problem, we’re supposed to solve it together.

“I know that I don’t always act like it, but I care about you, a lot. So just like how I can trust you, you need to know that it’s all right to trust me. You can always depend on me to be there for you.”

When he was done with his rant, Sakusa felt his cheeks lightly flush red as he saw your blank expression. He hoped that he didn’t say too much.

“All right, Kiyoomi,” you finally said, a smile beginning to appear on your face. “No more secrets.”

Smirking in approval, Sakusa leaned in and lifted a hand to tilt your pretty face so that you were staring directly into his eyes. His voice was low and seductive as his thumb lightly brushed against the corner of your mouth.

“Good. Because the next time you keep a secret from me, I’m going to have to punish you.”

#sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa x reader #sakusa kiyoomi #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu reader insert #soulmate au #think sakusa think

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deepdarkdelights · 3 years

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DeepDarkDreams (1)

The following is a recounting of a nightmare I had last night written in a more literary format. I just thought it was interesting and scary and wanted to share it with you guys:

I had a nightmare last night, and very rarely do the things I dream of follow me when I open my eyes.

I was in a stranger's house, tied up on the ground settled in the corner of the room. I was terrified, I could feel my heartbeat echoing through my head and my chest shaking with panicked breaths. It felt so real, almost like I was about to go into a panic attack in the actual world.

And then my captor revealed themselves, entering the room in complete silence, not a single word leaving their lips and no emotion crossing their features. My stranger had taken on the form of Jungkook, pitch-black hair, eyebrow piercing, tattoos and all. I was caught up in this dreadful mix of emotions: one I was feeling happy to see him, the other a cold strike of fear rushing down my spine as I realized I was in imminent danger.

He was cold, emotionless, and silent, staring at me from the doorway while I remained bound on the floor. It was a knock from the front door that pulled him away, leaving me alone.

My wrists and my fingers are double-jointed, I remembered the feeling of my joints popping as I forced my fingers to press together and my wrists to bend unnaturally, slipping them free from the rope they had been tied in with some struggle.

I didn't hesitate to run and throw myself out of the first-floor window, but I could hear and feel him behind me, his fingers brushing my leg as I fell face-first into the grass. I remember scrambling up to stand before sprinting around the house and onto the road. I had no shoes on, black pieces of asphalt piercing the flesh of my feet painfully as I rain.

I remember screaming loudly, my voice breaking as I cried for help, only for a single car to whip by me and disappear around the bend of the road. I remember crying and shouting in panic as I heard him running up behind me, trying desperately to run faster despite knowing it was futile.

My vision was blurry with tears when I was finally snatched around the waist and wrestled to the ground. I remember the feeling of a heavy weight pressing down on me and then realized just how much smaller than him I was. Standing at only 5'2 with not nearly as much muscle as him, this would not be a fight I would win.

There was this horrifying look on his face of pure rage. But it wasn't the classic red-faced anger, his jaw was tense, his lips pursed in frustration, and his eyes narrowed and pitch black. It was chilling.

My heart sank.

From there on out, the rest of my dreams are fragmented and disjointed, the only thread connecting them being that I was being hunted down by him no matter where I went.

I remember returning home to my family, ragged and out of breath telling them we needed to run, that I had just been abducted and escaped.

None of them believed me.

"Who would want you that much?"

That line was so startling, so out of character for them, yet somehow that did not clue me into the fact that this was a dream. In fact, it was the echo of my own self-deprecating thoughts being spat back at me by those I loved.

The next scene is out of place, strange. My brother taking me to the movie theater to calm me down. Because even though he didn't fully believe me, he cared for me.

It didn't help. The intense sense of paranoia still had the hair on the back of my neck rising in fear. The familiar roll of anxiety tumbling in my stomach.

The minute the lights dimmed and the previews began to roll, the phantom figure of him appeared. Dressed head to toe in black, blending into the darkness perfectly, he stood at the right corner of the theater, silent, cold, and watching.

I was so frightened, my throat and my lips were paralyzed, there was no way of indicating to my brother what was happening.

The scene changes and I am running again, this time throughout a dimly lit airport, countless faceless people rushing around me in the opposite direction. I felt like I was swimming in opposition to the flow of a stream, struggling to make my way through and get to where I needed to be.

Time was of the essence.

I felt rushed like time was running out and if I didn't leave now I would be trapped forever. But the airport of my hometown had become a labyrinth, a never-ending circle that no matter where I turned always led me back to the starting point. The furthest from my departing gate. And the entire time I could hear him behind me, his quick, light footsteps constantly coming closer.

And, just as I felt my anxiety quelling and brimming over, the labyrinth collapsed and my final turn led me to where I needed to be.

And just as I handed my boarding pass to the attendant and stepped forward to enter the tunnel leading to my plane, a tattooed hand wraps around my wrist and violently whips me around to come face to face with the perpetrator.

It's him again, tugging me away from escaping. His face is still void of emotion, almost like he is only capable of expressing rage and nothing else.

My neck hurts from the weight of my bag and from having to angle my head up to be able to look at his face.

Although his expression is frightfully empty, I can feel an aura of smugness emanating from him, the knowledge that he has won.

Throughout these fragmented nightmares, I was haunted by a phantom predator, emotionless and silent, that only I could see. And I couldn't help but wonder:

"Is any of this real, or am I crazy?"

That is all, I hope you too are confused by my nightmares. To me, it was terrifying, constantly running and never getting away as well as the thought that perhaps my mental state was deteriorating and this predator using the face of someone I admired was conjured by my own mind. It was horrible 😂

#deepdarkdreams #it was terrible #i hate dreams where i am running and cant escape #yandere jungkook #jungkook x reader #yandere jungkook x reader #my dreams #my nightmares #yandere bts

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axwalker · 3 years

Text

CREEP: I’m a creep

HIGH SCHOOL AU

Pairing: Drake Walker and Lexie O’Brien -- Book TRR

A/N 1 This came up to me after I got an ask from @nestledonthaveone

I was listening to my iPod on my way home from work yesterday & Radiohead's Creep came on. One of my favorite songs, and I think the lyrics are great for an angsty Drake fic. It reminds me of him. Could you please write an angsty fic inspired by the song? I love how you write angst!!

I used to hear this song when I was a teenager, so when I read this ask, I immediately wanted to write something angsty but situated in high school.

This is part one of two.

I hope you enjoy it @nestledonthaveone 💕

A/N 2: Because they’re younger than usual, I decided to change my FC --just for this fic. I’m still picturing Michiel and Valerie when they’ll be older though.

A/N3: I’m participating in @wackydrabbles Prompt #105 It's definitely ... interesting.”

Thank you ladies!

WARNINGS: Parental abuse. Eventually some lemons. ALL MY FICS ARE 18+

Tags in the comments.

LEXIE

I’ve always loved sunsets. The entire sky is painted orange and pink, streaking with white light and many other colors; I can’t take my eyes away from it. Sunsets remind us that no matter what is happening in our lives, the sun will be out again tomorrow. It’s raw, beautiful, and comforts me—the thought of the sun watching over me. I sit on my porch, my knees against my chest. I’m wearing a white tank top and jean shorts to fight the intense heat that invades Cordonia in early September. I fix my eyes on the sky, wishing a miracle. Something that takes me away from my father and his new wife. Away from the pain of losing mom.

“What are you doing?” The voice is so resonant, deep, and rasping. Slowly, I sit up and look around, pushing my long, brown hair out of my eyes. I raise my head, and I see him. Drake Walker.

My breath catches, and I cross my arms over my breasts, knowing the thin material of my shirt isn’t keeping me remotely modest. What is he doing here? At this time, no less. I go to school with Drake. We’re both sophomores at Valtoria High School. He’s six foot two, with strong shoulders, and has a knowledge of life in his eyes that boys our age simply don’t possess. We have five classes together, and he sits through them like a statue, his chocolate eyes unreadable. Tall, dark, and angry. Handsome in a hard way that makes the other girls nervous when he walks down the hallways. Not me, though. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve stared at him from behind my locker door, breath trapped in my lungs, wondering what he’s thinking of behind his brooding eyes.

“I asked, what are you doing? This isn’t a safe place to be alone at night. You should get inside.”

“Inside is no safer.” Why would I say that? My first time talking with this boy, and I tell him my deepest secret? His eyes narrow at me.“I mean, there’s not a lot of crime in this part of Portavira.” That loosens the tension in his broad shoulders. “I’m looking at the sunset. I love it. It’s so beautiful and wild.” I bit my bottom lip noticing his eyes dip to catch the action.

“It’s definitely ... interesting,” he says, noncommittally. “There are things I like more.”

“Like what?” I ask.

He shrugs but looks back down at me, wrestling with something. He lifts a hand, brushing the very tip of his fingers down my cheekbone. “You,” he rasps.

Drake’s deep brown eyes look at me with something I’m only on the cusp of understanding. Is it…lust? His fingers move down my jaw, traveling slowly over the hollow of my throat to tease one of my tank top’s straps. “I like you. I can’t seem to stop…wanting. Wanting you to look at me. Wanting you…period. It’s why I sit behind you in all your classes, O’Brien. You don’t know that?” My knees start to tremble. I’ve always wondered how we end up in the same classes every single semester. He’s arranged for it to happen? He…likes me? That much? Say something, dork. Don’t act like it’s not mutual.

As if I haven’t lain my bed after school, when no one is at home and touched myself while thinking of Drake Walker. I must be doing a terrible job of keeping that secret to myself because Drake’s breath begins to grow shallow. “O’Brien.” He drops his forehead to mine, the pads of his thumb rubbing the soft skin of my neck. “Have you ever been kissed?”

I can’t talk, so I shake my head.

“Please,” he groans. “Let me.”

My head is spinning. “Let you what?”

“Kiss you. Finally.” His hands move to cradle my head, making me feel delicate, like something special. His minty breath is close to my ear, setting off an ache low in my belly. “I need to kiss you, O’Brien. I need it.” He leans down and kisses the corner of my lips in the most torturous, exquisite way. My heart is beating wildly in my chest when he puts his soft lips on mine for the first time. My first kiss is an amazing one. He bends his head, and his mouth finds mine with soft pressure. I thought he would be rough or impatient may be clumsy, but I didn’t expect the gentle way his lips caress mine. The way he coaxes my own lips apart before I’m even aware of it. My knees buckle, but he holds me firmly against him. He kisses me as if this wasn’t our first time but our last. It’s the most erotic moment of my life, but all too son Drake leaves my lips. I only feel urgency. Want so deep that it burns inside of me. It has existed between us all along, hasn’t it? Not one-sided. A yearning pull between two people, orbiting each other in the earthly, incongruous setting of school.

Drake opens his mouth to say something, but my name is shouted in the distance. From inside the house. With glittering eyes, Drake drops his hands to his side, though it obviously pains him to do so. He gives me a chaste kiss on my cheek. One second later, the back door of my house opens, revealing my father, his imposing frame backlit by the interior.

“Alexis!” I start to tremble; I try to speak, but I can’t. ““What are you doing out here this late?” There’s a tight smile in his voice. “Did you come out here to retrieve the handyman?” I do a double-take, noticing the strain forming around the corners of Drake’s mouth.

“Handyman?”

“Yes.” My father chuckles, coming forward to clap a hand down on Drake’s tense shoulder. “He’s here to repair a leak in the attic. Liam called you by the way.” Drake can’t look at me now, his gaze cast over my shoulder. Empty. A minute ago, we were equals. But my father’s words have called into focus one very important thing. I’m rich, and he’s very poor. It just didn’t matter. To me, it still doesn’t. But the economic divide between us is deepening by the second.

“Why don’t you get to it?” My father suggests to Drake, his tone hard. “Alexis has to study. She is going places.”

I down my gaze to the ground, humiliation burning up my throat. My father is an expert at belittling people, and he’s just done it to Drake. I want to say something to make it better, to defend Drake, but I know I’ll only be making it worse. I’ll have to wait until tomorrow to offer Drake an apology. At school. I’ll talk to him then.

“Yes, sir,” Drake responds stiffly, turning on his boots and stalking toward the house. Behind his back, my father reaches over and digs his thumb into my bicep until I double over, releasing a silent scream. He lets go a moment before Drake glances back over his shoulder, eyes hooded, and my expression is serene. Because I know better than to let anyone see the pain. My father has never been physically abusive, but his temper is getting worse. He hated mom and he’s taking it out on me. As soon as we’re in the house, I run up the stairs to my room and lock the door, leaning back against it. Listening to Drake’s boots walk back and forth in the attic. More than anything, I want to go up there. Feel his hands on me again. Cherishing hands, instead of hateful ones. I ache for that. For him. But an hour later, Drake leaves, and that’s when I face the consequences. My father knocks on my door. When I open it, the look on his eyes let me know it’s going to be worse than usual.

“If I ever see you talking to that boy again, so help me God, I’ll kick you out of this house.” His face is contorted with rage. “Then, I’ll ruin him, too. I’ll make his life even harder in this town. You know I can do it. I can have him cast off that filthy land and no one will ever hire him again. Is that what you want?”

“No,” I whisper.

“No,” he sneers, mocking me. “Never look at him again. Do you hear me? My daughter does not associate with penniless dirt. The only boy you’re allow to date is Liam Rys. No one else.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

“See that you keep that promise. Or you’ll both pay the price.” And I pay a good deal of it that night when dad slaps me for the first time. The next day at school, I don’t look at Drake in the hallway. I don’t pause in the doorway of our classes, absorbing the sight of him waiting at the desk behind me. I simply keep my head down and try not to show the bruise on my cheek. On my body and my heart. I could never have predicted he would hate me for it.

Drake

Two years later

I walk past O’Brien in the hallway and slam my fist against the locker to her left, making her jump. Shame, frustration, and resentment have been like a poison inside me, rotting my bones every second of the last two years, ever since that night in her garden when she tricked me into thinking she felt the same. Maybe she did. Until her father reminded her that I’m nothing but a poor handyman. Yeah, she remembered pretty quickly that she’s better than me. Good enough to date a rich quarterback like Rys but definitely not a low life like me. Rich, stuck-up brat. What’s worse is that she fucking ruined me with those lips. She brought me to my knees. Made me reveal myself in ways I’ve never done with anyone. And now? Now she’s left me lonely and fuck-starved for two years. Obsessed with her, unable to let her go and hating her guts for it. Because she won’t even look at me anymore. I’m nothing but the dirt beneath her spotless sneakers. Two years ago, I decided that if she was going to make my life hell by ignoring me after what we shared, then I could return the favor. So I do. By tormenting her. That’s the only term for it. I torture her, and I hate that—I fucking hate it—but so be it. My jaw is close to shattering as I watch O’Brien calmly collect the books from her locker and hurry toward our next class. On top of being a bully, I’m also a masochist because I still trick the school into having the same five classes every year. My aunt Leona works in the front office, and she feels bad for me because of my dad dying and my mom abandoning me when I was still in middle school, leaving me in the trailer alone. Not bad enough to invite me to live with her family, but bad enough that she slips me O’Brien’s schedule every semester so I can match it to mine. Before I follow her, I stop at her locker, sliding something in it, and continue on my way. When I walk into class behind her a moment later, I slow to a stop in the doorway at the sight of Rys kneeling to speak with O’Brien where she sits at her desk—cajoling a smile out of her. She refused to date him two years ago, but fucking Liam didn’t get the memo. No one has as much money as his father in this town. If Rys is asking her out again, she’d probably say yes. If I let it get that far, which I won’t. I never do. She’s mine. Only mine.

#drake walker #drake walker x mc #drake x lexie #tw abuse #tw parental trauma

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everlarkficexchange · 3 years

Text

Full Circle

Written by: @emilia206

Prompt 26: Mockingjay canon divergent - Prim was never killed. Gale and Katniss try to get back to how they were before the war, but he realises that he’s already lost Katniss’ heart to Peeta, heart, mind, and soul. Any POV. Submitted by anonymous.

Summary: The prompt is pretty self explanatory, and I did my best to stick to it, however I was not prepared to completely write Gale out of Katniss’ life. Sorry? This is from Katniss’ POV.

Rating: Teen and up audiences.

Word count: 12,567

Thank you to my wonderful beta @melting-starlight. She’s more active on ao3 though, where she’s Starlight_Wren.

Breathe in. Breathe out. That’s all I’m doing. And for once, it’s enough. It’s enough if I just stand in the midst of lush greenery surrounded by the flutterings and scuffles of animals in springtime, just breathing and listening. My bow hangs limp in my hand and in the other I idly twirl an arrow. I’ll make my shot, eventually. When I feel the time is right, I’ll open my eyes again, to a world that’s coming to life once more, and I’ll aim and shoot. Dinner served. Not yet though, the time is not right.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Over and over again. It feels good to be out in the sun, to have it warm my winter chilled body. Perhaps it shall thaw out my heart too, but that can’t happen. Not yet, the time is not right. As the day warms up and begins to start in earnest, the animals become more loud in their search for food, shelter, and perhaps even a mate. They ignore me, standing as still as I am, not making a sound. I even briefly feel the tip of a wing swoop so low overhead it ruffles my hair.

Breathe in. Breathe out. It’s almost time. Time to open my eyes and find my mark. I have to be quick about it, but these animals have become idle with their hiding skills in the time I’ve been away. No longer looking out for traps and flying arrows. I’ll use it to my advantage. Somewhere in the distance, a group of birds start up a melody. Conversing in short little tweets and chirps. Almost - I twirl my arrow once more in my fingers - time.

Breathe in. Breathe out. My eyes snap open, letting the bright sunlight shine into them. I squint momentarily before I set my eye on my first mark. A wide-eyed rabbit, that stares at me from behind a protruding tree root. It doesn’t even try to run, it just stares right at me, until I lodge an arrow into its eye. A still comes over the clearing, creatures waiting with bated breath for the next arrow to fly. It doesn’t take me long, two squirrels, oblivious to the still around them, squabbling over an acorn.

Breathe in. Breathe out. I bag tonight’s dinner, clean off my arrows, and am on my way. I’m not even ten metres away from the clearing when it comes back to life. Stupid things. I don’t know why, but it peeves me. Gale and I only stopped hunting regularly in these woods a little over six months ago, and already the animals have forgotten our presence. It’s ironic that with one tyrannical leaders fall, so did mine and Gale’s rule over these woods. Dr. Aurelius tells me that that’s OK, with a chapter closing within my life, another can begin. Then again, of course Dr. Aurelius can say these things, he’s not the one who actually has to let the chapter close. I don’t want it to - part of me still longs for days spent foraging and hunting in the woods, my partner by my side - but I know it has to.

Breathe in. Breathe out. I’ve made it to the fence. Here comes the tricky part; making it back to the Village without letting myself slide into a mental vicious circle of passing the blame. Don’t look. Even as my rationale tells me not to, it’s impossible not to stare at the charred remains of my people being tipped into a gaping black pit that used to be the Meadow.

Breathe in. Breathe out. No need to cry. My tears won’t help them now.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Don’t cry. As soon as I think it, though, the tears burn at the back of my eyes, and my nose stings and flares. I move my feet faster up the hill. No point in hanging about. The gate to Victors Village looms up in the distance, towering above the carnage of my fallen District. It stands tall and proud, and I subconsciously shrink before it, though the wrought iron lettering looks rusted and dilapidated.

Breathe in. Breathe out. I stand among the overgrowing gardens and sunken houses. Families are living in them now, and the entirety of the Village hums with life, all but Haymitch’s, Peeta’s and my own. In Haymitch’s resides only the old drunk with a sea of liquor bottles to wade through on the floor. Peeta’s house waits cold and unlived in, standing by until his return. In my own stands nothing but a few boxes waiting to be shipped off to District 4, where we will be greeted by my mother and Prim.

Breathe in. Brea - a tremendous crash comes from within Haymitch’s house. I’m standing at my own front door, hand resting on the handle when another crash comes from his house. I might not be particularly fond of the old man, but I still care about him, enough to start running like a madman towards his house. He’s drunk most of the time so it wouldn’t surprise me if he accidentally threw himself down the stairs.

Bursting in through his door I yell his name, “Haymitch!”

As expected, I get no response. I walk on soft feet through to his living room where he lies prone on his sofa, one of his arms hanging limply to the floor where a bottle of half finished liquor sways a little. No doubt he fell asleep like this.

I give him a rough shake, and for once it’s enough to rouse him from his slumber. He sits up, giving me a disgruntled look, before taking another swig from the bottle. I snatch it from his hands, and he looks up at me, clearly pissed off.

I narrow my eyes at him, “Do you have a guest Haymitch, or have the racoons finally taken over?”

“Wha-?” He continues to stare at me nonplussed.

“Jesus, how out of it were you Haymitch?”

“I’d say he’d been out cold for a couple hours when I came in,” says an achingly familiar voice behind me.

I jump, and both mine and Haymitch’s head snap towards the source of the voice, where a blond boy - no, man - stands. He’s smirking slightly, I imagine at the shocked expressions our faces are wearing. I can’t help it, it’s a reflex really, one that I hate to have developed, but I take a step back. Peeta looks at me, and his smile drops, if only by a fraction. I wince, I don’t mean it, just a precaution.

He looks well, and his eyes have lost that clouded, tortured look. As I stare unabashadley at him, he frowns slightly.

“So, what, you just let yourself in and started doing god knows what with my kitchen?” Haymitch grouses. I finally manage to snap my attention away from him, and become very interested in my shoes.

From the corner of my eyes, I watch as Peeta scratches the back of his neck and bounces his foot nervously, “Guess I’m more of a self-imposed guest then.”

Following his comment, a silence falls over the room. I can’t really remember the last time we were all together alone like this. It must have been some time before the Quell happened, when we were training. Less than a year ago then, yet it feels like a lifetime.

Quietly, I clear my throat, trying to think of something to say that will break this awkward tension that’s settled over the room. I should have left earlier. Instead I just say, “Well seeing as you’re OK, I’ll be on my way.” I point lamely to the front door, and start making my way over there.

I’m just about out of the whole stinking house, hating them both for ruining what was looking to be a good morning, when Haymitch calls after me, “Hold it sweetheart, what’s in the bag?”

I huff, yanking the whole bag off before throwing it at his face. As hungover as he is, his reflexes are still remarkably good and he catches it before it hits him. He gives me a pointed glare before taking a look inside. Giving me a satisfied smirk, he throws the bag back and announces, “We’ll have dinner at yours then.”

I’m about to protest when he comes lumbering over to the door and slams it in my face. I stand dumb-struck, face inches from the door, hunting bag hanging clenched in my fist.

Breathe in. Breathe out. It’s all OK.

———————————————————————-

I stand over my stove, grinding my teeth and staring resolutely out of the window, only occasionally looking down as I stir the mediocre stew I’ve concocted. I worry my lip between my teeth, not caring if it starts to bleed. There’s so much that has been left unsaid between Peeta and I, a thousand apologies and explanations owed both ways. And I don’t even know where to start, or if I even want to open that conversation yet. But I’m wracking my brains and I can’t find anything else that Peeta and I really have in common, other than our horrific experiences. I decide that I’ll simply try and get through this dinner with as little talking as possible.

I spent the rest of the day after the rude encounter with Haymitch and surprise reunion with Peeta cleaning up the entirety of the house and packing away the rest of the clutter, making space for whoever was going to move in after I left. I find that the menial chores of everyday life, such as cleaning, cooking, washing, help to alleviate some of my pent up frustration and have quite a calming effect. As dull and repetitive as they can be, focusing my brain power on such an unimportant task helps keep me centered and grounded in reality.

It’s around that time of day when the afternoon is coming to an end, and the sun is starting to lower in the sky. The sun is coming in at an odd angle, blinding me, when I hear a firm knock at the door. I huff, stomping down the hallway to the entryway, rubbing my eyes to get rid of the white spots in my vision. Thinking it’s Haymitch coming early to give me some sort of lecture about behaviour around the newest inhabitant of Victors Village, or to watch me cook and tell me I’m doing it wrong. I yank open the front door and say in a rather impatient voice, “You needn’t have come early, I know perfectly well how to cook without burning my house down.”

I’m still squinting slightly, but when my vision finally clears I see only a broad chest standing in front of me. Looking up, I’m met with Peeta’s face, once more frowning at me. “I know that,” he says, “I just thought I’d come early to help out a little, I brought some bread,” he sheepishly lifts his left arm showing me a small basket filled with rolls and buns.

“Oh,” I stammer, “right, well come on in then.”

I turn my back and start marching back to the kitchen, scrunching my face and resisting the urge to bang my head repeatedly against a wall. Of all the ways I could invite Peeta into my house, that has got to be one of the worst. “Mind the boxes,” I say as an afterthought, conscious that most of the front of this house is littered with them, and not wanting him to trip over one.

He hums behind me, and I can hear his heavy tread picking over the little maze that I’d inadvertently created when piling them up.

I plant myself in front of the stove again, stirring the simmering stew - even though I know full well that it doesn’t need stirring anymore - and yank the curtain closed.

He enters the kitchen and out of the corner of my eye I see him glance back down the hallway furrowing his brow slightly, I silently beg for him not to ask about them.

“You can put the basket on the table,” I rush out, as soon as I see him open his mouth. He nods his head, and places the basket on the corner of the table. I can feel his eyes burning a hole in the back of my head. I don’t think I’ve ever wished for the arrival of Haymitch, but right now I really hope he comes waltzing in.

“What’s with the boxes?”

No such luck.

I sigh, and hunch myself over the countertop. “I’m, uh, leaving.”

“Oh,” he says it quietly, and I’m not sure if I was even supposed to hear it.

“District 4,” I elaborate, even though he didn’t ask, “My mother got a job there, and there’s a school with a good training program for Prim.”

“That’s good, I guess,” he says, his leg has started to bounce again, “I was wondering where they were.”

A silence falls over the room, and my breathing starts to pick up. Just say something! My brain scrambles for something to say, because there is no way I can stand here in silence with Peeta. “I only really came back here to, you know, pack up, and uh… say goodbye.”

As I pull out the drawer to look for a good bread knife, I see Peeta nod, digesting this information. Still he says nothing, nothing about what he thinks of this, what he feels about me leaving. I don’t know why I should care, but I find that I do. Where is Haymitch? Can’t he for once in his life be on time? I’m drowning here, helplessly floundering around.

“Well you know how it is,” I continue, “needing a fresh start, after everything that’s happened…” I don’t know why I’m saying all of this, to Peeta no less, but the words won’t stop pouring out of my mouth.

I take a deep breath to steady myself, and consider clamping a hand over my mouth to stop myself from saying any more. Peeta stands stock still in the entryway of the kitchen, I don’t think he knows what to say, which is a first. I’ve rendered Peeta Mellark speechless.

To fill the quiet, and desperate not to say anything else, I begin scurrying around the kitchen. Wiping off countertops, and rinsing already cleaned and drying dishes. I’m frantic, and I have no clue as to where to go from here. What to say to this man standing in my kitchen, someone I know so much, and yet so little about.

I’m banging open cupboards and drawers, searching for a knife to cut the bread with, when Peeta comes to stand beside me. I’m searching through a drawer, which I know doesn’t hold a bread knife, my hands are shaking and I can’t make them stop. That’s when he reaches over, and clasps my hands in his. I freeze, and look straight ahead at the standard kitchen tile, willing myself to breathe.

“Katniss,” he murmurs, “look at me.”

I blink slowly, and my lip trembles, but slowly I turn my head to look at him. He’s so close, and he’s looking at me with such intensity that it should make me nervous, but it doesn’t.

“It’s OK,” he smiles, in what I think is supposed to be a reassuring way, but I’m transfixed by his eyes, and they’re not smiling with him. I sag slightly, I want so badly for it to be OK, every morning I trick myself into believing it’s OK, just to be able to get up. It isn’t though.

“No, no it’s not OK,” I whisper, “None of anything that happened was ‘OK’.”

I look down, fascinated by the way his large pale hands seem to engulf my own smaller darker ones. He doesn’t seem to have a response to that either, so we just stand there in silence, until Haymitch finally comes strolling through my back door.

Quickly, I yank my hands from Peeta’s and take a step back, brushing away non-existent wrinkles in my clothing. Haymitch, seemingly unaware of the strained atmosphere in the room, plonks himself down at the table before rambling on about some phone call he received from Plutarch. Peeta tries to catch my eye, but I move swiftly away, collecting bowls and spoons, and finally procuring that wretched bread knife. Carrying them over to the table, I give Haymitch a withering look, it isn’t exactly his fault that I’m unable to be in a room alone with Peeta and have a normal conversation, but he didn’t have to invite everyone round to my house for supper either.

He quirks one of his eyebrows in amusement, catching on to my annoyance.

“I hope you didn’t stare at the food with such a sour face, you might have spoiled it,” he says, eyes narrowing at me in challenge. Goading me into saying something I might regret. He thinks I’m stupid, he thinks I don’t understand why he’s doing this to me. I fully understand that this is him punishing me for leaving, he doesn’t want me to know it, that he doesn’t want me to go, but unfortunately for him he told me once when I was escorting him back to his house after another one of these damned dinners.

He’d leant in close to my ear, breathing sour fumes into my face, and said, “You shouldn’t leave, you can’t leave, Twelve is your home remember. And anyway, what’re you gonna do without your favourite resident drunk.” It hadn’t been the first time he’d tried to guilt me into staying, but at least he’d shown more finesse before, using Peeta’s inevitable return against me. This was the first time he had actually shown any indication that he was remorseful of my decision to leave. He’d then belched loudly, and fallen asleep right there, with me holding him up in the middle of the road.

I stare him down, daring him to say another word, but he reaches over the table and grabs the bread and knife. “Well at least I can know that one part of this meal won’t give me food poisoning,” he exclaims loudly, I only roll my eyes and stalk over to the stewpot. Peeta tries once more to grab my attention, but I studiously avert my gaze from his and busy myself with finding a tea towel to carry over the steaming dish. I sigh quietly in relief when Peeta finally makes his way over to the table and takes a seat opposite to Haymitch.

“We’ve missed your bread around these parts,” Haymitch proclaims, “haven’t we, sweetheart?” He looks up at me, daring me to deny this sentiment.

I place the pot down onto the table with a little more force than necessary, causing both Haymitch and Peeta to jump in their seats. I give each of them my best glare, effectively shutting off all conversation for the next five minutes.

As we eat in awkward quietude, the only sounds that fill the room are the clink of a spoon hitting a bowl or a crunch as someone bites into a roll.

The silence suits me just fine, and the glowering looks that Haymitch sends me from over his bowl don’t bother me in the slightest. At first I don’t realise, but Peeta starts to fidget on the other side of the table, tapping out an erratic beat on the table and holding his spoon in a death grip before releasing it slightly.

I watch in fascination as his knuckles turn white from the effort, I know it’s a horrible thing to think, but I begin to wonder if it’s my throat he really wants to grip in a chokehold. I give an involuntary shiver, and stare down at the stew that I so hastily threw together, ashamed of my line of thought.

I’ve just about finished my bowl, when Haymitch clears his throat. I inwardly groan, does the man never take a holiday?

To my surprise, however, he only leans back in his chair, levels us both with a look, and says, “Thank you, that was… lovely,” his features, so hardened by years of having children die on his conscience, soften slightly and he turns his focus to me. I shrink back a little at the scrutinisation, but his eyes hold no malice, they just look right into my soul and I know what he’s going to say before he even says it, “You did good, sweetheart.”

Even though I knew it was coming, my breath momentarily stills in my chest. I look back at him and my face crumples. Haymitch knew exactly what he was doing when he said it, he’s reminding me that we were, and still are, a team. That as much as he doesn’t want to be, and I don’t want him to be, he’s here. And I am forgiven.

“Boy, would you give us a moment,” Haymitch says softly.

I’m barely holding myself together, the flimsy strings that have been holding my already fragile psyche together all these weeks are about to fail, and I’m once more grateful for the fact that Haymitch understands me so well, because as much as I hate to admit it, I can’t fall apart in front of Peeta.

I hear rather than see Peeta hastily vacate the room, and though I was expecting a floodgate to open and for the tears to stream from eyes as if a dam had been broken, none come. The kitchen isn’t filled with my howls and sobs, it’s filled only with the quiet ticking of the clock on the wall. Within me though, an inferno rages. Filled with the screams of the far gone dead, and me at the center gasping and retching.

They are bursting to be let loose, they are threatening to tear at the very seams of my sanity and being. Some are my fault, some happened on accident, and some happened because I wasn’t watching closely enough, but they all shout the same. It starts with my father and ends with Squad 451. It’s pent up somewhere inside me, all the hurt and anguish, under lock and key, and it’s writhing and scrambling to be let loose. For me to let it go. But I’m scared that if I do so there won’t be anything left. These people’s deaths are what define me, and I have no idea where I lay in the mess of faults and debts.

In the kitchen though, silence still reigns, I’m staring stoically at the tiny amount of watery liquid that remains at the bottom of my bowl. Haymitch takes my clenched fists in his own roughened and grubby hands. He doesn’t bore me with trite platitudes, he just sits in silence waiting for me to either release my torment, or push it back down.

We stay like this for what seems like hours, but eventually my tense muscles relax slightly and I remember how to breathe normally. My ghosts are silent again. I look up at Haymitch, exhausted and emotionally rung out, and I wait for his ‘sage’ advice to come. All he offers up though is;

“You got off the train, sweetheart. Stop trying to get back on.”

He rises from the table, and for once he carries the dishes over to the sink. He pats me once on the shoulder before leaving. I watch as he hobbles from my kitchen and down the road to his own house, looking years older than a man his age should.

—————————————————————————–

After the somewhat disastrous dinner, I made sure to isolate myself from anyone who might cause me some sort of distress. It wasn’t hard, seeing as I’ve never been the most sociable of beings, and I had plenty to do before my departure. I packed the remainder of the house up, and left a bottle of liquor on Haymitch’s doorstep, with a hastily tied bow wrapped around its neck. I then ventured into the woods, I didn’t bother with getting out one of my bows and arrows, I just wandered through the dense foliage, silently saying goodbye to all I used to know, and with it my childhood.

The people came, as arranged, to help move the boxes to the train station. I boarded the train in the dead of night, with only Greasy Sae there to bid me farewell. The train moved out of the station with little ado, and I found myself a spot in one of the corners, sat on a crinkly tarp.

It was decided that if I was to be travelling from District 12 to District 4, it couldn’t be on one of the new passenger trains, it would cause too much ‘excitement’ as Plutarch so eloquently told me. I was to travel in one of the trains filled with building materials, and rations. I agreed, as I see myself as being rather intimate with small cramped spaces.

The train chugged along, rocking me into a state of tranquility. I breathed in, and I breathed out, hoping with all of me that it could finally be OK.

——————————————————————–

It isn’t until a few days after my arrival in Four that I see it, a small piece of paper on my floor. It must have fallen from one of the boxes whilst I was unpacking. Frowning, I pick it up,

If you ever want to talk. - Peeta

Underneath is a number, a phone number, Peeta’s phone number. I clutch the paper in my fist, crumpling it a little. I’m standing stock still in my room, the sunlight is filtering in through the window. It isn’t particularly special, in fact, the writing is scrawled, as if he was rushing to get it done. But it’s still from Peeta, and it’s rattled me.

There’s so much to do, I promised Prim we could go for a walk on the beach, Gale is visiting, I said I’d go see Annie for tea. But right now, none of that matters, because the world has gone still with me, and I don’t know what to do.

I yank open my desk drawer, looking at the crumpled piece of paper one last time, before placing it in there with all of the other things that I no longer know what to do with, but can’t get rid of; a locket, a pin, a pearl, and a spile. I then slam the drawer shut, hoping that the sounding finality of it will echo across all time, time to say goodbye to all that. I close my eyes against the desperate want to open it again and cradle all of these things in my trembling hands. There’s just so much to do.

——————————————————————-

I manage to stay away from the drawer, and the objects inside that call for my attention. I take walks on the beach with my mother and Prim, listening to all my little sister has to say. She looks so happy and content as she jumps and twirls on the sand and it makes me happy. I sit with Annie, in the surf or on her porch, holding her hand through her grief, or letting her talk about all she wants. Sometimes we prefer the sound of the waves though, letting the reliable sound of it coming and going fill us with a sense of security. Because even if it goes, it always comes back.

Gale visits, and we try our hand at fishing and sailing. We fall in a lot, and the cold water is shocking and sobering. It’s good to be back on familiar ground with Gale, the uncertainty and mistrust that plagued our friendship over the past year still hangs over our heads, but we don’t talk about it. Sometimes, though, I’ll catch him looking at me a certain way, or a silence will fall over us, and I’ll curse the war for nurturing such a blank space in our friendship.

I look into the Capitol archives, at my mothers request, to look for pictures of myself and Primrose from when we were younger.

The pictures I find are black and white, standard for the mandatory pictures we had to take in school. In mine, I look about ten years old, I’m wearing two braids with ribbons in them. I don’t seem too pleased about this, in fact I look about ready to tear off the head of anyone who says anything about the ribbons. I’m staring at the camera with mild curiosity, but mostly apprehension, though the small smile I’m wearing suggests differently. Primrose looks so young, still carrying a meagre amount of baby fat, her blonde hair falling only to her small shoulders. I can practically hear her giggling at the camera, all blue eyed and dimpled. I forgot that she used to look like that, and my heart aches for the family of four who lived in a small shack in the Seam. I even find a picture of my mother, from when she was younger, and what people said is true. She’s beautiful, around fifteen or sixteen in her picture, and she’s giving the camera a sweet smile, her beguiling eyes are clear of all sorrow that plagued her later years.

For a while, these pictures take pride of place on our mantle, next to my mother and fathers wedding picture, until Prim declares we must take new ones. So, we do. And their lively colour fills first our mantle, relegating the others (apart from the wedding photo) to my mothers bedside table, not quite forgotten, but no longer the center of attention anymore. Then our fridge, and eventually Prim and I create little collages on the wall.

My phone calls with the good doctor dwindle to once a week. He tells me that whilst I might always ache for the ones I have lost, making new, happier, memories is a ‘damn good way to honour their memory’.

———————————————–

All of this ‘moving forwards’ business comes to a grinding halt, however, on the 4th of July. My forced abstinence from the drawer of trinkets that I can’t make sense of, ends. It’s Reaping Day. And I feel so alone.

I’m awake before dawn, having screamed myself awake from the nightmares that won’t ever leave. I don’t bother with going back to sleep. I slip out of bed and make my way to the kitchen, where I boil the kettle for something to do.

The tide is in, licking its way further up the sand, coming closer and closer to our house. It never reaches, but a part of me always thinks that it will. I seat myself on our window seat, watching as the water encroaches further up the beach, swallowing sand as it goes. I curl my feet up underneath me, and drink slow tentative sips from my mug.

Though I try to focus all of my attention on watching the water, my eyes keep on finding their way back to the phone that hangs happy and yellow from the wall, just out of reach. If my eyes aren’t staring holes into the phone, they start fidgeting over to my closed bedroom door, searching for the strength to stay where I am.

My tea goes cold, the tide starts to move back out, and the sky begins to go pink. And still my attention is focused only on the phone and the whiteness of my bedroom door.

Eventually, my will bends, and I can’t stand the stillness of my indecision anymore, I abandon my mug on the table and shuffle over to my room. I find the note exactly where I left it, crumpled in a ball and left to collect dust. A part of me was starting to think that I might have imagined its existence.

Smoothing out the crumpled paper in my hands, I promise myself only once.

I dial the number before I can lose my resolve and back out, and wait, impatiently tapping my foot. The phone seems to dial forever, and I’m sure that it’s about to ring off when I hear the click of the phone being picked up.

“Hello,” the voice that crackles through the speaker sounds remarkably tired and my heart sinks like a stone, “Peeta Mellark speaking, who is this?”

I open my mouth, but my voice sticks in my throat and I can’t get the words out for the life of me.

“Hello?”

I close my mouth and breathe in deeply through my nose, trying to calm the nerves that are causing my heart to bang incessantly against my ribcage. I feel as if I have run a marathon. My head is pounding and my palms are sweating.

“Alright, well I’m going to hang up now.”

I panic, scared that he might actually hang up and then I won’t be able to get a hold of him again; “Wait!”

“Katniss?” He sounds so shocked and mildly confused. When I hear him say my name, I realise how desperate I’ve actually been to just hear his voice again. I want to talk to him, so I force the rest of the words to unstick from my voice box.

“Yeah, it’s me,” I say, taking another deep breath, “Katniss.”

There’s no sound from the other end of the line, and for a moment I’m scared that he might have hung up the phone.

Almost as if he was reading my mind he says, “Sorry, just grabbing a chair.”

“Oh.” The relief is tangible in my voice.

Once more a silence fills the line, with only the crackle of static and white noise filling it. I’m filled with a sudden sense of guilt, why did I leave it so long?

“So…” Peeta starts, “you called.”

“Yeah,” I reply, searching for something to say that won’t outright tell him that I only called him because I was feeling lonely. Isn’t that why I called him though, because I’m so alone, even when I’m around people. I shake the thought from my head, Peeta doesn’t need, let alone want to hear about that.

He’s about to say something, but I jump in before he can, “Peeta, I’m sorry for not calling you before,” and as I say it I realise that I mean it, I really am sorry for shutting him out of my life. Because as much as I want to move on, I can’t if I leave whatever we have unresolved. I take a deep breath and manage to squeak out, “It’s Reaping Day, and I can’t get through it without you.”

I lean heavily against the wall, suddenly weak in the knees from my confession, scared that it won’t be enough to start to make up for all the harm I’ve caused him.

Turns out that it is though, because he tells me to take a seat, and he starts to talk. Distracting me from the paranoia I’m feeling, how am I supposed to get through this day every year for the rest of my life. I have a sudden vision of resurrecting snow from the dead, just so I can kill him, for all the suffering he has caused me, everyone really.

He talks about nothing at first, but then I join in, and I realise it’s not that bad. It’s actually good, I feel good talking to him, like a weight has been lifted from me and I’ve finally reached the surface of deep deep water. Breathing in deep, clean breaths of air.

“Tell me, what’s happening in Four, right now I mean,” he asks.

“Umm,” I turn my head to look out the window, “the sun is starting to rise over the houses.”

“Oh?” he says, interest piqued, “that must be pretty, describe it to me.”

I do, stumbling over my words and trying to tell him just how gorgeous it is. How the pinks wash away the greys and blues of twilight, how the sun looks so yellow and bright, delighting in the fact that it is rising once more, how it makes me feel as if the world is being given permission to awaken by the sun. And once I’m done I can feel that Peeta is smiling on the other end of the line.

“The sunset is even better, you should come see it,” I whisper without really thinking about what it is implicating.

A silence settles over us once more, and it isn’t awkward even though my last sentiment is hanging in the air.

Peeta either didn’t hear what I said, or chooses to not say anything to it, because what he says next is so completely off topic that it takes me off guard; “Katniss, why did you vote for there to be another Hunger Games?” His voice is grave, and I can tell that this has been on his mind for the entirety of our conversation, if not longer.

“I’m sorry,” he says, following my prolonged silence, “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, no,” I say, quick to wave off his apology, “you have a right to know.”

I’m quiet whilst I try to collect my thoughts, and Peeta doesn’t interrupt, already sensing that this will open up a larger conversation, one that I wasn’t anticipating when I decided to pick up the phone.

“Coin didn’t like me because I didn’t trust her. She wanted my support when it came to electing a new leader, and she wasn’t sure that she would get it from me. So, she wanted me gone, I had served my purpose as the Mockingjay, and now I was more useful as a martyr than anything else. That’s why she sent you out onto the field, and had you join Squad 451, she was hoping that you would kill me,” at this I hear Peeta’s sharp intake of breath, and I can already hear him try to start to apologise, but that would only open up a whole other can of worms, and I only want to say all of this once, so I continue heedless of Peeta’s attempt to interrupt with an apology.

“I guess she wanted to get it on film or something, to prove what a horrible monster Snow was, turning two lovers against each other, and all that. As we both know, that didn’t really work out for her when we went off the grid on our own mission. She could no longer control what I did, and had no one supervising me, she could only hope that one of the many pods in the Capitol would kill me off. When it became clear that I wasn’t dead, and in fact very much alive, despite much of our Squad not being so, she needed to get me back under control. Rope me back in as it were.”

I suck in a deep breath, preparing myself for what I would next confess. I have only spoken of this once, shortly with Gale. Long enough to know the gist of what happened, and understand what exactly needed to happen next. Peeta sits in silence on the other end of the phone, I have his attention, “Coin needed to break me, she needed me to be so worn down and desperate that I would go for the easy way out. The people would now follow me into anything, and if I did not lead them to Coin they would not go on their own.”

“So, she authorised Prim to be sent into the field. Only thirteen, she would not have been allowed otherwise. That day, in the City Circle… Primrose was supposed to be there, by chance her hovercraft got held up with some sort of technical difficulties, and only made it in time to see the aftermath of the second round of bombs going off.”

“I voted for another Hunger Games because I could see no other way out, nothing was going to change. Ever. Not with Coin around, anyway. I needed her to trust me, to think that I was on her side.”

I hear Peeta suck in a sharp breath on the other end of the line, digesting all of this information, and understanding what I’m implicating. That Coin’s assassination wasn’t just me going slightly off the rails.

“Guess the odds were slightly in my favour on that one,” I add with a wry smile.

The line is quiet for a while, but Peeta catches on faster than I expected, and asks; “Does anyone else know?”

I debate on telling him names, but decide against it. He already knows enough, and if there ever is a deeper investigation on the matter, I don’t want Peeta to be implicated. “As far as I know, only three, and one of them is dead anyway.”

In my mind’s eye, I see Peeta nodding his head, understanding that he won’t be getting names and shouldn’t press me on the matter.

“Does, uh, Prim know what could have happened to her?” He questions in a soft voice.

“We’ve never really talked about it, but I assume she does. She was part of the crew that helped rescue myself and a few others from the carnage.” I look out the window, curling myself tighter into my ball on the window seat, picturing what my sister must have seen that day, I shiver involuntarily, my voice trailing off. The sun has risen fully now, and I can hear my mother and Prim rousing, getting ready for the day.

“Listen, I - uh - have to go, my mother and Prim are awake, and Prim will probably want to be with me today.” I chew nervously at my nail, wincing out how it might sound to Peeta.

“Oh, right, of course,” he replies hastily, “I’ll leave you to it then.”

Frantic that he might disconnect the line, and I won’t get the chance to speak to him again, I rush out; “I’ll call again, I promise.”

“OK, that’s… good.” he states.

I can hear some shuffling on the end of the line, and I know he’s standing up to hang up the phone so I hastily add, “Oh, and Peeta, take care of yourself.” I then rush to hang up the phone before him, with a smile as bright as the sun on my face.

Later that day I receive calls from both Johanna and Haymitch. Johanna tells me she’s planning on visiting soon, and with a chirpy voice that drips with sarcasm trills down the phone, “Happy Hunger Games, brainless!” Then hangs up the phone so fast I have no chance to get a word in. Haymitch calls rather late in the evening, already buzzed, and slurs some well wishes down the phone that make hardly any sense.

I spend most of the day with Annie and Prim, who clings to my side and holds me at every opportunity she gets, sitting on the warm beach, sunning, and listening to tales of the sea that Annie murmurs to us whilst stroking her steadily swelling tummy.

Gale visits in the late afternoon, though it wasn’t planned, stating he won’t be staying for long. We sit next to each other on an abandoned pier that’s become our new spot, and he lets me lean my head on his shoulder. We sit in silence whilst I doze in and out of a light sleep, and he stares steadfastly out into the ocean, intermittently stroking my hair.

That evening, my mother, myself, and Prim sit on the porch, listening to the wind whistle through the reeds, and the waves crash against the shore. My mother brushes and braids my hair, and I let her. Prim sings silly songs that our father used to sing to us when we were little, whilst she strokes a rather disgruntled Buttercup.

I’m not surprised when that night Prim curls up into bed next to me, hugging me tightly. She whispers into my neck, “I won’t let them take you from me, not ever again.” I stroke her hair and back, murmuring assurances into the top of her haid, fighting the urge to cry.

When she asks if I’ll sing the Meadow Song to her, I do, but I have to stop when the tears start streaming down my face. Prim, so young, and yet so wise, understands, and tells me in no uncertain words, “Rue is safe now, they’re all safe.” And with those words accompanying me, I fall into the first dreamless sleep I’ve had in months.

——————————————————————–

I make good on my promise to Peeta a week later, breaking my silly promise to myself that I would only call him once, and call him. We only talk for about ten minutes, where he tells me all about the rebuilding in Twelve and how Haymitch has adopted some wild geese, and I tell him about the comings and goings of Four. The conversation isn’t a long one, and we don’t touch on any touchy subjects, but I realise it’s enough. It’s enough to hear his voice, and to know that he’s OK. Eventually, our calls go from every other week, to once a week, to twice a week, to every other day. We have a few false starts, but I come to realise that that’s OK too. Sometimes, our conversations are lengthy, and other times, they are a mere five minutes of us sharing meaningless conversation.

Dr. Aurelius continues to call, and gives me new ways to deal with and think about everything that happened. Usually half of what he says is complete jargon, but if I listen closely enough I can pick out the little nuggets of advice that are worth my while.

Buttercup finally ventures further out onto the beach when he realises that that’s where all his fish dinners are coming from, and ascertains that he’s still scared of water after what I did to him as a kitten. It amuses Gale and I though, to watch the cat find a fish in one of the many rock pools, and hiss at the unyielding water whilst stalking around the pool.

Johanna does come and visit, in late July, and she has me lead her into the sea bit by bit. It takes two weeks of some tears, lots of swearing and cursing at the Capitol and Snow, coaxing from myself, and shouts of encouragement from both my sister and Annie before Johanna manages to stand before me, salty water up to her armpits. She’s gripping my forearms in a vice hold, and she’s standing mere inches from my face.

Gritting her teeth she hisses out, “Say something, anything, to distract me.”

I think for a moment before telling her, “You know that weird lumpy thing on my forearm that you were commenting on earlier,” she nods at me, “You gave me that ugly scar, you bitch.”

It has the desired effect, and she starts cackling, before adding, “A thank you would have been nicer.” She then dunks herself fully underwater. When she comes back up, Annie and my sister are cheering from the beach, my mother is leaning against the railing on our porch stairs smiling. Johanna coughs a few times, before shaking the water from her short choppy hair like a dog, and embraces me fiercely, wheezing into my ear, “We don’t talk about this, ever again, alright.”

I only smile, and pat her on the back a few times, before leading her back onto the beach, where the sun dries our chilled bodies.

Later that day, when my sister has gone off to one of her classes, Annie, Johanna, and I sit on the sand watching the waves rolling in and out. It has a calming effect, and the hypnotic sounds cause both myself and Johanna to yawn and lay back, looking up at the clear blue sky.

Johanna’s almost dozed off and I’m beginning to feel heavy headed, when Annie unwittingly plants a seed in our heads. She turns and looks out at the unrelenting sea, and says, “Have you ever wondered what else might be out there? I used to, I still do. Finnick used to tease me for it, said there was no point in wondering about the what ifs of this world, I don’t know though.”

Johanna and I both look at each other in bewilderment, to be truthful I had never really considered the wider world around me when I was younger, too concerned with the here and now and the immediate obstacles facing me; such as getting enough food to live through the week. I think the younger me would have sided with Finnick on this, why ponder about something so out of reach and fantastical. Sure it might have been a fun thing to wonder about, but at the same time a little hard to wrap one’s head around. But now… the possibilities seem endless, and the thought of there being more people out there doesn’t seem so worrisome and out of reach anymore.

Johanna says something first, “Nope, never wondered. And even if there were other people out there who’s to say they wouldn’t be ten times worse than us.”

Annie shrugs, and says with a little smile, “Who’s to say they’re not terribly nice, and maybe even awfully rich,” She looks down at us with an intense look in her eyes, “My mother used to say there were people, from way back when, who would pillage and steal from other ships and cities, they were called Pirates and they sailed the seven seas in massive wooden boats,” She sighs contentedly, obviously thinking of some sort of happy memory that we’re not privy to, “Doesn’t that sound amazing?”

I try to imagine this, stormy seas and troubled skies with big ships rocking back and forth on the waves, but I can’t quite envision it. We abandon the conversation and the sun begins to set. I sigh contentedly, watching as the sky turns a blood red and the few clouds are stained orange.

Johanna nudges my arm, “Say, I’ve been meaning to ask, how’s things with lover-boy? Is there anything happening between you two?”

I’d managed to avoid this conversation with basically everybody for the past couple of months. My conversations with Peeta were a private matter and it was a luxury that I was extremely grateful for after our relationship in the past being shoved under a microscope for all to see, I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to let anyone in on this yet, if ever. I’m pretty certain that my mother and Prim are aware of whom I’m talking to on the phone, but they’ve never asked me about it, for which I am thankful.

I ring out the ends of my hair, which are still a bit damp from the sea, and gnaw at my lip, “Uhhh, nothing much to tell really…”

Johanna makes a disbelieving sound and raises her eyebrows at me, “Sure there isn’t, brainless,” she turns to look back out at the sun setting, and I think she’s going to drop it when she adds, “You’re still an awful liar, by the way.”

I splutter, trying to seem cool and indifferent, but clearly they both see right through me. Annie pats my shoulder sympathetically, before proffering her opinion; “It’s alright, Katniss, you don’t have to tell if you don’t want to… but if you are talking, I think you should invite him for a visit, he’s probably awfully lonely in Twelve with only Haymitch and the reconstructors for company.”

This last comment gives me pause, I’d never really considered what Peeta does when he’s not on the phone to me. I just sort of assumed that he painted and baked and did other Peeta-ish things, I don’t really surprise myself with this either, for I am once more reminded of how self-centered I am, especially when it comes to Peeta.

I scratch at my ankle absentmindedly, “Yeah, maybe I will.”

We sit on the beach even after the sun has gone down, Annie’s words still ring in my head and I actually begin to consider inviting Peeta. At the moment, I’m completely fine with keeping our friendship as an over-the-phone thing, I know it’s always there waiting and I can always come back to it.

Annie is a good distraction from these thoughts though, as she points out a few constellations. I’ve never been much of a star gazer, my father used to try and show me the shapes they made in the sky, but I could never make them out, so instead of showing my inadequacy I just pretended I didn’t care.

She likes these sort of things though, myths and legends that her mother told her when she was little, passed down from mouth to ear for centuries. We used to have an old man like that in District 12, he would hang around the Hob telling stories from an overturned crate to the miners’ children. My father used to describe him as ‘away with the fairies’ and I find that that analogy fits Annie rather well.

Eventually, Annie bids us a good night and clambers up the beach. Johanna, still lying next to me, turns her head to face me. Her eyes are hard, and her face looks serious, I’m about to ask her what’s wrong when she holds up her hand to stop me.

“Look, I’m not going to pretend to know what type of relationship you have with Peeta, but I’m gonna tell you this straight because I know Annie would never. You are the only one out of us Victors who got out of the war relatively unscathed, the rest of us kind of lost everything and everyone we ever knew. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty, but you should be aware of this.”

She sucks in a breath, clearly quite desperate for me to understand, “You care for him to some extent right? Like enough to risk your life for him, repeatedly?” she asks me. I nod slowly, wondering where she is headed with this impassioned monologue. “Then cling to it, and don’t ever let go. You have him now, you could have him now if you chose to do so. I’m not saying in that way, because I have no idea where you are at with that hot cousin of yours, but you have a choice. Which is not something the rest of us have. Your months of pining after him in District 13 are over, brainless.”

“I wouldn’t say I pined after him,” I say defensively.

“Oh whatever,” Johanna replies, borderline aggressive, “and that is so not the point anyway.”

“No, I know.”

“Just think about it, alright?” she says as she pulls herself up from the sand, waiting for me to follow.

We’re walking up the beach when Johanna adds, “Also what the fuck is up with Annie and her crazy stories? I have not once thought that there might be something else out there,” she waves her hand out dismissively at the ocean, “Is that just me?”

I snort at this, she might be one for cultivating awkward situations, and she loves uncomfortable lines of questioning, but she never really gets so earnest about it. I decide to play along, “No, I never did either, until this evening of course. I guess when you live next to the sea though, and you can see where the horizon ends, it makes sense that someone like Annie would wonder about what came after.”

Johanna nods at this, adding in a conspiratorial voice, “I think we would make great pirates, don’t you brainless?”

I laugh a genuine laugh at this, “Sure we would be.”

———————————————————————–

Summer wears on, and things happen as usual. Buttercup learns that he can scare the fish into leaping out of the water, so that he can catch them in his mouth. I help Annie in buying things to prepare for her baby. Her tummy is swollen, and looks quite uncomfortable. When she walks, she does the signature pregnant woman waddle. I continue my calls with Peeta, and eventually I decided that it wouldn’t be half bad if Peeta came to visit. It takes me a while to build up the nerve to invite him, remembering the last time I made an off-hand comment about it, but I do. We speak at length about it, and eventually I convince him. It takes the incentive of a break from Haymitch, and a sunset to remember for the ages to get him to agree, but in time he does. A date is set in September, which according to Annie is when the sea is at its warmest. I find that I’m actually looking forward to it, and when I tell my mother and Prim about it, I can’t help but grin like an idiot. My mother gives me a knowing smile, that I try not to let grate on me, and Prim gives me a brief but excitable hug.

I knew the conversation would have to happen at some point, even so, I’m not prepared for it when it comes. I was hoping that the conversation wouldn’t have to happen at all, but I know that if Gale and I are going to have any sort of relationship in the future I need to start being honest with him. I think I owe him that much.

We’re heaving ourselves out of the water, onto the pier. We went deep sea fishing, and on the wooden planks awaits a healthy pile of clams, muscles and oysters that we’ve collected over the morning. Gale is busy separating them off into separate piles and counting them up, whilst I’m wringing out my hair and tying it up into a bun so it doesn’t drip too much down my back, when he casually asks what I’m doing next weekend. I freeze, deliberating on how I should best tell him this.

I decide I should just be bluntly honest with him, “Uh, Peeta’s coming to visit,” I try to keep all inflections of emotion out of my voice, nonetheless I still choke on the last part of the sentence as it comes out.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Gale freeze in his sorting, but he recovers quickly and continues, asking in a level voice, “I didn’t know you were in touch with him?”

To his credit, it doesn’t sound like an accusation, more of an enquiry. “Yeah well, most people don’t. I guess after so long of having everyone paying attention to us, I just wanted to keep it private.”

“That makes sense,” Gale replies easily.

I’m a little confused, and perhaps even a little peeved that Gale is acting so reasonable. A part of me wants him to freak out on me, or become acidicly jealous. I’m not really sure why that is, but it’s the truth.

Gale gets up to grab his shirt, and it seems that he is wholly done with this conversation. This confuses me even further, what is he playing at? I try to read his face, try to understand what he actually thinks about this, so I know where to go next. But his trademark scowl is absent from his face as he reaches for a towel to scrub at his hair, it’s neutral and passive.

“We’re not an item you know,” I blurt out.

Gale stills, and looks up from underneath the towel, “OK?”

I once again try to read his expression, but come up short. Losing my patience with him I cry out, “Oh for fucks sake Gale! Would you just tell me what you’re thinking, instead of acting like a… like a block of cheese.”

He raises his eyebrows at this, “A block of cheese? Really, Catnip?” he chuckles, and I feel myself blushing furiously.

“Well you know what I mean, don’t you? You’re acting so… so… Oh I don’t know, you’re just being annoying!” I huff out, standing up and reaching for my T-shirt as well.

There’s quiet for a moment, and I think my outburst will just be ignored like so many others I’ve had, but then I hear Gale sighing behind me, “What do you want me to say to you Catnip? Be careful? Congratulations?! I know for a fact that neither would go down well…”

My back is still turned to him, and I’m scowling out at the sea cursing whatever deity decided that I needed to care about whatever the fuck Gale thought. I could almost growl for the frustration of it.

“Katniss,” Gale starts, “Where exactly is all this coming from?”

I whirl around to face him, ready to tell him all the things he should be doing right now, saying in this situation, because I have about a thousand nasty things that I could hurl at him. But I see his face and it’s asking for me to be open and honest with him, so I am, “I’m scared I’ll fuck it up, like I did before… like I did with you.”

“Well… I can’t promise you that you won’t,” he smiles at me, “but even if you did, he’d come back to you, like I have, and like he’s done a hundred other times.”

“I don’t know, Gale, I’m pretty screwy in the head, and well, so is he. What if I do or say something that… sets him off?”

“Well you’ve been talking to him over the phone I assume,” I nod in confirmation, “and has anything you said or done set him off on a violent rampage?”

I shake my head, “No, but there are times when he just goes silent…”

Gale is quiet for a while, and he’s looking at me strangely, when I raise my eyebrows at him in askance, he says, “Sorry, just wondering how I got into this situation.”

I smile sheepishly and tell him, “I’m sorry, I’m such an ass.”

Gale smirks at me and says, “Now that is something we can agree on.”

“Oh, shut up,” I say playfully, but then I add in a quiet voice, “I’m sorry I couldn’t, don’t, love you the way you wanted me to,” thinking that whilst we’re at it I might as well apologise for this as well.

Gale looks at me for a few moments, seemingly contemplating what to say next, “Don’t be, having you as my friend is one of the greatest privileges of my life,” he shrugs, “And it’ll pass.”

I look at him, and I too wonder how we got here. Johanna’s words from a couple weeks prior ring in my head; You are the only one out of us Victors who got out of the war relatively unscathed. A sudden wave of nostalgia hits me, and I rush forwards to embrace him. He might not be the same kid I met all those years ago in the woods, but neither am I. I might not agree with all of his opinions, or the things he’s done, but I forgive him for it. And I need him to know this.

“I do love you though,” I say into his chest.

And like the idiot that he is, he replies, “I know.”

I look up at him in mock outrage, and he’s smiling down at me. I can see it too now; It will pass, and he will get over it. I lean my head back into his chest, smiling secretly at how glad I am that I still have him too.

—————————————————

The next weekend arrives far quicker than I would have liked, but it arrives nonetheless. The day is balmy and warm, and the walk to the station has my clothes sticking to me. I shrink into the shadows as much as I can on the platform, wanting to see him before he can see me. The unnaturally warm day seems to be getting to the people of Four as well, who are usually quite personable, they hustle and bustle around me not even looking back when they accidentally bump into me.

I’m all jittery with nerves, and I can’t stop bouncing on the balls of my feet, twisting my fingers in my other hand. The train pulls into the station and I feel as if I might puke, I get the overwhelming urge to run before it’s too late. But then he’s stepping off the train steps, he has a small overnight bag in his hands, and he’s looking round the station for me.

I watch him for a few seconds, take in how he’s filled out in the past few months, his blond hair a little too long on the top as it falls in his eyes. The station, so busy only a few moments before, is now emptying out as people get off the train to attend to business or board the train to be whisked off to who-knows-where.

Finally, it looks as if it is only him and I on the platform. I step forward, off of the pillar I’ve been shrinking into, making myself more visible to him. As soon as he notices me, my heart stills in my chest. There’s no going back now. He smiles warmly at me as he comes up to greet me. Was he always this tall? I look up at him and am greeted with his startling blue eyes that seem to almost glitter in the sun.

“Hey,” he proffers.

“Hi,” I return.

We’re silent for a beat, and I rock back and forth on my feet waiting for him to do something.

“Lead the way,” he says, gesturing for me to go.

We walk in relative silence on the way back to the house, only exchanging a few words with one another as we leave the station. Otherwise I let him take it all in, District 4 is pretty different to Twelve. Architecture and landscape wise, but also in that it wasn’t hit that hard during the war. The things that were bombed, a few fisheries and a port, have long since been rebuilt.

It’s an uphill trek towards the Village, as all Victors Villages were always built apart from the actual District. I guess in a show that Victors were no longer a part of normal District society, and should be regarded as something other.

The afternoon passes with easy chatter, and before I know it the day is cooling off from the initial midday heat. The sun is beginning to lower in the sky and I realise all we’ve done today is sit in the surf, toes in the sand, talking. I did briefly go into the water to splash around and cool off, and Peeta went in up to his waist, but refused to go any further into the constantly shifting water.

I can already tell that the sunset will be spectacular, there’s a little bit of cloud coverage and the sun is shining brightly. My father used to say that this type of sunset is a ‘shepherd’s delight’ I have no idea what that means seeing as I never bothered to ask.

There’s a slight lull in the conversation, and I stare wistfully out at the horizon and not for the first time since Annie asked, I wonder if there is anything out there. I start untangling my knotted damp hair and turn to Peeta who is also staring out at the sea, though I have no clue as to what he’s thinking about.

“Have you ever wondered what else could be out there?” I ask tentatively, rousing Peeta from his thoughts.

His brow furrows as he considers my question, “No, not really. I mean we were always told that everywhere else became uninhabitable after multiple natural disasters and nuclear war,” he recites the things that were told to us every week in class. “Why’d you ask?”

“I don’t know, just something Annie talked about when Johanna was here, I just keep on thinking that if Panem survived then maybe some other civilisation could have as well. I feel like if we ever did do some sort of… expedition, I would want to be a part of that.” As I’m saying it, I’m trying to yank my hair apart, the trouble with salty water is that it makes everything feel sticky and hair is no exception to that.

“Here, let me help you with that,” Peeta offers, holding up his hands. I shrug and hand him the knot, trying not to finch away when his hands travel conspicuously close to my throat, though I can tell that he is making his movements as deliberate as possible. We sit like that for a while, my sentiment hanging in the muggy air, whilst Peeta disentangles my hair.

“You’re not thinking of leaving again, are you?” Peeta asks quietly.

“No, I mean if the opportunity arose, then maybe,” I murmur, “I just feel like everyone has these things going for them; Prim is studying to become a doctor, Annie has her baby, and I’m fine with helping with all that, but it’s still her baby, you know? And Gale is off doing his thing in District 2 most of the time, which I’m alright with. I’ve just sort of become his weekend hobby. I mean I’m happy for them, of course I am. It’s just I don’t have any real purpose anymore, I don’t even have to worry about bringing food to the table either, because my mother has a steady job with a steady income and then there’s still the Victor’s earnings that I get,” this is the first time I’m admitting all of this out loud, or even formalising these feelings into coherent thoughts, but I realise that this feeling of ennui has been plaguing me for some time now.

“I just, there’s no purpose for me anymore. I served my job and now I’ve just been cast off, and am expected to ‘figure it out’. How am I supposed to know what I want to do with the rest of my life?” I come to the same conclusion that Peeta must have come to before the Quell, “Nobody needs me anymore.”

I look down at my nails and start picking at them even though I’ve already bitten them down to the quick. It’s a nervous habit of mine that I just can’t seem to shake. Peeta’s fingers still in my hair as if he’s debating on something, finally he says something though, “I do, I still need you.”

I twist around to face him, and I swear if only for a second his eyes shift down to my mouth. I find myself almost subconsciously leaning towards him. I’m about six inches away when I check myself, our friendship is still fresh, and so, so precarious. There’s no space for me to mess this up with a choice that I make on a whim. I shake my head a little and move back, looking away from him in embarrassment. It’s then that I notice that the sun is about to set, and I really want Peeta to see this. In all of its glory. Because the weather here can switch from unbearable muggy heat, to thunderstorms and clouds the next day.

I stand up, brushing the sand from me, and look down at Peeta whose eyebrows are raised in askance. “Come, there’s this really good place we can watch the sunset from.”

It’s a cliff I found in my earlier ventures of District 4’s landscape. The ground is a soft mixture of sand and mud, the grasses stand tall even when the blustering wind bends them. The sea crashes around below, as it hits the rocks and foams and sloshes around. It’s wild up here, but also oddly quiet.

We get there just as the sun begins to dip lower and lower into the sky, staining the clouds pink and orange as it goes. I’m watching Peeta as he watches the scenery, and I can see a faint smile touch his lips. He must feel my eyes on him, because he turns to look at me and says, “I get it Katniss, I do. To keep on trying to find your place in this world, the nagging thought that you should just start over somewhere new. I understand why you think about what comes after the horizon… and if there ever is an opportunity where you get to go figure that out, I would support you.”

I look at him a little astounded by what he’s said, but wanting to forget the whole rant form before, I dismiss it with, “Yeah well even if I wanted to go, I’m not sure they’d want me. I can’t follow orders for the life of me, and I’m pretty sure that’s a trait that they’d want.”

“Ah, well I can’t disagree with that,” Peeta says teasingly.

He’s smiling down at me, and I find that I’m grinning like an idiot. I keep on wanting to tell him to watch the sunset, but I’m mesmerised by his smile and the way his eyes laugh with it. And it feels so good to know that I put that there. So, I think fuck it, and pull him down by the shoulders to kiss him fully on the mouth.

It only lasts a mere few seconds before we break apart. Peeta is holding my jaw in his hands, and is breathing heavily, his forehead pressed against mine. And for a moment I’m scared that this was the wrong move after all. That in my attempt to make this day perfect for him, I’ve inadvertently messed it all up.

But then he smiles again, and relief courses through my veins causing me to almost slump against him. He breathes out, “I’ve been waiting for you to do that all day, I thought I was actually going to have to ask you if you didn’t catch up on all my hints.”

I chuckle lamely, trying to think of when he dropped any hints, but before I can think too much about it, Peeta’s lips are once more brushing up against my own. It starts soft, but the kiss quickly intensifies, and I think I may have whimpered into his mouth. As Peeta sucks my bottom lip into his mouth, I think that this is right. That with the sun setting the sky ablaze, making it seem as if the world is once more on fire, this was the perfect time for Peeta and I to share this moment.

And as I reach up to tangle my fingers into his too long hair, I know it without a doubt. That even if I did move away to Four, that even if I did sail away in search for something more, I’d come back to him. As reliable and predictable as the world coming back to life in spring, as the tides moving in and out, as the waves crashing against a shore, retreating but always returning, as the sun rising and setting, or even as simple as breathing in and out. I’d come back to him. Always. And as I come to this realisation, I know that with this knowledge, things could finally be OK.

- Fin -

#emilia206 #prompt 26 #Springtime edition 2021 #submission

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funkymbtifiction · 3 years

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INTJ or ENTJ?

Hi Charity,

I'm hoping you can help me figure out my type, I’m stuck between INTJ or ENTJ. I feel like neither of them fit completely, but I know that I use Ni/Se and Te/Fi.

I relate a lot to the Ni posts you made. I have a very personalized worldview, that I find impossible to explain (I have confused a fair amount of people in attempts made). I think things through before engaging most of the time....

You give stronger evidence for INTJ than ENTJ. Most of your "tert-Se" behaviors are more likely for inferior Se (sometimes leaping in too fast, miscalculating, but being sensory-aware and enjoying pleasures and aesthetics) than a Te/Se looper (ENJs tend to lose sight more of how things will rebound on them and make short-sighted tert-Se decisions when problem-solving sometimes, just to "rush" the process to completion) and you seem emotionally mature in a tert-Fi way (ETJs have real trouble connecting to people on an emotional level and not substituting physical contact for emotional closeness).

#question #intj #mbti

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heckpuppyy · 3 years

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It’s quiet.

The musings about a prince at a breaking point. Everyone deserves to breathe, even those who... uh, don’t.

TW// Mentions of intense negative emotion, mentions of blood, mentions of past Temporary Death, crying CW// Light physical affection, mute!reader

He was tired. His muscles ached, his mind was hazy, and his body bruised and bloodied. Zagreus had tried six times to escape again, but to no avail. It was always something that would come up... be it small like not moving away from one of the blasted traps in time and being sent straight home, or something more disappointing like losing to Champions he’d bested time and again from previous attempts. Nothing quite stung more than the mocking from Theseus when he couldn’t dodge quick enough and he was struck down.

This time, however, felt especially difficult. He only just managed to get away from Alecto and nearly was sent home by the Bone Hydra in a rather embarrassing fashion... but now this? Butterflies. Butterflies had left him within an inch of his life as he pulled himself through another door towards another challenge that he knew he wouldn’t survive. Frustrated, tired, and sore he continued into the room and surveyed the area as best as he could. It wasn’t long before he heard movement beyond his field of vision, immediately putting him on edge. He pulled Coronacht closer to him, knocking one of the divine arrows as he inched closer. Maybe if he could get the jump on it he would be able to survive... though that seemed very unlikely.

He pressed his back up against the phoenix statue and peaked around the corner, though what he was greeted by was not what he was expecting. A shade dressed in red and black gathered water from the healing fountain in a pitcher that looked freshly fired. He relaxed a bit, standing up to his height and taking the figure in a bit more. The shade turned and met eyes with the Prince.

And then it clicked.

Zagreus stood there for a moment so he could take everything in. The Shade who he had come to know and care for was behind the door he was convinced would surely take his life for a seventh time... in front of a fountain even! He couldn’t help himself from starting to laugh. It was comical, really. Convinced one of his family members or some other cruel entity was playing some kind of joke on him... putting him through such anguish to only have exactly what he needed when he had essentially given up on himself this time around.

‘Zagreus...?’ you signed, putting down your pitcher and taking a few tentative steps towards your friend. He was bruised, bloodied, and his eyes were reflecting something you had never seen in them before... hopelessness? No... maybe just exhaustion. Whatever it was, you certainly didn’t like it. Zagreus forced a smile as best as he could and settled his bow on his back as he moved towards you.

“Hello there, Shade. I, uh... wasn’t expecting to see you here.” He spoke, trying not to react as you knit your brows together with a frown.

‘What happened? You look rough...’ you reply, quickly going for the cloth attached to your belt and dipping it into your pitcher. Zagreus shook his head as you reach up and dab some of the grime away from his wounds on his face. You sighed, knowing it’s not your place to force him to talk about it but, at the same time, you really wanted him to...

He noticed the change in your demeanor and sighs himself. He moves your hand away and holds it in his for just a moment.

“I, uh... Can we sit down?” he asked, lowering his head to stare at your hand in his. You soften your expression and nod, gently leading him over to the edge of the fountain and settling yourself on it’s edge, Zagreus deciding to sit on the grass next to you. He doesn’t let go even now, almost feeling a sense of grounding having something that’s positive within reach of him.

“I... Haven’t had any success lately,” he starts, still focusing more on your hands than anything else, “And it’s starting to get to me, I think.”

“I was able to get out of here once, but I... couldn’t stay. I had to come back. When I wasn’t getting anywhere then, it was different. I was still learning, still strategizing... Everything was new and I had time to figure it out.”

He moves again, but this time it’s involuntary. He’s trembling a bit and something wet hit the back of your hand. Was he... was he crying? You reach out with your free hand, but hesitate. Not really knowing where physical boundaries of the Prince of the Underworld lie with friends, though really feeling like even a bit of reassurance would help. You let your hand rest on the back of his head, gently running your fingers through his dark hair in an attempts to sooth whatever could bring such a fierce and mighty champion to upset like this.

This gesture, however, was apparently all that Zagreus needed to understand he was safe. The tears flowed freely now, though he wasn’t sobbing. Just a release of emotions and frustrations and tension he was so bound and determined to hold onto. Like if it weren’t for that bundle of feelings he would’ve lost his fire.

“It’s been such a long time and I just...” he sighs, the breath shaky as he continues to let himself decompress. The rest is understood. ‘I just need a break’. He allows himself this moment to just let it all go, pride aside. The gentle touch from his friend feels so comforting when all he’s felt lately is just disappointment and physical agony. He can feel his heart beat against his chest as the negativity begins to seep out of him, the physical release of finally letting himself feel what he had been ignoring almost euphoric against everything else.

The two of you stay like this for a long while. Eventually, Zagreus looks up to finally meet your eyes. Kind and understanding, they truly felt like the only thing in Elysium he cared about at that moment. You smile, your cheeks would color if they could from such a loving gaze gifted to you. You pull back from him, moving to the cloth again and dipping it into the fountain. Zagreus relaxes as you dab away the dirt and grime from is wounds, the more superficial ones closing from the healing qualities of the water. You hand him the pitcher of water and he drinks deep, polishing off the container as if he’d never had a single drop to drink his entire life. You stand, helping him to his feet and fussing over his tunic for a bit before placing a reassuring hand on his arm.

‘Your failures do not define your success.’ you begin, ‘You made it out once, and you will do it again. Setbacks will continue to happen, but will not be the end. If not this time, maybe the next or even next after that.’

“Shade, I--”

You put up a finger and he quiets. You weren’t finished.

‘You’ll make it to Theseus and Asterius and I will be right where I always am. As your number one fan... and your friend. I will always be here, and not just because I’m dead.’

He laughs. That’s better.

‘Now go get them. I’ll be waiting for you at the Colosseum, and praying to Athena for your arrival. If I don’t see you this time, I will simply come right back here and wait until I see you on your next try. You can do it!’

Zagreus pulls you into a sudden tight hug. It catches you off guard for a moment, You relax and return the gesture, holding him until he finally releases and pulls back on his own.

“Thank you, Shade... I guess I didn’t realize how much I needed this. I’ll... I’ll see you soon. Whether that be with Theseus and Asterius or in this clearing once more. Take care of yourself too, alright?”

You nod in a promise you will. He takes a deep breath and holds it just for a moment before slowly letting it out, mentally steadying himself for the next leg. He lifts your hands up to his lips, gently placing a small kiss to the tops of them before pulling away. He smiles, a tinge of pink to his cheeks before he turns and heads off through the door down another leg of his never ending journey.

You smile to yourself and just watch the door close behind him, reveling in the stillness of your surroundings after. You soon move to collect your pitcher and gather some more of the fountain’s water before heading off on your own path again.

After all, the colosseum is a bit of a walk away. You don’t want to be late to see your favorite Champion claim another victory from the King and his Bull. There was no doubt in your mind it was going to be his best fight yet.

Well! After a bit of a rough week at work, I finally managed to finish this small drabble of mine. Working through some frustrations of my own is kind of what inspired this... but also having some really bad runs myself! As always, critique and feedback is appreciated! I hope you enjoyed! - Baph

#Zagreus #The Good Shade #The Good Shade AU #Hades Game #Hades Supergiant #Zagreus x Reader #Shadegreus #Hades fanfic #Hades Fanfiction #Zagreus HAdes #Hurt/Comfort #Zagreus just needs to cry sometimes #IT's okay buddy just let it out #writing tag

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padme-amitabha · 3 years

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Anidala Week 2021

Day 4: Modern AU OR Favorite Trope

I have always been fascinated by the concept of twin flames so here’s my AU with twin flames Anidala. A twin flame is a kind of soulmate so this counts as a soulmate AU.

Half of My Soul

“I feel like a part of my soul has loved you since the beginning of everything.

Maybe we’re from the same star.”

― Emery Allen

I loved you before I met you. I think I have been in love with you for a very long time – since the beginning of time, really. I didn’t know what you looked like and I often wondered about you as a child. I would look around the other girls my age and you just weren’t there. My other half – the missing piece to my soul.

It hurt – just a bit – that you weren’t around when I needed you as a lonely child but I was determined that you would show up some day so kept on looking. And then I finally saw you. Not in school, not in the junkyard I often played in, and not in my neighborhood. I saw you much more closely – in a dream.

In my dream, I worked at a repairs shop but I was a slave. And you were an angel in the form of a girl. You were older than me and it made sense to me then why I had never found you before.

“Padmé Naberrie,” you say and the name resonates within me. Of course, that was your name. What else could it be?

Your name is etched into my very bones and imprinted on my very soul. Everything about you – from your big, brown eyes to the little beauty spot on your cheeks still burned in my memory.

In my dream, you were a queen from an elysian world and it seemed like you descended from the heavens when I met you. I was a mere slave, smitten by your ethereal beauty.

You have haunted my dreams since I was a child. I wondered if I did the same in yours.

Amidst the crowd of people, my eyes sought out yours. I knew you were the one I've been looking for my entire life. The moment our eyes locked, I felt complete. Whole. Something I have never felt my entire life.

My life couldn't be any better - I am a Harvard graduate in mechanical engineering, I have a loving mother, a friendly stepfather, a supportive best friend and yet life has always been far from satisfying. Was it because I was only half of a soul waiting to be reunited with its missing half?

Your beautiful brown eyes sparkled with a hint of recognition. Your face was as familiar as my own.

I longed to tell you that you looked mesmerizing in that white dress. The rest of the world - this noisy bar - faded away once I had laid my eyes on you. It finally like coming home.

"You're the angel, aren't you?" I whisper.

You laugh and the sound is just as melodic as I remembered it.

"I have never heard that from a stranger," you say with a hint of amusement.

“But we aren’t strangers,” I say.

"No. We've met before," you say with a mischievous smirk. You knew exactly what

“Once upon a dream,” we say in unison.

Looking on you was a strange feeling – I saw a part of myself in you. It was as if the Universe had shifted around me and I had finally discovered my place in it.

"I remember you. Though your hair was much longer when I saw you," you remark.

The last time I saw you (alive), you were miserable. Tears had stained your cheeks and you were been desperately clawing at your throat. And after that, I only had the opportunity to see you in holograms. When you looked like you were drowning in a sea of flowers as six guaalars took you back home. The others were faint images of the times you were happy.

"Last I remember, I was a sad, sad man. You know why?" I asked as I played with a loose strand of your hair.

I know why, Anakin. But I let you finish anyway.

My heart beats just a little faster as I gaze into your solemn blue eyes. There’s a hint of sadness in them. I have seen that look before.

"Because I had lost you."

I gazed at the man I had loved in countless lifetimes. He looked like a lost child. There was a vulnerability in him that I had not seen in most men. He was beautiful as tragedies often were.

How could one feel so complete and lost at the same time?

I remember the last time I had closed my eyes because I was exhausted and it was hurting to stay alive. My time was over, I knew it but yours wasn’t. You were going through so much more pain but you had to live on and fulfil your destiny.

I always had faith in you, Anakin. And I told that to your Master and I whispered it in to our son. He had your eyes.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth for he knew what I was thinking. We had shared a mental connection in our other lives as well.

I laced my hand in yours and tiptoed to reach your ears.

"But not this time,” I say.

Your smile is as radiant as the sun itself. When you smile, you remind me of that little boy I dreamt of.

“Not this time,” you echo.

"What do you say we leave this place and go somewhere more private?"

"I would like that,” I say with a smile.

You tremble slightly and I can tell you’re tipsy. I look at the girls who had accompanied me. I gesture them to enjoy the rest of the night by themselves.

“I am not letting you drive home,” I say. "Tell me the story of the Queen and the slave boy again."

"You already know."

"I do. But I would like to hear from you all the same."

We found each other again for a reason. I’ve always known we would find ourselves in each other’s arms in the end. Perhaps, the Universe wants to make up for all the suffering it had put us through in the past. Perhaps, this was the happy ending we have always wanted. It was a faint hope but I saw it burning in his eyes as well and we held onto that hope. For without hope, we had nothing.

II.

“Anakin.”

Odd how a simple word – just some wind, really – was enough to rattle him. Hearing it from surviving Jedi would fuel his rage and brought forth denial if it came from his Master but, when she said it, it haunted him. Her voice could calm him from even the deepest rage. She still had that effect on him, even when she was dead and cold in the grave.

He stared straight ahead, determined not to turn around and meet her eyes. This ghost from Vader’s past from appear at different times in his life – briefly, unexpectedly. Even in death, she had never left him.

Vader had many ghosts and he never hesitated to crush them down for ghosts had no power of their own. They were petty annoyances and reminders of a life he had long left behind. But he happened to love this particular ghost and so he let come and go as she pleased, not quite certain if she was a figment of his imagination.

"Anakin."

She would whisper so softly he would wonder if she was there at it. Perhaps it was just the wind hissing.

He didn't respond. During her visits, she spoke very little. On the rare occasions he had dared to look on her face, it was the same pained expression on Mustafar. Her last moments…

He kept his silence, letting his loud rhythmics breaths drown out her weeping. He decided to take a look. After all, her grief meant his grief, and that would make him a better Sith, as his Master wanted.

He expected to see Padmé with braids, her belly swollen – the way she was on Mustafar or a shriveled, decayed corpse as she was in the nightmares that plagued him every night.

But she was just a child – the way he had first met her. She wasn’t looking at him kindly and Vader knew he deserved that look. He was her murderer, after all.

"You weren't like this," she said in her cold, regal voice. It had always fascinated him how a child could appear so authoritative.

He looked away but there was no escape from her. The Padmé that stood before him was in her yellow gown – the way she had been on the meadow in Naboo.

“I knew our love would destroy us,” she said in a kinder voice than the younger Padmé with a hint of sadness. Vader now addressed them both.

"This is what I have become without you,” he rumbled.

"You aren't the same," said child Padmé petulantly.

"Why? Why did you change?" asked the elder. She had the same look she had when she would be frustrated with her work. His Padmé...the one who was his wife would have been gentler. But he remembered she had a temper in her younger years.

"How can I be the same without you? We were two halves of the same soul and without you, I'll never be whole again...I won't ever be Anakin again."

"Without Padme, there is no Anakin. You were me, Padmé. You and I we were the same person. You were trapped by the Republic just as much as I was trapped by the Jedi. We led the same lives. With you died one half of my soul. And now I'm just what's left of me."

The Padmés faded away. Only this time his wife was in their place and she had flowers in her hair.

"Have faith my love," she said as she drew closer. The words sounded hauntingly familiar but he couldn’t remember why. It had been so long…

She put a ghostly hand on his face though he couldn't feel it. He tried to clutch her hand with his gloved ones only to let it pass through the phantom. "We'll be whole, once again. Just you wait," she said as she disappeared into nothingness.

Vader sighed. His other half had proved to be the best thing in his life and also his greatest misery.

Vader never hallucinated his dead wife again but when she did return, she did in the form of a fierce young princess and a young farm boy from a distant planet.

III.

In a different timeline, Anakin Skywalker lay entangled with his wife. She was fast asleep in his arms but sleep didn’t come as easily to him. Anakin always had a hard time falling asleep. The war had made it very difficult to be vulnerable. He knew he was safe at Coruscant and yet he just couldn't let all his worries fade away.

He gently disentangled himself from his wife and watched her sleep peacefully, her curls spread all over the pillow, her expression as soft as an angel's. He paced back and forth their apartment and settled in front of the large windows in Padmé’s apartment. The city never slept but the traffic was less in Coruscant's skylanes at this hour so it was easy to see the stars clearly.

He remembered watching them from his own small hut back on Tatooine. The worlds that had seemed so foreign back then seemed so familiar now. It was the place he grew up in he had trouble remembering.

"Anakin, what are you doing?" asked Padme softly, her eyes still sleepy.

"I’m sorry. Did I wake you?"

"No, of course not," she said as she rubbed her eyes. "You should get some sleep."

"I just can't. It's hard to relax," he explained.

She nodded with understanding as she took a seat beside him. She placed a hand on his shoulders and rubbed it gently. "Alright, then. I'll sit with you."

"You don't have to."

"I want to. It's not that I get to be with my husband every day."

They sat together and intertwined their hands. "Do you...you ever wonder if...we had never met?" Padme asked.

"No. I don't. Because we were always meant to meet. Don't you believe that, angel?"

"I-I do but that's wishful thinking on my part."

"No. it isn't. My connection to the force is so strong I just know we were meant to be together. It has always been our destiny."

"Mhmm," she hummed, "Wonder what destiny has in store for us."

“Whatever comes our way, we’ll face it together,” assured Anakin as he kissed her cheek. The couple spent the rest of the night sitting in comfortable silence and basking in each other’s presence.

#anidalaweek2021 #anidalaweek #anidala #anakin x padme #vaderdala #vader x padme #fic #soulmate au #twin flames

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carewyncromwell · 3 years

Photo

Zut alors! This art sure makes this Cinderella AU look like...well, a Cinderella AU, doesn’t it??

One critique I have about many Cinderella adaptations is about how the “ugly stepsisters” are either portrayed as one-dimensionally bad so as to make our Cinderella look more saintly by comparison or given just enough dimension that one could see them as secondary victims of their mother’s abuse and yet aren’t given an ending that frees them from it the way Cinderella does. And yes, obviously in many of those cases, the stepsisters jump in on abusing Cinderella too, but it’s a learned behavior the stepsisters acquire from their mother and, in some cases, one could also point to there possibly being an element of the child joining in on their parents’ abuse of their sibling, etc. as a method of self-preservation. There are a few adaptations where one stepsister “reforms” themselves while the other doesn’t, but in this story, I wanted to show that -- as unpleasant as the entire Cromwell clan is, including Carewyn’s cousins -- there’s some logic to how they behave. And in Claire Cromwell’s daughters’ cases in particular, they’re just as trapped by the expectations of their gender as Carewyn is, arguably more so because they’ve lived with Charles their whole lives and the importance of marrying well has been drilled into them much more than it ever was for Carewyn. Although it’s obvious how much worse Carewyn’s situation is compared to her cousins, I kind of liked the idea of showing how a character in the “ugly stepsister” role would feel, being constantly outdone by her relative despite her best efforts. And even in Carewyn’s canon, she does project a “perfect paragon” affect that irritates characters like Merula to no end, so this isn’t too much of a stretch. Doesn’t mean Iris is a good person or anything, but what can I say, I like giving my antagonists understandable motivations.

In Carewyn’s canon, she becomes a robin Animagus. Part of it has to do with their size and coloring; part of it has to do with their symbolism (being associated with spring and, in the Christian tradition, selfless kindness, as they either earned their “red breast” when they sang comfortingly in Jesus’s ear while he bled on the cross or when they got burned fetching water for souls stuck in Purgatory); and part of it is because “Robin” was my deceased paternal aunt’s name, as well as my middle name! 🧡

Previous part is here -- whole tag is here -- Katriona “KC” Cassiopeia belongs to @kc-needs-coffee -- and I hope you enjoy!

x~x~x~x

On Charles’s instructions, Carewyn was returned to the tower room at the back of the Cromwell estate, this time with thick ropes tied her wrists together and lashing them to the legs of the cot set up in the corner. As Blaise finished securing Carewyn to the bed, he went out of his way to scold her that all of this was her own doing for trying to abandon her family before departing.

Carewyn tried everything she could to get free, but within an hour, she determined that there was nothing sharp enough in the room that she could use to cut her bonds, even if she could move more than two feet in either direction. And so, in utter frustration, she collapsed to the floor, her eyebrows knitting tightly over her closed eyes.

Talbott, she thought, please warn Orion...please, make sure he’s safe...

She wished she could simply have faith in Talbott, but being unable to do anything to protect Orion made Carewyn feel number and more afraid than she’d ever felt near the battlefield between Florence and Royaume.

A moment later, Carewyn was startled by the sound of the door being unlocked. When it opened, she found Iris standing in the doorframe. Claire’s middle daughter was decked out in a striking dark blue and emerald satin gown and a dark blue feathered mask, and her dark hair was put up in a beautiful braided bun trimmed with peacock feathers.

“So you are locked up here,” said Iris.

Carewyn raised her eyebrows very dully. “So I am.”

Iris’s face, for once, didn’t look particularly haughty. Her blue eyes, the same color and shape as Carewyn’s, swiveled over her cousin’s frame, taking in not just her bound ankles but the sewn-up back of her green dress. The dark-haired Cromwell looked almost disconcerted.

“This is your own doing, you know,” Iris said in a slightly higher voice than normal. “If you’d just left Prince Henri to me...done what Grandfather told you to do...”

“Blaise has more than given me that lecture already, thank you,” Carewyn said coldly.

Iris’s expression turned very offended.

“So much for you not talking out of turn!” she said scathingly. “I would’ve thought you’d have learned your lesson, after what Grandfather did to you...”

Her eyes flickered over to Carewyn’s back again. Carewyn could see the discomfort and macabre fascination swimming in her eyes -- as if part of her wanted to see how bad the scars were, and yet the thought made her feel nauseous.

Perhaps it was the compassion Carewyn felt, seeing her cousin struggle with feeling any kind of pity for her circumstances after how long they’d always hated each other...but she couldn’t help but address her a bit more gently than usual.

“Just because Grandfather says something doesn’t mean it’s right.”

Iris scowled. “Just like you, to be ungrateful, after everything our family’s done for you...”

She turned her back on Carewyn as if to leave.

“I’m not just talking about myself,” Carewyn murmured. “I’m talking about you.”

Iris stiffened, stopping in the doorframe.

“I heard Grandfather yell at you, when you first came home,” said Carewyn.

“So what, you want to rub it in my face?” Iris huffed, sounding rather like a snake bearing its fangs after being stepped on. “Boast about how you always twist everybody around your little finger, without even trying?”

Carewyn couldn’t help but cock her eyebrows. “Boast? Iris, the only thing that’s twisted around here are the ropes that have been tied around my wrists -- and they hurt quite a bit.”

“You know what I mean!” said Iris impatiently. She crossed her arms, her shoulders sulking. “Stop being so...so bloody witty, will you!? You’ve always been so witty -- able to talk about absolutely nothing with complete strangers...even people you don’t want to impress! And then, all of a sudden, all those people can do is talk about you. Like Prince Henri...every time we talked, the conversation would always end up coming back to you and the dresses and shoes he wanted to make for you!”

Carewyn’s face became a bit more solemn.

“The Prince and I are friends,” she admitted. “It was never anything more than that.”

Iris sniffed. “And I suppose it was ‘never anything more than that’ with Duke Lestrange either?”

“I didn’t even know Duke Lestrange,” Carewyn said exasperatedly. “And I had no interest in him romantically either. I think I made that quite clear both before and after you ripped my dress so badly that it exposed my undergarments.”

“And yet even then, you still charmed him!” said Iris, whirling around to glare at Carewyn. “You didn’t want anything from him, so why did you talk to him? Why did you smile and act all nice with him?”

“Because it was the polite thing to do!” said Carewyn, flabbergasted. “Because he was a guest! And one doesn’t have to get something in return to have a reason to show someone respect! It’s not something to be treated as a transaction!”

Iris’s face appeared more surly than ever as she looked away, adjusting the skirt of her gown.

Carewyn looked down at her bindings and then back up at Iris’s back. She exhaled slowly through her nose, as an idea started to prickle at the sides of her brain.

“...Iris...I’m sorry if I’ve wronged you,” she said softly. “I never had any intention to sabotage you...I know how much a proper marriage would endear you to our family.”

She took a deep breath.

“If you want me out of the way...then I’ll go.”

Iris looked at Carewyn, startled. Carewyn stared her intently in the face.

“Just undo my bindings,” she said, “and leave the door unlocked...and when you and the others return from the ball, I’ll be gone. You’ll never have to live with me again.”

Iris stared disbelievingly. Carewyn’s eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly, betraying some desperation.

“Grandfather won’t have to know it was you,” she said. “No one would know except for me and you, and I won’t be here to tell anyone. Please...just let me escape.”

Let me get out to warn Orion. Let me save Orion.

Iris stared at Carewyn for another long moment. Then, very slowly, her eyes narrowed.

“You...you really want this,” she said lowly. “Don’t you?”

Carewyn gave her a very serious look. Iris’s eyes narrowed that bit more, darting from her face to down at her bindings and back.

“...Well, then...”

She bent down, took hold of Carewyn’s bindings...and tightened them sharply.

“Ack -- !”

Carewyn couldn’t quite choke back a yelp of pain. Iris shot back up to her feet, her eyes burning with resentment.

“You probably want to live your own life just as much as the rest of us do,” she said. “Only you keep stopping me from starting my own life, by charming every man I could persuade to marry me. So I guess it’s only fair I make sure you can’t escape either.”

She strode for the door, snatching it up and glaring at Carewyn one more time.

“At least tonight I won’t have to worry about you catching anyone else’s eye. You’ll be locked up here, far away from the ball, and unable to charm anyone.”

And with this, she slammed the door behind her and locked it with a loud CLACK.

And so all Carewyn could do was sit helplessly on the floor, bound tightly to the bed, as the sound of her family’s carriages clattered off of the estate and toward the palace of Florence. Carewyn couldn’t even look out the window to watch them go.

She tried several more times over the next hour to try to break free of her restraints, but as the sun grew lower and lower in the sky outside the window, she once again found herself falling still. All she could do was hope and pray and think of Orion...pleading with every entity of fate and justice that he was still alive. Soon enough she found herself falling off into a restless sleep in her uncomfortable position on the floor.

This is why, when she heard a bizarre CRASH from downstairs, Carewyn was slow to react, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. It took her a moment to even gather her thoughts enough to try to escape her bonds again, so as to try to figure out what was going on. Once she did, however, she caught the sound of a voice calling out.

“Miss Cromwell! Miss Cromwell, are you there?”

Carewyn’s heart leapt in a combination of disbelief and delight.

“Baroness!” she cried.

She tried to get up and run for the door, only for the rope around her wrists to hold her back.

“Ack -- Baroness, I’m here!”

There was a sound like two sets of footsteps quickly climbing the stairs. Then, after a moment, she heard Talbott’s voice.

“Carewyn, stand back! We’re going to get you out of there -- let me just adjust this -- ”

Carewyn was glad she was tied up away from the door when a few minutes later, it was thrown off its hinges with another CRASH.

Talbott and Baroness McGonagall came running through the dust into the room. At the sight of Carewyn on the floor, Talbott immediately ran over to try to undo her bindings.

“They’re -- they’re too tight!” he hissed in aggravation.

“Leave it to me,” said McGonagall sharply. “Focus on the spell keeping that door off its hinges: once your concentration breaks, it’ll return to the way it was.”

She materialized a knife from the pocket in her gown and, with a strong SNAP, cut the thick cord attaching her to the bed, which helped her pull the rest of the bindings off of Carewyn’s wrists.

Once her hands were free, Carewyn threw her arms around both her and Talbott’s shoulders, hugging them both in gratitude and relief. Within a second, though, she’d pulled away to look at them both urgently.

“Baroness, we need to move fast...my grandfather -- ”

“Yes, Talbott told me,” said the Baroness curtly. “Quickly now -- ”

She swept back down the stairs, Talbott and Carewyn at her heels. Once they crossed the threshold, the door magically floated back up behind them, slamming back into place with just as much force as it had been blasted off.

“The palace of Florence is at least three hours from here,” explained Talbott as they ran down the stairs. “I knew I couldn’t stay transformed that long, and I’ve never flown so far before -- didn’t reckon it’d be smart to try to fly somewhere I’ve never been and risk falling right out of the sky on the way, so I decided to go get the Baroness instead. Fortunately, on our way back here on foot, we collided with Badeea, and she was able to ride on ahead to the palace and tell the Weasleys the change in plans -- ”

Carewyn’s eyebrows furrowed. “‘Change in plans?’”

Talbott smirked broadly, showing teeth. “Yeah -- the plan to bust you out of here.”

Carewyn gave a start.

“It was KC and Bill Weasley’s idea,” Talbott explained. “After I delivered Cosimo’s message to you and took a break to recuperate from flying, I turned back into an eagle and headed to the palace. Figured Prince Henri would want to know the state you were in and might be able to do something to help. Unfortunately he couldn’t -- Charles Cromwell’s wealthy enough that he’s ingratiated himself to the King and Queen, and as your legal guardian, there isn’t much anyone else could do, unless you decided to run away. But Bill and Charlie didn’t like the thought of you being stuck there. Bill had already told Charlie to hold onto this coach he was fixing for the royal family, so they could use it to smuggle you out of the Cromwell estate and take you to their family’s house. And KC realized that the perfect night to do that would be the night of the ball, when the entire Cromwell family is supposed to be in Florence and you’d therefore be left completely unguarded. So Bill, Charlie, Badeea, and I decided to stay behind while everyone else at the palace headed out to Orion’s ball, so that we could come get you.”

Carewyn could hardly believe what she was hearing. Her eyes had gone very wide.

“You...you mean you all put this together, just to help me?” she said shakily.

Talbott’s face was very serious as they reached the ground floor. “Of course we did. You’re a good person, Carewyn -- you don’t deserve being trapped here.”

Carewyn’s eyes welled up with emotion despite her best efforts.

“Talbott...” Her lips spread into a weak, overwhelmed smile. “I...thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Talbott said brusquely. “We’ve still got to get you to Florence.”

In the distance, Carewyn could hear the sound of a coach pulling up in front of the estate. McGonagall with her long legs reached the door of the manor first, and she unlocked and opened it, sweeping out into the courtyard. When Carewyn and Talbott darted after her, Carewyn gaped.

The broken royal coach she’d gone to help Charlie bring to the Burrow was as good as new, as clean, shining, and upright as it likely was when the King and Queen first purchased it. And sitting up in the driver’s seat was --

“CAREY!”

Charlie, dressed in a white-feathered black hat and a dark red velvet doublet trimmed with silver scales, dropped the reins connected to his and Bill’s chestnut horses and Badeea’s gray horse and leapt right off the coach and over to Carewyn. Jumping off the boot of the coach was Bill, dressed in a brown suede coat decorated with silver trim, and climbing out of the coach itself was Badeea, dressed in silver-dusted white satin.

“Charlie!” cried Carewyn. “Bill! Badeea!”

The Weasley brothers launched themselves at her, throwing their arms around her and squeezing tight. Unfortunately the wounds on Carewyn’s back made her crumple slightly, flinching away from their touch with a barely suppressed hiss of pain.

“Carey?” said Bill, instantly concerned.

“I’m all right!” Carewyn said very quickly. “I’m all right...”

Her blue eyes flooding with emotion, she threw her arms around both Charlie and Bill in return, squeezing them back.

“It’s so good to see you,” she whispered.

Bill’s eyes were very emotional too as he cradled the back of her head with his hand. The joy Carewyn felt just at the memory of her friends days earlier was back in full. She thought it’d be a long time before she’d ever see them again...and yet they were here. They’d come for her when she’d needed them most...

Badeea came up beside Carewyn, her dark eyes very concerned as she trailed a hand lightly along the stitching at the back of Carewyn’s dress.

“Carewyn...your dress...”

The ginger-haired woman gave her a reassuring look. “It’s all right.”

She looked around at all of them, taking in their fine clothes.

“Then...we’re all going to the ball ourselves?” she asked uneasily. “That’s the new plan?”

“Yep!” said Charlie brightly. “Andre had been working on some costumes for us, so we could all attend his mother’s New Years masquerade, before the whole thing at the border went down. He wasn’t able to finish any of them...but I borrowed a spare doublet from Andre’s closet for Talbott and Badeea was able to finish decorating the costumes that were closest to being done...”

He pointed out the “scales” on his doublet, while Bill held up the sleeve of his brown suede coat to show off the sparkly silver painted trim.

Carewyn’s eyes widened. “That paint...is that -- ?”

“The paint Orion gave me? Yes,” Badeea said, beaming as she showed off the shiny “fur” detailing she’d applied to her own hijab. “It’s the first time I’ve ever purposefully applied my paints to fabric, but for a first try, I’d say it turned out pretty well. Your shoes and dress look even better, though...look!”

She moved over to the open door of the coach and pulled out a gray and orange gown and a pair of shoes.

The chest was decked out with reddish-orange feathers arranged in a rounded heart shape, while the rest (made out of gray satin) was painted to look like it was covered in feathers. And the shoes...they were truly the most beautiful dancing slippers Carewyn had ever seen. The heels were made of colorful pumpkin diamond, while the shoes themselves, made of cloth, were nonetheless painted in a way that it looked like yellow, red, and orange stained glass. There was even a sheen on each panel, no doubt made with the slightest brush of the silver paint Orion had given Badeea, that made it look like it was sparkling.

Carewyn brought up a hand to tentatively hold the skirt of the gown, staring in disbelief and awe. Badeea’s dark eyes were sparkling with pride.

“It’s a robin, see?” she said. “Andre thought it’d be the perfect way to apply your supposed ‘favorite color’ -- ash gray -- to your dress. He originally wanted to trim your shoes with more diamond, but after seeing everything on the battlefield, he was reluctant to spend any more money on materials. So I tried to make it look like it was made of diamond anyway...it didn’t quite work out the way I hoped, but I don’t think it turned out too bad.”

“Badeea...it’s beautiful,” breathed Carewyn, her eyes trailing over the “stained glass” slippers.

Despite this, though, she whirled on the others with a severe expression.

“...But I can’t go to the ball! My entire family will be there, as will Lord Malfoy and Patricia Rakepick -- none of them would let me get within twenty feet of Orion -- ”

“They will if they do not recognize you,” said McGonagall crisply. She turned to Badeea and extended a hand. “The mask, please.”

Badeea handed McGonagall a hand-painted robin mask to her. McGonagall then set about tracing a yellowish-gold spell in mid-air, which she then lightly tapped with the mask. In an instant, it sparkled with traces of golden light.

McGonagall then placed the mask in both of Carewyn’s hands.

“This mask has an illusionary enchantment placed on it,” she said solemnly, “one that will activate solely for you, while you are within the gates of Florence’s palace, for today only. While you wear it, you will appear, to the person seeing you, as a beautiful stranger. You will not look the same to any two people...meaning that, were anyone to try to identify you later, no one would be able to agree how tall you are, how slender, how old...not even any physical features like hair or eye color.”

McGonagall’s expression then turned very grave.

“Just be sure that you leave the palace before the final stroke of midnight. Once the next day begins, my spell will break no matter what I might do...and if you’re still in the palace when that happens, then I daresay there’ll be plenty of people there who will recognize you.”

Carewyn nodded. Considering how willing Charles was to commit treason and murder, the last thing she wanted was for her grandfather to know she’d made it to the ball and who had helped her get there.

“I understand,” she said.

“I will not fit in the coach with you,” said McGongall as she glanced at Talbott, “but I can maintain the illusion for the rest of the night, even from a distance. And I know my apprentice will do everything he can to make sure you get back to Royaume safely, once Orion is out of danger.”

Carewyn’s eyes became a little smaller and softer. “Thank you, Baroness...for everything.”

McGonagall’s usually stern face softened noticeably as she brought a hand to gently rest on Carewyn’s cheek.

“Godspeed, Miss Cromwell.”

And so Carewyn, Badeea, and Talbott all climbed into the coach. Once they were all inside, Bill -- playing the role of footman, snapped the door shut behind them and leapt up onto the boot of the coach.

“Let’s go, Charlie!”

With a nod, Charlie bounded back up into the driver’s seat, snatched up the reins, and flicked them sharply with a “YAH!” The three horses charged off, pulling the coach right off the Cromwell estate and toward the reddening horizon.

On their way to Florence’s palace, the group got themselves dressed. Carewyn politely averted her eyes as Talbott changed into the handsome purple velvet doublet Andre had been wearing when Carewyn first arrived at the palace, and then Talbott climbed out onto the boot of the carriage with Bill while Badeea helped Carewyn get dressed.

When Carewyn took off her dress, Badeea saw her injured back for the first time. The artist’s gasp of dismay was silent, but she nonetheless trailed a cool, gentle hand along Carewyn’s bare back.

“I don’t think your gown will hide these,” Badeea murmured. “It’s cut low, to show off your back.”

Carewyn set her jaw grimly. “Then we’ll just have to leave them. Once I reach the palace and the Baroness’s illusion is activated, no one should be able to see them anyway.”

Badeea nodded grimly, her dark eyes very sad as she helped Carewyn pull the gown over her head.

“We all worried Lord Cromwell wasn’t treating you well,” she confessed, “but...I don’t think any of us thought he’d do something like this to you.”

Her usually serene expression betrayed a flicker of resentment.

“He’s a horrible man,” she said very softly. “Just...horrible.”

Carewyn offered Badeea a weak smile, bringing a hand onto her shoulder and squeezing to show some reassurance.

Charlie had never been to the palace of Florence before, but he was fortunately able to follow the many, many sets of long tracks left by other carriages and carts from Royaume that had already left for Florence’s capitol. He set the horses off at the fastest gallop he could manage without endangering his passengers, and within three hours, Charlie caught sight of some more carriages in the distance. He rushed to catch up with them, pulling up just behind them as they headed through the open gates of the Florentine palace.

The palace of Florence couldn’t have been more different than Royaume’s. While Royaume’s castle was white stone with extensive hedge gardens and many rounded towers trimmed with pointed dark rooves, Florence’s was made of tan-colored clay bricks stacked a mile high with geometric railings along the edges of towers and beautifully carved marble columns and arches framing the interior courtyard. It was also lit up with dozens of torches, making it blaze with golden light in the night. The warmer color palette, in contrast to Royaume’s palace’s pure white marble and clean lines, made Florence’s palace look significantly older, even though it was just as well-maintained. Carewyn couldn’t help but wonder what sorts of interesting histories she might read, if she could take the time to look over the yards of text etched into each column and wall.

“I think I see Andre’s coach!” said Charlie.

He pointed out a coach parked almost directly in front of the grand staircase. Its coachman was tending to their horses.

“He must not have arrived too long ago,” said Bill. He looked at the others through the window of the coach. “Do you have the masks ready, Badeea?”

Badeea lightly waved the last mask she’d been painting back and forth to help it dry. “Just about...”

Carewyn could also see the white coaches belonging to the Cromwell family parked on the far right end. She could even see her horse among the white steeds pulling them -- it kept pulling at its reins tensely, as if not liking being lashed together with its fellows to the coach.

Charlie pulled up in front of the castle, as far back and as far left as he could, so that they could stay close to the gate in case they needed a quick exit. As soon as they came to a stop, Bill pulled open the door of the coach.

“Are you ready, Carey? Your hair and dress okay? Got your mask?”

“Yes,” said Carewyn.

“Go on, then -- we’ll be right behind you.”

Carewyn nodded determinedly and quickly climbed out of the coach, holding her skirts up so as to keep them clear of her “stained glass” slippers.

Charlie couldn’t help but gape. “Whoa, Carey...the Baroness wasn’t kidding! You don’t look like yourself at all!”

Carewyn blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah! You’ve got, like, blond hair and green eyes -- like some emerald dragon!”

“You look like a brunette to me,” said Bill sheepishly.

“We can gush about the Baroness’s talent for illusions later,” Talbott cut them off brusquely. “Carewyn -- go find the King.”

Carewyn nodded. Turning her gaze toward the palace, she ran straight for the stairs, charging right past the guests that walked more leisurely up the stairs and ignoring how their heads turned in her direction.

Orion...please don’t let me be too late...!

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sourwolphs · 3 years

Text

Like an Animal - Bucky x Reader (5/8)

Read on Ao3 (for better interface + formatting)

Summary: Reader is an enhanced Omega kidnapped by Hydra and trapped in a cell with Alpha Bucky Barnes. Tags: A/B/O, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending Warnings: Rated M A/N: Angst ;) And Bucky being cute as all hell. Leave a comment on Ao3 if you’re enjoying!

The sound of Bucky’s door slamming down the hallway resounded like a thud in my chest. At the risk of sounding like a hopelessly romantic, dopey-eyed Omega, it felt like something cracked inside of me.

For the briefest moment in the lounge, I had caught his scent— that Alphacomforthomesafe scent I’d searched for for weeks. Just a hint of it had sent a jolt of electricity, hope and relief through my entire being. We’d locked eyes— his facial expression carefully blank, beard unshaven and growing long, hand gripping white-knuckled into the strap of his duffle bag, before he had fled to his room— leaving behind the confusing, raw scents of guilt and despair behind him.

Natasha and Steve both looked to me in concern, before engaging in a silent conversation through their facial expressions. Both smelled overwhelmingly of unease, but neither said anything to abate the awkward tension suffusing the room. Steve gave a lame excuse for Bucky, looking bewildered as he did so— something about the other Alpha having a rough few weeks, but I quickly bowed out of the lounge, retreating back to my apartment to process the heartbreaking fact that he’d been away, and now that he was back, he clearly wanted nothing to do with me.

Maybe he was just shy, I thought, self-comforting. But he hadn’t been shy in that cell. He’d been quick to introduce himself, to alleviate my fear by baring his throat to me.

Maybe I’d made him uncomfortable. Had I made him uncomfortable? It’s not like I could stop myself from falling into a sympathy heat, especially under the influence of an Alpha purr.

Then there was the other creeping, dreadful thought that had been plaguing my thoughts for the past few weeks: Maybe he already has an Omega.

I hadn’t smelled one on him in that cell, hadn’t felt a bond mark on his neck, but both could have been hidden under the scents of rut and fear, and the filth of our surroundings.

I even briefly worried that he was Wanda’s mate, since I’d never met the Alpha she always spoke about with a soft and wistful smile. But when I tentatively asked after her mate later that night during our evening Full House marathon, she had given me a sad smile and told me he was working off-world.

I barely slept the night after Bucky came home. Knowing that he was just a floor away made the longing even harder, my Omega anxious and desperate for comfort. I shuffled through a hundred different explanations— each more frustrating and heartbreaking than the last— for why he’d been away for so long, why he’d reacted the way he did when he saw me, why his scent had reeked of guilt and sadness.

But above all— my Omega worried viciously whether he was okay. The connection I felt to him burnt bright and hot within me, tugging at my heart. Find Alpha. Comfort Alpha.

I tried my hardest to bury my thoughts deep down, feeling like a crazy person. Bucky barely knew me, and here I was lying in bed, staking a mental claim on him like some feral, unsocialized Omega. For all I knew, he was snuggled up with his bondmate, recovering from the turmoil of our kidnapping in his or her embrace, thoughts of me all but forgotten.

The next day, I moved tentatively around the compound, bracing myself for an interaction. I’d run through one hundred potential scenarios in my mind— one hundred introductions, one hundred apologies, one hundred questions I wanted answered. But one day stretched into two, stretched into a week, without anything more than a flash of his retreating form as he exited the gym before I entered one afternoon.

Despite his intentional or unintentional attempts to avoid me, he couldn’t erase his lingering scent, which tucked itself into every available corner of the compound, driving my Omega insane with want and worry.

Rationally, I knew that the compound smelled like everyone— like determined Steve after a boxing match, like Sam’s bubbly joy over breakfast, like Wanda’s gentle concern, like Natasha’s smug laughter, like Stark’s curiosity.

But even knowing that I could smell everyone didn’t stop my Omega from catching his scent in every room— musky, heady cedar, warm and inviting campfire. It was maddening.

On top of the Alpha scent that left my brain in a muddled haze, there was also the situation with the gifts.

They weren’t really gifts. But, I didn’t know what else to call them.

The first one appeared three days after Bucky returned to the compound.

When I shuffled out to the kitchen around six am for a coffee and some eggs with Sam, I found my favorite mug (a cute green ceramic one made to look like a tin camping cup) already set out on the countertop, along with a spoon, a pot of sugar and a folded napkin. Next to it, the coffee pot was spitting out the last few dregs of brew— fresh and hot.

At first, I thought it was Sam who’d prepped the coffee for me, and a warm smile spread across my face at the Beta’s sincere care and friendship. But then he appeared ten minutes later, still in his camo pajamas, yawning and rubbing sleep from his eyes, and I frowned. Sam and I were the only early risers around here, as far as I knew. But maybe he’d fallen back asleep after getting up to make coffee.

The next day, my yoga mat was missing from its usual spot tucked high into a cubby on the wall in the gym. Figuring I’d left it in Natasha’s training room, I headed in that direction, only to find it rolled up neatly right outside the door, along with a massive, full water bottle and a charged pair of StarkPods. Weird. These Avenger Betas sure do let the hero thing get to their head, I thought. Sure enough, Natasha was already inside, balancing in a graceful arabesque as I readied myself for yoga. I thanked her with a smile and nod, which she returned.

The day after that, Steve and I got way too riled up on our morning run with Sam, and I tried to outpace him (failing, spectacularly) one too many times, causing me to have to limp back home with blisters on the back of my heels from my running shoes. After a shower in my room, I nearly tripped over a little pile of blister bandages and antibiotic cream sitting outside my door, which I snatched up, eager not to have to poke around the medbay for something as simple as band-aids. Even Steve was getting in on this babying nonsense, I thought. Maybe I wasn’t hiding my distressed Omega scent as well as I’d thought, moping around after Bucky.

Later that week, I meandered down to the movie room for another previously scheduled watch party with Sam. I got there about 20 minutes early, planning to stake out my favorite spot before the others arrived, but I found Wanda already in the movie room, flicking through channels on the projector-TV. She was working her way through a bag of crispy Gozinaki— her favorite sweet snack from her childhood in Sokovia. Steve always made sure to keep bags of it stocked in the common kitchen, attentive Alpha provider as he was.

In my usual spot on the shaggy brown couch rested a fluffy, folded plaid blanket, with a pair of soft gloves on top.

“Aw, Wanda, you didn’t have to do this,” I said, scooping up the blanket to tug around my shoulders, my inner Omega shivering in delight at the cozy texture. Perfect for a nest, my mind unhelpfully supplied. The past couple of movie nights, I’d been complaining about my cold hands, especially after long afternoons training with Wanda left my limbs frigid and achy from the force of my abilities. Sometimes it took hours to get my skin back to a human-feeling temperature. I slipped the navy blue gloves on gratefully.

Wanda looked over at my snuggled up form and quirked a brow. “Those were there when I got here. I thought you left them for tonight,” she said curiously.

I looked down at the blanket as if it would give me an answer, then brought it up to my face for a curious sniff. The faintest scent of cedar wood hit my nose.

Alpha.

I felt a whoosh in my head and stomach, like I was floating away from my body, and knew I must have had a dazed expression on my face.

If Bucky had left the blanket and the gloves… Maybe it wasn’t Sam who’d prepped my coffee. Maybe it wasn’t Natasha with the yoga mat and the water, or Steve with the blister bandages.

But why would Bucky…

“I can hear the gears turning in your brain from over here,” Wanda interrupted. “I take it it wasn’t you who left that pile down here?”

I shook my head, biting my lip as I muddled through my thoughts. If I was going to talk about what I’d been feeling for Bucky with anyone, Wanda would be the least likely to judge. She was a fellow Omega, after all.

“Can I ask you something? About your mate?” I hedged.

Wanda nodded, brushing crumbs from her lap before standing to sit down next to me on the shaggy couch. “Anything.”

“I’ve been here for over a month, and I still haven’t met him. And I wonder— What does it… feel like. For you. When he’s away.”

Wanda smiled, soft and wistful. “My mate is the Vision. He is not really human, but he was programmed as an Alpha, and when we mated, he gave me his mark,” she explained, reaching up to the back of her neck to press her hand to her mating gland. I had seen the shiny silver scars before, when Wanda had swept her hair up into a ponytail off the back of her neck during a training sesh.

“Even though he is not human— he does not have a scent as you or I do— I still struggled with what we Sokovians call gajovi. It means “heart-rending,” the feeling when you are separated from your bondmate. The longer we have been bonded, the easier it is to be apart. But I still sometimes feel the ache. Like a physical pain, inside,” she offered, moving her hand to the center of her chest, the same place where I had felt the same unbearable ache for weeks.

I took a deep breath, willing my scent to stay calm as anxiety, uncertainty and confusion warred in my mind. I feel the same thing.

“Do you ever feel like you need him… to fall asleep?” I asked, cheeks flushing. Even though we had grown close, I still felt uncomfortable asking Wanda about my craving for Bucky’s purr, as it was such an intimate act between mates.

“I have a feeling we are no longer talking about Vision,” she murmured, no judgement on her face. She placed a comforting hand on my knee, and I felt some of the tension in my body release slowly. “Sometimes it feels impossible to sleep. To eat. To even get out of bed. A bond is the most beautiful and powerful connection you can have, but it also makes you vulnerable. When things are bad, I can… feel him. Through the bond. We support each other,” she explained. Wanda closed her eyes momentarily, and I knew she was reaching through her bond to feel her mate, thousands of miles away. A warm smile crept across her face as whatever she was projecting through the universe was returned in kind.

While I was undeniably happy for Wanda and her mate, my heart ached at the realization that I was experiencing the same or similar withdrawal symptoms after my time with Bucky. But without a bondmark on my neck, without the connection she used to draw soothing strength from her mate, I was drifting— alone in a sea of longing and pain.

Wanda scented my sour sadness, giving me an empathetic look. “Do you? Have a bondmate?”

I saw her eyes flick towards my neck, where a bond mark would be, knowing that she had already seen my gland void of any bite scars.

I shook my head, looking down at my still-gloved hands in my lap.

Wanda opened her mouth to speak, but hesitated. Instead, she placed one hand in mine.

I wondered, then, if she knew more than she was letting on.

“When will Vision be home?” I asked, changing the subject and forcefully shaking off my sadness.

“This month,” she said, unable to hide the smile that crept across her face.

“What’s got the lovely ladies down?” Sam teased, interrupting our moment as he stepped into the movie room with a massive, unopened bag of Cajun-spiced Lays tucked under his arm.

Steve was right behind him, looking cozy in what was probably an XXXL hooded red sweatshirt. He came up behind my couch wordlessly, wrapping me up in a huge bear hug. I laughed, leaning into him and allowing his comforting Alpha scent to wipe away the remaining tendrils of my unease drifting in the air. I’d learned quickly that Steve was generous with his affection, and extremely protective— the type of Alpha an Omega could only dream of finding. Not an aggressive and possessive knothead, but a supportive provider and protector— always there when you needed him, but never overbearing.

Just like Bucky, my brain unhelpfully supplied. I shook away the thought. You barely know him.

I could hardly focus on the movie Sam selected, some Russell Crowe action flick set in Ancient Rome. I was too lost in my thoughts, curled up in the blanket Bucky had inexplicably left for me, squished between Steve and Wanda on the couch.

If I didn’t know better, it would seem like Bucky was trying to court me with these weird offerings, like some old-fashioned, 1940s Alpha would woo an Omega with flowers and chocolates. But even if he was, that didn’t explain his flightiness, or the bond withdrawal-like symptoms I was experiencing, or the frightening possibility that it was just me suffering from them. Faulty Omega.

Either way, after my conversation with Wanda, my resolve had hardened. I had to confront Bucky, even though my inner Omega withered at the thought. I needed to know if he was feeling the same way I was. And if not? Well, then— I’d cleared the air. That was that. I’d give him his space, leaving the compound and the pack behind if I had to. Go back to being on my own.

The thought made my hands tremble.

I clasped them resolutely in my lap, leaning closer into Steve’s absurdly thick bicep for comfort. At least for now, I could enjoy this.

————

Bucky has officially gone insane. After over 70 years of world war, Hydra torture, memory loss, coerced assassinations, cry0 chambers, getting dusted by a purple space god and fighting a war of disgusting aliens, it was one cute but deadly Omega that pushed his ancient Alpha ass over the edge.

After their disastrous reunion in the lounge, Bucky made it his personal mission to evade Y/N at all costs. He knew he was leaving the stink of shame all over the compound— both Steve and Sam called him out on it after they’d watched him flee the gym upon Y/N’s arrival one day— but even his snarling inner Alpha couldn’t get him to soften his resolve. There’s a reason he and Steve were thick as thieves from the jump— they were both infuriatingly stubborn people.

Y/N was happy here. That much was obvious. She left behind that peppermint-and-snow scent wherever she went— sweet with her joy, sharp with her determination— and he caught himself taking deep, pathetic inhales when she’d recently left a room that he’d entered.

In the mornings, he could hear her in the common room kitchen with Sam, laughing and bickering over the smell of eggs and bacon. In the movie room at night, right underneath his apartment, his super-soldier hearing clued him in to the team’s laughs and murmurs, the musical sound of her voice— unintelligible through the floor but soothing to his Alpha ears nonetheless.

He’d watched from a distance through the bulletproof glass a few times as she’d trained in the reinforced rooms with Wanda. Each time he spotted her she looked more and more powerful, more in control of the abilities that Hydra had kept locked away in restraints when they’d met in the cell. Wanda would watch patiently nearby, her red magic coiling along her fingers in anticipation as Y/N breathed in deeply, drawing her hands up in an elegant swoop along her midline before forcing them outwards in a jab, sending a spray of deadly ice shards at the steel wall, where they left hundreds of minuscule puncture wounds. Some days, the two Omegas would spill out a gallon of water on the floor, and Y/N would lift and arc it up into frozen creations, an intricate, jagged weapon or a delicate, curving flower, leafs of ice ivy crawling up the walls or pillars of impenetrable cold built from ceiling to floor.

What tore at him the most, though, even more than her delicious scent, which lingered on everything— and enticed more than a few embarrassing hard-ons he had to flee to his room to hide— was her scent mingled with another Alpha’s.

One Alpha in particular that hurt more than any other.

It hadn’t escaped Bucky’s notice that Y/N and Steve were spending lots of time together. Steve accompanied her on her morning runs— sometimes with Sam, sometimes without— but they always returned to the common areas flushed, sweaty and smiling, pumping out happy, sated pheromones. He’d passed the movie room and the lounge more than a few times to find her curled particularly close to him, his arm around the back of the couch behind her or her head resting against his bicep.

He’d even seen her and Steve sparring in the gym, Natasha and Sam cheering and whooping from the sidelines as she held her own against his restrained moves— a punch here, a kick there, which she dodged and delivered right back. They were comfortable in each other’s space. Comfortable enough that he’d even spotted her sleeping on the red lounge couch next to Steve one day, a book open in her lap while he sketched away in his notebook, using her hand draped off the side as an anatomy study. Her red socked feet were pillowed in his lap.

That mental image had kept Bucky up for a few nights, his Alpha flushed with an instinctual, possessive rage that he shoved shamefully down into the darkest recesses of his brain.

He couldn’t be mad. Even if his Alpha was roaring at him to step forward, to stake his claim, to pick her up and drown her in his scent, to crawl into her nest and cover her completely with his body.

He couldn’t be mad because she had sized up both Alphas and made what even he knew was the correct decision. Of course she had.

Why choose Bucky— broken, red-ledgered, half-vibranium, nightmare-riddled Bucky— when you could have the human embodiment of a golden retriever? Steve. The model Alpha. A gentle, caring provider— never aggressive or out of control, always protective, supportive and calm.

Plus, super-serum aside, Steve had always been handsome. Y/N wasn’t blind.

All of that is to say that Bucky hadn’t meant to start offering her gifts. It was his Alpha instinct, is all. Some feral, competitive nature still ingrained in his hindbrain. An instinct left over from a more primitive civilization, one where he would have had to prove to his Omega that he could be the best provider.

And if nothing else, leaving her the gifts soothed the terrible ache in his chest, helped him sleep another hour at night as he lay there agonizing about her smell, remembering how her face had felt cradled in his neck.

Wondering if she was sleeping in her room alone or curled up in her nest with Steve.

He knew that what he was feeling, what he was doing, was beyond wrong. If she knew why he was leaving her these gifts, she’d feel threatened, or stalked. He would be the creepy Alpha desperate for her attention.

But his hindbrain didn’t care. Alpha will provide.

It first started when he noticed that she always left the same green cup in the sink after breakfast. So one day, he got up early to leave it out for her— alongside a napkin, a spoon and the pot of sugar— though he didn’t yet know how she took her coffee. He also started the coffee pot just in case, slipping back to his room before she woke up, machine still whirring behind him.

Then, he noticed that she always ran out of water halfway through her yoga sessions with Natasha after she almost stumbled upon him in the kitchen the few times she’d come up to refill it. So Bucky topped up a 36 ounce bottle he found in the kitchen instead and left it outside the training room. Just so she won’t get thirsty, he reasoned. He couldn’t resist leaving her the yoga mat and earbuds as well. It was nothing. Not an exorbitant expense. Just something she needed, and would have gotten for herself anyway. What does it matter that he bought them for her first?

Then, he heard Sam ribbing her about her bleeding heels after their morning run, so he scrambled to the medbay to ask Dr. Cho for bandages and antiseptic— much to her confusion, as he didn’t ever need either. He dropped the supplies outside her door before she could finish showering off her run.

Then, he overheard her complaining about her cold hands one night as he passed the movie room. Bucky had to fight to repress the growl in his throat as he watched Steve take her hands into his own, rubbing them together for warmth while she laughed. He went back to his room and asked FRIDAY to help him order a pair of top-rated, insulated gloves in navy blue— he liked that color, but didn’t know if she did— as well as a blanket marketed as “perfect for nesting,” because he has officially lost all self-control. While the rest of the pack was out, he snuck into the movie room to leave the soft bundle on the couch that smelled the most like peppermint.

After a full week of secretive little offerings, Bucky was curled up on his own couch with a book, rubbing absentmindedly at his chest where the constant ache felt sharpest, when he heard someone start to turn the knob on his door.

It had taken him a few years, but he’d stopped jumping at unexpected noises like this, though he still often caught himself subconsciously scenting for threats, unable to shake the conditioned hyper vigilance. His Alpha instinct to constantly be prepared for a fight, made infinitely worse by Hydra’s torture, had gradually mellowed out with the safe reassurance of living with a pack. Knowing he had people close by who would protect him and people he would fiercely protect in return had served as a balm for his PTSD symptoms.

Bucky scented him before he saw him, but Steve slipped through the door upon finding it unlocked, giving Bucky his signature golden boy smile, before plopping into the armchair across from him.

“Hey, jerk. Are you avoiding me? Are you okay?”

Bucky felt his hackles raise as he caught a lingering whiff of Y/N on Steve and willed his expression into nonchalance. “No,” he said, before returning his gaze pointedly to the pages of the novel that he wasn’t really reading. “What makes you think I’m not okay?”

“Well, for one, you’ve barely left your room since I dragged you back here from Brooklyn, your apartment reeks like your dog just died and you’ve almost rubbed a hole through your shirt.”

Bucky quickly snatched his hand away from his chest where he’d continued rubbing circles without even noticing he was doing it. “I don’t have a dog,” he replied snidely.

His words came out a bit more venomously than he intended, and Steve’s easygoing expression faltered. Shit. He hadn’t meant to take his Alpha bullshit out on his best friend. It’s not like Steve was doing anything wrong. The problem was that he always did everything right.

“Sorry,” Bucky sighed, putting down his book and scraping a hand across his jaw, where his stubble was starting to border on a full-grown beard. Ugh. “I’m still just… processing.”

Steve gave him a concerned look, his eyebrows drawn together.

“You’re not still feeling guilty, are you?” Steve said. Bucky broke eye contact, studying the logo on the other Alpha’s oversized red sweatshirt instead. (“American University Est. 1918”— a gag gift from Tony last Christmas.)

“Buck— Come on, Y/N’s fine! Everyone loves her, and she’s doing great here. She doesn’t even talk about yo—“ Steve cut himself off, catching the grimace that flashed across Bucky’s face before he could reign it in. “I didn’t mean it like— She hasn’t even seen you, man, you’re always hiding away here or in the library.”

Bucky sighed again, tired yet begrudgingly appreciative of Steve’s attempts at soothing the issue. The other Alpha might not always know the right thing to say, but he was always earnest and honest about things.

“It’s okay, Steve, really. I just need some time, is all,” Bucky said, making a concerted effort to push out a less depressing version of his scent to mollify his best friend.

Steve gave him a tentative smile. “I talked to Fury about Y/N, by the way. Wanda told me she’s progressed a ton over the past month or so, you should really see her use her abilities in combat, it’s incredible! And Nat trusts her completely— you know she’s always the hardest to win over,” he said, his grin broadening. “I’m going to ask Y/N to join the team, officially, this week.”

The ache in Bucky’s chest ramped up, throbbing like a bass drum, but he forced out what he hoped was a convincing smile, knowing it didn’t meet his eyes. “I’m glad she’s fitting in,” he said. And he was glad. He was thrilled to know that his Omega was safe, loved and happy, that she had grown her powers with Wanda, that Steve was asking her to join the Avengers.

Even though it meant that if he couldn’t get his own urges under control, he’d need to find a new pack.

“Why don’t you come join us downstairs? Sam’s putting on Gladiator in a few,” Steve added.

For a second, Bucky really considered it. He could sit through one movie with her, after all, without falling apart at the seams. He was a freaking super soldier Alpha. He’d survived Hydra.

Then he remembered the bundle of blanket and gloves he’d left sitting on the couch a few hours ago in anticipation of their movie night and decided against it. If she put two and two together in front of the pack, Bucky didn’t think he could explain his way out of that one.

“Maybe later,” Bucky said, lifting his book up in a half-hearted attempt to look occupied. Steve could see right through him, he knew, but the other Alpha just gave him a smile and a reassuring shoulder squeeze, before slipping out of the door.

It was better this way, Bucky thought. Better for everyone if he rode this out on his own.

His Omega was okay. That’s what mattered.

#my fic #like an animal #bucky x reader #bucky reader fic #bucky reader insert #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #marvel fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic

28 notes · View notes

pandoraborn · 3 years

Text

Part three

(previous)

Characters: c!Tommyinnit, c!Ranboo Word count: 1598 Content: dark!fic, angst, ranboo-as-puppet, tommy-as-puppet, manipulation, heavy conversation, tommy is conflicted and depressed, mention of torture, mention of abuse, tommy&wilbur sibling dynamic, ask for tags.

---

He’s the only one who can’t really sleep. Normally, it wouldn’t bother him, but this time, it means he’s left alone with his thoughts. Ranboo can’t remember anything. He can’t remember how he got here, or why he and Tommy are stuck with two of the worst people on the server. He doesn’t even know how Tommy and Wilbur are even alive.

What had he missed in his enderwalk state?

It’s not the first time’s he’s blanked out and woken up somewhere different. This just happens to be the first time he feels guilty over it, because he’d blanked out in front of Tubbo. God, Tubbo. Ranboo has no idea what Tubbo’s thinking now, or even if there’s still even anything between them. His stomach is churning with guilt and nausea, because anything could happen at this point.

Ranboo forces himself to stare at Tommy. Tommy’s asleep, held tightly in Wilbur’s grasp. If he squints, he can almost see puppet strings protruding from Wilbur’s fingers and wrapping around Tommy, but Ranboo knows that’s just his vivid imagination at play. He knows Tommy wants this about as much as he does, which is not at all. But he’d also seen the way Tommy had leaned against Wilbur. It all reminds him horribly how little he knows about Tommy at all.

The kid had crumbled.

Everything Ranboo had heard about Wilbur had been negative, how no one liked him, everyone was glad he was dead. He’d even heard that Tommy detested Wilbur, but the way Tommy’s defenses had shattered...or the way Wilbur had called them brothers... it doesn’t make any sense.

Inching closer, Ranboo shakes Tommy, trying not to wake Wilbur as well. “Tommy?” He keeps his voice low, hoping Tommy hears him. “Tommy, wake up.”

“Hmm?” Tommy turns his head toward Ranboo, blinking his eyes open. “What?”

“Can we go talk in private somewhere?” Ranboo nods pointedly at Wilbur’s sleeping form. “Just the two of us?”

There’s a moment where it seems like Tommy is going to ignore him, but he’s de-tangling himself from Wilbur before pulling himself out of bed. They glance over at Dream’s sleeping form, deciding he’s not a problem either. The pair retreat over to a corner far away from the sleeping ‘guardians’, then Ranboo grips Tommy’s arm.

“Tommy, do you want this?”

Tommy stares at Ranboo for a moment, chewing on his lip. Shaking his head, he whispers a single ‘no’. It’s enough that Ranboo’s shoulders are slumping. But Tommy’s not done speaking yet.

“Ranboo, I have Wilbur back.”

“What is he to you?” Ranboo asks. “Because he sounds off the rails, if I’m being honest. You can’t possibly-”

“I don’t want this Wilbur. I don’t want either of them to do anything. God, I want to go home and stay home. I want my hotel, I want my friends, I want to be left alone. But... Wilbur’s here, and alive, and I don’t know how, Ranboo. I’m confused and honestly, kind of scared.”

“You heard what he said Tommy. He and Dream are going to destroy everything. They’re the bad guys. You don’t... we don’t...”

“I know. I know they’re the bad guys. Ranboo, Wilbur was like a brother to me. He was the only one I had for a long time. You...you weren’t here back then.” Tommy leans back against the wall before sliding down. “You weren’t here when Schlatt took over L’Manburg. Everyone acts like he was such a good leader but like. He exiled us on the day of the election. He had everyone try to kill us. We had to live out of a ravine, start over from scratch. That wasn’t exactly fun for either of us.”

“That doesn’t sound like fun.” Ranboo sits down next to Tommy. “Is that when Wilbur started going downhill?”

“Yeah. Everything seemed to make it worse. Nothing I said or did made any difference to him. But I still had him. Yeah, he was bad and scary and turning into a prick, but I didn’t have anyone else. I was okay with our situation because I still had him and he still had me.”

“You stayed with him knowing he was going to blow up your country?”

“Yeah.” Tommy sighs heavily. “He picked me, Ranboo. Wilbur always picked me. That meant something. Because even now, when it feels like everyone else is against me, he’s still choosing me out of the crowd and making me feel like I matter.”

“You matter to a lot-”

“Shut up.” Tommy’s tone is harsh now. “You don’t get to say people care, not when you yourself have turned your back on me.” He points an accusatory finger. “No one was there for me. I was exiled alone. I was tortured alone. I was trapped in prison alone. I was killed. Alone. Do you see a pattern here? You think I don’t know what people are saying? I’m a menace, I’m as bad as Dream, I’m annoying. You even said it. You and Tubbo both talk about it.”

“That’s banter, Tommy. No one actually means it.”

“Wilbur sat there calling me his brother and promising nothing else would happen to me. I want the pain to stop, okay? I want it all to stop. I’m tired of hurting, I’m tired of feeling like I have to defend myself. I’m sixteen years old and taking on everything. Alone, again. You even have Techno and Phil on your side. I don’t even have Sam, I have his robot.”

“Tommy, if we run away and go back, we can fix it. We can talk to your friends, we can make sure you have people to talk to.”

“Ranboo...” Tommy trails off and turns back toward Wilbur. He’s silent for a long time. “Ranboo I spent two months in the afterlife, or void, or wherever the fuck I was. I spent two months with people who...yeah, they’re my enemies. But they welcomed me with open arms. They didn’t make me feel like shit. It was a shit place and I hated it, but I felt wanted for the first time in a long time. And then I come back to life, with Dream stood over me and... I have no idea anymore. I just want the pain to stop.”

“You can’t seriously be considering sticking around here.”

“What about you?” Tommy asks. “You really want to go back to a life where you have to hide from people? I’ve noticed you acting shady and avoiding everyone when the tiniest conflict rises up. Is that the life you want? Where you don’t trust anyone and you live in self isolation? Because I’ve been isolated and separated, and it fucking sucks.”

“I know it sucks!” Ranboo’s voice rises with frustration, so he hunches over and glances back at their still-asleep handlers. Dream rolls over onto his stomach and lets out a quiet snore. He turns back to Tommy. “Maybe I want it all to stop too. I want everyone to be at peace, but I don’t want to destroy an entire world for that to happen. This isn’t right.”

“Isn’t it?” Tommy scoffs. “What even is right versus wrong anymore? No one can do anything without being labeled as a villain or a hero. I’m labeled as a hero and targeted, you’re labeled as a hero because you can touch grass.”

“Tommy that’s not...mm. Okay.” Ranboo resists the urge to snicker at that. “I see what you’re getting at. But... you remember Dream is a monster, right?”

“Yes, and he’s torn both of us apart. I don’t think there’s any coming back from this. Everyone watched us leave the prison. You don’t remember because you were...whatever that was. But we enderpearled away. I wouldn’t be surprised if people thought we were in league with them already. People already hate me.”

“No one hates either of us,” Ranboo insists firmly. “None of this is our fault. You can’t think that way, or you might as well side with them.”

“Ranboo...”

“What?”

“...I don’t want to leave Wilbur.”

Ranboo waits for the cold, depressing shock to settle over him, but instead, he nods. He’d known Tommy was going to say that this whole time. In a twisted way, he can even understand Tommy’s reasoning. Seeing his brother figure come back from the dead has to be shocking; Tommy’s emotions are probably all over the place. This is only Tommy’s view, though.

“What about me though?” Ranboo’s voice cracks when he asks that. He could leave and go back, but...

“I don’t think Dream will let you.” Tommy looks away. “Ranboo I’m so sorry. Neither of us deserve this. But... what other options do we have?”

“We can leave! We can...we...” His expression crumbles when he realizes Tommy’s right. “Dream won’t let me, and... and Wilbur won’t let you...and that means...”

He remembers his earlier vision of Wilbur holding Tommy on puppet strings.

“Tommy, did we just lose our free will?”

Tommy doesn’t have to say anything. He doesn’t even have to nod, the stare alone answers everything. It’s depressing, but there’s one ray of sunshine in this dark reality. Only one: Tommy.

The pair continue to say nothing as they lean against each other. He doesn’t know when Tommy’s fallen asleep again, but he wraps an arm around him anyway. If no one else is going to look after Tommy, then he will, even if it means protecting him against Wilbur.

They’re stuck in this situation together, but Ranboo knows they can eventually get out together too. At least he has one person he can semi-trust.

#dream smp #tommyinnit #c!tommy #ranboo #c!ranboo #dsmp fanfic #tommyinnit fanfic #ranboo fanfic #dark!fic #tommy-as-puppet #ranboo-as-puppet #manipulation #heavy conversation #torture mention #abuse mention #isolation mention #wilbur & tommy sibling dynamic #long post #miishae writes

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crystalrose555 · 3 years

Text

Slap me, I dare you! pt. 3

My Asks are open :)

“Marley, hey, are you ok?” Luke called out as he waved his hand in front of her face.

“Ah, sorry Luke, I’m fine, really.” She answered softly with a smile.

“You don’t seem like it.” Luke frowned as leaned against her.

She knew that the young angel was right, if she was alright, she would have trapped those arrogant demons in a block of ice. Instead, she froze up at the sight of demonic flames, cowering like a common animal. The last half hour barely registered as she sat in the emptied Hell’s Kitchen with Luke by her side. She took in a deep breath before releasing it slowly, centering herself once more. However, she didn’t have a moment to regain her composure as Simeon and Solomon ran into the cafeteria.

“Luke, where have you been?” Simeon asked as Luke ran to his embrace and hugged him tightly.

Solomon sniffed the air for a moment.

“Why do I smell ash with a dash of sulfur? What were you doing with demonic flames, Luke?” He claimed while crossing his arms.

“Umm, we may have gotten into a fight with a bunch of demons.” Luke claimed nervously.

Luke twitched as he sensed Simeon’s anger radiating from his standard smile.

“So, where are they?” He asked pleasantly.

“I have no idea, Beel dragged them off somewhere.” Luke answered as he tried to calm his companion.

Marley took a deep breath before standing up from her seat.

“It was my fault, I let it get too far. I’m sorry for getting Luke involved, Simeon.”

Simeon’s angered expression remained, causing Luke to jump in once more.

“It’s not Marley’s fault! They wanted her fur and I jumped in on my own. Right, Marley?” Luke confessed.

Marley folded and rubbed her arms before offering a small smile.

“Yeah, I would’ve been in real trouble if he didn’t. Luke’s my hero.” She ended with an earnest grin.

Simeon’s hardened expression softened upon looking at Marley’s shrunken demeanor. He turned his attention back to Luke and gave him an approving gaze.

“I’m proud of you, Luke, but in the future, make sure you call someone before things get out of hand, alright?” He asked with a smile.

Luke gave a compliant nod to Simeon while Marley looked away from the corner of her eyes. Seeing this, Solomon scratched the back of his head and motioned to get Simeon’s attention. After sharing a moment of eye contact, Simeon patted Luke on the shoulder.

“Luke, how about we go get Marley something to drink? I’m not sure if I’ve gotten a handle of that vending machine yet.” He asked.

With a nod, an enthusiastic Luke let his mentor out of the room, leaving Marley and Solomon on their own.

“So, do you want to talk about it?” Solomon offered as he stood closer to the sadden woman.

“We just did, I got cornered by a bunch of demons and almost got Luke hurt, remember?” She claimed sharply.

“You know what I’m talking about. Come on, it’s just you and me, so let’s talk honestly.”

Marley paused to let the sorcerer's words sink in.

“...I never thought in a million years that I would back down like I did.”

“So what made you do it then?”

Marley tightened her grip as she rubbed her arms up and down.

“...He was going to burn me and because of me, he was going to burn Luke. I’m so ashamed of myself.”

Solomon closed the distance between him and the shaken Marley.

“You shouldn’t be ashamed, you were afraid. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about showing fear in a stressful situation.” Solomon responded as he gently placed his hand on her shoulder.

However, Marley pulled away sharply while freezing the air and chapping his hand slightly.

“Showing fear is a death sentence!” She cracked out in a surprising shill voice, her eyes tearing up.

The quiet of the room continued as Marley trembled in front of the sorcerer. The nearby window began to frost over as she sniffled to herself. Icicles began to form and hang from the chairs and tables while the room took on a blue hue.

“...I’ve never frozen up before, I’ve never trembled before. Why do I only feel this here?” She asked quietly as tears threatened to freeze on her cheeks along with everything in Hell’s Kitchen.

Solomon bit his tongue and pulled Marley into a tight embrace. Instinctively, Marley burrowed into Solomon’s chest while squeezing herself as tightly as possible. She let her frustration out as the temperature nose-dived and coated the floor around them in a layer of ice and frost.

“M-Marley...”

“Y-Yeah?” She sniffled out.

“C-can you turn d-down the ice a b-bit?” Solomon chattered out as his breath froze into a white cloud.

Marley looked up to see the trembling man whose complexion was starting to match his hair. Despite freezing in his boots, Solomon kept his friendly smile that vibrated with the chattering of his teeth.

“Not yet, magic man.” She managed to chuckle out from her own sniffling.

“C-come on, it’s f-freezing and I only have t-this jacket.”

“No.” She giggled.

“M-Marley, please...” He whined.

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

“Solomon, that coffee was for Marley, not you!” Luke protested with a huff as Solomon snatched the cup from him.

“It’s alright, Luke, he needs it more than she does right now.” Simeon chuckled under his breath.

“I’m glad that turning into a popsicle can entertain so many people.” he sulked as he sipped the coffee gingerly.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.” Marley smiled widely with tired eyes.

Luke looked around the room to see the ice Marley made evaporating to nothing and tilted his head in response as Simeon joined him.

“Wow, not even a drop of water from all that ice. How can it just disappear like that?” Luke asked.

“It’s because it’s made without the use of a catalyst.” Simeon answered.

“And the sheer volume and quality of ice is a sign of powerful casting. I’ve been meaning to ask, who's your teacher, Marley?” Solomon asked between sips of his drink.

Marley scratched the back of her head, her fingers gathering her fluffy hair in her grip.

“He’s more of a father than anything else. Vali Unn took care of me and tried to keep me out of trouble. So he gave me this really old tome to keep me busy so I wouldn’t scamper off. And before I knew it, I could do what he does but-.”

She then turned her gaze to the defrosting cafeteria with a slightly concerned look.

“-I wasn’t able to do something this severe so quickly before I came to Devildom.”

“So, you’re saying your casting became more powerful? Did you make a pact the last time you were here?”

Marley squinted her eyes at the sorcerer with an unsure gaze.

“Umm, what’s a pact?” She asked, scratching her neck.

Solomon sighed.

“And that answered my question. Looks like you are going to need extra lessons, Marley.”

“Wait, just because I don’t know what a pact is, you’re going to give me homework? Who are you, Lucifer?” She protested.

“Well, if you want to get a better handle on your new level of power, then this is the best option. I teach you what I know and in return, you can tell me more about selkies and yourself. Sounds fair, Mochi?~” Solomon teased in between his cold-induced sniffles.

Marley crossed her arms in annoyance.

“I take it that you got a pact thing with Asmo based on how you’re twisting my arm.”

“Good conclusion, but I’m afraid this is all me~” Solomon smiled.

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

Marley groaned as she dragged her feet down the empty hallway. She managed to talk a great deal to her purgatory hall pals but it didn’t keep them from going to their next class. Alone again, she wandered and wandered, wondering to herself what to do next. She folded her arms and looked out the window, staring at the courtyard garden bathed in the moonlight.

“Maybe I should just go home again.” She sighed to herself.

“Please don’t leave.”

Before Marley could react, she was lifted and held in a tight embrace. She struggled with the vice and turned with a growl in her throat and fire in her eyes. However, the flame softened upon seeing the sixth born looking pitiful at her.

“Beelzebub?”

“I took care of those demons that attacked you. So please don’t run away from us.” Beel whimpered softly.

Marley’s eyes widened before softening to a pitied gaze. With a few grunts, she twisted herself in Beel’s hug so she could look at his face. However, he refused to make eye contact, his eyelids trembled while holding back his emotions.

“Run away? Beel, don’t be silly. I didn’t run away, I went home. I’m not some lost puppy you guys found, you know?” Marley chuckled as she gently stroked his cheek, easing his sniffling.

“I know but after everything that happened...and Belphie...”

“...Beel, is that why I haven’t seen you two since Lucifer dragged me back here?”

Beel remained silent as his shoulders slumped downward.

“...I’m not going to lie to you, Belphie isn’t exactly on my best friend list after what happened. But I can bring myself to hate him completely.”

“But you do hate me.” Belphie answered as he appeared from the corner of their eyes.

He mirrored Beel and looked away sorrowfully since he couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eyes. The hall grew colder and colder as the twins sucked out the warmth with their melancholy and guilt. Marley, on the other hand, gave a huff before wiggling to turn in Belphie’s direction.

“Listen, I’ve already had two emotional moments today and I don’t have the energy for another one. So I’m going to be blunt about this.”

Belphie twitched hard as Beel turned his gaze to his brother.

“Belphie, you’re not the first person to try and kill me and I doubt you’ll be the last. You’re definitely the first person to set me on fire and I have to admit that shook me to the core. I nearly lost my pelt and nerve, both of which I hold very dear to me.”

“...”

“But I’m trying to understand all of this. My new pelt, new feelings and my new connection with all of you. I haven’t forgotten what Lilith means to everyone, especially to you two. So, let’s take things one step at a time.”

“...”

“So, Belphie, thank you for saving me and Luke. Thanks to both of you.”

Belphie gave a small smile before erasing it from his face upon hearing Marley’s deep sigh.

“But I take it that it wasn’t enough.” Belphie claimed quietly.

“Listen, cowboy, that’s not how I keep score, but, trust me, we’re gonna have a talk about all of this. Especially since something’s not adding up.”

“Like what?”

Marley folded her arms while still being held up by a slightly nervous Beel.

“Well for starters, Luke and I were attacked at the beginning of classes. So, Belphie, what were you doing at the time?”

“I was taking a nap, so I was skipping my class.”

“Uh huh, then it was awfully convenient that you would come right when we needed you the most.”

“I guess I was just lucky.”

“Especially considering that RAD is so huge and at that point Luke and I didn’t scream for help. And you managed to show right when the fireball showed up. Lucky huh?” Marley huffed out with her nostrils flaring.

Belphie turned his gaze away from the calculating sealskin.

“And not to mention how convenient it was that Beel so happened to pop up right when you were going to get into a fight. I mean what are the chances, huh boys?” Marley claimed loudly as she turned her gaze to a reluctant Beel.

The twins remained silent as they felt the judging gaze of the stout woman being held in the air like a stuffed animal. Despite her small stature, Marley’s glare seemed to pierce with a heavy yet familiar weight. The seconds of silence ticked away like hours before Marley sighed once more.

“Judging from that nice bit of silence, I take it you two planned that little stunt. I doubt you would have a bunch of demons to attack me so my guess is you were both tailing me until you can swoop in and save me. Am I right, boys?”

The twins’ faces wrinkled, worried that all their efforts only pushed her away instead of earning her forgiveness, and unfortunately their worries worsened as Marley nearly exploded in laughter. Marley tried to keep her serious face but deep down she was trying to hold back her laughter. There she was with ancient demons, among the most powerful demons in Devildom and human history, who had the same planning prowess of a bunch of grade schoolers. They froze in place as Marley tried to contain her humor with a series of stifles and snorts.

“M-Marley?” Beel whimpered out while Belphie refused to look directly at her.

“Ok, ok, I’m good now.” She snorted out while trying to calm herself down.

Marley just motioned for a nervous Belphie to come closer only for her to lock him in a headlock.

“H-Hey, are you trying to kill me!?” He protested in a panic.

“Quit crying, cowboy! I’m in a good mood!” She giggled with glee.

“So you’re not mad at us?” Beel asked.

“How can I be mad right now? You two prove that some things never change. No matter where you are, twins will always be plotting some sort of mischief.” She blurted out with a snort, thinking about her own twins back at home.

Regardless of her context, Belphie and Beel found themselves at ease finally as they became loose and relaxed in her warmth. The three embraced tenderly as their breathing synced up in the silence. However, Marley still had a question on her mind.

“Beel?”

“Yes, Marley?”

“You didn’t eat those guys after you dragged them away, did you?”

“No, they didn’t look tasty, so I took them to Lucifer’s office.”

“...Yeeeeaaah, you probably should have just ate them.” She whispered quietly, slightly pitying her former assailants.

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