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sukunasdirtylaugh · 4 months

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always a god never human II satoru gojo

tags: post shibuya au, alt au where satoru is cursed to be blind, fluff, argument, angst, regret

word count: 4.5k

note: I wanted to write something that could encapsulate what being human is for satoru in the best worst case scenario. some of you might love this as I do, and thank you for your support. also, I made a reference to odysseus and the cyclops so I think I got it right (I haven't read the odyssey in nearly 10 years). also forgive me and please correct me if I got the kikufuku part wrong. will make a part two if this comes out well (I already have it drafted).

satoru gojo had been exposed to curses for as long as he could remember. first, as a boy, then as a student in jujutsu tech, and finally as a friend and instructor to those around him; but he had never been directly cursed.

not until now.

"you may remain as the strongest, satoru gojo, but your strength will be the only thing to hold you. no one but yourself will disinter it, so don't waste your time searching for something already set as destined." he recalled.

"love will be your salvation yet damnation, for you will cry for your shortcomings and failures. no one but you will carry this burden. let it remind you of this day, of the battle in which you never, truly won."

he always wakes up in a cold sweat afterwards. with the erratic beating of his heart and the tears running down his cheeks, satoru clings to himself, pressing a hand to his heart so as to remind himself of his current position. the back of his throat feels rough like sandpaper, and he licks his lips before reaching for the glass of water he's reserved for nights like these.

he drinks nearly all of it, his heart heavy before his fingers fish for his phone by his bedside.

"hey siri," he speaks, voice hoarse, "what time is it?"

"it's 3:24am."

with an exhaled huff, he puts his phone to the side, making note to remember where it is in the morning. as he lays his head down and focuses on the feeling of blood rushing to his fingertips, arms laid out side by side and fists clenching and unclenching, he sighs.

tomorrow will be better, he tells himself, but it has to change, whispers the other.

"now listen, don't give me that look, it's serious!" your frown causes utahime, your longtime friend of 4 years to shake her hands out to grab your attention, causing you to stifle a smile from your face as you hide your lips behind your cup of tea. "I have a job proposal for you, from a friend. and I think you'd like the pay."

utahime had always been sensible on the topic of money. knowing your constant struggles as a college student and now graduate, seeking to find new sources of income to keep up with bills and student loans, the sorceress felt compassion for you, a friend of hers who has grounded and guided her through frustration after frustration; work and romance related. she's never had the luxury of normalcy to a life like yours, she knows, so doing this was in her best interest for your benefit.

she tells you she has a friend who has decided to take up reading. problem is, he's blind.

"he's not a child, though he acts like it sometimes, but he's not some prune old man either. he's around your age so I'm sure talking to him along with your patience won't be an issue."

besides the generous pay for your time, 6 hours a week for $500 as a starting salary, there was something about this arrangement that left you with a good feeling in your heart. and it wasn't because your client was blind, no. it was the sheer opportunity for growth, in doing something you loved and doing something someone wanted to partake in. so on the day of your arrival you dress your best, hair neatly combed with a pearl diadem and academia as your outfit inspiration for the occasion. "he lives in a secluded home," you recall utahime's words, "up on a hill, or cliff. I don't know. it's always cloudy over there," and you can make out the home on the hill. it's quaint, and you feel thankful for having picked the clothes adequate for the weather.

it surely looked like it was going to rain, so you quicken your pace until you're at the front door, standing still as you swallow the lump at the back of your throat. you were no psychic, but the way your heart churned and palpitated let you know something was about to change your life forever.

"you must be the girl utahime sent, I'm satoru. please step inside," you absentmindedly take in the smile he gives you, taking no answer from you before he opens the door to let you in. he wears a pair of black glasses, contrasting to his snowy hair and porcelain skin. wearing casual loungewear neither of you dare to touch one another in the sense of exchanging a handshake out of respect, or fear. it all feels formal, too formal as if this were a job interview or more.

"it's quite cold outside, isn't it?" after you step inside and change into a pair of slippers that are slightly too big for you, satoru shows you to where you would read to him.

he makes conversation rather well, you find, but there is slight awkwardness in the interactions but not in the way he moves around the house. as he moves up the stairs, he has a hand against the wall as he takes each step with precision, knowing when and where to step. you're fairly quiet, but polite in your conversation with him, until you reach the space he calls his 'study' which is just a room with a large window accompanied by books and belongings.

"you're probably wondering how on earth a blind guy has a clean place, right? well to answer your question, housekeeping."

"I wasn't thinking about that," you answer softly biting the inside of your cheek, "I was just admiring the window."

there's a momentary silence between the two of you. either satoru is surprised by your reply, unrelated to his blindness, or you have struck a sensitive chord, however, his nod makes you think otherwise.

"it is. before I was blind, I'd come here as a teen. house is mine, so even the doors are nice in here." and when he hears you agree, he smiles. "anyways, I'm sure utahime told you the basics about this, yeah?"

"yes."

"great. there's a book on that table to your right. you can start reading that one." as he walks, he takes a seat on a chair across from you. he patiently waits until you sit down again to ask, "before we start, would you like some water?"

"yeah," you breathe, "that'd be great actually."

"there's a few water bottles under the table next to you," he informs, making himself comfortable on the chair, limbs spreading comfortably as you take out a water bottle and glance at the book in your lap.

"this book is about malaysia," you read the title, "is that somewhere you'd like to visit one day?"

"maybe," he says, "it was from a friend of mine."

"did he go to malaysia?"

there's a long silence in between the innocence your question and his answer.

"he did," he answers slowly. "it was always a dream of his to go, so that's why I've kept the book." you don't press him further, instead nodding and suggesting on starting.

when you open the book, you don't miss the elegant cursive writing at the top right of the page.

n. kento

you frequent satoru's home every monday, wednesday, and friday for 3 hours every day. the pay is more than what you expect the first week, $750, but you wonder how this man can easily afford your services.

the bigger question, is how can he live alone in such a home like that? does he ever get hurt? what does he do then?

"yeah, I live here by myself." he answers your question on the third week of your employment. "it's pretty neat though. I don't have to worry about anyone misplacing anything I leave, you know?" his attempt at a joke makes you chuckle and walk up the steps behind him to his study. "are we reading something new today?"

"there's something different I want to try," he tells you, "last night, on the news, I heard there was a feud over some meso-american statue. something to do with jade material being one of the few in existence. I know this is beyond what we agreed, but do you think you can find an article on it?" you nod, affirming his request.

"great!" he smiles, relieved, "my laptop is on the desk. feel free to use it."

you wanted to say that was the last time he asked you for a favor like that, but it was you who fueled his interest. that day, you ended up finding 4 articles, and playing 2 videos about the subject. and as a result, both you and satoru engaged in related conversation until the end of your assigned time.

every few days, satoru would inform you on something (practically asking) and you'd reply by responding, researching the questions he ached to know. it went such way that you were reading him books less and less and more article, media coverage, and conversation.

"did you hear about the experiment trials being conducted by this company called oceangate?" satoru asks, interest laced in his voice, "they're thinking about sending people to view the titanic shipwreck."

and quickly enough, so were you.

"yeah, I also heard about it. I couldn't help but read an article about it. apparently, they've done a few trials, but the company is independent, so I don't know how safe it is or if they have government members involved..."

one of satoru's favorite moments consist of the following.

"did you hear about the crime case that just happened last week? the one with the girl who survived the car accident."

"I did!" you answer eagerly, "I heard her stepdad was the last person to talk to her boyfriend."

"do you think he murdered him?"

"it's tough to say," you bite your bottom lip in contemplation, "I knew he didn't approve of him because he was an aspiring musician, but these texts came out saying he wrote to his brother, 'that man better stay away from my daughter or else I don't know what I'll do',""

"no way."

"and that's not even the worst part," you adjust yourself on your seat, criss cross applesauce. "they found dna remains in his car before his death, hair. right before the car accident. there's speculation they argued before..."

"the accident." satoru nods.

as the weeks progressed, so did your conversations with satoru. the two of you had a knack for being adaptable in your interactions with one another. you could reach a book for an hour, then talk about some recent story or just spend a whole session talking, with the mention of an article or some source always being mentioned.

and satoru burned for that. with every interaction, he found himself looking forward to what else he could bring up, and so did you, even spending time of your own researching things he might be interested in learning about.

things the both of you turned out interested learning about.

"here," satoru could feel the warmth emanate from your body (or his) as you sat next to him, your body scooting closer to his, "hold your hands, yeah, like that," placing a small statue, no bigger than the size of a wine bottle, satoru freezes slightly as you guide his fingers to glide along the edges of the statue.

"my friend managed to get this one out of the archives," you explain, "of course, I just had to bring this to you too. can you sense the material?" the corner of satoru's lips tug upwards in acknowledgement of your excitement. it makes his heart squeeze and pulse in ways that felt familiarly unfamiliar. in a good way, of course. everything you brought in his life was good. whether he could see it or not, you were always so welcoming and sweet.

"is this... legal?" he out of everyone finds himself whispering. as if the authorities could be outside his door. you giggle.

"yes," you smile, "I asked my friend if she could let me borrow this for the day, to take 'pictures'." you chuckle, "obviously that's not what we're doing, is it?" a warmth follows satoru's cheeks as he shakes his head and you smile. "this mesoamerican statue is the same material as the one we read the other week, remember?"

we, satoru's words echo in his head as he nods. "y-yeah. thank you for doing this, you know."

"of course," you smile kindly, "I figured, out of everyone who could be here, I figured you deserve this."

deserve.

"open your hands for me, satoru." your soft voice speaks as you cup his hands, the ocean waves crash from afar. after much convincing, you managed to pull satoru out of his comfort zone. what's the point of going to the ocean if I can't see it? he asks.

well, what's the point of me reading to you and us interacting if you can't see me? you counter. and he realizes you've won.

he can smell the saltwater, can feel the wind blow through his hair and let his feet sink into the sand, but that's not what makes his heart skip a beat. your hands shouldn't feel this soft, he thinks. the way you allow grains of sand to fall in his hands feel otherworldly, holy. the way he senses you smile at him and place a shell on his palm, letting him trace the surface with his finger as you guide him makes him feel as the most enlightened man alive.

he can sense you're close, not by strands of your hair slapping his cheek as the wind blows, but by the warmth of your body. suddenly, he does not feel he is at the beach, but with the beach guiding her hands with his and feeling the warmth of what he feels is your smile.

he remains silent, you're looking at him, and he's looking at you underneath his shades. he's frozen. waiting for you to say something, to break this off as if this would never, by any of his wildest dreams, occur in any universe.

but you don't.

satoru feels his pulse quicken, breathing deepen as the point of your feet slot themselves to his, your nose barely brushes his own, causing the six eyed user to forget everything he once thought he knew of limits and boundaries. kiss me, he thinks, take me, he begs to the heavens. satoru thinks he could be captivated, deeper than any spell odysseus and his men were under at sea, but they were cursed by calypso's beauty, and he felt blessed by the touch of an angel. your touch enviable to the gods above.

when you kiss him, he feels like he just made the greatest discovery to mankind, like he's waited his whole life for this, a feeling that greatly surpasses galileo's lifelong accomplishments and napoleon's combined. no feeling, word, or sight could transcribe what it feels to have your lips slide through his, to have you softly gasp against his lips, and to have your body close to his. satoru is convinced that he has reborn, become whole by the touch of your lips which have sweetly imprinted themselves throughout everything he is.

he holds the back of your neck gently, so as to remind himself that you are here, not a dream but here with him. flesh against flesh, man and woman who share one breath.

when you both pull away, satoru feels himself begging to pull you closer, but the hands that push him from you let him know you need to breathe. and although his body cries otherwise, you speak breathlessly, a hint of a smile in your tone, "did you feel that shell? it was my favorite kind to collect growing up," and he smiles because he learns what it is to collect something as valuable as the shells, your lips.

with nearly 3 months of knowing you, there was a shift in satoru's chest one wednesday morning as you excused yourself for a call.

"...of course I don't! you think I want to live with him?" you ask, voice laced with disgust, "I won't be tied down like that again and you know it, Kiro. I'll be cursed if I have to be with someone like him again. you know I'd never stay for someone like that. It's dead weight on my shoulders, and I won't have anything but pity on him." your words, from the end of the hallway send daggers at satoru's heart.

"yes, I'm at work, what else do you want me to do? It's not like I can just fly my way to you in such a short amount of time. you should have told me..." a long pause, "yes... he's blind," another long pause, "I get paid on the 26th, but my boss won't let me work on the 25th, so you can sleep in my bed while I get home. and wear something under the covers, okay?" somewhere, somehow satoru wanted to tell himself he was not hearing things correctly, that you were still the same girl he knew to be around, but when you returned after your call, something was definitely wrong with you.

"so, how was you call?" he asks, feigning interest, "everything ok?"

"yeah, fine, thanks." you breathe, tired, opening the book in your hands, "chapter 21, the last spring."

one week later.

as much as he wanted to deny it, satoru was beginning to think you had changed. what was it? was it him? the kiss? the way he grabbed you? or have you finally had enough of these little visits that could have been masked as pity for a young man like him?

when the 26th passes, he does not ask what your plans are. as much as he wants to ask, he thinks it's not of his place to ask. is he doing the right thing? he doesn't know. it certainly doesn't ease the unpleasant feeling bubbling in his stomach.

"do you have a favorite treat?" you ask. caught off guard, he nods.

"kikufuku," he tells you, "when I was in high school, there was this elderly couple that had a kikufuku stand and they used to have the best ice cream fillings."

"I thought kikufuku was cream based?"

"It was, but not to them. their ice cream filling was one of a kind."

"when was the last time you had some?"

he laughs, "years ago. I'm pretty sure they ended up closing because the wife died, and she was the only living relative who knew how to make it."

"that's too bad."

"I know, but at least they were happy doing what they did." satoru then changes the subject, shifting the focus to a lighter topic.

on december 6th, satoru recieves a call.

"I told you, you don't have to call me sensei anymore," satoru groans, throwing a wooden sword towards yuuta, catching it flawlessly.

"why not? you've always been my sensei. or would you rather us call eachother cousins?"

"you're right," answered satoru adter a long moment, earning a laugh from his former student. "so what was it you wanted to talk about? clearly it was not to train, so what is it?"

"I just wanted to see how you're doing."

"well you could've just called..."

"you haven't trained with us in a while," yuuta sighs, "everyone. we don't really know what you're up to these days."

and he was right, but satoru would never admit it.

"what?" he asks, almost faking offense, "can't your sensei go on vacat-"

"-utahime sensei says you've been in your home a lot," he clarifies, "only few of us know. toge, panda, yuuji and I."

"what about megumi?"

"he's kind of in his own world," yuuta sighs, placing his weapon down before taking a seat next to gojo in the training room. "he knows things haven't been easy."

"you've kept an eye on him and yuuji like I asked, right?''

"to a degree," he admits, "I can't have them open up so freely because I'll always be their upperclassmen, but you... you're..."

"I get what you're trying to say." he answers flatly.

"you do?"

he nods.

"can I walk with you to your home?" yuuta asks, "there's another thing I'd like to ask, personally this time."

satoru finds himself agreeing with his younger student, what else could he do besides that? as the two walk, satoru finds himself giving advice he didn't think he could give, advising the student on what shall become of him now that he's already over age and in his own right to choose his destiny.

as he advises his pupil, satoru finds himself wondering the same for himself. he's turning a year older in 2 more days, what will become of him? what will he do? what does this mean in relation to kenjaku's damned curse? it aggravated him. upset him how everything felt so secure, almost ideal weeks ago, but now his life felt back in square one, returning to his home that he had grown used to be alo-

"surprise!"

not one, nor two, but several familiar voices called from the inside of his open, making satoru freeze in shock.

"surprise! we thought we'd surprise you sensei" panda's voice rang.

"he's right!" another voice, yuuji's appears, "we thought about making a little get together with our favorite sensei..."

"obviously someone had to plan this," satoru turned, stunned when shoko's voice came into play. "you?"

"no," she chuckles, turning to you but you quickly shake your head, reaching for utahime, "it was utahime!" you call, "she wanted to plan something nice for you."

"aww well aren't you sweet?" he grins tauntingly at utahime who can't help but send daggers your way as shoko muffles her laugh.

for the duration of the party, satoru is accompanied by his co-workers, friends, and students. he hears more about what they've done. what travels they have accomplished, and what romances some of them have experienced all while they share laughs. all while satoru searches for yours.

you stand a respectable distance away from him, deciding it would be best to let his friends and students take over since he hasn't seen them in so long. you weren't as special as they were, only having known satoru for the least amount of time, a part of you felt like a stranger. not that anyone made you feel left out, no. everyone was kind to you and even appreciative for your presence. however, you spent a whole majority of the party not talking to satoru, as if you weren't there.

when it came time to cut the cake, everyone who was an adult was nearly drunk. the students, all joyously supervised by ichiji laughed as they shared a group photo. yuuji, satoru's student mentioned something about adding the photo as his lockscreen, causing everyone to burst out laughing from ichiji's protests. everyone looked happy, with a twinkle in their eyes as the end to the party came to an end.

the students and ichiji were the first to leave, then shoko and utahime finding balance in one another, leaving you alone with satoru in his home.

"you didn't drink, huh."

"I don't really drink in social events." you shyly admit, scratching the back of your neck as satoru does not face you, looking towards the door where utahime and shoko left not long ago.

"you thought you were social?" his words take you by surprise.

"I, um.... I talked to your friends." you say, "they were very nice."

"I barely heard you."

"that's because you were probably occupied talking to the others-"

"-you didn't talk to me." he finds himself saying in annoyance.

"I didn't want to take your day away,"

"from who?"

"you."

"there's nothing to take from me."

"yes there is," you tell him. "your attention. you haven't seen your friends in-"

“they all pity me.”

“what? no they don-”

“-you’re not blind. people don’t… they don’t look at you like some pity animal, just waiting for you to fuck up.”

“you are not a pity....”

“oh yeah?” he breathes, ragged. “then why the fuck did you agree to read to a blind man?”

there was some silence, regret pooled at the back of your throat and then a shift in your weight as you stood.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. I like you, “I- I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,”

“I- are we…?”

“I don’t think we should be seeing each other,” he expresses. “not for a while,”

“a while?”

“yeah, a while.’’

“do you… want me to leave?”

“I think it’s for the best.”

“Do you want me to come back monday?”

“I don’t think so,”

when you left, satoru's jaw tightened, hands now fisted by his sides and a body so rigid one might think he were frozen in place. satoru stays like that for several moments, eyes nearing a burning sensation as he focuses on where he would imagine the door is, almost expectantly waiting for your return as if this were a dream.

but it wasn't.

and as the minutes pass, he paces his living room. hands running over his hair.

he had done wrong.

"ichiji," his voice almost broke, dry and borderline desperate. “I…” I think I fucked up, “I want you to pick up y/n. She just left my place, but she doesn’t have a car.”

"I already did," he says, "she said just that."

“Did she tell you anything?” he finds himself expecting.

“not really..."

“how did she look?”

normal? Ichiji wanted to say, didn't you just see her? but the tone in satoru’s voice confirmed that he did something to leave you so quiet after the party.

“she was quiet,” he tells him, “...maybe she was tired from the party. you know, she organized it herself.”

“she... what?”

“yeah. utahime helped her bring the cake. she needed someone to drive while she carried the cake because she didn't trust anyone to hold it the 20 something minutes it took to get to your house. she told me she was trying to look for someone who knew how to make ice cream kikufuku and ended up finding the niece of the old owners of a shop she said you used to frequent. after long convincing, she was able to get the niece to help. I’m pretty sure she made the cake, with the help of the niece of course. she also made the dinner, and even had shoko bring in the drinks along with candles that your friend forgot to bring, — so I guess she was just tired, right?”

Satoru was speechless. unsure if it was the fact that you did so much for him or the fact that he had never heard, in his entire life, hear ichiji speak for so long with such conviction, it was everything he needed to hear.

right? the words in satoru's mind, head pounding with everything and anything relating you. and on the other side of the line stood a confused yet almost concerned ichiji.

"hello? are you still there?"

"yeah," he answered dryly, "is... is she home safe?"

"of course, I dropped her off." but it sounded like, why wouldn't she be? to which satoru felt like it wasn't a good enough answer. he needed to see, hear that you were okay. and he was afraid that he was regretting his words so easily.

"satoru," now serious, ichiji's words pulled him from his thoughts, "are you still there? what happen-"

"-I fucked up," he choked, "I... I said things I shouldn't have..."

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soukoku-fic-recs · 2 years

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High school au masterlist pt1:

Hello everyone!! ╰(*´︶`*)╯

Many people asked for it so here it is: a huge masterlist of soukoku high school fics!!

I found sooo many that I really liked but found it impossible to fit them all in one gigantic post so here we go with part 1! I hope you enjoy it and stay tuned for more!!

Have a great day and let me know wich ones you liked best!!

-f

What’s your name? by CataclysmicEvent: “I said, what's your name?” Dazai snaps to attention to see that Chuuya is staring right at him, and suddenly his mouth feels like sandpaper. Jesus. Who has eyes like that?! “Ozai—” “Huh?”“Dazoo—” “I’m sorry, what?” “Dazai Osamu.” Sometimes--the worst introductions can last a lifetime. (High school AU, slice of life, growing up together.)

Sins Of Staying Together by setosdarkness: Dazai is infamous for saying ‘yes’ to anyone who asks him out. Even if anyone he dates ends up breaking up with him before the week is over. Because he’s a suicide maniac, because he’s a manipulative asshole, because he’s a piss-poor leech who has a staggering ¥1000 to his name, because of a number of reasons. Chuuya’s not curious - okay, he sort of maybe is - but he figures one week of stupidity can’t hurt too much. So he jokingly asks Dazai out. And he starts to regret a lot of things.

A thousand tiny revolution by flyby: When Dazai Osamu shows up to class on the first day of his third year of high school, Chuuya wants nothing to do with him. He's too busy juggling homework and part-time work to have any patience for an annoying waste of bandages, but Dazai has other ideas – and the mystery that surrounds him is about to blow Chuuya's own secrets wide open. Principal Fukuzawa said once that what you do in school can change the course of your life, but Chuuya doesn't think he meant it like this.

The Next Page by Hamliet: Built to keep society's strays off the streets, Bungou Academy proclaims to offer its students and teachers a second chance. If only it really did.

Oh darling it’s alarming to think of us apart (you know you’ve got me in your pocket) by inteludewings: “Okay so if we’re both still single when we’re twenty two,” Dazai’s smile grew even wider. “Let’s marry each other.” By the time Chuuya’s twenty two, he’d probably be in a relationship with someone else, and the possibilities of them even remembering each other were slim to none. And so, Chuuya gave his answer. “Fine, let’s do that.” In short, fifteen year olds Dazai Osamu and Nakahara Chuuya made a stupid promise one day in their school library out of boredom, which leads to the next seven years of their life filled with fighting, burnt notebooks and late night conversations.

The transfer student with a hat by xxalwayssophia: The Armed Student Council find out about and meet their secretary's boyfriend.

Lost All Judgement by todxrxki: “Uh, sorry, but unfortunately I already have a date to the dance.” “Oh, really?” Tachihara says, sounding disappointed. He pauses for a second, clearly processing what Chuuya’s just told him, and then says, “Who is it?”Chuuya certainly hadn’t budgeted for this. Panicking, he tries to think of the people that he knows that are single, and before he knows it, the first name that comes to mind is slipping out of his mouth. “With Dazai.” / After a momentary lapse in judgment, high school student Chuuya ends up having to pretend to date his enemy Dazai to get Tachihara off of his back - and quickly finds it's nowhere as bad as he'd imagined.

Laws of attraction by setosdarkness: Dazai and Chuuya have always been rivals, have always been there at each other’s throats. It’s almost surreal to think that there might come a time when they go their separate ways....But now, that’s a reality that Chuuya has to face, because Dazai’s going to a different university.

Sorry, I have a boyfriend by dangodangomilk: The prettiest girl in class asks Dazai for a favor— fake date her for a week in an idiotic attempt to make her boyfriend jealous. Obviously, Dazai refuses. One, he wants no part in this bullshitery. Two, he has a boyfriend.Things get messy after Dazai declines her request. Luckily for him, he avoids getting plummeted to the ground when his surprisingly protective boyfriend comes to his rescue.

How to love by arkastadt: Chuuya catches his gaze, takes a deep breath, and says, “Have sex with me.” Oh wow, that sounds awfully wrong — “I mean,” he starts again, losing all edge and grace, “I don’t want to have to sex with you — or I do but not like that! — I just want — damn it!” For some reason, he feels like standing, so he jumps up. “I have never been with anybody, and I want to be ready when it comes to it, so just have sex with me, okay, you asshole!”— In which, Chuuya’s tired of failing classes and being a virgin and makes the deal of a lifetime with Dazai.

Exposed ankles in the modern era by setosdarkness: "Nakahara Chuuya-kun, folding up your pants and exposing your ankles for everyone's view is against the school's regulations."

Triangular by setosdarkness: Chuuya and Dazai fight over Atsushi's affections. At least, that's what Chuuya thinks. In reality, it goes like this:chuuya: thinks they're in a love triangle. dazai: thinks they're in a custody battle over their son atsushi: CHAZUKEEEEEE

A change of mind by Lichtstrahl: It's cute seeing Chuuya so possessive of him, he looked like he was ready to bite everyone's head off for looking at Dazai.

You (who gave me the stars) by setosdarkness: Dazai’s pretty sure that Chuuya’s stalking him because he’s in love with him—no matter how much the chibi denies it. That’s why, it’s a complete shock when Chuuya confesses that he actually has been trying to get on Dazai’s good graces so he can ask for help in wooing Dazai’s best friend instead.

Come, I’ll show you around by Lichtstrahl: "What? Are you not having fun, Chibi?" "I'm certain this is not what the teacher meant by showing me around the school." He said with an exasperated sigh.

Pretty in Pink by flowerinaacup: On Valentine's Day, there’s a new dress code. Wear white if you’re single, red if you’re taken, or pink if you’re crushing on someone. Dazai comes to school in pink bandages.

strawberries and cigarettes by inteludewings: Nakahara Chuuya, one of the most popular kids at his school, always had his eye on the quiet yet mysterious Dazai Osamu who sat at the back of the class. After unexpected circumstances, he finds himself hanging out with him for one long Friday night.Faces were slapped, butts were kicked, feelings were shared, tears were shed, people were arrested and houses were broken into. Not necessarily in that order.

Set alighte, we’re afire love by kiroiimye: "There you go!" Dazai forces a smile onto his face, quickly shoving his quivering hands into the pockets of his tan dress pants. "Now my sheepdog won't completely freeze to death!" Chuuya gingerly brushes his fingers across the jacket buttons before he looks up at Dazai, eyes wide with a soft vulnerability that Dazai rarely sees. "Thanks, shitty mackerel," Chuuya says quietly, and Dazai's heart does a tap-dance of beats. Dazai falls for Chuuya in three steps: first unknowing, then slowly, and then all at once. [Or: The fic where Dazai's been planning the most extravagant, flabbergasting confession to his best friend Chuuya...and subsequently messes everything up with a simple text message.]

eternity (I’d choose you every time) by orphan_account: When Nakahara Chuuya wakes up on September 3rd, at 7:37 AM for the third time, he’s irritated. The first thing he does is check the date. When his phone screen flashes Friday, September 3rd, he groans and burrows back underneath his covers.This cannot be happening. Or, Chuuya gets stuck repeating the same day over and over, Dazai is an asshole, and chaos ensues.

#soukoku #soukoku fanfiction #soukoku fanfic #dazai osamu #nakahara chuuya #skk #skk fanfic #fanfic masterlist #fanfic rec #high school au #bungou stray dogs #bsd

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balshumetsbaragouin · 2 months

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Chapter Six is out! If you haven't had a chance to read this fanfic yet, you should join us. We're two chapters from the end, but there's still about two weeks for you to catch up. In this chapter, Danny is returned to The Oven, and comes to an understanding with Plasmius about how to escape the GIW's custody...

The Climax is the next chapter, so I hope you join us before next Wednesday! Make it a Binge Weekend! Summary:

A momentary lapse of attention, a weapon's blast grounding him, an agent's boot heading towards his jaw... Danny has been the 'primary research subject' of the Area 23 facility for the past three weeks. Since he was captured, he's had no contact with the outside world, and no chance of escape. After complaining about a lack of conversational partners, his heated cage finds a second occupant: Vlad Plasmius. With his last chance at escape captured with him, Danny's hope dwindled until he heard the other halfa promise he had a plan. The only problem: He doesn't trust Vlad.

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Implied/Referenced Torture, Past Torture, Psychological Torture, Medical Experimentation, Medical Torture, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Rating: M

Still not sure if you want to join your fellow readers? Have a sneak peek of chapter six below the cut!:

He ached liked someone had scrubbed fine grain sandpaper over every inch of his bones. The skin across his ribs pulled with every shift, so he’d quickly tested if he needed to breathe in ghost form. He didn’t. He preferred it, though, and fighting down the instinct to do so every few seconds was distracting. As soon as I get out of here, I’m going to burn all of Dr. Bursen’s notes. They were digital, held somewhere in the GIW’s computer servers, but the loathsome little jerk hadn’t stopped dictating the entire time. He’d found his way to the top of Danny’s shit list, above even Vlad.

He was too weak to stand or float, and since they didn’t have the patience to wait for him to recover, his escorts had each snagged an arm and started pulling. His head flopped back as they dragged him back to The Oven, his boots squeaking across the linoleum tile in this part of the facility. They hadn’t even injected him with enough Radio-whatever to numb all the pain this time. Somewhere, dimly, he looked forward to getting back to his cell; the suppressant would leave him completely numb.

“Agent T, please prepare the door for transfer.” Danny turned his head to focus on the officer in front of him as the agent to his right dropped away. The other one’s grip didn’t budge a centimeter. The angle was starting to wrench his shoulder joint, and had already reopened a cut. The burly agent tapped into the keypad near the terminal, and the whole rigmarole to open The Oven started. The ache near his collarbone crescendoed into a burst of lightning. He bit back a groan when the returning agent jostled him when grabbing his other arm. “You’ve been quiet, HBC-1. Did Dr. Bursen really cut out your tongue this time?” The surrounding men chuckled as The Oven’s doors opened with a hiss and a buzz.

“Hurts.”

“That’s what shut you up?” The two men ahead of him parted, and the officer clicked his tongue. “Shame it won’t be for long. The scientists claim you heal quickly.”

“Maybe they can make a shock collar?”

“You’re right, Agent T, that could keep it behaved.” They tossed him through the opened passage. The ground rushed up and made friends with his nose before he could react. Their amusement echoed off of the walls of The Oven and through his pounding skull, a symphony of suffering carved into his bones. Thirty seconds passed. The vertigo and body aches abated enough for him to raise his head and look around. Vlad wasn’t where he saw him last. He turned his head to take the room, and found him slumped against the coolest wall, eyes very much still shut.

“Hey?” No response. He took in the trail of dark green painting the path from the spot he’d ended up during the fight and the wall. It was wide, bumpy, and uneven instead of a single, thin layer like the blobs left. It was a lot of ecto. “Can you hear me?” Still nothing. Something hot and needy crawled up his spine to wrap around his core.

#Danny Phantom #Danny Phantom Fanfiction #DP #DP Fanfic #Hybrid Affiinity #HA #Balshumet's Baragouin

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shannaraisles · 2 months

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No More - for @megasaurusssss

A piece for @megasaurusssss, who has also been an absolute delight with the patience of a literal saint. It was fun to dip my toes back into Dragon Age, and Chris was such a joy to write. Thank you so much!

No More

“I would have preferred to remain with the rest of the men.”

Chris couldn’t help the sting that snapped through him at the sound of Cullen’s quiet complaint. Surely it wasn’t so bad to be left alone with him, was it? All right, so they were not exactly on an even keel in terms of their relationship after everything that had happened, but even so ... would the commander rather have ordered someone else to keep watch over the declared most precious asset the Inquisition had than stay another minute in proximity?

“I ...” He paused, taking a moment to scan the sentence before he said it aloud, seeking out anything that might further upset his companion. “I can try to go faster, we ... we could catch up sooner if we don’t stop so much.”

Cullen cast him a sharp glance, taking in the heavy splint that guarded a badly broken leg and the fresh scar decorating his face.

“You can barely walk, let alone quickly, Christopher,” he said, his tone gruff but, for a split second, his eyes were kind. “We will make our own way. Unless you believe me incapable of protecting you on a two day journey to the main camp?”

And there was the sharpness again, that prickly coat that wrapped so tightly around the commander’s heart and mind in defense against anything and anyone that might even suggest a sense of closeness he was not prepared to risk. It brought back the sting of his initial words, confusing the softness of affection with the sandpaper roughness of defensive fear. There was more than just that hostility there, he was certain of it. In fact, he knew now that hostility was not even directed personally toward him - it was born of an old fear, past trauma, and wielded like a weapon against anyone who so much as brushed up against any similarity to those that had inflicted that trauma in years gone by.

But behind the hostility, Chris had seen softness. It was there in the care Cullen showed for his soldiers’ wellbeing. It was there in the scrupulous attention to detail that had fortified and armed Skyhold within a few weeks of their arrival. It was there in the meticulous concentration on every task or problem, narrowing with laser focus until the commander found the solution that would cost the least lives on either side. It was even there with his worried oversight of the mages - overbearing, yes, but it was born more of fear of who might be harmed than of what could happen.

“Why are you so far away?”

The question seemed to come from nowhere, rising from Chris’ chest, blurted from between frozen lips, ears barely believing what they had just heard that familiar voice say. Cullen’s head jerked up, his whiskey-warm eyes snapping to meet Chris’ gaze, wet with icy shock at the question. They both knew it had nothing to do with his physical distance.

“You know why.”

The words were cold, but the heat was there, barely hidden beneath the surface. But was it heat from anger, or something else? Was he denying his fear, or denying his desire? Chris didn’t know. Cullen could be hard to read at the best of times, and this clearly was not the best of his times.

“No. No, I really don’t.” Chris held up a hand, preventing his companion from interrupting with snatched, thoughtless words. “You say I’m different. You ... you treat me, treat me as though I am sometimes your friend and sometimes your lover, and sometimes I-I’m ... sometimes it feels like I’m not even me to you. Sometimes I think you look at me, and you’re looking at someone I’ve never even met.”

Guilt, fear, a moment of frenzied fear ... all these flickered across those warm, cold eyes as Cullen let him speak. However much the commander may have wanted to shut his ears against these words, he had never done Chris the disservice of not hearing him. Not listening sometimes, certainly, but he always heard.

“I don’t know what you are looking for, Christopher,” he answered, stiff and brittle in the face of emotions rising that were unaccustomed and terrifying. “You are ... dear to me. I care for you, as far as I can. But I am more broken than you know.”

“So am I!” Frustration painted the outburst as Chris flared in the face of that outright denial. “So is everyone! You are not the only broken person in this world, Cullen! But you-you are ...” He swallowed against the choking lump in his throat, wondering why his words kept trying to dry up before they could be released. “You are the only one I know who refuses to believe he can even begin to mend.”

The ice seemed to thicken over Cullen’s eyes, the leather of his gloves creaking as he flexed and clenched his fingers.

“You do not know what you are speaking of,” he said, and in his tone, his posture, in every facet of his being was a warning. The beast within was riled, and who knew what it might do if he lost control for even a moment? “The things I have done, that I have allowed to be done ... that I have experienced ... don’t spout your nonsense to one who has lived through more than you should ever be in a position to even see.”

“You are not special,” Chris snapped back at him, more hurt than angry, more roused than riled by the heat lurking beneath the ice in Cullen’s eyes. “Well, you’re special to me, but not because of what you’ve suffered. It’s not a competition to see who’s had it worse.”

A low snarl erupted from the commander, and in a flurry of movement, suddenly Chris found himself flat on his back, one of Cullen’s hands gently cradling the back of his head, the other gripping his hip with possessive demand. Nose to nose, he could taste the commander’s breath on the air between them, his focus narrowing to the scarred lips hovering so very close to his own.

“I would not say such things if I were you,” the former Templar warned, his breath hot against Chris’ lips.

“Stop me, then.”

Where that challenge had come from, Chris could not have said, but barely a moment later, he did not care. Cullen’s mouth crashed into his own in a punishing, devouring kiss that was more teeth than lips, more passion than care, and more wonderful than the rushed desperation they had shared at Adamant. Chris gave as good as he got, nipping, licking, tasting, hands grasping and groping, tugging at hair, clothing, hating the breastplate that kept him from feeling the full heat and hardness of the commander flush against his form. Even the sharp lurch of pain from his splinted leg wasn’t even to make him pull away, even as he hissed in pain, filling that kiss with his own breath. But the sound of pain was enough to rouse Cullen from his passion, concern clouding that ardor in his eyes as he began to pull back.

“Your leg -”

“Forget it.”

Chris’ grip tightened in the soft fur of Cullen’s mantle, dragging him back into that needful kiss, unable to say what he needed to say, only daring to hope that this closed off, imperfect, wonderful man could somehow understand those unspoken words if he was shown in a different way. The commander groaned, and somehow that kiss softened, wordless surrender to a feeling he did not truly wish to fight any longer but did not know what to do with. Hands gentled, the snarling faded, and soon the small clearing was filled with the sounds of passion kindled at last away from the gossiping eyes of the Inquisition.

It was awkward, what with the broken leg and the half-plate armour, but even that awkwardness was a release of some of that tension, unexpected laughter burbling between the two men as they fumbled to be rid of the cold metal, to adjust until Chris was no longer in danger of undoing the good work done in splinting his leg just for the sake of their shared desire. And even in the midst of that simmering heat, they retained enough sense not to disrobe fully ... Cullen was not a man to lose his senses so wholly as to be both naked and distracted while on the road.

Finally there he was, hisplate and gambeson discarded, the mantle rumpled beneath them, his rust-stained undershirt hanging open to reveal the paler skin of his chest ... not quite as ripped as barracks gossip declared him to be, but no less a feast for the eyes for the suggestion of softness. Indeed, Chris was almost glad to see that softness; he knew Cullen as a man who drove himself hard, to the point of self-denial and even, perhaps, self-harm at times. But perhaps he wasn’t quite as hard on himself these days he once had been. He was certainly self-conscious, rose painting his cheeks as he panted, casting his eyes away from Chris’ earnestly admiring gaze in shy uncertainty.

“Christopher, I ...” He blew out a harsh breath, his hands trembling where they lay against Chris’ arms. “This is farther than I ... than I have ever ...”

Chris reached up, gently smoothing his fingers over those deliciously scarred lips to still the emerging burble of cautious fear.

“Do you want to?” he whispered, curling his palm to the other man’s cheek, drawing Cullen’s whiskey-bright eyes back to his own. He needed to see the consent, as well as hear it. They both did. “I, I know I do, but ... but you have to want it too.”

“Maker’s breath ...” The curse was barely a ghost of a breath between them, a slow, longing shudder rippling through Cullen’s tense frame as he propped himself over Chris in the soft, mossy grass. “I do, I ... I do not know what, or how, or -”

His words faded, strangled in a rushing groan of fever-filled lust as Chris’ hand slipped between them to cup the straining leather of his lover’s britches. The whiskey-warmth flared to burning ardor, head dipping down to demand the kiss that was so willingly given even as Cullen now found himself rolled to his back. Chris smirked against his lips, finally in a position where he knew what he was doing more than the commander could bluff himself through it.

“Just relax, if you can,” he murmured, trailing kisses over the blunt line of Cullen’s jaw, dragging his teeth briefly against the scratch of stubble as he let his clever fingers figure out the lacing at the commander’s waist and gain entry to the hidden jewels within.

His reward was a swallowed cry of pure, startled lust, an almost violent bucking of Cullen’s hips, and the sight of the always cool and mostly collected Commander Rutherford writhing on the rumpled folds of his own mantle, fingers digging deep into the mossy ground beneath them as his teeth bit down just shy of drawing blood in an attempt to hold back the sounds of his visceral pleasure.

“Easy,” Chris murmured, unable to hold back his laugh at Cullen’s unintelligible response.

The commander sounded somehow both eager and embarrassed, and oh, so ready for him to continue, finding his words only after several moments of slow, tender touches that seemed designed to reduce every bone in his body to quivering jelly.

“I ... what about ... what about you ...”

Chris couldn’t help his satisfied grin, lips curving against the stiff line of Cullen’s throat, tasting the dampening salt-sweat of the man’s skin as he trembled in the grip of his passion. His busy hand abandoned Cullen’s cock for just long enough to wet his palm before returning, the new lack of friction somehow setting his commander to greedier trembling under his practised fingers.

“Don’t worry about me,” he murmured, letting out a gasp of his own as Cullen’s fingers gripped his hair, dragging his mouth back for a fresh onslaught of hungry kisses.

He’d take care of himself later, if he had to. Right now, the commander needed this release so much more than he did and, if he were truly honest with himself, leaving Cullen in his debt might give the man more motivation to see this through to the end, rather than try to pretend there was nothing left between them once this night was done. He needed Cullen to surrender to this, to accept it and even embrace it, if he could. They both deserved more than the harsh recriminations this war was forcing between them thanks to magic and its misusers.

So Chris dedicated himself to Cullen for these too-short moments. He stroked and teased, palmed and played, urged, toyed, guided ... he gave as much as he could, learned as much as Cullen would let him, until the commander burst through his fears and worries and uncertainties to lie panting and spent in his arms, eyes whirling with as much tenderness as shock that this kind of intimacy was possible for him.

How long they lay together, he couldn’t have said, revelling in the soft silence between them, in the play of Cullen’s sweaty fingers through his hair and the sound of the man’s heartbeat slowing beneath his ear. This moment of freedom for them would not kast too much longer; too soon, the commander would return to full strength and regain his composure along with his pants and armour. But for now, in this moment, it was enough to listen to his breathing and know he had given into the heat between them. To hope that it would be the first time, and not the last.

“I should not have allowed that,” Cullen said, his voice a mere murmur beneath the soft night breeze. “To leave us both so vulnerable ... it was a foolish whim.”

Chris raised his head, looking down at the dishevelled man in his arms in hurt disbelief.

“Foolish?” he repeated, almost daring Cullen to clarify himself.

The commander’s scarred lip pulled taut for the briefest of smiles, amusement flickering in his warm eyes. He drew his knuckles against Chris’ cheek, a kiss of skin to skin, before moving to set himself to rights. Chris sat up, watching him clean himself, lace his shirt, pull the gambeson back over his head, his own brow furrowed in a deep frown, uncertain quite what to say in the face of those words.

Cullen paused under the weight of that gaze, raising a brow in curiosity at the expression on the other man’s face.

“Christopher.” He reached out, rubbing a gloved thumb between Chris’ brows to smooth out that frown. “I’m not so much a fool as to say never again. But to take such a risk with your life and mine?.”

He bent, daring to brush a hesitant kiss to Chris’ upturned mouth before drawing back swiftly to buckle his armour.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, and I will not be much good at it,” he said, shrugging to settle the plate more comfortably before reaching for his mantle. “I daresay I will cause more harm with thoughtless words in the weeks and months to come. But ...” His expression gentled, that tenderness reemerging for Chris’ eyes only. “I believe I am done running from it. No more cowardice. No more running.”

The relief was a palpable flare in Chris’ chest. Cullen never said anything he would not hold to, never promised anything he felt incapable of delivering. If he was saying this, then ... there would be no more running. No more cowardice. No more lashing out with the intention of causing pain. And Chris could try to be more understanding of his reactions, if it meant that no more became a daily occurrence. If it meant that no more might become forever. He’d thought he had forever once, and lost it far before he could ever have been ready to be without it. So perhaps this was enough, for now. For Cullen, he could live with no more.

#dragon age fanfiction #niamh does commissions #cullen rutherford #oc- chris #chris x cullen #angst #lemon #mlm #hurt/comfort #fluff #mild smut #relationship dynamics #hopeful ending

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little-artworks · 1 year

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Resources for customizing your very own game consoles & controllers

So since my custom Nintendo 64 post has blown up, I've been asked a few times for a guide on how I did it - so I've decided to put together a masterpost of sorts!

Your first step in customizing any consoles or controllers will be to completely disassemble it & get all the electronics out, separate out any buttons & port covers, etc. You can find tutorials for disassembling probably most if not all consoles with a quick Google or YouTube search; here are a couple I have used:

Nintendo 64 (VERY good tutorial & includes spray painting guidance too! Highly recommend giving this a watch even if you're not doing an N64)

Gamecube (this is technically for modding a Gamecube, & does involve more disassembly than you'll need to do necessarily, but has the basics)

Reassembling the top portion of a Gamecube shell (it's a bit tricky)

Gamecube controller

Once your console is completely disassembled, the next step is to wash the shell & all parts you want to paint. Easiest way is to just fill a sink with dish soap & water & wash just like you're doing the dishes!

Once everything is nice & clean, dry it thoroughly or allow it to air dry. When it's dry, use painter's tape to cover the jewel or any stickers you don't want to paint over, & a craft knife (Xacto is my knife of choice) to carefully cut off the excess tape around the jewel and/or stickers.

Next, you'll want to rough up the surface of everything you're going to paint with some 600 grit sandpaper. You're aiming to take the shiny finish off the plastic - if your surface started out black, you'll be looking for it to appear a little whitish. It doesn't take much. This helps give the paint a better surface to hold onto. Once you're done sanding, give it a thorough wipedown with some damp paper towels to clean up any stray particles.

And then it's painting time!

I use spray paint, starting with a flat white primer, then a few coats of color, then a clear top coat. You'll want to be sure you get a paint that specifically says it works on plastic - Rustoleum is my go-to.

Another thing to bear in mind is you definitely want to read all of the instructions on the can! It's important to do any painting in a well ventilated area & wear breathing & eye protection.

The process for me took a lot of patience as my particular spray paint requires me to recoat within one hour, or after a full 48 hours (and I think this is common with most/all spray paint - the reason is to prevent bubbles & uneven finish). Also, for the type I used, it has maximum plastic adhesion after 5 to 7 days, so even once I'm done painting I generally wait a full week to put things back together to be absolutely on the safe side.

As an aside, related specifically to what I did on the ones I have painted & if you're looking to do something similar, the white flecks are also spray paint applied a little differently. I just sprayed white paint onto on a paper plate, holding the can very close to the plate so I could get a good little puddle of it; and for my best results yet, I dipped a toothbrush in the paint, held the toothbrush above the surface, & hit the brush to splatter the paint. (If you want to do this, I highly recommend testing it out on some cardboard or anything but your equipment first to be sure you like the result/know how you want to do it.)

Another option is to just use a small paintbrush & manually paint dots, but I personally like the splatter effect better.

As to the gradient, that's something I just trail and error'd & experimented until I got it right. If you want a smooth blend between multiple colors, you want to avoid using painter's tape to make any hard lines. It can be challenging to get all the paint where you want it to go (and stay away from the parts where you don't want it), but patience is key. I've found just sometimes using a piece of paper (held in my free hand) helps to keep the paint off one area of the shell, but again even that can be tricky & requires some practice & trial & error.

If you make any mistakes, one blessing is that spray paint is very forgiving. You can always either paint right over or sand off mistakes & start over!

Happy crafting!

#i hope i covered basically everything #custom game consoles #how to #guide #helpful tips #diy #star cluster art guides #custom n64 #custom gamecube #asks #tips

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polarisgreenley · 14 days

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A Bouquet of New Beginnings: Chapter 26 "Peony II"

Summary: After the Scriptorium/2nd trial

Floriography: Life & Death

Full Chapter: [AO3]//6.9k words

Excerpt below:

The last of the leaves barely clung to the tree branches just outside Professor Fig’s office windows.

“Artemis, are you sure that you are alright?”

Artemis nodded. Cotton was sandpaper and the chill resembled a ravenous bite. But these were exaggerations on what was normal; two weeks in the Hospital Wing was enough.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, for your patience.”

“Don’t thank me, Artemis,” said Professor Fig as his eyebrows furrowed. “Frankly I’d prefer we delay this until the new year, but I’m afraid the Keepers were right. That castle is swarming with Rookwood and Ranrok’s lot, and waiting longer could mean more trouble. Not the friendliest of alliances, but still. Come. Let’s head to the nearest spot to apparate.”

The moment the two of them reached beyond the anti-apparition perimeter, they disillusioned themselves – and she casted a pre-emptive Sensory Balancing Charm – before Professor Fig apparated them both to what appeared to be right inside the castle walls just behind a set of tents.

It appeared to be the edges of a courtyard, and in prime seating a heated conversation between Rookwood and Ranrok. The top hat wearing man paced back and forth, gesticulating as Ranrok remained stern. His armour looked… even more entrenched in the red globular magic.

“If I’d known your plan was to dig up half the country- “

“I wouldn’t have to dig if you could simply manage to bring me that snow-haired child you disgustingly call a rabbit,” growled Ranrok.

Rookwood spat. “We wouldn’t need her if you hadn’t sent a dragon retrieve the container, I spent months and countless Ministry favours tracking.”

“You let them board the carriage.” Ranrok jabbed his finger.

“Have you not acquired enough power here?” Rookwood gestured around himself. “I allowed you to tunnel under my family home – “

“ALLOWED ME?” Ranrok bellowed. “You are here only because you are descended from a Keeper and may at some point inadvertently become valuable. We have an agreement. I will share with you the power that I discovered if you locate the stores of magic that are yet to be found.”

Ranrok’s shoulder pads and gauntlets glowered like heated iron or lava. Yet from his chest Artemis could see the faint waves of something red and black. Her skin prickled as the hairs on her arm stood.

“So, unless you want another demonstration of my power – a power that you one day hope to wield – bring her to me.”

With the final word – and glare – exchanged, Rookwood apparated away as Ranrok marched into the castle itself.

A few minutes passed before they broke their silence.

“So that’s why they’re digging under Isidora’s house,” whispered Artemis.

“It seems that way. It’s also clear they both know about the Keepers. Highly disconcerting,” whispered Professor Fig. “Follow me; with all of the damage this castle’s weathered, there’s bound to be an entrance through the battlements.”

The familiar scent of chai guided Artemis near her mentor through the battlements of the castle, and sure enough a bricked wall had weathered away into the upper levels of a severely beaten down central hall. Professor Fig held her hand as they apparated down to the lower level.

“Professor, those buttons.”

“Hm? You mean those bronze things? Wait, that symbol…”

“Yes, I recognise it from the library. Let me just –” Artemis started as she sent off some basic casts toward the bronze buttons. The large door beyond the staircase glowed the typical ancient magic blue before it unlocked and opened forward.

“Incredible,” breathed Professor Fig. “This is different from the first trial entrance. Though I’m surprised it appears nobody used the door.”

“Professor Rackham mentioned my regular magic already imbues ancient magic,” explained Artemis as she followed Professor Fig’s footfall into what seemed to be a cellar. “Perhaps the symbol only reacts to my casts? Or, touch.”

“Perhaps. Though that leaves the question of how – oh.” Professor Fig paused as they entered the main part of the cellar. “I suppose that gaping hole explains how they got in. Drills.”

Dim sunlight poured into the dark cellar from a gargantuan hole in the ceiling. Bricks were strewn about haphazardly, clear that anything that had existed inside this portion of the cellar had been plundered.

“Professor?”

“Yes?”

“It’s… something’s glowing red down to our left,” whispered Artemis. “The same glow as Ranrok’s armour.”

“And that’s where the goblin tracks lead. Stay close.”

Only the sounds of their feet reverberated against the stone walls as they walked further down. In front of them opened a large, spherical cavern that seemed to have exploded. The earth was cracked as they reached closer to the source of red, and the hairs on the back of Artemis’ neck stood as her skin burned.

“This must be the store of magic that they were arguing about; it looks empty,” remarked Professor Fig.

Before them was a gargantuan silver object split open. Red veins pumped in the earth around it – ancient magic.

“Professor Rookwood mentioned that created ancient magic can be manipulated,” said Artemis as she ignored the pain. “Why would they store ancient magic like this?”

“I’m not sure, perhaps they believed a Keeper’s home was the safest location,” mused Professor Fig. “You said it is glowing red. Is the ancient magic still there?”

Artemis narrowed her eyes at the broken object in front of them as she ignored the way her skin cried for something to cool down.

“Not exactly. The magic itself seems to have been completely removed. It – it’s hard to explain. Um… it’s more like the fire kept in the hearth during the winter night.”

“Hm. Perhaps they need this so that the magic in their armour can continue to be used? I’ll dig through Miriam’s notes some more when we get back. For right now, let’s move. I’d rather not have another surprise run-in with Ranrok or Rookwood.”

“Agreed.”

“Now, where is that portrait… ah, perhaps that way,” said Professor Fig.

The pair followed through the hall and down the stairs; goblins and human tracks were both present. Her skin cooled the further they got from that object.

“Hello?”

Professor Rookwood’s voice rang from the empty frame.

“Professor Rookwood?” Artemis asked.

Professor Fig and Artemis both dropped their disillusionment as the stout man appeared in the frame.

“Oh thank Merlin. Artemis, we heard from Professor Fig. Are you alright?”

“I’m better, sir.”

She wasn’t alright, but she’d live.

“Sir, the ancient magic you had stored in in that odd silver container – it been taken by Ranrok and his Loyalists.”

“No! Things are more dire than I could have imagined. I still don’t understand how this Ranrok could’ve known- it cannot be.”

“Professor,” cut in Professor Fig. “If Artemis is to complete the trial now and not after the New Year like I’d requested, I suggest we hurry so she can come back earlier and rest.”

Artemis blinked twice but smiled at the kindness Professor Fig offered. Professor Rookwood cleared his throat.

“Right. My apologies. This trial will ensure that you understand the power that you wield. Power without knowledge is dangerous indeed. In the wrong hands –“

Artemis bit her inner cheek to hold back from interjecting that it was already in the wrong hands.

“– We will simply have to outwit Ranrok – and my unfortunate namesake.”

Professor Rookwood waved his hand in the portrait; licks of ancient magic fluttered along her ankles before she revealed the hidden door. The ancient magic felt cooler as it erupted – a reprieve.

“I suppose this is where I must depart,” sighed Professor Fig. “Artemis. I know you are more than capable; I’ll be waiting in the Map Chamber for you. But please, please be careful. Take as much time as you need.”

Artemis gave a final nod to her mentor before she stepped through the doors.

It was gaudier than the first trial, with notes of bright gold cracked through the walls and blue-green hues reflected on every surface. The floors of the high ceiling cavern were akin to stained glass; the interior seemed of a pristine castle meant for some sort of royalty.

<<Was this really necessary…>> mumbled Artemis as she continued forward.

Her legside bag had been replenished with healing potions, and she still had a few Flaming Frenzies. Spending two weeks in the Hospital bed had not been the plan, and it showed with her severe depletion of offence potions.

She did not run up the stairs or hurry on the path as she had last time. No, if this trial was anything like the first one, she needed to save her energy for the moving statues… and probably a gargantuan one at the end on the platform.

Admittedly, she appreciated the new puzzles with the hidden pillars; it meant that she could hide things using ancient magic itself. Or even hide entire spaces – was that the logic that Isidora used when she built the Undercroft?

She hadn’t bothered to pull out her throwing knife as she continued, fully expecting statues to come attack. Instead, she swallowed an improved Thunderbrew and pulled out a few of the Chinese Chomping Cabbage seeds, ready to toss and grow. She was right.

“Herbivicus.”

Nurse Blainey had warned her that too many spells so soon after recovery – despite her physical injuries being healed – could lead to backlash. The Python Curse had coiled around her magical channels and constricted them, and there were some residual effects. With the way her skin reacted at just the proximity of the red ancient magic, she didn’t want to risk being inoperable.

Surprisingly, the cabbages took care of the statues as the teeth seemingly sunk into stone. As if their fangs oozed of acid. They even took care of the invisible statues as some rolled beyond the awkward archway in the middle of the room.

Many short breaks, statues and puzzles later, she was faced with the unpleasant familiarity of the ground shaking, and a platform standing in the centre of the caverns. The only difference was that now it contained an archway– presumably for hidden spaces and the accompanying hidden statues.

<<Great. This is, great.>>

She pulled out her first Flaming Frenzy and pocketed it whilst knocking back another Thunderbrew and her Edurus. Her skin became black diamond itself, and the ever-pervasive pain numbed. Her wand was gripped tightly as the little plant seeds came out once more. She’d conserve her magic until the big one when she couldn’t avoid it. She could do this. She was going to make it.

The Chinese Chomping Cabbages were unleased to reign chaos as she dodged the axes and swords swung by the statues, many of whom exploded from the storm that encircled her. A Sticky Solution was thrown to entrap a few as she flicked her arm, sending the gaudy Faberge egg objects to smash them into smithereens. The roots of harvested Devil’s Snare were unleashed as they strangled the stone off the ledges.

As the final statue crumbled, the platform shook violently. The centre of the platform bubbled as something in a gaudy gold and blue-green arose.

<<Why couldn’t I be wrong?>> She muttered to herself as she threw the Flaming Frenzy right onto the fifteen-foot Pensieve Guardian.

Its ancient-magic cape lit ablaze momentarily as it was swallowed by the flaming tornado. She might not be at her best state spell-casting wise, but she’d done this before. She would not break bones this time.

“Reducto. Glacius. Diffindo. Confringo.”

One after another she casted her spells, each time feeling like her stomach twisted. An uncomfortable itch existed just under her skin as bile rose to her throat. Her veins sung as she reigned a tempest down upon the statue as it dropped to its knee.

It was only when the statue brought out the military flail when she swore.

“Mother of Christ,” she sputtered as she just barely dodged its reverberating smash upon the ground. “Evanesco.”

The flail vanished momentarily, and as the statue remained confused, she pulled out her second to last Flaming Frenzy and flung it. The tornado inferno spun its dance of glory as magical shards shot out at her; she deflected each with a Protego toward the guardian that stood within the centre of the blaze.

As the statue melted into the ground with the dying flames, her lungs heaved, and her body folded as her stomach emptied its contents. Her skin was on fire and her body shook violently despite no chill in the air. Backlash.

Breathe in. Two. Three. Four.

Out. Two. Three. Four.

She managed a wiggenweld down her throat, the cool minty taste a soothing balm despite the way her hand shook. It was a full hour that she remained folded on her knees, unable to leave the ground as her body wracked of magical backlash. Slowly, she stood and made her way across the newly floating bridge, her footing steady out of willpower alone.

The giant statue of Rookwood loomed over, his hands on the floor in stoned, complicated swirls above the pensieve. A single, silvery tear fell from his eye and formulated the artefact once more.

<<Mine now,>> she whispered as she touched her wand.

The artefact became the size of a marble before being slipped into her legside bag, and she placed her face into the basin.

The memory was a direct continuation of Professor Rackham’s memories, only this time she saw from Professor Rookwood’s eyes. The Keepers had arrived to Isidora’s home in Feldcroft and were led into her home. It was a simple, lovely home. Even through Professor Rookwood’s gaze, Artemis appreciated the apothecary cabinet, the hanging dried plants, and the myriads of ingredients in the clear jars.

Artemis recognised a few of the ingredients as specialised components for advanced Healing potions – Isidora must’ve been a Healer before becoming a professor.

“We’re ready,” called out Isidora as Professor Rookwood sat. “I’ve something to show you.”

A man came out of the back room, and even through Professor Rookwood’s eyes, she gasped sharply. It was the man in the first memory, the one that had supported the little boy. It must be her father, but his shoulders carried a heavy weight.

“Father hasn’t spoken since my brother died. On my travels, I confirmed that which I’ve always believed: that we have the power to take away pain,” stated Isidora.

Artemis watched in a mixture of horror and intrigue as Isidora pointed her wand at her father’s chest. The man gasped as if he’d not had a single breath in years, and when her wand pointed back into that strange jar in her hand, she could see something in the jar. A red and black something. Globular.

Just like Ranrok’s armour.

“This is uncharted magic, Isidora,” started Professor Rackham as he stood.

It was clear that the bearded professor was shocked, horrified even. Professor Fitzgerald appeared neutral, but Professor Bakar looked… intrigued. Professor Rookwood’s own thoughts were in that it was something unknown, so many unknown variables.

“You can only see what has been sealed in the jar – and we do not know what power that may hold. But the traces of that magic are different from what I’ve seen before.”

The memory concluded with the father, who had not spoken since Isidora’s brother’s death, uttered two words.

“Thank you.”

Artemis gasped as she lifted her head back up. Why wasn’t that memory from Professor Rackham’s view?!

There must’ve been something other than just the red, floating magic that he could see, but Professor Rookwood wouldn’t have been able to… no matter. She found the crystallised wall, now familiar, that would lead her back to the Map Chamber.

She added the crystallised wall, as well as forming invisible interdimensional spaces, onto the list of things she ‘knew’ about to be taught by the Keepers as she stepped through.

“Artemis!” Professor Fig exclaimed as his shoulders slumped and a smile spread across his features. “Welcome back. Are you alright?”

“It was better than last time, sir,” she explained simply. Which was true, she didn’t break any bones or get burned. Just, was very ill.

“Well, that is good. You do look a bit pale.”

“I’ll be fine, sir. I just – there’s a lot of questions I have after this time.”

“Right. Well, the professors are here as always. Come, hopefully they’ll give you the simple answers so you can hurry and rest,” said Professor Fig.

As they approached, the portraits looked up from their positions.

“You’re back!” Professor Rackham exclaimed softly. “Good. When Professor Fig told us of your unfortunate run-in with the Python Curse, we were incredibly concerned.”

“And we are glad you made it back to us in one piece,” added Professor Rookwood. “It is most fortunate that someone so competent is following this path.”

“I – right. I’ll keep the second artefact safe as you’ve advised.”

“Good. Are you ready to move on?”

“That memory – I only saw the red ebb of magic that appeared in the jar,” said Artemis as she looked toward Professor Rackham. “I imagine you saw more than that to horrify you so.”

The bearded portrait sighed. “Indeed. When Isidora pulled out the –”

“– pain – “cut in Professor Rookwood.

“– The pain, yes,” continued Professor Rackham. “I saw a strand of blue, red and black connected between Isidora’s father’s chest and the magic on the tip of her wand.”

“But her father wasn’t in any phys –.” Artemis’ eyes widened. “She pulled out his grief?”

“What?” Professor Fig asked incredulously.

Her thumb rubbed against the glamoured scar on her palm.

“But that doesn’t make sense. Emotions aren’t solid, and not –”

“– Artemis,” cut off Professor Rookwood. “It shall be explained in due time.”

A wizened hand touched her arm; she bit her tongue and nodded.

Professor Rackham cleared his throat. “For now, allow me to introduce former Hogwarts headmistress, Niamh Fitzgerald.”

To Professor Rookwood’s left, a woman appeared in academic regalia with her crowned, braided auburn hair. Her spine was completely straight as she looked down with kindly eyes.

“How do you do? It’s wonderful to finally meet you, Artemis Loreley.”

Professor Fitzgerald spoke with a heavy Scottish accent; her voice exuded wisdom.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Professor.”

“Excellent. Considering you’ve already completed two trials, I am certain you are more than capable of completing mine,” said Professor Fitzgerald. “However, I must first – how shall I say – ‘prepare’ the location of your next trial.”

Artemis and Professor Fig looked to each other. Didn’t they have everything prepared?

Professor Rackham cleared his throat. “We trust your judgment, Professor Fitzgerald. You should know better than anyone how to manage the inconvenience of, well – “

“- a vainglorious and exasperating headmaster? Indeed I should.”

“Headmaster Black?” Artemis asked aloud. Where could the trial be to warrant something – “His office?”

Professor Fitzgerald’s oil-painted eyes lit up.

“Charles was right – you are bright. Yes, well. I will see to it that the location is prepared.”

“Professor Fitzgerald will require some time to clear the way forward. I suppose in the meantime, we shall resume our training now that you are fully healed?”

“Actually,” Professor Fig started, “the school’s term exams are coming up next week, and Artemis did only just recover from the harrowing ordeal. I’d like to suggest that the trial be done, no matter how early, to be after the holidays. This applies to the ancient magic training as well.”

The oil-painted professors all hummed.

“We agree,” said Professor Rackham. “But if you hear anything about Ranrok or this Victor Rookwood’s movements, please let us know. Until then, Professor Fig. Artemis.”

Artemis mutely nodded before she followed Professor Fig up to his office. The warm chai seemed slightly too hot between her palms as she sunk into ‘her’ armchair.

“Have you heard from Lodgok? About the helmet?” Professor Fig asked as he sat across from her.

“Not yet, sir. Though I don’t imagine it would be a simple walk into Ranrok’s territory, especially since it seems like he defected,” said Artemis.

She was still stuck on the memory she’d seen. Isidora had pulled grief from her father’s chest. Was that what she meant in the note when she said there were other way to help people? To heal people? To take away their grief?

“Artemis, you mentioned that Isidora pulled out grief out of her father?”

“Yes. That’s the only thing I could imagine – Professor, how is that even possible?”

Professor Fig hummed into his cup as he fiddled with his scarf.

“Magic is very complex, and there’s so much that we don’t know.” Professor Fig placed his cup down and folded his hands together. “I believe we discussed that emotion is a powerful magic on its own. I imagine… if Isidora figured out a way to have certain emotions attach to latent magic itself, then it is possible. However unbelievable it may seem.”

Artemis sipped her chai; the spices warmed her throat.

“But grief can be attached to so many different things. Memories of happier times. Sadness. Anger. It’s…” she trailed off.

She didn’t know where she wanted to go with this. Professor Fig shook his head.

“I don’t know, Artemis. But that doesn’t mean that we can’t find out. Hopefully, there will be other memories or research to clarify this.”

Artemis nodded. She needed to tackle that triptych after exams.

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #a bouquet of new beginnings #eleazar fig #artemis loreley #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow #aesop sharp

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new-berry · 10 months

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The curve of the earth makes a horizon

Martin/ Ben all fiction, future fic 2063? You are wrong about seeing a spelling mistake.

“When you kiss me I feel like it’s going to be like this forever. A better version of forever, that never gets boring.”

Martin looks through the lens of his camera, adjusting the shot by millimetres until the image was perfectly centred on nothing at all important.

There is a lot of rock. “Lots of fucking rock.” He says out loud. Looking around guilty for a second like someone might hear him. That someone might take notice of this old man standing on the lip of the Caynon taking photographs.

A late in life hobby, an excuse to go out into the wilderness. Careful, sanitised, wilderness. Retracing the holidays they took when they were younger.

His kids, their kids, insisting on regular check-ins, and scrutinising his itinerary. Turning into the hectoring nags they accused him of being when they were young. He takes a ridiculous deep satisfaction at this.

Martin knows that people can drown in sand. His kids, their kids, scold him for watching too many grim documentaries. Like he isn’t Nordic. Like every God his people ever had wasnt mostly a warning that the vagaries of fate will screw you over every time.

Kids raised in too much American sun. Playing in the pool with their dad. Martin the one with snacks and sunscreen. The desert lays waiting on the ground and in the air, and you can wake up with a throat like sandpaper and your lungs squeezing pain every time you draw breath.

There is a difference looking into a fjord, a satisfying cool promise. Ben cutting through the water like an otter. The summer of the midnight sun when Martin walked around every day with a ring in his pocket trying to find the perfect moment to propose.

Martin read that you, a younger you he supposes, even younger than his children now. You can see for nearly five kilometres before the curve - like a wine glass held with the stem between the index and middle finger, red wine swirling a little with the hand moving in time to the conversation full bloodied and alive on your tongue - of the earth makes a horizon.

That is a long way to see, longer if it is both behind and ahead of you. Martin turns away from the agonised mouth of the Grand Canyon. It looks, he’s pleased, exactly like he remembers. Exactly like yesterday. Exactly like last week. Exactly like forty years ago.

When they were young and Martin would insist they had to do something utterly different, and then park up on a beach for Ben.

The first time they saw the Victoria Falls and all that water was just too much to process and he and Ben had gone back to the lodge, barely speaking to each other the whole way home, and fucked all night. Hands rolling over each other like white water, faster and faster and dissolving into steam.

How they had missed two days of the safari and could have just stayed in London and fucked in their own bed. How Ben had looked so wide eyed and innoncent and said “a lot of fucking zebras man” whenever people asked about their trip.

He didn’t understand The Falls then, didn’t understand canyons, terrified by their immensity. He needed the thin steel of Ben behind him to back him up. Needed Ben’s breath in his ear and his hands on his hips. Now he gets it. The extent of time, the patience of waiting to cut through the last few layers of rock to the soft belly of the world underneath. Not blooming and fading, patient and enduring.

Love as a dream that someone else had last night. Martin woke up early, still cool enough to walk up to the edge here. Pretty soon the stones will be spiky with heat. He’s here under a sensible beige hat, his face shaded. Trousers with too many pockets and his kids, their kids, unread messages on his phone. An expensive gold watch that he rescued from Ben’s wrist.

He rests his hands on the metal guardrail that will soon be too hot to touch. The phantom of tattooed fingers that used to slide over his rest just outside his vision.

Eventually, the sludge left of the Colorado River still wading through the bottom of the Canyon will cut right through to the other side of the earth. This is how long it would have taken Ben and the boys to dig a hole to China, like they tried to years ago.

Ben’s face so serious, and their faces so intent. Blurred in his memory to little shovels moving as sand was flung around, all their shoulders getting red. The next morning the tide had smoothed the beach flat and they made sandcastles, Martin balancing out the sides where they were uneven, and Ben decorating them with shells. The careful little hands patting sand into place now sending him daily messages reminding him to hydrate properly in the heat.

He couldn’t have coped with that dark plodding river so many miles below his feet alone when he was young. Would have been terrified with the idea of running out of time. So much to achieve, so few winters left.

It is almost dark by the time Martin pulls into the small town he’s been using as a home base. It’s almost time to move on, he can feel it. Too long in the dust, and he’s longing for a damp that can settle in his body and anchor his brittle bones down. But he keeps driving around these small towns with their ordered streets filling in a checkerboard on the map. First street the thickest black line through the centre of the town, cutting second street west off and making it second street east, making order of the desert.

He came here, decades ago, with Ben. They were new to each other then and imagined, he imagined, you could make order by planning. But they didn’t stick to the route, they went off the map. Kept the secrets though, the ones they whispered, the ones they thought.

That trip that was carefully named many things, a vacation, a break, a road trip. A get away. Before the beach. Neither of them willing to admit out loud yet that it was a dress rehearsal for their possible future.

The two of them. A car. Two boys at play, all the weight of London sanded off. When he finally saw the Canyon he understood their trip. The first time he had gone to the desert he was a child and time has wounded his face to grooves but he’s still a boy hopelessly in love. Tripping over his tongue and Ben’s trying to explain what he wanted their future to be.

In his dreams he is young. And Ben is there. Ben drives and Martin has just woken up, woozy and not entirely sober after sleeping in a moving car. And he can smell Ben’s sweat on him, feel the salt and skin itching under his fingernails. Ben isn’t talking, just driving through the black, humming in tune with the white lines, dots and dashes, that appear in the headlights.

A truck appears from nowhere and breaks the spell, and Ben spills out a flood of words and love that chip the first stone face of the canyon away.

He’s told his kids, their kids, he’s travelling around. But he’s never far from a canyon. Every day when he comes back from walking the scrub looking for inconsequential images he can send back - nothing with bones picked clean in the sun, nothing with snakes, nothing with vultures posed on power lines like cartoons - he reminds himself it’s time to go soon.

Propped against the lamp is the last picture he took of Ben, when Ben was only just there. It’s in the sun all day and it’s faded almost away. And Martin holds to the idea for seconds every morning that replacing the past is as possible as replacing a photograph. That last picture that he took as much with his mind as his camera, swept years and travel from Ben’s body. Martin can only see his eyes and the gleam they held.

The smooth ordered bands of his skin with the carefully shaved beard that Martin would run his fingers over. Even now he runs his fingers over the image, Like peeling a sun burnt layer of skin off. The same way he’s brushed frost from a window, cleaned dust from a shelf, and underneath, not another layer, but the gleam of the glass and wood, the round of bones.

He knows that he can’t walk to the edge too many more mornings. That their kids are waiting, messages need to be answered, and the garden they planted needs watering. That no matter how far into the horizon he looks he won’t find that flung apart longing that they left here years and years ago. The earth curves, closes off behind you, no matter how desperately you look back.

#I used to write about grief a lot #and I used to write a lot of future fics #fic #I quite like the last couple of lines #I used to hear a random fact #like how far you could see in the distance and write a story about that fact #I never fact check

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sapphic-scylla · 9 months

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Vox Machina frustrates me.

Pretty sure it’s their personalities that clash with mine, but their posh attitudes and their egos really rub me the wrong way. I know Keyleth’s whole character exists around being very self conscious and that she’s trying to grow into some very big shoes, but even to that degree, I find it very hard to enjoy Vex’halia, Percy, Vax’ildan, Grog, and particularly Scanlan.

Now, I KNOW all of you Vox Machina fanheads will come after me for these takes. I don’t want to hear it. I really don’t. You cannot change my mind on this and I really don’t have the patience to see you try. I’m stating this on a basis of this being how I see them and how my viewing of C1 has been affected by this.

I CHUGGED Campaign 2. Like not even kidding. I knocked the damn thing out in 2 weeks and caught up all the way to the Eiselcross Arc and live watched the rest of it and I didn’t have these problems. C3 has been the same way and I’ve genuinely enjoyed all of it so far. Vox Machina, for reasons I really can’t fully explain is like sandpaper. And I know it’s not the story telling, I know it’s not the players themselves, because the Crit Role crew, as always has been very entertaining, I don’t even have problems with the formatting or the tech issues, but Jesus, for some reason, Vox Machina has just been insufferable for me to watch. Maybe it’s the self righteousness. I don’t know, but it just really does not vibe with me and I can’t put my finger on why I feel this way.

#vox machina #bells hells #the mighty nein

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eternal-armin · 2 years

Text

human.

you're the therapist friend. but after the events of season four's big battle, you are the one in desperate need of support. reader: neutral. cw: mentions of hospitalizations, very high stress levels in the reader, mentions of near-death experiences (obviously)

if you can find the mitski reference in this oneshot i will marry you

you wrung your hands in your lap. there were very few times you'd ever felt quite this stressed, to the point where you were overflowing and unable to sleep, but the most concerning part was that it lasted for days. for five, almost six days, you'd had no reprieve from the constant dread of everything around you.

is this really what a near-death experience was like? it's not like you'd ever had one before, but neither had you heard stories about them. was it normal to be this horribly stressed and afraid, and for so long? was it normal for nothing to help? for a very long time, you'd been the strongest person, mentally, in the group of older teens. now it felt like you were completely shattered and you couldn't even get help without being labeled a lunatic.

at the very least, nobody else had that problem. because lucky for you, you were essentially the therapist friend. so here you sat, flashes of what happened plaguing your vision and erupting your body into another intense state of fear. your hands were clammy. the clothing on your body felt like sandpaper. you couldn't stop bouncing your leg.

the world was just closing in on you. you'd expect to be used to it by now, right?

"i still can't get the feeling out of my head. all day i'm fine, i'm happy, whatever, y'know?"

no. you didn't know.

you nodded.

"but the second the sun goes down, all i can think about is those fucking bats, them just... dddigging into my skin. i have to smoke damn near, like, half my supply just to get to bed at night! and that shit- it's not exactly cheap!" eddie wasn't sitting down beside you, instead pacing around in front of you. it was like he forgot you were ever down there, that you too had been a snack to those things, that you had almost given your life to protect his. had he even looked at you in the past forty minutes? if so, he certainly would've seen your horrified state. "i don't even dream anymore. i mean, maybe that's a good thing, because god knows what i would dream about."

he said a few more things that you didn't quite catch. he didn't dream? lucky bastard. if you could barely sleep already, you would stay up to try and escape the nightmares that did play in your head during those few hours you got. for a second, you felt bad. eddie was suffering, too. you were supposed to be able to listen to him and comfort him. but you had no words left.

"eddie," you began. your voice was a lot hoarser than you expected. to be fair, you hadn't really been using it. "can- can we talk about, uhm, something else?"

you weren't loud enough.

"i dunno. maybe i'd dream about those- those weird fuckin' veins on the ground that would alert the big bad to our location, something like that. like, jesus, y'know? the entire world down there felt like it was breathing. i'm surprised there weren't more eyes!" maybe this was his way of coping. or one of his ways. making jokes about 'it could've been worse' when it was literally hell.

you hesitated to tell him to stop. you hesitated to tell him to stop talking about the shit that had terrified you non-stop for almost a fucking week. because who the hell were you if not the person they vented to? what value did you have if not to help literally everybody and anybody other than yourself? your advice was seasoned with experience. your patience outweighed the sun. you were level-headed when the world was about to end. you were kind to the people who treated you worst.

just once you wished you had the strength to ask for those in return.

sometimes you were strong. but you weren't strong enough for this, not alone.

"eddie. i can't keep talking about this." the conviction in your voice, which remained somewhat quiet, stopped eddie in his tracks.

he looked at you. strangely. you didn't need to see the look on his face. you didn't want to. neither of you talked for a few seconds.

"...oh. shit. uh, sorry. fuck, are- are you doing okay?" it was like he had only just realized you were there. it was a kneejerk reaction, but when you made eye contact, the red flags finally went up in his mind. "okay. for real. what's up." he didn't say it. he didn't need to say it. but he had never seen you like this before. when the pillar of tranquility breaks, it's like the world they support crumbles.

eddie asked you if you were okay and still, you hesitated to say anything. was it even your place

"nothing. not- nothing's up. i just... it's stressing me out a bit to keep talking about it. i'm fine." you scratched your neck. it wasn't itchy.

"so that's a total lie." eddie sat down beside you. his posture was almost relaxed. especially compared to how tense yours was. "seriously- seriously, what's going on." he was just finally realizing that nobody had asked you how you were doing in the six days since the damn traumathon.

your jaw was clenched. you kept bouncing your leg. and your knuckles were almost white with how tightly you were clutching your hands.

"i don't wanna... keep talking about it. that's all." your voice was suddenly void of the conviction he had heard. "it- it's all everyone's been talking about. i miss our old conversations." that was only one part of it. but it was still a part of it, so you weren't exactly lying.

"that's the problem, you definitely need to talk about it."

"no, no i don't. i-i'm fine. i just want to hang out."

"i'm not dumb, you can't pull the wool over my eyes."

"eddie, seriously, i'm-"

"you nearly died, too, [y/n], and you haven't talked to anyone! that's not healthy!"

the beaker overflowed a little too much.

"oh, it's about time someone acknowledges that!" you raised your voice. it almost hurt.

"i was there the entire time. i did nearly die trying to keep you alive, and it took six days for you to fucking acknowledge it! i can't sleep, i can't eat, i can barely get out of bed in the morning, i'm terrified of everything and i'm still the one everybody vents to because apparently that's my goddamn job! i don't wanna keep living through it, man! i can't even talk to my family or get a fucking therapist to talk about how it felt without being sent to an insane asylum for cenesthopathic schizophrenia!

"my life is already over, eddie. i can't handle this anymore! i never thought i would say it because i thought i could do anything for my friends. but i regret getting involved in this. i wish i could take it all back, because i can't live like this."

you had never yelled before. eddie stared at you in subtle, morbid amazement.

your shoulders relaxed a bit for the first time in a while. you took a deep breath, just as shaky as the ones before it, putting your head in your hands. a few seconds of silence passed before you began to cry, lacking the energy and the strength to try and keep the tears away.

seeing you like that was the perfect reminder that some things would never be the same post-battle. eddie's insistence on your assistance cost you yourself. in some messed up way, he was the death of you.

and you still nearly died again so that he could keep living.

he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into a hug. it made you cry harder. you felt selfish. you regretted saving the world because of how it made you feel. but, just for once, could you mourn the fact that you were hurt? wasn't that okay?

"i won't talk about it anymore with you. i'll tell everyone else to watch it, too." did eddie feel partially responsible for the hell you were going through? more than certainly. was that the only reason he would keep everyone from making this worse for you? absolutely not.

you tried to take a deep breath, barely succeeding. "you don't have to do that, eddie."

"i know, bud." he rubbed your back with one hand. the pacifying gesture felt like the world to you. "i'm sorry for never asking about you, uh, before. dickhead move, i know." eddie liked you more than life itself and maybe that's why he was clinging to this idea that maybe, magically, you were okay. it had never been a good idea to do that. even if you were okay, you still had the right to talk about it.

eddie had managed to hurt you more by hoping. he took responsibility for that.

you loyally responded with a quiet "it's okay."

"well, it's not, actually. it is very far from okay. it's probably the worst thing i could ever do. or... not do, i guess." there was a lot of time he had to make up for. would he ever fully get you back, probably not. but people change based off of what happens to them, that's inevitable, and the least he could do was try and help you cope and get through it a little easier. "do you wanna stay over tonight? we could hang out. like we used to." subconsciously, he began running his fingers over your hair.

a smile ghosted your lips. "bad movies and junk food?"

"you know me so well."

both of you shared a little chuckle. eddie realized how much he missed that. "and, if you're at all up for it, i could try and get you some sleep meds."

"i can't tell if you're talking about actual sleep medication or weed."

"i'mmm... pretty sure they're the same thing. besides, indica can help you gain an appetite. you said yourself you can't bring yourself to eat. even if it's junk food, it's still food, right?"

you felt human again. or, at least, a little more human than you had ten minutes ago. maybe the world would feel okay again when you finally did get decent sleep and eat... something. but even if it didn't, it would still feel more okay than yesterday. vulnerability had always scared you, hence why you shielded others' with your own, if falsified, strength and tranquility. now it was the only thing that saved you.

"thank you for this, eddie."

"don't thank me for something i should've done anyway."

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chetungwan · 1 year

Text

The websites advising me on how to sand down resin keep emphasizing that it can take awhile to get a perfectly smooth surface. As if I didn't once sharpen a training butterfly knife into an actual one over the course of a week. I have patience for running an object over sandpaper, thank you very much

#intrusive heartbeats

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woodwindhub · 7 months

Link

#fluteperformance #flutes #flutesolo

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weareallstoriesintheend · 3 years

Text

As Long As You Need (Reader x Adam Sackler)

Summary: Adam and Reader are hookup buddies. Adam gets concerned that you don't want to see him for a few weeks and comes over to check on reader. Reader is struggling with anxiety/depression and Adam comforts them through a panic attack.

Warnings: Depression, anxiety & panic attacks

Note: This was the fic I wrote for the Summer 2021 @adcuficexchange for LondonID!🥰 I hope this fic is something that resonates with people, I know mental health is a vast and personal subject but I hope something hits home. Even if it's just some beautiful care from our favourite gremlin 💕

The light of the day was fading slowly and the grey cover of dusk was slipping its way into the room. You lay in bed, head tucked against the pillows, body exhausted with the expense of the energy anxiety was taking from you. You felt empty and yet full to the brim, your mind weighed so heavy that you could barely move most days. The second you heard the loud thumping knocks on your front door you jolted as if waking up from a bad dream.

“Kid you in there?” Adams voice came, muffled by the thick wood of the doors between you, booming through your silence. You realised in that moment that you hadn’t spoken to him or seen him for a while and as someone who was a pretty regular occurrence in your life it suddenly felt strange to hear his voice after such a long time, you pulled your phone out from under the pillow and unlocked it. Your eyes screwed shut at the blinding light, but peeking through your eyelashes you checked your messages. Your last text to him had been nearly 3 weeks ago, then the page was just filled with him texting you again and again. All of which, in the haze of your mind, you had ignored. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see him; you craved his cheeky smile, soft hair and adorable galaxy of freckles that smattered his skin. It was just the thought of having to explain the tornado that was tearing you apart that felt like a crushing pressure you couldn’t bear. Basic daily life was enough, sometimes too much, so anything on top of that you had shut out.

You curled yourself into the sheets a little more, pulling them around your shoulders. Although they were soft cotton the brush of them across your overly sensitive skin felt like sandpaper dragging over a raw exposed nerve. You stayed as still as possible whilst his knocks continued to echo through your apartment.

In a way you wondered if you had any obligation to him at all, you guys just hooked up every now and again after meeting at a mutual friends birthday party a year or so ago. Nothing serious, no dates, just fucking. He scratched an itch for you so you didn’t have to brave the dating world that daunted you. He was fun, he made you laugh but he didn’t pressure you to spend any more time with him than coming over to hold you face down into your mattress allowed.

The knocks turned to bangs of a fist and you pulled your blanket over your head, maybe he’d just go away if he thought you weren’t home. Your body thrummed with the disturbance of your comfortable silence and it made you uneasy. A slight nausea rippled through your throat. “I know you’re home” his voice bellowed, you closed your eyes and didn’t respond. “Open the fucking door kid” he shouted, he didn’t sound angry but you couldn’t quite make out the tone. He’d never used it before around you that’s for sure, he almost sounded worried. Then there was more thumping on the door, “Kid, for fucks sake your sweet old lady neighbour is looking at me like I’m fucking nuts, open the door”

You sighed and slung yourself off the bed onto your feet. The rush of movement made your head spin; your muscles and joints ached with a lack of energy. You tiptoed out of the bedroom and into the main room of your apartment, hoping that he couldn’t hear your deliberately soft padding footsteps. With your eyes trained on the door you didn’t notice the chair sticking out from the table and you bumped it as you passed. You froze dead still waiting to see if he’d heard it.

“I can hear you rustling around in there. Just open the fucking door and talk to me”

“I don’t want you to see me” you replied hesitantly, not raising the volume of your voice too high knowing he could hear you through the door now. The croak of your voice finally speaking was crackly and broken. “Why not?”

“I… I don’t look great” you looked at yourself in the reflection of the painting hanging on the wall. In the glass you could just about see yourself looking back; your hair was greasy and dishevelled, your eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with red and dark circles created a deep shadow underneath them. You suddenly balked at how awful you actually looked, you hadn’t showered in a few days and it really showed. Your face looked kind of gaunt with the limited food and sleep you’d given yourself for the last few weeks, mind always racing with one thought after another. The racing thoughts only leaving space for the basics of working at your laptop for 8 hours a day and activities to numb your mind till a restless bedtime. “Are you kidding?” he scoffed, thumping his fist once against the door, “I’ve seen you sweating, crying and covered in my cum… I don’t think you looking a little messy is going to be bother me” You cringed at how loud he was talking and in your embarrassment you frantically pulled the door open, “Jesus Adam don’t say that so loud my neighbours will hear y-“ you paused mid-sentence when you saw how he was looking at you. He was shocked and trying to hide it but his eyes were wide with sympathy. You instantly went to close the door on him again but he put his overly large foot in the way.

“Nope, no way! You opened it, I’m like a vampire, you’ve got to let me in now” he smiled cheekily. You sighed and let go of the door walking away from him. “Listen I don’t know why you’re here” you said, voice trailing behind you as you made your way to the couch hearing him step inside and close the door behind him, “I don’t really think I’m in any fit state to be fucking anyone” “I’m not here to fuck you” he retorted, for some reason that kind of stung. “Then why are you here?” you said, nestling into the couch cushions as he firmly placed himself standing in front of you. Adam was staring down at you with that intense glare he always seemed to have and you squinted your eyes, hurting due to the light from the windows, to look up at him. “Why am I here? You haven’t talked to me for like… three weeks. What the fuck do you think I’m doing here? I thought I was going to find you rotting in the bathtub or some shit” You rolled your eyes “I’m fine” “Oh right this…” he paused, flailing his arms at the quite frankly disgusting state of your living room, “… this is ‘fine’?” “This is as good as it gets” you muttered under your breath. He scoffed and you looked up at him, you took a second to take him in. He’d clearly run here, the beads of sweat were trailing gently down his temples and had matted the curly little front pieces of his hair. The outfit he was wearing, a dark blue cut off tank top, grey knee length shorts and heavy tan work boots over cream socks, would look kind of uncoordinated on anyone else but something about Adam always just… made sense.

“What do you mean?” he asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“Nothing” you rolled your eyes again, “You know you can just go right? I don’t even know why you’re bothering”

“What are you talking about kid? I wanted to make sure you were alright. You went all ghost on me and I was worried about you”

“Worried?” now it was your turn to scoff, you could feel the sickening panic rolling around inside your stomach and you needed him to leave.

“Yeah kid… worried” Adams voice suddenly had a tinge of anger behind it and it made the panic swirl harder around inside you.

“Well I don’t need you to worry about me. That’s not your job, your job is to fuck me and leave. And you’re good at that. So you do your job and I’ll do mine”

“Not true” he retorted, face screwed up a little against the harshness of your words.

“You were the one that set those rules Adam” you replied, frustration tainting your words “You don’t need to act like you give a shit”

“Hey when I commit, I really commit” “Commit to what?” you shouted, losing a little of your patience as your ears started to ring and the blood pumped through your body like a steady beat of music. “Commit to you!” he yelled back “We may not be dating or whatever but when I want someone in my life I work for that. Clearly you don’t…we are supposed to be fucking friends after all!”

He had every right to be mad, you had barely treated him like a human being lately and the wash of guilt made your heart start to jump in its rhythm. You could feel the brush of heat up the back of your neck and your pulse thudding in your ears. You shook your head wishing away what you knew was happening; the panic of the overwhelming sense of everything was rising up from your toes. He couldn’t see you like this, it was too embarrassing.

Although your breath was basically coming out like gasps you looked up at him and firmly said “Please leave”

He shook his head “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me why you’re avoiding me. Did I do something?” You stood up from your seat on the couch but didn’t get very far, your body felt over stimulated and you couldn’t get your mind clear enough to decide where to go to escape him. So you started pacing back and forth, hands clenching and unclenching at your sides.

“Adam please just go” this time your voice betrayed you even further, the tell-tale break in your speech giving away the tears that had begun to brim in your eyes. You pushed the base of your palms harshly into your eye sockets, rubbing away the tears. “Hey hey hey” he said softly, reaching out for your wrists and you flinched back, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“Please just leave!” you shouted, panicked breath coming out of you in heavy pants. “I can’t breathe” you whispered to yourself turning away from him. Your tears, now virtually unstoppable, cascaded down your cheeks as the panic truly set in. You swayed slightly as you began to feel light-headed.

“Tell me what you need” you heard him say, but his voice felt like it was miles away from you even as he stood mere steps away with his hands outstretched slightly in your direction.

This was it, you were officially going crazy. You couldn’t even handle a simple conversation or own up to your shitty actions. You stole a glance at Adam, his eyebrows were pulled down with concern watching you and a wave of nausea rolled up into the back of your throat. He was going to think you were insane after this, this was the last time you were ever going to see him and this was how you were acting. You felt your cheeks heat up, burning with panic and embarrassment. One of the only things that kept you afloat, the only thing had made you happy as of late, was going to walk out. You could imagine him telling his friends about the crazy chick he used to fuck on the side, “She just totally flipped out on me, honestly man fucking nuts” you could practically hear his voice already, full of mocking vitriol towards you.

Then you really started to hyperventilate, chest aching with the weight of your gasps, but something in the back of your mind gave you respite… that wasn’t Adam. That wouldn’t be how he would act. He was kind. You glanced up at him as your hands began to shake violently.

“I-I’m sorry” you stuttered out, you felt your body collapse underneath you as the room began to spin around you. He dove forward to catch you as your body buckled down to the hard wooden floor.

“Come here” his voice was gentle and barely audible to you but he held you tight, this time you didn’t flinch and he quickly gathered you into his arms in the fear you would move away from him again. “It’s just a panic attack, you’re going to be okay. I’m right here, it’ll be over soon” As he pulled you into his chest, seating himself on the floor with you, he stretched his long legs out around you so his whole body was caging you against him. Your breath instantly started to slow down as the warmth and closeness of him soothed you. He didn’t speak too much, he just calmed your mind with hushed whispers of “Shhh” and “You’re going to be okay”.

You clung yourself to him, vibrating with the force of the trembles that were wracking your body. Your teeth chattered in your head causing you to screw your eyes closed in pain. Your fingers wound tight in his shirt as your breathing finally began to even out. Your body released some of the tension that was winding your muscles tight and you leant a little more into his chest.

“H-how did you know?” you stammered, voice barely above a whisper as you regained your breath.

He shrugged “My mom used to get them… and my sister for a while. I’m used to it.” he smiled softly, lips merely twitching up at the edges as he gauged your reaction. He stroked his large hand through your tangled hair, massaging his fingers over your scalp as your body relaxed and you sighed. “Better?” he asked, placing a careful kiss to the top of your head. You nodded, the scent of his cologne and sweat drifted over you as you kept yourself gripped against him, not quite ready to be moved from his warmth.

“You didn’t have to do this” you croaked, looking up at him now. He shook his head and rolled his eyes jokingly, a smirk coming over his lips as he does it.

“You know we don’t just have to fuck right? We can be more than that.” he chuckled, holding your face gently with one hand, “We can also talk, we are friends right?”

You nodded again, looking up at him with wide glassy eyes. He kissed the tip of your nose and you scrunched it.

“Listen maybe we’re just friends for a little while. We can… get lunch or walk through the park when the weather gets better. Whatever you want” he shrugged, you smiled at the level of effort he was so clearly trying to give. Adam hated stuff like that, lunches out and walks in the park; he often said how trivial it all seemed to him. He liked to be at home in his own little world. So the fact he was offering to make you feel better was more than enough to bring a smile to your face. You nodded and giggled when he pumped the air with his fist in celebration.

“And you know, if you need someone to come with you to therapy or whatever I can do that too” he mumbled clearly unsure how you would respond, “You still go to therapy right? I know you mentioned it a while ago and I figured-“ he began to ramble nervously. You pressed your hand into his chest and nodded.

You pushed yourself up a little and placed a kiss to his cheek, “That would help, thank you”

He shuffled a little and rose to get to his feet before extending a hand out to you. You clasped your hand across his, so much smaller in his grasp, and used his body weight to pull yourself up on unsteady legs. He wrapped his arms around you a little bit, his body hunched over yours protectively.

“But first, you need food… and a shower” he paused for a moment, making small grunt-like thinking noises as he looked you over. Then all at once he dipped and gathered you up in his arms, you squealed loudly and wrapped your arms around his neck “What are you doing?” you protested through unsure giggles.

He didn’t say anything but started walking towards your bathroom. He kicked the door open with the toe of his boot and swung his arms so that your head just missed the door frame. He propped you, sitting upright, on the edge of your bathtub before reaching up and turning on your shower. He gestured for you to stand as the water began heating up behind you. Soft clouds of steam quickly started to rise up around the room and he nodded with satisfaction. He tentatively tugged at the base of your oversized-hoodie and you raised your arms above your head. He slipped your hoodie off in one swift motion and dropped it to the floor beside you both. You self-consciously crossed your arms over your now bare chest and he smiled down at you. He placed a kiss to your forehead before kneeling down to wriggle your panties off your hips and down your legs. You shuffled shyly, despite the fact he’d seen you naked so very many times, and stepped out of them as he reached your ankles. He tossed them on top of your hoodie, placing a tender kiss to your stomach as he knelt in front of you, before standing back up to his full height “I’ll get you fresh stuff and wash those” he noted, almost to himself as he spun you by your shoulders so you had your back to him. “You get in there” he pointed to the steady stream of hot water creating billows of steam in the small bathroom, “And I’m going to make you some soup, you still have cans of that chicken one you like?” You nodded once and he placed a firm kiss to your shoulder. With his hands on your waist he placed a final kiss to the top of your head before his touch left you completely. You smiled at his constant need to show you physical care, it was like he understood how even simple affection could heal even the worst of the pain your brain could throw at you. You turned to look over your shoulder as he left the room; like he sensed your hesitation he stopped and turned to look at you with a sweet smile…

“I’m not going anywhere, I promise. I’ll stay with you as long as you need me too”

#adam sackler x reader #adam sackler #tw:mental health #adam sackler x you #adcu #adcu fic #adcu summer fic exchange #adcu fic exchange

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moonflowerlesbians · 3 years

Note

41 and 45 please. Just can't get enough of your stories

first of all you're so sweet 🥺 second, I did these and I batched in another one for a longer story and the obligatory soft nightmare fic, so I hope that's okay :)

18. "I'm embarrassed." "Don't be." 41. "Is that my shirt?" "Is...is that okay?" 45. "Don't say anything. Just...just lay here with me."

cw for mentions of child abuse

~~~

The motel bed is empty when Dani drifts awake, feeling in the dark for the warm mass that indicates Jamie is sound asleep beside her. Instead, empty air and rumpled sheets greet her, and she frowns. Still lingering in that semi-sweet state of half-consciousness, somewhere between dream and reality, she registers the shadow of the bathroom light through the crack in the door, which stands slightly agape.

Ah.

She rolls over, tugging the duvet over her exposed arms and sparing a quick glance at the clock on the nightstand 3:27 a.m., it reads. Dani yawns and readjusts the pillow supporting her neck. The doctor had said it would help with the stiffness in her shoulders and upper back in the morning, said she had a tendency to sleep curled up like she was protecting herself. Unsurprising, she had thought at the time.

Long minutes pass, faint moonlight trickling through sheer curtains to adorn the carpeted floors with tigerstripes of silver and blue. Dani rolls over again, flipping onto her stomach, her arm coming to rest alongside her head. Jamie’s pillow remains vacant. Dani sighs.

The floor is bracing beneath her bare feet, and she recoils, suddenly regretting the decision to leave the relative warmth of the blankets. Steeling herself, she pads across the room. Dim light filters under the bathroom door, and she can make out muted noises from within.

“Hey,” Dani says quietly, giving the wood three light raps with her knuckles. “You okay?” The noises stop.

“’M fine,” Jamie’s voice comes muffled through the door. “Y’can go back to bed.”

Another night, maybe, Dani would have listened. Another time, perhaps, if she had not spent weeks, months, learning the intricacies and peculiarities of Jamie’s vocal pattern, Dani would have returned to the comfort of their queen bed and fallen back into a pleasant sleep. At another time, maybe, Dani would have ignored the hoarseness of Jamie’s voice, the sandpaper-rough scratch of the syllables against her throat, the subtle distress cloaked in a layer of false nonchalance.

Dani rests her forehead against the cool wood, the metal of the doorknob in one hand. “Can I come in?”

Silence, for a moment, then shuffling. The click of an unlatched lock. “Yeah.”

She inches the door open. Jamie sits on the floor of the bathtub, knees drawn up to her chest. Strands of brown hair are sweat-matted to her forehead, others sticking up haphazardly, streaked through with shaky finger lines. Grey eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, with a tired stare that wrenches at Dani’s heart.

“You got room in there for one more?” Dani says gently, crossing to crouch on the tile floor.

Jamie breathes shakily. “Sure.” She slides to make room for Dani, who sits cross-legged, her knees bent at a slightly awkward angle due to the nature of the tub. From this new perspective, she can see the piece of fabric balled tight between Jamie’s thighs and her chest.

“Is that my shirt?”

Jamie swallows, a flash of alarm flickering across her features, and her voice is small, so small and so, so frail. “Is... is that okay?”

Dani’s brow furrows. “No, um, yes, yeah, that’s... that’s okay.”

Jamie mumbles something that Dani doesn’t quite catch.

“Sorry?”

“Was in the dirty pile, so I thought... Doesn’t matter. Should’ve asked.” She can’t quite meet Dani’s gaze, and she’s gripping the lilac sweater so hard her knuckles have gone white.

“No, it’s okay. It’s fine,” Dani says, trying her very best to sound reassuring and not as though she’s talking to a cornered animal.

Jamie has not been forthcoming when it comes to information about herself, not since the night before... well. It has been nearly four months since leaving Bly, and Dani feels a bit like an archaeologist, uncovering fragments of a broken past little by little. Some days, she finds nothing, not even an arrowhead, something to point her in the right direction. Other days, it is as if she discovers a bit of parchment thought lost to civilization, a scrap of knowledge to help translate the whole. A perfectly preserved piece of Jamie in the form of a passport, a solitary photograph from a time Jamie no longer speaks of, the dogeared pages of a beat-up paperback.

“Do you think,” Dani begins, cautious, slow, “you could tell me...why?” There is an out she leaves. A minute shake of Jamie’s head, and she would back away, drop the subject at her feet for another day.

Jamie peers at her through clumped lashes. “Which bit?” She asks with a sardonic sort of chuckle, swiping at her nose. “The bit about your jumper or the bit about being a blubbering mess at three in the goddamn mornin’.”

“Both, if you’re up for it.”

Jamie studies her, blinking in the hazy light as though searching for something, like she expects Dani to laugh as if she’s the butt of a sorry joke.

“Yeah,” she says at last, “yeah, okay.” She takes a shuddering breath. “Told you ‘bout bein’ in the system, foster and prison, yeah?”

Dani watches her intently, hands in her lap, an expression of concern firmly situated on her face. She nods, though she knows only the bare minimum. They skirt precariously around the topic when it comes up.

The extent of her knowledge comes from studying Jamie’s reactions to her environment. The way she shirks from loud noises. The clatter of plates breaking in a restaurant, an engine backfiring in an alley. The way she scans every room before she enters, eyes lingering on corners and curtains, and checks the backseat of their rental car. The way she hoards buttons and pop tabs and coins at the bottom of her suitcase, and the way she methodically counts her things before they leave any motel and recounts them when they arrive at their destination.

Habits formed out of necessity in a life of cruelty, a life in which letting her guard down could mean the difference between life and death. A life she no longer lives, but a life that stays with her all the same.

“Had a dream,” Jamie says carefully, her voice almost too loud in the stillness of the morning, “Hardly remember the details now, but... Think I was in my third home. Fourth, maybe. The dad was a drunk. You could always smell it on his breath. Heavy footsteps you could hear coming.” She glances at Dani. “I couldn’t hear him this time. I think he threw a bottle at me, not sure, though. I couldn’t move, couldn’t yell, couldn’t fight back.” Her chest heaves, and Dani reaches out, then thinks better of it. She retracts her hand, leaving it palm-up on her knee for Jamie to take if she chooses.

“Hate being trapped,” she whispers, eyes darting around the bathroom, “Spent too long in places I couldn’t get out of.” She tentatively takes Dani’s hand, still avoiding eye contact. “I woke up ‘n still couldn’t breathe. Didn’t want to wake you up, so I came here.” She fiddles with the tag on Dani’s sweater, murmuring, “It’s not the same, but it was close enough. Smells enough like you that I could pretend.” At last, she looks up, waterline shining with unshed tears. “Bloody embarrassing.”

“Oh, baby...” Dani croons softly, squeezing her outstretched hand. “Can I... Is it okay if I hold you?”

Jamie sniffles, but nods her assent with a heavy sigh. Dani shifts so that she’s reclining against the slope of the tub, with Jamie comfortably settled between her legs, curled on her side, with her head on Dani’s chest. The sweater is pressed between them, the material grasped tightly in Jamie’s fist.

Dani weaves her fingers through the hair at the nape of Jamie’s neck, lightly scratching her scalp with blunt nails. Jamie shivers at the contact.

“’M embarrassed,” Jamie mumbles into the bunched fabric of Dani’s pajama top.

“Don’t be,” Dani says simply, her head resting on the white shower tile. She cannot tell if the flush rising to Jamie’s cheeks is because of the sweater or waking up in the middle of the night or both, and frankly, Dani decides, it does not matter.

It’s unusual, seeing Jamie like this. Vulnerable. Raw. Dani can count the number of times she’s seen Jamie cry on two fingers.

Once, in the aftermath of the lake, they had held each other close in the lamplight of Dani’s bedroom at Bly and wept for all that had happened and all they had lost, great heaving sobs that tore through walls and rafters and flesh and bone.

The second time, just now, with Jamie trembling in her arms.

She takes such measures to remain steadfast, resolute in her dependability, all hard angles and rigidity. A suave exterior carefully constructed to deter those who would attempt to breach her defenses. Cannons on the parapet he keeps loaded with snark and bite and sturdy shoes, ready to flee at the first sign of danger.

She had opened up to Dani, though, a privilege Dani does not vilipend. Took the risk and raised the portcullis to allow Dani to pass through to the inner walls, closer to the center, but not quite there. There was more to discover, Dani knew then and knows now, but patience is vital. Stability. The reassurance that she means no harm.

“Can...Why’d you think you needed my permission?” Dani clarifies, “For my sweater.” Jamie stirs against her, the weight warm and familiar.

“Don’t take things without asking,” Jamie recites despondently, and the weight of the statement catches Dani off-guard. The resignation in her tone, the rhythm of the words are indicative of a phrase spoken over and over again, well-worn and thoroughly beaten into the track of her mind.

(Perhaps, Dani fears in some dark corner of herself, it was not only Jamie’s mind. She thinks of trainers with holes in the sole, bits of cheese swiped from the refrigerator and promptly hidden, and wonders about a little girl left with no one but herself and callous adults who neglect and belittle.)

Dani finds herself shaking her head.

“It’s okay,” she says into the crown of Jamie’s head, her breath rustling wayward strands. “I mean, I’d appreciate a heads up if you want to borrow something of mine just so I don’t think something’s gone missing, but for this?” She pauses, choking on an inconvenient swell of emotion. “God, please, take it. Or wake me up or something, but... you’re not alone.”

Jamie is still, her breath coming in slow, measured puffs against Dani’s chest.

Dani tries, “Most of my stuff isn’t really your style, anyway. Not that I think you couldn’t rock a pink turtleneck.” She considers. “Actually, I’d kind of like to see that.”

The mental picture earns her a wet laugh from Jamie, and that is enough for now, Dani thinks.

“But, you know, if this happens again -- you wake up in the middle of the night -- please, wake me up, too, okay?”

“Still getting used to you, ‘s’all.”

“I know, baby, I know.”

They lay there in the bottom of the questionable motel bathtub until the quiver of Jamie’s shoulders recedes into a steady enough rhythm, in time with the rise and fall of Dani’s chest.

“Come on,” Dani nudges, “think you want to get back in bed?”

“Shit,” Jamie jolts upwards, taking them both by surprise, “God, sorry. Sorry. I’ve kept you up long enough.”

“No, no,” Dani assures, running a hand along Jamie’s upper arm, “I just thought the mattress might be more comfortable for you than I am.”

“Unlikely,” Jamie scrutinizes. She rubs her eyes once more and climbs out of the tub, offering a hand for Dani to lift herself up, which proves more difficult than anticipated on account of Dani’s leg having fallen asleep. She wraps an arm around Jamie’s waist, separating for an instant to nestle beneath cool sheets, then finding each other again.

“Sorry,” Jamie says to the darkness, the hum of the radiator providing the rattling soundtrack to her unnecessary apology.

“Shh,” Dani soothes, her nails spelling out words from covert languages on the skin of Jamie’s back, “Don’t say anything. Just… just lay here with me. We’ll talk in the morning.” Jamie’s grip tightens on her shirt. “Try to get some rest, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

She brushes the ghost of a kiss along Jamie’s hairline, smoothing down the wisps that tickle her nose.

4:14 a.m., the clock reads.

Dani does not close her eyes until she feels Jamie’s muscles slacken, the tension leaching away into cotton and dream. Then, and only then, does she allow sleep to claim her.

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sativaasiren · 3 years

Text

Kid

Relationship: Hawks x Reader

Genre: one shot, hurt/angst

Summary: A companion piece to “Tolerate It” from an alternate point of view. Hawks keeps secrets and lies from Reader while she slowly unravels their relationship. Based on the song “Kid” by the Pretenders (slowed version)

Notes: I wanted to flesh out the scenario I set in Tolerate it with a different point of view. Fic is best enjoyed while listening to “Kid” by the Pretenders (slow live version)

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*Kid, What changed your mood? You got all sad. So I feel sad too*

Takami Keigo was many things, but being unobservant wasn’t one of them. He could pinpoint the exact moment he felt (Y/N) pulling away from him. It was about a year into their relationship, he had been gone on a scouting mission with a few other heroes and was gone for almost 3 weeks. The mission required him to maintain a cover in public spaces, blending into his surroundings.

Hawks looked down at his phone absentmindedly. He had told (Y/N) not to worry but she did anyway. She was always so apt to forge her own path and make her own choices regardless of what he suggested, he loved that about her but they had fought the morning he left.

She had asked him when she could expect him home and what he might want for dinner when he got back but he was up to his ears and snapped at her, the probing questions hitting his patience just right. “How should I know what I would want weeks from now? I’m busy”

Keigo looked up from the paperwork to see her pained expression, and he had to hide how it crushed him inside.

“I understand. I’ll give you some space. I love you, Keigo, please stay safe”

(Y/N) backed away from the kitchen table and headed towards the bedroom.

“Love you too, kid. I’ll see ya later”. He got half of the sentence out before he heard her gently close the door. Keigo had pretended their entire relationship to not be as sharp with his hearing as he was his eyesight. He wanted to protect her and make her feel safe to do things behind closed doors without him listening in.

But he heard everything. He could hear the choked sob that came from deep inside her chest once she felt she was tucked away safely in their room, away from prying minds. Keigo looked back down at the papers scattered around and shoved them off the table.

Hawks was mad at himself. He could feel himself hurting you but was not fully able to stop himself. He wanted to be your protector but it was easier to cut himself off from someone like her, who loved him. Keigo never felt deserving of your love and was quick to show you, prove he was right.

Shaking his head, he returned to the present moment. His phone had been silent since he left, the fight between them laying thick in the air. Keigo found solace being stuck on a mission in a bar right now, and while he was techinically off the clock, he could drown his sorrows as much as he desired. Keigo flagged down the bartender and ordered another glass of Jack, settling into his bar stool.

Hawks had since lost count of the drinks he had. Somewhere between 2 and not enough to get him cut off, but the room seemed hazy and the edges of his vision were softer.

A woman had sat down in the seat next to him and he was completely oblivious to her presence until she tapped on his shoulder. “You’re far too gorgeous to be drinking here alone but that doesn’t seem to have stopped you. Can I buy your next round?”

She was pulling on his jacket collar gently and staring up at him from under her lashes, eyes green and piercing.

Hawks wanted to grab her hand and move it off of him, put an end to her flirtation, but he wasn’t feeling strong enough to resist. He was still pissed at himself, and it had migrated to being pissed at (Y/N). Keigo looked down at his phone and internally announced “If she doesn’t text me in the next 10 minutes, she probably wants me gone anyway.”

Keigo looked back at the woman. “Yeah, another jack and coke. Thanks”

She beamed back at him, hoping that his acceptance of a drink was the next step in this seamless dance they were doing together. Her goal was to go home with the handsome stranger, and she was determined to get her way.

The bartender made Keigo’s order and swapped out his empty glass for the new one. Hawks took the drink and smirked at the lady. “Thank you for the drink...”

“Mami”

“Mami. Mami. Pretty name, I think it suits you” Hawks punctuated his comment with a long sip of his drink, enjoying the way it scorched his insides on the way down.

“Thank you....”

“Kosuke. Name’s Kosuke”

“What are your plans for tonight, Kosuke?” Mami leaned back towards him and resumed fiddling with his collar and fur around the jacket.

Keigo looked down at his cell one last time. Her 10 minutes was up, and he was decided.

“Whatever you want them to be, gorgeous” Keigo sealed his fate and (Y/N) an unknowing participant in his game, was too late to change his mind.

When Hawks finally returned home 4 days later, he had changed. He had begun to dread walking through the front door where (Y/N) was probably waiting, eager to greet him and shower him with affection. It would take more than a small spat for her to break her pattern of love.

His stomach knotted itself while he slowly turned the handle. How long could he keep it a secret?

(Y/N) was standing 3 feet from the door, holding her hands together to calm her nerves. She was always afraid he would come home too broken for time to mend.

Keigo slowly walked through the door and he wished he was anywhere other than home.

“Keigo! I’m glad you came home safely!” She outreached her hands in excitement, reaching for him to come close.

Hawks looked at her for only a moment, making a poor attempt at eye contact. Something was wrong, he may be tired when he came home but this was the first time he was despondent.

“Sorry Kid, it was a long mission and I’d like to get some sleep. We’ll talk later”. Keigo shuffled past (Y/N) with his head hung low, refusing to allow her a look at his face. He shut the bedroom door behind him and Y/N was still standing in place, arms outstretched, processing what had even happened.

*I think I know. Some things you never outgrow. You think it's wrong. I can tell you do.*

Hawks had been home for a few days and had been no more forthcoming than he was when he got home. (Y/N) waited for him to open up about his time away but it never came. She would return home from work to the same empty shell of her boyfriend.

(Y/N) would clean to calm her anxiety, it helped her process her feelings while keeping her focused on a mundane task. Keigo was in the shower and she toiled away on the dishes when a chime sounded from the kitchen. (Y/N) turned the water off and headed towards the sound, assuming it was her phone but she was wrong. On the screen, the notification read:

“1 NEW TEXT MESSAGE: FROM MAMI”

(Y/N) fought the urge to snoop through his phone, but she felt her stomach sink and knew there were very few explanations for why another girl would be texting Keigo. (Y/N) locked the phone to dim the screen and resumed the dishes, stuck on an internal panic that she couldn’t stop. Who was Mami?

Keigo returned to the living room in only a towel, choosing to not acknowledge (Y/N) and heading directly for his phone. (Y/N) was standing over the sink, gripping the basis and trying to steel herself for what she was about to do.

“Who’s Mami?”

Hawks froze in his tracks, staring through your back. What did she say? “There’s no way she figured me out in 4 days. Not possible” he mulled to himself.

After an extended pause used to prep his trail of lies, he started to answer “Mami was another person I worked with on my mission. She was the eyes on the inside. Nothing to worry about”

(Y/N) turned around to face him, eyes growing reflective and watery. She refused to cry to him, reveal her jealousy and her insecurity but it was impossible to hold back everything she was feeling at the same time, one emotion had to leak through the cracks in her wall.

“Is that all?”

*How can I explain. When you don't want me to.*

Keigo nodded slowly. “I love you Kid. You don’t need to worry about me. It’s only ever been you”

(Y/N) grimaced and turned back towards the sink, choosing to believe Keigo over risking losing the one she loved. She kept quiet, softly scrubbing the plates in front of her.

The guilt sank deeper into his bones. He was too far in now, he could never go back. Was this the right choice? He loved her but Hawks knew that what they had came with a fast expiration date, it didn’t matter what they did, it would end.

*Kid, My only kid. You look so small. You've gone so quiet.*

The days felt longer when they didn’t speak to fill the silence. (Y/N) only spoke a fraction of the time she used to. Mostly her repetitive questions about dinner, when he was leaving, would they spend time together before he left. It was what wasn’t being said that sat in the air. If neither of them touched the subject, they could pretend it didn’t exist and they would have to shatter the illusion they were intent on living.

*I know you know what I'm about. I won't deny it.*

Months went on following the new norm. Hawks went away for weeks at a time, distance himself while he was gone, and returned home drunk when he finally decided to go home. (Y/N) was just as doting and loving as she always had been, she refused to give into the dark cloud that hovered in her head. It took all of her inner strength to not ask him where he was and who with upon his arrival. Why ask him if he was going to lie anyway? What good would it do?

Keigo had been playing charades his entire life, this was no different, but (Y/N) could throw a curveball into his web and tear a hole in it with a single question. The more he lied, the more she pieced together why. Some nights, it was too hard to lie to her. To give her the comfort she was so craving. After about 4 drinks, his softness rotted away and all that remained was his sandpaper exterior.

Hawks had come home late one night, a bit weak on his feet but still mobile. He was drunk, and only the door frame was holding him upright.

He stumbled his way to the kitchen table and dropped into the chair, groaning and nursing a headache.

(Y/N) stood in the hallway, watching him from afar. He caused quite a ruckus trying to come inside and it had interrupted her reading. She was worried, and she wanted to bring him a glass of water and some medicine. (Y/N) didn’t hesitate this time, she loved taking care of him, and it would take a lot more than deception to break her love for him.

She walked past him to the cabinet and took out a small glass. Filling it up at the sink, she set it down in front of him and went to the medicine cabinet to grab him something for his pain. (Y/N) returned and gently set the pills next to the glass.

Hawks reached over and grabbed them from the table, grazing his hand against hers. Something inside him snapped, she was warm and he had forgotten, and soon she will be gone. His eyes went dark and he smirked at the glass of water, reaching for it and popping the pills into his mouth.

“Thanks Kid.”

“Can I ask you something?”

Keigo shut his eyes and stopped breathing for a moment. He knew he was going to be backed in a corner but he couldn’t take any more time to process without making the situation worse.

“Yeah, what?”

“Do you even miss me when you’re gone doing God knows what?”. (Y/N)’s voice was cold and seeping with anger. She had surprised herself, not expecting for that choice of words and tones to leave the confines of her mind.

Keigo opened his mouth like he was laughing but no sound came out. He was pissed at and for no valid reasons. She was asking him something she earned the right to ask but he was mad she was doubting him. The hypocrisy of his thoughts didn’t go unnoticed but he started to speak before he was finished. Time’s up.

“Only sometimes”

(Y/N) flinched like she had been hit. She reached her fingers out towards him and crumpled them into her palms. She would not touch him this time.

She slowly retreated for the safety of the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She barely finished the task before gripping onto the counter and crumpling to the floor, sobbing into her elbow in a poor attempt to hide the sound. Her world was crumbling in around her, and she still loved him.

*But you forget. You don't understand. You've turned your head. You've dropped my hand.*

(Y/N) stopped asking questions about Keigo’s alter life outside of their shared apartment. The answers were killing her but she couldn’t let him go just yet. She would need time to brace herself, steel against the pain in her chest, and leave.

Hawks could tell he was going to lose (Y/N). She spent their time home together in silence, wanting. When he returned home, she only held his hand for a moment and then retreated to the kitchen, finishing dinner.

Keigo stopped sleeping. Who knew that this choice in the vats of many would be the one to kill him and keep him awake. (Y/N) was asleep soundly beside him, curled into a ball, and he watched her breathe. Hawks reached out a finger and gently brushed her arm, stroking in straight lines from shoulder to elbow. “If this was a different life, and I was a different man, we could have been perfect. But I can’t be who you need.” He whispered to himself, barely audible.

*All my sorrows. All my blues. All my sorrows.

Hawks kept drinking and every time he got drunk, he would black out and go home with someone. He had lost count of how many women or men it had been so far. Anything to numb how he felt inside. Keigo never thought he would be deserving of love and he was out to prove it.

(Y/N) had been packing in small amounts. Drawers that he never used, boxes from under their bed, things tucked in the back of the closet. She slowly packed pieces of her life away and traveled them to her new apartment. It wasn’t far from where you were and made it easy to smuggle out her belongings. (Y/N) wanted to leave but she needed time to do it.

Hawks noticed things going missing when the books on the shelves seemed fewer. Then he started pacing around the house while (Y/N) worked, searching for what was gone. After discovering that more of her things were gone than remained, it dawned on him where this was headed. She’s going to leave soon. I made her leave.

*Full of grace, you cover your face.*

Keigo returned home drunk once again but this time (Y/N) didn’t seem as cold as she had been. She was red in the face, flushed, and trembling slightly.

“Keigo, I made dinner if you’re hungry?”

Keigo looked over at her on the way to the couch, but it overwhelmed him. He needed to get the hell out of there fast.

“I’m only home for a few minutes before i’m going back out. I have plans”.

“Oh okay, I was hoping to spend time with you today. Maybe later then?” (Y/N)’s voice cracked when she got to later then, it was a piss poor attempt at courage but it was all she was capable of.

Keigo didn’t reply, just exhaled loudly. He was tired of playing games and lying to you but it had to be done. Hawks sat up when his phone started to buzz on the coffee table. He snagged it up and looked at the message lightning fast and made his way back to the front door.

You shakily reached out towards his back and retracted your hand before he saw. “I love you, Keigo. Please be safe”

Keigo slowly smiled at you and replied with his usual comment. “Love you too, kid. I’ll see ya later”

Keigo rushed out the door and into the alley near their house, hoping for privacy. Once he was midway through and in the darkest part of the alley, he punched the wall and threw his phone into the cement. I love her and I made her leave me. Hawks started to break down, holding his face in his hands and crying. “I wanted to love you but I was kidding myself. I don’t know how to be the man you need me to be.”. Keigo shook his head violently and jumped off for a flight to somewhere, anywhere but this neighborhood. It all reminded him of you.

*Kid. Precious kid. Your eyes are blue but you won't cry I know. Angry tears are too dear. You won't let them go.*

Keigo came home late that night, sneaking into his house quietly. He made his way to your bedroom and saw your sleeping form in bed. Hawks couldn’t bear sleeping next to you tonight when he was still raw from earlier. He slipped off his jacket and boots and curled up on the small loveseat you had by the window. It smelled like (Y/N) and lulled him to sleep.

Keigo woke up when he heard movement. He opened one eye to see the bed empty and the house dark. He closed his eye again and squeezed them shut. It’s today.

Time moved slow while he waited to hear the door open and shut, shutting you out of his life forever. His eyes closed, he pictured your face on your first flight with him, full of joy and excitement. Keigo saw that light drain out of you, and he was to blame. This would sit heavy on his soul for the rest of days.

He heard a soft squeak at the doorway and knew you were standing there.

“I love you, Keigo. Please be safe”. (Y/N) whispered.

Keigo listened for her receding footsteps and heard the click of the front door lock. He stared up at the ceiling, cursing himself.

“Love you too, Kid. I’ll see ya later”. Keigo whispered to the empty room, wide awake. She was gone, and he was alone.

#reader insert fanfiction #fanfiction #hawks hurt #hawks fanfic #hawks x y/n #hawks x you #hawks x reader

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hutchhitched · 4 years

Text

Peeta Mellark, CEO

Written by: @hutchhitched

Prompt 8: Peeta is a rich CEO and in love with another who disappeared before their marriage. So he withdraw within himself. But then he meets Katniss (her background is up to you) and falls in love for the second time. [submitted by @mysteriouslycraftyreview ]

Ratings/Warnings: E

A/N: I’m continuing to post the nine @everlarkficexchange prompts I took and then sat on throughout the early months of the pandemic. This is the fifth of the nine. Thanks for your patience, and I hope you enjoy. Huge thanks to @javistg for understanding the delays. While this submission fills the prompt, I have more in store for this couple.

______________

Peeta Mellark tossed his glasses down on the desk and scrubbed a hand over his face. His tired eyes felt like they were full of sandpaper, and the stubble on his jaw was definitely not the look of a successful businessman, let alone the CEO of an up and coming manufacturing cooperation that was poised to break into the Fortune 500 in the very near future. Exhausted, he shoved at the pile of papers on his desk and cursed his luck. He needed an administrative assistant immediately. Like yesterday. Or two weeks ago.

To be fair, he needed a lot more than a new administrative assistant. He’d been in a funk for the past year, since his fiancée sent him a text (seriously, a text?) and called off their wedding—three days before it was to take place.

Cashmere’s rejection had been tough to take. He had loved her so much, still did, if he was telling the truth, and it hurt every day to go home to his empty apartment and not see her there. His friends, business acquaintances, and family all tried to make him feel better by telling him he was too good for her, but that didn’t help at all. Cashmere and he were good together for a long time. It wasn’t her fault that his ardor had grown after their engagement and hers had cooled. It sucked that her attraction to him had abated to friendship, but he didn’t regret anything other than that his marriage had never happened.

Since his broken engagement, Peeta had retreated into himself. He didn’t spend much time with anyone, including his family or close friends who all wanted to help so much it made him anxious. He couldn’t handle their good intentions when all he wanted to do was curl up on the couch in sweats and binge shows and eat junk food. If he hadn’t been the head of a company, he would have done that every day. Instead, he went into the office and buried himself in his work before going home and heading to bed—incredibly alone. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d talked to his parents on the phone or grabbed lunch with anyone if it wasn’t for business.

Sometimes he missed being part of the human race, interacting with others and seeing their eyes light up with joy when they laughed. He missed family dinners with his brothers and nights out at the club with Finnick, Darius, Thom, and Gale. But most of all, he missed being in love with someone. Having a relationship with a woman who wanted only him. A person to come home to and wake up with. A confidante who knew his secrets and faults and loved him anyway. More than anything, he was just really, really lonely and more than a little horny. He was an All-American adult male, after all, and it had been far too long since he’d been with anyone other than himself.

Peeta pushed the intercom button on his phone and spoke into it. “Delly, can you come in here, please?”

“Right away, sir.”

Peeta smiled at Delly when she entered the room. As office manager, she’d worked her job and that of his missing assistant for too long. She deserved a raise. She also happened to be one of his oldest friends, which is why he managed to keep it together every day instead of losing it each time he thought about how empty his life was outside the office.

“Delly, I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of the way things are going around here,” he said and idly twirled a pen between his fingers. “I think we need a change, don’t you?”

“Sir?”

“Delly, you’ve known me your whole life. Can you cut it out with the ‘sir’ bullshit? It’s me.”

She visibly relaxed and sank into the chair opposite his desk. “What do you want to change, Peeta? Am I not doing a good enough job?”

He winced at the worried furrow of her brow and chided himself for making her job harder than it already was. He made a mental note to submit the paperwork for a raise for her the next day.

“You’re doing an amazing job,” he assured her, “but you’ve been covering for two people for months. It’s time I bite the bullet and get someone else in here.”

“Do you want me to take a look at the resumés and send you the most qualified?” she offered. “I can go over them this evening and send them your way.”

“No,” he insisted. “You’ve done enough. Go home. Take the weekend off, and don’t worry about anything. I just need the applicant file before you leave. I’ll review them and set up some interviews for early next week. Deal?”

Her relief was palpable, and he tried to quell the guilt he felt for pushing her so hard instead of finding a replacement for his last assistant. She brought him the file right away, and he waved her out the office doors before she could find something else she had to do before she left. He’d flipped through several applications before his phone buzzed.

“Finnick,” he answered. “How’s it going, man?”

“Peeta Mellark, my man,” came the hearty response. “Haven’t seen you in months. It’s Friday. Come meet us at Ripper’s.”

“I’d love to. I really would, but—”

“But nothing, man. Get your ass down here. Time to rejoin the living.”

“I can’t. Snowed under here.”

“I will come drag you out of that office if you don’t get the fuck down here within the hour. I proposed. I will not take no for an answer.”

“Congratulations, man, but I really—”

“One hour, you asshole. You’ve been warned,” Finnick threatened and disconnected the call.

Peeta heaved a heavy sigh and sat back in his chair. Finnick engaged. That was really something—something that made his insides twist and curl and hurt. Despite that, he had to go meet his friends. Finnick was the first to congratulate Peeta after he’d ask Cashmere to marry him and had been there after the breakup, too. Peeta couldn’t shirk, no matter how much he wanted to go home and hide.

Frustrated and despondent, he packed up his laptop and files carefully before reaching into the bottom drawer of his desk and pulling a bottle of whiskey from its depths. He poured two fingers of the dark liquid and loosened his tie. When he took a sip, the liquor burned a trail down his throat enough that he tugged the tie off completely and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt. By the time he’d finished his drink, he’d also lost his jacket and rolled up his sleeves to reveal his forearms. At least this way he looked like a regular working schmuck instead of an uptight executive who had no life outside the office.

Fortified by the drink and a burgeoning desire to reconnect with his friends, Peeta made his way uptown to Ripper’s. Memories hit him in the gut as soon as the door opened. The sounds and scents assailed him, and a flash of evenings out with his friends and his fiancée flickered in his head. Cashmere leaning over to kiss him as his friends whooped. The taste of her lips after they both shot tequila, lime and salt clinging to her lips. Finnick grinning at him when he got his last promotion. Gale and Darius ribbing him about a new crush. Thom announcing his impending fatherhood. So many memories, and all they did was remind him how desperately lonely he was, despite his financial and professional success.

Except that did matter tonight. It was Finnick’s time to celebrate, and he wound his way through the tables to the back corner where his friends waited.

“Peeta Mellark! The man, the myth, the legend, right here in Ripper’s with us lowly humans.”

Peeta couldn’t help but chuckle. “Good to see you, too, Finn. It’s been too long.”

“That’s not our fault. Is it, boys?”

“Who are you calling a boy?” Gale snorted over his beer. “I only see men here. At least, those of us sitting down. You and Mister Hotshot might not have reached full maturity yet, though.”

Peeta laughed as Finnick flipped off the other guys at the table and then settled into the booth. It felt good to see his friends again. He needed to remember to make more time for them in the future.

“So, how’s the high life, man?” Thom asked.

Peeta shrugged and ordered before answering. Thanking the waitress, he slumped down in his seat and admitted, “Crazy busy, as always. I need a new administrative assistant. I’m working Delly to death, and she deserves better.”

“Some of us would like to see our wives,” Darius grunted. “Should never have agreed when she asked.”

“Didn’t realize she had to ask permission to leave the house,” Peeta answered pointedly.

“Oh, come on, man. I didn’t mean it like that,” Darius protested. “We just have one of those marriages where we talk things through and make decisions together.”

He knew he shouldn’t, but he envied Darius and Thom their marriages and Finnick his engagement. Even Gale had a serious girlfriend, although he hadn’t met her yet. Maybe that was why it didn’t seem too far-fetched when he spoke.

“My girlfriend’s in between jobs. She’s a fantastic office manager. Maybe she could help you out.”

“Seriously?”

“Sure. I’ll have her give you a call.”

“Thanks, man. You’ve just saved my life.”

Finnick leaned in and grinned cheekily. “Great. Then you can afford to get drunk tonight.”

“I really can’t.”

“Too bad. Here’s our first round of shots.”

****

Peeta woke the next morning hung the hell over. How he’d allowed his friends, in particular Finnick, to convince him to stay and then do shots was beyond him. His only excuse was that it was the weekend, and he didn’t have to go to the office today. Otherwise, his headache and significant dehydration might have killed him. He managed to stagger to the kitchen where he brewed a pot of coffee and downed half a liter of water before his phone rang.

“Hawthorne. What’s up?” he rasped into the receiver.

“Hey, Peet. I know it’s early, but my girl’s here, and I suggested she call you about the job. She’s game for it, so I figured I might as well hook you two up before I forget. You free to chat?”

Peeta grunted but agreed. Reaching for a mug, he poured himself some coffee and added cream before settling at the counter. He wasn’t prepared for the snarky voice that echoed through the phone, but he immediately straightened when he heard it. The woman on the other end of the line was a spitfire and sounded exactly like what he needed to help keep his office running and give his oldest friend a break.

“Gale tells me you need some help keeping your workplace running smoothly. I can do that for you, but I don’t come cheap. Pay me well, don’t give me shit, and I’ll make your life easier.”

“That’s quite an offer, Ms., uh…?”

“Mason. Johanna Mason. I’ve been keeping corporate America organized for the past ten years. You have quite a reputation. Youngest CEO at Panem Industries in ages. Survived the Coriolanus Snow purge and caught the eye of the board of directors in a good way. I think you surprised everyone when they realized you weren’t just a piece in their games. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” he answered, impressed with her knowledge of the business world. Gale must have given her a heads up, but he suspected she’d already known more than most. “You seem to be a player, too. I’m impressed.”

“I’m very impressive. I’m sure you’ve heard about some of my best attributes from your friend, so let’s just move past the posturing and get to the specifics,” she announced, her voice businesslike. “I can start Monday. Gale indicated this could be temporary or long-term, depending on your other assistants. I’m amenable to either. As for my salary—”

Peeta almost blanched at the figure but wasn’t deterred by her request. Good office managers were worth every cent they were paid, and Ms. Mason—Johanna! She was his friend’s girlfriend, after all—seemed to be exactly what he needed.

“I have one caveat,” he insisted. “Gale is my friend, and you and he are together, but you are my employee. Our relationship needs to stay professional.”

“Gale, honey,” she purred. “Peeta wants me to be professional. You think I can handle that?”

Peeta cringed at the wet sounds in his ear. He’d be offended if Gale hadn’t taken the phone briefly and hissed, “She’s good for it, Mellark. You won’t regret it.”

“Fine,” he muttered. “Can I call you Johanna? You’re hired. Thirty-day trial, and a five percent raise once you’ve proven yourself.”

“You won’t need thirty days for that.”

He was almost positive she was right, and he looked forward to Monday when he could offer Delly some time off to spend with her family.

****

“I need that folder,” Peeta announced into his phone and scribbled a few notes on the report before him. Johanna swept into his office a few seconds later. She’d only been working for him for a week, but she’d already revamp his world. Everything ran smoother; Delly’d already put in for some well-deserved vacation, and he hadn’t been subjected to any inappropriate knowledge of his friend from his new employee. “Thanks, Jo. Can you—”

“Already done. Meeting with Heavensbee is moved up to 1:00, and you have a business lunch tomorrow with Seneca Crane at the Capitol Grill. Both indicated their interest when I arranged the details.”

“You are a gift,” he said, distracted by the email he’d just received about a new project in China. “Seriously, thank you for everything you do.”

“No thanks needed. You pay me enough. I’m happy to make your life better.”

He chuckled and sat back when she plopped a hot chocolate in front of him. “How’d you know? This is my favorite.”

“You forget who I’m banging on the weekend?”

“Gale, of course.”

“And I don’t wait for the weekend, either,” she said with a wink over her shoulder. He smiled fondly as she slipped out the door and back to her desk. He understood what his friend saw in her. She didn’t take any shit, was sexy as hell, and knew how to get stuff done. If he had fifteen more like her, he’d take over the world. Not that he was too far off from that anyway.

****

“You mind if I take a long lunch tomorrow?” Johanna asked as she handed Peeta several files and watched him tuck them into his briefcase. “A girlfriend of mine just got back to town, and I promised I’d meet up with her. Won’t happen again.”

“Take all the time you need,” he agreed. “Delly can handle everything while you’re gone. It’s not a problem.”

“Thanks, boss,” she said with a wink. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Got a hot date with my man.”

Peeta chuckled as he shrugged on his jacket. “Tell Gale I said hi. Been a while since we hung out at Ripper’s.”

“That’s because I make it worth it to him not to leave the house.”

“I’m sure you do,” he mumbled as he headed for the elevator.

“Good luck on your date!” she called as the doors slid shut, and he groaned.

If she hadn’t reminded him at the last second, he could have argued with her, but now it was too late. He’d stupidly agreed to a setup. It was only drinks at a cocktail bar around the corner, but he had a million things to do before the next day. He didn’t have time to make small talk with a woman he didn’t know as they both sipped overpriced drinks and tried to figure out how long they had to stay before they escaped with a modicum of dignity. If he didn’t have to answer to Johanna the next day, he’d skip, but he just didn’t want to hear it. With a sigh, he turned left out of the building and made his way to meet his date.

“Rue?” he guessed when he met the slim, African American woman sitting at the bar alone. She was lovely and smart and very sweet, but he could tell within five minutes that they weren’t right for each other. He offered a second round, but she declined politely.

“You’re a great guy,” she said with a kiss to his cheek when she slid from her stool to the ground. “I’m glad we met.”

“Likewise,” he nodded. “Best of luck with your startup.”

He watched her walk away with a half-smile on his face and a hint of regret. It wasn’t that she’d passed on him. That wasn’t it at all. Despite being a perfectly attractive woman, there wasn’t a spark between them, and he’d been too deeply in love before to settle for anything less. With another huge sigh—they seemed to be becoming a habit—he grabbed his suitcase and coat and headed home to his empty penthouse.

He hated being lonely.

****

“Johanna, can you come in here, please?” Peeta waited for her reply, but when he got nothing, he walked to his office door and poked his head out. “Jo?”

Delly glanced up from her desk and replied, “She’s still at lunch. You told her to take the time, remember?”

“I do, actually. Sorry. It slipped my mind.”

At that moment, the elevator door opened, and his employee walked down the hall, chatting happily with another woman. She drew up when she saw him and narrowed her eyes.

“It’s not even 1:00 yet. Surely, the place didn’t fall apart with me gone only 80 minutes.” Johanna rolled her eyes at him and waved to her companion. “Peeta Mellark, this is Katniss Everdeen. Katniss, Peeta. I left something in my desk for her. She’s not staying.”

The woman in question glanced back and forth between him and her friend uncertainly. She was slight and unassuming with storm gray eyes and thick, dark hair worked into a loose braid. A few strands of hair escaped and framed her face, which was far prettier than he’d realized at first glance. Quickly, he snapped to attention. Stepping toward her, he extended his hand and waited for her to shake it. When she did, electricity sparked through him.

“Ms. Everdeen,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Any friend of Johanna’s is a friend of mine. Welcome to Panem Industries.”

“Sheesh! She’s not interviewing for a job,” Johanna snickered. She’s just here to get something from me, and she’s Gale’s friend, too. I’m surprised you haven’t met before now. Those two have been thick as thieves since they were tweens. You really haven’t heard of her before?”

“Why would I have?”

“I thought you and Gale were tight?”

“We are tight. What does that have to do with anything?”

Katniss smiled wryly and spoke in a smoky voice that shot straight to his groin. “Gale and I were best friends for years. We had a rough patch when he developed feelings for me in high school. Didn’t talk much through college, but we worked it out. I think Jo’s just surprised he didn’t mention me to his friends.”

“You okay there, boss?” Johanna asked, her eyes wary as she observed him.

Peeta shook himself, aware that he’d been frozen as Katniss’ voice washed over him. “Fine! I’m fine. Katniss, it’s wonderful to meet you. Johanna, I need to see you in my office when you’re finished with your friend.”

He moved quickly and closed the door behind him. Walking on unsteady legs back to his desk, he sank into his chair. Needless to say, he was unsettled. Something about those smoke colored eyes and husky voice had reached inside him and pulled feelings to the surface he hadn’t felt in ages, and it was disconcerting in a way he wasn’t quite ready to admit. Flustered, he turned in his chair and gazed out over the city until Johanna entered his office. It was only then that he could expel Katniss from his mind.

****

“You know, it’s bad enough that you foisted your girlfriend on me as an employee,” Peeta teased as he downed another whiskey. “The least you could do is pass on your best friend’s number. No, scratch that. The least you could do was warn me your best friend from high school is smoking hot now.”

Gale tipped his head back and laughed hard at his friend and Peeta’s obvious attempt to weasel Katniss’ number from him. Finnick and Thom hooted their amusement, and Darius waved to the waitress for another round of drinks. Peeta hadn’t meant to end up at Ripper’s again, but he’d been off kilter all week. When Finn had asked, Peeta shrugged and went.

“You only like me for my girlfriends,” Gale teased and clinked his glass with Thom. “To be fair, they are pretty spectacular. I have great taste in women.”

“Says the most modest man alive,” Finnick crowed. “You like them wild, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Wait,” Peeta blurted. “Wild? Katniss?”

“Not in the traditional sense,” Gale drawled after a long pull of his beer. “Nothing like Jo. She’s amazing—completely herself, likes to party, will rip me apart with her bare hands if I cross her—but Katniss is something else. Feisty but stealthy. She can skin a squirrel and look like an angel doing it. I’ve never been able to explain her to anyone. She really has no idea the effect she has.”

“But you dated? You two?” Peeta prodded. Something about the thought of Gale kissing the woman he’d met made his stomach clench.

“Not for long. She wasn’t much interested, but I would have given my left arm for her back in the day. She’s only improved with age. I’m lucky she still bothers with little old me.”

Peeta snorted and flicked his eyes to each of his friends. Gale may not have been the best-looking guy in the group—Finn pretty much had that locked no matter who was around—but Gale’s tall, dark, and brooding nature made him pretty popular with the opposite sex. He hadn’t had trouble meeting women in ages. Unlike Peeta, who’d had terrible luck with women both before and after Cashmere. Couldn’t get them to look at him instead of his money now that he was wealthy, and he’d been dismissed for being way too nice when he was younger. His former fiancée had been an exception, but then he couldn’t get her to stay, with or without his bank account.

“But seriously, dude. Help a guy out. I’ve been single for ages,” Peeta wheedled, but Gale just shook his head.

“If she asks, I’ll give your info, but there’s no way I’m gonna try to set her up. I value my life and limbs too much to intervene.”

“You just said you would have given your left arm for her!”

“Back in high school and college, man. Not now. I need them both for the work I do.”

Peeta conceded then. It wasn’t like him to pump his friends for information about women, and he wasn’t going to start now. Maybe she’d come by work again with Jo, or maybe Johanna would—

No. Johanna would not. That was a terrible idea, so Peeta shoved Katniss Everdeen from his mind and sipped his drink. If nothing else, he could use a night out with his friends.

****

Later that night, when Peeta lay in bed alone, his penthouse dark and empty, and his heart shriveling with sadness, he allowed Katniss to flutter through his thoughts. If he imagined her in love with him, no one could prove it. Just like there were no witnesses when he reached into his sleep pants and palmed his half-hard cock.

He hadn’t masturbated with anyone particular in mind for a very long time—not since Cashmere and he had been a couple. There was something intensely erotic about stroking himself with mental images of a specific woman smiling at him, touching him, taking his dick in her mouth and sucking until—

“Oh, fuck,” he hissed as he swelled and hardened. “Katniss. Yeah, just like that.”

He fumbled in his bedside table for some lube and was so worked up he squirted half the bottle onto his pelvis. Rubbing his hand in the fluid, he groaned when he wrapped his hand back around his erection and tugged. His hips bucked, and his headboard slapped against the wall. Startled by the sound, he bit his lip and shook his head.

It seemed wrong to jack off like this when he barely knew her. Stranger fantasies were fine, but this was one of his best mate’s long-time friends. Johanna would rip him apart if she knew what Peeta was doing and leave the leftovers for Gale to destroy.

God, he didn’t care, he realized. Something about Katniss Everdeen made him want to throw caution to the wind. He’d been a goner since he first heard her voice, and he’d paid his dues with his loneliness. One night of lustful thoughts and indulgence seemed like a just reward for being single for so long. He’d only met her once, but there were all the tell-tale signs of a massive crush. Except, yes, he was attracted to her, but he also wondered if he might have a case of love at first sight. She invaded his thoughts constantly, and he ached to see her again.

Until that could happen, though, he needed some relief. Closing his eyes and tossing his head back into the pillow, he moved his hand until he gained a steady rhythm. The wet squelching sounds of the lube on his skin echoed through the apartment and stirred mental images that made his breath come harder and faster.

In his fantasy, her lithe body bounced on top of him, riding him with abandon and wanton pleasure painting her face. Her small breasts jiggled prettily with dusty nipples pert and pointed and inviting his mouth to lavish them with attention. His fist tightened, he jerked harder, and then—

He whited out, stars bursting behind his eyelids, ecstasy flooding his body, and all the tension draining through ropes of thick fluid painting his torso. Dazed, he lay there for several minutes, doing nothing but enjoying the lazy tingle in his veins and the dopey grin turning up his lips with delight. His spent cock filled his right fist, and he squeezed it a few times to keep the buzz going.

When he could think clearly again, he opened his eyes and snorted at the mess. He was sticky and sweaty and slick with his cum and lube. Covered in his ejaculate, he stumbled to the bathroom on shaky legs. He meant to rinse off and then drop into a dreamless sleep, but he ended up hard and wanting a second time as the water coursed over him. Turning the temperature to cold didn’t help either. Only another round with his fist calmed him enough to fall into a restless, dream-filled slumber. His body insisted on round three the next morning.

Within a few days, a pattern emerged. He woke hard, masturbated, and then went to the office where two women ran his world. When he returned home, he beat off again, sometimes two times, before he was able to sleep. By the second week, Peeta had to admit his feelings for Katniss weren’t going away.

His only choice was to get her to fall in love with him, too, or his name was Peeta Mellark. CEO of Panem Industries, captain of industry, jilted fiancé, and desperately in love with Katniss Everdeen. Johanna was going to have a field day with this.

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