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pxgeturner · 26 days

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Miguel O'Hara is a world-renowned professional boxer, and Hobie's other best friend. One night he finally makes the two worlds collide and sparks immediately fly between the two of you. But will he distract you from meeting your publisher's deadline? And will you distract him from getting World Champ?

before you follow. m.list. Iron Fist gfx library. series m.list. tag list.

Prologue. I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. Epilogue.

wc. 1.5k

an. hi. its me! Giselle, or gi, or gigi to few (not to be confused w gg, that is one of my moots. she makes really cool art.) n e ways here is the awaited Prologue for Iron Fist. Oh goodness I'm so nervous. I just want to make a few things clear. the reader is an author (obvs). She's recently graduated uni and is Latina! I write with a woc!r in mind always. I try to be as inclusive as possible, pero porque soy Mexicana, r might lean towards being more Mexican but I'll try to keep her Spanish standard and not be too specific to my family's culture. much love! hope you enjoy <3

please don't forget to reblog! likes do nothing to boost engagement.

Your foot taps against the floor. The damn blank document stares back at you. Mocking you is what it’s really doing. Fuck you, you think, I achieved my goal. I published a book and it is a damn bestseller! Only problem is that the readers want more. It’s been… some time since your first book. And sure, Jess said you can take a break before starting a new project. But you also know that it’s good to ride on existing publicity. At least be able to make an announcement that you’re writing something while all this excitement lasts. Maybe you should write something about vampires. You love vampires and how they fit into romance and how them drinking blood is a euphemism just a bit away from, the whole cannibalism-equals-all-consuming-love trope and how when a vampire attacks it’s often an allegory for rape and— but you have nothing to add to the conversation. You have nothing new to say, no new perspective or hot take, or twist. You have nothing. No ideas.

Not a single word on the page.

You have an idea, leaning forward to peck the keyboard. “F-u-c-k. T-h-i-s!” You highlight the text and italicize it.

Fuck this. At least it’s words on the page.

You reach for your cup and take a sip. “If all else fails I can ride on the rest of the signing bonus and royalties for a bit since the book is doing good, and once that dries up, I can apply to be circulation assistant at a library or something.” You sigh and take another sip. “But nobody has to know for now.” You get up, searching for your phone. You find it resting on the arm of the couch, you grab it, sliding onto the cushions, resting your head where your phone just was. “God, don’t make me a one hit wonder, I wanna be a star. I wanna be the one to push that bitch Colleen Hoover into obsoletion. Please God. Please.”

You open your phone and look for your mother on speed dial.

“Hola, nena!” Your mama’s voice is happy, she must be having a good day. You move into the kitchen. You need a snack.

“Hey, mama, how are you?” You hold the cell with your shoulder as you look through your pantry.

“Good, good,” you find a pack of roasted seaweed snacks and grab it.

“I went on a date anoche.” Your shoulder drops and the pack of seaweed slips out of your grasp.

Mi mami fue a una cita. Con un man! You stand there, trying to process that she is actually back on the dating scene.

“How did it—” you aren’t holding your phone anymore. You use the wall as support to lower yourself to pick up your phone and snack.

“—ay, mami, lo siento, mi cellular se cayo de mi mano.”

“Todo bien, hija! I’m glad you’re ok.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m ok, I’m ok. Anyways— how was the date? What’s he like? Am I going to have a stepfather soon?” you joke.

“My time for marriage is gone, muñeca, I’m just looking for companionship, pero, tu lo sabes.” You hear some subtle clinking in the background of the call, she must be stirring her coffee. You open your snack and park yourself on the couch. “Are you writing?” Ugh. Not you, too.

“I was, just finished for a bit before I called you.”

“You called me to procrastinate.” You choke on your seaweed from the accusation.

You clear your throat, “I called to check in with you. I call you practically every day.”

“But right now you called me to check up on me as an excuse to not write. Nena, I know you.”

“Okay, fine. I might be having some writer’s block,” you admit, sighing.

“And that’s okay, nena, but then you need to get out, get some inspiration. Allow the world to give you a story.” There’s mama, with her easier-said-than-done advice. But, maybe you should get out of the house.

“Alright, I’ll go out soon.”

“Tonight,”

“—I will go out to the Chinese place across the street and nothing more. I’ll talk with Hobie when he gets back to see if he has any ideas.” You hear your mama make a noise in her throat.

“You still live with that boy?” Here it comes. You’ve lived with Hobie Brown for three years and have known him for five. She’s always been apprehensive of him, since he’s radical and looks like he’s been in jail, with all the metal in his face, and why does his hair look like that? But Hobie is the one who’s kept you sane all these years. He’s held you while you cried and pushed out of your comfort zone when you were getting too stuck into your routines, most likely by dragging you to a concert or a protest. You help him thrift and flip clothes and ever since that one time his stylist had an emergency and canceled, you now help him tighten his wicks every so often. On days like that the two of you stay in, watching nostalgic movies and listening to any demos he’s recorded recently. He’s like a brother to you at this point.

“Yes, mama, I still live with Hobie. Nothing’s changed.” You move the phone down to your chest and take a deep breath.

“I didn’t like him when I first met him,” you clench your jaw as she continues— “…and although he’s one of those kids, I can tell he is a good boy. I’m glad he takes care of you.” You relax. “But it wouldn’t hurt to have someone you could kiss.” “It would be nice, but right now it’s not happening.” “Alright, muñeca. I’ll leave you alone for now, but keep your eyes open for a nice man.”

“I will, con cuidado, mami, besitos.” You make a kissing noise into the phone, and she responds with a goodbye of her own, and you wait for her to hang up the call.

You sigh, and look at the coffee table. Hobie left his song book at home, weird. It’s open to the song he was working on the other day. It’s a slower song, you can still hear the melody. You drum your fingers to the tune. He’s on an unfinished verse. You pick up a pen from the little catch-all dish and scribble down a line or two.

…

Hobie weaves through the roar of chattering, anticipating fans and into the tunnel, and walks past employees and into Miguel's prep room to see him tying his shoes. “Hey,” Miguel looks up. “Hey.”

“Are you excited?” He moves to sit by the boxer, shimmying up against his shoulder.

“Haven’t really been excited for one of these in a while.” Miguel breathes.

“Well, one step closer to retirement!” Hobie bounces out of his seat. He turns to face his friend, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You’re gonna do great, you big fuckin’ bear of a man.” He ruffle’s Miguel’s hair.

Miguel gives a half-ass hum in response.

“Well then, I’ll be out there, mate, cheerin’ you on.” He puts his hands in his vest pockets and walks out the room.

As he reaches the empty doorframe, Miguel speaks up. “Thank you, Hobie.”

“Anything for you, mate.” Hobie nods and goes to join the audience. Miguel fastens his gloves and puts on his robe. He warms up waiting for his coach.

“Ready, O’Hara?”

Miguel turns around. “Always ready for a fight.” He clenches his jaw. Walking down that hallway, the festive colors lighting up his path and the music blaring, he does his little bit, the movements molded into muscle memory.

This is it. This is his last year fighting. If he gets world champ again, he’s free.

Soon, he gets to fight his last fight. And dammit, the world championship will be his last match. Then, he’s never gonna have to come back.

He weaves under the ropes, entering the ring. Sitting on the stool, he shrugs off the robe and lets Carlos put the mouthguard in.

“You are going to show this guy exactly why people call you el oso!” Miguel beats his gloves together and nods. He might not like his job right now, but he really wants to hit something and goddammit if his opponent doesn’t look so beatable right now.

Coach Carlos steps out of the way, and Miguel stands to walk to the ref as he calls for him to center.

“We went over the rules in the dressing room.” Right before Hobie got here. “I want to remind you to protect yourself at all times, and obey my commands.” Ring the damn bell already. “God bless you both,” I don’t need it but this kid might. “Touch up,” here we go. He touches gloves with his newbie opponent and each goes back to their respective corners.

Miguel takes an orthodox stance.

The bell rings.

Miguel lands the first punch. He also lands the last.

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haloxsaisha · 1 year

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So Good.

[Lewis Hamilton x Actress!Reader]

Based on: So Good by Halsey.

Warnings: Angst, Abu Dhabi and Monza 2021 (I'm so sorry), some fluff, few cheesy dialogues (cause I'm a dumbass), depression, insomnia, eating disorder and weight loss.

Word Count: 15.5K words (I've never written this much in my life so far, I'm so proud of myself).

A/N: My first Lewis fic, I wasn't expecting it to be done with during the Abu Dhabi race week but oh well💀 I'm personally quite happy with how this turned out! I hope y'all like it <33

Bold and italicized font: song lyrics.

Italicized font: flashbacks.

“I remember the night, I was so frustrated.”

You could only bury your hands, head filled with shock and completely blank.

You never thought this would ever happen to anybody, let alone just him. Nobody who had watched the sport did.

Everything inside you began to sink in the moment the whole mess about unlapping the cars started and as the rest of the race unfolded, you felt yourself crumbling.

Lewis staying in his car in silence, in disbelief at the parc ferme had been playing on your mind again and again.

You were supposed to be there. You had to be there for him.

You had apologized to him multiple times for not being there in a championship decider race, especially at a win that was so historically important but he dismissed your countless apologies saying that he could understand. You had been shooting for a movie in London since November, which also meant that you hadn't met each other in more than a month, work and COVID restrictions making its way in. There was one thing that you and Lewis always stood by, which was that your jobs would be given the first priority. Understandable from both sides because your works usually involve a lot of people, meaning that compromising on it was quite hard and it was also very important to both of you from an emotional perspective, although you had to admit the Formula 1 driver was reaching an equivalent position to your work in your heart.

You watched him speak in the post race interview and then the moment he shared with his father, leaning his head as he took in the encouraging words being whispered in his ear. He had always been so strong and it was something you admired about him.

You sent him a message (which you hoped would provide a bit of comfort), mentioning that what happened was unfair, he deserved that win after everything he'd been through the entire season and that night and how proud you were of him. Also adding that he could call you when he felt like doing so because he wouldn't be in the headspace to talk to people at the time.

Seven hours later, you were done with your scenes for the day at ten in the night. The first thing you did after entering the vanity was checking your phone and your message to him was still at 'delivered', which increased your worry and anxiety.

After a bit, you got the idea of dropping a message to Angela, who was somebody you were close to too. You knew the Wolffs, Miles and Daniel, you even met his parents, stepmum and his siblings too when you'd been to the Silverstone race but Angela was somebody you bonded along with very well. She was one of the sweetest persons you'd met and also took care of you like an older sister would whenever you were around.

But you'll only get a response a while later since it's probably the wee hours at Abu Dhabi right now, you thought as you sighed. The race and your work has already drained out all your energy and despite your mind being absolutely restless because of how anxious you felt, but you had to drive yourself to sleep somehow. The director wouldn't be happy seeing her lead actress with puffy eyes and barely any energy the next day.

By the time you landed on your bed, it struck midnight and your phone let out the notification sound, showing the message from Angela which said that Lewis wasn't doing great and hadn't spoken to anybody yet.

Now how were you going to be able to sleep after knowing that?

“I touch your hand for the first time, I see it on your face, then another lifetime's flashin' by.”

"You see the star there? That one's called Sirius." he tells you, pointing to a specific region in the night sky.

"I didn't peg you to be somebody who was familiar with Harry Potter references, Hamilton." you give him a surprised, yet impressed look.

"There's a lot more to me than meets the eye darling, you'll see." he tells you cockily and you playfully rolled your eyes, shaking your head.

"This might just be one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen." you said in awe, your eyes fixed at the sparkling stars laid on an endless canvas of the dark blue sky.

"Mhm yeah, it definitely is." the sweet and distracted voice of the man who'd been surrounding you and your thoughts for the past couple of months came through and you turned your head towards him, finding him looking at you.

You felt your cheeks heat and you could only let out a giggle in response, not knowing how to respond because of how flustered he made you feel.

Lewis Hamilton was definitely a lot more cheesy than one would ever assume.

"I'm sorry I couldn't plan anything fun, there's pandemic restrictions so everything around is almost shut." he apologizes and you melt at how heartful he sounds about it.

"Don't be ridiculous Lew, I've loved every moment of this date so far." you assure him with a soft smile. Star gazing with somebody you've admired for so long as a first date was something that nobody could beat.

"Well, how can I make the date better?" he asks and your eyes light up in silent laughter thinking he's joking but then you look at him, it turns out that he was actually being serious.

Dear god, what type of dates had this man been on?

"Well that's a hard one because I feel like the date has already met the standards." you pretend to think for a moment "Maybe you could let Roscoe join us?" you ask him, giving him a grin which made him fall for you even more.

"Now that's not fair." he playfully whines "This time is for us. He loves you too much, will take away all your attention from me." he said, referring to all the times the both of you spend with your mutual friends. He was right, the bulldog did take a lot of your time.

"Well I've at least gotta win over one heart right?" you said, reflecting your doubts about him considering if the thing between the both you was anything serious or not.

"Well in that case, his heart will be the second one you've won over from this house." he said and you looked at him, your eyes softening with warmth and your cheeks turning red as you move closer to him.

He feels it too, you thought as he wrapped his arm around you, making you sigh in bliss.

Nearly two years later, the morning after the catastrophic race, the first thing you saw after waking up were the words "I don't think I can do this anymore, I need some space and time away." on your phone and at that moment, you had been absolutely destroyed.

It felt like everything in you had just been dropped down and shattered without any noise, you just feel so hollow and empty on the inside.

You couldn't ridicule him for feeling devastated, anybody would understand how much yesterday meant to him and how it affected him even if they didn't know him personally.

But you believed that you were comfortable enough to be with each other through any situation, happiness or despair. You believed that he found the same comfort, solace and safety that you found in him.

But it turns out that he didn't. The both of you went all the way from a video call like a regular couple would before the race to a text like somebody that didn't really mean anything to him a later, he pushed you out.

“I bet you're happy and that's fine. But I regret just one thing, I never got to change your mind”

He'd been back on the screens for the next season. Despite all the news about him discontinuing racing, you knew he'd go back.

Racing was everything to him, it was quite literally everything he'd known. He'd spoken openly about the struggles that him and his dad faced to reach where he was in the racing industry.

He knew how to rise up from the worst moments, he always had it in him.

You were still a mess. It had been almost three months since the text which broke everything in you. But there he was, having interviews with his teammate, a happy grin on his face.

Being an F1 fan for a long time, you always kept up with whatever news was on about the grid and Lewis had quite the spotlight when it came to headlines about his professional life or personal life.

You knew that he wasn't really the person for serious relationships after a point in his career. All of his focus was on Formula 1, rightfully so, which was why one night stands and short flings were what he went for.

You knew that even before you met him, you knew it whilst being friends but you still agreed to date him despite that one thing freaking you out. He had a hold on you, such an aura around him. You were always in this bubble of happiness, positivity and peace when you were with him.

Although his past relationships made you think about a lot of 'what if-s', how could you say no to a guy who made you feel like that?

Well, this was the consequence of giving in to emotions rather than logic. Your heart had been shattered like fritted glass, while he was back to normal like the break up was nothing but a minor collateral damage.

Work was always a top priority but all those moments that the both of you shared had a lot of meaning right?

“And I'm doin' okay. In the back of my mind, all I hear is your name”

The last time you slept well was the night before the Abu Dhabi race. You were normally a light sleeper, which gave you a pretty decent amount of sleep to feel good the next day.

But ever since that night, your sleep had come down only a few hours every week. You'd just walk about the room feeling restless, scroll through your phone or laptop or the television to pass time, there were some days where you just stared at the ceiling, the thoughts in your head just rushing in with memories of Lewis and you'd end up bursting into tears, sleeping over taking you after your eyes would turn red and puffy. And after two or three hours, you'd be awake again, tossing and turning around the bed.

And it was safe to say the sight of food started making you feel sick, your face would literally scrunch at the sight of it. But you still had to eat a minimum amount of food that would help you survive a day at work. Completely cutting out on food, which you had the urge to do, would completely affect the image on you and your career, which you felt was too risky.

Everybody had noticed you spiralled down, you could feel it too but you just stopped caring about anything after a point, you just felt so empty in your head to push yourself. Acting was the only thing that had you taking steps forward in life.

Soon enough, there were articles out on the news about you, commenting on the drastic weight loss that had been noticed in you, caused by the change in your eating habits. Your fans also began to notice how your use of social media had come down drastically, since you always had the habit of interacting with them frequently and also shared random pictures and videos from your day at work, especially if it was in a place far from home.

And that made the pressure from the people close to you increase. After getting to know about your break up with Lewis, your parents and close friends urged you to talk more, to let out how you were feeling. But you always convinced them by saying that you were alright, that you understood why he needed the break up and you just went along with life, your work satisfying you at the moment.

The moment you came back home after you were done with the movie you were working on for the past couple of months, the first thing your mum did was make you sit next to her and reminded you of all the hard times you'd been through, of all the people you had in your life who still cared for you and loved you, about how there were people out there who admired your work.

And that's when it struck you, that yes, you did lose a particular feeling love in your life. But there was so much more to life that made living your life whole heartedly rather than making it more painful for you, more that you'd already been through because of your heart getting broken by a certain British man.

You took a small break from your work and the fast life around you, spending the time with your family and friends, parallelly going to therapy as well. Although the scar of that heartbreak was always going to remain, the slow paced yet quality time helped your wounds heal little by little.

And then you were back to work, feeling better than you'd been for the past couple of months. You were able to breathe freely, feeling the light weighted space in you.

But there were still certain things that reminded you of him. One day, you saw a bull dog being taken on a walk by its owner, your mind would fly to how Roscoe would lie down in between you and Lewis, snuggling in the night. The smell or sight of tea would remind you about how the both of you would keep arguing about whether tea or coffee was better, you loving coffee and him being always so British and loving tea. But nevertheless he knew how to make coffee the way you liked it and you knew the same for his tea. The sound of a piano would remind you of the times he would play it and sing his favourite songs, even teaching you the basics of how to play it sometimes. Stargazing and watching Formula 1 was something you just stopped altogether, not being able to handle the intensity of the emotions it brought in you.

If there was anything that made you feel relieved now, it was about how it didn't hurt as much as it used to and how the control he had your thoughts had come down.

"Talkin' wildly out of context, I wish things were different. But I'll never know”

What the hell just happened, you thought as you looked at the screen of the TV in the garage.

It took you everything to not break into a string of curse words but if anything, you were really worried if Lewis was okay.

The man literally had a car on top of his with the tyres nearly touching his head, dear god.

And you had no clue how he would react after coming back to the garage. He wasn't the one to tantrums but was he somebody who just stayed quiet? Did he deal with the anger he felt? Would he like having anybody around him to comfort him? Or did he prefer being alone?

You had spent a good number of days with him, an amount of time that could turn into a bunch of months if you added them up, but all the races you'd been to for the past year were always good ones. You were there when he won his seventh world championship but this was the first time you were around during a bad race, a one with a scary DNF.

He didn't know you were here for the race. Due to the COVID protocols, you had to quarantine for a few days before being able to meet Lewis and you didn't have a break or gap of that many days that often which made being at his races quite hard. So you thought that you could surprise him at the Monza GP, coming into the garage after he got into the car.

What you planned was to hide in some corner of the Mercedes garage and meet him in his driver's room after he went there, yelling a cheerful "surprise!". But you obviously couldn't do that now, considering what just happened. How you would meet him was barely on your mind now, you were scared about how he was after the crash.

"Hey, he's back in his driver's room. You can go and meet him now." Angela came and told you, a few minutes after you were restlessly tapping your feet up and down.

"Oh thank god, how is he? No injuries right?" you ask her anxiously, a shaky breath leaving your body.

"He's alright now, nothing serious has happened to him. He has some headache and pain in the neck, he'll be back to normal in a matter of some time." she assures you, giving you a comforting smile and places her around your shoulder, knowing how worried you get about him.

"Would he be alright with having me around now Ange? I think he'd want some silence for now." you said, giving her an unconvincing smile.

"Don't be ridiculous, he just had a scary race. None of his family and close friends are around now either, he'll obviously love to have you around now. You'll make his day better and he'll calm down." Angela convinces you and you walk towards his driver's room, still debating in your mind if you should step in or not.

Angela knocks the door and speaks out so that Lewis thinks it her, rushing towards the team before Lewis opens the door so that the both of you can have your space.

The sound of the room's door opening brings you out of your over thinking. "Um, hey?" you tell him in a shaky voice, eyes scanning over him to see if he was alright. Of course Angela wouldn't lie to you but for some reason, it wasn't sinking in your mind until you saw him.

His eyes widened in surprise "You're here? Wait a minute- you're actually here." he says and his reaction made your nerves calmed down a bit.

"Well, the plan was to keep a rather happy surprise." you say, giving him a weak smile "If you want to be alone for some time, I'll go back and sit with Ange, I totally understand-" he cut off your rambling by taking your hand in his and pulling you in for a hug.

"Don't be ridiculous, I'm glad you're here. C'mon in." he said, wrapping his arms around your waist and placing his forehead on your shoulder "missed you and that scent so much." he mumbles as you place your hand through his braids, running your fingers through his hair to calm him down, like he always liked it.

"I can feel your heartbeat and it's going crazy. We've been together for a year and I still scare you?" he teases you, referring to the initial days of knowing him. Timid was an understatement. Having been a huge fan of the sport and him for years before you first met him, you always shared many shy smiles and few words with him, scared that your rather talkative side which always went on rambling would annoy him.

"I don't know- that just, that was scary. I'm so worried baby, the tyre was literally so close to your head." you sighed as he sat on the couch, placing you on his lap.

"Stuff like this happens time and again in racing, you've watched it over the years. At that moment I tried to shuffle inside the car as much as possible and lowered my head down, so nothing from the car reached my head. Don't worry sweetheart, I'm totally alright." he says, rubbing circles on your waist in the hopes of calming you down.

"Ange told me you have a headache and neck pain though, don't lie to me." you mumbled, pushing away the braids to a side and placing a small kiss on his forehead. He just gives you a reassuring smile, his eyes signifying that it'll be gone soon and he places his head on your shoulder, snuggling in for comfort as you placed your hand on his back and rubbing it up and down.

Thinking of the memory from that day made you wonder only one thing. Would the both of you still be together if you were together? If he would've seeked your comfort or just push you away nevertheless.

You guess you'd never know, Monza was one DNF while what happened at Abu Dhabi was something brought in such loss and affected his perspective about his career and life.

You knew it didn't end well, there were so many things left unspoken between the two of you. It was bad, but both of you would've been so good together.

#lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x actress!reader #lewis hamilton one shot #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #saisha writes #f1 imagine

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heymrspatel · 8 months

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jujubee, i come with Very Important Discourse regarding ian “is not an ally” gallagher!

we all know he’s gay dude, not queer, & takes that distinction incredibly seriously. BUT have you thought about him being at best a kink questioner, but at worst, a kink shamer?! that’s right. i’m talking about when his sleepover inviting, courageously smooching boyfriend shared his Big Ass Beads with him & he said:

not cool, ian baby, not cool… 🙃

also thank you to @mickeygifs for the screengrab of a scene that is very hard to find online with captions because of all the trauma that happens just after this moment! bah!

bee in my inbox! with Very Important Discourse and an evidence screenshot to boot, just like old times 🥰

look, this baby orange did not know a thing. he thought he did, but he did not. he's gaaay not queer, what is this rosary for giaaaants mick, play what chiiiiill, what is a quiiiinoa, etccc... so, i can't blame the tiny tangerine as he was missing critical information and life experience. "why sex if not selfish?" oh mini satsuma 😓... but i know he got there, i'm positive of it!

i sleep soundly at night knowing that ian found the fun in wrecking mickey within an inch of his life with any fucking toy he's feeling that day! i know he had a big epiphany all caps bold italicized OH moment in finding how much fun that can be! he's a fucking beefsteak tomato now. mickey's fun is HIS fun, and shit do they have the best time! 😌

#i will not hold baby orange accountable for his non-ally kink shaming ways but he is 🤏🏼 - beefsteak tomato tho. he does better!#bee this made me laugh so hard!! also hi! remember when we would inbox all the time? wow. look at us!#gallawitchxx #asks

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merrycrisis-if · 10 months

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I wonder, if MC told Qiu "ask me to say", does Qiu dream of that moment? Do they remember it on important dates such as MC's birthday, anniversaries (because I can deffo see Qiu having the day they met, the day they became a couple, etc marked in a calendar or memorized in their heart)... the day MC left?

How much do they wish to turn back in time to that exact moment and tell them "please, don't leave"?

Hahaha I am sure that moment haunts Qiu.

Like you said, it probably floats up unbidden whenever Qiu thinks a little too hard about MC, whether it be something that reminds them of MC, or a special date.

P.S. It was also inspired by the vibes of this scene in Portrait of a Lady on Fire between Héloïse and Marianne.

Explanation of the context of the plot below—italicized part from Google, the rest is added by me (obviously spoilers for the movie, so avoid it if you want to watch it unspoiled. But watch it!! It's so good. That movie changed my life.)

Marianne, a painter, is commissioned to do the wedding portrait of Héloïse, a young woman who has just left the convent. Héloïse is a reluctant bride to be and Marianne must paint her without her knowing. She observes her by day, to paint her secretly.

And basically they fall in love, and eventually the time comes when the painting is done, and Marianne must leave, and Héloïse must get married. The scene is of Marianne being sad about it, and Héloïse asks, "do you want me to resist the marriage", and Marianne says yes. Héloïse asks, "are you asking me to?" and after a long pause, Marianne says no.

I LOVE THAT. Oh god, that scene destroyed me.

I feel like the scene is similar to what I wanted to achieve with MC's "ask me to stay" and Qiu's "I can't".

#merry crisis #if #interactive fiction #asks #qiu #MC #Qiu x MC #portrait of a lady on fire #Heloise x Marianne

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devilruin · 6 months

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【 Please note! 】 ⎯⎯⎯ Please remember to look at each author's do not interact criteria and blog rules before interacting with them! Also, please check each work for specific tags!

if a link to a piece is :

⛧ ⋅ italicized ― it contains explicit content

⛧ ⋅ bold ― it contains dark content

⛧ ⋅ italicized and bold ― it contains both dark and explicit content

✧ @smalltasteofhoney ― biscuit radiates this warm and fluffy kind of energy, and her words flow like honey (hehe...), i love seeing her pop up on my dash sm! whenever i read a piece from her, i always wonder 'how did she know they'd do that?'

personal picks : yandere vil thoughts (a crooked crown really does look so pretty on him) , "you just don't know what's good for you" with vil (ouch, right in the feels...) , which twisted wonderland characters would babytrap their darling? (not pictured: me nodding me head and going "oh yeah, he'd do that") , what to expect in bed with the twisted wonderland boys? (adore all of these and completely agree!) , yandere gojo thought (i bet his darling rejoices while he's gone) , and some lilia brainrot (why is it that whenever he smiles, a chill runs up my spine?)

✧ @sugoscurry ― i love sugo's characterization so much! her lilia makes me absolutely feral and i think i've reread her alizarin series at least a few dozen times... she's got a great sense of humor too, and i have found myself wheezing at her author notes more than a few times (dios mio chicos always gets me)

personal picks : alizarin with lilia (the og lilia fuckers bedtime story) , alizarin crimson (sorry reader, i think you're doomed) , alizarin crimson hue (poor reader... i told you so) , petplay oneshot with crewel (bark bark woof woof) , explicit staff headcanons (best idea, take them all on) , general yandere staff headcanons (did you know that power and control go hand in hand?) , explicit disaomnia headcanons (maleficent sure knows how to pick them) , milf-maker with childe (he'd do anything to get his prize) , “you’ve been so good lately, my pet. don’t make me have to punish you.” with crewel (immediately wagging my non-existent tail at supersonic speed) , “you don’t even know how lucky you are. I protect you and provide for you. don’t act so ungrateful.” with crowley (well eXcuSE me then) , yandere incubus malleus (the only dream demon who i'd wake up for) , and who in nrc has a virginity kink? (corruption tastes so perfect late at night)

✧ @uvobreakmylegs ― if i could bottle up the sun and gift it to pika, i would. unfortunately i cannot, so i must settle with simply singing my praises about their superb writing. the setting of the scene, the interactions between characters, the descriptions of every twinge of emotion, everything is delicately crafted with their skilled hands, and all i can do is stare in awe.

personal picks : set pattern with hisoka (pure trashy clown behavior right here, it's perfect) , right place, right time with illumi (featuring the troupe is such a fun touch, i love the witty banter and mind games between illumi and chrollo!) , last day out with chrollo (goodbye sunlight...it was nice while it lasted) , hypnagogia with illumi (i can just imagine him letting out a breath of relief once he sees darling alive, only for his expression to immediately change to an eerily blank slate) , with greatest care with pakunoda (she's both cloyingly sweet and bitterly dark when it comes to her darling) , and the sixth floor game with shalnark (this honestly feels like it could be a real game and just the thought of playing it gives me the chills)

✧ @wri0thesley ― nat is a lovely person and deserves the whole world (with some free clothes of their choice) ! i come back to their works all the time, and love reading some of their longer works before bed! their writing sucks me in and makes it difficult for me to pull my eyes away from my screen!

personal picks : midnight musings with dottore and pantalone (all the trouble with double the pleasure) , dead & young & fair with diluc (another absolute top-tier vampire diluc work, i love how reader's relationship with diluc evolves through the piece) , dottore torturing diluc's captured wife (he would be this nasty, wouldn't he?) , pierro age gap (i'd happily turn into a sinner for this man nya) , everything that a big bad wolf could want with toji (brb gotta reapply my lip balm and fix my bunny dress) , kaeya with a hand and choking kink (the idea of there being a difference between the feel of his more calloused sword hand and his smoother non-dominant hand is sending me) , kaeya with a clumsy maid darling (don't mind me i'm just twirling my hair and giggling at the idea of going "oops, i sooo didn't mean to drop this plate in front of you" to him while bending over) , pulling on diluc's hair (i bet it would be so soft...) , wedding rings with toji (third wife status never looked so tempting...) , the machinist and the faerie with gojo (grade-a gojo right here! plus the faerie lore! the world-building! the characters!!! everything is put together so well, i really adore this piece) , and favorite (so far) with toji (do you hear that? it's my corruption kink popping off the walls)

✧ @wyvernne ― wyvernne is an absolute beast (in terms of both quantity and quality) when it comes to writing! when i first stumbled upon her vampire diluc work, i read it all in one setting, and it took me over an hour to finish (and i'm a fast reader!) it was totally worth all the tears and missed sleep!

personal picks : [links are to her works on ao3] for reasons wretched and divine with diluc (imho, this is THE vampire diluc work) , sometimes, all i think about is you with childe (he's such a fucking tease, the little shit) , and black hearted angels sunk me with kisses on my mouth with kaeya (he's so cruel and yet so lovely)

✧ @yandere-romanticaa ― ana is a collector of all things yandere, and her blog shows it! i love her red + black color scheme, and her aesthetic is always on point! she's a wonderful person and i have a hard time not falling in love with her lovely personality (especially when paired with her jokes!) sadly she does not have a masterlist, however just scrolling through her archive (with tags filtered) works too!

personal picks : yandere malleus draconia (who knew a pouty lizard could be so cute) , some thoughts on kaeya's flirtatiousness (i also agree that he's pretty damn guarded) , lilia vanrouge's yandere alphabet (gotta love me an ancient fae that can't cook to save a life!) , and yandere diluc headcanons (blushy, stuttering, yandere mess diluc!)

if you would like to be removed from this list, please let me know!

#🏛️ — prized collection #recommendation library #author recommendations #work recommendations

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callipraxia · 11 days

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An Irregular Interlude

I wanted to make some, like, vaguely intelligent-sounding further commentary on the bits of the Hirsch interview that I found especially interesting today...but my brain is completely fried after work and I can't do word stuff all that well. Certainly not up to the standard I'd like, anyway. So instead, you're going to, if so inclined, get to see the interview-inspired scenes from Weirdmageddon: The Musical! that my brain spontaneously produced while I was trying to come up with actual commentary....

"He’s like- he’s like [handwave] “Ford’s gonna- Ford’s gonna be back. Ohh, [air quotes] we had such a big fight, Ford’s sooo mad at me,” oh, you know, “our will-they-won’t-they-take-over-the-universe relationship, like, he’s gonna- he’s gonna march off in a huff, and he’ll be back, ‘cause we’re- is Ford gonna find anyone else in the multiverse that strokes his ego as well as me?” Is there anybody else in the universe that’s gonna make Ford feel as important as Bill? No, of course not, Ford needs validation, and so Bill knows Ford’s gonna be back eventually.

This quote set me on a loopy train of thought that I found amusing in a warped way, and it only makes sense if, for whatever reason, you're familiar with a piece of musical theater about a pair of historical murderers, but...if you do, by some chance, know of the song "Everybody Wants Richard” from Stephen Dolginoff’s Thrill Me, it...probably isn't hard to see how I read the above interview quote and instead of intelligent thoughts, I instead promptly pictured Bill singing some weird parody version called "Everybody Wants Stanford." For those unfamiliar with it, here's some actual lyrics from the original song:

"Tell me, who can you have conversations with - share your twisted observations with? Who else has a roughly similar view, if not me? You've played around with lots of losers who ended up as cheats and users, but who's been on the sidelines waiting for you, if not me?

Oh, I've come to find, everybody wants Richard, but they don't know your mind the way that I do. I see straight through anyone who needs Richard, they make me sick, they're good for just a kick, they won't stick the way that I do!

When you cut off all our contact, how it hurt! But I know you like to make me feel like dirt. But now you're back, and you know I'm beside you, your oldest, closest friend...

*skip a bunch to the end of the song*

"The others are wrong, they don't have a clue, or know the real you. Yes, everybody wants Richard - but not the way that I do! Admit that you've missed me, too!"

Now just imagine Bill's grating voice singing that, and with the camera cutting to a captive Stan and Fiddleford at "lots of losers," possibly with Bill attempting to literally kick one of them after declaring they make him sick. Also possibly with Ford objecting that "uh - that's what you like to do to me - " at the bit about "I know you like to make me feel like dirt," while Bill just blatantly ignores him in favor of continuing to attempt to manipulate him in rhyme. Where the original singer merely comes off as desperate when he complains that "they won't stick the way that I do," though, that becomes a borderline threat when you imagine it's Bill saying it, and then whole thing falls apart and the original lines stop making any sense in this context when the titular Richard, who thinks he is the Bill in his messed up relationship, anyway, replies to that last line I quoted in the italicized portion:

"I've only missed the worship."

...Yeah, very Bill-like line, that one. Not sure anyone else in the show could really pull that one off. Makes no sense for Ford to reply to...literally anything Bill could say that I can think of with that one, at least unless we're in an AU where Bill had at one point in the past given him power, anyway. But now, if you were, say, really tired, and start turning different stanzas into some kind of weird song battle (a bit like Epic Rap Battles of History, but with song parodies instead of raps) for Ford's loyalties in the Fearamid between Bill and Fiddleford, though....this time I did situation-ify the lyrics, so forgive me where the rhymes don't quite work:

*bridge music plays, then the camera cuts to Fiddleford:*

" - yeeer, when y'threw me out the lab, that did hurt! But I know you likes t'make me feel like dirt." *Ford looks like he wants to object to that line again, but then thinks the better of it and just intently stares at his shoes* “But now you're back! and you know I'm beside you, your oldest, closest friend - who's sick of being lied to!

Tell me, who's 'is demon that was your priority? I've got word on good authority! How can you assume - " *spits tobacco contemptuously in Bill's direction* - "that thingummajiggy's worthy of...bein' friends with you? It ain't me! As fer secrets - you've got plenty others -" *glances sideways at Stan, who looks deeply unamused* " - I hadn't prev'losly known that you even had no brothers - but who else ever tried so hard to please you? Only me! Oh, dag blast! everybody wants Stanford, but they don't know your past the way that I do...

...and God knows why I think you're so appealing, or why you had to be so double-crossing, double-dealing! But...it's been so long - not sure why I’m sayin’ this inna song - but point is, that pointy idjit is wrong, he ain't gotta clue, I know the real you...

*camera cuts to Stan, apparently under the impression he might contribute a verse. Stan starts speaking normally instead, completely deadpan:*

"...yep, you're on your own, bro, this is freaking weird, I'm out, I have and I want absolutely nothing to do with this - "

*Stan is seized by whatever force has somehow made this mess into really bad musical theater in the murky corridors of Calli's sleep-deprived brain, only he's getting his lyrics from a completely different song, one originally sung by Iago from the Aladdin trilogy:*

" - I've had it! I hate to be dramatic, but it's time for me to fly the coop! Terrific! Fine! I'm drawing the line, before I end up looking like a dupe! I was a fool to bring you onto this show - now I'm cutting ya loose, pal, have fun with these bozos!" *jerks thumb in the direction of Fiddleford and Bill, who both look indignant.* "Hasta la vista, c'est la vie, hope all goes well! I'm looking out for me..."

...I really, really, really need some sleep.

#gravity falls #gravity falls characters #stanford pines #bill cipher #stan pines #fiddleford mcgucket #song parody #things that should not exist #i should go to bed

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yeetlegay · 2 years

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why ep 5 Porsche is hard to read

I’m gonna try and keep this brief (for once lol) but I had a bit of an italicized oh moment today.

There’s been a lot of debate and brilliant analyses since Saturday about where Porsche’s head is at and how he feels after what happened that night at the auction. I spoke a little bit about it myself in a response to an ask. Obviously we can’t really know until we hear it from Porsche himself, but I’d like to suggest that a big part of the reason that we’ve had such trouble parsing Porsche’s feelings, especially as they relate to sex with Kinn, is because Porsche himself hasn’t decided how he feels.

Episode 5 was Kinn pushing Porsche away, Porsche getting hurt, Kinn being cruel, Porsche trying to bait him into being honest. Just a back-and-forth of Kinn hurting Porsche and Porsche trying not just to withstand it, but to push back against Kinn.

That’s why the scene when Porsche comes back from the bar is so interesting, because we see Kinn have a moment of weakness, but we also see Porsche actively provoking him to that point. We see Kinn lean in, we see Porsche tilt his chin, sway just slightly forward to meet him. And then, of course, Kinn covers up that moment with another pointed cruelty, another reiteration that Porsche is unimportant, superfluous.

I think this scene might tell us what Porsche’s goal is. I think Porsche is trying to get Kinn to talk about that night, not just for communication’s sake, but because he needs to know how Kinn feels in order to know how he feels.

That line at the end of episode 4 (”Just admit that you like me. Otherwise, why would you kiss me at the pier?”) is the whole crux of how episode 5 unfolds. Porsche is asking Kinn if he likes him, because Pete told him people only kiss people they like. So in this scene, he’s making advance after advance on Kinn under the assumption that, because Kinn kissed him at the pier, that means he likes him. And when Kinn kisses him, Porsche takes it as a confirmation that Kinn does like him. Porsche is consenting to sex with Kinn believing that there are feelings involved.

But the next day, while Porsche is still numb and coming to terms with being drugged and kidnapped, Kinn immediately starts distancing himself and treating Porsche harshly and dismissively. So Porsche is left confused and isolated, thinking that maybe he was alone in thinking their encounter was something beyond physical. And with each interaction, despite Porsche pushing back, Kinn doubles down and continues to treat Porsche with indifference and even cruelty.

What I’m getting at is that I think Porsche’s complicated feelings around having sex with Kinn (and the confusion on some viewers’ part over whether or not it was consensual) actually center on whether or not Kinn has feelings for Porsche (which, obviously we know he does, but poor Porsche needs to hear it). Basically, Porsche consented to sex with feelings. And now that Kinn is, in every word and action, denying that he has any of those feelings, Porsche feels duped, violated, betrayed. He didn’t consent to a casual fuck, and Kinn in the moment gave him every indication that there was nothing casual about it.

Obviously we can’t really know how Porsche feels until he communicates it himself, and hopefully this actually makes sense lol, but basically their relationship at this point is really complicated and gray and there’s no easy way to sum up what they’re feeling. I’m not too hung up on the consent debate so this isn’t me tagging into that really, more just trying to make sense of what Porsche is aiming at in episode 5 and what exactly he’s trying to goad Kinn into saying or doing.

#kinnporsche #meta

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evertidings · 1 year

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oh my god. i went back to my hunter/blane save to see what the scene is like if blane's the one who gets stabbed and kristi. ma'am. you gave me the ITALICIZED OH i stared at the option for a good minute you are a genius it was perfect - also my hunter and blane are usually antagonistic towards each other and seeing their first emotional moment was 🥺🥺

oh.

that’ll never not get me. the stab scenes were sooo fun to write especially the ones for Blane and K. they might seem like assholes, but there’s a heart somewhere deep inside them. Blane wrestling with wanting to stay blunt and cold but passing out and leaving their trust in the hunter. K hating being vulnerable in front of anyone but having no choice but to leave their fate with the hunter. chefs kiss.

#ask #blane rekner #k de vries

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lycorogue · 12 days

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Latest Story: You Pretended Not to Care

HOO BOY! THIS STORY! (And by that, I mean the source material) I've barely written 3k words of fictional prose since 2022. Then I read through episode 20 of the webcomic adaptation of Not Your Typical Reincarnation Story (aka I Thought It Was A Common Transmigration), and I churn out a 7200-word BEAST to fill in that "fade to black" we got.

I did try to write this so even if you don't know/remember the source material you can still (hopefully) enjoy this sweet bit of smut. Hope I did right by all of you!

Oh! And btw, it wasn't until after I had this story edited did I go back and find the English translation of the original Korean webnovel. I'm pleasantly surprised at how close I was to the character's motivation and inner monologue. It was so cool to find out that I was able to pick up on the crumbs the author (and adaptor) left for me.

Also, in case it isn't clear, any italicized text between two chevrons (<>) is Killian remembering passages from Edith's diary. Also, for any who may be unfamiliar with the source material, or who might need a refresher, the reason Killian had Edith's diary in the first place was because she used it as a handwriting sample to prove papers were forged in her hand.

Finally, I tried really hard to make it evident when I switched POVs. If any part (or the whole thing 😬) feels "head-hoppy" please let me know.

OK! Enough stalling!

Summary: When Suna Choi reincarnated as Edith Rigelhof, the villainess of the novel Suna read the night before she died, she knew she had to do everything possible to avoid Edith's cruel execution at the hands of her own husband. Seemed easy enough to avoid the pitfalls that led to Edith's demise. She attempted to befriend the novel's protagonist Rhyse Sinclair. She refused to be her despicable father's spy. Most importantly, she wouldn't fall in love with her husband Killian Rudwick. His heart already belonged to Rhyse, and his arranged marriage to Edith wasn't going to change that. Despite her best efforts, Edith is still being forced down the same path as the original novel's plot. At least, that's what it seems like. But when Edith finally waves the white flag and decides to just follow the plot after all, the novel again has other plans. Edith steels herself for the next main plot point: a failed attempt to seduce her husband… except… this time it isn't going to fail…. **A more in-depth look at Episode 20 of the Webtoon adaptation that doesn't shy from the smut** Rating: Mature/Explicit (due to description of a sex scene) Word Count: 7,228 Status: completed one-shot Continue reading below, or find this story over on AO3 or on DA.

You Pretended Not to Care

Dreading what she was about to do, Edith cracked open Killian's bedroom door. She hated this. She hated it all. She hated that she had no control over this life either. She hated that her fate was locked in. She hated that she had no choice but to have the entire Rudwick family despise her. To have Killian hate her.

Worst of all, she hated how she didn't hate him in return. She wanted to. She needed to. It would make everything easier. Despite the past three months, though, she didn't hate her husband. What's worse, there were those quiet moments where he didn't seem to remember that he was supposed to hate her as well.

Those quiet moments - those glimmers of hope that he could maybe learn to love her - were the cruelest parts of this new life. Those breaths of fresh air where she truly believed that she might have found a home where she could relax and enjoy life. That she found a loving family. That someone could maybe fall in love with her. That she wasn't destined to have her own husband cut her down while she begged for his mercy.

She didn't want to advance the story to its next plot beat. It was too painful to be so vulnerable, and for that vulnerability to be twisted into manipulation and used against her. She had no choice though. That was now clear. Despite how much she fought to not be the Edith Rigelhof she had read about, despite showing kindness and humility and making every strategic move she could think of to avoid Edith's downfall, the story marched on exactly the same.

Edith purposefully didn't pick out dresses for herself while the dressmakers were at the estate, and she was still accused of being rudely disapproving, unappreciative, and entitled. She graciously accepted the dainty ruby necklace Rhyse picked out for her, and yet Cliff still bought all of the other jewels for Rhyse in order to make a point. Just like in the novel. Edith wanted nothing to do with espionage and smuggling information to her father. She even sent him a letter stating precisely that. She was then framed and accused of espionage nonetheless. It didn't matter what she tried. The story was already written. There was no way to change it. The plot would just correct itself to keep following the path already carved by the novel.

Tonight, Edith will attempt to seduce her husband. There was no getting around it. The story would find a way to make sure of that. She'd probably still be accused of it; hated for it. She'd lose Killian no matter what she tried. She might as well lean into her fate. She could at least enjoy getting one kiss.

Edith stood beside Killian's bed. She stared at his beautiful face; his bangs fallen into his eyes. His white shirt was loose and partially unbuttoned, leaving a tantalizing view of his strong, broad chest. A chest she wanted to lie upon; to be held against. Edith knew she was doomed the second she set eyes on Killian. Not just because he was destined to literally kill her, but because – aside from his older brother's mesmerizing golden eyes – Killian was the most breathtakingly beautiful human she had ever seen.

She knew the deal. Killian was madly in love with his family's ward: Rhyse Sinclair. He'd spend his whole marriage to Edith loathing the arrangement and resenting his wife's very existence. It was impossible to win her husband's affection, especially away from gorgeous and charming little Rhyse. There was no point in falling in love with Killian.

She couldn't resist no matter how hard she tried, however. Even before being reincarnated as Edith, Suna Choi had preferred Killian. He was the secondary love interest of the novel Stop Obsessing Over Me, Brother! She knew that his attempts were hopeless, that Rhyse and Cliff were end-game. Still, the way Killian loved Rhyse and supported her felt so much more sincere. Suna had wondered what it would be like for Killian – or, really, any man – to love her the way he loved Rhyse.

And then she was reincarnated as his wife in an arranged marriage. She saw him pine over Rhyse instead of her. Suna didn't fault him, though. It was that devotion towards Rhyse that Suna had fallen in love with Killian for in the first place. She didn't begrudge Rhyse for making Killian smile so brilliantly. She just wished he would smile her way now and again as well.

After tonight, there was no hope that she'd ever see Killian smile again.

Good, she thought, I can't keep pretending this marriage will ever work out. I can't keep holding onto hope. After this incident, please hate me like you're supposed to. So that I can resolve my own feelings.

Edith brushed her hair back and out of her face as she leaned down towards her husband. His soft lips were temptingly parted as he slept; beckoning. It would be the last bit of fun Edith would be able to have. She could give herself a treat. Make what she was about to do worth it.

Even with how cruel Killian had been to her, though, she couldn't do that to him. She knew that he was saving every part of himself for Rhyse. He was going to hate Edith either way, but she couldn't bear to take that away from him. She wasn't the villainess they had all decided she was.

Instead, her lips drifted to his forehead, softly brushing his bangs out of the way without use of her hands. She soaked him in best she could; inhaling his scent as her lips tenderly kissed his smooth skin, the tension of his daily scowling at her relaxed as he slept.

Her lips lingered a bit longer than they probably needed. She didn't want to pull away and give up the only loving contact she'd probably ever have with her husband. Edith needed it all over with, though. She retreated slightly, but still stayed close enough that her face would fill Killian's vision as he opened his eyes.

Now, when he wakes up, Edith thought, he'll look at me with disgust.

She wanted to avoid this next part so bad. She feared seeing what true disgust would look like carved on Killian's angelic face. She knew she'd seen close, and it pained her each time she remembered each of those cold, heartless looks. This would be a new level, though, and she struggled to not cry in anticipation.

Killian stirred oh-so-slightly. His breathing shifted. His lashes fluttered.

Here it comes. Get it over with, Killian. Prove to me that you will only ever hate me.

Edith expected a scowl upon him seeing her. Shouting. Shoving. A demand for guards to take her out of his sight. A berating for her vulgar behavior.

She did not expect Killian's right hand snatching hold of her left wrist.

Edith jumped back, tugging slightly against Killian's tight, but still gentle, grip.

“You pretended not to care this whole time.” There wasn't any grogginess in his sharp tone. It was as if he had been awake the whole time. Edith panicked that he had somehow known about her seduction attempt and had faked being asleep.

She wiggled to break free, but Killian tightened his grip. Edith was startled not by his strength, but by his control. His grip was firm, unrelenting, and a bit ravenous. But it didn't hurt. The tension made it seem like he wanted to hurt her, and yet his grip never once clamped down enough, as if something inside him was able to stop his muscles just before breaking that thin line.

“Are you now so overwhelmed with lust,” Killian continued, “that you can't pretend anymore?” He was sat up in bed. His head was tilted forward, knocking his bangs back into his eyes, giving him a mischievous, fox-like stare. He finally smiled at Edith, but it wasn't the warm, beaming, kind smile he would give to Rhyse. This was a lecherous smile full of cunning and the satisfaction of a successful hunt.

This wasn't how it was supposed to happen! Everything else had gone exactly how Edith had read it in the novel. No matter how she handled the situation, the end result was always the same. Edith was still accused of being vulgar and entitled after the dressmakers visited. She was still left with just the dainty necklace while Rhyse received the rest of the stock the jewelers brought to the estate. Edith was still accused of espionage, put under house-arrest, and eventually let go. It shouldn't have mattered what she did that night. Killian was still supposed to awake disgusted with her seduction attempt.

Killian's look was anything but disgusted though.

“No,” Edith choked out in fear. Her mind raced as she tried to sort out what Killian was planning on doing with her. “I just--”

“That's fine,” he interrupted. With the elegance and strength only gained from years of sword mastery, Killian yanked on Edith's left arm, pulling her towards his bed while also flipping her onto her back. In an instant, he was straddling her knees.

Edith's long, red hair billowed out behind her like a messy halo; pinned beneath her body. Her left arm equally pinned to the bed by Killian's stern grip still on her wrist. Her right arm was free, but it felt too heavy to move as Killian looked down on her with that mischievously lustful grin.

“Satisfy me, Edith. Seduce me like the Rigelhofs taught you.” Killian started undoing another button on his thin, white shirt. His eyes drilling into his stunned bride beneath him. “Who knows? I might end up attached to your body.” His voice got deep and had a voracious gravel to it.

What is he doing? This isn't right! This isn't how it was supposed to go at all!

“W-wait! Killian!” Edith willed her right arm to move, and she pried Killian's hand off of her. Without him pinning her down, Edith sat up best she could. Her eyes flashed with worry, panic, and confusion. She knew this wasn't what Killian wanted. It couldn't be. The novel version of him had no interest in Edith. He would never fall for her seduction attempts. He was too devoted to--

“Are you sure...” She took a deep breath. She didn't want to ask. She didn't want to hear his answer. She didn't want him to change his mind. She knew she had to be certain, however. “You'll be alright with me?”

Killian stopped undressing himself. The passion and thrill of the hunt flushed from his face as Edith looked up at him in full earnest.

“...and not Rhyse?” she finished.

A pain shot through Killian's chest and his stomach twisted slightly. Does she truly not care, he wondered, enough to bring up my feelings for Rhyse?

He pulled away, stepping off the bed and allowing Edith to sit the rest of the way up. Her eyes were so huge and sincere. It was hard to not recognize the surprise painted across her face. It made Killian want to both retreat from her and devour her.

Even if we were forced into a marriage of convenience... she really doesn't expect anything from me, her husband....

Her lack of expectation from him infuriated him. She was fully aware of his love for Rhyse, and she had resigned herself to a loveless marriage. Even so--

Killian was giving himself to Edith, and yet she stopped him. Even when he thought he was offering her exactly what she desired she still expected nothing from him.

Killian wanted to satisfy her. He demanded that she satisfy him, but he knew he wanted it the other way around. He wanted to reward her words in her diary. He wanted her to keep watching him and desiring him. He didn't want her to give up her fight for his affection. He yearned for her to crave him.

He rested a hand beside her leg on the edge of the bed, then made it creak slightly as he leaned towards her. She leaned away, giving him space as she studied him and tried to figure out his angle.

His angle was lust.

With the blinding swiftness he used before to catch her wrist and pull her onto the bed, Killian pinched Edith's chin between his thumb and forefinger. Halting her retreat instantly, Killian leaned closer, bringing her face inches from his. He stared intensely into her large, uneasy eyes, and delighted in how his boldness caused those doe eyes to soften and close slightly.

They were the furthest from Rhyse's eyes. Edith's large breasts – raising and lowering in quick, short breaths – were far from Rhyse's as well. Edith's full, supple thighs and curved hips were the opposite of Rhyse's slender frame. Her wavy, fiery red hair equally foiled the elegant fairness of Rhyse's straight golden-blonde locks.

Killian loved Rhyse. It was true. He'd do anything for her. He wanted to spend every waking moment with her. He delighted in her smile. He wanted to protect such a gentle and delicate woman. She was sunshine personified. He had wanted to give her his all.

Edith was the farthest from Rhyse that he could think of. Yet he also wanted to give her his all. In a different way. In a more primal way. He wanted to gift himself to Rhyse. He wanted to lose himself in Edith.

And yet, Edith hesitated when he offered precisely that. If this was what she wanted, why would she care if Killian would regret their night together?

“I should be asking you that question.” He whispered. Soft. Firm. Challenging. Playful. Aloof. Yearning. “Aren't you the one who was so confident in yourself that you would crawl into my bed in the middle of the night?”

She wouldn't believe him if he told her he wanted this. He wasn't even sure he could say those exact words.

Edith...

He'd get her to accept his offer. To forget Rhyse the way he did. This wasn't about her. This was about a man and his wife. This was about quelling a fire. This was about finally letting go and truly going for something he desired without hesitation.

Killian pressed his lips against Edith's.

Her eyes stayed wide; frozen in shock. Those lips weren't supposed to be hers, as much as she wanted them to be. They were Rhyse's. Killian had waited the last four years for her. He had never before felt the touch of a woman. Never tasted another's mouth. And yet he was pressed against Edith's.

It was a bit awkward. A little innocent, but still very lustful. Suna never felt this level passion before in her life. Either of them. It shot warm shivers through her core.

Killian ravenously pushed on her mouth with his own, trying to force her down. Edith retreated across the mattress, and he pursued her, crawling his way back onto his bed. His left knee wedged between her legs.

Edith's fear of the consequences and misconceptions of this night vaporized as Killian's kiss drained her brain of oxygen. This night alone didn't cause her eventual death, so why not enjoy the bliss?

With a gasp and slow exhale to steady his breath again, Killian pulled away. He towered over Edith as he remained kneeling with their legs interwoven. Before Edith could regain her own senses, Killian brusquely snatched her wrist once more.

“After all the snooping and sneaking glances,” Killian aggressively teased, “now you can touch me all you want.” He finished unbuttoning his shirt and pressed Edith's right hand against his tight pectoral. With a shrug his undone shirt slid off his shoulders, revealing them to her as well.

Edith fiercely blushed as she remembered that Killian had read a portion of her diary the day of her questioning. Her face and ears burned as she tried to mentally recount exactly what she had said about Killian; what he could have possibly read. How lustful had she been in her writings? Was he just toying with her to teach her a lesson?

“N-no,” Edith stammered in a panic, “that's not what I...” Her eyes darted from her hand on his chest up to Killian's deep, dark eyes. The puckish grin and challenging stare had both fallen; softened. Killian almost looked defeated; pleading. He couldn't have possibly wanted – genuinely wanted – Edith to lust after him, could he?

His chest beneath her hand was firm and silky, but it rose and fell in uneven, subtly quivering breaths.

That's right. Killian didn't know the touch of a woman before now. He wouldn't possibly go this far just to mess with me, right?

“What I mean is...” Edith relented. She pressed slightly with her finger tips, and Killian's grip loosened, more cradling her wrist than actually holding it. He gently directed her to follow the crease separating his pecs. Edith's fingers quaked against the soft ridges of his chest. Before her mind could catch up with her body, her fingers slid down to his abs. She outlined each one with her nails, memorizing the sensation as it shook through her.

Killian's muscles were all the more defined as he directed Edith to explore them. He flexed each one as her fingers wandered. He had to. It was the only way to keep himself from shivering at her touch. He wasn't expecting the tingles along his skin. He didn't anticipate how much his body would miss the delicate tickle of her fingers as they roamed to a different part of him. He wanted to collapse into her. He wanted to give her everything she desired of his body. He wanted to devour her in kind. He wanted to tear the nightgown she was wearing. Ruin his sheets. Decimate his mattress.

He had always been able to keep his lust in check before. He was able to have full control of himself. With Edith, however? With her feather-soft touch? With those fierce quips? With those saucer-large inquisitive eyes? With that porcelain skin? He was becoming a beast and he needed to rein himself in.

“Are you happy now?” He asked her barely above a whisper. His voice strained as he struggled to contain himself. They hadn't even done anything physically strenuous, yet sweat already dotted his temples. He hoped Edith didn't hear him gulp down the sticky saliva making his mouth dry and his teeth hungry for her skin.

He had never been preferred over his brother before. He was either Cliff's equal or he had fallen behind at some point. Killian knew his father would never overlook Cliff and name him heir of the dukedom instead. He also knew that it was pointless to think that he could ever win Rhyse away from Cliff. There was no world wherein Killian got what Cliff desired.

Killian didn't need to fight for Edith though. She was all his, and she preferred it that way. He wanted to make sure she would always choose him over his brother.

As he stared down at her, Edith melted at Killian's soft, flushed face. His tight voice rattled in her head; otherwise empty due to her brain traveling along with her fingers across Killian's exposed stomach. His hand giving her the guided tour. Happy? she thought, I could spend the rest of my life just touching this man's waist, stomach, arms, and chest...

Suddenly, she realized he had asked her a question that she didn't answer. Blushing harder, she focused on her hand traveling back up to his left pectoral. She was acutely aware of what she had been doing, and how humiliating it was that he had read her diary and then called her out on what she wrote via... this! She couldn't look at him. Not into those soft, pleading, lost eyes.

She tried to ignore the quivering in her voice as she answered. “Huh? Oh... I-I...”

Killian used his right hand to continue directing Edith's fingers as they skated across his chest. Meanwhile, his left hand found her ankle and started venturing its way up her leg, pushing her skirt up slightly as he did. His nails dug tantalizingly into the back of her calf just below her knee.

“Yes...” Edith breathed, finally answering Killian. Yes! Good Power Almighty, yes! In both this life and her previous one, she had never been more happy. She wanted this to go on endlessly.

Screw restraint. Edith's breathy “yes” was all Killian needed. That single word was filled with tension begging to be released. It broke Killian's willpower. He needed her now. His hand snaked from outside her gown to under it, feeling the silky lines of her bare legs. A fever raced through him and his groin twitched.

Like a taught fishing line, Killian's eyes darted to the nape of Edith's neck. That obscene lure that snagged him their wedding night. With an invisible yank of the line, Killian's lips crashed into her neck.

Edith gasped and twitched at the touch, which just made Killian linger there all the more. His teeth gently scraped across her collarbone and his lips brushed against her skin in phantom kisses. Each inch his mouth crawled caused her to squirm and gasp again.

This was a fun game. He wondered how many times he could make her quiver. Was it infinite? Would she eventually numb to his touch? Could he turn that gasp into a squeak or a moan?

I can't believe I find Edith Rigelhof adorable...

Her chest heaved in shaky breaths against his bare chest, and his heart raced knowing how undone he was making his fiery bride. His hand crept higher up her thigh, his forearm pushing the skirt of her nightgown up and over her knee. All of his slow, methodical, gentle touches made her shift and squirm, and it excited him all the more.

“K-Killian!” she gasped as her leg twitched against his touch.

There must be something wrong with me, Killian mentally berated himself as he shifted his weight forward, creaking the bed again.

Then it happened. Edith groaned. It was strained, like she was fighting against letting the lewd sound escape her lips. It was soft and deep and rumbled out of her chest.

Killian ripped his arms out of his sleeves and tossed his shirt to the floor. He then crashed right back into Edith, concentrating on her right collarbone this time. His hand reaching her bare hip as he rested more of his weight against her.

Edith's mind went blank. She knew she needed to keep her wits about her. She needed to strategize. She had to deduce how this act would be twisted by the story to keep the plot on track. Prepare herself. Find a way to at least lessen the blow.

Instead, her mind was filled with Killian's lips on her skin and his hand on her hip; wordlessly instructing her to strip. She was more than happy to comply.

Shifting her weight, Edith slid the back of her nightgown up to her waist so she was no longer sitting on the skirt. Lightning shot through her as her fingers entangled briefly with Killian's. She then squeaked out his name as his hand followed hers and he caressed her ass.

“What's wrong?” Killian roguishly chuckled into Edith's ear before nibbling on it. “No final words for me tonight?”

He was right. It was mortifying for her to be his putty like this. She needed to take charge. Just as she had always done with him. She had never allowed him the upper hand before. Every time he had pushed her she would push right back.

First, she needed to regain her bearings.

Edith arched her head to try to pull away from Killian's insatiable mouth. It backfired and instead left more skin for him to explore, making her squeak with surprise. Her nails scraped across the sheets, and she gathered whatever loose cloth she could into her tightening grip. Her toes curled. Her stomach flipped. She had failed. She didn't want Killian's lips to ever leave her skin. She panted his name once more as she submitted to him.

Shifting his weight to better balance himself, Killian kept his left hand exploring Edith's leg and hip. His right hand then traced its way up her spine, searching for the tie to her nightgown. Upon feeling the soft ribbon tail, he tugged. Her gown loosened. The neckline instantly drooped and slid off her right shoulder, granting Killian more real estate to traverse. As his lips and left hand continued their private expeditions, Killian's right hand traveled back down Edith's spine, making her shiver at his touch.

His middle finger caught the buttons along the ribbon at Edith's waist. It was a bit more work to slide them back through their restrictive loops than he expected. Despite normally being a very dexterous person, Killian was clumsy with his unbuttoning, and he growled his frustration about it into Edith's shoulder. Gasping, Edith grabbed the back of his head and held him against her skin. Her hips shifted in his grasp as well. Her left leg pushing against his right, spreading herself more for him.

Killian's chest tightened. His nails pressed against her hip. He slid his left leg over, shifting her leg as well. A new fragrance wafted into the room. It made his head spin and his heart race. Cradling the back of Edith's head, Killian broke from her grasp and collided with her lips.

Running on an autopilot she didn't even realize she had, Edith massaged Killian's lips with her own, demonstrating the proper way their mouths should dance. Her tongue gently tapped against his lower lip. He instantly granted her entry, and she gingerly ventured into his mouth. He greedily pushed back, nearly choking her.

She pulled back with a gag, and Killian instantly stilled. Heat billowed off of them both as they stared each other down, studying their partner for their next move. Cradling each side of his face, Edith gently pulled him down to her. She gave him a cautious, closed-mouth kiss. He allowed her to set the pace, so she tested the waters with her tongue again. His lips parted hungrily and welcomed her inside. She gently pushed against his tongue before trying to wrap her own around his. Understanding, Killian responded in kind. Softly this time. He let her take the lead as his mind instead focused on her buttons again.

Edith rested her head against the bed, and pulled Killian down with her. She left her back arched for his hands to undo her buttons. The new angle helped him, and they loosened all the easier. Each time she felt her nightgown loosen a bit more around her waist, Edith ran her nails across Killian's back. Finally, the third button was released.

Realizing his task was done, Killian sharply inhaled Edith's scent. Pulling away from her mouth, he slowly let his breath back out with a ravenous sigh. His hands roamed her bare legs. Her hands explored his back. His heart pounded in his ears. He couldn't believe the next step he was about to take. There would be no undoing this night. He would never be able to pretend it didn't happen.

“Killian?”

Her voice was too gentle. Too breathy. Her eyes were too wide and pleading. Her hair looked too enticing sprawled out behind her on his bed. Her skin was too soft. Too warm. Too welcoming.

“Tell me what you want, Edith.”

“I--” She studied him. This was her out. She could escape before this whole thing went any further. They'd regret this in the morning. She knew that much. At least, Killian would regret it the moment his lust was satiated. She just needed to tell him no, and he'd probably let her leave.

She couldn't deny what she wanted though. The weight of his body pressed against hers was too sweet. The slight roughness of his swordsman-calloused fingers sent electricity through her. Her body was feverish and her mouth was dry and starving. She'd break if they stopped now.

“I want you, Killian,” she whispered.

That puckish smirk returned, along with a glint in his eyes.

“What do you want from me?”

“Whatever you are willing to give.”

“What if I already did that?”

Edith's face fell. Of course he was just teasing her, playing with her. Her face burned with embarrassment and desire. She curled in on herself, and nibbled her thumbnail to try to release some tension.

“Do you wish for me to leave then?”

Killian's stomach flipped as Edith looked up at him with a little pout. As he watched her bite down on her fingernail he instantly missed her mouth. He wanted to hear her pant again; moan again; to gasp out his name again. He would never sleep again if he didn't know those sounds by heart.

He leaned in so his lips were tantalizingly close to hers. “I wish for you to tell me specifically what it is that you want from me.”

Her gasping breaths tickled his lips. Edith's mind raced for the right answer. She knew this was a test of some sort. Her brain was too full of lewd thoughts though. Now wasn't the time for strategy. Before she could finish calculating, her mouth blurted out, “I want to feel you.” Her eyes darted towards his waist before blinking back to match his gaze. “All of you.”

Killian's crotch twitched. In an instant, his tongue was in Edith's mouth again, and his hand was tangled up in her hair. His free hand scrambled for the bottom hem of her nightgown, and he was startled to find her hand already pulling it up for him.

They broke away from each other, and he hurriedly peeled her gown up and over her head. He didn't look at the skin as it was exposed. Instead, his eyes followed the cloth as it slid up her body and through her long, thick hair before it dropped to the floor. When he turned back to his bride she sheepishly had her arms over her chest and her knees pressed against his leg still wedged between them.

Could Edith Rigelhof be shy about her body?

With a tenderness Killian didn't understand, he brushed his fingers against her exposed collarbone. He then played with her shoulder for a second, drawing a few circles and causing Edith to shiver at his touch. He then traced her arm down to her elbow, and then across to her wrist. His hand never ventured towards her breasts, instead concentrating on the goosebumps growing on his wife's arms.

Edith squirmed beneath him. Her breath quaked in anticipation. She fought the urge to just grab him and do whatever she needed to satisfy herself. She felt so close to the brink as it was already, it wouldn't take long.

What is he doing? she thought as Killian's feather-light touch skated across her skin. Why is he so--? It kept her a second to realize the word she was looking for was sensual.

She was still nervous about letting him fully see her. True, he had watched her in the tub their wedding night, but she was able to partially cover up, and the rose water obscured his view slightly. Killian's room was dark, but this was still different. He could destroy her at any second.

She didn't take her eyes off his face from the moment her nightgown was tossed to the floor. That fox-like mischievous hunger he first had when he caught her in his room was gone. As his hand traced her arm his eyes had a soft concentration to them. He focused on exploring every inch of her skin with genuine curiosity. His upper teeth brushed his lower lip, as if fighting against biting it. He gently pressed his knee against her bare crotch, and Edith resisted grinding against it.

Why isn't he simply taking me?

Then Edith remembered how new Killian was to all of this. As flustered as she might be, she still had some experience in her previous life. Killian didn't. When his hand reached her wrist she relented to his touch and let him pull her arm away with ease. With her free hand, she cradled his face and brushed his cheek with her thumb.

“Edith.” He whispered her name. He had no clue why. It was like a prayer. Like a confirmation that he wasn't actually asleep. She was there. She was waiting for him. She was gorgeous.

He started at the nape of her neck, then kissed down to her cleavage. He tasted the faint salt pooling along her skin. He felt her chest shiver at his touch. He focused on her soft panting. Her breasts were so velvety. He never imagined how pillowy they actually were. As his lips and tongue explored her chest Edith moaned again.

“Killian--” She sharply inhaled as he switched to the other breast. “Please.” She whimpered slightly, but held his head in place.

Hearing her plead with him awakened the animal instincts in him once more. In a flash, his pants were off and on the floor. He then grabbed behind each of her knees and angled her so he was pressed against her soft flesh. She gasped at him simply knocking on her door. Her heat engulfed him. Juices already welcomed him.

“Do it again,” he growled. It wasn't malicious. He meant to demand this of her, but his voice came out wanting.

“Hmm?”

“Plead.” He hoped she didn't hear the pleading in his own voice.

Edith's nails dug deliciously into Killian's upper arms as she weakly tugged on them. She looked up at him with her large, saucer-wide eyes, her eyebrows pinched in yearning. “Please,” she whimpered. “Keep going. Don't stop.”

Killian's crotch twitched again in response, and he thrust forward, causing Edith to cry out. His angle was off and he instantly knocked into bone.

Edith winced, but truly didn't want him to stop. She pulled his hands down to her hips. Then laced her legs around his waist, holding him in place so he couldn't retreat. She then shifted her hips and arched her back. As she readjusted around Killian he rubbed against her clit and she cooed.

“Are you okay?”

Edith blinked up at him.

Did he seriously ask me that?

She nodded. “Slow. Please?”

He complied. At an achingly slow pace, he slid out of her until just his tip remained inside. He then slid back in just as slowly, allowing Edith to shift and readjust his angle as he crept back into her. He watched every inch of her shifting body and blushing face.

“Like this?”

Edith whimpered out an affirmative as she bit her lip.

Killian gave her a couple more slow thrusts to memorize the proper angle. He felt like he was going to burst at this pace though. His whole body vibrated as he ached to build up the pressure faster.

“I can't keep going this--”

“Faster,” she interrupted. “Please.”

He gladly complied. Noting the angle he needed to be in, he shifted them both so he could thrust his hips faster. Edith cried out once more, and Killian instantly paused, nervous that he hurt her again.

“No. Please. Keep going,” she panted. “Like that. Please.”

He did as his wife asked of him, causing her to squeak and moan some more. It was becoming Killian's new favorite sound.

“Killian.”

No. Hearing her pant out his name like that. That was his new favorite sound.

He leaned in and kissed her neck and along her jaw. She shuddered at his touch and ran her fingers through his hair.

Suna had boyfriends in her past life. She had slept with them before. It wasn't terribly frequent, but she wasn't inexperienced.

Nothing felt as good as Edith felt in that moment, though. Her body was feverish. Tension was knotting in her stomach. Her mind grew foggy. Her skin tingled. Killian's body was the exact weight to counter the pressure building inside her.

Maybe it was the learned vigilance of a swordsman. Maybe it was because Killian was a virgin. Maybe it was because he was exploring and experimenting. Maybe it was because he was subtly looking to Edith for direction while pretending he was still in charge himself. But Edith had never known a man so attentive. Every changed note of her moans told him where to press. Every shift in her breath directed him where to kiss. Every mew that escaped her lips informed him of how fast he should be going. A few sharp gasps instructed Killian on where to focus while inside her.

“Killian,” she panted again. She was cusping the hill. Her whole body felt so tight. She didn't realize that sex could feel so amazing. She wanted more. She didn't want Killian to ever let her go.

His back was clammy against her greedy hands. The sweat from his chest mixed with hers. His primal grunts and growls only made her body heat up faster. His face remained buried in her neck and chest.

“Edith,” he gasped, causing her heart to skip. She didn't want to admit until that very moment that she had been wondering if he was just picturing her as Rhyse. That he was ignoring who he was actually sleeping with. That he was using her as little more than a sex doll stand-in for his true love.

“Edith, moan again for me.”

He quickened his pace again. One hand anchored him to the bed. The other wrapped around Edith's back and latched him to her. He rocked his hips, trying to remember to grind against her slightly as he thrust into her.

Edith's chest tightened as her breath became harder and harder to catch. She bit her lip and groaned against the tension. She whimpered with longing and pinched her eyes tightly closed. The pressure in her crotch increased, but the one against her stomach lessened.

“Edith.” Killian's voice shook as he struggled with his own tight chest. “Look at me.”

She did. She released a breath she forgot she was holding, and opened her eyes. He wasn't pressed against her anymore. He had pulled far enough away to look at her; watch her face again. He grunted as he quickened his pace once more, slamming hard into her. She didn't care. She needed that extra pressure as well. She winced, trying to trap a scream inside her throat.

“Don't.” He brushed her lip with his thumb. “Don't hold it in.”

He grunted and gasped as he climbed to his own climax. With an animalistic drive, he did whatever he needed to finish. He barely slid out of her, keeping the pressure of her vagina firmly wrapped around him.

Every inch of Edith felt too weak to do anything but let him use her. Still, she wanted to repay him for his efforts, so she tightened herself best she could. She instantly felt him pulse against her, and she screamed out. She didn't try to muffle herself this time.

Her constricting around him, followed by her crying out in ecstasy was the final push for him. Loudly moaning himself, he released all of that built up tension inside his wife. She responded in kind. Her back arched and she rocked onto the back of her head. Every muscle within her tightened like a rope about to snap. Her toes curled and her nails dug into his back. He felt her hips shift and her walls pulse around him; squeezing him dry. She cried out with a high pitched scream of pleasure, and her legs shook against his hips.

Both spent, Killian collapsed against Edith's chest. Her legs flopped to either side of him, and she melted under his weight. They both struggled to catch their breaths, but Edith had little problem running her hand through Killian's hair, petting him.

Killian was the first to even out this breathing. Gently, he lifted himself off of Edith and brushed his sweaty hair out of his face. Her hand rested against his chest, not ready to separate from him.

“Edith,” he whispered once more.

She couldn't respond. Her own breath was still too shaky.

Tenderly, he untangled himself from between her legs.

Here it comes. Edith looked away from him. He was satiated now. His senses would soon come back, and he would throw her out of his room; instantly regretful for his lapse in judgment.

Killian took her in. He watched her start to curl into herself again, her eyes tightly closed against him.

Is she nervous that I will want to go again before she recovers?

Killian brushed her hair out of her eyes and kissed her forehead.

Edith's eyes shot open, and she turned to face him. “Killian?”

He didn't say anything. He simply snuggled next to her and rested his head on her shoulder. He then pulled the sheets up around them.

“You should stay here tonight.”

She blushed as she nodded, then rolled onto her side. Killian's arm snaked around her waist and pulled her close to him. His body heat wrapped around her was soothing, and it wasn't long before she fell asleep in his arms.

Killian felt Edith's breathing slow as she dozed off. Her body relaxed against him. Her scent filled his nostrils, making him feel a little dizzy. He didn't hate the sensation though. Despite common sense screaming otherwise, he didn't hate anything that happened that evening.

He had been relieved to find out that Edith had woken up earlier that day, but didn't know how to approach her. He had feared that he was part of the reason she had fainted in the first place. He had assumed that she no longer wanted anything to do with him.

His heart had danced when he caught her in his room. She looked so earnest and innocent it had overwhelmed him.

Then he was inside her, and he never imagined a feeling so amazing. It took all of the willpower he had earned from years of training to not climax after that first corrected thrust. He couldn't let that opportunity go by so quickly. He focused on Edith instead of his own euphoria as best as he could to make it last.

Besides, after everything, didn't he owe Edith that much?

Killian kissed the crown of her head and pulled her in tighter.

What am I going to do with you, Edith Rudwick?

He buried his face into her plush locks, and fell into one of the deepest and most restful sleeps he remembered having.

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caffieneaddictt18 · 3 months

Text

Bullies Were Never My Kinda Thing

italicized means Japanese

This is based on that one trend from tiktok where the k-drama fmc gets the classic milk dump and the american student puts her hands up making the cafeteria a wwe ring.

the song I listened to: tiktok 1 hour repeat of 'Dumb wit it' aka not my song

my inspo: k-drama bully scene & american student trend

My bike makes a skidding sound as I pull up in front of Karasuno. A new school. First school in Japan, but probably won't be the last... Not with my track record.

I park my bike and lock it to the bike rack. I walk in, my shirt untucked, and drinking from a juice box. My bag is hanging off one shoulder, and full of study materials I probably will forget about in a week.

I find a bench and set my bag down, trying to find my schedule. As I'm digging through it, I feel a body bump into my butt. I whip around, ready to smack a bitch, only to find a girl. Shorter and a little thinner than me, but definitely needs a shove from the right person to get her to move. I catch her by the shoulders. "You good?" I ask her in English, forgetting that not everyone knows English- shit.. um.. "元気ですか?" (Genki desu ka?) I stutter, trying to find the right words for the context of the situation.

"Ah! You don't have to use Japanese!" She waves her hand and smiles.

I sigh in relief. "Thank god. Okay. You good? Any bumps or bruises?"

"Oh, no! Himari just bumped into me! No problem." The girl waves her hands around, looking like she's trying to dust something off.

"Okay... just... watch yourself, hun." I let go of her after making sure she is stabilized. I turn back around and look for my schedule. I finally find it and look for my first period.

As I walk over to my homeroom, I enter and see an empty seat next to the girl who I caught. I cock an eyebrow and look around for a different seat. Of course, she just happens to see me.

"Hey! Come here!" She waves me down. I sigh and walk over.

As I walk over, another girl comes over and bumps into me. I shrug it off, but a voice cut through the peace that was my mind.

"Aren't you going to apologize?"

I whip around. It's another chick. "Got a pro- um..." I rack my brain for the equivalent of my question, but shrug and walk to the girl who waved me down. "You are seriously going to sit by Yachi?"

"Yeah, I am. Do you have a problem with it?" I turn around and stare who I assume to be Himari.

Himari freezes up, catching my eyes.

"I said, do you have a problem with that?"

"N-no." Himari scoffs, flouncing her hair and her posse follows after her.

"You-you didn't have to do that!" Yachi blanches white in the face, waving her hands around like a mad woman.

"Nah, no problem, hun. Besides...

Bullies were never my kinda thing." ______________________________________________________________

I now walk Yachi to class every day to make sure Himari doesn't push her around.

That doesn't mean I can be there all the time.

"I noticed Himari seems more... confident, nowadays." I raise an eyebrow at Yachi, seeing her face flush.

"Well... she knows my routine... she's also in the Photography Club." Yachi rubs her arms; her English way better than it was at the beginning of the year.

"That's what I thought." I frown, my nose flaring slightly. "I'm gonna beat a bitch..." I mutter, fire rising in my chest.

"Y/N! You can't do that! It's against the rules!" Yachi tugs at the cardigan tied around my waist.

"I know. Doesn't mean I can't wait for the perfect moment." An evil smile crosses my face with a laugh taking over my body.

"Y/N! Calm down! You're going to attract attention!" Yachi grabs at my short sleeve this time.

"Everything will be okay, hun. I've got it under control." I smile at Yachi, trying to keep her spirits up.

"O-ok!" Yachi smiles, walking to homeroom now.

---------- After homeroom, during a break -------------

"Hey, Himari! I need some help with something!" I call for the bitch while Yachi is looking at another club or something.

The girl smirks and walks over, sitting on the desk.

"Hey, new girl. What do you need help with?" Himari smirks, flicking her hair again.

I smile all nice and pretty and lean close to her, like I'm going to point something out to her. Instead... she's going to know not to pick on Yachi again.

"If you ever push Yachi around again, I will personally make sure to make whatever area we are in a WWE match that you will be guaranteed to lose... got it?" I smirk, waiting for her response. I can feel her cold sweats radiating from her neck as I smile behind the big textbook.

"Whatever, new girl." Himari tries to leave, but my hand clamps on her shoulder.

"My name is Y/N... and you should do good to remember it." I smile all pretty to really send the message home.

Himari scoffs and walks off in perfect timing with Yachi coming inside.

"Hey, Y/N! I found another club! It's for the boys volleyball team. I'm going to be like a... 'mini-manager', as you would call it."

"Sounds perfect for you, Yachi. Are you sure about this?" I know she gets nervous around new people.

"Su-sure! I met their 'main manager', Kiyoko. She seems nice." Yachi smiles and gets more comfortable talking about the club.

"Okay. But I'm coming with you. No one is allowed to mess with you."

"O-okay!" Yachi stammers, getting into her seat for our class.

______________________________________________________________

"Hey, guys. I remember you talking about how the team would need a new manager, so... Meet your new manager." Kiyoko introduces Yachi.

I stand off to the side, ready to throw hands if need be.

"YOU'RE SO CUTE!!!" Two boys jump at Yachi, and Kiyoko and I hold them back.

"Hands off!" I shout at the two loud boys.

"Huh?" They look up at me. I cross my arms and stand protectively in front of Yachi.

"You're pretty too!" My eye twitches. 'Did those two idiots think I was jealous of Yachi?'

"Not what I was here for, but okay." I shrug and take up my post beside Yachi again.

"You're the new American transfer, huh?" The tall blonde asked rhetorically.

"The one and only, beanpole." I stay indifferent. This is no different than American schools.

Minus the fact that there is less school shootings and fist fights...

So a little boring, but it's fine.

"So why do you use Japanese, if pretty much everyone knows English?" A little carrot sprout asks me.

I smirk and look him up and down. "Because people get weirded out if you don't know their culture or language, sweetheart. Especially when it's only one person in a school of hundreds."

"Well, everyone has noticed how Blondie here has a bodyguard after a few run-ins with Himari. That's you then." Tsukishima attempts to get under my skin.

"What can I say?

Bullies were never my kind of thing."

_____________________________________________________________

I noticed how Yachi is being a recluse again, a tell-tale sign of Himari bullying her again.

I sigh and continue trudging on. I'm just kinda hoping that Yachi stands up for herself now.

As we go into homeroom, Himari shoulder-checks Yachi as she walks to her seat.

I sigh and shoulder-check Himari back, giving her a tired look and shaking my head. "Don't start that shit today, Himari. I'm too tired for this crap."

Himari just giggles and sits down. I sigh and roll my shoulders, sitting down. I pull out my materials for class and do the work.

--------- After classes, now lunch time ----------

"Hey, Yachi? I'm gonna go get some lunch. Be right back." I wink and send her a finger gun.

I walk to a vending machine and grab a drink for my lunch.

"Hey! Y/N-san!" Hinata shouted in the halls, running at me.

"Ahhhh!" I wait for impact of a short carrot sprout, but none comes. I let out a breath of relief.

"What do you need, Carrot?" I ask Hinata, walking back to my classroom.

"I need help with tutoring, and I know you and Yachi share a class, so I was hoping you could help me?" Hinata asks me.

"Um... Why don't you ask Tsukishima? He's a pretty smart guy too." I shrug and walk on.

"Tsukishima is rude, and while his methods of studying works... Hinata can't handle the pressure." Kageyama joins us as we pass a milk vending machine.

I shrug, "Makes sense. Mine's not any better. I just use a different method, but sure. Whatever you guys want."

"Awesome!" Hinata jumps in the air.

"So I need help with math and English class. I'm pretty sure Kageyama needs help with everything-" Hinata is quieted by Kageyama who is slapping the back of his head.

"Boke, Hinata, BOKE! I don't need help with anything!" Kageyama pouts and shakes his fist angrily.

"But didn't you fail your English test? And your formal Japanese tests? And your..." Hinata's words are drowned out by the scene that plays out in front of me.

Himari is laughing... and pouring milk on Yachi's lap.

Instantly, my body locks up, all of my muscles tensing. I don't even hear my bag dropping.

"Um... Y/N-san?" Hinata's voice sounds as if it's far away.

"I'll be right back, Hinata." I say as I walk over to Himari, putting my hair up, eyes wide and tunnel vision on Himari.

"Oh no..." Kageyama says as Tsukishima passes the classroom with Yamaguchi.

"What are you saying 'oh no' for King? Did someone steal your milk?-" Tsukishima is cut off seeing Y/N tap Himari's shoulder. He immediately pulls out his phone and starts recording.

Himari turns around and is immediately met with a fist to the face. Himari falls to the ground, her hair whipping around and almost catching on Y/N. Y/N grabs Himari before she can fall and lands another five-fingered punch, letting her fall this time.

"Come on, bitch! I know you can understand me because you reacted when I talked in English!" Y/N lands a hit on Himari's stomach, causing the bully to keel over.

"I thought you said you were the baddest bitch in the school! Or did I hear wrong?!" Y/N hits Himari with a right-handed uppercut followed by a left-handed punch directly on her cheek.

By then, Himari is so pissed. All of her friends back off and cringe.

"You'll pay... you illiterate American cunt." Himari quietly talks, throwing a weak-ass punch.

Y/N blocks the feeble punch, not even bothering to hit again. "I serve cunt, you repugnant skid mark."

Y/N, after not having anything fun to do around the school, finally grins. She has been waiting for this moment.

The moment her rage can be unleashed.

She held nothing back. She hit left and right, left and right, left and right... again and again... and again.

Himari was helpless against the rage of an American teen.

As Himari lays helplessly at Y/N's feet.

"So who's next?" Y/N looks around the classroom, a dark grin appearing on her face. Nobody dares to face her.

Y/N takes a deep breath, "Come on, Yachi. Lets get you cleaned up." Y/N leads Yachi out of the classroom.

"I want that footage, Tsukishima!" Y/N shouts at the tall boy.

The other boys just walk out of the classroom, scarred.

"I'm gonna tell Tanaka-senpai." Hinata bolts down the hall, going to his own class.

Kageyama goes to his classroom, knowing he will probably hear about it later at volleyball practice.

Yamaguchi and Tsukishima go to their respective classes, knowing they will see Y/N there later.

"Y/N-san! Why would you do that?! You're gonna get in trouble!" Yachi exclaims from her side of the bathroom.

Y/N sighs, expecting this. "What can I say, sweetheart?

Bullies were never my kinda thing."

______________________________________________________________

Author's Cup of Tea:

Teehee *loudly slurps tea*

Tell me what y'all think. It's my first time writing in the Haikyu!! universe. Should I do it again? Should I do the same prompt in a different universe?

See you later, caffies~

Also, i am hyperaware that even tho i am a native speaking English-woman, my english is actual garbage. Any CONSTRUCTIVE criticism is greatly appreciated. Thank you 🤗

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the-fluffiest-trainer · 4 months

Text

Like this? I just talk and it... oh, yes, it's writing the words! How does it know how to do that?

Uh, well, hi everyone? Can I delete that earlier part? And that too? This would be so much easier if I had those "hand" things to actually press all these tiny buttons...

Let me start over. Hi everyone, my name is Fluttershy, and I... don't really know what I'm doing here? Or where "here" is? Or anything about these two legged people with their hands and their fancy devices that write for you when you talk into them, but at least they all seem nice so far, and that's good. This girl named Shauna gave me this device and she says I'm in a place called Kalos, but I've never heard of it.

Apparently there's a professor who knows about me already, and sent four kids out to find me? That's nice of him, and maybe he knows more about how I fell into this world. If any of you, whoever it is in here that I'm talking to, uh, however that works... if you know anything or have any advice, and... I don't know how I'm going to actually hear you, to be honest, but I guess this thingy takes care of it?

I wish my friends were here. Maybe they are? I remember Twilight, fighting for all of us but we couldn't help her, and... something... and then falling from the sky, and I barely got my wings under me before hitting the ground in this strange little town. I should definitely go find this Professor Sycamore and see what he knows.

(OOC info under the cut)

Hey everyone, this is a pokeblogging rp blog for Fluttershy from MLP:FiM. She has no idea what pokemon (or humans) are and honestly, out of character I don't either because I've made it to nearly 30 without ever playing a pokemon game before now. At the recommendation of a good friend who's also into the pokeblogging scene here, I'm starting with Pokemon X.

In general the blog is typically lowish stakes and sfw, and I'm open to interaction with any other pokeblogs, Fallers or otherwise (just be nice and everything should be okay). Given the plot of Pokemon X, some higher stakes will occur occasionally when dealing with Team Flare. Tags "#mid stakes pokeblogging" and "#high stakes pokeblogging" will be used as appropriate.

Twilight Sparkle is also here, having Fallen into Kalos several months before Fluttershy. Others of the Mane Six have landed elsewhere in the pokemon world and have been mentioned, but have not appeared on the blog.

Headcanons / conventions taken with this timeline include:

All pokemon are sapient, but most cannot communicate in human language. Fluttershy's talent of speaking with animals carries over to pokemon as well.

Fluttershy is the equivalent of mid to late 20s in humans terms, but the kids she meets are still kids, maybe mid teens or so.

Consistent font colors used:

Fluttershy: Standard black text

Visual description in videos: [Bracketed italicized black text]

Arden (Fluttershy's braixen): Orange text

Twilight: Purple text

Lysandre: Orange bolded text

Team Flare grunts: usually red text

Fluttershy's pokemon team:

Arden: braixen, trans girl, almost as fluffy as Fluttershy herself. She craves violence. She operates the holocaster sometimes for typing or taking videos.

Talia: kirlia, girl, forcibly adopted a trainer so she can battle and eventually evolve.

Sienna/Muffin: skitty, girl, caught by Twilight and then given to Fluttershy via Professor Sycamore.

Keseph: amaura, girl, resurrected from a fossil in Ambrette Town.

N/A

Twilight's pokemon team:

Luna: espeon, girl, found Twilight right after she Fell and never left.

Raya: lucario, girl, sought out Twilight based on aura senses and led her to meet humans for the first time.

Spike Jr.: crobat, boy, given as a gift by Lysandre.

N/A

Content warnings for this blog:

Canonical events of Pokemon X

Trainers can be affected by pokemon moves if improperly targeted

General blanket warning for post-apocalyptic themes

Other notes:

Sometimes I take liberties with game mechanics in favor of writing something that makes more sense from a perspective of actually living in this world and seeing pokemon battles and such. This may include:

I will typically ignore the physical vs special distinction for moves, stats, and so on.

I will ignore the effect of Natures on stats.

I usually forget that Abilities exist, or at least ones outside of the usual STAB. I do know STAB and it makes sense to exist.

While types do exist, I consider the advantage factor to be less than the games' value of 2. Probably more like sqrt(2), so super effective moves do 141% damage and not very effective is 71%.

On some occasions, I may even ignore a type matchup if narrative reasons or simple common sense contradict the game logic.

If the game goes to such lengths to obscure the actual values of IVs and EVs from me, then screw it, they don't exist. Every pokemon has IVs that make it good at the things its species is meant to be good at.

In general, all this basically means I'm taking an approach closer to the anime than the games. I have no prior experience with either, I just want something that makes sense and doesn't require being Autisms Georg about pokemon just to run a blog.

#pokeblog rp #rotomblr #pokeblogging intro #pokeblogging #pokemon irl

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purlturtle · 5 months

Note

For Ao3 wrapped:

10. What work was the quickest to write?

16.What’s your most common “Additional Tags” tag?

(& which of your top additional tags is most interesting to you?)

20. Which work of yours have you reread the most?

Oooooh, thanks for these! (Full list here)

10. What work was the quickest to write?

Come To Bed was definitely the quickest, written directly after the Zoom hangout in April, before I went to bed (IIRC).

16.What’s your most common “Additional Tags” tag?

"Alternate Universe", to the surprise of absolutely no one 😅 I do love putting Bering and Wells in different sandboxes and see if I can tell a Bering and Wells story with them in there. It's fun to play around with these settings and characters, decide what to keep and what would be different in that different environment. Nature vs. nurture and all that.

(& which of your top additional tags is most interesting to you?)

Oh that is a GREAT addition, thank you! Honestly, my second-most additional tag! It's "established relationship", because I do like to explore what happens after the italicized "oh". Relationship negotiation and navigation is, for me, almost more interesting than the question of "how do they get together" - what is their dynamic *now*, how do they react to the (sudden or not) knowledge that the other one loves them back? That they can be together, build something together? How do they do that? (How does anyone?)

20. Which work of yours have you reread the most?

Oh I love this question, because I get to name a fic I haven't yet! Soft, a series of prompt fills from a Tumblr list, a handful of (mostly) unconnected scenes written each in one go and posted to Tumblr and then later to AO3. I've been challenging myself to write more short stuff, and that was another way for me to do so, and it was wonderful how many people sent me prompts here or over on AO3 (and hey, if you want to, you can still send me one! The prompt list is here!) (you can also ask me more questions in this meme! So far I've answered these three, and 3, 5 and 6, and 17 and 28!)

Thank you, that was a blast! <3

#ask meme answered

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clatoera · 1 year

Text

Always Remember We’re Burned For Better Chapter 4: I’ve Loved You Three Summers Now Honey, I Want Them All.

Heeeeeey besties.

This was supposed to be a fun, light weight, fluffy filler chapter as I have an exam this Friday and couldn’t give the tour the depth it deserved. All that to say I literally wrote 20 pages of fluff. This is sort of my niche in terms of long term fic writing. Most recently I was writing entire AUs in the terms of domestic vignettes of “slice of life” moments as someone called it. These don’t really further the plot. The goal was to give the idea of what their life could be if the plot stopped here.

Masterpost with chapters 1-3

AO3 Link

The title comes from Lover (Taylor Swift). I also highly recommend Cruel Summer and Daylight. Theres also an All of the Girls You’ve Loved Before reference. Each small vignette is separated by a lyric that I thought of when writing. If Taylor Swift had to name this she would call it “The More Lover Chapter.” Thats what this is. Every bold and italicized lyric is a change in scene.

Okay, as usual, thank you to the besties. Especially to @ms1818 who i have to directly credit with the ‘on both knees’ part in the very end :)

All’s well that ends well to end up with you

The sun is not yet rising on the horizon when the District Two prep team, escort, and Enobaria herself burst through the door of Cato’s bedroom the morning after the games. Neither Cato nor Clove’s eyes are fully open when Clove is physically ripped out of the bed and her otherwise naked body is wrapped in a cotton towel.

“Thanks to your little display last night, you two have bought yourselves an exclusive interview with Caesar before we go home. Great job, you two.” Enobaria is clearly just as exhausted as they are, if the robe and cup of coffee in her hand are anything to go by. She rubs at her eyes and Clove takes in more of her appearance, from the messy ponytail with flyaway hairs around her face, to the slippers she had not yet changed out of. If Clove were to guess, Enobaria had been pulled out of bed just the same as she was, not too long ago.

Cato tries to flip on his stomach, tugging Clove’s pillow over his head to block out the light brought on by the ring lights provided by the prep team. It’s ripped off of him by Clove herself, moments before she is being forced into a chair with makeup being plastered on her at the same time they start to comb out any knots from her long hair.

He grumbles into the pillow still under his face, before flipping back to lay spine side down. “What did we do wrong, Enobaria?” Cato firmly bunches the sheets around his hips, before pushing himself up to lean against the headboard.. “We followed your rules.”

“Your whole little display of affection- lust, affection, possession I don’t give a fuck what we call it- made national headlines.” Enobaria steps back and Clove lunges towards the coffee in her hands, leaving the girl to lean back in the prep team’s chair with what can only be described as a glare. “Uh uh. Get your own, not my fault you were up all night.” She warns Clove, shooting them a look that clearly tells them that she knows they were up all night.

“Cato, can you…” Clove runs a hand over her face, earning a disapproving gasp from the makeup girl who had been trying so intentionally to make Clove look as if she hadn’t missed a night of sleep in her eighteen years of life. She knows from the look on his face, that no, he would not be getting up and walking around the apartment in the state of undress that they had finally fallen asleep in. “Oh, whatever.”

“Unbelievable.” Enobaria mumbles with a disapproving shake of her head. “Fucking unbelievable.”

“Pretend to be shocked Enobaria, stupid looks really good on you.” Clove snaps, tilting her head back as her team frantically takes concealer to her collarbones and neck. In her peripheral vision, she can see Cato staring with a smug little smile.

Fast forward two hours, and they are standing just off stage yet again, as Caesar begins rambling about his exclusive interview to another packed audience. How they gathered a full studio so early in the day and at such short notice is nothing short of annoying.

“I can’t believe we have to do this.” Cloves hissed through teeth that are clenched into a smile, digging her nails into his bicep where her hand is purposefully wrapped around.

“Not my fault you couldn’t keep your hands off of me after your interview.” Cato taunts with that infuriating smirk plastered on his face as he pinches her hip playfully. He tugs her closer by the long black tulle of her skirt.

“Give me a break, you’ve wanted this for years,” She huffs, pulling her other arm away from the stylist who is fiddling with golden bracelets on her free wrist. There was no ulterior motive with this morning’s outfit, at the very least. It was far simpler and yet nicer than anything she’d ever worn back home. A tight black dress that only covered her left shoulder, with fabric that really only fell to the middle of her thighs at most. There was a sheer black skirt that fell over the dress from her waist to the floor which would drag if not for the tall heels they once again put her in.

He was coordinated in all black, of course he was, this was too important of a moment to have them look anything less than flawless together. She believed that the all black look for the two of them, from his suit jacket to a dress that somehow was perfectly fitted to her, was chosen to highlight their intensity for both the games but also each other. Of course when she asked why they chose this during the prep period, the answer was far less thought out. It’s just what they could do with the time they had.

“You’ve wanted it too, don’t act shy now. At least this will make telling everyone back home easier.” Cato reminds her, grabbing her by the chin and directing her to look up into his face. He takes in the look of her, golden crown of a victor incorporated delicately in the low curly gathering of her hair at the base of her neck. How they manage to make her look so girly and yet so unnervingly powerful he will never understand, but he also knows part of it is something uniquely Clove that he has loved for a long, long time.

She’s looking up at him in turn, a coy little smile on her face as she soaks in the reflection of herself in his own golden crown, before her eyes trail lower from his eyes to his lips, and she stops herself before raising to try to capture him. “What I would have given to see the look on those bitchy faces in the academy when they realized you’re not for them-”

“Jealous?”

“Why would I be?” Clove flashes him a wicked grin. “I’ve got what they all want.” Be it victory. Be it him. Be it both.

They can hear Caesar announcing them, and the roaring applause that could only mean they are expected to enter.

“What do you say we give ‘em a good show?” He whispers in her ear, and she can hear the smile in his voice when he does.

“When do we do anything less?”

They step into the stage lights in perfect time, a perfect fluidity that could only be forged by years of moving in sync with one another. There's an edge to their smiles, something just the right side of unhinged that only the other could find home in. Clove realizes with a sharp pull in her chest that this is the first time the world would ever see them side by side, but even more so they would be seen side by side with their hard earned show of victories on their heads.

Clove doesn’t hear whatever Caesar says when Cato pulls her firmly to his side. The audience is absolutely wild when she tucks her legs over his knee, when his thumb steadily drums along her hip.

There's a juxtaposition in here somewhere of the brutality in which they won their games to the way they now publicly curl into each other. Or maybe this has the same tone of possession as when they made their final, respective kills. Doesn’t really matter now, does it?

“I think we all have a lot of questions here, for our lethal lovers, am I right?” Caesar pimps, before turning to look at the two of them. “Now I for one could not imagine a more stunning, terrifying duo, that’s for certain. Clove…there is clearly a long history here. When exactly did you two meet.”

She can tell you the day, the exact moment, actually.

“She’s just crazy! Don’t take it too personally.” Came the voice of some little annoying blonde girl, who helped her redheaded friend off the ground. “She’s got no friends so she takes it out on us.”

“I hope they pick her for the games soon, and just get rid of her.”

Clove’s not unused to the cruel remarks. At ten, she is the smallest in not only her class, but every class above her too. The comments never bother her, though Enobaria has always told her that people are only jealous when you’re the best.

She’s sharpened the practice knife just enough for it to actually draw the blood when she holds it to an opponent, and as the instructors get her up and face her with her next she is surely glad for her forethought.

He’s much bigger than her already, probably a head taller. There’s a smug smile on his face that she wanted to physically carve off.

“Clove. Cato. Meet your competition.” The trainer says, placing them a few feet apart. “You’re the best tens. Make each other better. No serious injuries. And don’t kill each other, you’ve got-” He looks at his clipboard and nods with approval. “Six or Seven years. Plenty of time.”

While he walks away, the blonde kid looks down at her with a dismissive cross of his arms over his child-sized torso. “You’re the best girl we’ve got? Good for me, I guess, you’ll make my win all the easier.”

She doesn’t even dignify him with a response, just narrows her jade eyes and flicks her wrist in his direction.

He ducks to the left just in time to avoid a knife embedded in his right shoulder (He’s right handed, she can tell from the way he crosses right over left), and escapes with only a graze to the skin of his shoulder. She’s impressed, truthfully, with the way he anticipated and avoided the hit.

Besides, this is just the first of many scars she gives him.

Cato is fuming all the rage his little ten year old body can allow, and when he reaches for her neck Clove gracefully slips out of his way just late enough that his hand makes contact with the wall behind her with a satisfying crunch of his finger tips. Clove laughs as she watches him pull back his hand, flexing and extending his fingers to ward off the ache that built under the surface of his skin that she has somehow already weaseled her way under.

“Oh you’re a little psycho bitch.”

“That’s the best you can do? Psycho Bitch? really?” She asks sweetly, before her foot makes contact with the side of his left knee and brings him down. “I think you’re going to make this so easy for me. Not much inside that head, is there?”

As she tries to slip by, unimpressed by her opponent and his lack of creativity in his insults. She’s been called worse by her own grandmother, when she found her with the dead field mouse in her hand the previous summer.

Cato grabs her by the ankle as she tries to walk off, yanking her sharply and causing her to fall right on top of him.

Clove shoves him away from her with both hands, wanting nothing more than to dig her heel into his jaw to prevent him from ever giving anyone else one of those annoying little grins of triumph.

“I can’t wait to kill you.” She nearly growls, pushing out of his grasp and forcing herself to her feet.

“Don’t worry, i’ll make it a good show when I take you out.” Cato promises in return, pushing himself to his feet with what little dignity he had left.

That isn’t for the world to know, though, no. That's part of the story that is intimately theirs, and theirs alone. When Clove’s hands squeeze his, she knows he got the message.

I know, but some things are ours.

“Oh we were..what? 10? 11?” Clove cocks her head, and when he nods she knows that he knows the specifics as well as she does. “We were training. The best in our classes. It was about time they put us together, no one could keep up with either of us. They Paired us up, told us we were partners now, and that was that.”

“How right they were, Partners indeed you are.” Caesar touches his hand to his heart, and the expected awww in response. He directs the next towards Cato. “We heard when you met..but when did you know there was something more than training partners?”

“Well would you know we were supposed to go into the games together?” Cato reveals, and the way his hand tightens on her hip wordlessly tells her that they aren’t getting this story either. The gasp from the audience feeds the fire of his storytelling “I know, I know, I’m glad that didn’t work out either. Being the best has its perks. Why waste your best on one game when you can have two winners.”

This long, hard fought for story was theirs and theirs alone. He’d give them the minimum details, but they knew the truth would be buried deep, shared only between the two of them.

“It wasn’t allowed. You know, dating, any of that in the academy.” He leaves out how that was more strongly enforced after a certain fifteen year old Kentwell girl, eighteen years prior, who shifted the view of the academy to truly see the weakness that love and intimacy would bring. “We were absolutely dedicated to training anyway. We were what…fifteen? But you know..things just happen.” And oh did they happen.

“Get off of me you…..you…god you stupid whore.” Clove shoves her hands firmly into his chest from her place under him, a hand to hand match gone wrong resulting in her pinned under him, his thighs bracketing either side of her hips. “Get off of me.”

“Oooooh that's a new one.” Cato teases, deftly gathering both her hands above her head in his left hand, effectively pinning both her wrists out of his way. “Thought you didn’t care what I did?”

“Or who.” Clove reminds, flexing her wrists hard in an attempt to free them, which only results in his grip tightening. “I don’t care but I don’t want you fucking up my training and my shot at the games because you’re whoring yourself out.”

It was after hours, of course. They’d never so openly bicker if the room had been full of their competition. They were a united front if nothing else. It was a privilege only given to a few candidates each class, and once they turned fifteen they were naturally the lucky two who were given the honor of full time access. Noone had a doubt the two of them would make good use of it, taking their training to the next level in only the way that Cato and Clove would.

Fifteen had changed a lot of things, beyond just their training.

They were just so familiar with each other, of course they noticed when things started to.. shift.

At least that's what they would have told you.

“Whoring myself out, that's what you’re calling it?”

“Oh I’m not the only one calling it that, that blonde bitch talks all about it in the locker room. Like you’re her fucking conquest and we should all be jealous that-”

And god if she could she would punch that look right off his face when the word comes out of her mouth, when he leans down far far too close to her face for her liking.

“I see, I see.” Cato whispers, just inches away from her ear, and he doesn’t miss the way her entire body tenses underneath him. “You are jealous, baby.”

“No i’m not-” Clove turns her face the other direction, facing the wall and not him. “Don’t call me that, i’m not your baby, either.”

“Sure you are.” Cato dismisses, mouth still hovering far too close to the skin of her neck for comfort.

“How would you feel if it were YOUR classmates talking about fucking me? You wouldn’t be to happy about how it affects your training-”

The way the hand that is not on her wrist tightens significantly on her hip causes her to whips her head over to look at him with that same snide smile on her face. “Oh are you jealous now? Of a made up scenario.”

“No.” He inhales, but he’s pulled back and is looking with a look she can only relate to a lion in the final moments before sinking its teeth into its prey. Clove is sick to realize she does not entirely dislike the feeling of being the prey in question. “Noone’s allowed to touch you, they know that.”

“What the fuck do you mean noone’s allowed? You don’t own me, you dickhead.” Clove’s angry now, and she tries her hardest to break free from under him, but by the combination of hands above her head and him holding her down by her hips she is completely stuck. “You’re just my training partner, you don’t get to decide shit about my life.”

“Just your training partner-” Cato actually laughs, head back laughing before he’s leaning down. She doesn’t even have time to tell him to wipe that stupid look off his face before he’s kissing her.

He’s actually fucking kissing her right on the training room floor. The hand on her waist has trailed up to hold her cheek, and he’s loosened his grasp on her wrist just enough that one of her hands sneaks free. When she laced her fingers into the hair at the base of his skull, he is sure she’s going to try to break his neck. When instead, she pulls him closer to her, he finds himself smiling despite her biting his lower lip.

“I think we can all agree that we are very glad we did not have to see the two of you up against each other. Though it would have been an incredible fight, I’m sure!” Caesar responds, and Clove simply tightens the grip of her knees on Cato’s. While she may not have said it yet, she knows Enobaria was right all those years ago now. She'd thank her for separating their games later.

The interview passes the same way. Volleying answers back and forth between each other. Giving just enough to satiate the needs of the crowd, but never too much.

Yes we sort of got together at fifteen.

Yes we really got together at seventeen, when he came home from the games.

No, they had no doubt watching each other in the games, they’ve always been the best.

“Well, before I let you two go home-” The crowd makes a coherent sound of disappointment, which Caesar settles. “Now I’m sure we’ll be seeing plenty of these two, no need for disappointment!” He turns to face the two of them, practically one body from how close they have intertwined through the interview. “What are you going to do now that you’re victors?”

Clove only looks at Cato with a raise of her eyebrows and her signature smirk, and when he mirrors her expression in return, she knows they have the same thing in mind.

Take me out, and Take Me Home, you’re my lover

Her head is on his lap as the train races home, his long fingers combing through the length of her soft hair. She had pulled the pins from her hair and its fans out on legs, where she had tried without success to nap for the last hour of their trip home. They didn’t even have the chance to change after the interview, when Enobaria and Brutus rushed them onto the train to get them out of the Capitol before any other opportunities to exploit their relationship arose.

“Just wear that for when you get home.” Enobaria suggested, before she and Brutus turned to retreat and leave them alone. They have earned their privacy together. Enobaria pauses and turns to suggest, or rather demand, “If you two are going to do anything, can you just pull the skirt up, don’t take the whole thing off, it’s way more work than it’s worth to re-lace the back.”

They hadn’t though. Clove tried to sleep on him to mentally prepare for what they’d face back home. Plenty of talk, disapproving looks from trainers, and endless scowls from girls who thought they had a chance at Cato. There would be her grandmother and maybe even his family, who was always far kinder to her than her own had been. While most would have seen this tiny girl as no match, Clove had pushed him to be a victor all on his own right. How could they want anything more?

They reach home in what feels like no time at all, as the brakes of the high speed train push them back on the couch. They are sitting at the tail end of the train, where he can look out at the districts passing behind them. “We’re almost there, look at this.”

It wasn’t Cato’s first time pulling into this station, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but he didn’t want her to miss the feeling of that first rush of your district fawning over you. “I remember pulling up last year. Brutus told me you never forget the faces. I don’t remember much of them, really, I was just thinking that i’d have to hunt you down if you weren’t at the platform waiting.”

They peak over the back of the couch together, watching as the mountains disappear and their home envelops them. He takes her by the hand and leads her backwards to the center of the train where they’ll step out soon.

Enobaria and Brutus meet them in the center of the train, and they wear matching looks of pride as they look at their victors together. There is years worth of training, respect, and skill between the four of them. And now, there is endless pride, as well.

Brutus is the one who reaches down to straighten Clove’s little gold wreath around her head, and even from him, pride for the girl is palpable in the air. “It was a little crooked.”

The train lurches to a stop and Cato’s hands are on the bare skin of her arms, rubbing up and down both to steady her and to comfort her in the last few moments of unknown.

Their escort is first, who introduces Clove as if the whole District hasn’t known her from her literal birth.

Clove is situated right behind the sliding door, Cato, Enobaria, and Brutus standing just a few steps behind her in a small semi circle. The doors fly open at just the right moment, and Clove steps forward and out onto the train platform. The three of them stay on the train behind her, if only for a few moments, to let her soak it in.

She understands what he meant, when he said you never forget the faces of the people in your district.

Clove soaks in the absolutely enraged scowls of the girls in her class, who look right past her and into the train at Cato. There's a few boys in her class, she notices, who had always looked at her with a certain fear that now translates to something she doesn’t care to analyze.

She catches her grandmother towards the front. She isn’t near old enough to be considered a grandparent, just around fifty years old. She had become Clove’s grandmother at thirty four, and full time caregiver at 37, and often blamed Clove for aging her prematurely. Looking at her now, looking all the more like Clove and her mother before her, anyone who didn’t already know would now know who she was. There is no love in her face, but there is certainly gratification. She would take the credit for Clove’s ruthlessness, for turning her into the victor that her mother had failed to be, for sure. There's a different kind of smile on her face today, one Clove’s never seen. It is not the kind as when she would smack Clove across the face until she cried as a toddler, or the sick and twisted one from when she made Clove watch her mother die over and over every year on her birthday. That one is the same smile Clove wore in her games, as she carved into flesh over and over and over.

Clove thinks for a moment, maybe she got this blood lust from her. She can’t imagine it coming from her mom.

Today, for the first time in her life, Clove sees the woman actually smile at her. It isn’t bright and bold like those of her mother, but it is a smile nonetheless. Yes, she was taking the credit for the woman Clove had become. She had raised a victor after all, it seems. Clove wants to scowl, to remind her that it was not thanks to her that she was standing up here victor behind her name..but it was. Instead Clove flashes that same menacing smile in return, directly at the woman who made her this way.

On the opposite side of the crowd she catches sight of a man, not even Enobaria’s height, around the same age of her mentors. She knows him, of course she does. He had shown up once a year for the first ten of her life, then never came again once she went to the academy to train. There’s a couple of little girls with him, maybe 11 or 12, whom Clove has never known the existence of until this moment. Turns out she technically had siblings, who knew. Clearly her father was not sending those two into the academy, no. He just made a bold- and stupid– choice to show up here, to try to claim part of her now that she had won and made the name for herself. A lot of audacity for the man who had begged her mother not to have her, begged for her to not throw away their future.

He had never even had a chance to compete in the games, like the pathetic excuse of a man he was. There was a reason she went in as a Kentwell girl, and not as whatever he even was.

Noone misses the eye roll she sends in his direction, and the message is beyond clear. This is not your victory, this is not your victor, this is not even your daughter to claim.

Clove is pulled out of her spite, when she feels a hand on each of hers. To her right is Enobaria, to her left is Cato, and when they raise her hands above her head, there is nothing but pride, adoration, and even love radiating from them.

These are the people who made her into the version of herself that could become a victor.

Enobaria must nod at him, because she drops Clove’s hand as he wraps both his arms around her. He twists her to face him, and before she can protest and realize what's happening, he’s bending her backwards as he catches her mouth with his own, hands firmly holding her up by her waist. She grabs his face with her hand in response, and can't help but smile against his lips when she hears the response from their very own District.

The first people who actually greet her off the platform is his family. The entirety of them with the same blonde hair and blue eyes, there was no mistaking the blood they all shared.

His mother is first, a tall woman half a foot taller than Clove, who hugs the girl like she is her own. “Oh we are so proud of you, Clove.” The woman squeezes her, and Clove finds herself wondering if her own mother would hug this way. She whispers in Clove’s ear, surely her words are just between the two of them. “And we couldn’t ask for anyone better for Cato, either.”

His father, who looks alarmingly like Cato plus about twenty years, is next, fully picking her up in a hug. “We of course wanted you to win, but we didn’t know what this one was going to do if you didn’t.”

Cato looks down, a redness flushing from his neck to his ears at the commentary. Maybe he hadn’t been as good at hiding it as he thought.

Next though, oh next is maybe her favorite reunion of all.

Cato’s toddler sister tugs at the skirt of her dress, those same shining blue eyes she loves more than anything staring up at her with child-like innocence and wonder. Clove always wondered if Cato ever looked like that, all the good in the world in tiny blue eyes and soft blonde hair, before training got to him.

“Oh hello, Cora Jade,” Clove whispers, kneeling to her level. She’s nearly three, now, and Clove can remember the day she was born like it was yesterday.

It was pretty standard practice in two, to have children far enough apart that one would be done with training and hopefully a victor by the time the other would even be of school age. She didn’t experience it, obviously, but she remembers being fifteen years old when Cato brought her home with him after school to meet his new sister.

Clove was terrified to touch her, she was barely a week old, and Clove was good at nothing but harming. She’d never even seen a baby before her, and was literally throwing up that night when she realized her mother was holding her at that age.

He had been effortlessly good at it. Tiny little Cora who looked like a doll in his arms, and he wore this goofy, love struck smile that Clove secretly burned into the back of her mind to remember forever. Looking back she thinks that had been one of the first moments she had actually fallen a bit for him.

She had watched her grow up with Cato, and had learned so much about him, too. The big, brutal, short tempered boy at training was almost polar opposite to the one who carried around his little sister on his shoulders, who fell asleep reading her little books when they babysit her for his parents.

Clove had even gone to see her by herself for a few hours last year, during Cato’s games. It was one of the only promises he ever asked of her. Make sure Cora would know him, even if he hadn’t come back.

Clove surprisingly enjoyed it, and when the three year old throws her little arms around her neck now, she does not shy away from her.

“I miss-ed-ed you.” Comes from the little girl, as she buries her little face in the crook of Clove’s neck.

“We missed you too.” Clove promises, not for a second caring about the blatant change in her demeanor from the girl the whole district had known and watched in the games. They had finally won, and life was far far too short.

She stands with Cora wrapped around her, and as she rubs the little girls back, she and Cato share a smile. His hands wrap around her shoulders, and he tickles his sister’s side to get her to giggle and look up at her actual brother.

“So now what do we do?” Cato teases her, as he pries his sister into his own arms.

“Mmm.” Clove hums as if she is considering, hands falling onto her hips. “Take me home.”

I want to teach you how forever feels

“You know you don’t have to be that precise, it’s just bacon.” Comes from behind her at the same moment she feels a hand wrap around her waist, when his chin comes to rest on her shoulder.

It catches her off guard and the knife in her hand flies to her side, aiming without even thinking for the bare upper body of whoever snuck up behind her. It may be months since the games, but there’s a paranoia that does not leave so quickly, Clove has found.

Her wrist is caught in his hand instinctively, and when he pressed his thumb between the tendons in her wrist the knife fell from her hand and to the kitchen floor.

“For fucks sake, Cato, you can’t sneak up on me like that!” Clove sighs, before leaning on her hands against the countertop to ground herself back into reality. She is in their home. She is safe. It’s just him. She’s just making breakfast. “I’m going to actually kill you one of these days, and I won’t even be trying to.”

“I think i’m pretty safe, I know your next move before you do.” He hums into her neck, his hands trailing up over her legs and sliding under the shirt-- his shirt may he point out– she decided was good enough to cook in that late summer morning. “Seriously though, you don’t need to cut that perfectly.”

“Some of us have skills we want to maintain.” Clove teases, as she leans her head back against his chest. “Noone wants to be trained or mentored by someone who lost all their own technique.” She teases, and yeah, maybe she is a bit neurotic in the way she slices exactly along the fat line of the meat in front of her with a new knife from the block. “We start after my tour, and I know I for one want to be training future winners.”

Cato grins into her neck, and firmly kisses down from her jawline to her collarbone, planning to lift her onto the counter the exact moment that they hear the front door open. He groans into the side of her neck, both very used to this type of morning interruption. Clove stabs into the cutting board, when she twists her head over his shoulder to call out to their uninvited but not quite unwelcome guests.

“How the fuck do you get in here?”

“We all have the same locks. Not hard to get a key.” Comes the voice of her mentor, who settles herself right down at the kitchen table. Brutus is only a step behind, sitting next to Enobaria expectantly. “Glad to see you’re–” She takes in Cato’s bare chest and Clove’s bare legs, the two of them combined to make a single outfit worth of clothing “–mostly dressed this morning.”

“You let yourself into our house, what do you expect?” Cato reminds, grabbing a handful of perfectly sliced strawberries before hopping up to sit on the counter top beside Clove.

She swats at his hand as it dips into the fruit bowl. “That’s for the pancakes-”

“Never thought i’d be listening to a little domestic dispute over pancakes.” Brutus remarks, already helping himself to making a fresh pot of coffee. “I’ll take chocolate chips in mine.”

“This isn’t a restaurant, Brutus.” Clove mumbles, but opens the cabinet above her head to get to the bag of chocolate anyhow.

“We kept you two alive.” Enobaria reminds them, separating sugar into two coffee mugs besides Brutus. Notably, she is not caring to make any for Cato nor Clove. “You know. Trained you. Got you sponsors. You can make us breakfast.” She holds out the mugs to Brutus, who fills both before they sit back at the island. “I think i’d like an eggwhite omelet. Spinach.”

“You can have pancakes. That's what I’m making.” Clove waves the knife over her work, before going back to meticulous chopping. “You know, Cato also got me sponsors and kept me alive, and he isn’t asking for special requests.”

“Okay mom, we’ll eat what you make us.” Brutus mocks her, voice teasingly high, which results in him and Enobaria laughing to themselves.

“I think you give Cato more than just breakfast requests, Clove.”

She rolls her eyes and finishes her prep work, Cato just chuckling next to her between bites of strawberry.

“Any other special requests? Do you need your pancakes cut into bite sized pieces so you don’t choke?”

“You offer Clove the same consideration?”

The knife that lands between Enobaria and Brutus’ heads is not meant to hit them.

This is our place, we make the call

It had just felt right, for her to end up in his house. Sure, she had been given the one directly beside him, across the street from Brutus, so that the four of them made up a corner of the village on their own. She had moved some of her things into her assigned home, but they quickly realized she was spending most days and nights next door with him anyway.

It was a natural progression, when his house became theirs, within months of returning as victors.

He finds her laying on the floor in the room directly next to theirs, staring at the ceiling on that exceedingly rainy afternoon.

“What are you doing?” Cato calls from the doorframe, where he is leaning against it but looking down at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Trying to decide what to do with all the extra space in the houses.” She answers honestly, her arms contently crossed over her ribs as she stares up at the white ceiling. “I was thinking we could use this room for practice space, but we’ll end up with a knife through the wall.”

He comes to lay directly beside her, side by side and just staring up at the ceiling. “You could take up knitting as a hobby and use this for that.” Cato deserves the gentle smack with the back of her hand that lands on his chest. He brings that hand to his lips and kisses the back of her fingers gently. “Maybe crocheting”

“Yeah, and you can use this for when you take up Yoga for anger management.” Clove rolls her eyes, but leans her head on his upper arm anyway.

“We don’t need to figure it out right now. We can just save it.” Cato suggests, lifting his head up when he experiences a sense of wetness on his neck. He cranes his head to realize the window is wide open, and now littering the floor with rain. “Open window?”

“I always liked the sound of rain.” She explains, turning on her side to face him. “Thunderstorms, really. But I liked the sound of rain. And the smell.”

Cato props himself up on his arm to face her, and an idea spreads across his face. “Let’s go outside then.”

“What? Why would we go outside when we can listen right here?”

He pulls her forward by her waist, pressing his forehead to hers. “Because we can.”

There was a time when neither of them were guaranteed more rainstorms, more sunshine, or homes with two much space for two people. Clove seems to understand that and nods, pushing herself to her feet.

He practically races her down the stairs, beat out by her only because she is so much more nimble than he is, and she can jump over the banister at the end of the stairs before he can.

Clove’s at the back door before he can even turn the corner, and she nearly yells when he lifts her up by her waist to get out there first. They stumble onto the back porch together, laughing loudly enough that surely their neighbors would be able to hear if their windows were open as well.

He sits on their top step, just out of the line of the direct rain, but close enough that they’d get misted by it.

She settles beside him, his arm falling over her shoulders. She laces her fingers together with his, and her head comes to rest on his shoulder.

They sit in silence, enjoying the feeling of cool summer rain on their skin, on the smell of petrichor mixed with a summer haze.

In a few months they would be on her tour, and then not long after that they’d be responsible for mentoring. They’d have to get back to training, back to making sure there was pride being brought to District Two.

But for now they had this summer rain and a youth that let them enjoy it. Wasn’t this what they won for?

Maybe, if they were lucky, things could always be like this.

Thunder cracks in the distance, and Clove finds herself curling in closer to his arms.

“Cato?” Clove murmurs, a feeling she can only describe as contentment washing over her with the rain. “Tell me you love me.”

Cato tightens his arm around, turning his head to kiss her temple. “I love you, baby.”

“I know.” She sighs in response. It was not the first time and it was not the last, but Clove never quite forgets how lucky she is to hear them in her adult life. “I love you, too.”

All of you, all of me, Intertwined.

Clove’s a sucker for the moments after. The times where he holds her on top of him by her waist, her face in the crook of his neck as she catches her breath, feeling him trying to capture his own under her as well.

She can remember being so scared of it, when they were teenagers. Plenty of fear mongering from her grandmother and Enobaria both resulted in a girl who wasn’t afraid of much other than this.

Looking back she can understand their concern, but her own fear was completely unfounded.

He had been so understanding, never pushy or anything. She had been willing to do..other things..to makeup for the actual act of sex, things she had gotten very good at over the years may she add.

He went to the games, nearly died, and Clove decided life was just too short to be so scared of something that she quickly found out could be so great.

“What’re you thinking about?” Cato asks into her hair, his hand gently stroking at her lower back. “You stop breathing when you think sometimes.”

“This.” She answers honestly, giving him a playful raise of her eyebrow before she rolls her hips over his. Clove smirks as he groans under her, turning his head to the side.

“You’re literally going to kill me, Clove. We literally just-”

She cuts him off with her hand trailing between them, down the broad expanse of his chest. “Can’t keep up?” Clove taunts, a sickly sweet edge to her voice. “I expected better.”

Cato practically growls as he flips on top of her.

I used to think love would be burning red, but it's golden

“What are you looking at me like that for?” Clove squints in his general direction, tucking the edges of the sheet conveniently under her upper arms to hold it around her bare chest. She rolls onto her left side to face him, her right hand coming up to stroke her thumb over his face.

Cato’s expression could only be described as lovestruck. His thumb traced over her forehead, down to her cheek, down over the corner of her mouth, and trailed down beyond her throat. He realizes, as he memorizes her freckles, her evergreen eyes, the long expanse of her eyelashes, that he is staring the rest of his life in the face. The entirety of his future is in his hands, under his finger tips, giving him a look that is somehow both inquisitive and annoyed. He’s truly won, he realizes that at this moment, nearly five months after her games. He’s won The Hunger Games. He won her. He won the rest of his life, and if it were exactly like this, he would die happy.

Of course there are other things he wants. At nearly nineteen he’s still dumb enough to say it, that there's nothing he wants more than to marry her. He can still picture that white lace dress from his reaping day, and if he imagines hard enough, he can imagine in her something not too unlike it, holding his hands in front of their district. She’s a little too fiery for lace, but maybe she’d consider it just for him that day.

“Seriously, what's the look for, Cato?”

“I’m going to marry you.” Stumbles out before he can stop it, the dreamy tone in his voice washed away when he realizes what he actually said out loud. “I mean- some day.”

“Not when we’re teenagers.” Clove warns, but she curls her body up into his anyway. She tucks her head against his chest, letting her body melt into his embrace. “And I believe you’d have to ask. Beg, really, You’re going to have to beg. On two knees.”

“Mmm…maybe around the 75th Games then.” He concedes, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, gently rubbing his hands over her bare upper arms. “We can take the attention to us, again, could be fun. Especially if Two doesn’t win next year. We can make it about us.”

Clove actually laughs, the sound vibrating through his chest and right to the center of his heart where it tugs hard.

“Sure. We can revisit then. You aren’t stealing the show of my Victory tour from me, next month. But like I said, I’m making you beg.” Clove’s voice is teasing, but there is no real edge to it. No sharpness. It’s not abnormal, really. They’d honestly be older than most people tended to get married in their district by that point, it was just a topic for later. Clove tilts back her head to look up at him, eyebrows scrunched together intently as she looks at him. “What’s next, you want a big yellow dog, too?”

He gives half a laugh as he cups her face in his hand once again. “No, I just want our kids to have these freckles.” He means it, Clove can tell from the deeply earnest tone in his voice. “At the very least, the freckles. I wouldn’t mind the eyes too.”

Clove rolls her eyes at him now, but she still gives him something between a smirk and a smile. “You think there's half a chance of that? Your whole family looks exactly the same, there's not a chance in hell that they aren’t gonna end up blonde and blue eyed with nothing from me.”

“One’ll be blonde, yeah. The girl’s gonna look like you though.” He says it so confidently she almost believes him, and she genuinely believes he can picture it. “They’ll have no choice but to be victors, too.”

“Well obviously, we aren’t raising losers.” Clove scoffs, but there's an understanding there. Trained or not, there was a better than average chance any of their kids would end up reaped. Especially, considering the long story of Clove and her mother. They loved a story, they loved drama. What better way to continue it than by throwing in the daughter of two victors, granddaughter of a tragic tribute girl. They had to be prepared for the inevitability of it. “That would be so embarrassing for us. Loser kids.” She tucks her face back into the hollow of this throat. “This conversation is also one for waaaay later, Cato. But yes. No losers here.”

Cato is grinning wide and excited at her, when his arm slips under her to flip her underneath him. He’s kissing down the center line of her body, starting at her chin and working downwards. Yes, Looking at him, you would think she has given him the entire world. Cato lifts his head when he reaches the bottom of her rib cage.

“I’ll also take the dog, if you’re offering.”

Clove shoves his head down and under the covers.

Can I go where you go, can we always be this close, for ever and ever

“Absolutely not, go home Cato.” Enobaria shakes her head, blocking the door of the train. “I’m not dealing with the two of you for two weeks. You can see her in 14 days, after tour is over.”

“That’s not going to work, Enobaria.” Brutus warns from behind her, heading to the back of the train car. “Just let him on, save us all the grief.”

“I’m coming.” Cato practically shoves past her, to end up with sharply manicured nails grasping at his throat, shoving him backwards off of the train.

“This isn’t your tour, you don’t get special tour privilege for fucking the victor.” Enobaria snaps, as if she had not been eating meals in his kitchen once a week for six months. “For the next two weeks, I’m her mentor for the last time. That includes making sure this is about her and not your little lover fest.”

“He’s coming.” Comes from behind him, from the girl neither even saw sneak up. “Like you said. It’s my tour. I want him there. Besides, you know they’ve already made him matching clothes, it would be a shame to put them to waste.” Clove steps on the train besides Enobaria, a wide, proud grin plastered on her face. She holds out her hand to him, inviting him with her. “Let’s go.”

I love you, ain’t that the worst thing you ever heard

#always remember we're burned for better tag #ARWBFB TAG #clato fanfic #the hunger games fanfic #the hunger games fanfiction #cato and clove #clato #THG fanfic #This has references of mild child abuse as well as sex

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sukacheri · 3 months

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Hiiii could you do 😅⚒️🌞❌ for the ask meme?

hello my most special oomfie thanks for the ask <3

😅 “What's a story or scene you've created that you're a smidge embarrassed exists?”

I dont even know… im so embarrassed by writing fluff which is so funny, so i think my fluffiest fic may be one of my first hinakasa’s where they have a sleepover and play animal crossing, so that would be what im most embarrassed about

⚒️ “What tools/programs/apps do you use to write?”

Google docs my beloved (cries in ao3 italicization errors)

🌞 “Do you have a preferred time of day to write?”

I usually write in the evening! I’m currently on a trend of spending Monday-Thursday thinking about writing, then being shockingly productive on Friday nights, then tying it all together over the weekend

❌ “What's a trope you will never write?”

Id never do a love triangle i dont think. I could have fun writing jealousy and make it funny, but couldnt earnestly do a love triangle.

Also not quite a trope, but sidebar that i love medical dramas but i dont think id ever write one because oh brother the research. I could only free ball with my grey’s knowledge so far. But i would *love* to write one…but the research… life is so hard.. will be thinking about hinata surgery specialty though

#ask

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seven-stars-in-his-palm · 5 months

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who says you're not getting an ask? because I'm giving you one right now!

anyway, I'm curious about Burn Fast, Burn Bright. not anything specific really, just surprise me ig. I love that fic of yours a whole lot as I'm sure I've stated to you before.

CAN WE GET ON WITH THIS?? TY!!! fic in question, which is OLD as HELL and I got second hand embarrassment from all the things I could’ve done better MAN. here are my thoughts before we get into it;

- this was the second fic I’d written for stanuary, and one of the longer fics I’ve written Ever actually. 15k words. I don’t know how I was able to produce so many words for these events ngl I hope I can redo that this year ANYWAY. first impressions? shallow angst. I think that’s what this is gonna be TO ME, because I’m the author and I hate myself. this was written almost a year ago… ough

- the descriptions will be Okay, but could be Better. I think I’ve gotten better at those hopefully.

- I was writing a lot of 80s angst during this time period and this was the second in that bunch. loose ties and ends, that one kid from jersey, unfortunate ends, like?? I was on a roll. what was wrong with me (still wrong with me)

- the gnomes are here? damn. I like gnomes

- oh that summary. already fucking me up

- I’m going in with the mindset that even at the time I knew that there was improvement to be had. This is my growing. I’m STILL growing. we can do this. I was still trying to find my groove. NOW LETS GOOOOOO

He’s left the damned duffel bag.

The one thing he had to take, and he’s left it behind. Stan has nothing to curse but his own self, because how is he so stupid as to not notice for a whole day? He’d spent the whole day driving through Oregon, hopping from gas station to gas station and it’s only now, the next morning, that he realizes there are no extra clothes to change into?

already onto a great start /genuine. an earlier draft had this to be a Lot more aggressive—using exclamation points and harsher language and shit, but once I realized that it would be a little odd that we start so strong, I toned it down. I think it gives a bit more of ‘resonate despondence’, which is very (sometimes) stan

Ford had always been bad at explaining things. He always expected the listener to know exactly what he’s talking about, be at his exact intelligence level, so that his ‘explaining’ could be understood with just a few words. 100% of the time, that isn’t the case.

literally me. best but of ford characterization someone could have conjured fr

okay already a detour but did you guys know I read my fics in my head in a VERY SPECIFIC tone, and that’s why most of the italicizations and em dashes exist? that’s why they’re there because if someone doesn’t read it the way I do I slowly die inside /silly I still do it today and I have to remind myself that I shouldn’t have to do everything for my reader. I should trust them.

(Yeah, Stan wants to let his anger out, but he’s not gonna kill the guy. Ford looks fragile enough as it is, and if he fights any harder he’ll probably break his leg or a rib. No point in damaging him, really.)

yes that’s so nice stan. you’re such a good brother dude oh my GOD IM—

this whole ford pleading scene here. here’s some bits;

“It…” Ford inhales deeply. “It’s not forever. I just need it away.”

“I don’t—Stan, I don’t want you to sail away to the ends of the Earth.”

“This—this, right here, I can’t do it.” Ford gestures to the portal wildly, giving it a scowl that could give Stan a run for his money. He almost thinks it’s directed at him, since he stands in front of the machine’s eye. “I can’t fix this!”

oh I’m feeling the feelings what the fuck. I can hear the last dialogue SO WELL. I remember vividly rewatching atots like four times just to listen to the fight and I’m still not desensitized. like the way ford delivers such a genuinely misguided request and seeing nothing wrong with how it might be worded which ALSO being on the verge of snapping? yeah ford I’ll give you a pass you’re going through shit. I’m so glad it still reads!!!

“I’m already too far gone, Stanley, an-and I can’t think of anyone else, anyone who would want to help.”

ohhhhhi can hear this too. it’s a Hint you know. it’s supposed to tip you off; something is REALLY wrong….

okay I’m restraining myself from pasting this entire ford exchange but it’s so GOOD. I’m flattering myself. And I didn’t even take that long on it I remember I wrote most of chapter one in a single burst. everything you see? barely edited. all put on at once. threw up on a page. I was feeling things

Ford sets the Journal aside. He, aside from the glaring obvious, does not look shaken up. “Yes, I know. Never… see me again.”

He sounds bitter. Almost too bitter for his liking. It’s almost contagious, from how it seems to roll off him and outwardly.

“You…” Stan has to phrase this kindly. “You know I don’t want that, right?”

Ford doesn’t relax. Instead, his gaze only darkens. “I know.”

i remember crying. I was tearing UP. that’s them. that’s something I would say if I were stan. make sure they know that I don’t want that. I…!!!!

Stan wonders what Stan will say.

one of the few bits I was smiling for when writing this….

So he should be here.

I forgot the name for this literary device even though I started using it religiously after this BUT YEAHHHHHHHH GET OUR FEELINGS BABE

not gonna paste it but what ford(‘s body) is hiding by. I’m gonna be honest despite watching atots so much I forgot where the portal opened. like dead ass, so I made it up. the bookshelf is supposed to be the portal. I think the fic ‘by the skin of your teeth’ was still severely affecting me and that was the portal in that fic. this is what you get when you don’t check your references. it literally happened to me yesterday! I was finishing up chapter six of do you remember hanging up the stars and it was about aziraphale and crowley on the ark back in 3000 bc right. I forgot what the ark looked like other than a Single Memory so I bullshitted it. I then remembered I had a Resource, Checked, and it was. well I completely forgot about where the humans would’ve gone. lol

I can’t paste it all bc it’s like the whole fic but Stan’s DENIAL. the way he’s sooooo deep in it that it’s a physical jarring when he’s ripped out of it. he’s literally such a denial grieved it’s SICK and I can’t believe I wrote it so easily. Ahem. that says things I think whether good or bad is up to your interpretation

some of these dialogues are weirdly cut off. I think Stan’s a lot more of a run on sentencer. hm

okay now I’m getting into the secondhand embarrassment that would probably be extreme heartbreak had into created this. I think at this point I was very emotionally worn down; not just from writing but Life too. there’s not much to say. it just Exists

oh that fucking letter. fucking letters. I love ford letters you know that they’re so delectable especially when he’s allowed to make them long. this WHOLE THING. wow. and the way he OPENS IT. classic ‘we don’t have much time’ action type beat *writes a two paged letter*. also the crossing out things. I’m a fucking genius. augh

I don’t know if you would like to stay in Gravity Falls after this, but I would like you to do two things, the two things I could not.

UHM EXCUSE ME YOU REALLY THINK SO?? LIKE GENUINELY??? woah buddy. anyways this hurts me because I know he’s being genuine about this he DOESNT know if Stan would like to stay. he doesn’t know. HE DOESNT KNOW—

Unless there is an afterlife, this is Stanford Pines, your brother, signing off.

(Thank you, Stan. For everything.)

THAT. THAT? I was kicking my little evil feet oh I WAS. I was thinking ‘what could I do in character that could REALLY fuck you up?’ and I landed there. I loved it so much I literally used the thank you ploy again for a recent whumptober entry and it STILL HIT FOR ME. like. ford and thank yous. always painful 🥹

Two: After all this?

Stan isn’t planning to last a week.

see look it’s funny because. because the summary is about stan always following through with his plans. it was a parallel. he went through with a plan and it resulted in ford fucking off the face of the earth. so now he’s got a new one. new mission, new plan, new end. I loved thatshit…..

He didn’t expect for the pawn off to be so violent.

I had a very different opening here; it was something with bill watching everything before unfold and THEN cut to ford going through with the plan? but then I decided ‘hey wait a sec we never see stan LEAVE after that little flashback. how did that leaving go?’ and now we’re here. damn I even had an alt opening

now that we know ford’s suicide is inevitable (and that we’re in his head) I start slathering that foreshadowing everywhere….

“Okay. Okay, I’ll go. But I’m comin’ back, ya hear me? I’m not leavin’ you again.”

it’s giving crowley saying ‘I’m coming back, I won’t leave you alone’. hehehe

It does untangle, after a few seconds of frantic pulling and Ford’s shouting beforehand.

Stan doesn’t have the decency to apologize. He flaps his palm as if he got burned. “Yeesh. Your hair’s a mess.”

look it’s funny because. because. well you know. hair untangling. corpse

“And get some fucking sleep! You look half-dead!”

There it is.

yeahhhhhhh I was just being mean. stan babygirl he’s already going to do it. don’t add insult to injury

It was time to enact Plan A. If Plan A didn’t work (which it had to. He didn’t even have a Plan B) then it’d be time to panic.

the original title for this fic (like the FIRST ONE. not when I turned this into a two parter) was called ‘Plan B’, because 1) plan A indeed does not work and plan b is suicide, and 2) B for Bill. :)

But knowing Stanley, he’d find a way to show just how pissed off he was at Ford even if he was in the afterlife.

:) x2. still proud of this

When Fiddleford first learned of the gnomes, he was more than disturbed. Almost spooked. Ford had insisted that as long as you had bug spray and mushrooms, they would be manageable. Sadly, Fiddleford had thought mushrooms ‘takin’ care of the problem’ would be in warding them away, that mushrooms were a repellant of some kind.

FIDDLEFORD MY BELOVED!!!! I love writing beats like this I still do. it’s just so nice to take random hcs and put them in the most tense and matter of fact situations just to distract us a little. make us look away, but not entirely. ough

He wants to shake on it.

it’s the little traumas that break our hearts.

okayyyyyy I’ll be honest ford leaving the portal for someone else to kill it is Very ooc. I’ll admit that. but I need my Scenario!!!!! I don’t regret it. just know that I acknowledge it. *cries*

ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh the ‘method’. oh ‘the method’. fucking kills me. he debated ont his. rationally. RATIONALLY I WAS LITERALLY THAT ONE MEME THATS SCREAMING AT MY CHARACTERS TO STOP BUT IM THE ONE WHOS PUTTING THEM THERE IN THE FIRST PLACE—

ough. the bullet points. okay I’m running out of commentary steam but let me say this. I asked for hcs on my blog right? so I could put some of those here because even I run out of hcs eventually, and people DELIVERED. I loved them. I put every single one in at least One point, and seeing these tiny memories just spring up at he’s doing this is like that thing with the fiddleford/mushrooms bit. he’s distracting himself. making th situation less scary in his eyes. OUGH

OH AND THE PILLS NOT BEING FORD’S BUT STAN’S? ONE OF MY KAST ALTERATIONS BUT SOOOOOOO WORTH IT. NO NOTES JUST ULTIMATE ANGST

Ford had considered being a doctor for some time while in elementary school. It was a given, considering his intelligence and avid nature towards sciences. His love for the supernatural always gave in however, and it has won every battle. But for a long time after, a part of him wanted to be a chemist, a manufacturer, a creator. Sure, it soon became a pipe dream, but for a while it was a genuine choice.

But Ford is an experimenter. He realized early on that he wouldn’t be able to resist pouring the components and chemicals on his skin, if only to see how they would react to human flesh.

motherfucker.that guy is literally me

btw these spaces after the em dashes are killing my soul. I remember once that I thought everyone else was wrong with no spaces and I was right. Oh, past me. No.

How could you not love someone like that?

God, he’s never going to see him again.

*SNIFF*

4.5 million humans in the world. 230 million humans in America. 7 million in New Jersey. 2 million in Oregon. Around sixty or seventy species of anomalies in Gravity Falls alone. And that doesn’t even account past Earth, if Crash Site Omega was accounted for.

I had to look all that shit up I don’t even know if it’s right. at first it’d been modern day stats but THEN I remembered that we’re in the fucking 1980s so ofc it’s different. ALSO LOOOK I FUCKED UP IT SAYS MILLION NOT BILLIONS. IM GONNA DIE. FUCK. either way we stay silly we stay silly!!! just know that little paragraph has caused me so much grief.

Ford always hated funerals.

this was the beginning of the ‘we hate funerals’ saga. still do hate them. I hate them, ford hates them, crowley hates them, ALL OF THE HOMIES HATE THEM 🫵🫵 /j

Mania is a feeling he knows well, and this is not that.

lmao name drop *i was on the verge of tears*

It’s Ford, the snow, and his candle, which has no more wax to burn.

THE TITLE THE TITLE THE TITLE—

the spacing. the html gave me sooooo much trouble but it was worth it!!!! every space was deliberated and checked and shit. ough. OUGH

okayyyy im capping it here because I’m so so tired. but!!! here it is. I just. wow. Less yet more corny than I thought this would be. I hope you enjoyed that little roller coaster, and I’m off on Life Adventures. Which means Errands. fuck…..

#ask game #the guys (with a z!)#so so so sorry my dude. but it’s here!!! ahH

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