coelum

[gcldxnboy]

Wildest nightmares aside, Arthur never thought he’d find himself ending up Brunello Cucinelli  and have to check his bank account with a watchful eye. Before the dark times -- sometimes, as he lay draped his muscular form over his favorite therapist’s chaise lounge, he referred to the present as the dark times for a bit of posterity -- he wouldn’t have thought twice before tossing hanger after hanger into his assistant’s loving arms. Now, he meandered around the store with the sun to his back and a longing in his heart. His happiness, much like dear old Patricia (oh, how he missed the way those sweaty beads dripped from her forehead in waves), was about as nonexistent as the money in his account. 

After the fiftieth time of swiping up to refresh the app, relief filled Arthur’s being as he watched those digits blink at him in their cobalt hue. Without a second to lose, he plunged his hand into a rack of clothes and picked out a taupe sweater that he immediately lost himself in. The delicately stitched hems, the magically smooth designs that jutted off the fabric... Oh, it was times like these that he found himself full of longing. 

“Ah, Miss Buchanan!” 

The greeting had not fallen upon deaf ears -- how could it have? one of the employees had all but said it with the same gusto as a fat man when greeted with a plate of pizza -- and Arthur swirled on his heels. The subsequent squeaking of his loafers echoed throughout the serene store and plagued his eardrums. It was all he could hear as he focused on the sight of his dear cousin sauntering into what was probably her fourth store of the day. Her hair gleamed in the golden sunlight and, almost immediately, Arthur thought about running. Did he have the strength? Did he have the energy? Probably not, he thought as he stuffed two fists into shallow pockets, but why tarnish his family so openly and with such hostility? 

“Miriam,” Arthur began as he took a purposeful step forward and spread his arms as if he were about to be crucified and hung for all to see. If this didn’t go well, he had no doubt that the morbid imagery would come to fruition. Those tense little fists slammed their way back into their pockets -- thumbs excluded, of course, for those needed to cling to the edge -- and he spoke once more with a cool, calculated tone.

“Little Meerkat, this is such a pleasant surprise! How’ve you been?” Although he couldn’t remember the last time his eyes took hold of Miriam, he still walked forward and offered her two kisses on the cheek anyway. Simple. Elegant. Effective. Proper. Mother would be proud. 

// closed starter for @mctamorphxsis

[gcldxnboy]

mctamorphxsis​:

leon rolled his eyes the second after he spoke because he knew it was a mistake. giving ronni permission to gloat turned out to be more painful than he thought it would be, but he had made his bed and he had no choice but to lie in it. “i hate everything about what you just said, i’ll never admit when i’ve been wrong ever again.” 

and true to his word he didn’t say anything when ronni turned out to be right again, it seemed as though there was no way to describe what this big, fat, wet, bomber he was just about to ‘experience’ it. “yeah i guess, reckon the kappa girls are going to be there?” two girls in the sorority immediately popped to mind, one of them a heinous woman but was beautiful enough to make up for her horrible personality. 

leon watched ronni prepare him the bevvy with more heart than usual because he knows boy is upset, and it filled leon’s heart with joy. when he took the drink he lifted it up and toasted to ronni, “i’m not going to lie ronni, that was really romantic.” he knocked back the drink with a single gulp and went to make himself one. 

“if he’s there,” leon couldn’t even say his name, “can i have you word that you’ll hold me back so i won’t fight him. because if i see him when i’m drunk i’ll knock him out.”

between the loud sips and sucking noises of ronni draining his drink, he paused every so often to let out a word or two. one such occurrence resulted in a: “don’t worry, bro -- i’ll always be here to remind you whenever you’re wrong,” while the final one was a cheer with a burp wrapped around it. laughing at his own silliness, ronni did not hesitate to begin fixing himself yet another concoction. man, he thought to himself as he scratched at his back from above his shoulders whilst pouring a generous amount of liquor into a cup, i should start making gay-ass drinks like this more often.

soon enough, leon had found his way over to the brilliantly organized liquor station (oh, shit, that reminds me... i gotta wash my jerseys) and was practically knocking hips with his friend. the closeness was lost on ronni’s conscious mind, but his subconscious easily picked up on the proximity. for whatever reason -- of course, all he could focus on in the moment was fixing the right ratio of liquor to juice (a solid 80 to 20) -- he stayed where he was and allowed the warmth of leon’s presence to bolster his own. 

“kappas? dude, seriously? you can catch better fish with what you’ve got to work with. aim higher, man... aim for a tri-delt’ or a phi-mu or something. me, personally, i’m probably gonna go for one of those delta-gamma girls -- they’re freaks in the sheet man, trust me. one time--” he carried on and on about one of his sexcapades all the while feeling comforted by the warmth that leon’s closeness provided.

eventually, when all was said and done and ronni had nearly knocked over both his and leon’s glass with his crazy gestures, he paused to take in leon’s new sentiment. instinctively, ronni’s hands tightened around the wedge of orange -- what the fuck? where did he get fresh oranges? -- and the juice burst forth like it had been stabbed and gutted. 

“nah, man, you shouldn’t be asking me any of this. if i see him, i’ll fuck ‘em up so bad that he’ll need, like, dental reconstructive surgery or some shit. fuck ‘em.” 

[gcldxnboy]

mctamorphxsis​:

as miriam listened to lars speak, she wondered if it really was worth having children. she had known this nightmare of a person since he was a child and with age he had simply gotten worse, she didn’t think it was at all possible. she imagined what he was like a child and felt nauseous. “i knew that maths wasn’t your strong suit lars, so please don’t embarrass yourself even more.” 

she was over his insults considering they were as vapid as he was. it took a while for her to conjure up exactly what he looked like, but as soon as the mental image in her head had been conceptualised, she let rip. “that’s a bold statement considering right now you look like a hooker from district six willing to open their mouth and legs for a drop of morphling.” 

although she hated to admit that lars was right, it was too important to ignore the state her tributes were in. thinking back to the thing they called clothes made her laugh out loud, “you’re right, whatever they thought was acceptable to enter this train on simply won’t do.” in miriam’s games she had inadvertently killed the people whose sense of style offended her the most in order, it was funny how things like that worked. “they should die based on their style choices alone.”

he would let the maths insult slide off his skinny back, down his skinny legs, off his skinny name-brand (which were a big deal in district one, mind you!) shoes, and into the skinny air that pulled and kissed at his skin(ny). however, at the mere mention of his appearance -- phrases like ‘you look like...’ never really sat well with lars dupree -- he tensed up, but upon hearing the rest of her ‘insult,’ the muscles in his long, luxurious legs relaxed.

“oh?” he asked mildly as he lifted both legs and threw them over his head without so much as a second thought. sniffing as quietly as the act was pointed, he tilted his head and kissed at his teeth before letting loose even further. “please, smeariam, the sex-workers -- mind you to stop being so judgemental! -- could never acquire the levels of intelligence, aptitude, and the amounts of soap and water needed to achieve a look such as this.” as delicately as possible, he patted at the door to his love and offered up a sultry wink. “besides, let’s not go projecting, hmm?” 

with legs still raised skyward as if in prayer, lars checked at his cuticles and, once again, adjusted his sweatband and absent-mindedly cracked the knuckles of his fingers. “ugh, you’re so right -- they really should. doesn’t matter, though, because they’ll all be dead soon enough, anyway. i don’t even want to think about what they’ll say back at home if we don’t come back with a victor -- actually, god, do you know what, imagine this: that ugly, tiny little neanderthal of a ‘man’ brings back a victor. i can’t bear it. i simply won’t look my beloved andre in the eye for at least a year.” 

[gcldxnboy]

 mctamorphxsis​:

“i know… i told you so.” leon sighed the words out with the strength of a legion of men. there was nothing more he hated than being proven wrong. it wouldn’t be dramatic at all - in his humble opinion - to say he would prefer a bullet to the head. “if it was me i would have happily gloated and boasted about being right, so i think it’s only fair you should too.” he didn’t mean it of course, but he hoped that in his delicate state ronni would politely agree not to rub salt into the wound. 

leon whipped his head round back to face ronni. he didn’t expect his silent brooding to be interrupted by the harsh reminder that he was desperately hurt by the situation with j*siah. “yeah he has but i want someone hot underneath me tonight so he’s out of my head.” the sensible part of his brain knew it would be a bad idea, and that it wouldn’t actually help him at all, but his dick suggested otherwise and it seemed as though that was going to win.

the more ronni spoke about this ‘party’ the deeper the frown on leon’s face formed, “actually, i’ve changed my mind, what is a big, fat, wet, bomber because i’m a bit… unsure.” it was curiosity more than anything. the obvious fruit euphemism did bring a smile to leon’s face to ronni’s credit, “i’ve got some grenadine we can make tequila sunrises”

having already fumbled his way through his stash, ronni was busy scrolling through his phone for sick cocktail recipes as he lazily held a full jug of vodka in his other hand. he nearly dropped the whole thing when those sacred, precious, invaluable words registered. before he could help himself, his lips curled around a laugh and the spirit and raw vim spurted out a sound akin to that of a bull in heat. 

“you’re right, so i’m gonna! i told you so!” staring intently at the illuminated screen, he found an article entitled “the perfect screwdriver recipe” right as leon mentioned his goals for the evening. he looked up under his pair of wildly untrimmed eyebrows and stared at leon for just a second. he watched him talk, watched the ways his mouth formed vowels, and then returned his attention back to that of ‘the perfect screwdriver’ with a “haha, sick” muttered supportively under his breath.

finally, as he memorized the recipe -- which frankly just called for vodka, orange juice, and a splash of cherry juice -- he slammed the vodka jug on his clothes desk -- a regular desk, but reconverted to house clothing instead of pointless schoolwork -- and let out a roar of humorous descent. “man, you know what, i don’t got the time to keep explaining. a big, fat, wet, bomber is a big, fat, wet, bomber -- end of story. you’ll experience it and all its glory when we get there, okay?” 

through all the madness that left his mouth -- all of which was fueled by his own intrinsic inclination towards chaos and drunken revelry -- he poured over the drinks and, after putting the finishing touches on the two glasses (hastily cleaned with the ends of his shirt) he held one out for leon. it was a measly thing. it was a painfully average drink that had substituted authentic cherries for that of crudely jarred ones, but it was made with his heart (however grubby and twisted it may be).

“bone apple teeth, my good buddy,” he said grandly before forcing the spare into leon’s hand. fingers clashed against one another as he retracted his hand and raised a toast. “to the bros, to getting laid, and to the tree that’s gonna fall on that dumbfuck’s house!” 

[gcldxnboy]

mctamorphxsis​:

he had no idea why he was being so honest with yessica. most of it boiled down to the fact that he did actually enjoy her company, and if there was anything he had learned about women in the past ten years, it was that eventually they always find out the truth, so it made sense to be upfront and honest from the beginning. “i think she’s worried that you’ll take advantage of me.” it was a hilarious concern, one that brought a smile to alfie’s face - even now as he relayed it to yessica.

that’s what he thought was her problem, there was a little more to it, and it was on the mean side, however yessica was a big woman and could handle it. “or, if we’re being truly transparent, seduce me in some way or another for your own gain and leave me worse off. she’s very concerned about my public image see.” he wouldn’t put it past yessica, she seemed like the type but could he blame her? absolutely not. alfie was cut from the same cloth so he had no problem with how yessica was. her question however did confuse him. alfie was not the kind to beat around the bush, nor did he really need an excuse to get rid of anyone in his life - he had fired people for less. “please… yessica if i wanted you gone. you’d be gone. and yet… you’re still here.” 

now that the matter of yessica’s employment was discussed he moved onto something that would be a lot more fun. alfie rubbed his hands and took a box from a drawer in his desk. “excellent. are you free this evening?” 

call her a cheshire cat, but yessica’s smile -- mirroring alfie’s own -- grew to abnormal sizes and masked a bedlam of selfish desires and personal interest. at first, she found herself nearly laughing at the sentiment. would yessica take advantage of alfie? the answer was yes, obviously, but were her motives that clear? no, that couldn’t be it -- the reason being because yessica wasn’t quite so sure what her own motives were in the first place. did she want alfie for his body? yes. did she want him for his money? who wouldn’t? did she want him for more than that? well, that was a ghost that had yet to be busted, so to say. 

the radiance of her brilliant teeth faded away as a new challenger wrought its way from deep within yessica’s soul and planted itself firmly on her face. complacency, having reared its ugly and bedazzled head, grasped the strings attached to yessica’s back and yanked upwards. 

an eyebrow cocked and yessica merely sighed through her nose. her shoulders relaxed, her posture slacked, but the sparkle in her eye burned with a newfound brilliance. it was clear, then, more so than it had ever been before: alfie was aware of this game of cat and mouse, and what’s more, he was probably enjoying it. of course, yessica thought as she licked her teeth, given a microphone, he would liken himself to a lion and her to a meerkat. or, perhaps she was wrong -- perhaps he viewed her as some sort of dastardly compatriot hellbent on a never-ending masturbation of one’s own ego. the doubt was enough to confirm yet another of yessica’s worst fears: she wasn’t as in control as she thought she was. 

“it goes without saying, but i would never put your public image at risk, alfie,” she said through the corner of her scarlet mouth, pointedly ignoring the part of his claim that involves seduction. “you’ve hired me to be here with you, and with you -- and your best interests -- i will be. i’m forever grateful for the opportunities this has presented me,” and of course, for a moment of pure grandstanding and utter joy, she began to list off the arbitrary things she was thankful for: job, peace of mind, and professional advancement. none of it mattered to her -- not really -- but she was sure he would get a kick out of the blase response. 

“... and, yes, you’re right. i’m still here -- and i plan to stay.” perhaps it was a bit bold -- surely it was as bold as it was polysemous -- but she needed to be more so if she were to continue this game as a contender, not a sideliner. “oh, let me check.” fishing for her brand new, company issues iphone xr, yessica made a show of checking her schedule. as she stared at the notes app on her phone -- groceries: oat milk, spinach, almonds, bananas, jewish rye -- she hummed a tune that was born from nowhere and ended there, too.

“no -- seems i’m free. what’s on the agenda, and should i wear sensible heels?” the question was pointless -- she’d wear her good louboutins even if they were to go dumpster diving, of all things.

[gcldxnboy]

mccnlightw‌:

daniel almost rolled his eyes at the gasp leaving the other man’s mouth. surely he couldn’t have hurt him and the delay of his reaction only confirmed it. “yeah, flowers are cool.” some of his friends liked to disagree, so not only did he enjoy to hear the sentiment said out loud, he felt the need to repeat it, too. “there’re much better things about being alive though,” he added, gaze moving down to the bar top, feeling the coldness of the rings on his skin before royce’s fingers even touched him.

there was absolutely nothing formal about the situation as it was – shitty bar, drunk antics and all that. “you should probably be more careful about announcing your full name, someone might steal your wallet.” only someone who was filthy rich would be called something like royce carter ix, that was just an undeniable fact. and it sounded like old money, too. unfortunately for his own wallet, daniel wasn’t a petty thief and all he did was laugh a little at the his outlandish name. 

he was about to thank him for the compliment, and maybe offer one of his own – not anything too informal, of course – when a bartender finally seemed to care that royce was not where he was supposed to be. daniel took in the man – bruce, if royce could be trusted – with a certain disappointment, a sigh leaving his lips. he really thought he’d found a new mediocre bar, where no one worried if clients hanged out behind the counter.

letting royce finish his questions, hand still barely holding his wrist, daniel considered his options. he could stand back and watch as he got kicked out of the bar … but it wasn’t very nice to let a cute guy get kicked in the ass. so he went with option b, instead letting his hand slide down royce’s arm and grabbing onto his hand. “i think you’re standing on the wrong side of the bar, royce carter ix. doesn’t seem very sanitary.” he smiled, pulling him towards the little swinging door that separated what was supposed to be employee only space from the rest of the bar. 

with a chuckle, daniel placed his hands on royce’s shoulders. as much as he wanted to find out what wild shit the man would come up with next, he was starting to think whatever it would be, it’d land him in the hospital. “i think it’s time you stop drinking for the night sweetheart.”

perhaps a little too late, royce registered the comment about his wallet whilst the blond and bruce -- ha, that was a funny name-combo. blond and bruce. bruce and blond -- exchanged a word or two. “no!” royce exhaled through the foggy warmth of indignation. “man, seriously? petty thievery? shit, just call me angelina mccarthy, then, damn.” 

liquid fire had coursed through his veins the moment he finished his seminar and had taken a celebratory shot right there in front of his professors, but now the fire only burned brighter with each passing second. it didn’t help, of course, that the only clear spots in his senses was the sight of a blond curl and the feel of hands on his shoulders. with that delightful surge of adrenaline and cheap vodka behind him he, of course, realized with a start the current predicament. 

a rare bit of silence captured royce carter ix and held him captive for all of five seconds. then, when the allotted time for thinking, realizing, and actualizing was over, he let out a gasp that was barely contained by his ring-adorned hand. then, just as quickly, he felt spittle burst through the gaps in his fingers as a round of cackles and snorts broke through the tension. his eyes -- which had become squinted and coated with laughter-induced tears -- barely recognized the fact that they were moving away from the bartop. the subtle vision of red hair blended with blond -- and perhaps a resigned curse or two coming from behind the bartop -- and eventually royce found himself stationary and with sweet words being spoken at him.

“man, this is too much -- i gotta tell ya’, of all things to happen tonight, finding out that bruce was secretly not an employee and had been masquerading as one to gain entrance to the behind-the-bar-liquor-stash this entire time... tragic, man. it’s all simply tragic. hey, bruce,” royce called over his shoulder without so much as a second thought, “you got some nerve, man! who do you think you are taking advantage of the bar staff? steal some tips while you’re at it, too, huh? damn!” 

once his peace had been said, royce, completely unaware of any and all consequences to his actions and the growing dissent of behind-the-counter-bruce, found himself leaning on his new drinking companion. “fake news, danny-boy! fake news -- actually, nah, i shouldn’t say that even in jest. can’t have anyone thinking i’m some kind of incel-republican spy. probably like bruce,” he yelled once again over his shoulder in the direction that bruce was most certainly not. “yeah, and -- wait, sweetheart? aww, oh my god, that’s so nice. i love that. thanks, honey-bear-sugar-pie-sweetie-bunches.” 

[mctamorphxsis]

@gcldxnboy​

“listen lars.” their tributes had retired to their rooms to do whatever careers did these days, maybe talk to themselves in the mirror to convince themselves they were hot shit, either way, it left miriam and lars alone. and miriam had a bone to pick. to most people it would seem ridiculous that miriam hardly ever ran into lars in district one, but if she was honest, she didn’t particularly like lars that much and had a particular talent for avoiding unsavoury people. so now that she was face to face with the complete nuisance she mentored herself all those years ago, she could feel a migraine brewing. “i’m not your mother, and i won’t act like it either.” 

miriam hated to nag, she really did, but when a serious topic was about to be brought up, she couldn’t help it. “but i’m letting you know now we are not having a repeat of last games. do you know how embarrassing it was when we kept matching outfits by ‘accident’” she held up her fingers in air quotes for ‘accident’ because she was still sure lars had done it to antagonise her. “heels and all lars. i’m simply not having it.”

[gcldxnboy]

the smell of capitol hair dye and the sight of freshly touched roots alerted lars to the arrival of his least favorite district one mentor: smeariam. he had just been in the middle of enjoying a nice parfait and pondering which of the other mentors from the other districts were there -- if he was lucky, that stud andre would be there. pursing his lips together and sucking out such a thin line of air through them that a whistle came through, he watched her begin what he was certain she thought was a blistering burn.

when she finished, lars licked a spare bit of whipped cream from his nose and then stood up. adorned in a white crop top, white tennis-shorts, and a pair of white kitten heels -- what? wearing stilettos on that death trap of a train? no ma’m! a snug little finger found its way under his matching headband and stretched the elastic. as it slapped against his forehead, lars licked his teeth and subconsciously cracked the pinky finger on his right hand. 

“smeariam, you’re old enough to be my mother -- let’s be clear on that! secondly, do you know how embarrassing it was for me to see you trudging along like a gimp-legged district twelve coal miner in those heels? no, ma’m, i don’t think you do.” to accentuate his point, he lifted a leg high into the sky to show off his white heels. he knew what he was about to say carried no weight because he, too, didn’t care much about their latest round of tributes. still, however, he had to say it because, well, he just needed to say it!

“and besides, smeariam -- how could you waste your time coming for me and my gig when our little tributes are too busy wearing monochromatic outfits and... ugh, god -- i don’t think there’s anything more i need to say.” 

[gcldxnboy]

mctamorphxsis‌:

at the sound of ronni’s deep, and almost breathless bruh, leon knew he had gone too far. the young man wasn’t prone to violent outbursts, and prided himself on his calm composure despite his arrogant nature. he looked at the corner where ronni’s cracked controller rested and his shoulders deflated. “you’re right. that was dramatic. i’ll buy you a new controller. and i’m sorry for pushing you.” he went onto his phone and went to buy him a new controller, and even threw in a game ronni had been making not so subtle hints about wanting. 

maybe ronni was right all along. leon could never forget the look of disgust on ronni’s face when he first introduced him to josiah. if he didn’t know any better, he would have thought it was a classic case of homophobia, but it turned out that he just didn’t like the guy, maybe despite ronni’s lack of … basic intelligence? he had a strong judge of character. “i know you didn’t like him bro, and for good reason. he’s the definition of bad vibes.” leon was also bad vibes, but he wasn’t going to acknowledge that at his own pity party.

leon listened to ronni ramble on about almost nothing and nodded his head slowly. he was doing his best to cheer him up, did it make any sense to him? no, but it really was the thought that counted in moments like this. “but yeah… err thanks for cheering me up.” leon offered him a smile which quickly turned into a deep frown. “what the fuck does big, fat, wet, bomber mean? actually do you know what, it doesn’t matter. let’s fucking go man.”

“man, look, i’m not one to say i told you say,” ronni spoke through the dull thumping of his blocky thumbs against his phone screen, “but, like...” trailing off, ronni shot his best friend a look that hopefully conveyed the same amount of energy as a regularly delivered ‘i-told-you-so.’ he couldn’t help smile back at leon as he apologized -- something the other boy ought to do more, in ronni’s humble opinion, especially when it involved ronni himself. 

“don’t mention it. i’m right, you’re wrong -- it’s been settled!” with the sense of triumph permeating in the air around him, ronni tossed his phone to the side and let out a laugh that probably shook the foundational core of the building. ecstasy wasn’t enough to describe the feeling that coursed through his veins -- in addition to being right and on the receiving end of an apology, he got to educate his best bud? man, today was just too eventful, huh?

“a big, fat, wet, bomber is, like, a party that’s destined for greatness. i don’t really know how else to explain it apart from the fact that a big, fat, wet, bomber must always contain the following three things: thots, plenty a’ booze, and... and uh, well, i guess just those two things. doesn’t matter!” 

leon’s urgency didn’t take ronni by surprise, but it sure did render him speechless. could it be that his friend had forgotten the golden rule of party-going? “dude, man, that dumbfuck’s really gotten to your head, yeah? listen good and listen well, young padawan, you expect me to show up to a big, fat, wet, bomber without any shit in my blood?” he asked as he pointed to his not-so-secret stash of tequila, vodka, and white rum that he kept ‘hidden’ next to his gaming systems. “grab the tequila and i’ll grab the orange juice -- what better way to forget one fruit than with a fruit-juice cocktail? pardon my french, uh, i mean beverage. sorry -- didn’t wanna remind you of him.” 

[gcldxnboy]

incandascxnt‌:

nayeli thought she had already grown used to the tangled knots of words that would leave his mouth - often at the most inconvenient of times. without taking her eyes off the screen, nayeli decided it was best not to explain to ronni what exactly the word deign meant. or any of the other words she had said that he didn’t understand. there simply wasn’t the time. all that mattered was that plumeria was still breathing. 

however, when he continued to speak nayeli couldn’t help but hold his gaze out of the corner of her eye. “i don’t appreciate being lied to.” as quickly as she tore her gaze from the screen, it was back and she was focused solely on the arena. a place she felt she could understand - each step and decision perfectly calculated. regardless of whether ronni was genuinely paying attention or not, she didn’t have the time.

“and why exactly do you think she is guaranteed a victory?” ronni was still riding the popularity of his recent win - each tribute that passed through nayeli and andre’s hands was crucial to their continued favor in the capitol. the invariably fickle nature of the capitolites made sure of it.

nayeli scoffed quietly at ronni’s comment. “i could think of a few other things i’d rather be doing.” noticing that the screen cut away from plumeria for a moment - no one liked to watch a tribute make camp when blood was being spilt elsewhere - nayeli leaned back into the chaise and got more comfortable. and then finally mustered enough patience to turn her attention to ronni. “so, since you’ve been paying such close attention, what do you think her odds are?”

“lied to?” ronni repeated incredulously as he blinked once, twice, then thrice at one half of his mentoring team. his jaw had fell slightly askew at the accusation, and as he ran his palm over his face -- from eyebrow to the spare hairs on his chinny-chin-chin -- he forced it back into place. instead of saying what he truly wanted -- which was that he didn’t appreciate being called a liar and a slew of other uncouth terminology, as nayeli would no doubt put it -- he simply sipped furiously at his smoothie. his eyes trained in on the screen in an attempt to lose himself in the games, but upon noticing that he was watching the twerp from five try to tie up his wounds with a spare bit of cloth cut from his shirt, went right back to facing nayeli.

“first of all, nayeli, i don’t appreciate being called a liar. i didn’t lie to you! hell, i don’t even know what you’re accusing me of lying about, but i can promise that i didn’t lie -- whatever it was. god damn, man. damn.” then, as his body turned to completely face her, his arm reached out and ‘accidentally’ knocked over his smoothie. without even having to be told, the same avox came, picked it up, and then started preparing a new one. 

“she’s guaranteed a victory because she’s my first tribute, nayeli. i mean, come on, the quarter quell comes once every twenty-five years -- do you really expect them not to reward my victory? do you really expect them not to give her a better fighting chance than she already has because i killed a past victor? from district one, man! from district one. you know what--”

“i couldn’t think of a single thing i’d rather be doing than doing my best to ensure that plumeria comes back alive. and that’s exactly what i’m doing, man, i’m being realistic. she’s coming back,” he waved his arms grandly and stood atop the couch he had previously been sitting on, ignoring the look from the avox as he did so. “because they love me. end of discussion.” 

with an unceremonious flop, ronni bounced back onto the couch and crossed his arms over his bulging chest. “right now? five-to-one. she’s got the second highest odds behind the guy from seven -- and that’s not her fault! he’s built like a fucking oak tree, nayeli. but he’s dumb, man -- dumb, dumb, dummy dumb. my girl, plumeria, can take his ass out like that.”

[gcldxnboy]

incandascxnt‌:

in reflex, hugo wrapped his arm around francis and let himself fall comfortably into the silence. the opportunity to tune out of the cacophony of noise that lay like a heavy blanket over the district and into the whispers of the wind and hollow echoes reflected off building facades provided a sense of peace hugo held tightly to. 

and then his husband let out a scream that pulled at the scarred parts of his heart he knew would never heal. his hand slipped away from francis’ back and back to his side, though he let his hand hover in the air for a moment. it was a strange dance; between the relief hugo felt at knowing that francis’ scream meant he was safe and home while the sound that echoed in his head reminded him of just what he saw on the screen all of those years ago. and the horror francis experienced.

pushing those thoughts to the side to be dealt with later, he smiled slightly, and bit back his retort that francis didn’t need to apologize. or, at least, he lessened the sharp edges of it. “i’m glad it feels better, i’m sure this fountain has heard worse.” of course, of course he had to respond with a poorly landing joke to lessen the cloud around them both.

before he could respond, francis continued speaking and hugo could tell he knew exactly what his husband’s response would have been. perfectly okay, hugo could do perfectly okay. “your snapdragons look wonderful,” hugo replied, knowing perfectly well he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between a thriving plant and a dried husk. and that statement, which he had made multiple times, wasn’t much of a stretch. and then he laughed, a light sound that was sucked into the water alongside his husband’s yell of pain, 

hugo sat down on the side of the fountain and held out his hand for francis to join him. “unfortunately, i was aware we had bugs. and rats,” quickly backtracking so he didn’t need to plan an inter-district move (what a strange concept that even was) “but i doubt we have rats. i hope. i doubt the rats would have the taste to appreciate your gorgeous snapdragons anyway.”

“oh, you’d be surprised,” francis uttered softly as a light sigh escaped through his nostrils when he placed his hands in hugo’s, “even vermin like rats can appreciate a snapdragon. i’m telling you, hugo, we have rats -- and i’ve decided we should name them. something about fearing the unknown is harder than fearing a name? i don’t know, i think one of my sisters wisely told me that once. uh, the point is...” 

he continued to ramble for quite some time. he couldn’t be sure for how long he muttered about his sister, the rats, or even his own snapdragons; but by the end of his little soap-box moment, francis found himself contemplating names for the rats -- of all things, rats, he would later complain to hugo for perhaps the thousand-and-first time. 

“what about izara? y’know, after that victor from two i’ve told you about once or twice. i think there’s three, so we need two more names...” for a moment, he allowed himself to be lost in thought as he leaned into hugo’s frame and let the babbling of the fountain fill in the natural, but still empty, pauses in conversation. he was just about to offer up another -- haven, for the little hoodlum child that had once tried to rob him blind -- when the mentioning of izara’s name caught up to him. 

he could see her black, glossy hair and the cruel dimples of her cheek. gulping, francis found his free hand clutching absent-mindedly at the tile that lined the fountain. later on, he would notice that a tile had somehow been torn free from its delicately crafted surface, only to find dried blood atop his fingers and suddenly remember.

but, now, the moment was in full bloom.

“i don’t want to go back, hugo.” his voice was crisp with fear and somehow as soft as the petals of his beloved snapdragons. his eyes -- now overtaken with fear and the crinkling of age -- gazed outward and into the great unknown. perhaps his sister had been wrong all along. 

[gcldxnboy]

mctamorphxsis‌:

as soon as ronni said the word triangle, leon let out an intense groan and threw his controller on the floor. he was sick of it. he was sick of the fact that the tiniest little comment from someone who he hated, if he was perfectly honest with himself. “fuck you man!” leon pushed ronni before rubbing his hands over his face. “you’re all such assholes!” he wasn’t sure if he was talking about josiah and ronni in particular, or perhaps it was just all men. it was sad really to see leon in such a state. he had met josiah just over a year ago and from the onset their relationship had been nothing short of a nightmare, but did that stop the two of them from crawling back to one another like rats? of course not. “do you know that’s what that fucking asshole josiah said to me just before i broke up with him.” 

with a new flare of anger erupting in his soul, leon whipped out his phone, scrolled to josiah’s contact and typed ‘c-u-n-t’ in the text box before sending it off. he knew that josiah had blocked him and there was next to no chance of him ever receiving that message, but it was still extremely cathartic. “fucking asshole i fucking hate him.” but the truth of the matter was he didn’t, and it was so painfully obvious but did ronni possess the emotional capacity to decipher all of that? of course not which is leon felt so comfortable talking to him. “bro i need a drink, and a rebound. do you know any parties happening tonight?”

“bruh,” came a pain whispered followed by a moment’s silence -- revered, of course, “do you know how much i paid for that controller?” at first, ronni couldn’t take his eyes off his fallen comrade. the battery pack had popped out and one of its soldiers had rolled under the futon. already planning to knock leon senseless, ronni stopped, however, at the feel of hands on him (and not in the preferred, sensual, womanly way!)

liked a crazed chihuahua, ronni bared his teeth and was on his feet in a moment. shoulders squared and nostrils flared, ronni swept a hand through his hair as he stared down at a sitting leon. he had half a mind to drop a nuclear bomb of sorts -- in ronni’s world, that meant a whole lotta cursing followed by a punch on the arm or two -- but stopped short at the mention of he who must never be named. in an instant, the boy’s face reddened and he was sitting back on the carpet with his legs crossed and his head bowed. 

he sat in deserved silence as he contemplated what had just happened. the hamster in his head -- which had, up until this point, been riding high on a mixture of boyish endorphins and the promise of a bookmarked, trashy porno when he got to his room -- began to slouch, too. internally cursing himself for the ‘triangle’ remark, ronni dragged his behind on against the carpet until he was sat next to leon. then, rather unceremoniously, he let his calloused palm fall against leon’s expensive shirt -- sweater? god, who knew, honestly.

“yeah, fuck ‘em -- honestly, bro,” ronni began fiercely and protectively as he patted leon roughly on the shoulder, “he never deserved you. man, if you only knew how much i thought he was dumb. that’s coming from me, too, so you know he’s really dumb. like, do you remember that talking christmas island head in night at the museum that was, like, talking about gum and dumb? that’s him -- except he’s the dumb-dumb with no gum-gum!” 

quite proud of his pep talk, ronni nodded once or twice before letting a wicked grin take over his boyish face. “do i-- dude, really?” in an instant, ronni had taken out his phone and was scrolling through an endless sea of texts, booty-calls, and the occasional reminder from his dad to do his laundry. “the tri-deltas are throwing a big, fat, wet, bomber, man. wanna go?” 

[gcldxnboy]

mctamorphxsis‌:

he decided not to mention yessica’s freudian slip again, he realised very quickly that it was something that probably should be acknowledged ever again. he didn’t mind that she had a temper, he had no time or space for weak willed people. yessica didn’t know cindy very well, she had only seen a bad side of her, but still the idea of saying no to her was hilarious. “very easily actually, in fact it’s quite funny when you tell cindy no but i would never, it’s not something that goes down well.” and he didn’t have any reason to get on her nerves either.

her story was sweet, whether it was true was a different story but did he care? of course not. “that’s quite sweet actually. speaking of grandmother’s can you book a lunch reservation at that restaurant i went to yesterday for this time next week, i haven’t seen my grandmother in a while.” his words trailed off a little as she got closer to him. he resisted the urge to laugh, but instead he let the bubble of laughter sit in his chest as she ‘fixed’ his button. alfie had wondered if he would find it difficult to stay faithful to lura after they got married, especially when beautiful women like yessica quite literally threw themselves at him on a daily basis. he could do it. he could lift his hand up and brush her hair behind her ear, kiss her jaw and nobody would see. even if they did see would they do anything, could they? but the fact of the matter still remained, and it was that he simply had no interest in doing it. 

“you’re too kind.” he spoke in a low voice, barely above a whisper, and watched her as she moved away. if there was a woman he was prepared to ruin his marriage for, it wasn’t going to be yessica. he sat behind his desk and ran his hand across his beard and sighed, “yessica this isn’t just about pushing buttons. she wants me to fire you.” the clothes were a petty warning for her to behave herself, “anyway enough about cynthia. you’re smart enough to not do anything to upset her but i have something important i need to ask of you yessica.” alfie smiled at her before actually letting out a laugh.  “now… would you consider yourself to be a persuasive person?”

“at chez amelda? you got it,” she said neatly as she whipped her phone out of her pocket and began to type at the speed of light. the sharp clicking of her nails against her phone -- synonymous to, but not entirely comparable, that of stilettos clicking against tile or a pencil against paper -- calmed her as it always did. the brief little ball of anger that had stirred within her moments ago was, at this point, completely deflated as she locked her screen and removed the latest version of the iphone from sight.

she had just decided to provide some pleasantries about grandmothers when alfie spoke the dreaded word. ‘fired’ was not something that yessica was completely unfamiliar with -- remember that great big ball of anger within her? -- but it was something that was unexpected in regards to this particular situation. despite her almost unearned confidence, yessica felt a lump of dread form in her throat. swallowing it, she ushered forth a small smile and couldn’t help herself from speaking despite alfie’s quick attempt to change the conversation.

“she wants you to fire me? um, well... that is a shock. i know i’m probably speaking out of turn here, but,” she carried on under a false, yet extremely well-crafted, layer of fraudulent serenity, “may i ask why? it’s not like you’re married to a woman that is artificially controlled by some sort of ‘ethereal,’ yet flakey and entirely unworthy, ‘being’ that is responsible for every single thought, whim, and decision? i hope you don’t find my presumptuous, but...” 

and here, yessica tilted her chin up slightly. her mother -- the softie she was -- had at least taught her daughter one thing that would never leave: never let them see you with your head down. even if you’re facing certain defeat, and the world is against you, tilt your chin up.

“... is it really your sister that wants me gone?” once the question was posed, yessica resumed yet another layer of beguiled grace and nodded a single time. “i would say so, yes.” 

[gcldxnboy]

mccnlightw‌:

it had only been a few minutes since he’d been exposed to royce’s antics, but already daniel felt like he couldn’t look away. he was far from a wordsmith, but the words train wreck and car crash came to mind. “if you aren’t wasted, then i truly worry.”

the realization that royce was paying zero attention to the words coming out of his mouth came to late, but to no surprise. he was about to repeat himself anyway when royce’s eyes widened. “what?” he scanned his surroundings, looking over his shoulder to confirm he hadn’t gone crazy – surely an alien had to have walked in the bar to account for such a reaction. but when the other man offered his explanation, all he could do was let out a breathy laugh. this guy was comedy gold, his cheeks would start to ache if he kept on laughing

“oh no! whatever will i do!” living with julian for so many years had clearly left some residual flair for the dramatics, but unlike his brother he couldn’t keep a straight face as he spoke. his eyes met the bartender’s, who looked confused, but clearly not confused enough to intervene. maybe this bar wasn’t as bad as he thought.

when royce’s body came almost crashing into his, daniel leaned back, convinced he was trying to headbutt him. but seeing him stand still, as if it could make the both of them disappear, he straightened his back again. this was the moment a lot of people would reconsider what the fuck was going on, but he was just too entertained. so he kept his eyes fixed on this strange guy, a playful smile turning the corner of his lips as he glanced away to confirm that particular bartender had long walked away. “have you ever thought about going into comedy, you’d do great.”

in different circumstances he would’ve punched whoever decided to grab his shoulder like that, but at the moment it’d feel like hitting a small puppy. instead he simply grabbed royce’s wrist and pinned it down to the bar top, softly enough as to not cause a scene – well, more of a scene than they already had. this was one of his favorite leather jackets, his grandma had embroidered each flower with love and he’d be damned if any threads got loose. “you didn’t need to grab me like that, i would’ve shown it off you’d asked nicely. but thank you i try my best.” letting go of his arm, he repeated his previous question, running his hand over the jacket as if to smooth it. maybe he’d actually listen to it this time. “it is royce, right?”

it was nearly impossible to encounter a sober royce, but if he had been around that night he might have thought twice about placing his hands on someone he had just met. that being said, sober royce was not invited to the festivities, so a drunken royce took matters into his own hands -- or, rather, he would have if one of his wrists wasn’t, at present, being pinned down to the sticky, wooden surface of the bar-top.

he didn’t feel the pressure at first -- rather, he saw his hand pinned down before he felt it. eyes widening with a bit of giddy madness, royce lifted his chin and, for perhaps the first time, allowed himself to truly look into the blonde’s face. everything -- from the blonde curl that levitated above his eyebrows to his urinal-cake-colored eyes -- seemed to pop out at him. perhaps it was because of the liquor, or perhaps it was because they were signs. instinctively, he wanted to reach out to touch his cheek with a forefinger, but realized (perhaps a little bit too late) that he couldn’t. 

“ah!” he gasped out through a mixture of faked-pain and revelry. the reaction was almost assuredly a few seconds late, but it didn’t matter. at least, he would think later, he finally heard -- and really, really heard -- what the blonde had to say. “i’m sorry, man, i’m sorry -- it was just so pretty! flowers n’ shit are so cool, y’know? they’re like... they’re like one of the only good things about being alive.” the melodrama of his statement was lost on him, so instead he placed his free hand atop the man’s hand and delicately began to absent-mindedly pat the rings of his free hand onto the top of the blonde’s. 

“royce carter ix, sir, let’s not get too informal,” he slurred through a crooked smile. the warmth of the situation was beginning to be a bit overwhelming -- there was the fire in his belly (from the liquor, obviously) the buzzing sensation of a thousand bodies surrounding his own, and, of course, the hand holding his to the bar-top. “i didn’t know the bartenders here got so fresh, man--” 

before he could finish his saucy little remark, royce heard the baritone bark of one of the bartenders he was actually familiar with. bruce -- a tall, brick-wall built ginger with a soul-patch that belonged in the 70′s -- came barreling past another new bartender and nearly slammed into royce. yelping, royce stepped to the side -- his hand still ensnared by the blonde’s -- and felt the gap between his eyebrows vanish as they furrowed forth in an act of defiance, confusion, and a little bit of arousal. 

“bruce, what’s going on? is it-- oh, my god! is it a worker’s strike!? is that why you’re on this side of the bar? oh, my god... did you quit! bruce! oh, my god!” 

[gcldxnboy]

mctamorphxsis‌:

@gcldxnboy​ 

with seven assignments due, less than a month to get them done and a shit load of things they needed to take of - leon and ronni had decided that the entire day should be dedicated to playing video games. it wasn’t that they didn’t want to do their work, it was that they had come to the mutual agreement that they wouldn’t be productive until they knew who was officially the ‘king of fifa’. they were seven games deep after their initial ‘best to three’ had extended to ‘best to ten’ when one of them didn’t get the result they wanted. 

half time had descended upon the pair and all day it had been clear that something was up with leon. most of the time when leon was in a foul mood it was because of josiah and this time was no different. the pair bickered so much people had stop being concerned. but their latest argument had been particularly bad, so bad that leon had broken up with him and was sure that he meant it this time. “bro can i ask you a question and you can’t laugh.” 

he put down his controller and turned to face ronni. during the short time he had known ronni he had become a real bro, they fist bumped every day, shared meals together and picked up girls together. “and i fucking mean it.” his brown eyes flickered across ronni’s and let a sigh stretch from his chest out into the space between them. his head dipped and a curl brushed his forehead. “is my chest so big that it makes my head look really fucking small?”

tempestuous and offensive were not nearly strong enough to describe the turmoil and chaos that spread from ronni when he was losing a competition. any competition -- whether it be a simple game of uno or a championship game of rugby, which he always played as if his life literally depended on it -- became a serious endeavor. whenever leon was around, ronni’s competitive spirit always flared itself up and practically announced itself in the room with a smirk. even for fifa -- no, especially for fifa -- that drive was at an all time high.

“yeah, sure, bro, whatever -- shoot,” ronni said without much thought as he gripped his controller as if it were a bag of bills. only upon hearing the lack of button mashing and pointed silence did ronni realize leon was being serious... more serious than normal. with a gulp that was soon  overtaken by a wicked, toothy, smile, ronni put his controller down, too, and turned so he could give his full attention to leon.

“god. okay, man” ronni began anew, already on the verge of busting out laughing for no good or apparent reason -- it be like that for bros, he would say -- “lets hear it.” of course, he had treated the entire matter as a joke, but the sigh and the inclusion of the adjective ‘fucking’ had sent ronni into full-on spiral mode. god, had something happened, he thought frantically? did leon discover the gram or two i keep hidden behind that one electrical socket that doesn’t work? oh, christ... did he find out i jerked it to his mom that one time? oh, fuck, man, this is bad. this is bad, bad, bad--

then, just as quickly as he had begun to panic, laughter filled his chest and was stopped short by his teeth.

“uhm,” he coughed out as his kidneys danced upon his stomach, “you know, now that you mention it, you do look like a fuckin’ triangle.”

[gcldxnboy]

incandascxnt‌:

nayeli, her eyes fixated intently on the screen in front of her, took her glass of wine from the avox’s hand. andre had found himself busy with something else, unsurprisingly, so she was left to talk their newest victor through watching a games where their tribute was actually holding their own by herself. which meant that if ronni actually paid attention and did as he was told he would get incredible firsthand training from one of district four’s best - in her own opinion. and the correct opinion.

“a perfect example of why i refuse to nominate anyone who trains primarily with water.” nayeli gestured to the screen displaying towering sand dunes and a destroyed, abandoned shantytown off to the north end. “it’s an incredibly niche skill and is hardly ever useful. he would have been dead days ago.” nayeli took her eyes off of the screen for a moment to see if ronni was actually paying attention and, of course, he wasn’t as enthralled as she had hoped to see him. “if you don’t deign to pay attention, i’ll leave you to watch on your own and provide the team with detailed updates. i do have better things i could be doing.”

/ @gcldxnboy​

he didn’t necessarily mean to tune nayeli out so that her voice was no more distinct than the dull humming of of the blender that was, at present, crafting his morning smoothie, but he tuned her out regardless. 

as the avox put the finishing garnishes on his beverage, ronni watched the tongueless man out of the corner of his eye. he hadn’t been able to completely trust anybody handling his food since his own games, but at the same time he enjoyed the little thrill that came with forcing a servant to do his bidding. with eyes narrowed with the force of his own self-imposed scrutiny, ronni snatched the delicate glass from the avox and tilted his chin back to the kitchen. if the avox was wise, he would bring back a straw -- ronni always demanded a straw for his morning smoothies. 

the word that brought him back to the land of the living and coherent was, ironically enough, ‘dead.’ for the briefest of moments, ronni found himself prey to two of the devil’s favorite pets: suspicion and dread. his face betrayed himself, and the ensuing second or two found ronni as shocked and alarmed as the day he was ripped from his mother’s unfaithful and backstabbing gash. when he found that his tribute -- plumeria -- had not been untimely murdered, ronni relaxed and reverted back to his preferred state of being: profound confidence and obnoxious egotism.

“my name isn’t dayne, nayeli -- god, and you call yourself a mentor,” he joked out of the corner of his mouth and winked to add a flare of charm. andre -- the man, the myth, the legend -- had been ronni’s true mentor, but nayeli had been there, too. “c’mon, don’t ride me so hard, man, i’m paying attention. i promise,” he assured as he grabbed the straw from the avox without so much as a glance and plopped it delicately into his smoothie. after a long sip that tasted of strawberries, bananas, and pineapples, ronni smacked his lips and diverted his full attention to nayeli once more.

“look, as far as i’m concerned, plumeria is doing great -- nah, strike that, man, she’s doing amazing. she’s gonna win. you know it, i know it -- hell, even tonsils over here probably knows it.” the avox looked offended by ronni’s remark, but he knew better than to test the latest victor of the third quarter quell. instead, the man whisked himself away and left the victors to their own devices.

“besides, what could you be doing that would be any better than hanging out with your favorite victor-in-law?” 

[gcldxnboy]

mctamorphxsis‌: 

it was almost laughable, but he didn’t laugh in yessica’s face. he had made an executive choice to save that for when he was in the comfort of his home relaying the silent feud that brewing between cindy and yessica. 

when he took the files his eyes flicked down momentarily to her chest, almost by instinct and he inwardly cursed before resuming his usual calm composure. however, when her smile disappeared and he caught a flash of pure, unbridled anger that was so raw and intense it shocked him into a long silence. 

alfie had known yessica for the better part of two years and knew her to be his extremely competent, equally seductive and manipulative but otherwise friendly assistant. he didn’t know why it surprised him so much that yessica probably had the temper of one of satan’s personal hellhounds but kept it very much, and almost perfectly under wraps at work. “ooh i haven’t seen that before.” 

he was impressed, yessica dealt with the idiots alfie physically couldn’t converse with. he crossed his arms and a wide smile spread across his face. it was always fun getting to know people better. “hmm. interesting.” he knew he would probably never anger to the point of boiling point, nor would he ever particularly want to but it was always good to know what people might be capable of. “you don’t have to wear it you know, but it is a fine suit and you’ve accessorised it well. are those diamonds?” he knew they were, but for the sake of moving the conversation along to a more complimentary one, he went along with it. 

he snorted when yessica purposely got her name wrong, it was something so small nad petty but forever hilarious. “put it this way, she thought very long and hard about your wardrobe and i can imagine it was very um… challenging for her.” moving to put the files in a drawer, he moved from behind his desk so he leaned against it “just a word of warning. i know you’re not an idiot but do be careful with cindy. i expect you’ll be seeing a lot more of her from now on.” he wanted to keep yessica around, but he would have to fire her if cindy happened to fall down a few flights of stairs with yessica in close proximity, or something as equally dramatic. “and she’s the kind of woman that knows exactly which buttons to push.”

for a moment of pure sincerity -- a feat that was rare enough for someone like yessica -- she found herself unsure? the words, ‘but mr. bonas, these are the files? i thought you asked for these, specifically?’ encroached upon her tongue, but upon seeing a subdued twinkle in her boss’ eye, yessica could only bite back her shame by gnawing at her cheek. of course, she thought as she continued to listen with genuine interest and a smile, he saw that little face crack, huh? it’s fine -- everything’s fine, just don’t let him catch you slipping again.

yessica’s anger issues were a dastardly fiend that had plagued her family for years and years. her mother, if asked, would still be able to recant the tale when yessica had thrown a mop at her for simply asking her daughter to take off her shoes before entering the house. her father, similarly, could think of a time -- but would never say it out loud -- where he had caught his daughter staring at him from the doorframe to his bedroom. it was dark, around midnight, and his wife slept soundlessly next to him. he thought he had been dreaming, but yessica herself had remembered the event fondly. her father had told her she wasn’t allowed to go to her freshman homecoming in the leopard-printed dress of her choice. ever since, he had begun to close the door at night.

and now, as yessica peeled her lips back and unveiled her pearly whites, she chose to take precautions and close off the door that led to her real emotions when dealing with alfie.

“oh, gosh -- no, i’ll probably keep wearing it, you know? it would be rude to not want to show off such a gift, right? besides, she’s your sister! how could i ever say no to her?” and in swift response, her left hand framed the diamond that was practically embedded into her skin. the glimmer caught in a ray of sunshine through the open windows, and yessica delivered a smile that could rival that of the precious gemstone.

“they are! they were my abuela’s,” she lied through her teeth as thoughts of that one ex-boyfriend from college ran through her mind, “when she passed, she left these for me. apparently when i was little i used to squeeze her earlobes in admiration.” she made sure to adjust her radiant smile to one that screamed ‘wow, i’m feeling very sentimental right now!’ as she took a step forward and closed the distance betwixt herself and her boss.

“speaking of buttons, you’ve got one that’s come undone. here, allow me...” she trailed off as her nimble fingers began to fix the fiendish button. she allowed her gaze to momentarily trail up and peak through her lashes, but purposefully hesitated as she ‘fumbled’ with the button. at the same time, her mind raced with a lot of different comebacks to counter the ‘warning’ he had given her. oh yeah, her inner voice had said, was it challenging for her to pick out the outfit or for her to think long and hard?  alas, dearest yessica knew she should think twice before uttering something like that. 

finally, as the button pushed through the little hole, she took a step back and resumed a fair, professional distance. “mr. bonas, i hope you don’t think i’m rude for saying this, but i’m not exactly worried about your sister. i have a lot of cousins around my age, and trust me when i tell you that i have a lot of experience dealing with those that like to push buttons.

besides -- i think she and i will get along just fine. i’m a people pleaser, you know?”

[gcldxnboy]

incandascxnt‌:

hugo was used to being awoken before the sun by a cold spot in the bed and francis’ absence when he turned over to rest his arm over him. the difficulty sleeping, the nightmares, and the panic had all morphed into the third person in their relationship. so, this morning, when hugo felt the bed shift and heard francis pad down the stairs and out of their home he waited a few moments to let his husband take the time he might need to center himself. grounding was still something he was working on himself - the feeling of being unable to help, unable to solve the problems surrounding him weighed heavily.

but that often fell to the wayside when hugo stepped in, set himself aside, and was there when he needed to be for francis. not because he was expected to or francis ever asked. his own well-being wasn’t ignored; hugo took comfort in knowing he was there when he needed to be and did his best to maintain his own steady calm.

and after hugo gave francis him those few minutes, and he walked out and found him at the fountain, the apology was completely expected. and immediately dismissed. “i wanted to be up early anyway, the natural alarm is welcome.” hugo approached casually, tracking francis’ eyes to see what he had been spending so much time looking at. “please no seizures, its reassuring that you can wake up calmly. and i’m not sure it would be good for my heart either,” he lightened his words with a gentle smile.

when francis pulled out a cigarette, hugo took a step forward and stood comfortably close to his husband. he often allowed francis to initiate physical contact, knowing he himself valued his own space and never wanted francis to feel encroached upon. it wasn’t due to a lack of comfort, simply a preference hugo carried throughout his life. “there’s no need to apologize, but its accepted. if you turned on all the lights and decided to scream as you walked through the house i might request an apology.” a comfortable silence passed before hugo spoke again, “do you want to talk about it?”

he had to forcefully bite back yet another apology -- this one aimed at the joke about hugo’s heart -- but the man’s defenses weren’t strong enough. air whistled through francis’ teeth as he utter the beginning of that scandalized word. swallowing, he forced a smile, scooted closer to hugo, and then rested his head atop his husband’s shoulder. the warm hum of his voice traveled throughout his entire body as his ear stuck against his flesh. for a brief moment, francis allowed himself a moment of peace as he absorbed hugo’s words. eyes closed in peace, he inhaled deeply. 

then, in the pregnant pause that followed, he lifted his head up and let out a sudden scream. the sound bounced around in the open air and became swallowed by the bubbles of the fountain. a ghost of a smile crept up on francis’ face as he turned and put the cigarette back into his mouth. “there. it wasn’t the house, but i suppose i owe you that apology now. sorry, hugo. god, that feels much better. i’m sorry.” 

it had all been a bit of a joke -- the type of which francis was only capable of performing around hugo -- but by the end of the second apology, francis felt his lungs tighten. rather than risk his companion know that he was dangerously close to the edge, francis let his gaze travel back towards the navy and orange-streaked sky. 

“when do i ever want to talk about it, hugo?” the man began in a moment of introspective clarity, “and don’t answer that. i’d rather we both just pretend that, uh, i’m perfectly okay for once.” did he, though? flexing his fingers to alleviate them of the morning chill, the victor did his best to think of anything but the capitol, the games, the bloodshed, and the mask he’d have to put on when he got to ‘heaven on earth,’ as those ugly, freakish men and women called it. he momentarily pictured the one woman who had hair so long it should have been illegal rubbing up on him during the interviews last year. through the cigarette smoke, francis winced as he envisioned that same wandering pink hand emerging through the smoke and grabbing him. 

“all i want is to talk about you -- my love -- about the lovely weather we’re having -- although a bit too chilly for me, wouldn’t you say? -- and how some damned bugs are eating my snapdragons? my snapdragons, hugo, they’re eating my snapdragons -- bugs! god, did you even know we had bugs in district six? if it’s a rat, we’re moving.”