#Annual Blessing Train

[puppiesandnightlock]

LINK: lucky i’m in love with my best friend

Summary: Damian knew better then to speak unauthorized to the press, especially after the less than platonic nature of what had just occurred. Oh well, no one expected a normal press conference for a Wayne coming out, not after the last few of them.

prompt that won on the Tumblr poll: "Is Wayne heir Damian Wayne gay?" "I don't know," Damian smirks, grabbing Jon's hand. "Maybe a little."

Theoretically, Damian should have known better than to egg on the press. After all, he’d been raised in the spotlight since his mother had dropped him on his father’s doorstep, trained in PR perfection, and generally had distaste for the scandals or big things his family would cause, purposefully or not. 

But sometimes it was just so hard not to, especially when it was so amusing to see them scouting for any crumb of information, drawing their own far-fetched conclusions that made them seem even stupider to those who knew the truth.

The annual Wayne gala had arrived, and speculations about just who the Wayne boys would be bringing as their dates were up in the air. Reporters were getting antsy as they always did that time of year, sloppily hidden and jumping for scoops. Tabloids were printing off theory after theory, each more laughable than the last, especially about the youngest Wayne. 

This year, Damian was finally considered of age to be taking a proper date, despite the fact that they had never managed to catch him with a romantic partner of any kind—or at least with one of the female variety. 

Reporters swarmed the entrances of the gala, taking pictures and brandishing their microphones like swords. Damian scoffed as he looked outside the tinted window of their limo.

“Vultures, the lot of them.” 

“You’ve had years to get used to it by now.” Tim said from across the car. “Complaining only makes it worse.”

He scowled as his eldest brother pulled him into a headlock, threatening to mess up his delicately arranged hair.

“Lighten up, Baby Bat! Jon goes every year, and I think some of your school friends will show up.”

“Tt.” He made a valiant effort to push his brother away without messing up his outfit, straightening his jacket, and smoothing out the wrinkles that weren’t there.

“Who’re you tryn’ to impress?” Jason snorted, legs crossed over. Damian blessed his training, keeping his face straight and his heartbeat steady while fighting to cool his rising body temperature. 

“Just because I despise these things does not mean I wish to go looking like a slob. Although I suppose the sentiment is not often shared.”

He looked around the car, his father in the corner, Tim on his phone, Duke with his headphones blocking out the conversations, Jason with a book, and Dick at his side scrolling through social media. Cassandra and Stephanie had taken the other limo with Barbara, insisting it was a girls-only deal. Tim had decided to go with Bart, Cassie, and Kon, much to Bruce’s despair, and the three of them would be arriving on their own, in whatever shape Damian couldn’t say. 

No one responded to his quite obvious jab, as was to be expected. His brothers often remarked that he would get prickly in times like these, which was completely preposterous, but that wasn't the point. The point of this was that they were pulling up to the entrance and would be completely bombarded by people who hadn’t anything better to do than ask invasive questions and draw incriminating conclusions.

“Time to face the music!” His father said cheerily, already in his Brucie Wayne, father of six, not including the in-laws persona. 

“Dying again sounds nice, actually.” Jason muttered, shoving Dick out after Bruce. He went next, followed by Tim, Duke, and then Damian himself. 

“Damian, Damian, who’s your date for tonight? You seem to be missing one!”

“Mr. Drake-Wayne, care to comment on the recent Wayne Enterprises partnership?”

“Mr. Wayne, how is your most recent investment?”

They pushed past, stopping only to smile and wave at the cameras, making it safely through the doors and into the ballroom. Damian slipped away as Tim and Bruce were swarmed, with Dick and Duke veering off to the side to meet the girls. Jason had gone off in search of Roy Harper, no doubt, seeing as he’d invited the red-haired man as his date.

He found a relatively nice spot to hide in, scanning the room to see if any of his Gotham Academy schoolmates had been invited and if he had to avoid them. Finding none, he picked up a flute offered by a passing waiter (sparkling cider, goddammit.) and prayed to whatever deity would listen that no old people would come by to remark on how big he was getting and if he’d like to meet their granddaughter?

The dances had long since started, and he amused himself watching his family switch between making fools of themselves and actually being sweet. There was his sister, Cassandra leading Stephanie into an elegant dance, catching the awe of partygoers. 

And then there was Tim’s group, all of whom were failing spectacularly. Damian really didn’t expect much else, simply taking a picture for blackmail. As he was angling his camera, he heard rustling from behind him, making light steps as if someone were barely touching the ground. He relaxed, not even pretending to be surprised as hands came over his eyes and a chin came to rest on his shoulder.

“Guess who!” The voice of his farm boy came to his ears. “You only get one, so make sure it's good.”

“My significant annoyance.” Damian smirked, putting his flute to the side and tapping the hands over his eyes three times in a gentle gesture. 

“If that’s what you’re labeling this.” Jon grumbled, dropping his hands and glancing around to see how hidden they were before slipping his arms around Damian's waist. “I also accept better half, significant other, romantic partner, boyyyyyfriend~”

“Never say it like that again.” Damian sighed, letting the taller boy sway them back and forth to the soft music. 

They had a few seconds of silence before Jon quickly dropped his arms and pushed Damian away. Damian getting the hint and grabbing the flute of cider. The two of them went back into more of the open space, leaving some room between them.

“Hey Mom.” Jon waved, Damian just barked behind him. 

“Mrs. Lane.” He looked to the side. “Father.”

“You can call me Lois, Damian.” She said as she had since the first year of his and Jon's friendship. “Where did you boys disappear to?”

“Not causing any trouble, I hope.” Bruce grinned next to her, reaching out to ruffle his son’s hair. 

Damian dodged, with Jon standing in front of him dutifully. “No, Father. If I wished to cause a scandal, I would have done it by now.”

“I know, son.” Bruce said, tired parent bleeding into his tone. “Just watch what you’re doing. Some of the more bloodthirsty ones are out tonight, and not the ones like the Kents.”

Damian’s nose wrinkled, rolling his eyes and tugging on Jon’s suit jacket. Oh, that was something he hadn’t noticed before. “I understand, Father. However, if I am provoked, I cannot say I will mind my tongue.”

Bruce’s response was lost in the crowd as Damian pulled Jon along, unwilling to lose his partner in the masses. He wound up at a table where his siblings were residing, the two sitting at a respectable distance from each other. 

“Babies of the families!” Dick cheered as they sat down, Jon and Damian with similar expressions of distaste.

They were roped into the conversation, inching closer and closer with each moment. Damian felt an ankle hook over his, and he looked up to see Jon carrying on speaking, waving with his hands and laughing. He would be content to listen to him ramble forever. 

God, he was getting soft.

His other leg was kicked from under the table, and he turned in that direction, defense ready. He dropped it as he realized it was just Cass, who raised a teasing eyebrow at him.

“Have something to say, Cassandra?” He gritted out, daring her to say something. There was a reason Jon and he had kept their relationship under wraps for almost a year, and it certainly wasn’t for the press.

One of Damian’s siblings or Connor would find out and spread it to the next until the entirety of their stupidly large family knew, endlessly hounding both of them for the rest of the year. They would make a big deal out of nothing, insisting they couldn’t go anywhere together without a chaperone or the press seeing them, even though they were 17, dammit.

Cass looked between the two of them, shaking her head but keeping the smug look that had begun to rise. For the love of all that was holy, he hoped there wasn’t an on-going bet that she had just won. His siblings never did tire of humiliating him.

He pulled away from Jon, getting closer to his sister for better privacy. ”You are not to tell anyone; whatever you think is going on is absolutely not.” 

She shrugged at him before motioning to their father on the other side of the room. ”Better to tell now. Press are hungry.”

Better a sweet teen love story than whatever scandal was on the corner? Damian looked around their table, noting the disappearance of some couples, knowing she was correct. Leave it to him to save his siblings’ asses, yet again.

Besides, he’d rather tell them himself than have everyone find out from the gossip chain that was the super-youth community. Now, how to go about it?

”Hey.” Damian tapped on the table to catch Jon’s attention, speaking low enough that only someone with super-hearing could reach. ”Do you remember your ballroom dance lessons?”

A quick, nearly impalpable nod followed. Damian hummed in interest before asking, ”If you think you’re ready, we’ll announce it tonight. Ask me to dance in a few minutes when this dance ends and the other starts.”

The twitch of his lips let Damian know Jon was fighting a smile and struggling to keep his nonchalance, only nodding again.

As the dance ended and the next one began, Jon stood slowly, bowing at the waist in an overly dramatic show, looking up with a grin. 

“May I have this dance, darlin’?” A hand was held out, but he stayed in a bowing position. Murmurs and muffled laughter came from their siblings, Damon rolling his eyes, the action offset by the fond expression and hint of pink on his face.

“I suppose you may.” He placed his hand in Jon’s, following until they were swept into the dance. They could both feel the eyes on them, one more accustomed than the other.

Damian could feel Jon tense and caught his eyes, impossibly blue, flecks of purple highlighting it all. They would always be the thing he could never fully capture in his artwork—icy pools, both still and stormy, pulling him in until he felt like he was drawing in their waters. 

”Don’t mind them; eyes on me, my love.” He murmured, his hand tightening from where it was draped across his shoulder and neck. Jon gave a lopsided smile, spinning them around with the rest of the pairs on the dance floor. 

”Your dad is being followed.” He remarked. ”You know this means we’re going to have to talk to them. Our parents won’t be happy this is how we decided to come out.”

“Better than news getting wind of where Todd and Harper are right now, or someone accusing my father of something.” Damian lowered his voice. “And now I can show you off, beloved. Don’t you want everyone to know I'm yours instead of speculating about all the people I could be dating?”

Jon made a huffing noise, a flush making his freckles more prominent. “You're so mean to me, D.”

“It’s not mean; it’s true.” Damian chuckled as they stepped in time with the slow rhythm. “And I'll use my knowledge of you to my advantage.”

“I'll just have to keep you happy, then.” Jon tapped his forehead with Damian's gently as he turned to face him, the other boy’s cheeks darkening.

They bow to each other as Damian whispers in response, “That shouldn’t be hard; you’ve already done it. You, Jon Kent, have my whole heart, and I have yours, and that is what makes me happy.”

“Oh my God.” Jon pressed a hand to his cheek, his face going red. “You can’t just say things like that in public; I'll explode.”

They stepped off the floor, forgetting momentarily that they had just given a major opening to expose their relationship. No one was making a big deal out of it yet, despite them all noticing. They’d stopped paying attention to the stares fairly quickly, so neither could really tell when they stopped.

Bruce was a few heads away, Lois dragging Clark through the crowds, trying to beat out Vicki Vale, who was on a warpath to them.

“We’re fucked.” Jon muttered to his boyfriend, a rare public curse leaving him. There was one more escape route open, and Damian tugged him towards it, suddenly accosted by a recorder in his face.

”Shit.” Damian backed up into Jon, who stumbled, righting himself and his boyfriend quickly. “Uh, hello? If you’d like an interview, please schedule with my father.

“Please, Mr. Wayne, just a moment of your time.” A reporter in a loose dress shirt and fitted slacks blocked their path, big hoop earrings swinging.

Watching theirs, Damian subconsciously touched the gold cuff in his own ear that connected to a chain in his lobe. “I don’t think I can-”

“Tell me, one question that I know is on everyone’s mind right now-HEY!” They yelped as they were hip-checked to the side—another two recorders in his face now.

Damian looked up in surprise as Vicki Vale replaced the earlier reporter, who was still holding out their recorder. Lois came out of the crowd, pulling her husband by his tie and holding out her own device. Clark had a notepad and a nervous look, scribbling down whatever Lois was telling him to.

"Well, Damian, let’s hear it. Is the Wayne Heir gay?” Vicki waited expectantly, with Lois and the other reporter fuming beside her.

Damian looked at the three black devices in front of him, looked at his father, who was coming up behind him, and then at the Kents, Lois, who was mouthing that he didn’t have to answer if he didn’t want to.

Then he looked at Jon. His Jon. He was tired of hiding and waiting, and he knew Jon was too. His taller boyfriend gave a tap three times to his arm, a silent permission on his side and a strengthening ‘I love you.’

He shoved down the nerves and willed his hands to stop becoming clammy, smirking at them as he leaned into the microphones.

“I don’t know.” Damian grinned, slipping his hand into Jon’s and squeezing it gently. “Maybe a little.”

Jon covered his mouth with his free hand, trying not to laugh, his mother giving him a nod. The amateur reporter smiled at him, Vicki lunging forward, before Bruce coughed loudly from behind them.

“If I could have a moment with my son, please.” He gave a pointed look at the two of them. ”Withoutrecorders.”

Vicki seemed about to retort; the other reported nodding frantically and scurrying away, not so subtly bumping into her as they passed, causing Vicki to follow after and yell.

“I know I said I wouldn't cause anything with the media, but-” Damian began, stopping as his father placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“While I wish you would have told me first so I could deal with the press properly, I want you to know that I'm proud of you and I love you how you are.”

He paused, confused, before he realized what he had technically just done and what his father was trying to say.

“Oh. Uh, thank you, Father.” 

“I would just like to say that I knew it.” Lois cut in, saving them from further awkwardness. “Jon couldn’t hide a secret about you in his life.”

“Mom!” Jon dropped his face to hide in Damian’s shoulder. “They don’t need to hear about that.”

“I would actually love to.” His boyfriend smirked as he groaned.

“I’m breaking up with you.” Jon informed him, his voice muffled by the suit. 

“You wouldn’t dare.” Damian reached up to tug on his curls. “You would perish without me, farm boy.”

“I would miss you too much.” He lifted his head from where it was buried in his shoulder before flushing and hiding again as his father cleared his throat. 

“Well, as lovely as this all is, you both need to be talked to. And sleepovers are postponed indefinitely. We are going to lay down some ground rules here, since you’re both still living with us.”

Damian sighed, while Jon groaned again. Lois laughed, reaching to ruffle both of their heads, getting the expected complaints. 

"Alright, lover boys, have your night.” She tugged on Bruce's sleeve, and Clark followed them both, leaving Jon and Damian standing in the crowd. 

“Wanna get out of here?” Jon whispered in his ear, his hands resting above his stomach and his chin on his shoulder.

“More than anything.” Damian responded, feeling the table with his siblings burning a hole in the side of his head. 

They untangle themselves from each other, slipping into the crowds and out through a window, Jon zooming them through the cloudy Gotham sky, before landing on one of their favorite spots, the rooftop of a Wayne Enterprise building. He set Damian down gently, sitting next to him, their legs swinging over the edge. 

“Well, we did that.” He bumped his shoulder, entwining his fingers with Damian’s. ”You did that.”

Damian laughed. “We did, didn’t we?”

They fell back into silence, watching the bright city lights shine below them. Damian leaned against him, letting out a breath of air. He lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss to Jon’s, his taller boyfriend parting their hands to tug him closer, and then returned the gesture by kissing his temple.

There would be a media storm to deal with; siblings, parents, friends. But that was something for tomorrow.

Tonight, there were just the two of them, above the city and the lights, away from the cameras, where they could just be. 

[arimiadev]

spooky visual novel recs that just came out in the past month!!

now that the awards ceremony has happened, I can openly talk about the visual novels I liked from Spooktober VN Jam, an annual game jam for making Halloween-themed visual novels (which I happen to judge entries for)!

each of these spooky indie VNs came out at the end of September and were made in just 1 month. some are scary, some are cute, but they're all made with love so go give them some love 💜

Märchen Line

Embrace the indomitable human spirit by serving in the First Among Father's Voyager Armada- The Bravest of The Brave, who venture out to liberate the Milky Way from the True Enemy. Serving as a Soldier means embracing infinite potential. With the blessing of His Runes, you will grow stronger, smarter, faster and braver in a few weeks than you have in your entire life. All that growth comes with responsibility, and you will be expected to pay your civic dues- but luckily each Soldier is assigned a Valkyrie to help them manage their priorities. Train your stats, build your relationships, and be all you can be...or push past the galactic narrative and seek a deeper understanding of humanity's true ranking in the galactic hierarchy. 

Pippa and Your Phantasmal Problem

Ms Ester's beautiful and neat house has been mysteriously wrecked in the past few weeks and nobody knows why. Patches of dirt on the carpet, things gone missing, and all sorts of mess keeps happening around the house. The police was called to investigate, a priest was invited to bless the house, and a group of ghostbusters was hired (they were so expensive!) and none of them found anything. How useless! If this problem isn't solved by the time Ms Ester returns from her short trip, she'll kick you out. You have to find someone who can help: anyone will do, even this unreliable looking, self-proclaimed witch you just randomly met.

BAD MANORS

On Friday the 13th, your plans for a spooky Halloween night are dashed when you show up alone at the escape room reserved by your friend. You consider going home when a handsome stranger offers to accompany you. Maybe the night is saved after all… Or so you thought.

MAMA

One day, you’ll thank me. After all… mother knows best. Today’s the first day of HimeCon, a Yuri convention. You’re attending with your girlfriend who’s a vendor in the artist alley. At the convention, you receive a text that ends up changing… everything. You find yourself back in your childhood home, except this time, something’s amiss— and you’ve got to escape. She’s always w̶��̠̟̳͚̮̫͒͒̏̏̌͑͊̒́̂̈̀̓̒͘͠ā̷̧̠͎̤͖̝̠̯͎̎̇͒̋͑̾͑̑͂̂̽͐͂̄͘̕̕͠͠͝t̷̢̙̦͖͙̹̪̠̳̰͛̓̇̀̂̾́̉̍̈́͌̇̔̑͝ç̷̥̮͓͔̣̆̀̆̔̈́̈̀͋͛̓̈͐̕͝h̵̢̧̹̲͇̭̥̰͎͖͇̎̓͒̎̂͑̽͒͑̓͗͗̕̕͘͜͜͝͠͝͝ͅi̸̛̝̳̳̠͇͍̓͒̈́̑́̒̓̊͐͒̆͘͝ͅͅñ̶̢̡̨͓̥̞͉͓͚̞̞̞̲̤̹͙͍̙͛̋̏͗̍̽̇̒̅͊͜͠ͅg̸̪͇͋̓͋̍̈́̇̽̿̑̋̏̏̈́̋̾̋̃͘ͅ you, isn’t she?

Elfin National Park

Come on down and see the ever changing sights of our forest. We have places for the whole family. Just please remember for the safety of you and your family to stay within the designated zones.

MAD LAB PARTY

Being a serial killer is hard when some crow decides to tamper with your bodies. Solution? Kill another and meet your ‘fan’ in the act?! It’s October 31st, and you are dragged out to a haunted house attraction with your friends despite the mysterious ‘Jack-o-killer’ running around, murdering strangers in gruesome and eccentric ways. Bodies ranged from being found taking the place of a scarecrow to being carved and their guts replaced with pumpkin seeds. You, however, didn’t worry about getting killed. You knew exactly who the murderer was. Problem? You knew for sure you didn’t kill them like that.

CANIDAE

The moonlight illuminates the animal that lies within everyone. Will you embrace it; or fight back? On Halloween, a gang of teenagers in animal masks head out to set off fireworks and drink with their friends. Unfortunately, nothing ever goes right for you. As the night grows darker and pranks turn to violence, your friends start to change. Will you?

Killer Chat!

A reporter by day, an aspiring writer by night: you've been asking all the important questions on the dark web.  Like, how do you bury a body? How do you kill someone with a crowbar with the right angle to cause blunt-force trauma? What's the best way to hide from law enforcement? If you're to write a good crime book, this is how you'll do it. Suddenly, ERROR! UNKNOWN invites you to a server... with a warning. "don't be so obvious smh You're Gonna Get Caught". ... It's a serial killer chatroom. You may be slightly fucked.

Spirit Driver

From the everyday passenger to the horrors of Halloween, Spirit Driver is a short, casual conversation simulator where your choices can affect the fates of people and spirits alike. Remember, your choices have consequences. Good luck!

Let's Watch Steamboat Willie

Two film nerds sit down for a comfy evening watching old movies. Next up is Steamboat Willie, and they quickly take to bickering. By the time the cartoon is over, one of them will be dead.

Shut-in Vampire

Oh no! Mayu’s in a pinch! She’s woefully behind on paying the rent, and her scary landlady, Miss Himemiya, has issued an ultimatum. Mayu needs to earn ¥100,000 by the end of October, or she’ll be kicked out! Being evicted from her home would be bad enough, but Mayu has a secret: she’s actually a vampire. Mayu hasn’t been a vampire for a full year yet, and the church is keeping close tabs on her to ensure she’s been behaving herself. According to the stone-faced Sister Juriel, it’s the church’s standard policy to execute all vampires without a fixed address, lest they start roaming the streets causing chaos. If Mayu can’t pay the rent in time, she won’t just wind up homeless: she’ll be executed! What’s a fledgeling vampire to do?

Epimutation

Spencer, a former investigative journalist, lives in a small bunker with six other people who have also managed to stay alive after a viral outbreak brought the world to ruin. They're attempting to adjust to this new normal, until they stumble across some notebook pages written by a scientist documenting the infection. Make life or death decisions, form bonds with your fellow survivors, and attempt to unravel the mystery behind the outbreak.

Not My Body!

First you wake up in somebody else's ugly house in somebody else's ugly body, and then you find another person tied up in the closet? This isn't fair at all! Why do you have to deal with this?! It's not like you put him there! And what's going on in your own body right now, anyway…?

that's all of my recommendations for now, but with over 270 entries there's plenty more indie Halloween-themed visual novels for you to try!

[alavestineneas]

Glass and mirrors

pairing: young!coriolanussnow x fem!reader summary: There is one thing the world needs to know about her: she didn't become a star overnight. She was born to be one. warnings: canon-typical violence, mentions of mental illness, narcissism, blonde men who need therapy, unhinged women, people in shitty relationships and toxic industries word count: 4.6k PART TWO IS HERE

author's note: Hello and welcome to our small community of people who have fallen victim to the charming (and evil) blonde man! This fic is heavily inspired by the edits of models that pop up on my ticktock feed every day. Shout out to them and the talented editors who bless my eyes with their creations. As for YN this time, prepare to be on quite a ride because she, surprise-surprise, is evil! In my head, there has to be at least one victor who feels no remorse at all; they can't all be morally good (and relatively sane) people. Also, the obsession with beauty in this fic is, in fact, intentional, so bear with me. Feel free to comment or insult the author in the comments, but only if you are creative with it. Enjoy and see you in part 2!

In all of her short childhood, she always loved mirrors. Her grandma used to joke about it with her old friends while they shared lunch at the factory: ''That empty-headed child wants to do nothing but stare at herself all day.'' The women would laugh, their raspy voices making the glid, already filled with toxic fumes to the brim, hotter. YN didn't mind; she would pretend not to hear them, clinging to the machinery in front of her instead. She would get out of here sooner or later, and she'd see whose laughter would be left echoing all through the narrow streets.

She wasn't born to rot in this place like these people were; YN was sure of that. Not with a face like hers, with manners she taught herself from the bright magic box in their cramped commune apartment, where a few times a year the government played the show. It was supposed to be a punishment, YN reminded herself each time, but it didn't look like one. She watched the children eat more food than she had seen in a month and then cry on the stage in front of millions. She wouldn't cry if she was there, that was for certain. People die every day here, but none of them get to dress up in the jewels provided by the wealthiest people she has ever seen.

It was funny how they had all the money in the world and still chose to dress so horribly. Mismatched fabrics and smudged colours on their faces, like the colours of the lake near her house—the factories polluted it with dyes, turning the water green, purple, and sometimes even pink. That's how she got her old grey dress to be such a pretty lavender colour. It didn't matter that everyone at school laughed at her, even Miss Kyla; she was horrendously ugly anyway, her hair resembling the colour of unwashed underwear. YN wore her dress with pride, mimicking the voice of the funny multicolour-haired man on the screen, chatting with long o's and a's.

That's how she ended up here, on the first floor of the newly renovated training centre, with a drink in her freshly manicured hand. She had two hours before her stylists would need her again—a time designated for sleep, which she apparently so greatly lacks. YN doesn't care; she went without sleep for much longer than two days. Instead, she does what she loves the most—turns on a shiny screen and watches the golden letters appear: the 15th Annual Hunger Games.

It starts with reaping, as always, but YN skips that part—she doesn't like seeing herself in those dirty rags, although, as papers would later state, ''nothing could make this girl ugly, even if a potato sack was put on her body.'' She likes interviews better. Luckily, the wait is not very long; soon enough, her favourite host pops up, his hair shimmering with sea green.

''And now, our dear viewers, I am more than pleased to announce our next tribute from District 1—please let her hear how excited we are to meet her!'' His voice booms through the theatre as the crowd erupts into applause.

YN moves gracefully, a beaming smile on her face matching that of a host. Her gloved hands wave at the supposed people in front of her as if they were guests at her birthday party. But most importantly, dress. The one she chose herself, arguing over it with her stylist for the last few hours, the one that fitted her perfectly. Capitol enough to appeal to the audience, district enough to highlight that she isn't one of them—she is something new, undiscovered, and worth keeping an eye on. It's almost not a dress at all—the sparkling, sheer fabric of beautiful white, with stars gathering at her chest and bottom to finish the ''almost naked'' look. And the crowd goes crazy for it. People shout, and the splashes of the cameras blinding her create a new melody that is so unfamiliar to YN's ears. Admiration. The thing she craved for so long.

''Alright, alright,'' Lucky Flickerman smiles, gesturing for the crowd to settle down. ''We don't want to scare her off now, do we?'' He turns to her, a microphone in hand. ''What's your name, sweetheart?''

''YN Y/L/N. And I am afraid you can't scare me off, no matter how hard you try. The thing is, I am here to stay,'' she jokes, cocking an eyebrow at the man beside her.

''Oh, how I love your confidence! Now tell me—we heard you are a volunteer—the first in the history of District 1! Are there any special ties to the girl who was supposed to stand here tonight, or what's going on?''

''Well, I was dying to see you in person, of course—no pun intended.''

Oh, there weren't any ties to the girl, or the boy, for that matter. No, YN simply wanted to go at her peak chance of winning—countless years of secret preparation in the factory; working a night shift after school and full days of weekends; hours of studying every plant and animal known to mankind—all to ensure that she wouldn't waste her chance like most kids here did.

''That's an honour coming from your lips; we are happy to see you in the Capitol, Miss Y/L/N. Since you came here by choice, what strategy are you planning on using in the arena? Maybe something tied to your district's craft?''

''If you promise to keep this between us, I'll confess—I will use my charms to make everyone fall in love with me and watch them fight by promising the winner a kiss—and then I will take it from there.'' YN turns to face the lights, staring directly into the camera for a few seconds. The crowd laughs once more, some going so far as to cheer and whistle in excitement. ''But in all honesty, I think I have a fair shot—I would win in a day if it meant the unlimited supply of those amazing cupcakes with sprinkles on top.''

''Well, in that case, you should definitely get a good rest this night—you are not the only one who got your eye on them! Ladies and gentlemen, prepare for the Cupcake Games tomorrow, and don't forget to sponsor this lovely girl right here if you want to see her win! And now, a short word from our sponsors.''

Cupcake jokes are still funny to her, even after two years, although she got sick of them a week after her victory and was just as sick of all the titles papers came up with to fit her into the candy girl box. It served her well, for which she is grateful; the sponsors did send her a shitton of things, although mostly useless.

Next is the introduction of everyone else; YN doesn't care to look at it for more than just a few seconds, speeding it up to maximum. It's boring to no end—how do Capitolees watch it every year with such excitement? She stops to look only when her face appears on the screen, covered in crimson blood.

She counted six canons when she finally stopped to take a breath in and look at her surroundings. That was about right, although YN didn't count how many times she pulled a knife out of somebody's still-warm body and lurched into another nearby. The sand soaked up the blood fast, she noticed, stepping over the pile of what used to be her competitors and walking towards the cone-shaped something. Nobody in sight—each one of the ''better'' kids is now dead without a chance to kill each other, to kill her, and ''others'' will die like flies under the hot sun of what looked like a desert. YN noticed that some even left behind the given jackets; she collected them before stepping into the Cornucopia, claiming them as her own. Not everyone grew up in hot factories, she thought to herself, so they have no chance of knowing how cold it gets at night.

YN doesn't like how the uniform looks on her; the T-shirt hangs around her frame too loosely. It's evident that she didn't eat enough back then, but it was tolerable. The dried blood looked worse; with her stoic face and eye colour, the streams looked too grotesque, almost unserious; it didn't fit the look she was going for. Her hands itch to wipe it before YN remembers that it's non-existent now—the girl on the screen is just a recording. She forwards a little more, looking for the commentary of the first night from the hosts—their excitement and praise never get old—but hears knocking at her door just as she is about to press play. YN glances at the clock—it's too early for the prep team, so it must be someone else—and turns off the TV just to be sure she heard it right.

When the knocking continues, she shouts a quick ''Come in,'' after checking her reflection on the now dark screen. ''Ah, Maggie!''

''How many times do I have to repeat that my name is Mags, not Maggie? Not Mags with fangs either, to be clear. Just Mags.''

''But everyone calls you that! And I want to be special,'' YN whines, laying back on the sofa.

It's Mags. YN likes Mags. Mags is the only girl besides her on the victors' list. Mags is the one who is always down to eat lunch together or to watch the new collection in the magazines. She is funny and down to earth, and, most importantly, Mags doesn't take bullshit from anyone.

''Even more special?'' Mags smiles, opening the fridge to look for something edible. There isn't much; they both know that YN would never eat something to ruin her figure. ''I saw your photoshoot on the street today. It's beautiful.''

''Thank you,'' YN smiles. She doesn't remember which one of her campaigns was supposed to air today, but it doesn't matter. ''Are you here for the promo again?''

The curly-haired woman nods, not looking up from the shelves. ''I hate it. I wish they would just leave me alone, so I can go home and forget about all of this.''

YN is always weirded out by such comments from Victor from 4 but never says anything. Not everyone was born to be in front of the camera; if that were the case, her talent wouldn't be so special anymore. ''It's our job, Maggie. They'll never leave us alone.''

''I know.'' Mags sighed, planting her body on the sofa beside her.

They are different, but YN thinks it's better that way. They are the same age, both 20, and that's about the only thing that ties them together. YN watches as her friend's chest rises and falls as she stares at the ceiling, her long, curly hair in some type of twist. YN would never style it like that, but Mags doesn't ask, so she stares at her in silence, trying her hardest not to compare them. She knows what type of conclusion will sparkle in her brain, but she doesn't want to admit it. Mags is her friend, her only good friend, so something inside YN fights hard to leave her alone. It's an unusual feeling, almost foreign, but YN wants to make an exception. She thinks Maggie deserves it.

''Are you okay?'' the woman asks her, finally snapping out of her trance. ''You are less talkative than usual.''

''Oh, yeah—just a little tired from work, that's it.''

Work. It's not the type of work people can really get tired from, and if anybody thinks otherwise, they never worked a day in District 1. Sometimes, YN can still feel the burning cloud of steam hitting her face when she closes her eyes. The work she does in Capitol is child's play—photoshoots, interviews, promotional campaigns, and runways. She is the only one with this kind of hectic schedule, the only one who is interesting enough for the general public to want to see her everywhere they go. Multiple shows a day wasn't uncommon; photoshoots until five a.m. were basically her usual routine; she did so many of them that she never remembered the brand name for more than an hour.

''Well, I hope I don't interrupt your me-time,'' Mags notes. ''Panem knows you need it. ''

''You worry too much about me. Better tell me about how life is in 4—anything new?''

There is probably nothing exciting, but it feels nice to listen to somebody talk with such love for their home as Mags does. It's also a great opportunity. YN catches every subtle expression and every movement of her friend with attentive eyes, making sure to parrot them later. She noticed from the recording today that her speech misses a certain effortlessness.

-

Curl and twist, curl and twist—YN has learned the pattern by now, sitting in front of the gigantic mirror, surrounded by a team of stylists. Hair, make-up, nails, and toes—five people work hand in hand for her to appear for two minutes on the long podium. The backstage is loud, and a lot is going on—last-minute changes, alterations, and quick touch-ups. YN doesn't bother to look around; she closes today like a face of the collection, and after she is done with this podium, the day is finally coming to an end.

''Oh, YN, darling, here you are!'' The bald man in his forties appears on the horizon of her peripheral vision, clasping his unnaturally white hands together. ''How are you doing, my little star? Anything you need?''

She is irritated to no end; her team booked seven shows for her today; she hadn't had anything to eat in the past six hours; and the loud music makes her head throb. But she doesn't voice any of that—nobody really wants to know how she is feeling.

Just like she guessed, the man doesn't wait for her response. ''There have been some changes in the order today, sweetheart. Jenovia will be closing today, and you will walk in her dress instead,'' the man says, turning to face her styling team. ''Change the hair to fit, and take off the blue in her make-up—it won't match. Good luck!''

''Do what he says,'' YN announces, her mouth twitching just a little. She is furious. To have that blonde bitch Jenovia walk in the best dress of the collection YN inspired? Over her dead body. Or, should she say, over Jenovia's? She will figure it out but do so later. Now there are only four girls before her, so she needs to be ready.

''Three, two, one! Go, go!'' the stage coordinator shouts, opening the curtain for her.

Right and left, hip and hand, followed by the strong clicking of her five-inch heels. The music is even louder here, with the beets vibrating through the runway and pouring into her bloodstream. She doesn't pay any attention to the glass floor underneath her. Surprisingly, her training before games helped her model more than one could guess. YN doesn't see anyone but the blinding lights lining the podium—not that she needs to see the hungry faces of the spectators. It doesn't matter what piece of fabric covers her body; they are looking at who wears it. Final pose at the centre—no smile is her go-to. Hold and turn is the golden rule.

''Here you are!'' One of the seamstresses grabs her hand, pulling her into a small, curtained space with countless clothes on racks. ''Calio wants you to hold a purse for the backstage photo and lose the belt. Where the fuck is the golden belt?'' she shouts, searching for one. ''Wait here; I'll go find it,'' she finally announces, running away before YN has the chance to suggest anything.

YN looks around, carefully moving the laying rags with her foot. She mentally goes over the outfits labelled with names, rating them one by one, until her eyes stop on the white dress. The closing dress, the one she was supposed to model. Underneath it are velvety black high boots.

The idea comes to her mind quickly: she steals a needle from the nearby table and carefully places it inside the shoes, making sure it looks like an accident.

''Finally,'' the woman returns with a belt in her hands, oblivious to YN's half-smile. ''Put it on and go; they are already waiting.''

''Of course, thanks.''

YN isn't sure how much time has passed before she hears a scream, standing up from her place in the corner with a blanket around her exposed shoulders. Surely enough, Jenovia is on the floor, crying crocodile tears—a needle inside her heel deep enough to make a few of the girls around her gag.

''What the fuck happened?'' It's Calio, the boss here; he was ordering her around before.

''I don't know,'' all the blonde girl can manage before bursting into tears one more time.

''Well, can you walk?'' he asks, kneeling to take a look.

''No,'' Jenovia whispers, her hand holding her bloodied foot.

The bald man sighed, more annoyed than concerned. ''We need a replacement. You,'' he points at YN. ''Take it off and change into the dress. Quick!''

YN does what she is told in no time; she doesn't want to wait until Jenovia suddenly gets better or the man finds a better-suited girl to close. After a few minutes, she is almost ready; she only needs the lipstick to finish it off.

''We don't have time!'' the man roars, dragging her to the exit. ''Here!'' He puffs out her hair and adjusts the layers of fake pearls covering her neck. ''Three, two, one! Go, fucking go!''

And go she does. A few steps on the runway, and she discovers that lipstick is still in her hands. YN puts it in the pocket of the enormously large black coat that hides the gorgeous white dress underneath. Step after step, her long black boots draw patterns on the glass. She will have no choice but to buy them; YN doesn't care if it's stupid. They helped her, so she will have them.

It's time for the final pose: YN takes out the lipstick from her pocket and applies it with two swift motions, blowing a kiss to the camera. It will definitely be a hit with the photographers. YN throws one last look before turning around and returning to the curtained exit. On her way back, when the lights lower to follow her back, she can see a little clearer. In the sea of vibrant hair colours and clothes, the platinum-blonde hair and a simple black suit stood out too much not to notice. There is only one person who could afford to look so simple—YN knows it. An opportunity of a lifetime.

She makes another stop in the middle of the podium, right in front of his seat. The coat slides off her shoulders effortlessly, and YN catches it just when the fabric is about to hit the floor. The crowd goes crazy, clapping and whistling at her tricks, but YN has no wish to entertain them any further. YN pauses for a moment, her eyes meeting icy-blue ones, before turning away and finishing the show. There is one thing the world needs to know about her: she didn't become a star overnight. She was born to be one.

-

Since the last show, she has done fifteen more—day after day, opening and closing. Her little trick got her where she wanted to be, with more money than one person could need in a lifetime and nowhere to spend it. Even now, standing in the long hallway of the training centre, she wears nothing she bought herself; all are gifted, sent, or handed by the adoring fans. Like a rag doll, with no say in how she looks or what she does, YN hears everyone say that it was ''a price of fame''. She doesn't think so; she was told what to do long before she tasted real butter on her toast.

The sliding door to her apartment moves almost without noise. While most victors complain that the lock system reminds them of prison, YN is grateful to have it. The thought of some crazy fanatic waiting for her in the dark isn't the most pleasant one. The designer bag finds its place on the floor, soon joined by the coat—room service will clean it up later. The heels slide off her feet quickly, leaving bloodied marks on her skin, but YN doesn't care enough to do something about them.

''Forgive me for joining you without an invitation.''

YN turns around, her hands grabbing the keys in her hands tighter. She mentally goes over her means of escape or fight—a mirror could easily be broken and used as a weapon; if necessary, she could also grab a nearby ottoman. The man in the chair doesn't look too impressed with her thought process. His lips curve into a smile, blue eyes staring at her with undivided attention. A suit, not very different from the one he wore at her show, was a deep brown colour.

''Mister President,'' YN breathes out, lowering her hand.

Coriolanus Snow. Light, almost white hair frames his face like a halo, with his suit hugging his waist just enough to highlight the broad shoulders. YN saw him on TV a couple of times, but seeing him in person was something entirely different. It's like the air shifts around him and changes with his presence.

''I believe we met before,'' he humours her, his eyes shining with mischief.

The light knocking on the door doesn't leave YN any time to answer. She presses a button near it, fixing her hair before opening it. YN tries to look as composed as possible without betraying her nerves—why was he here? ''Yes?''

''The dinner, Ma'am.'' the room service declares, pushing a cart in front of her.

YN nods, even though she didn't order one. ''Leave it here,'' she says, gesturing to the place nearby. When the door closes and she is alone with the man in her room again, her heart skips a beat.

''I took the liberty of ordering; I hope you don't mind.''

Even if she did, she knew better than to say anything. Instead, YN watched as the man stood up and took the dishes from the cart, placing them on the coffee table, before turning to her once more.

''Please, have a seat.''

She does what she is told, sitting down on her king-sized bed—the chair is already taken by him—and waits for the blonde man to start speaking. He doesn't right away, choosing to pour a glass of wine for her and himself.

YN watches the dark liquor pour into the glass, swirling with each drop. She isn't hungry—she rarely was—and the soup he ordered looks more like vomit than a dish, but she still takes the spoon and carefully places it into her mouth. Her lipstick stains the silverware with colour, leaving a small circle right at the end—that's when the man finally decides to speak.

''Dare I say I am a huge fan of your work ethic? Everyone who I've spoken to is very satisfied with your,'' he pauses, searching for the fitting word, ''dedication .''

''Thank you, Mister President,'' YN replies with a polite smile before returning to her soup. She watches him only from the corner of her eye. The way he cuts his steak with his ringed fingers and the way he places a small bite in his mouth before his lips close. There is a subtle roughness in his movements, a power play of some sort.

He catches her gaze and, for a moment, is silent. ''You probably wonder why I am here in the first place, outside of the amazing steak they cook here, of course. The thing is, Miss Y/L/N, that you are popular not only with the general public but with people higher in power as well. One may even say they fell in love with the way you present yourself.''

''I am pleased to know that, Mr. President, but I am only doing my job as a victor.''

''Then you will understand the weight of my dilemma. Those people who have served Panem all their lives faithfully usually don't ask for much recognition; they work because they want to build a better future for all of us. So, when they do ask for a small favour or two, I am more than happy to satisfy them. But recently, all they ask for is you .''

''I believe I don't quite understand. They want to meet me?''

''You can phrase it like that, yes. For a night or two, of course, with all expenses covered.''

It's heavy, the understanding of what Mister President really implies. The thought of someone's hand roaming her body brings her dinner up YN's throat. ''Why?'' Her voice is shakier than she would like, but she is more focused on composing the rising anger than noticing it.

''I am sorry, Miss Y/L/N, but I am afraid there is nothing I can do; I am greatly outnumbered. Unless,'' he starts but doesn't finish his sentence.

''Unless what?''

''Unless you are seen with me.''

His piercing blue eyes look at her, but there is nothing in them. Her chances are limited, and he knows it. There is something rogue in him beneath the veil of chivalry he offers. YN smiles at him. That's what this whole charade was about—he wants her. Coriolanus Snow, the most powerful man in the whole world, wants her.

''Of course, Mr. President. That's very generous of you.''

''Mister President is too official, don't you think, Miss Y/L/N? Perhaps we could find a more informal way of addressing each other?''

''Informal?'' YN asks, tilting her head to the side. If he wants her, he'll get her. ''What about Mister Snow?'' The buttons on her shirt are easy to manage—a few quick motions, and it slides off her shoulders onto the cream cover. ''Or, Sir Coriolanus?'' The pants are a little trickier, but YN learned that backstage, every second counts, so they soon also pool around her heels, the fabric hitting the floor with a slight thud.

The blonde man watches her intently, his eyes following every move of her hands. His legs are still spread wide on the lime-green chair as he slightly leans back. YN can't tell if he is enjoying her antics or not, but frankly, she doesn't care; she is enjoying it.  The way her shadow dances on the wall, the way the air shifts in the huge room, transforming it into a tiny stage. YN looks at him with mischief, with superiority, even. After all, she is the show here. Why not let Mr. Savior think it is for him?

''Come, Mister Snow,'' she says, throwing it in his face like a bone to the dog.

He doesn't have the haste to join her; on the contrary, he stands up painfully slowly. His tall figure almost seems to stretch as he raises, covering the floor lamp behind him fully. When he finally circles the table to stand above her, his presence is overwhelming. YN lets him stand between her legs, his unusually cold hand on her thigh.

''I prefer Coriolanus,'' he whispers in her ear, lowering himself enough to touch her ear with his velvety lips. He pulls away slightly, planting a kiss on her cheek instead. ''Have a most pleasant night, Miss Y/L/N.''

And then he walks away. YN watches as his figure disappears behind the sliding door before she lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. Her gaze instinctively finds her reflection in the nearby mirror; there is no reason to shine if no one watches her.

[cult-of-a-buttercup]

Headcanons of the Old Faith: Silk Cradle

Darkwood

Anura

Narinder’s Faith

Anchordeep

Festivals:

Silk Cradle is a quiet area, so not many festivals are held unless they’re necessary.

There are small festivals held in villages individually, the most common one being a hunting competition for when crops are still growing. Being mainly villages in caves, crops take longer to grow if not helped by rituals, so a lot of the meals made there are meat based. Whoever gets the most from the hunt gets a new custom made weapon.

While not a festival, Shamura tends to send some of their own followers to document any celebration happening in the cults of their brothers and sister, usually as spies to make sure they don’t behave differently. Once they come back, there’s a small reunion for anyone interested in what went down, with Shamura present of course. It’s a good way of getting caught up in current events and finding gossip.

Rituals:

There is an annual fight pit for the followers of Silk Cradle. It has basic rules: types of attacks, be it spells, weapons or just fists are agreed beforehand by both contestants, and whoever wins goes to the next round- the survival of each losing contestant is up to the audience and Shamura. Sometimes the fights get mixed, being in duos or an all against all sort of battle. Whoever wins is blessed, and given a weapon or spell and gold from Shamura’s own treasury.

Discipleship rituals are only held in Silk Cradle, so if any of the other bishops wish to turn one of their high priests into disciples they have to arrange the ritual there. Being the bishop of knowledge, Shamura has held the necessary materials and spells to themselves, since they never thought their siblings could hold such an intricate ritual. Now, due to their injuries, they risk forgetting the ritual at any moment, but even so they refuse to write the instructions down.

Silk Cradle also tends to hold plenty of enlightenment, which can spread throughout all of the Old Faith if Shamura finds enough strength to do so. Though they aren’t low in faith, not as low as when Narinder left, they take it as a precaution. Especially with the Lamb’s heretical cult growing, it’s better to be safe than sorry.

Weddings in Silk Cradle are usually hushed, being a delicate event held in Shamura’s temple. The ceremony itself is decorated with flowers from the multiple caves, and the clothing is made out of braided spider silk. They are officiated by high priests, and blessed with Shamura after that. The married couple is given three days of holy rest, and a small amount of gold to do as they please.

Unlike Anchordeep and Anura though, they do hold individual funerals for fallen followers. Following Narinder’s doctrines for the ritual, they became the second best option to hold a nice funeral for any dead relatives. It holds a certain level of controversy, due to being the rituals a heretic held so long ago, but Shamura is quick to push aside the thought whenever someone brings it up.

Worshipping:

The worship of war and the worship of knowledge differ greatly. Followers who worship war stay up training with their fight style of choice, create weapons and watch the borders of Silk Cradle in watch of any heretics- or, go hunting for heretics and outside villages. Sometimes groups of followers go to Darkwood and join in the constant fights happening there, also as a way to worship war.

Followers who choose to worship knowledge are often more reserved and pragmatic. They study old wars from centuries ago, thinking of what could’ve been done better, be it to make more damage or avoid losses- which is why a lot of knowledge worshipers also focus on healing techniques. Others study how to make more efficients moves during a fight, and often share what they know with followers who prefer to fight.

Clothing:

Due to the following being basically divided between warriors and sages, their clothing depends on what the follower prefers.

Followers of war rely more on armor, made out of different materials. Fighters who prefer spells wear spell-resistant robes, while fighters who prefer fighting with weapons use heavier armor, be it made out of metal or other sturdy material. Meanwhile, followers who study the many scrolls Silk Cradle offers wear simple silk robes, and often enchant sets of glasses to read transcripted writings faster.

Styling clothing is more of a personal choice, and there isn’t any sort of reaction since most followers simply don’t pay attention to things like that.

Amongst cultists:

Since Silk Cradle is a collection of small caves, many followers tend to keep to their own villages or temples, unless there’s a ritual being held. Despite being the “main” cult of the Old Faith, it is far less glamorous than Anchordeep, but its quaintness is part of its charm.

There’s a lot of weapon makers living along there, and also many writers and librarians. Both are held as very important parts of their villages, though all workers are usually held at the same standard since they know everyone plays their own part- except for any sort of jesters. Not many people in Silk Cradle like them, but of course it only makes the jesters themselves more eager to annoy everyone.

Shamura’s following is often revered as the ideal follower, being hardworking, humble and most of all, wise. Even so, it is also common for other followers of the Old Faith to find them patronizing, since being a follower of knowledge does make them look down on everyone else, which is often encouraged by their own bishop.

[nikkento-writes]

Chapter 2 - Someone New

I can be a little much, I overthink, I scared you off, my spiral begins right on cue. I wonder if I’ll ever find someone new.

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter (coming soon)

Pairing: Nanami x f!reader

Word Count: ~8.3k

cw: switching POVs (2nd person for reader, third person for Nanami), angst, fluff, alcohol consumption, explicit language

Summary: Nanami normally likes to keep to himself during vacation, preferring not to forge any needless bonds with people he’ll never meet again. But a silly encounter at a bar leads him to find an unlikely vacation buddy at Crystal Shores.

Author's Note: Thank you so much for the love and support on this so far! I also appreciate your patience with this. I’ve been very busy with work and my personal life, so I haven’t had much time to write. I’m slowly but surely making my way through! This story is very dear to my heart, so I appreciate you taking the time to read it. Thank you, thank you, thank you! Divider credit to @/cafekitsune.

Nanami arrives to his destination after sunset, when the last boat of the day finally docks. He’s in his typical work attire, having completed an early morning mission right before his departure. Tan blazer with matching slacks, a spotted tie akin to leopard print, mahogany brown dress shoes. He’s aware how severely overdressed he is for this type of environment, more apparent now as he traverses through the delicate sand, collecting more and more of the beach with each step of his oxfords. Despite his serious demeanor, Nanami couldn’t be more ecstatic to finally be here. As his feet grow heavy with the diamond dust leading to Crystal Shores, the burden of reality that weighs hefty on his shoulders is gradually lifted. Finally, he gets to indulge in this temporary escape for the next few days. 

Since the devastating attack on Christmas Eve six months ago, an event they’re now referring to as The Night Parade of a Hundred Demons, tensions within the Jujutsu community have been high. Nanami’s former upperclassman, Suguru Geto, launched this attack in an attempt to carry out his diabolical plan of eradicating humans and non-curse users from the earth. That night, Nanami performed four consecutive black flashes, a record that’s impressive on paper, though in all honestly, Nanami is tired. He usually plans a summer trip annually, ever since he returned to Jujutsu Sorcery. With all the activity happening recently, he’s in dire need for a vacation now more than ever. Satoru Gojo, a teacher at Jujutsu High and Nanami’s senior (though he doesn’t act it) has already begun his recruitment to build a strong class of first years. He suspects the white-haired idiot is going to enlist him to help these kids at some point, so he’s mentally preparing himself for that. And while Nanami has already gotten accustomed to taking the youthful Takuma Ino under his wing, he’s not sure how well he’ll fair with sorcerers that are even younger. 

Sorcerers, especially those associated with both Tokyo and Kyoto Jujutsu High, remain vigilant in order to protect the students, who were targeted for recruitment to carry out Geto’s plan. While dealing with the aftermath, they continue to actively scout young sorcerers, though Nanami is against it, believing children shouldn’t be subjected to this tragic world. He can’t help thinking about his old classmate Yu Haibara, whose life was taken from him too suddenly and too quickly. It wasn’t fair then, and it isn’t fair now, expecting children to take on the considerable responsibility of saving the world from the hidden evil that plagues it. Training them to kill and preparing them to be killed for the sake of humanity. All of it is cruel and unfair, for adults and especially for these kids. However, Nanami doesn’t have much of a say in the matters of Jujutsu High, so he makes a personal vow to himself to do what he can: protect and help others who need it. This power is a blessing and a curse; he might as well use it for good. 

Crystal Shores is surrounded by a vast garden of native plants and trees, creating the ideal canopy of green above him. The path leading to the lobby is lit up with torches, the flames waving in the gentle breeze. Every staff member on his way to the check-in desk greets him, their smiles welcoming and genuine. He’s read plenty about this world-class resort, about its breathtaking beaches, five-star service, and their highly-rated amenities. As a self-proclaimed foodie, the part he’s particularly excited for is the local cuisine the island is famous for. Somehow, he managed to secure a reservation at their only Michelin-rated restaurant, having gotten lucky at the time he booked his hotel. Aside from that, Nanami is most looking forward to some much-needed rest and relaxation, whether it be by the pool or by the sea. He’s certain he’ll be in perfect harmony wherever he is here at this resort. 

When he approaches the front desk, he realizes his tan blazer is damp from the choppy waters on the way here, so he removes it, folding neatly over his arm. His skin is tacky with perspiration from the day’s travel, the styling gel in his hair worn off, stray strands sticking to his forehead. He’s left his own trail of sand behind him, some of it still mingled with the fabric of his socks. Despite his unusually disheveled state, Nanami couldn’t be more thrilled to be here. He nods at the woman behind the counter, greeting her. “Hello. I’m here to check in.”

Jasmine, according to her nametag, responds cheerfully. “Welcome to the Crystal Shores, sir! We are so excited to have you! Your name please?”

He gives it, trying to inconspicuously tap the rest of the debris from his shoes to no avail. As Jasmine types on her keyboard, a different staff member, a young man with a genial face, approaches him to offer a crisp glass of fruit-infused water. Another soon arrives to drape a floral necklace around his collar. Nanami already feels at peace and he hasn’t even been officially checked in yet. 

“Alright Mr. Nanami!” Jasmine claps her hands once, beaming at him. “We’ve got you on the seventh floor, room 727, all the way down the hall, farthest from the elevator per your request. And, of course, with the beachside view. How many keys will you be needing?”

“It’s just me,” he answers, downing the rest of his drink. “So one is fine.”

Jasmine tips her head a bit, seemingly intrigued by this information. “Will your partner be joining us later on during your stay or…?”

Nanami narrows his eyes at her, though she can’t tell through his tinted glasses. What an odd question, he thinks to himself. Still, he answers it, his hackles raised slightly. “I don’t have a partner.”

“Oh! My apologies, I didn’t mean to assume. I was only thinking that if you did have a partner, there’s a couples mixer we like to host on Friday nights down in Event Hall D.” She rummages through a stack of papers, eventually pulling out a flyer with a schedule of events taking place throughout the week. “Our singles mixers are on Monday nights, so you won’t be able to make that. However, if you do happen to meet someone during your stay here, it’s a wonderful little party with all-you-can-eat hors d’oeuvres and unlimited wine, free of charge for our guests.” 

He takes the paper, looking at it skeptically. Even he can admit that the words “all-you-can-eat” and “unlimited” are enticing enough to have his curiosity piqued. “Will they let me in if I’m alone?”

“Unfortunately, it is a couples mixers, so the minimum requirement is that you are part of a couple. But who knows? Maybe you’ll meet someone while you’re here. They don’t call this the ‘Island of Passion’ for nothing.” Jasmine’s professional smile doesn’t waver, though Nanami can tell the cogs are turning in her brain. For what, he’s not sure, and quite frankly, he doesn’t want to know given the direction this conversation is going. 

Nanami doesn’t do relationships. He doesn’t do dating. It’s a vow he made to himself ever since he returned to Jujutsu Sorcery. Involving another person in his already risky world is complicated, adding love into the mix makes it all the more dangerous. It wouldn’t be fair to himself or to his potential partner to invest in a life together that can be so quickly destroyed every time he fights a new demon or curse. He constantly puts his life on the line without question, and when he has nobody but himself to think about, it makes this job that much easier. A partner would only distract him, force him to think twice before running into battle, make him weak. It’s better this way. 

This mindset, however, doesn’t stop him from the occasional fling, especially during his temporary escapes from reality. In this particular case, the alluring promise of endless appetizers is also an added bonus. 

He stuffs the flyer in his pocket, not saying anything more about it. “Thank you,” he mutters, no longer suspicious of Jasmine, who only seems to want to push this agenda of finding romance on this so-called “Island of Passion”. Nanami uses all the willpower he has to resist gagging from the ridiculous nickname.

Upstairs on the seventh floor, Nanami rolls his luggage all the way down to Room 727, relieved to finally be settled in. His stomach gurgles, hungry after not having a proper meal all day. He does a quick refresh in the bathroom, not bothering to change out of his dress shirt and slacks. Though, he does remove his spotted tie, not trying to look too much like a man on business rather than a man on vacation.

Just as he’s about to leave his room, his phone buzzes in his pocket. As soon as he sees who’s calling, he immediately rejects it. When it vibrates a second time as he halfway down the corridor, he groans, answering it reluctantly. “I told you to call twice for emergencies.”

“This is an emergency!” Gojo yells into the phone. There’s the distinct sound of background chatter on the other line, as if he’s at a bar, which he most likely is on a Wednesday night in Tokyo. “I thought you were dead!”

Nanami clenches his jaw, restraining from unleashing his wrath on this idiot he unfortunately considers a friend. “Why would you think that?”

“You never responded to my texts!”

A vein throbs in his forehead. “When do I ever respond to your texts?”

Gojo ignores that. “Shoko was worried about you too, Nanamin. Right? Right?!”

Ieiri’s languid voice comes in quietly amidst the chaos. “We wanted to make sure you got there safely.”

The tension in his shoulders ease, knowing this is coming from a good place, at least on Ieiri’s end. He’s convinced Gojo called just to annoy him. Sighing, he responds, “I’m fine.” 

“Good. Go and enjoy yourself. We’ve got everything handled here.” For someone as laid-back and seemingly uninterested as Ieiri, she is surprisingly perceptive. Her tone is gentle, reassuring. “Not that you need reminding.” She adds the last part in, her smirk audible through the phone, trying not to give away Nanami’s secret concerns.

He’d be lying to himself if he said a small part of him isn’t worried. As much as he’s trying to remove himself from work while on vacation, there’s always going to be that fear lingering in the back of his mind. What if there’s another attack in Tokyo while he’s not there? What if something happens to his peers? Ieiri, Ino, Ijichi, and yes, even that blubbering idiot Gojo, who he usually doesn’t worry about because he’s that confident in his power. Still, what if?

“Thank you, Ieiri,” he says, genuinely meaning it. Her words don’t completely eliminate his apprehension, though for the time-being, he’s alleviated. 

“What about me, Nanamin?! I’m the one who called you first! Shoko didn’t even want to bother you!” He can tell by the whining that Gojo is at that point of the night where he’s on a sugar rush from popping unlimited candied cherries and chugging mocktails courtesy of flirtatious bartenders. And the sooner Nanami placates this nuisance, the sooner he can get off the line to eat dinner. 

Through gritted teeth, Nanami murmurs, “Thank you for checking in, Gojo.”

Gojo laughs, appeased. “You’re welcome buddy!”

“And don’t call me again.”

“But – ”

Before he gets another word out, Nanami hangs up the call with a pleased grin on his face, continuing his path to dinner in peace. 

~~~

It’s been almost an hour now since you watched the beautiful sunset from the balcony of your hotel room. You’ve been going back and forth with yourself about what you should do for dinner, ultimately deciding to venture out to explore the hotel’s top-notch restaurants. Staying in and ordering room service was the second option, though the thought of eating alone in a room that already feels too big for one makes you depressed. On the other hand, the idea of dining solo gives you a sense of dread that you aren’t proud of. 

There’s nothing wrong with having a dinner date all by yourself. People do it all the time. However, you’re ashamed to admit that when you see that, you make up sad stories in your head about why they’re alone. An elderly man slowly eating his split pea soup, who recently lost his wife after fifty lovely years together. A middle-aged salaryman scarfing down a bowl of ramen because he’s on a business trip. A young women all alone, cutting her steak into smaller pieces, wishing she had a partner to share it with. 

For goodness sake, why do you do this? It’s unfair to make these assumptions about strangers, who are perfectly content having a meal without a companion. It’s never crossed your mind that people rather be alone than not, only because you could never imagine choosing that for yourself. You’re so used to clinging to someone to prevent the loneliness you’ve always feared throughout life. Your parents, your childhood best friend Kim, and worst of all, Jun. Because of this, you were willing to ignore the warning signs of your failing relationship with your ex. As long as you had somebody, anybody, things would we okay, right?

Nope. Wrong. Very wrong.

You’ve changed outfits four times since you decided to dine at one of the restaurants on the first level. Anything you can do to keep avoiding the most mundane activity of eating dinner alone. You glare at yourself in the bathroom mirror, giving yourself a pathetic little peptalk. Come on. Just go down there and eat something. It’s not a big deal!

Before you can psyche yourself out any further, you leave the room in a sundress, one of many that you packed for this trip, and make your way down the hall towards the elevators. 

Nighttime at the Crystal Shores has the lobby buzzing with activity. Some vacationers are dressed to the nines, ready to go out and party at the local hot spots. Others are in comfortable clothes, lounging on couches with colorful drinks in their hands. You’re aware that the resort is home to at least ten different restaurants, so you scope out the front desk, hoping to ask somebody what they suggest for a casual meal, nothing too fancy but satisfying.

Jasmine, the poor woman you unloaded your relationship woes to just hours ago, catches your eye. She greets you like an old friend, beckoning you over and calling out your name. “I was hoping to see you again!” 

You approach her hesitantly like a dog with their tail between their legs, still embarrassed about before. “I’m so sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to trauma dump on you like that.”

She waves it off. “No need to apologize! I’m sorry about all the lovey-dovey décor in there.”

“No, please don’t be,” you insist. “It was…it was actually really nice. Please tell the staff thank you.” 

She smiles brightly at you, nodding. “I will. Anyways, I forgot to mention to you about our weekly mixers here at the resort.” She slides a piece of paper out from one of the piles on her desk, handing it to you. “Mondays are our singles mixers, so you won’t be able to make that. Fridays, we host a couples mixer. All-you-can-eat appetizers and wine, free of charge for our lovely guests.” 

You open your mouth to protest, but she doesn’t let you, holding up her hand and continuing. “And yes, I know I said couples. But if you just so happen to meet someone until then, you should definitely go!”

Huffing out a laugh, you say, “Jasmine, you know better than I do that your guests here are already couples. I’m not going to be meeting anyone.” 

She shakes her head adamantly. “That’s not true! Between you and me, I have checked-in several eligible bachelors today. You’re on the ‘Island of Passion’! You never know, your new love could be waiting for you down the hall.” Her eyes twinkle, as if she’s using you as reference to write a cliché romance novel in her head. 

Aside from how bizarre this all is, especially coming from a staff member you only just met, you find her eagerness to mend your broken heart endearing. You know it’s not going to happen the way she wishes it would, though. Tapping your finger to your chin, you pretend to show consideration for whatever story she’s trying to manifest. “The free wine does sound enticing. That doesn’t really matter though, since my ex is paying for everything while I’m here.”

Her jaw drops, enthralled by this new information. “Really?! Everything?”

You nod, a satisfied grin on your face. “Everything.”

Excited, Jasmine flexes her fingers, directing her attention back to the computer screen, typing away vigorously on her keyboard. “In that case, let me see what activities I can squeeze you into. We’ve got cooking classes, paddleboard yoga, spa treatments…I see you’ve already got a few things scheduled. Great! Oh! How about wine-tasting at a private estate? Hiking on a mountain with a waterfall? You’re sure to meet sexy singles there!” 

Before she gets even more carried away than she already is, you hold up a hand, politely stopping her. “Jasmine, while I really appreciate your,” you stall, trying to find the correct word for it, “involvement in this, I don’t think I’m ready to mingle with people yet.”

“But – ”

“Actually, I know I’m not ready,” you reiterate, making your point final. 

After some obvious disappointment, she resigns from her little fantasy. “I understand. I’m sorry for meddling so much. When you told me your situation, I really wanted to help. And if helping you meet someone is all I can do from behind this desk, then I figured I should just go for it.”

You smile warmly at her. “Thank you for the concern, but I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me.” 

Jasmine’s meddling, while well-intentioned, is indeed unwarranted. Maybe if this were in reality and not on this stunning island vacation, you’d be annoyed, even offended by her intervention. But this is paradise, where nothing goes wrong, and you’re just another guest passing through. In a few days, you’ll check-out and Jasmine will forget all about you and your sorry situation. No harm in finding comfort over this tiny morsel of camaraderie with a staff member who’s already invested in your love life, or the lack thereof. 

Not wanting to continue the topic any further, you change the subject. “Anyways, I’m starving. Is there a place for me to grab a bite to eat? Something comforting, nothing too fancy.”

“Yes!” Back to professional mode, Jasmine points you in the right direction. “Bruno’s Bistro has excellent food and tonight, they have one of the island’s beloved local bands performing. I highly recommend.”

“Bruno’s. Got it. Thank you!”

You follow her instructions, taking the short walk to Bruno’s, where you can already hear the live music playing as you approach the entrance. A hostess wearing a polo button-up with a palm tree pattern greets you. “Welcome to Bruno’s! How can we help you?”

“I’d like a table for one, please.” Saying it out loud brings back the dread in your chest about dining alone, but you stand your ground, determined to conquer this ridiculous fear once and for all.

“Unfortunately, all our tables are occupied at the moment,” she regretfully informs you. “The Bario Brothers are performing tonight, so we don’t expect any availability until an hour from now, when they’re done. I’m so sorry.”

You start to think to yourself that maybe it would have been better to order room-service. Before you can turn around to leave disappointed, the hostess adds, “We have plenty of seating at the bar! You won’t be able to see the Bario Brothers from there, but you can certainly still hear them. And you can order the full menu there. Would you like to do that?”

Relieved, you agree and follow her inside towards the bar, where there is ample seating for you to choose from. You opt for the bar stool in the middle, four seats to the right of an older couple finishing up their meal. 

“Enjoy!” the hostess says, leaving you with the young bartender who’s currently pouring a guava-pink cocktail into two highball glasses. Jin, according to his nametag, acknowledges you with a nod and a smile, carefully garnishing his concoctions with mint leaves. “Good evening. I���ll be with you in just a second.”

You think to yourself at how fitting his name for his profession and how ironically similar it is to your ex, Jun. As usual, he comes creeping back into your mind like a never-ending itch lodged in the tiniest, unreachable corner of your brain. Maybe you’re the one keeping him in there, finding parts of him in every single thing you do, every different place you go, always feeling sorry for yourself. Lost in this reverie, you watch Jin place the drink onto a tray on the other end of the bar, where he signals for a waiter in the same palm tree patterned polo to pick it up. He lifts it up gracefully in one hand, heading into the dining area, ready to serve a beautiful couple who’s enjoying the soothing tunes of the Bario Brothers. Fingers entwined beneath the table, taking subtle glances at one another until they both meet each other’s gaze. They hold it there for a second, smiling like they’re sharing a private joke without having to verbally communicate it. It’s moments like this, where nothing spectacular is really happening, surrounded by noise and strangers. And yet, they feel like the only two people in the world because they’re so in love.

“Hello? Miss?”

You snap out of it, Jin waving a hand in front of you to bring you back from your trance. It seems he’s been in front of you long enough to have a concerned look on his face. 

Embarrassed, you apologize, giving him your full attention. “I’m sorry. I spaced out for a second. It’s been a long day.”

His expression relaxes, relieved to finally hear a response from you. “I’m sure. Are you visiting from far away?”

You tell him where you’re from, to which he responds, “Oh lovely! I’m visiting family there next year. Have you lived there your whole life?” He pours you a glass of ice-cold water, sliding it towards you.

Taking a sip, you answer, “I have. But I actually just moved.”

“Where to?”

Something about his pleasant and genial demeanor puts you at ease, so you’re honest with him, telling him where you’re now residing as of a week ago, right before you left for this trip. 

“How fun! I’ve always wanted to visit there. The food, the fashion, the culture.”

“Yeah,” you agree with him. “I’m excited.”

The couple to the left leaves, bidding farewell to Jin, who waves goodbye to them as he grabs the generous tip they left for him and puts it in the tip jar beside the register. Focusing back on you, he asks, “So what made you leave? School? Work?”

You could easily lie. Not even that, you could withhold the entire truth, keep your answers simple and uncomplicated. However, at this point, you decide to be an open book. Similar to with Jasmine, you feed off this feeling of telling your story to a kind soul who’s willing to listen. “Yeah, it’s for work. That and a breakup.”

You hold back a laugh at the way his eyes widen at this, yearning to know more. But he keeps his reaction tame. “Well, good riddance. Everyone deserves a fresh start, right?”

Thankful he doesn’t push it, you smile at him, nodding. “You’re right.”

He holds your gaze for a split-second longer, showing his solidary to you, before he points you to the menu. “Anyways, can I get you started with any drinks? We’ve got a wide variety of signature cocktails to choose from.”

Remembering the pretty drink from earlier, you ask, “What’s the one you just made? The pink one?”

“Ah! That’s the Guava Goddess. It’s guava nectar we make fresh each morning mixed with the island’s signature rum and a squeeze of citrus. It’s our most popular drink here.”

Sold by his mouthwatering description, you say, “That sounds perfect. I’ll take one of those.”

“Sounds good. How about some food?”

Too hungry and impatient to look through the options, you ask, “What do you recommend?”

“Well, if you’re looking to a try a few different things off our menu, I’d recommend Polly’s Paradise Platter. It’s basically a sampler of our three most popular dishes.” He taps on his fingers, listing each item’s description from memory. “The juiciest sliders made with grass-fed beef, topped with grilled pineapple, all in a freshly baked mini taro bun. Deep fried spring rolls perfectly crispy on the outside and super flavorful and meaty on the inside. And our special veggie fritters made of several types of root vegetables we grow right here at the resort, in the Cornucopia Garden. It’s paired beautifully with our sweet chili sauce, which is also made in-house. It’ll leave you happy and full, I can assure you that.”

You swallow the drool pooling on your tongue, more ravenous now that he’s described the food so vividly. “I’ll take that too!”

“Excellent! Charging to the room or would you like me to open a tab?”

“Room charge is fine. Room 703,” you tell him, pleased that this is actually going on your ex’s bill instead of yours. With that in mind, you add, “Also, make that two Guava Goddesses. I’m feeling extra thirsty tonight.”

Jin gives you a sly wink. “Coming right up.”

It’s empty at the bar now, though you can tell from the ambient noise behind you how packed it is in the dining area. People let out cheers for the Bario Brothers, who strum their guitars expertly while they croon into the microphone, harmonizing with one another in perfect pitch. Jin begins making your cocktails, his hands fluid and graceful as he works his magic. 

“So, who’s Polly?” you ask, thinking about the name of the appetizer platter you ordered. 

He grins, generously measuring three shots of rum into a cocktail shaker. “Well, as you know, this restaurant is called Bruno’s Bistro. Polly is Bruno’s beloved wife, who inspired all of his recipes. They grew up together right here on the island and got separated when he went overseas to work as a chef. They wrote love letters to each other every day until they were finally reunited back home, where he opened his own restaurant. Now, they live in a private estate up in the mountains. They visit sometimes to see how things are going, but their son is the one who’s taken over almost everything, and he’s great. Next year, they’ll be celebrating fifty wonderful years together, so we’re going to have a big party for both the staff and the guests.” He pours in the nectar next, eye-balling it, before covering it with the lid, ready to mix. “Pretty sweet, huh?”

“Very sweet,” you mimic him, watching him shake the bottle, not knowing what else to say. You think of Jasmine calling this place the “Island of Passion”, which you scoff at. If it is, with love hiding in every little nook and cranny this place has to offer, who’s to say that you’re even capable of receiving it? Maybe you’re not meant to be in love. Maybe it’s not in the cards for you to grow old with somebody, to spend the rest of your life by someone’s side. Why bother looking for love when there’s no guarantee that you’ll attain it, sustain it? You were with Jun for five years only for him to fall in love with somebody else. And while your track record isn’t very long, it basically yields a 100% fail rate. Might as well quit now.

You’re too busy sulking to notice Jin has pushed two attractive cocktails into your line of vision. “Your Guava Goddesses.” He holds up his own glass filled with water towards you. “To fresh starts.”  

His tiny toast gives you a small glimmer of hope. You grab one of your cocktails to cheers him. “To fresh starts.”

You take a big swig of your drink, enjoying the bitter taste of liquor balanced by the sweet tartness of the guava and citrus. Another couple arrives, sitting three stools away from you, canoodling each other shamelessly. And that little ray of hope suddenly fades away, once again convinced that you’ll never love again.

Jin is busy with the canoodling customers, so you spare him from listening to your tiresome misery the deeper you get into your cocktails. You should have known that alcohol, a depressant, would sour your mood further, especially as a light-weight. Thankfully, your food arrives when you’re halfway through your second Guava Goddess, so you stuff your mouth with delicious sliders and fritters to stop yourself from using another unsuspecting staff member as your temporary therapist.  

Polly’s Paradise Platter lives up to Jin’s high praise of it. Each item satisfies your hunger and leaves you craving more of it until you’re happily stuffed, about a third of the platter left for you to take back to room. You’re feeling better now that you have food in you to soak up the liquor that was sending you into a spiral. Now, you’re enjoying yourself, listening to the live music, which is wrapping up soon, and chatting to Jin about other restaurants to check out at the resort. 

Suddenly, a young woman plops into the seat beside you, dressed stylishly in a white jumpsuit with a bejeweled plastic tiara on her head that displays the word Bride. She crosses her arms, grunting loudly, clearly upset. 

Not wanting to pry, you avoid her, picking at the last melting ice cube in your drink. She lets out another groan, swiveling in her chair to face you entirely. “Do I look like an idiot right now?”

Startled, you immediately respond, “No, of course not.”

She bites her lip, eyes watering, holding back tears. “Then why is everyone treating me like I’m a fucking idiot?!”

Jin tries to step in to intervene, though you shoot him glance, telepathically telling him that you’ve got this handled. Leaning in closer, you talk to her calmly. “What happened?” 

She takes a deep breath, smelling faintly of liquor. “I’m so sick and tired of everything. I’m ready for this whole wedding to be over with. I just want to marry Kai so we can start our lives together already. Everything else is stupid.”

A tear streams down one of her eyes and you hand her a napkin to wipe it. She does carefully, making sure not to mess up her makeup. “I’m pretty sure Lin and Jen hate each other and I know they’re not trying to show it for my sake, but they don’t even talk. This romper is so fucking annoying because I have to strip completely naked just to take a fucking piss. And dinner was four hours ago and nobody brought any snacks, so I’m going to be fucking starving while we’re dancing at the club! This sucks!” 

You look at your plate of leftovers, then back at her, presenting her the only solace you can offer her at this time. “Do you want the rest of my food?

She stares at you, contemplating your bizarre suggestion. “Are you serious?”

“I promise it’s clean,” you mention, worried she’ll start yelling at you at how gross this is. “I did double-dip in the sauce, so maybe don’t use that.”

She cracks a smile, some of the stress on her face easing as she pulls the platter towards her, grabbing the last slider. “Thank you. You’re a real life-saver.”

You relax now that her wrath has subsided. “I was already finished anyways, so it’s really no big deal.”

Through a mouthful of food, she muffles, “You’re being a better friend to me than my bridesmaids right now."

“That’s not true,” you say, attempting to mend whatever drama is brewing between strangers. “They took you here, right? That seems really nice to me.”

She nods, biting into a spring roll, bits of the wrapper flying off. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

A blonde-haired man in a blue dress shirt and tinted spectacles takes the empty seat on the other side of the bar. You notice him from your peripheral as you chat with the crying bride-to-be. Still, you continue your pep talk. “Sure, Jen and Lin might hate each other, but they’re not trying to ruin your party. Maybe them not talking is better than them fighting.” It’s weird talking about these people like you know them, but you continue to roll with it, hoping to console her. 

She nods, listening to you intently, stuffing the rest of the burger in her mouth. “Yeah, I can tell they’re doing their best.”

“Rompers are super annoying, but you know what? You look incredible. You’re going to be the star at the club tonight.”

She sniffles, giggling at the compliment. “I’d like that.”

“And you know what the best part is? Sure, all of this is overwhelming right now, but you get to spend the rest of your life with Kai. That’s all the matters, right?” You smile at her, hoping whatever you’re saying is resonating. In the background, Jin greets the handsome man with the glasses, offering him a menu.

The entire platter finished now, she smiles back at you. “Yeah. I love him so much.”

You ignore the pang of jealously in your chest as you hand her one more napkin to wipe her mouth, covered in crumbs.

Crisis averted, she lets out a sigh of relief. “I feel so much better. Thank you. I’m Kali by the way,” she introduces herself, offering her hand, oily from your leftovers. You do the same, grinning at her. As if just realizing something, she smacks her forehead with her palm. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” She glances down at the empty plate, giving you a guilty look. “You were probably saving all this food for someone else, weren’t you? I’m the worst!”

You laugh, waving your hands at her in reassurance. “Don’t be sorry! I wasn’t saving that for anyone. I was only going to bring it back to the room with me.”

She props her elbow up on the counter, resting her chin on her palm. “Are you here on vacation? Or business?”

“Vacation.”

“Are you here with your boyfriend? Girlfriend? Husband? Wife?”

You shake your head. “Nope. I’m here alone.” 

A brow quirks as she studies you intently. “By choice?”

“Well…no,” you admit nervously. “But there’s nothing wrong with vacationing solo!” 

“I’m not saying there is!” Kali explains. “I figured an angel like you would definitely be with someone.”

The truth is on the tip of your tongue. You managed the whole dinner without mentioning it to anyone else, and you’re proud of yourself for that. Now you’ve made another new friend and think that maybe she’d be willing to offer you some comfort too. You swallow thickly, admitting, “I was supposed to be here with my boyfriend, but then he broke up with me. Now he’s paying for this vacation we had already planned as a way to make up for it.” You let out a chuckle, knowing it sounds ridiculous. 

Kali stares at you, dumbfounded and unsure how to respond. Jin, who’s been in-and-out of earshot this whole time, happens to catch this and joins in. “Are you serious? Your ex is paying for your entire vacation?” By the looks of it, he’s making an old-fashioned for the attractive fellow, who thankfully doesn’t seem to be aware of your conversation. 

You nod, confirming it. “Yup. Pretty pathetic, huh?”

Jin shrugs, pouring the amber liquid into a rocks glass, topping it off with a candied cherry. “Definitely not. You get a paid vacation and you don’t have to deal with a loser boyfriend? Good riddance.” His words he said to you earlier are said with more conviction this time.

“Jun isn’t a loser,” you argue, coming to his defense on instinct. “He…he fell out of love with me and fell in love with someone else. It happens.”

“Jun?! His name is Jun?! I’m even more ashamed to have a name so similar to his!” He groans in exaggerated outrage, leaving to serve his drink to the customer. 

Kali comes out of her shock to hold your hand in both of hers, a soft expression on her face. “The bartender is right. Good riddance. I don’t know you and I obviously don’t know this ex of yours. If it was so easy for him to fall out of love, maybe it isn’t meant to be. And if it is, he’ll find his way back to you. But at the end of the day, you should be with someone who can’t even stand the thought of ever being without you.” She squeezes you gently, her gaze filled with earnest. 

“What if I never meet anyone who feels that way about me?” You swallow thickly, blinking away the tears starting to well in your eyes. “What if I’m meant to be alone?”

Her look of earnest turns into determination. “If you want to be alone, then there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. People live their lives happy being single, and that’s great! But if you want love, you will find it. It may not be now, it may not even be soon. But it’ll happen, I promise you.”

You want to deny her, tell her that she can’t make promises like this because she doesn’t know what the future holds for you. Nobody does, not even yourself. But there’s so much tenacity in her voice that makes you actually believe it. You keep teetering on gaining hope and losing it all at the sight of a happy couple fondling each other in one corner of the bar. Maybe this time, with this new support from Kali, Jin, and Jasmine, you’ll make the effort to keep it. “Okay,” you answer, squeezing her back. “If you say so.”

Kali grins. “That’s the spirit! Now, let’s find you another man!” She glances around, searching until her eyes land on the gentleman minding his own business, the stout glass of whiskey tipped to his lips. Spotting him, she leans in close, barely whispering. “This guy’s a little grumpy looking, but we’re going to change that.”

It takes you a split-second too late to catch her drift. Horrified, you try to stop her. “Kali, wait, don’t – ”

“You there!” She points directly at him. “Blond man in glasses!”

You hide your face behind your hands, cheeks scorching hot, mortified. Peeking through your fingers, you watch his head turn towards you, confused by this stranger addressing him so blatantly. 

“What’s your name?” 

Hesitant, he responds, “Nanami,” taking a sip of his whiskey.

“Nanami. Are you single?”

He chokes on his alcohol, quickly retrieving a napkin to wipe his mouth dry from the sputtering. 

Kali claps her hands once. “I’ll take that as a yes! Well, you’re in luck good sir! My dear friend here is also single and is very ready to mingle. Are you interested? I bet she’s a real firecracker in bed – ”

Using physical force now, you grab onto Kali’s shoulders and turn her to face you, interrupting whatever nonsense she’s going to spew out next. “Okay Kali, that’s enough!” You mouth a guilty I’m sorry to him before returning your attention to your friend. “Please stop.”

“But why? He’s hot!” she whines, not bothering to lower the volume of her voice. You’re too embarrassed to look at Nanami again, certain you hear him choke on his whiskey once more at her bold proclamation.

You tighten your grip on her, desperate to make her shut up. “Kali, I appreciate the help, but I’m not here to look for another man. I’m here to relax, okay? I’m fine. I’m totally fine.” 

“What about love – ”

You stop her. “If it happens, it happens. You said it yourself: It may not be now, it may not even be soon. But it’ll happen. So let’s just let it happen. Naturally,” you emphasize.

She opens and closes her mouth, trying to find a way to argue with you, though she can’t, especially now that you’ve recited a line from her very own peptalk. Eventually, she relents, nodding with you in agreement. “Naturally. Got it.” Picking aimlessly at the crumbs on the plate, she adds, “But you think he’s hot right?”

In perfect timing, a woman in a black cocktail dress comes stomping towards you, shouting, “Oh my god, Kali! We’ve been looking everywhere for you!” She hauls Kali up to her feet, giving you an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry, I hope she wasn’t bothering you.”

“Hey!” Kali protests, nudging her bridesmaid with her elbow. “We’re practically besties now!”

You smile at them, relieved and a little sad to see your new bestie go. “Not at all. It was nice meeting you Kali, and congratulations. I hope you and Kai live happily ever after.”

She beams at you, waving goodbye enthusiastically as her friend drags her away out the restaurant with surprising strength. 

The Bario Brothers have since left and more people seem to congregate at the bar, so it seems like the perfect time for you to leave. Exhausted from all of tonight’s drama, you reach into your purse for cash, leaving a sizeable tip for Jin, who’s busy tending to the other customers now. You glance over to Nanami, who’s currently immersed in a basket of freshly baked focaccia bread. Hopefully he’s already forgotten, or at least disregarded, the little exchange from earlier.  

Back inside your room, you change into pajamas and get ready for bed. When you’re tucked comfortably in the covers, you close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the mattress that seems to mold around your body. It’s the most comfortable bed you’ve ever been on, and yet, you find it difficult to fall asleep. Insomnia is another condition you’ve been plagued with post-breakup. The empty space surrounding you is unnerving. You’re so used to having another person beside you, a small sense of security that provided you significant comfort. You never realized how much you needed that until now. 

Twenty minutes pass, tossing and turning, switching out pillows, changing positions. Desperate, you get up to walk over to the balcony, opening the sliding door. The natural symphony of paradise outside fills you with ease. You listen to the soothing sound of waves crashing on the shore, the gentle breeze ruffling through the fronds of palm trees. Thankfully, it’s enough to lull you to sleep and by the time the sun rises, you’re relieved to make it to a new day in one piece.

~~~

When Jasmine at the front desk suggested Bruno’s Bistro to Nanami last night, he wasn’t expecting his dinner to be so lively. He’s been so used to keeping to himself during these little trips of his. That’s why it was especially alarming when a random bride-to-be at the bar called out to him, propositioning him to date the woman beside her, who looked absolutely mortified. It shocked him at first, sure. He was eavesdropping on their conversation as soon as he took his seat. While he’s vacationing solo, he likes to people watch as his own form of entertainment, make-up stories in his head or indulge the ones that strangers tell each other out loud. And luckily for him, there was plenty of that just a couple seats away from him. 

He found the bachelorette’s insistent interrogation of that poor woman amusing at first, thankful that he wasn’t in the hot seat himself. Then, she revealed her story about her breakup, how her ex is paying for her to be on this vacation as some sort of consolation for breaking her heart. At that, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. Nanami is used to being alone, prefers it. For others, it may not be so easy. Although her smile was warm, there was pain behind it, an aura of hopelessness that he’s used to sensing after so many years of dealing with curses who are drawn to energy like that. If they were anywhere else, he’d worry that she’d be an easy target to feed on. 

It's because he was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t realize he was being called out to until the bride-to-be accurately described him as the “blond man in glasses”. From there, it was all downhill. 

Luckily, the heartbroken woman with the pretty smile found a way to stop the madness, even finding the time to mouth a quick apology to him while she subdued the culprit. Normally, Nanami would be annoyed being bothered by strangers; this, however, he didn’t mind. 

He smiles to himself as he takes another sip of his coffee, his eyes glued to the same words on the newspaper for the past ten minutes. His mind is replaying last night’s events, wondering if that woman is okay. He’s sure she’s embarrassed, though she seemed to take it in stride. Will he ever run into her again during his stay here? Part of him hopes to, just to make sure she’s enjoying this vacation to the fullest. After all, her shitty ex is the one paying for it all.

“Nanami?”

For the second time on this trip, his name is called out. He folds the newspaper down to see who it is and he’s shocked to find the very woman he had in mind standing in front of him. 

“I’m not sure if you remember me from last night,” she starts, hands behind her back, chuckling nervously. “I’m actually hoping you don’t.”

“I do,” he admits, setting aside the paper, giving his full attention. 

Her smile slackens a bit, disappointed that he actually does remember. “Okay, well then, I’m here with a peace offering.” She reveals a small bag, holding it out to him.  “Consider this my formal apology for last night.”

He takes it, skeptical about what this could possibly be. It seems that she’s waiting for him to open it, so without further ado, he does. The aroma immediately piques his interest, and when he peeks inside, he can’t contain his excitement. “Is this…”

“Yeah, it is,” she answers before he can finish. It’s the famous almond croissant that sells out within minutes of the café opening. There’s countless of articles about this elusive treat, made specially by the resort’s most well-regarded pastry chef, who studied for years in France before returning back to their home island. Nanami had attempted a shot at it first thing this morning, but was met with disappointment when he was told it was all sold out.  

Amazed, he asks, “How did you get this? Did you wake up early to stand in line?”

She huffs a laugh. “No. I sort of have this friend at the front desk now, Jasmine. She told me that the pastry chef bakes a special batch just for the staff. When I passed by her this morning, she gave me hers.”

He takes a big whiff of it, inhaling the intoxicating aroma into his bloodstream. “Really? That’s nice of her.”

“Yeah it is.” 

There’s that sad smile again, hiding the pain within. He wants to ask her what’s wrong, wants to console her in any way he can. But he knows that would be crossing a line. Besides, why should he care so much for a stranger? Normally, he wouldn’t, so why now? What makes her so special? 

He hands her back the bag, shaking his head. “I can’t accept his.”

“What?”

“This croissant is very sought after. I don’t know if you know that,” he explains, holding it even farther from him, refusing to be seduced by the scent. “It wouldn’t be right if I just took it from you.”

She waves him off, taking a step back as if touching it will make it hers again. “Seriously, it’s not that big of a deal. Please just take it.”

“No. I can’t deprive you of this special moment. It might be life-changing.” As much as it pains him, he’s absolutely determined to deny this croissant. He’s that serious about it.

They stare at each other for a split second, not knowing what else to do. Then, she laughs. A real one, genuine and hearty, warm and full. Her smile is even more pure, cheeks rounded, eyes crinkled at the corners. “Okay. If it means that much to you, then why don’t we share it?"

His chest does a strange thing, something he’s not familiar with. He ignores it to respond with a simple, “Fine,” pointing to the seat across from him at this small table. A compromise. Something the both of them can benefit from. 

She sits down, taking a few napkins to surround the croissant as she splits it down the middle, giving him the slightly bigger half. “Bon appétit,” she grins, digging in. 

Well, Nanami thinks to himself, taking his own bite into his share. It’s even better than he imagined, the dough perfectly flakey, the center sweet and nutty from the marzipan. It fills him with warmth and comfort as he chews it slowly, watching the women across from him do the same. Maybe this isn’t so bad.

[serpentface]

Question: given the former’s lack of experience, and the later’s lack of skill; why were Palo and Tigran specifically chosen to accompany the White Calf, especially since the calf’s other escorts seem to be important (or at least, well connected) people?

A lot of it was purely circumstantial. The pilgrimage was held out of the city of Wardin and the vast majority of participants were those located there. Wardin has a relatively small Galenii population to begin with (most of the order is based out of the western half of the region, in Ephennos), and the chosen emissaries are mostly young people in their early-mid 20s (chosen in hopes of being physically robust to deal with the strains of travel).

Also a lot of Galenii were sacrificed during the drought, which contributed to narrowing down the pool. Under normal circumstances, one state-sanctioned human sacrifice occurs in Imperial Wardin per year, which is a Galenii who offers themself up at the peak of the dry season to encourage the return of annual rains and confer God’s blessings of fertility on the land and people. A Galenii is already considered to have given their body to Mitlamache become a conduit for fertility blessings and the divine sacrifice-rebirth cycle, and are thus the most powerful offerings for such rites. The drought was reckoned as a result of the disruption of the sacrifice-rebirth cycle, making offerings to Mitlamache more vital than to Anaemache (the superficially more relevant river/rain Face). Many Galenii volunteered to give their lives (both as a sense of duty, and due to beliefs that deaths of this nature are the most esteemed and confer the best of possible afterlives), some were coerced, and some were murdered in un-sanctioned DIY sacrifices.

And also this is a truly devastating famine and a huge proportion of the population were straight up just dying of starvation, dehydration, and disease, which affected the Galenii order as well.

These combined factors limited the potential pool enough that Tigran and Palo would be seen as worthy potentials for the task.

Tigran was originally the sole pupil of a monk who would go on to become one of the high priests of the order, and this association led him to being a likelier candidate. He’s actually not inept at his basic, normal-basis duties and is considered by most of his peers to be a good Galenii in rite and practice (if a deeply unserious and annoying person). This just doesn’t translate that well to transporting a sacred cow cross-country.

Palo had much less going for him, given he was a very new initiate, and he was mostly chosen as an emissary for the fact that he was considered Tigran’s pupil at the time. Galenii perform most of their duties in pairs, and he would be a natural choice to accompany Tigran.

The final reason was a complete right place at right time situation that got them circumstantially connected to the calf, as well as Faiza and Couya. They were present when the white calf was escorted into the city after its initial capture, with Faiza and Couya being among the escorts. Palo was still in the begging phase of initiation, and had showed up in hopes of receiving charity from the accumulated crowd. This gathering devolved into a food riot at the approach of the escort train, and Palo and Tigran were both injured and indirectly saved by soldiers forcibly breaking up the riot as the calf passed by.

The calf laid down in the street when it just so happened to be near where Tigran and Palo were watching, and refused to get up (it was very tired and had a hard day). Tigran, who is in equal measures a suckup and a true believer, hailed it as little Mitlamache and blessed it. Palo was like 'fuck well ok then' and followed his lead.

Faiza was a key decision maker in the process of choosing the escorts for each sacred animal, and this encounter heavily contributed to their choosing when she later saw them again in the pool of candidates. Couya was very interested in this incident, seeing it as a true and auspicious sign- the calf had chosen them, perhaps even saved them. Faiza, noting Couya's reaction, decided it made for a very good narrative and gave it the go-ahead.

[cherrsnut]

Hostage - Chapter 3

Finnick Odair x Healer!Reader

Summary: Up until now, your life has been a solitary one. Being the sole owner of an herbal shop, and apothecary to many fishermen who have been injured. Just when your life seemed to follow the routine you were so used to, your life turns a 360 when you’re suddenly taken away for the 67th Annual Hunger Games. This turn of events forces you to accept the idea the Grim Reaper is stalking close behind you, faster than you had hoped for. 

Tags: Extremely Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Typical THG Violence, Forced Prostitution, Forced Lab Rat, Injury, Mental Health Deterioration, Psychological/Physical Torture, Death, Alcohol/Drug Consumption, Medical Malpractice, Fluff (bc they deserve it).

Word Count: 6k

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Chapter 3

The shimmering light of the moon reflected the pine trees of a never-ending forest. It had been a while since you’d left the sight of the sea, and with that so did the comfort of your homeland. 

You weren’t sure just how deep into the night you were, the only indicator was the high position of the crescent moon,  and you guessed it was late. 

You were at the salon, or at least the replica of a salon inside the car of a traveling train. It was as quiet as the night offered. You tried to mimic the silent stillness from the moon, all because it wasn’t in your best interest in waking up the rest.

The lights had turned on automatically, probably with some sort of motion sensor that detected your sneaky movements. It startled you, it was one of those things you got easily used throught the sunny day, not so much during the night.

You thought of turning around, worried that someone took notice of your presence, but your stubbornly nature breathed in your ear to keep going, and it embarrassed you the idea of returning back to your room, after all the self convincing through the pillow, so you were committed on what you had set out to do.

The living area was big. It connected all three rooms, the kitchen, that adopted a smaller size than in a regular home; next to it was the dining room, which consisted of a large wooden table accompanied by the chairs of the same material and colour; and then a normal salon, with its shelves and books, comfortable couches and armchairs, with the TV, the one you had been seeing earlier that day. You could only but respect the creator for its clever interior design.

Your eyes scanned the room you just walked in. You had seen the alcoholic beverage when you all were tracing a plan, or better said, attempted to trace a plan.

You had taken notice of its presence, the delightful idea you’d drink it later tied a noose around your mind, and you were content to announce the time has come for its consumption.  

With the distinct shape and light glass color, you knew it was white wine. The name of the brand was unfamiliar to you; but with its inky and sophisticated handwriting, one that could only belong to the signature of a fancy family. As soon as that thought crossed your mind, you knew the wine would live up to it exquisite taste you were forming in your mouth. 

That's why you wanted to try it in the first place. Just like the many delicious pastries you had tried merely hours ago. Once the succulent sweet taste bombarded your tongue, you knew the cook’s trained fingers had been blessed by the sin of gluttony itself. The strawberries at the very top was enough to make you believe it to be an addicting forbidden fruit, one you were glad 

you had been honored to try out.

Your mouth watered at the idea of what a good wine would be considered between the rich society. Would it be more bitter? more sweet? more refreshing? would it be thicker? 

There was only one way to find out.

You looked at the kitchenette, roaming your eyes all over surfaces of it. Silver colors shone throughout the metallic counters, filled with dusty spices, all collected from the unique lands of the Districts throughout Panem. They sat quietly on the kitchen counters, ready to be used at any given moment. 

You walked over there. You realized the light bulbs couldn’t cover the whole salon, and it was especially dark over the kitchen area. With the many corners and countertops, it casted many shadows to whatever hidden treasure lay there, and you hoped to find your drink beneath those lurking shadows.

And you did. Just like what you had thought, the sharp shadows camouflaged your drink. This piece of concealed alcohol though, was not on its own. It had been placed along other alcoholic beverages, from rose wines, to different versions of rums. All in carefully and delicately crystal bottled designs, with odd edges and shapes, but it still screamed for its exclusive taste. 

You went to grab onto your preferred wine choice, the white wine your mind lingered ever so slightly for the past hours, and grabbed a glass, which consisted  of rummaging through the kitchen metallic cabinets. 

And ice cubes, you nearly forgot about them. You thanked the Heaven’s when you found them, it was a definitely easier find, all silently still in the freezer.

You walked out with your self-proclaimed possessions, and plopped them down on a rather small table by a funny looking mustard couch. You had to start getting used to the colour explosion the people of the Capitol seemed to be overjoyed with.  

You went to grab the foggy beige bottle, a good indicator of the type of whine that laid inside. You went to fully seat of the couch, more like you willingly fell on top of it. Fingers quickly snacthed the bottle. And as you handled its throat, you heard something similar to light growls coming through the wall. All your connected joints stopped, in an attempt to make out what exactly what exactly were the noises. The tone was very much low, and all the words were scattered around into incomprehensible words. You pressed your ear further into the only thing separating the two of you.

By that point, you had realized the low sounds was a conversation that was happening on the other side, making the wall the only barrier between the two of you. A frustrating sound came out of your lips, you hated how the wall was thick enough to block out the anything coherent, and your nosy ears were left unsatisfied.

Two people talking, you were sure of that, and you also knew that they were slowly and creepingly getting closer to you.

But before you thought of your escape plan, an electrical-like sound resounded across the room just softly. It would have been very much unnoticed during the lively day, especially considering Scarlett’s exhausting hyper energy. But in the complete silence of the night, one that even the noise of the rattling rails were enhanced. It was the sound you could recognize now, a you knew you had just been exposed. The automatic doors just opened.

“Should we really wake them up?” spoke the large male, specks of the bronze you earlier described hidden under the artificial light, which made his hair take upon a more goldish colour. 

He looked on his back, waiting for his companion to respond to him. Scarlett joined him in the room, her long and white hair, so well taken care of that anyone could’ve confused it with a spider’s silk. 

“We don’t have much time to spare, we need to go over the schedule” Scarlett spoke. A stunned look came across your face when you noticed she still had the beautiful face paint across her sharp and witty features, even in the early hours of the night. 

“I understand that-“ Finnick crossed his eyes to follow Scarlett’s figure, but in doing so, a black shifting figure appeared in the corner of his eyes, and its presence asked for his attention. So when he looked over there, he found you on the couch, the bottle of wine still in your arms. 

He made an expression, and it that moment you knew exactly what the elders meant by the saying ‘Dear in Headlights’. His sea green eyes, a sea that upon stepping into the water you’d be welcomed by the underwater green nature, had gotten noticeably bigger. It was the initial shock for him had that him planted by the entrace, you knew he wasn’t expecting you. Even more less, you gripping onto dear life to the wine. 

Scarlett noticed the absence of Finnick’s sentence, so she looked back at him with a pointed stare wanting to know why he had stopped talking. His face suggested for her to look in the direction of what he was facing, and so she did. A big noticeable grin appeared on her radiant white teeth after encountering your very awaken form. 

“Wonderful, you’re awake!” she exclaimed, clapping twice in approval. You just stayed there, paralyzed. You had come out to drink the refinery of the Capitol, all sneakily as had you assumed it would be the same as in District 4. The usual, ‘you’re a minor’ kind of talk. It had been harder to digest the fiery feeling coursing through your bloodstream, to your knowledge, only alcohol could provide you. 

You weren’t the type to break the rules, always following what the law preached. But when it came down on taking more priority on curious adolescents wanting to try out a new feeling, over questioning the literal slaughter of said adolescents, you could admit confidently, the system was equivalent to a singular bullcrap. 

Mags was the last to come out, her very small and frail body coming out from behind Finnick, 

who still looked at you funnily. He didn’t utter a word, still in his trance. The bottle was still in your hands, and you knew deep within your very core existence, it was going to take up a real fight for them to take it away from you.

Mags on the other hand chuckled sofly at his side, which in turn took Finnick back to reality, something you were thankful for Mags. You were sure if he kept staring you like that you’d just run back to your room from the utter humiliation. The whole situation felt silly in your hands, especially considering your fingers still gripping onto the bottle. 

“I’ll go and get Vito” offered Finnick as he walked past the tall slender figure of Scarlett, and made his way to get your District partner. 

Scarlett went to sit beside you, almost like she felt close to you on a personal level, all connected by the power of the wine. She held her glass of wine to you, a hungry smile as she waited for your hands to pour down the liquid into her transparent glass. 

Mags sat in front of you, onto the armchair from the same yellowish colour as the couch you were currently leaning agaisnt. She was grinning at you. A mischievous color swam through her grey irises that were were pointing at you. There was something sweet about you only Mags seem to notice, and she seemed amused by your particular behaviour. 

“Have you tried it? It's delicious” Scarlett recommended you, a tone lower from the close proximity she had closed, and it seemed to her that there was a new level of vulnerability between the three of you. The flowing liquid brushed past her coloured lips, and where it not for the bubble that formed from inside her throat, one that it quickly disappeared to her content belly, you wouldn't have realized she had already gulped down the drink. It was sophisticated one, one done with the sole intention to savour the unique taste, more so for one’s survival. 

You moved your head no, a little shy after being caught during the act. But were you? Exactly what were you doing that was so wrong? Everyone present seemed so nonchalant about it, so used to it, you coudn’t help but bury yourself deeper into the depths of your own embarrassment. You coudn’t help but ask yourself why you hadn’t asked them earlier if you could take a sip

And with that, you were sure you were going to do a little session by the great name of self-ridiculization when you were alone, which meant screaming off to your pillow.

You took a pity sip. Just like what you had predicted, it was everything but disappointing. The way the beverage was made was very much different from all the drinks you shared with Edna. This one, was lower on the bitterness, and whoever wrote the recipe made the correct decision to add the sweet fruity taste to it. That was the secret ingredient, the sweetness almost overpowered the cringing taste of the alcohol, and a bubble of sparkling water tickled your throat when you gulped down. Truly delicious.

Scarlett winked at you, a bigger grin appeared on her face. You looked over to her, and for once her very presence didn’t feel excriciatingly annoying. Her hyper overjoy she always seemed to wear on her cheek easily exhausted anyone present, especially when she seemed so eager to talk about the Hunger Games.

You had taken notice of Mags scanning eyes over your essence from the very moment she sat just in front of you. So you gave a pointed look, a one questioning over her roaming pupils on you. Mags responded with another smile, a gentle and mature one, from a woman with decades of experience ready to reveal the secrets of a human’s purpose in life. The way her eyes closed when she bore her teeth out, gave you the understanding she didn’t have the slightest intention to spill out whatever was going on through her mind.

You sighed along with the welcoming steps from both Finnick and Vito. A second barely passed when the two appeared through the door. Finnick was in his still living sculpture form, created by an artist filled with the purest form of infatuation, his passion for the beautiful creatures that lurked on the breathing planet, and definitely taking upon the inspiration of the gods of beauty and hypnotic perfection, and thus he was born. 

Vito was close behind him, a look that gave away his tumultuous mind. His eyes shoned the void of his black irises, that seemed to have merged with its pupils. His rustled hairs hung in messy strands, evident of his attempt in walking into a deep slumber. A pair of silky beige trousers attached to his hips. His button-up shirt he was using as nightly gear, had been hanging around him loosely, and your working quick eyes noticed just how he was interlocking each button for its respective hole just as he got in the salon, suggesting he’d just worn it for the courtesy of joining your reunion.

You couldn’t stop the sarcastic thought from drilling your mind ‘How kind of the them to provide its Tribute’s with pleasantries' regarding with existence of the clothing provided by the Capital. But it wasn’t just that, it was as well the rich dishes and product designs. You very much enjoyed them, but you coudn’t help feeling it was a direct jab at you former way of life, a much poorer lifestyle than theirs. 

Everything was great, you had been the first to enjoy them, but it still felt icky to your senses. It is as if the Capitol was trying to ridicule you in some way or another. 

Vito followed your pointing eyes, a tired greeting. He probably stayed in bed, waiting to be taken by the realm of dreams, hoping when he woke up everything was just but a terrible nightmare. And that feeling sunken within your heavy chest.

Both men sat down beside us, and Vito couldn’t help but travel his gave along the table, finishing to see past your fingers to Scarlett’s. He’d taken notice of the bottle you both were sharing, and a hollow feeling sat on top of his heart. He barely mumbled something audible.

“Is that wine?” Vito’s voice was weak when he let the words escape. His funny look, essentially identical to Finnick’s, mimicked the way his tune sounded, confused and perplexed. 

Something about Vito you had realized was the way his face was exactly that of a transparent mineral. Everything he built himself with, every opinion and moment of decision, was all said through his eyes before he could even speak them. 

“Why are you drinking wine?” he questioned your actions, with the ingredients of a slight judgemental tone, and an astonished murmur. He specifically looked at you, trying to find the broken wires inside your brain, the ones that made you make circuit-breaker decisions.

“Why not?” you asked back. The difference in tone was surprisingly abundant. His was more weak and slow, begging for an outer force to comfort him; and yours was simply more cutthroat and defensive. 

He didn’t say anything else after that, bewilderment spoke his eyes. His lips fell apart, trying to find the words he wanted to say. But he couldn’t, not when he was so stunned at your answer. An he supposed  the problem didn’t come from a circuit breaker, rather you were suffering from unmatching wires that had been wrongly connected.

“Edna always told me. ‘If I’m able to stitch back a four-inch infected laceration without the need of any painkiller, I was old enough to drink alcohol’ ” You repeted those wise words your teacher and, later considered grandmother spoke. The words and phases that echoed through each rib, in a never-ending cycle of teachings that clung to you like a piercing fishhook through warm flesh. 

Vito kept his stare on you, unable to comprehend you. The dark circles that were slowly creeping up under his eyes came from the instilled distress that overpowered his body. He appreciated what you had done earlier, he’d be lying if he told you he didn’t need it, that he was alright. The sickening idea that both of you were going to be placed in a mortal arena fed his sleepless anxiety. The screening scenes from previous Hunger Games editions pierced his soul, like an arrow to his heart. 

He found himself taking back his initial thoughts though. He previously found himself relieved when his partner was someone unknown to him, someone he only knew in passing, that he never had a heartfelt conversation with you. The guilt of those primal thoughts runs his blood cold because after what you had done to him, a complete stranger, the comfort he needed for the simple reasoning that you were concerned about him.

You were a good person at heart, and you didn’t deserve to die in such a cruel fate. In the middle of nowhere, where even nature itself is out there designed to kill you. With the background of the meaning of the Hunger Games, many Tributes grew desperate to try and change their hopeless destiny. Their minds break inside that Hell, and with fear running their imprudent’s choices, they kill whoever is set in their way. In this game, you had to let go of one’s nature and belief with the off chance to see another day. 

So when he saw you with a glass of wine in hand, he couldn’t help but be resentful over your shown obliviousness to the whole situation, or maybe you just weren’t as concerned as he dictated you should be. He appreciated what you had done back then, reassuring him everything would be alright. But deep down he knew those words were empty in the ears of fate, and you couldn’t guarantee the outcome even if you wanted to. 

Your lips took another gulp of the wine, he felt as though the earth would bury him alive. Just then a crumbling thought avalanched his mind. His soul felt heavy, and there was nothing he could do about it. He felt personally victimized, wishing you had never been picked in the Reaping, and all thoughts of earlier gratitude subsided and felt personally betrayed by your words.

You tasted the addicting wine once again. Your head moved to Scarlett’s, praising the wine choice whoever picked for this journey. 

“This will be the death of me. It's like a delicious poison running through my veins” you told her delighted. There was something so pure about the way a refreshing wine glass traveled through your entire body, that felt like swimming under the humidity of the summer’s heat.

“Oh ho ho” Scarlett chuckled at your comment. She was good drinking company, you had to give her that. She unknowingly distracted you from your oceanic torment, taking away the pleas of your mind to give in and open your eyes to what you were truly feeling.

“I know someone who you’d get along with” She spoke again, a giggly voice present. 

“Haymitch, right?” Now it was Finnick who joined in. Another small grin appeared on his face, however small though, it lit up the room just as if he bore his sparkling teeth out. And, god, you had to stop yourself from forming a curse after seeing his beautiful dimples. 

“I could see you two becoming close friends” he added. Green eyes attempting to read behind your pupils.

Haymitch. He sounded familiar to your ears, but you couldn’t quite picture him in your mind. And just as you went to ask for who they were referring to, Vito's voice became clearer. 

“Are we going to form a plan or not?” he sounded strained, stress had been building up his senses, and you felt once again guilty. “Look, I just want, even a half a chance to win this” he added. His voice hinted that he was mad, and it wasn’t his fault you had already given up. 

“Please,” his eyes maneuvered to Scarlett. “Tell us what to do. How do we gain sponsors” You heard just how he tried to bite back a crack. “or how to not die out there” The intensity of his stare made the air tense. Even Scarlett, the queen of making everything as lighthearted as possible, didn’t say anything back. She just stared at him, her words stuck to the back of her throat, and his low tone disorienting her brain. 

You placed your wine glass down. Your eyes stole his glance, before speaking out your thoughts. 

“Vito” you called out to him. And just like his voice, you saw how even his obsidian eyes cracked with each passing minute. 

“I’m close to incapable of even protecting myself,” you confessed, and that hard acceptance soaked your mind. There was nothing for you to do. 

His hard stare begged you to continue, because for him, at this point he’d listen to anyone, even the defeated conclusions of a self-proclaimed goner like yourself.

“But I know how to heal you. I know how to wrap up an open wound. I know how to slow down an infection. And I know for sure, I’ll do my best to stop any type of poison spread over your body” you told him. You understood him, understood how he was feeling, and how desperation ran miles over his head. 

“I’ll be out there to take care of you. But I need you to promise me one thing.” his stare was pointed at you, and no matter how distracting his surroundings may be, he listened carefully to your words. 

“I need you to stay by my side. I need you to protect me when I need it. And I promise you, I’ll be there to look out for you” The light bulbs shone in the sclera of your eyes, just as hard as the tone of your voice. 

He nodded, agreeing to that verbal contract, and he was ready to carry out the duty you just placed on his shoulders. 

“I’ll be there by your side until you proclaim yourself as Victor.” you gave him a sad smile. It seemed that’s the only thing you do these days. A smile in the face of a terrible tragedy. 

He looked away from you, into the crown of the passing trees through the window. He seemed more relaxed, more confident. And in the lingering silence, no one dared to interrupt the meaning behind your despairing words. 

The victors of the previous games looked at you. You felt isolated behind their gaze, and you couldn’t even return their pitiful glance towards you. The irises on your eyes traveled outside the train car,  through every single tree, and it felt like you moved as fast as the speed of light. An open gap between your tight chest, that’s what it felt like knowing every passing tree meant getting closer to your imminent death. It felt philosophical in a sense, just how the leaves your eyes landed on, quickly swifted into the next one, like a prophecy that your end was happening soon. And the usual childish thought that the trees were waving you farewell with every wind brush, fell too real for you. 

Vito grunted some words, but you were unable to hear them, too focused on the melancholic song your body sang. Aside from you, the rest looked at him, and his gaze returned to each one of them. An internal conflict stood beside him as he thought out his mind. Finnick looked to Mags, and she returned it with another, understanding just what lay in those ghostly words of yours. They knew what you were implying, you didn’t need to say it, the meaning of grief stayed prevalent in the air you all shared. 

“What about you?” he muttered just above a whisper, but you still understood the meaning of his words. He was going to force you to say it even when you didn’t want to. The words you kept hidden, for your own mental protection, so you woudn’t crumble in that very instant.

“What about me?” you asked back with a sneer. A tone anyone understanding the implication of the conversation would realize to be in self-mockery. Vito lost his voice again, hanging his lips apart to dry his tongue. A piercing pain hurt his heart like a freezing icicle to his soul. 

“In the end, it's better you come out as the sole victor.” Those two words, they were the final blows of the crack in your soul. Just like someone smashed a mirror after seeing their body reflected. And it was even harder having to act stronger than what you actually were, because deep between the layers of deception and half-truths, a house that only hopelessness and hurt habited. But there was nothing you could do about it, it was better to accept it now, so when you’d be faced with your impending moment, you might as well feel at peace for the life Edna had the chance to give you.

“I’m making my peace with death.” you smiled with nothing other than the wrinkled lines of mournful acceptance. Everyone looked at you, and Vito gave you a displeased glare, one you knew he was about to try and pick up a fight at your words.

“Look, I've been on my own my entire life, and I’m fine with it. I’ll die just how I lived, alone,” you spoke before he could even refute back your stubborn thoughts. But he couldn’t accept it, and it hurt his soul just looking at your pitiful face. 

“We need you alive” a loud husky metamorphosed his vocal chords, with a more aggressive tone than you had gotten used to in the little hours you had been with him. A venomous stinger struck you unannounced. You knew what he meant, the fishermen you had brought up earlier. 

“The Peacemakers are being a pain in the ass lately, the Herbal Shop will close sooner or later anyway” you tried to debate, any inkling of gentle softness leaving after what felt an attack at his hostile tone.

“You’re absolutely right. Your victory would shut them up” sarcasm placed on his mouth into a grin, a scoff vibrating the back of his salivary tongue in his in disbelief. His crease wrinkled at the middle of both his eyebrows. But what you could not fathom, why was his hard look directed at you. 

“That’ll stop them raking your name through the mud” he added in venomous grace directed at the people who were supposed to ‘maintain peace’. And yet, it didn’t feel the least be sympathetic. 

“My name’s been through a lot. I can take it” you talked back. You had to bite your burning tongue so it wouldn’t mention anything about his unexpected and detestable attitude.

“Well I don’t have your knowledge or skills. I’m easily replaceable” It seemed he always had something back to say to you, but it never convinced you, not with your stubborn nature. And yet, you were left speechless. You weren’t sure as to why he’d become so aggravateted all of a sudden. 

The confusion that sparked in your inner central core only left you empty. You weren’t sure as to why he’d gotten so hostile. Vito just scanned your face finding any clue of your swirling hidden thoughts inside of your head. He just wanted to swim across from your sea current, he wanted to break apart your mind, so you’d understand his point. He found himself close to finding the secrets you wanted to keep hidden under a rusty lock. 

Your lips parted, and the way your pupils shoke in trying to find a reason as to why he was perked up, only made his shimmering eyes spark in his further determination. 

Now it was you who stayed quiet, still in a messy stupefaction running your mind. You wanted to say something back, bite at his words and make him understand that if it came to sacrificing, it was a better option for your to take that blow instead of him. 

In the absence of your voice, Vito continued on. 

“As soon as the Hunger Games start, run far away from the Cornucopia. I’ll get everything and come back to you” his voice was much lower, the excruciating energy he managed to surface was gone. At least not in an explosive way, but the way his tune forced out intimidation for you to listen to him. You blinked at his words, and a little not right stepped on your face upon his pathetic excuse of a plan. You licked your dry lips.

“What? No!” you started. Just as this conversation continued on you coudn’t help but feel like someone slammed against your body, from each word he tried to reason with. You sighed internally, deeply exhaling the breath as a means to get you to calm down. “You’ll just die there” you replicated to him. You surprised yourself when the implications of your words sunk your heart deep. Vito could die.

 “And we need you alive” You elevated your voice, as you defended your reasoning against his immediate thought process. Like the calamity of a sea storm clashing against the sharp stones of a cliff, fighting against the aggressive nature of the submerged waves.

“You’re more necessary back home. I’m more than willing to die-” his frsutration could only but become increasingly bigger when you cut him off. It was far past him, the realization that two clashing thoughts could never end with one winning victor.

“Your sisters need you alive. Your family needs you alive” you raised your voice, not enough to be considered that of a yell, but loud enough that the energy that escaped through your pores left burning marks on the people around you. 

And it was loud enough that you long forgotten, and didn’t care, about anyone else who’d still be asleep in the train ride.

“Just listen to me!” Vito screamed. He wanted to shut you up, and he reasoned that by leaving you as astonished as you were, he could explain as to why he felt like it was better for him to be buried against the hard bloody floor of the arena. 

And you were dismayed. All words you wanted to speak run back down your throat at the sheer audacity you felt. So you looked at him, nothing but critical in your glare. You couldn’t leave his eyes, threatning pupils cheering him to challenge your very being again. 

Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it.

Your repeated thoughts were as fast as the bullet train you were on. You knew the moment you lost your self control, you’d say something you’d later regret. So you looked at him, a fiery rage in your gaze, but still controlling your silence. 

Vito then realized he regretted shouting at you in such a manner. The hating look your irises burned and churned within, took him back. He didn’t expect you’d react that way, and he regretted not taking another second to think what the outcome may be from his screaming. So he stilled under your gaze, every sheer of irate emotions slowly dissipating.

He opened his mouth, wanting so say something, to immediately apologize for what he’s just done. Regret flowed through his senses, so much it made him almost blind to everything else that was occurring. And with regret, came the emotions of shame and embarrassment. He was vulnerable under you heavy stare.

Seconds passed like this. You were looking into his eyes, but you weren’t saying inthing behind them. The source didn’t come to try and intimidate him, it had nothing to do with you feeling more powerful than him. But as your gazes interlocked, you had to physically bite your bottom lip so you wouldn't spill all the bitter words that sat ready above your tongue. Don’t say it. Every second, your head provoked you to take one step further and finish this into a screaming match. The type of fight that, when the both of you left to your rooms, you two had equal resentment for each other. Don’t say it. 

With another deep breath exhaling from your nose, you stood up. Just then, you realized the rest of the audience present in your discussion, by which all of them looked rather uncomfortable, and you coudn’t blame them. You passed Scarlett and Finnick, in which he stalkendly followed you figure. He didn’t know what to say to remedy the situation, was there even a way to make this better? Or maybe the best thing he could do was to just stay silent and let the breeze carry both of the Tribute’s emotions. 

Your body froze at the realization you had forgotten something crucial. You looked at the Scarlett, which she returned a timid gaze. Vito seemed on wanting to say something, especially now that you had stopped in your tracks. It was obvious you wanted to leave, and he coudn’t blame you. But before he could apologize for his outburst, your voice fied out. Much more calm, and without a hint of an explosive counter reaction.

“I’ll be taking this” you leaned forward into the table, grabbing the inquisitive wine, ready to use it as soon as your bedroom door closed behind you. 

“I’ll be drowning myself in this tonight” you murmured. You were proud at the way you didn’t give in to you head’s whispering thoughts to aggravate the situation further. And before you knew it, you blood run much slower, and your energy subsided, leaving you with the hoarse of your mutter.

You looked back at everyone, and a small grin formed in the base of your lips, and they understood you were telling them your goodnight before your body went to the door. 

But you stopped. With the wine in you hand heavely hanging, you went back to see your partner. 

“Get back home, Vito” you exasperated. He went to gaze at you once his name was mentioned. And though you noticed his soury internal conflict, his original thoughts still induced him.

He went to say you name, a much softer trembling mutter. But you cut him off. You didn’t want to argue any further, and you weren't going to stay for whatever he had to say.

“Go home” your voice sounded more stable, more confident in your argument. And with this, you finished the dispute between the two of you. With an order for him to return back to District 4, and get back to his family. 

Previous // Next

TagList: @marvelescvpe

[oceanspirit9]

I'm back? From writing hiatus? I've been going back and forth on whether to finish this piece (what's left for posting it), BUT I felt like maybe it'd be nice. So, here. Have yourself a young Clint Barton 🎯 Thanks @quietlyimplode for always being there for me during the toughest creative blocks 🖤

“Wait up, Barney!”

Clint scrambled back and up on his feet in a flurry of dust, brushing gravel and sand off of his palms with trained nonchalance. His new trousers, the annual Barton hand-me-downs, had unraveled, and tripped him up again, two sizes too big and stiff as cardboard. Yet, he kept on running behind his brother without a single care in the world, all wind-swept hair and a toothless grin.

Summer was coming to an end, the afternoon sun no longer so violently sweltering. Rather, it caressed the two young faces, bathing them in a kaleidoscope of reds and oranges, and dragging their shadows as they dashed across the wheat fields. 

“Hurry up, dork,” Barney’s voice sounded over the grass, times clearer the closer Clint got. His hand shot up to tap his ear, once, twice, and then some more, fine-tuning it the only way he knew. It had taken some adjusting, learning to live with the water that kept swooshing in his head. A ton of cue tips too, as he’d been pretty darn confident in his ability to push it all out on his own. Some days were ordinary, mere mild discomfort that he’d learned to block and work around. Others, he was driven mad by what little he could hear and all else that he couldn’t. 

‘For every curse there is a blessing’, his momma had whispered that faithless day, stroking his hair with trembling hands and wiping off the blood that trickled down his neck ‘and you Clint are mine’. Her fear had been tangible, her sobs equal to his own, though muffled through the cotton clamped over his ear. They’d stayed in the bathroom long after his father’s drunken yelling had died down, bathed in moonlight and holding onto one another against the cold tile.

“Look!” Barney had stopped abruptly, waist-deep in the grass, and pointing at the old birch tree they’d hung their swing from “Do you see it?”

“See what?” 

“Up there, on that branch.” 

Clint’s puzzled look earned him an eyeroll and a groan. 

“The nest, Clint, do you really not see it?” 

Clint shook his head again.

“Whatever, move,” he shoved Clint out of the way, squatting to rummage through the grass, then emerging with a sizable rock in his grasp “Watch.”

“Wait, Barney, no-” 

“Remember dad showed us how to fire that old rifle?” Barney’s face scrunched in concentration “He said I was good, you know, told me to practice, work on my aim.”

He gripped the rock tighter. “Said maybe one day he’d give it to me.”

Clint hated that rifle. Hated how it made his father’s eyes gleam. Hated the squeal of animals when the bullet pierced them, how their blood seeped into the ground and their corpses rotted, killed only for a laugh from the old man. Clint hated how his ears rang for hours, how the smoke billowed from the barrel to the heavens. He hated everything that weapon represented, and the power it granted to his already unstable father. And now it had corrupted Barney. 

“Barney, no, that’s not right-”

“What are you, a wimp?” his brother’s grin was cruel. Clint held his breath “Besides it’s just eggs in there.”

“Stop it,” Clint’s hand balled into a fist.

“Aw, are you going to fight me or what?” he tapped Clint’s cheek “Or better yet, go fetch mom, sell me out like you always do. Tell her just how bad I’ve been.”

“Please, Barney.”  

Clint grabbed at his brother’s shirt, desperation in his eyes. Pleading not so much for the birds as he was for his brother. 

Years ago, when Clint was but a toddler, Barney was his best friend. He saved him quarters for the gumball machine and gingerly put bandaids on his scraped knees. He took him everywhere and showed him things, took his beatings for him. 

‘He’s just a kid’, he’d scream in their father’s face, spitting insults and taking blow after blow. 

All Clint could do back then was watch, too afraid he’d get himself and Barney in more trouble. 

Gradually, though, Barney began to retreat unto himself. He buzzed his hair off, clogging the sink with dark brown curls. He’d pick cigarette butts off the ground every time their mother sent them to the store for milk, smoking them in secret in the woods behind their house. Worst of all, he picked up their father’s mannerisms, the way he walked, the way he talked, the way he looked at girls and slapped their butts without permission. Harold Barton was already notorious in Waverly, the butcher with a potty mouth and an iron fist. Now, there were two of them. 

“You’re such a loser,” Barney spat, readying the rock “Truly your mother’s son.”

“You’re mom’s son too.”

“Quiet!”

The rock flew. Barney’s aim was perfect. The nest wobbled on the branch then toppled over with a dull thumping sound to the ground below. 

“Today’s poker day,” Barney said, picking at the dirt under his nails; a sour reminder it was Sunday “Don’t provoke him too much.”

Clint averted his eyes from him, looking at the mangled eggs in his feet instead.

“Where will you be?”

“I’ve plans.”

“Fine.”

And just like that, Barney walked off.

Clint stared at his disappearing silhouette until the horizon enveloped him, then slumped against the birch tree. He could stay. Spend the night here. Worst he’d encounter was a coyote. But he couldn’t leave his mom alone with his father. 

He allowed himself a final sigh, then squared his face, readying himself for the mess that awaited him at home.

[cap-ironman]

2023 Cap-Iron Man Holiday Exchange and Community Gifts Creators Reveals & Masterpost

This year, 39 wonderful works were created for our annual event!

Thank you all very much for participating, whether it was by writing, arting, submitting the prompts for the Community Gifts, cheerleading the creators, beta reading, leaving comments on works or guessing the creators! We hope you had lots of fun.

Here, finally, is the masterlist revealing the creators of each work created for the Cap-IM Holiday Exchange and Community Gifts event! Please remember to mind the tags and warnings for individual works, and leave kudos and comments on those you've enjoyed!

Drumroll please!

★ 10th Time's the Charm by zappedbysnow for Neverever (Avengers-ambiguous fandom, art)

When you've been trying to propose for months and villains keep ruining your moment, you just gotta take the chance at any opportune moment.

★ All We Doby Naivelittleprincess for tinystark616 (MCU, 9556 words)

Tony doesn't mean for anyone to find those recordings. Steve doesn't mean to see them. Between the two of them, there were never the right words spoken, so this just might be a blessing in disguise.

★ annex 11 by soliloquent for Cap Iron Man Community (MCU, 1300 words)

Trapped together during a snowstorm in the middle of a mission, Steve attempts to soothe Tony’s growing anxiety, only to discover that Tony had the solution all along.

★ Arm Candy by KandiSheek for BladeoftheNebula (MCU, 2329 words)

When Tony off-handedly asks Steve to be his arm candy for the night, he's not expecting Steve to actually follow through.

★ Arrangements by Neverever for Cap-IM Community (MCU, 2692 words)

Tony has a no-strings attached, no-personal information, all-sex relationship with Steve. But things can change, can't they?

★ Behind the Mask by gottalovev for starvels (Marvel Noir, 8156 words)

The circumstances on how Tony met Captain Steve Rogers on the eve of Operation Rebirth were strange enough, but the captain's secrets have secrets, and it's driving Tony crazy.

★ Can I stay here forever (I need you in my arms) by Mistymoon27 for Nixie_DeAngel (MCU, 1047 words)

Cuddling together under the stars out in the country, either on vacation or stranded on mission.

★ Christmas Stockings by superdecibels for robertdowneyjjr (MCU, Art)

Steve makes stockings for their little family and Tony falls a little more in love with him for it.

★ Conductivity by felisnocturna for Cap-IM Community (1872/616, 4243 words)

The train taking Tony to California breaks down in the seemingly abandoned ghost town of Timely. Or: After Steve's death on the courthouse steps, Tony is about to witness another tragedy. This time, he sees it coming, but even that might not change anything - not least because he is pretty sure that it's all just a hallucination.

★ Father and Sonby Perlmutt for starksnack (MCU, 5205 words)

Peter should have seen it coming. All hell breaks loose when his secret identity as Spider-Man is revealed. His parents take the news about as well as you'd imagine, and it escalates all too quickly. But his family wouldn't be his family if they didn't work through it. Together.

★ The first time I met you (I already had a drawing of you) Laslus for zappedbysnow (MCU, 2397 words)

Kissing Tony was a bit like sparing, pushing and pulling and stumbling against furniture. He had no idea why a billionaire cared enough to be this strong, and it was hard to keep in mind he had to pull back his own strength. or Tony meets a cute artist in at a Gala event, Steve tries to get over Iron Man, and Bucky just enjoys watching his best friend be a little stupid sometimes.

★ For You, I Willby tinystark616 for Becci_chan (MCU, 2350 words)

It's Steve's first Christmas away from Tony after the events of Civil War, and Steve misses him every single day. Little does he know that Tony misses him too.

★ A ghost for Christmas by gottalovev for Cap-IM Community (MCU, 8125 words)

When she died, Peggy left Steve an old house in Connecticut. When he decides to spend Christmas there, Steve finds out that it's already inhabited... by a very handsome and kind of annoying ghost.

★ Hot Rod Red by FrankTheSnek for Cap-IM Community (MCU, 37,070 words)

Steve has been single since the abrupt end of his engagement 5 years ago (despite the efforts of his friends). When he accidentally stumbles across an attractive cam model online, the idea of having a virtual booty call on hand seems appealing. The only problem, Tony is far more charming than Steve would have imagined and there is more to him than a pretty smile and a nice body. Too bad all their interactions are just part of Tony's job… or are they?

★ I have promises to keep by Missy_dee811 for gottalovev (Ultimates, 2290 words)

After a mission goes south, Steve and Tony trek through the woods to a safe house to which Tony has a personal connection.

★ i’m fine all alone (but it’s nice to be here with you) by soliloquent for Thahire (MCU, 9467 words)

Two months after the Battle of Earth, Tony, grappling with post-retirement uncertainty and an identity crisis, invites Steve on a Christmas trip to Jamaica.

★ in the storm, we stay clear by Thahire for KandiSheek (MCU, 4432 words)

Beside him, Tony’s getting comfortable, too, unknotting his tie with one hand, the other tapping away on his phone. The light from his phone illuminates his profile. Steve forces his gaze way when he realizes he’s been staring at Tony’s mouth for a solid five seconds. It’s going to be a long wait.

★ Let's to Sea by Ginevra_Benci for a_freaking_lenon (MCU, 8177 words)

Samuel Wilson, Lieutenant, Royal Navy, is the newest crewman aboard the Starry Shield. The famed pirate hunting vessel, captained by the famed Captain Rogers and locked these several years in eternal pursuit of the legendary Iron Captain, is... not what Sam expects. The legendary Iron Captain, when Sam finally meets him, is even less so.

★ loaf actually by robertdowneyjjr for Naivelittleprincess (MCU, 2165 words)

After his embarrassing attempt at cooking for their team holiday potluck dinner the year before, Steve is afraid to try again. Luckily, he has Tony to help him out this time around.

★ Lost Causes (or How the Avengers Didn’t Ruin Christmas) by Fluffypanda for littleblackbow (Avengers Assemble, 2875 words)

Sam, Scott, Clint, Natasha, Thor, and Hulk go on a quest to save Steve's Christmas present for Tony (which they totally didn't destroy).

★ Love makes fools of us all by BladeoftheNebula for Ginevra_Benci (MCU, 3,682 words)

“I am doing this to protect you. I rather take the ‘long may he reign’ part pretty seriously, unlike you.” Steve plucked at the material again. “And you could’ve told me your father’s jester was nearly half my height.” The bells jingled when he huffed, making Tony’s smile wider. "Where would be the fun in that, my love?” Tony murmured, grinning as he stepped in the great hall, the room falling silent at his presence. Steve would do anything to protect his King - no matter how humiliating.

★ Magical Moments by Becci_chan for soliloquent (MCU, 5081 words)

It hadn’t been Steve’s best idea when he’d asked Tony to go with him to the Christmas market. Steve had only needed someone to keep him company, because sometimes crowded places still made him nervous. And because he liked Tony. A lot.

★ make this gingerbread house a home by starksnack for Reioka (MCU, 5000 words)

Steve is determined to make this Christmas the best one Tony has ever had. With gingerbread cookies, home alone, and maybe a little mistletoe.

★ may the angels bow down for you by soliloquent for Cap-IM Community (MCU, 2000 words)

He hides. When the Demon gets loud, when He drinks His poison and tries to hurt him with His palm, or His words, or His power—he hides. Burgundy. Oak. Shattered glass.

★ (my heart is burning) holes in the ground by felisnocturna for Cap-IM Community (Noir, 1317 words)

In the end, it's a scent that leads them back home, like Ariadne's thread in a labyrinth of illusions.

★ a relaxing morning in by starvels for Carsonian (616, 2349 words)

Steve and Tony try to have a relaxing morning in. The universe conspires to bring them to Northern Saskatchewan instead.

★ Reverseverance by Veldeia for Cap-IM Community (MCU, 24,041 words)

Steve wakes up to find out that he's gone through something called a severance procedure, which splits a person's consciousness in half. While he's stuck spending all his time in what's essentially a luxurious prison, his other half, the part of his mind that has all their memories, goes to work in the outside world. Steve may not remember a thing about who he is outside, but he knows one thing for sure: he doesn't want to live like this. Not even with Tony, the fellow inmate who's caught his eye. They have to find a way out. Preferably together.

★ Since We've No Place to Go by Carsonian for superdecibels (MCU, 5,904 words)

Friends with benefits Omega!Tony and Alpha!Steve confront their hidden feelings for each other when they get snowed in together.

★ sixth time is the charm by a_freaking_lenon for Laslus (MCU, 1437 words)

Older Peggy keeps trying to set dates for Steve that keep failing until she sets him with her godson Tony.

★ Softer Landing by Naivelittleprincess for Cap-IM Community (MCU, 2410 words)

In which there is a snowstorm, Tony has had a terrible week and Steve might be an idiot.

★ Something On My Mind by Thahire for Cap-IM Community (MCU, 2179 words)

During a team game of Never Have I Ever, Tony finds out that Steve has done—some things with men. Things spiral from there.

★ Soothe My Darker Thoughts With Your Warmth by Nixie_DeAngel for picturecat (Marvel 3490, 1329 words)

Some days Steve's go on a darker path than he'd like. Lucky for him, Natasha is there to remind him that sometimes peoples brains are wrong and dumb and she's always right... (at least always right about how she feels about Steve.)

★ Take My Handby littleblackbow for ishipallthings (Avengers Assemble, Art

Steve is assigned to protect Tony Stark, son of Howard Stark, the famous inventor. Proud to a fault, Tony is reluctant to accept his bodyguard, but somehow, there's this one request he just can't deny.

★ temporary configuration of disrupted stars by picturecat for Perlmutt (MCU, 3043 words)

There's a lot for Steve to learn about the 21st century. And himself.

★ Unexpected Thaw by Neverever for Missy_dee811 (Ultimates, 3808 words)

Steve has a rough ride through the multiverse and ends up questioning his relationship with Tony.

★ Walk the Forbidden Road by Reioka for Fluffypanda (MCU, 13,239 words)

Tony is the last person willing to partner with Steve to hunt vampires. Steve should be grateful. And he might be, if Tony wasn't such an asshole.

★ where you already belong by ishipallthings for Mistymoon27 (MCU, 1380 words)

Tony looks down, and blinks in surprise when he sees Steve Rogers’ ever-blue eyes gazing sleepily back at him, his head resting lightly on Tony’s chest. “Well,” he says finally, wincing a little at the dryness in his throat. “I’m not sure I ever figured you for a cuddler, Cap.”

★ Working Late by tinystark616 for Cap-IM Community (MCU, 1632 words)

Some nights, Tony stays up late, building and rebuilding and upgrading his suits, until Steve walks into the workshop, usually already in his pajamas, and wraps his arms around Tony, kissing him until he forgets what he was doing and then dragging him to bed.

★ You Can Take My Breath Away by FrankTheSnek for Cap-IM Community (MCU, 6587 words)

Tony has been impotent since his abduction in Afghanistan. Years have passed and he's grown to accept it, but things start to change when Steve enters his life. It's more than physical need reawakening, and Tony doesn't know how to handle it. He's forgotten what intimacy feels like, and it's a damn scary thing.

Were your guesses right? Are you surprised at something? You can post your reactions in our Cap-IM Discord server here!

And finally, if you participated in the event, feel free to post your work wherever you want now! We will be reblogging every tumblr post tagged with #capimexchange in one of the first five tags.

Thank you for a great event to start 2024 on!

🖤 Navaan, Neverever and starksnack Your 2023 Holiday Exchange and Community Gifts mods

[adndmonsteraday]

Draegloths were half-demon, half-drow monstrosities. They were the progeny of coupling between a glabrezu and a newly ordained high priestess of the drow goddess Lolth.

“These drow house pets are as graceful and nimble as Waterdhavian stage dancers. Only they're slayers and enforcers, four-armed brutes built like an ogre. Life isn't fair.” — Volo

Draegloths came in several different forms, differentiated by a combination of gender and the species of their mother. The most common were male draegloths born to drow mothers; less common were female draegloths of drow heritage, who were known as "Favored Ones." Rarest still were draegloths that spawned when drider blood was mingled with that of demons via foul rituals; these were known as "Abominations."

Male draegloths were 7.5–8.0 feet (2.28–2.44 meters) tall. They had four arms: large claws on the upper arms and humanoid hands on the lower arms. Their faces were stretched so that they resembled those of dogs. Their skin was black and covered in a fine coat of white fur. They had a yellow-whitish mane of hair on their head.

Female draegloths were as tall as their brothers, but favored their drow ancestry; they looked mostly like a female drow, save for having two pairs of drow-like arms and a distinctly lupine cast to their features. Their fingernails and toenails were sharp and claw-like, but not so large as to interfere with spellcasting or delicate work.

Draegloth Abominations were the most bestial-looking of the draegloths. Their features included wicked claws, spider-like legs, and gnashing teeth. They had the ability to secrete webbing, which they used to tether foes and pull them into close quarters to be torn apart.

Draegloths were immune to poisons, as well as sleep-inducing spells and effects, and they were resistant to most elemental energy.

Draegloths were often seen as a sign of favor from Lolth. They were sacred creatures to the Lolthites and were usually treated with respect. Draegloths were perhaps the only variety of half-fiend that was created regularly and intentionally by a mortal race.

Female draegloths, due to their rarity, their greater intelligence, and their gender, were regarded with much more favor than their male counterparts in drow society, as evidenced by their title of "Favored Ones". Female draegloths were always adopted by the Church of Lolth and brought up as clerics to the Spider Goddess. Some draegloths trained as wizards.

Draegloth abominations had no society. They were uncontrollable monsters, so crazed for blood that even drow society couldn't tolerate them in its midst. Consequently, the usual practice was that soon after an abomination was born, the draegloth was ceremonially gifted to Lolth by being sent through a portal to the Demonweb Pits, where it became one of the many fiendish predators roaming that plane. When this did not happen, the abomination invariably brought ruin to its mother and all drow around it.

In the drow city of Menzoberranzan, part of the annual graduation ceremony of the Arach-Tinilith academy was the summoning of a glabrezu and the attempt to produce a draegloth. This succeeded about once a decade, and nearly always precipitated conflict as the drow house "blessed" with the half-fiend moved to strike against its rivals.

During the Silence of Lolth over 1372/1373 DR, some draegloths, formerly unquestionably loyal to the matriarchs, went off on their own, abandoning or even betraying their mothers and demanding equal status.

Source: https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Draegloth

[reborrowing]

Pocket Guides to Zombie Survival, Ch 1

next a couple ghoulish little scavengers discover actual ghoul, unaware that the apocalypse began several months back. ~2k words, horror g/t but the horror isn’t coming from the gt (yet). cw for gore, death, zombies and associated horrors

There was a body at the human campground. 

It was the first human to show up in the woods for months, several weeks past the giants' usual spring return to the woods, and it was dead. There should have been human hikers tromping through their wide, winding trails months ago. There should be families making temporary homes out of the neatly divided lots. There was just the one body, lying in front of its RV for nearly a week.

Bell missed the annual parade of giants and all the bright colors and chaos and treasure they hauled in with them. She was tired of the random, menial tasks around the warren she kept getting assigned in lieu of borrowing and volunteered herself to go investigate the body. She figured a dead giant couldn’t be much more dangerous than a sleeping one. 

Her stomach shifted now that they were actually approaching the body. It was disgusting, yes, a landscape of raw meat and gore, but there was something else too. Something she couldn't quite identify that urged to get away. 

Whatever it was she sensed, Pepper didn't seem to notice it at all. She bounced through the clearing towards the sickening heap. She'd invited herself along and Bell couldn’t complain. Her sister was always itching to do something stupid and Bell had learned early in life that it was best to indulge her before she found worse trouble on her own. It was a bonus that the warren-keepers felt more comfortable giving her investigation their blessing. Borrowers like herself might train to evade humans and navigate their turf, but Pepper was a guard. They trusted her to be able to evade or defend against anything else that might be out here.

"Ew,” Pepper said, “I thought that scout was exaggerating, but ghosts, that's nasty!”

She pointed to the looming mess ahead, as if Bell might otherwise miss it. The giant’s shoulder looked like it had exploded. The top of their flannel was in shreds. Rotting meat sloughed off its shoulder and the left half of its face had been ripped off of the cadaver’s head, hanging on by just a few stringy bits.

Bell edged closer. There were no clean cuts. It was pulpy, a bit like when a crow ripped apart a squirrel, although it looked like most of the meat had been only shoved to the side, not carried off or eaten. What was left was a jagged, bloody horror with piles of rotting slurry that all stank worse than a sewer.

It wasn’t all bad. The body's lower half was perfectly intact, including its jeans. Bell had been hoping to bring back some denim. She would just have to hold her breath for the harvest.

She stepped over a lost clump of hair to have a look at what was left of the poor giant’s face. The half resting on the ground was gray and bloated but otherwise still human. A rough, reddish outline of teeth marred the corpse's forehead, where it still had enough skin to mar. Bell bristled, her fur suddenly standing up on end as if she were being watched. That same urge to get away got louder.

The body had been bit by something big, at least dog-sized. But there was no way it was a dog that had made that mark, or any kind of predator she’d seen. It had wide, flat teeth in front and was made of two nearly even parentheses. She licked her lips. It was a lot like the shape of her own bite, if her canines were duller. And huge.

Her gaze slid across the gory remains to look at the corpse’s exposed jaw, feeling ill. It was supposed to be a ghost story that humans ate people. But she looked at the teeth lurking behind the shredded tissue, she saw that they were close to the same size as the indentations on the forehead. There was at least one other giant nearby, one that had managed to go unnoticed by a half dozen different scouts. One that was crazy enough to try and eat another human.

Her thoughts were interrupted by her sister shouting.

"Hey, Bell! Do you know if humans are poisonous? I mean, if you ate it, could you eat it or would it make you—"

"Do not! Gross!” Bell snapped.

"Not me! No, Ew! It’s just, we’re not the only scavengers out here. He’s been out here for days, how come nothing else is eating him? I don’t even hear any maggots.”

Bell turned as Pepper’s blonde head appeared over the body’s forearm. She had its watch proudly slung over her shoulder. But her quizzical expression suddenly popped into wide-eyed, bared-fangs fear. The dead face shifted with a loud, wet noise. She froze as a rush of air blew over her, sucking at her hair, as the corpse inhaled through its empty cavity of a nose.

Bell ran for the cover of the nearest bush. Behind her, Pepper squealed as the corpse shuddered around her and began to get up. It was clumsy, maybe because so many of its muscles were missing or rotten, or maybe because it was dead, but that was hardly important when it was a few hundred times heavier than the two of them combined.

Bell ducked into the foliage and turned to wait for Coop. She watched in terror as her sister jammed a needle through its palm to no effect.

Anyone knew a needle couldn’t stop a human, hardly anything could, but it was supposed to at least give them pause. But the body didn’t flinch. It didn’t even seem to notice the metal now lodged in its flesh. Its hand slid backwards, knocking Coop along with it. There was a nasty snap as it pushed itself to its feet, back up to its towering height. Coop lay crumpled beside it. 

It swayed for a moment and sniffed at the air like an animal before turning to where Bell was hiding. It was unsteady, with wide and unpredictable steps. Bell hunkered back further into the bramble. It crashed carelessly through the thorny growth, only missing her by chance.

Her heart hammered as she wove through the branches. She pushed herself off the side of the not-so-dead body’s sneaker and back into the clearing for Pepper. The giant stumbled around in the undergrowth for a few seconds before huffing in another breath and turning straight towards her. Bell paled and ran ran faster.

Pepper was curled up with pain. At a glance, her leg was broken and her shoulder was messed up, any other injuries could be assessed later. The important point was that she wouldn’t be able to make her own way back to the warren or some other safe haven. Bell was going to have to carry her, which meant they weren’t going to be able to run.

And if that thing was using smell to see them, ghosts only knew how far it could track them from anyways. She couldn’t leave it a trail back to the whole warren. She swallowed nervously and dragged Pepper under the nearby RV before it caught up to them. It slammed against the side but, for whatever reason, didn’t think to get down on its knees and crawl after them. It shook the whole structure, stubbornly banging against the wall, but Bell and Pepper were able to pick their way up to a gap leading into the RV’s interior.

They would just have to hope it gave up quick.

--

There was a lone human left hiding out at the campgrounds.

There had been four of them when their RV had pulled into the lot last week.

The first, they’d known was sick before they had even parked the camper and set up camp. Markus swore up and down and over and over that it wasn’t the sickness, even stripped down to his boxers to show off that now zombies had caught him. It was just his lungs acting up again, he insisted. They’d been bad for years, and now he was going without any kind of treatment. His brother said he ought to be in the hospital. No one argued. Nick was right about Markus needing professional help, his prescriptions, and bed rest. His old life.

But that was all gone now. Everyone had an “old life” that they’d lost. Survivors lived in a harsher world that lacked all the other essentials of modern civilization. The best, most qualified help Markus could get was Nick’s wife.

She had been a dental hygienist, before. There wasn’t much she could’ve done then and there certainly wasn’t anything for her to have done now.

She was gone too, she and her husband. Kayla didn’t know which kind of ‘gone.’ In the hours between Markus’ death and sunrise, the other virus took his body without anyone noticing. She and Nick went out to deal with the corpse been caught off guard when it rose up to deal with them instead.

Tasha might be dead, undead, or just lost in the woods. She had taken the shotgun. Kayla had heard it fire once in the distance. She could still be alive out there.

Nick was not.

Nick was dead and waiting to kill her, lying right on the other side of the RV’s walls. He’d stay dormant until something got too close or just too loud. As far as Kayla knew, he could wait like that forever. She might be able to sneak out the side if she wanted to find some other way to go. Maybe.

She stared at the door, the thin barrier between her and him. Between her and the rest of the world. She was safe here, so long as her supplies lasted. Kayla imagined she had a while before she starved, since they had been intended to sustain four people. Instead, she had doubts about how long her mind could last, but, well, that had already broken, hadn’t it?

Nothing made sense anymore. 

And then she wasn’t staring at the door at all, she was watching time unwind back to Markus’ dead body. He’d died on the sofa after hours of wheezing and bleeding and coughing and crying. It hadn’t looked like the zombifying fever, he’d been lucid for the whole miserable experience. He’d died. He’d gone stiff, as death intended. She hadn’t heard of that before, someone keeping their mind intact only for it to blossom into rotten undeath once the soul was gone. 

What if she was sick too? How could she know?

She could feel herself pulling the latch closed again. The lock clicked. The door rattled as Tasha tried to pry it open. Kayla’s stomach sank with the horror of what she was doing. Coward. Tasha screamed and her gun clicked uselessly. The door stopped rattling. Tasha had run, pursued by her undead brother-in-law. 

Kayla used to like being alone, but now the thoughts that she was left with included fears much worse than a growing sense of personal failure. She shivered and reached for the little emergency radio. She fiddled with the controls, scanning for any signs of life—or so she hoped, the radio had been Nick’s and she wasn’t really confident in her ability to use it. This whole setup was Nick’s.

Eventually, she turned the radio to the only station she knew still had a voice at all and wished it would play something else.

This NOAA weather station is temporarily off the air. Please tune to an alternate weather broadcast or visit weather dot gov for the latest weather information. 

But there was no new information. There was no one left to send it. No one left to research this plague pulled out of a horror movie. Civilization was over and Kayla was alone with death lying in wait just outside.

Until it started banging on the walls.

taglist - @whumpsday @da3dm

[noheroessarge]

muse: Leo Barnes (The Purge) open to: 21+ only please / mutuals and non-mutuals / other canon horror muses, multifandom crossovers, OCs, whatever! triggers: canon-typical, including mentions of death/dead bodies, genocide, guns, violence, classism, racism, ableism, police, grief

21ST MARCH 2028

― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ―

EMERGENCY BROADCAST SYSTEM

WEAPONS OF CLASS 4 AND LOWER HAVE BEEN AUTHORIZED FOR USE DURING THE PURGE. ALL OTHER WEAPONS ARE RESTRICTED.

GOVERNMENT OFFICIALS OF RANKING 10 HAVE BEEN GRANTED IMMUNITY FROM THE PURGE AND SHALL NOT BE HARMED.

ANY AND ALL CRIME, INCLUDING MURDER, WILL BE LEGAL FOR 12 CONTINUOUS HOURS.

POLICE, FIRE, AND EMERGENCY MEDICAL SERVICES WILL BE UNAVAILABLE UNTIL 7AM WHEN THE PURGE CONCLUDES.

BLESSED BE OUR NEW FOUNDING FATHERS AND AMERICA, A NATION REBORN.

― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ―

07:26:03 LEFT OF THE ANNUAL PURGE

― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ― ≛ ―

With one exception, Sarge had never cared for Purge night. It went against everything he'd sworn to do as a police officer. Protect and serve. It had been hard to argue with the results those first few years though because it seemed like it worked. Overall crime did go down in the country, and it stayed down. His job got easier. Then his world ended, and he believed in the Purge a lot. The Purge kept him going that whole first year. The Purge would get him the justice he'd never see in a courtroom. The Purge would set him free.

Yeah, grief could mess with a man's head like that. It wasn't until that night that he started to see it for what it was. Who was mostly likely to be a target. (Not him.) Who suffered the most on those nights. (Not him.) And who stood to benefit the most from things staying exactly as they were. (Not. Him.) It was unfairly stacked against people of color, people of low income, people who couldn't protect themselves. And, naturally, the New Founding Fathers liked it that way. Crime wasn't lower because people got to purge their darkest impulses once a year. It was lower because it cleared out all of society's "undesirables," and the government no longer had to pay to protect them. And when the Purge wasn't effective enough on its own, they sent their own people to help.

He would know.

He hadn't been able to stomach going back to the force after that night. He'd worked on the edges of private security for a couple years but hadn't yet decided if it was going to work out. Nobody needed a bodyguard more than on Purge night, and he wasn't quite willing to give this up. He'd been warned to stay out of it, warned not to play hero, but shit, it wasn't illegal. Nothing was tonight. The worst they could do was kill him, and that could happen just as easily if he was sitting at home as out here in the thick of it. (Maybe not just as easily. But he'd rather be a dead hero than a sitting duck.)

It wasn't that hard to tell the government Purgers from the regular population if you knew what you were looking for. They were better trained and better funded. Sure, you'd get the occasional rich asshole on a murder spree, with piles of fancy or custom weapons they had no fucking idea how to use, but more and more these days, the rich preferred to Purge in the privacy of their homes. Get someone old or sick or dying to come on Purge night, pay their family an enormous sum of money for their sacrifice, and never risk a damn thing. You could bet the government would be extra and trained. He fucking hated those semi-trucks with the automatic weapons in the back, take out a whole block at once like it was a goddamn genocide. (Wasn't it, in a way?)

He'd gotten lucky that first night. Few people had ever dared to fight back against that kind of weaponry. He'd caught them off guard. They were prepared now, but he was too. The explosion had knocked the semi on its side and left a crater in the street, and it was a chaos of gunfire and screaming. His team might not be well-funded or ex-military, but with a sniper rifle at that range, they didn't really have to be. There were plenty of people who hated the Purge even more than he did, and they were more than willing to hit back in any way they could. A little strategy, a little target practice, a little contracting, and you got this, a little street guerilla warfare.

When everyone with body armor, gas masks, and automatic weapons was on the ground, dead or dying, he stepped out from his cover but didn't holster his gun until it was clear he wasn't being shot at. Most of the people who had been hauled out of their tenement buildings to be slaughtered had already fled at the first opportunity, but a few had stayed behind, too shocked or injured to run. All of his team wore the same matte black mask, featureless and invisible in the shadows. It was an extra precaution; they'd already thrown out a signal jammer for the cameras. Everything might be legal on Purge night, but there were 364 other days in the year where "accidents" might happen to people who fought back.

He pushed it up to reveal his face as he knelt by a girl, maybe eight, frightened and bleeding. "Hey, it's alright. Can I have a look at that?" He nodded toward her arm, gently inspecting the three-inch gash in it, likely from being pushed to the ground. "It'll be okay. Hold it up like this to stop the bleeding. You got somewhere safe to go?" This he directed at the woman who had joined them. Mother, aunt, older sister? He had no idea. When she shook her head no, he produced a business card with a single address printed on it, no other information. "Memorize it. Head that way and take a left on 5th. There are weapons and medical supplies. You'll be safe there until morning." The card disappeared back into a pocket, and he nodded a goodbye as they started down the street. He needed to move too, before the next wave, before all the noise brought vultures of a different kind down on them.

It was instinct that had him pointing the gun before he even understood what the threat was or if there was one. He couldn't see clearly enough in the shadows of the alley to tell whether it was victim, threat, or something else entirely, but he hugged the building for cover and kept his aim steady.

"Come on out of there. Slowly."

[tasmiq]

Jumu'ah Sohbet: 6 September 2024

Alhamdulillah we have entered South African Spring. More importantly, we have entered Rabi' al-Awwal which is the month in the Islamic calendar that marks the birth of our beloved Prophet Muhammad (PBUH). Shukran Ya Allah (Divine gratitude) to the count of infinity, and Bismillah (And in that Divine name):

#1. Shaykh Nishaat, our heartsmith, had us spellbound as he asked us soul searing questions and made statements like:

- When we are looking around ourselves, what eyes are we using to do that? In fact, almost everything happens without consciousness!

- We constantly have to check that what is negatively mirrored in the world is not a reflection of ourselves.

- There is so much information and knowledge out there but how much of what we do is from the Source of us? Instead, how much of what we process about the world, is shaped by our "tribe"?

- Shaykh Taner's Qur'an translation into English, as a 9-and-half year mission, exists for us to deeply understand and connect with Allah's guidance. However, many of us remain uninspired, wrapped, and enveloped in the aura of our egos!

- As we approach the beautiful month in which our Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) was born, Allah sent him as Rahmatul lil-'Alameen (Mercy to the worlds). This mirrors the exact song that we've been inspired to sing, by our Qari Zardad of Qurtuba Online Islamic Studies, for Yawn un-Nabi (an annual festival marking his blessed birthday) with our Ilahi band, Subhana'Allah (Divine glory) for sweet serendipity!

#2. On a Saturday Sohbet, Anne (our spiritual mother) again made us appreciate the benefits of her motherly instincts while explaining some of our key Tariqa functions:

- About our Shaykh Taner's first Urs, she tearfully reflected that she felt unimaginable love and joy after her initial sadness. As we were all doing Zikr of Allah joyously, followed by all the meals that served as our signature of the 'Eating Tariqa'!

- She remarked on the irony of mankind where her initial idea of honoring Shaykh Taner in a Mausoleum was not locally permitted! But, she encountered a local Buddhist 'Shrine', which was permitted and significantly bigger in size than our initial plan for a Mausoleum. As a multinational Tariqa, we are accustomed to lost-in-translation, of course! 😅

- She also said that we have both biological and spiritual family. Our Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) emphasised the importance of our blood relatives, and even if you have a connection as thin as a cotton thread, if they pull, you must go. Just as when you pull on them, you hope that they'll come! Our spiritual family obligations are that we work for and follow Allah. We have personal and congregational Zikrs of equal merit and purpose.

- We are called upon to serve Allah in the Tariqa where we're training and learning as we serve by being out of our comfort zones. We should be able to work with each other, no matter what!

- In fact, helping people is more preferable to doing all our daily assignments perfectly every day! More importantly, our service doesn't involve politics, relationships, and business!

- She even compassionately urged us to find when we feel Allah the most to determine the ideal circulatory rhythm in ourselves to offer our personal daily assignments. This is after I realised that mornings wear me out, and instead when I am on my Rife treatment (my perceivable low-energy electromagnetic waves), I am the most connected to not only a source of healing but to our Shaykh Taner and our Silsila (spiritual chain). Our school of complementary health has complete faith in this subtle form of healing.

- In our Tariqa, we don't compare lessons or ourselves because we don't know the other's inner situation.

- Knowledge is important, but self-knowledge or self-awareness is even more important. Here, we fondly remember a Hadith (saying of Prophet Muhammad (PBUH)): Whoever knows himself knows his Lord!

#3. Lastly was an exchange between our Shaykh Taner and Anne. It described the palpable purpose we gain in the practice of Zikr as a salvation. As we keep doing Zikr, we get out of the way, what I joyously describe as managing to drown out the ever-pervasive nafs, and naturally connecting to Allah. It was likened to filling the petrol tank of a car or our bodies with energy gained from food. Similarly, with Zikr, our beings are replenished and go forward in the spiritual world.

With gratitude, we end our Jumu'ah Sohbet. We yearn our beloved Prophet Muhammad's (PBUH) team-spirit as Mahfouz embarks on his first Cricket Match of the year, and his love, as Muntaha extends her love to Adam and baby Zaynab for a play date, during that time.

Ya Wadud Ya Salaam Ya Jami Ya Nafi (Yearning Allah's love, peace and unity in goodness)

Ya Wadud (and more of Allah's love!)

[pertinax--loculos]

I go On Holiday tomorrow for the first time in, like, ten fucking years. 0.o

Ngl, this job is a fucking blessing. I've earned more than my father (at his very good, better than anything he's ever had before job) in nine months. It's a third of what I'll earn once I qualify, and there's more steps up that just increase the earnings once I get there. It's a fucking six figure job with no prior qualifications required, aka my dream job. And the job itself is actually pretty fucking good.

The training is a pain, but after this annual leave I've got 18 weeks and then I'm through, baby.

I wanna write, and I'm hoping I'll get some words down in this four weeks. I'm looking at OOC still, cuz it's awesome. Dayton is a problem. I'm working on it.

But yeah. Feeling grateful. I've still got shit to work on, but right now things are good. Maybe over annual leave I'll actually pick up activity on here? We'll see. ^_^

Love you all. I still lurk on here like every day. Love following your projects. Reading a lot (hmm, might post a reading list for this year so far? That could be fun). Don't be scared to tag/message me even though I'm hopeless. I love this little corner of the internet, and I'm not going anywhere any time soon. <3

[muslimcharityuk]

Embrace the Spirit of Giving: Muslim Charity's Ramadan Appeal

As the blessed month of Ramadan approaches, Muslims around the world eagerly anticipate a time of reflection, prayer, and most importantly, giving back to those in need. Ramadan is not only a period of fasting from dawn till dusk but also a time to strengthen bonds within communities and extend a helping hand to those less fortunate. At Muslim Charity, we are dedicated to embodying the true essence of Ramadan by launching our annual Ramadan Appeal, inviting you to join us in making a difference.

The Significance of Ramadan Giving:

Ramadan holds a special place in the hearts of Muslims worldwide. It is a time of spiritual growth, self-discipline, and empathy towards others. The act of giving, known as Zakat, is one of the Five Pillars of Islam and holds immense significance during this holy month. Muslims are encouraged to donate a portion of their wealth to those in need, fostering a sense of compassion and solidarity within the community.

Our Ramadan Appeal: Making an Impact Together:

At Muslim Charity, our Ramadan Appeal serves as an opportunity for individuals to contribute to meaningful causes and make a positive impact on the lives of others. Through our diverse range of projects and initiatives, we aim to address pressing issues such as poverty, hunger, education, and healthcare, both locally and globally.

1. Providing Food Security

During Ramadan, the importance of food becomes even more pronounced as fasting individuals eagerly await the breaking of their fast at sunset. However, millions around the world struggle with food insecurity every day. Through our Ramadan Appeal, we endeavor to provide nutritious meals to families in need, ensuring that they can experience the joy of sharing a meal together during this blessed month.

2. Supporting Education

Education is a fundamental right that empowers individuals and transforms communities. Yet, many children around the world are deprived of this basic necessity. Through our Ramadan Appeal, we support educational initiatives that provide underprivileged children with access to quality schooling, textbooks, and educational resources, paving the way for a brighter future.

3. Empowering Communities

At Muslim Charity, we believe in the importance of empowering communities to become self-sufficient and resilient. Through our Ramadan Appeal, we fund projects that promote sustainable livelihoods, vocational training, and entrepreneurship opportunities, enabling individuals to break the cycle of poverty and build a better life for themselves and their families.

How You Can Make a Difference:

Your support is vital in helping us achieve our Ramadan Appeal goals and uplift communities in need. There are several ways you can get involved and contribute to our cause:

1. Make a Donation: Every donation, no matter how big or small, makes a difference. Your generosity can provide food, education, healthcare, and hope to those who need it most.

2. Spread Awareness: Share our Ramadan Appeal with your friends, family, and social networks. By raising awareness about our cause, you can inspire others to join us in making a positive impact.

3. Volunteer: Get involved in our volunteer programs and lend your time and skills to support our projects on the ground. Whether it's organizing fundraising events or participating in community outreach activities, your contribution can create meaningful change.

Together, We Can Make a Difference:

As we prepare to embark on this sacred journey of Ramadan, let us remember the teachings of compassion, generosity, and solidarity. By coming together as a global community and supporting initiatives like Muslim Charity's Ramadan donation, we can make a tangible difference in the lives of those who are less fortunate. Let this Ramadan be a time of reflection, gratitude, and above all, a time of giving back to humanity.

Join us in embracing the spirit of giving and spreading hope and happiness to all. Together, let's make this Ramadan a truly blessed and transformative experience for everyone.

About Muslim Charity:

Muslim Charity is a registered international relief and development organization dedicated to tackling poverty and suffering around the world. With over 20 years of experience, we work tirelessly to provide emergency relief, sustainable development, and empowerment programs to communities in need, regardless of race, religion, or nationality. Join us in making a difference today.

[wellesleyunderground]

Honoring a Trailblazer: Dr. Harriet Rice, Class of 1887, the first African American woman to graduate from Wellesley

Cleo Hereford ’09

As presented by Hereford during the Wellesley Alumnae of African Descent Annual Meeting on Sunday, June 25, 2023.

____

During this year’s annual meeting, we wanted to highlight a true trailblazer - Dr. Harriet Rice, the first African American woman to graduate from Wellesley College. Rice was born just one year after the Civil War ended in 1866 in Newport, Rhode Island to father George, a steward for the Newport Steamship Company and mother Lucinda. A talented student, Rice achieved the highest class ranking in Greek at Newport’s racially integrated Rogers High School. After graduating in 1882, she matriculated at Wellesley a year later and was one of only three black students. One can only imagine what it was like to be a black woman at Wellesley during the 1880s but College archives do provide some insight. In 1935, the Alumnae Association sent Dr. Rice a biographical sheet asking about physical or other handicap to which she responded “Yes! I’m colored which is worse than any crime in this God blessed Christian country!”

Nevertheless, she persisted.

After receiving her degree from Wellesley in 1887, Rice, following in her brother’s footsteps, earned a medical degree from the Women’s Medical College of the New York Infirmary for Women and Children in 1891 at a time when few women pursued medicine. She then sought additional training while interning at the New England Hospital for Women and Children. Her advanced medical training is especially notable when one considers that up to 1904 only half of all medical graduates of any race or gender received postgraduate training making Dr. Rice a highly qualified physician.

As expected, given the post Reconstruction time period, black physicians faced rampant racism and discrimination often relegated to only working with black populations while female doctors, including white women, were often denied appointments at hospitals due to gender based discrimination. Rice was amongst only the second generation of black female physicians but also female physicians in general in the country. (For those interested, Rebecca Lee Crumpler was the first African American woman to become a formerly-trained physician receiving a medical degree in 1864). By 1896, there were just 115 Black female doctors in the country.

Despite this, she forged ahead determined to be a successful physician. Though largely prohibited from practicing medicine in any American hospital as an African American woman, she found a way to utilize her skills providing medical treatment and care to low income individuals at Hull House, an organization offering a variety of social services, on Chicago’s Near West Side. It was in Chicago where Rice worked alongside famous social worker, women’s suffrage leader and first American woman to receive the Nobel Peace Prize, Jane Addams. Much different than the Chicago we know today, however, only 1.3% of Chicago’s population in the 1890s was black and Rice faced discrimination, particularly from Hull House’s white European immigrant clientele (black residents were limited to residence on the South Side, far from Hull House). Further, working at the settlement house offered little in the way of financial compensation, upward mobility or recognition for Rice; at one point, she was listed as a secretary at the organization when she was in fact running the medical clinic. Rice sought other professional opportunities and, in 1897, she became the only doctor at the Chicago Maternity Hospital and Training School for Nursery Maids providing obstetric care.

After years working in the medical field in Chicago and later Boston, Dr. Rice opted to serve on the frontlines as a military physician for three years during World War I. Throughout the war, which lasted from 1914 through 1918, women of color contributed to the effort both as individuals and through organizations such as the YMCA. At the start of the war, Rice attempted to join the American Red Cross effort to provide medical services to American troops but was ultimately denied because of her race. Again, she persisted contacting the French government who leapt at the opportunity to have an experienced medical doctor available to treat French troops. Joining the effort at 49 years old, Rice served on hospital duty in France from January 1915 until just after Armistice in 1918, longer than most American troops. This period in Rice’s life finally afforded her the opportunity to both practice medicine and be recognized for her work, opportunities that had previously alluded her. As a result of American racism, she made important contributions to the Allied war effort, not under the American flag, but the French. In 1919, Rice was awarded the Medal of French Gratitude at the French Embassy in Washington, DC for outstanding service in French military hospitals treating wounded soldiers. The medal was specifically created to express gratitude by the French government to non-military participants who, in part, had performed an act of exceptional dedication in the presence of the enemy during the war. After returning home, Dr. Rice continued to work in medicine before retiring in West Somerville, MA.

Dr. Harriet Rice, Class of 1887, passed away in 1958 at age 92 in Worcester, MA and is buried in Newport, RI alongside her parents in the God’s Little Ace section of the Common Burying Ground. She is remembered as “a woman of valor.”

Sources:

Dr. Harriet Rice, Class of 1887 (Davis Museum)

A Woman of Valor

American Women Physicians in WWI

History Bytes: Dr. Harriet Alleyne Rice

Who was Harriet Rice? (Jane Addams Hull-House Museum)

Dr. Harriet Rice: First Black Resident at Hull House