#and i was able to catch her and listen and be brave and say things she didnt want to hear but needed to hear | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

colouredbyd · 3 months ago

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The Nightingale II: Victor’s Mask

Regulus Black x fem!reader Hunger Games AU

summary: Regulus and his childhood love are torn apart by years of betrayal and silence, each carrying the weight of unspoken pain. In their reunion, guilt and heartbreak consume them as Regulus realizes he failed to protect her, his promises shattered.

warnings: emotionally intense themes, scenes of crying, trauma, survivor’s guilt, and the weight of abandonment. hurt and comfort

word count: 7.4k ( i need a fucking lobotomy)

authors note: my back broke writing this but omg thiss was an emotional rollercoaster HOLYY FUCKK, anyways i hope u love it and if u wanna be added to the taglist just leave a comment🌷💖

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They gave me three minutes.

Three minutes. That’s all they give us. Three minutes to say goodbye to everything I’ve ever known. To the crooked streets that raised me. To the voices that kept me breathing on nights I didn’t want to. To the only home I’ve ever had, even if it’s always been splintered and aching. Three minutes to wear a brave face I don’t believe in, to lie through my teeth and pretend I’m not already unraveling.

The door closes behind me with a finality that splits the air. And then the silence crashes in—deafening, suffocating—like a scream caught somewhere deep in my chest, one I’ll never get the chance to release.

Mary reaches me first. She slams into me so fast I nearly lose my footing. Her arms wrap around my ribs like iron bands, like she’s trying to hold me in place, to keep me from being torn away. Her sobs shake through both of us, hot and wild, and I bury my face in her shoulder because if I look at her, I’ll fall apart.

“No,” she whispers, over and over again, like a broken hymn. “No, no, no. Not you. It wasn’t supposed to be you.”

I hold her tighter. I don’t trust my voice, don’t recognize the way it sounds when I finally force the words out. “It’s okay.” It isn’t. “It’s not, but… just pretend it is. Please.”

She leans back just far enough to see my face, and her eyes are raw, rimmed in red. Her lip trembles as she tries to speak, but when she does, her voice is fierce through the heartbreak. “You don’t deserve this. You’re soft. You’re kind. You keep people alive with your voice. You sing when the world can’t even speak. This shouldn’t be your ending.”

I have nothing to give her. No comfort. No answer. So I press our foreheads together like we used to when we were little and scared and hoping the stars would listen. It’s a small thing, fragile and familiar. A borrowed kind of peace.

“I’ll scream for you,” she says, and her voice is fierce now, like fire catching. “Every night. I’ll scream so loud the stars hear me.”

“Don’t,” I whisper. “Don’t waste your voice on something already lost.”

And then she’s gone. Or maybe I’m the one slipping away.

Pandora steps forward next. Quiet, trembling. Her eyes are wide, distant, filled with something brittle and breaking. She doesn’t cry—not yet—but I can see it in the way she moves, careful and slow, like the wrong breath might shatter her.

She reaches out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. The softness of it is what destroys me. Not the noise. Not the grief. The tenderness.

“You don’t have to say anything,” I tell her, barely able to get the words out. “Just stay. That’s enough.”

But she speaks anyway, her voice cracking like thin ice beneath a heavy weight. “I wish it was me. I’d go. In a second. If it meant you didn’t have to.”

My head shakes before I even know I’m doing it. “Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.”

Her hand finds mine, cold and small, and for a heartbeat that stretches far too long, the three of us just stand there—fused together in the center of the storm, tangled in a silence thick with everything we’ll never have time to say. Grief blooms between us, wide and all-consuming. Too big for the room. Too big for the world.

And still, we hold on. Because that’s all we can do.

Then I hear her—my mother.

She’s humming.

The tune is broken and slow and out of time, like a lullaby she’s forgotten the words to. She drifts into the room like a ghost, arms slightly outstretched, eyes distant but fixed on me. Her hair’s coming undone. She hasn’t looked like herself since my father was killed. Since they dragged him out in the night and called him a traitor and left us behind to rot.

She blinks like she’s seeing me for the first time in years. I don’t know whether to cry or run. But she reaches for me, and I let her pull me into her arms.

“Sing for them,” she whispers, brushing her lips to my temple. “Just like you used to sing for me.”

I can’t hold it in anymore.

The dam inside me shatters without warning, and I collapse into her arms with a sob that rips through my throat like it’s been waiting years to be heard. I bury my face in her neck, her hair, her heartbeat, clinging to the only thing left that feels remotely like safety. Like home. I cry for everything—for the girl I used to be, for the childhood they stole, for the promise she once whispered when the world was still soft.

“You’ll never have to see the Capitol,” she told me once, tucking me into bed with lullabies and lantern ight. “Not with your own eyes.”

Now I’m being offered up like a lamb, gift-wrapped in sorrow.

But she holds me. She holds me like she remembers. Like somewhere inside the grief and the panic and the aching bones, the woman who raised me still exists. Still knows me. Her arms don’t tremble. They anchor. They remind.

A knock on the door.

Sharp. Final. A sound like a sentence being read aloud.

Time’s up.

The door creaks open and a Peacekeeper steps inside, uniform pressed, face blank, voice colder than death. “It’s time.” Two words. That’s all they give me.

I pull away slowly, like tearing fabric. Every inch of distance feels like something sacred unraveling. Like losing a limb. Mary’s fingers are the last to let go, slipping from mine like falling leaves. I don’t look back. I know if I do, I won’t be able to leave at all.

I turn. And I’m already shaking.

The Justice Building is colder than I remember.

Not just the kind of cold that clings to your skin—but the kind that sinks into your bones. That finds the softest parts of you and freezes them solid. The marble walls gleam too perfectly, polished until they shine like something holy, but it doesn’t fool me. I know what they’re hiding. I know what’s seeped into the stone over the years—blood, screams, last goodbyes swallowed by silence.

I sit still. Or I try to.

But my hands won’t stop trembling in my lap. They won’t stop remembering. Mary’s voice, sharp and shattering, breaking like glass when they said my name. Pandora’s arms, wrapped so tightly around me I couldn’t breathe, refusing to let go as if holding on could stop the tide. And my mother, knees in the dirt, her cracked whisper looping like a broken lullaby as the Peacekeepers dragged me away. He’s just asleep. He’ll come back. He promised.

The door opens with a soft click that still manages to feel like thunder. And then she enters.

Marlene McKinnon.

Capitol escort.

She walks in like she owns the sky, like she has never been told no in her life. Her honey-blonde curls are pinned to perfection, a crown that glows under the dim lights. Her dress shimmers in the colors of bruised twilight, plum and gold threaded together like a storm caught mid-scream. Every click of her heels is a countdown, measured and merciless. She smiles, but it is the kind of smile you wear to a funeral when the cameras are watching. Her voice follows, smooth and slow like silk dipped in poison.

"Darling," she purrs, stepping toward me as if approaching something fragile and afraid. "You must be our star."

I say nothing. I can’t. My voice slipped away somewhere between the platform and the train, curled into the hem of my mother’s dress and stayed behind.

Marlene tilts her head like she’s trying to decipher whether I’ll break beautifully or disappointingly. Her gaze glides over me, sharp and assessing, and then softens into something almost admiring. Or maybe it’s hunger. I can never tell with Capitol people.

"Pretty," she hums. "Tragic. District Seven always gives us the most beautiful tragedies."

She reaches out, slow and theatrical, and tucks a stray curl behind my ear. It is a gesture meant to soothe, but it feels like branding. Like I belong to her now.

"You’ll do well, sweet girl," she says, her voice low and pleased. "The Capitol loves a little poetry."

I don't respond. My stomach turns. I am a song she is already rewriting.

Before I can gather myself enough to speak, the door opens again. And he walks in.

James Potter.

He is the last person I expect to see, and yet he fills the room like he was always meant to. I’ve seen him on television more times than I can count. Loud, fast, brilliant in that way that makes people look twice. The boy who laughs at danger and grins like the world should keep up. His hair is a mess of storms. His eyes, wildfire.

He never looked at me. Not really. Not until now.

He stops in the doorway as if the air has thickened. And then his eyes meet mine, and the bravado slips for just a second. Something flickers there. I don’t know what it is. Recognition, maybe. Maybe guilt. Or maybe he just hates what this place does to people.

His jaw clenches. His shoulders go rigid.

"Shit," he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair. "Of all the people..."

I want to ask what that means. I want to ask if he remembers me. If he knows I should have died in the arena five years ago. But the words knot themselves in my throat.

Marlene’s voice slices through the silence. "And here’s our charming young hero."

James lets out a dry laugh. "If I’m a hero, we’re all screwed."

She waves her hand, breezy and unconcerned. "Sit. Sit. We’ve got a thousand things to do, and no time to do them if you two insist on brooding."

He sinks into the chair beside me. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that I can feel his attention like pressure against my skin. He doesn’t speak for a moment, just breathes like he’s trying to steady himself.

Then, softly, "What’s your name?"

"You know my name."

He nods, not looking away. "Yeah. I do. But I wanted to hear you say it."

I turn to face him. His eyes aren’t warm. They aren’t kind. But they aren’t fake. And after everything, I don’t know what to do with something that feels that real.

"I’m not going to die in there," I say, barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t smile. But his gaze sharpens like the flint of a promise. "Good. Then don’t."

Marlene claps her hands, too loud and too delighted. "Perfect. Just perfect. Beautiful girl with ghosts in her eyes. Brooding boy with a chip on his shoulder. You two are going to be Capitol darlings."

She means it like a blessing. It feels like a curse.

James leans back in his chair, arms folded tight across his chest. His voice drops.

"I’m nobody’s darling."

And for the first time since the Reaping, I almost laugh. Not because anything is funny, but because I want to remember what it feels like to be alive.

But I don’t laugh.

Because I know what’s coming.

And it will not be kind.

The train glides into the Capitol like a blade through silk. I don’t move from the window. My breath fogs the glass as the city rises—no, erupts—before us. A fever dream stitched together from shards of gold and chrome and cruelty. Every surface gleams like it’s daring you to blink. Towers spiral like broken spines into a burning sky, red and gold bleeding together as if the horizon itself has caught fire.

I should look away. But I don’t.

The platform below is crawling with people who’ve twisted themselves into something inhuman. They glitter and glint and move like dolls wound too tight, their faces painted into expressions that don’t feel real. A woman blinks and glitter falls from her lashes. Another wears needles in her braid. They clap and cheer and whistle—not for us, but for the story they think they’re watching. We’re not people. We’re the performance. The slaughter, neatly gift-wrapped in silk and steel.

The doors hiss open. The air is heavy with perfume—sweet, cloying, with an undertone of something rotting underneath. I step down, the ground tilting under me, and might have fallen if James hadn’t caught me by the elbow. He says nothing, but his grip is steady. His jaw is tight. He feels it too.

The dining car hums with warmth, the kind that clings to the Capitol like perfume, artificial and overindulgent, too much of everything. Across from me sits James Potter, jacket shed, sleeves rolled up like he’s trying to pretend we’re still home. As if fabric and posture could stitch us back into the lives we lost. His eyes flick toward me, then away again. Over and over. Like he’s trying to figure out how I’m still breathing. Like he wants to ask but already knows there’s no answer that won’t ruin us both.

The silence is louder than the train. It pulses under my skin, tugging at my fingertips, making them twitch with memory. It’s the kind of silence that only comes after goodbye. The kind that echoes.

Then the door opens.

And in walks Marlene McKinnon, like she invented the sun and decided to wear it.

She’s wrapped in sapphire silk that spills over her frame like water, laced with golden threads that catch the light and dare it to look away. Her heels strike the floor with the kind of certainty that cannot be taught. Her lips are blood-red. Her eyeliner is so sharp it could draw blood. She wears herself like a weapon, a crown, and a dare all at once. A girl forced into royalty who chose to play queen anyway.

“Ah,” she says, voice soft as a clap, “my lovely little tributes.”

There’s Capitol polish to her tone, but it’s not cruel. Not yet. James doesn’t bother to hide his eye roll. I say nothing. My hands are folded tight in my lap, knuckles aching from the strain. I can’t afford to be soft.

Marlene’s gaze flicks between us, her smile sharp and tired. “I know,” she says, threading her fingers through her curls. “It’s all a bit much, isn’t it? One minute you’re counting bread and chopping wood, and the next…” She flicks her wrist, and the rings on her fingers glint like small stars. “Bam. Welcome to the big leagues.”

James mutters, “You said it. Not us.”

She laughs then, a short, broken sound like a bell cracked down the middle. “Touché, sweetheart.”

She slides into the seat beside us, crossing her legs with elegance that has been rehearsed to the point of muscle memory. She smells like roses and something sharper beneath, like rust or blood or the taste of fear when you’ve bitten your tongue too hard.

“You’ll be meeting your mentor soon,” Marlene says after a beat, voice quieter now, edged with something brittle and unraveling beneath all the Capitol polish.

We both look up.

James glances up. “What’s he like?”

And for the first time, something fractures in her carefully painted expression. Her hand rises to her pinky, twisting a thin gold ring around it like it’s the only thing anchoring her to this moment. Her voice lowers. The words drop like stones.

“He’s not the nurturing type.”

James raises an eyebrow. “So a real ray of sunshine, then.”

“He doesn’t watch the reapings,” she says flatly. “He avoids his tributes. Refuses to learn their names. Doesn’t train them. Doesn’t speak to them. Doesn’t save them.”

The air in the car changes. Like someone’s drawn the curtains and let the storm inside. Like we’re all drowning now, slowly, beautifully.

James straightens. Just slightly. His shoulders tense the way a tree might bend before lightning strikes.

“What does that mean?” he asks.

There is something new in his voice. Not fear. Not yet. But suspicion, cracking through the bravado.

Marlene doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t blink. She just looks at him. Like someone who has watched too many people walk into fires thinking they were invincible.

“It means,” she says, carefully, “you’d better hope the odds are extra in your favor. Hope the sponsors take pity. Hope the audience likes your face.”

She leans back, crossing one leg over the other. Her voice never rises. It doesn’t need to.

“Because some victors mentor for the attention, for the cameras, and the glory. Some for the paycheck, for the Capitol parties, and for the illusion that they matter.”

She pauses to let the silence crackle.

“And some,” she adds, quieter now, “don’t even notice they’ve been assigned. They’re too far gone. Drunk. Sedated. Hollowed out.”

Her eyes move.

And then they find me.

The quiet that follows isn’t stillness. It’s pressure. Something thick and invisible and pressing down on the bones.

“And some,” she says, her voice dropping to a hush, “don’t care if the children they mentor live, or die screaming.”

Everything inside me stills.

Not in fear.

Something worse.

Recognition.

It isn’t a chill. It’s a return. An ache I buried and forgot to mourn. It is letters that stopped arriving. Stars that stopped being carved into soft bark. A voice that used to murmur always beneath the dark canopy of pine, now replaced by silence so total it echoes.

I know what absence tastes like. I know what it means when forever means until the cameras come. Until the Capitol gives you a crown made of blood and demands that you wear it smiling.

Because if it’s him—if it’s really him—then I already know.

I already know what it means to be abandoned.

James shifts beside me, frowning. He hears it too, the truth under her words. But he hasn’t put the pieces together. Not yet.

“Who is it?” he asks.

Marlene smiles, but it is not a smile.

It is a wound shaped like a promise. Something sharp wearing the mask of sweetness. It curves at the edges like she’s amused, like she’s been waiting for the reveal, like this is the part of the story she always loves best.

“You’ll see soon enough,” she says.

And in my chest, something quiet begins to unravel. Then she rises—smooth and unbothered. Fixes the fall of her dress like it matters. Glides to the front of the car in a whisper of silk and perfume and something heavy and unsaid.

The door clicks shut behind her.

And the silence she leaves in her wake is deafening. Not empty, not peaceful—just loud in a way only grief can be. Like something once living has been removed from the room, and the absence aches louder than a scream. It thrums beneath my skin, crawls up my throat. I feel it in the pit of my stomach, a sickness blooming.

James exhales beside me, slow and jagged, like the air is thinner here. Like he’s just now realizing we’re breathing something poisoned.

“You think she’s just trying to scare us?” he asks. His voice is quiet, but there’s tension in it, a sharpness trying to hide behind casual curiosity. He wants to laugh it off. Wants to shrug and say it’s all Capitol theatre. But I hear the edge.

I don’t answer right away, because Marlene’s voice is still ringing in my ears. Cold. Clear. Final.

Some don’t care what happens to the kids.

And I remember.

I remember the boy who stopped writing before I could beg him not to. The letters that once smelled faintly of pine, always folded with care, slowly turning into silence. I remember the boy who carved stars into the bark of our secret tree and swore they were mine. Swore he’d never leave. Swore he’d find a way back. And then he didn’t.

I remember the boy who kissed me like he was memorizing the shape of my soul. The boy who whispered my name like it meant sanctuary. And then disappeared like something forbidden. Like something holy that should never have touched something like me.

I remember the shadows that loved him before I did. The way they clung to him. The way they claimed him. Long before the Capitol ever did. He was always fading, always slipping through my fingers like smoke I tried to hold.

If it’s him.

If it’s Regulus Black.

Then this isn’t just the Hunger Games.

This is something ancient. A reckoning stitched into the stars. A punishment the universe has been holding back, waiting for the perfect moment to let loose. This is my name echoing through time, not as a tribute, but as a ghost he thought he left behind.

This is the wound I never got to stitch. The one I hid beneath music and performance and practiced smiles. This is every unfinished goodbye coming back with claws. Every whispered promise cracking open like a rib.

I close my eyes, and there’s ash on my tongue. The taste of endings. The taste of betrayal. The taste of a boy who used to be my whole world and now might be the one who watches me die.

“No,” I whisper finally, my voice so low it almost doesn’t belong to me. “I think she’s warning us.”

James goes quiet beside me. For once, he doesn’t have a joke. Doesn’t press for more.

And I don’t explain. Because if he knew—if he really knew—he’d understand that this isn’t about sponsors or scores or surviving the arena.

This is about the boy who made me believe the stars were mine, and then left me to burn alone in their light.

When we arrive, the Training Center towers over us like a grave marker. All glass and steel and too much light. It reflects our own faces back at us—fragile, doomed, terrified. Inside, the floors gleam and the air smells like metal and bleach, like they’re trying to erase all the blood spilled here over the years.

A Peacekeeper leads us down a hall, stopping at a silver door at the end. “Your mentor is inside.”

James doesn’t hesitate. He reaches for the handle. But I freeze. Every nerve in my body tightens. Something in me is screaming—something that’s known the shape of this moment for years.

The door creaks open.

The world on the other side isn’t loud. It doesn’t roar or scream. It exhales. A breath held too long, let out too slow. The hallway behind us disappears like a memory as we step into the dim, circular room, and all the noise in my head—the train, the Capitol, Marlene’s voice—all of it falls away.

It’s quiet in here. Not peaceful. The kind of quiet that follows violence, when the blood has already dried and the echo of screaming still lingers in the walls. The floor is scuffed and scored, marked with the ghosts of training sessions that ended in bruises, breaks, or worse. Straw dummies lie in tatters near the far wall, their insides spilling out like something once human. Targets line the perimeter, each one punctured over and over again, scarred with precision.

This is a place designed to kill the softness in children. A place where they’re sculpted into something sharp enough to survive.

James shifts beside me, his footsteps hesitant. Even he, all fire and fury, feels the weight in the air. It's thick with memory. With expectation. With dread.

And at the very center of it all, standing alone beneath the flickering fluorescent lights, is someone.

A figure. Still. Silent. Back turned.

He’s dressed in Capitol black—sleeves rolled neatly to the elbows, collar buttoned to the throat. His posture is too careful to be relaxed, too precise to be casual. He stands like someone who has learned not to flinch, not to hope. Like someone who has made a habit of bracing for pain.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t turn. And still—I know.

Not a guess, not a maybe. It’s the kind of knowing that doesn’t whisper or knock, it doesn’t wait for me to catch up. It crashes into me, fierce and unforgiving, like a memory I spent too long trying to bury. The kind of knowing that lives in your bones, that aches behind your ribs, that haunts the quiet parts of you. It’s the weight of years pressing down at once—years of silence, of unanswered letters, of dreams that ended before they began. It’s every night I stayed awake wondering what I did wrong, what he meant by forever, and why he never came back to prove it.

He’s alone in the space, framed by shadow and fluorescent flickers, posture held with the kind of precision you only learn from fear or war. His arms hang stiff at his sides, not relaxed—braced. Every inch of him is poised like a wire pulled taut, like one wrong breath might snap something buried deep.

There’s a rhythm in him that hasn’t changed, something so deeply etched into my memory I couldn’t forget it if I tried. The way his weight settles on the balls of his feet. The way his shoulders slope like he’s always carrying something unseen. The way he stands like the world might hurt him if he lets it close enough.

It’s him.

Even if the Capitol has tried to scrub the boy I loved out of him—this is still Regulus Black.

He’s taller now. Sharper. Haunted. His hair’s shorter, neat in a way that feels wrong, too clean for someone who once smelled like pinewood and campfire smoke. But the ghost of him is here, stitched into the shape of the man standing before me.

Even after all this time, my body remembers what my mind tried to forget.And now, here he is. Standing just a few feet away, close enough to touch, and yet impossibly distant.

Regulus Black.

I can’t breathe.

Marlene’s heels snap against the floor like a gunshot, pulling me back to the moment. She steps forward, face carefully composed, though there’s something too sharp in her eyes.

“Black,” she says, and her voice is colder now, like even she knows what’s about to happen. “Your tributes are here.”

He doesn’t turn.

Doesn’t even blink.

For a moment, I wonder if he’s even heard her—if this is all just some cruel trick, a Capitol performance, a silent punishment stitched together to humiliate us. But then his voice cuts through the room like a wire pulled too tight, and suddenly, there's no air left in my lungs.

It’s not the voice I remember.

It’s deeper now, carved hollow, stripped of softness like someone reached into him and scooped out all the warmth, leaving only the shell behind. A shell that sounds like Regulus, shaped like him, but missing every piece that once made him human.

“I don’t care who they are.”

The words punch the breath from my lungs.

“I don’t care where they’re from, what they’ve lost, or who they’ll leave behind.”

Each sentence is slower than the last. More deliberate. Like he’s not just speaking—he’s severing. One word at a time.

“I don’t care how you die. Fast, slow, screaming or silent—it doesn’t matter.”

My fingers curl into fists, but I can’t feel them.

“I don’t want to know your names, I won’t remember your faces, don’t waste your breath trying to make me care.”

My body goes still. My mind follows. Because I think—some fragile part of me still thought maybe. Maybe he would look at me and flinch. Maybe he would hesitate. Maybe some small flicker of the boy I loved would crawl out of that Capitol-polished armor and whisper that this wasn’t who he wanted to be.

But there’s nothing. Not a pause. Not a tremble.

Just that voice, steady and ruined.

“Don’t ask me to pretend. I’m not your hero. I’m not your comfort. I’m not here to save anyone.”

And that’s it.

That’s the moment something inside me rips loose.

Not in a burst—not in the kind of way that makes noise—but like thread slipping from a needle. Quiet. Slow. Final. A pain that doesn’t bleed but leaves behind a hollow where something soft used to live.

And now here he is. Saying he doesn’t care if I die. Saying he doesn’t care who I am.Saying life means nothing.

But I remember. I remember every look, every laugh, every promise he made with shaking hands. I remember the stars. I remember the kiss he never should’ve given me, and the goodbye he never said.

I remember enough for both of us.

So maybe he doesn’t care.

But I do.

God, I do.

And that might be the cruelest thing of all.

I don’t wait. I can’t.

The moment his voice fades — sharp and final, like the slam of a cell door — I leave. I move before I even realize I’m moving, as if my body has already made the decision my mind is too splintered to face. I slip past James, who flinches like he wants to reach out, like his voice is caught in his throat and strangled by something heavier than air. Past Marlene’s warning glance, sharp and gleaming, slicing across the space between us like a blade she’s too practiced with. Past the weight of everything we haven’t said, the things we should have screamed, the silence that hangs between us like a noose.

My legs don’t ask if I’m ready, they don’t care if I come undone in the process. They just carry me forward — steady in pace, but shaking beneath the skin like I’m stitched together with thread drawn too tight, like one wrong step will unravel everything.

I don’t stop. Not when the doors hiss closed behind me. Not when the world becomes blur and breath and noise with no name. Not until I’m alone.

Until the echo of his voice no longer bounces off the marble. Until the scent of him — that Capitol musk of static and smoke and something sweet that’s already rotting — stops clinging to the air like a ghost I can’t shake.

Only then do I collapse. Not dramatically, not like the heroines in Capitol cinema reels. Just enough to fold into the wall, to press my shoulder against something cold and real. Just enough to feel the stone bite through the silk and remind me that I’m still solid, even if everything inside me is slipping like dust through a crack in the floor.

They find me, of course, they always do.

Color and glitter and too-bright teeth, with perfume that clings like poison. They descend like a flock of doves carved from razors, cooing with voices soaked in syrup and steel. I don’t fight them. I don’t speak. I don’t even blink. I just let them touch me, reshape me, peel me open like I was made for their hands, like I was never mine to begin with.

They treat me like glass, but not in the delicate sense. Not fragile — no, not that. They treat me like I’m meant to be broken. Like it’s the point. They scrub me down, dip me in rosewater until my skin reeks of a garden I was never allowed to belong to. They file and bleach and measure. They talk about my waist, my legs, the lines of my collarbones, as if I’m not there, as if I’m nothing but a thing to be altered and offered up.

They dress me in purple — not the kind that blooms in spring, not the kind that lives in twilight skies. No. This purple is bruised and blooming with silence. A shade so deep it almost swallows the light. It hangs off my shoulders like a second skin, threaded with stars. Tiny constellations stitched in silver, glinting like prayers in a sky no one can reach. The fabric clings, soft as smoke, sharp as memory. The neckline grazes my collarbone. The sleeves drift down my arms like spilled ink.

They pin a star into my hair. Just above my left ear. And they call me “The Nightingale.”

I don’t smile. I don’t flinch.

My stylist is Lily Evans, she is nothing like the others.

She’s quiet — not with the silence that comes from fear, but the kind that feels deliberate, chosen, sacred. She moves slowly, carefully, like she’s touching something already half-ruined and doesn’t want to break it further. She doesn’t speak unless she needs to, just nods or hums or murmurs when something fits right. She handles my wrist with the same care someone might give a match in the wind.

There’s grief behind her eyes. Not pity — She would never pity me. But old, folded grief. The kind that’s been pressed flat and carried too long. The kind that no longer begs for release but waits for the right moment to burn.

“You don’t have to be loud to be seen,” She says as she fastens a silver cuff around my wrist. Her hands are warm. “They’ll see you. Even if you never say a word.”

I nod, because my voice doesn’t feel like it belongs to me anymore.

Then the lights come.

They are cruel and cold and blinding. The stage hums under my feet with some mechanical heart I can’t see. Everything around me is too loud and too quiet, the air thick with expectation and hunger. The crowd pulses, restless. The cameras slither like serpents on mechanical limbs, all of them stretching toward us like they can smell blood already. Every lens is an eye. Every eye is a mouth. Every mouth is waiting to devour.

The host stands at the center, tall and sharp, dressed in black that gleams like oil. His mouth is a blade. His name is Severus Snape — the Capitol’s favorite storm. He speaks in a voice that feels ancient and poisonous, every word perfectly carved. Even when the crowd cheers, he doesn’t smile. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t breathe.

“Welcome,” he says, smooth as spilled ink. “To a night of introductions. A glimpse into the lives of those who may not survive the week.”

The audience laughs. I don’t.

“And now,” he says, with a curl of his lips that isn’t quite a smile, “let us welcome a familiar face. The youngest Victor in Capitol history. The boy who made blood look poetic. Your mentor from District Seven… Regulus Black!”

The lights shift.

And he walks onto the stage like he was born in shadow.

He wears black, always black — no color, no warmth. His jacket is sharp enough to cut. His boots make no sound. He moves like fog trapped in crystal. The crowd explodes. They adore him. They worship his silence, his cruelty, his carved-out sorrow.

He raises his hand once — the perfect gesture. Just enough. Capitol-trained. Emotionless.

I know the shape of that mask. I watched him build it with bleeding fingers and shaking breath. I watched him craft it over the boy who used to trace the stars on my wrist and whisper stories only we knew. The boy who once called me “Starling” like it meant something holy.

Then Snape speaks again.

“And now, our male tribute from District Seven. Please welcome… James Potter!”

James emerges like he was born for this. He smiles, runs a hand through his curls, and lets his jacket catch the light like it’s part of his heartbeat. The crowd laughs, swept into his orbit. He bows low and wide. A showman’s charm. A warrior’s grace. And for just a second, just one heartbeat, I forget why we’re here.

Then the silence returns.

Snape raises his hand.

“And finally…”

I know before he speaks. My body knows, my heart collapses inward like it’s been waiting for the blow.

“Our female tribute from District Seven… Y/N Y/L/N!”

It doesn’t sound like a name. It sounds like a sentence. It sounds like steel.

And I see it — everything — all at once.

Regulus stills

Not in the way the Capitol adores, not with the glimmer of stage light on gold and victory, not with the polished pause of someone soaking in their applause. No, this stillness is the kind that doesn’t belong here, the kind born of something breaking. It’s sharp and sudden, humming beneath his skin like a pulled wire about to snap, too tense, too still, too quiet to be mistaken for anything other than what it is—fear

It begins in the smallest ways. A twitch in his jaw, a barely-there shift in the set of his shoulders, a breath caught too high in his chest. His arm, raised in a practiced salute, falters mid-air like it’s forgotten its purpose. The smile on his lips lingers a moment too long, then wilts at the corners, slipping away like melting wax. The crowd doesn’t notice at first, too busy clapping, cheering, basking in the glittering illusion of their perfect boy—but I do. I see it all. I see him

His eyes move—not toward the lights or the endless rows of glittering faces, not toward the cameras that hover like insects—but toward the wings of the stage, toward the shadows, toward where I’m standing, silent and still and shaking just beneath the surface

And then

He sees me.

His gaze doesn’t just land on mine, it sinks. It finds me, like it was always meant to. Like some invisible thread between us has pulled tight for the first time in years and neither of us can look away. For a breath, we exist nowhere else. Not in the Capitol, not on a screen, not in a nightmare painted to look like a dream. Just here. Just him. Just me

And that’s when he begins to fall

His hand drops first—not carefully, not with that Capitol grace they taught him, but like something heavy has torn it from the air. It falls too fast, too sudden, too human. The movement slices through the performance like a blade through silk. The crowd begins to quiet, uncertain now, shifting in their seats as if they can sense something sacred is being unraveled before their eyes

His chest rises like he’s gasping for air in a place where none exists, like his lungs have only just remembered how to move and now it hurts. There’s a tremble to it, barely visible unless you know what to look for. But I do. I always have. His frame leans forward slightly, just enough to make one of the handlers shift uneasily, ready to step in

His mouth opens like a wound. His lips part, shaping a name he doesn’t say—but I know. I know. It’s my name he’s reaching for in the silence. It’s me he’s trying to speak into a place that has no room for the truth. His voice doesn’t come, but it doesn’t have to. His face says everything. His eyes, wide and horrified, already speak in a language only I remember

And then the moment is stolen

The screen glitches—only for a breath, a flicker of static that dances across his face. The Capitol reacts fast, always fast, slicing clean through the feed like it was a mistake that never happened. The image reappears, seamless and polished, his expression replaced with a safer version, something empty, something usable

Music floods the room. Manufactured warmth replaces the cold reality. But it’s too late. Everyone saw

And worse than that—they felt it

The crowd shifts, unsettled now. Conversations still, laughter dries out like ash. No one knows what to do with what just happened. No one wants to name it. They pretend not to notice, pretend the illusion is still intact, but it hangs in the air between them like a bruise

Because they saw the crack

And in a place like this, where everything is built on silence and spectacle, a crack is dangerous. A crack is a promise that something deeper is waiting beneath the surface, something hungry and sharp and true

He shattered in front of them

And they’re too afraid to admit it

Because here, silence is a god

And when someone dares to break it, the world forgets how to breathe

And everyone remembers what it means to bleed

The lights haven’t even cooled, the cheers still echo faintly through the walls like ghosts of a show gone wrong, when Marlene storms in, heels hitting tile like gunshots, sharp and unforgiving. Her dress ripples behind her like a warning. Her face is a painting cracked straight through the middle—flawless on the surface, but fury bleeding through the lines

“What the hell was that?” she demands, voice slicing through the room like broken glass. “You nearly exposed everything—do you have any idea what they’ll do if—”

“Get out.” Regulus says

Quietly, at first

Marlene blinks, lips still parted, caught mid-rant. “Excuse me?”

He turns to face her. Slowly. Deliberately. Like every movement costs him something. The shadows catch in the hollows of his face, in the sharp line of his jaw, in the haunted dark of his eyes

“I said out!” he repeats

No longer quiet

Not polished or practiced. Not the voice the Capitol put in his mouth. This one is older. Deeper. Unforgiving. It sounds like thunder clawing its way through stormclouds. Like something ancient waking up inside him

Marlene straightens, something in her spine pulling taut like she’s trying not to flinch. “No one’s leaving until we—”

“Now.” he says, and this time the word hits like the crack of a whip

There’s something in it. Not just anger. Not just exhaustion. Something final. Something cold. The kind of tone that stops people from breathing, the kind of tone that knows exactly what power sounds like when it stops pretending to be polite

The room stills

One by one, they scatter. The stylists vanish without a sound, like petals pulled from a dying flower. James opens his mouth, a protest already blooming on his tongue, but someone grabs his arm and he’s gone too, dragged out before he can even say my name

And then it’s just us

The silence that follows is too large for the room. It settles over everything, thick as smoke, curling into the cracks, pressing into the spaces where words used to live.

Regulus turns fully this time. Not the mentor. Not the Victor. Just him. Just the boy I knew. His eyes land on me and it’s like he’s seeing something he thought the world had burned away.

His eyes find me, and everything he’s built to survive collapses. The Capitol polish fades. The armor cracks. His face drains of color. His lips part, barely breathing, and for a second, I think he might shatter from the inside out.

His legs buckle beneath him, as if his body can no longer bear the weight of this moment, as if his bones are finally acknowledging what his heart has known all along. He crumples to the floor, not with grace, not with restraint—but with the brutal honesty of someone unraveling. There is no performance in the way he falls. Only broken instinct.

“No,” he breathes, the word cracking as it leaves his mouth. “No, no, no…”

His voice is fragile, but it keeps breaking like a wave refusing to die. He crawls toward me on his hands and knees, not caring about the eyes watching, the silence hanging above us like a blade. His hands hover, shaking mid-air, as though I’m something sacred. Like if he touches me, I’ll vanish into smoke. Like I can’t possibly be real.

“You’re not real,” he whispers, voice disbelieving and raw. “You’re not—” It splinters. “They told me you were safe. They swore they’d never touch you.”

“I’m here,” I breathe, my voice almost too soft to hear, and I can barely stay standing. “I’m really here.”

His hands twitch, aching to close the distance between us, but they falter. He doesn’t touch me. Not yet. Not while he’s still convincing himself I exist.

“I didn’t watch, star.” he confesses, and the words feel torn from him, his eyes wide, burning, begging for forgiveness I haven’t yet offered. “I stopped watching the Reapings. I couldn’t bear it. I thought—if I didn’t look, it wouldn’t happen. I thought I’d saved you.”

“You didn’t know,” I say, but the words are a blade in my throat. They taste like metal. They taste like lies.

“I should’ve known,” he says, his voice crumbling into sobs. “I should’ve felt it the moment they said your name. I gave them everything. My silence. My smile. My soul. I let them carve pieces out of me until I didn’t recognize myself. I thought if I became theirs, if I let them make me a puppet, they’d forget you ever existed.”

“You left,” I whisper. The words fall like ash, soft but final. “You promised you’d come back.”

His hands are trembling again, caught between motion and stillness, suspended inches from my skin. “I left so you wouldn’t have to be part of this,” he says, his voice low and breaking. “I left so you’d never be in a room like this. With cameras and weapons. With strangers deciding if your blood is worth spilling.”

He looks at me as if he’s memorizing everything he forgot. His eyes trace my features like they’re trying to count the years we lost—like he’s scared each blink might erase me again.

“I thought if I played their game—if I smiled when they asked, bled when they demanded, performed like a good little ghost—I could make them forget about you. I thought my silence could shield you.”

“It didn’t,” I say. And it hurts to say it. “You disappeared. And they came for me anyway.”

He doesn’t argue. He can’t. His face caves inward, like something in him has cracked so deeply it can’t be stitched back together.

“I thought you hated me,” I whisper, unable to stop the truth now that it’s out. “I thought you forgot.”

He shakes his head with a desperation that borders on grief. “I never hated you,” he says, the words tumbling out like they’ve been waiting years. “I hated myself. For leaving. For living. I remembered you every single night. I whispered your name into pillows I didn’t deserve. I carved stars into the walls when I couldn’t sleep. I prayed the Capitol would forget you.”

His tears fall silently, cutting down his face like glass. “But they didn’t. And I was too much of a coward to look.”

Then, finally, his hand lands on mine. It’s cold. Unsteady. Reverent. Like he’s afraid I’ll dissolve under his fingers. “Say something,” he whispers. “Please. Tell me you don’t hate me. Tell me I didn’t lose you completely.”

I’m crying too hard to answer. But I reach forward. I guide his trembling hand and press his palm to my chest, over my heartbeat.

“You left,” I say, my voice shaking, “but I never let go. Not really.”

He breaks. Not in the quiet way he did before—but completely. His sobs come without warning, deep and strangled, as if every scream he’s swallowed over five years is finally ripping its way out. His arms wrap around me, desperate and tight, and he pulls me against him like he’s terrified I’ll be stolen all over again.

In his embrace, we are no longer mentor and tribute. No longer Victor and girl destined to die.

We are just two broken people who once made a promise beneath the stars.

“I would’ve burned the Capitol to the ground, little bird.” he breathes into my hair, voice scorched with agony. “If I had known. I would’ve walked back into the arena a thousand times if it meant you could live.”

I close my eyes. Press my forehead gently to his. Feel the way his breath catches when I do.

“It’s too late,” I whisper. “They already chose me. I’m here now.”

His grip tightens. “Then let them do what they want to me,” he says, and his voice has changed again. It’s sharper now, like steel dragged through flame. “But I won’t lose you. Not again.”

But the Capitol does not barter with love.

And somewhere inside, we both know that.

Still, in this moment—just for this moment—we are not surrounded by cameras or death or power.

We are two children, grown into ghosts, clinging to each other in a room built for blood.

Outside, the Games wait with open jaws.

But we let the world pause.

Because we already died once.

Because this is the moment our hearts remember each other again.

Because pain, when shared, is louder than any silence they can force on us.

And because love—bruised, trembling, defiant—is still here.

Breathing. Burning. Bleeding.

Alive, for now.

taglist: @urfunnyvalentin3 @yvessentials

#regulus black #regulus black x reader #regulus black angst #regulust black fluff #regulus black x reader angst #regulus black x you #regulus black x reader fluff #hunger games au #marauders era #marauders x reader #marauders fluff #marauders angst #marauders x reader angst #marauders x reader fluff #regulus arcturus black

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pnutbutter-n-j-elyy · 2 months ago

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Hi there, I don't know if you're taking requesting at this moment but I'm gonna leave it here either way. I was wondering if you could do something regarding skz(any member you like or all of them, up to you :'D) where their s/o doesn't have any friend but hides it from them, thinking it might be embarrassing or pathetic, cuz they all have each other and she doesn't. But they find out somehow. Maybe she said she's going out but found her alone somewhere( park, library idk wherever you want lmao), and the rest is up to you ToT <33. Hope this makes sense. It's been way over a year since I moved abroad for studies and still stuck in the outer part of every circle lmaoo. Love love ABSOLUTELY LOVE your work. I'm so glad I found your work ToT. Thank you for existing with your creativity <333333

First off, youre brave for leaving home to go study. It’s takes a lot to uproot everything you know and love and go chase your dreams. I admire that kind of courage. So sorry for the late response, but I hope this brings you comfort ♥️

You tell him you’re going out. You even smile when you say it, and that’s the hardest part. Because smiling shouldn’t feel like lying, but lately, it does.

“Gonna go meet some people from class,” you say, slipping on your shoes, tying the same laces twice just for something to do with your hands. “We’ve been meaning to catch up.”

He smiles back, trusting you. Because why wouldn’t he?

Chan doesn’t question it. He doesn’t follow up, doesn’t pry, just gives you that soft nod he always does when he’s trying to be supportive without hovering.

“Have fun, yeah?” He leans in, brushing a kiss against your temple. “Text me when you get there?”

You nod.

You lie again.

You don’t go to class.

You don’t meet anyone.

You walk.

Not even aimlessly- which in your mind would have made it the slightest bit better. You know exactly where your feet take you. The long path toward the quiet park just past the river bend. A spot you’ve gone to more than once, with a worn bench that overlooks the water and a broken lamppost that flickers, even during the day. It’s safe here.

Silent.

You sit and watch the wind skim across the water’s surface, pretending it’s talking to you. Pretending you’re listening. Pretending this isn’t the only place you don’t feel out of place.

This city is full of people. You are surrounded by thousands every day. When you walk the streets you realize just how beautiful and intricate the world is, seeing new faces and sights everyday. So, so many things around you. People.

But it’s never been harder to feel seen. No matter how many circles you dip your toes into, the water never feels warm.

You hover on the edge of things, always invited, never included.

No one really waits for you.

No one really calls.

No one but him.

But he’s different. He has them. Eight brothers that orbit around each other like they were born to do just that.

They have matching hoodies and inside jokes and nicknames. They show up for one another- loud, chaotic, and whole.

You show up to group projects and fade into the background. You sit in full classrooms and still feel invisible. You eat lunch with your phone on the table, pretending not to care when no messages come in.

You don’t want Chan to know that.

You don’t want him to see it.

He’s warm and soft and kind and caring in ways you’ve never been able to describe without falling apart.

He gives you space, yes- but that space is filled with love.

It wraps around you like a sweater two sizes too big and just heavy enough to feel safe. You don’t want to ruin that with your loneliness.

You don't even know how you first met Chan, let alone how this… romance happened.

How his warm, snuggle, strong embrace became a part of your daily routine when you couldn't even find someone to stick around long enough to learn your name, your fears, your dreams.

So you lie.

“Going out with friends.”

“Group study.”

“Coffee with the girls.”

And then you sit on this bench, hands in your lap, watching the hours pass.

This.

The only other routine of your life. The same thing over and over.

You wondered how long you could keep your loneliness hidden.

You don’t even hear the footsteps until they stop right beside you.

“…You said you were going out.”

Your heart drops.

You don’t have to look up to know it’s him.

But you do. Slowly. Like maybe if you stall long enough, the truth won’t crack open between you.

Chan stands there, hands in his coat pockets, hair windswept and cheeks pink from the cold. He looks at you like he’s trying not to jump to conclusions.

Understanding and patient as always.

But his voice is already soft, too careful, too warm. And that’s worse.

You laugh. It’s thin. “I…did.”

“Out with friends, you said.”

You nod, but your throat’s tight. “Yeah.”

He looks at the empty bench. The overcast sky. The paper coffee cup by your side that’s clearly been there too long. The way your cuticles are already ripped from picking at them since he made his arrival known.

You didn't have to know he had been standing their longer than you realized. That he had sensed something was up for a few weeks.

Maybe he was wrong to have followed you. But he cared too much to not see if there was something that was bothering you.

You were too busy watching his face to acknowledge the gears in his head turning from the scene.

You swear his heart breaks a little when he puts it all together.

“How long?” he asks, quiet.

You swallow.

“I don’t know.”

He doesn’t ask what you mean.

He knows. God, of course he does.

“How long have you been coming here?” he tries again, gently, slowly sitting beside you like he’s scared you might run. “When you said you were meeting someone?”

You stare at your hands. “A while.”

Silence.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Your voice breaks without your permission. “Because it’s embarrassing.”

His breath catches. That’s the one that hits him.

You force a laugh again, but it’s wet this time, your vision already blurring.

“I mean, look at you. You have them. You have a family in every way that counts. You’ve got people to lean on, talk to, yell across rooms to, joke with. I don’t even have anyone to text that I got home safe except you.”

You blink hard, trying to keep it together.

"Not that thats a bad thing!" You backtrack. "But...it’s pathetic. The only person I have to talk to is my boyfriend. Its burdensome. Embarrassing. I didn’t want you to see me like that. Like- some lonely girl who can’t even make a single friend in a city full of people.” You swipe at your tears furiously.

Chan says your name softly, but you shake your head.

“I didn’t want you to think less of me.”

There’s a pause. A heartbeat.

And then he says, quiet but firm:

“I could never.”

Your breath hitches.

“I mean it,” he says, turning to face you now, knees knocking yours. “I could never think less of you for something like that.”

“But I-”

“You moved across the world, alone. You chased your goals, even when it meant starting from zero. You’re brave. You’re strong. You don’t have to hide how hard it’s been. Not from me.”

You want to believe him.

But it’s hard. It’s so hard.

“I didn’t want to burden you,” you whisper.

Chan takes your hand. Carefully. Tenderly. Like you’re glass, but not as if you're fragile- just precious.

“You’re not a burden,” he says. “You’re a part of my life. I want to be there for all of it. Even the parts that hurt.”

Your chest caves in. A quiet sob escapes before you can swallow it down. And he’s already there, wrapping you in his arms, pulling you against him so your cheek rests on his shoulder and his hand cradles the back of your head like he can shield you from the weight of your own silence.

“I’m here,” he murmurs into your hair. “I’m not going anywhere. And you’re not alone. Not now. Not ever.”

You cry harder at that.

Because it’s the first time in months it feels true.

He holds you until the shaking fades. Until your breaths come slower, easier. Until the wind quiets and your fingers find his, holding tight.

“You don’t have to pretend anymore,” he says, brushing your hair back from your face. “Not with me.”

You don’t talk much on the way home.

You think you should. Maybe say something light, make a joke, smooth over the awkward edges still hanging between the things you said and the way you cried into his hoodie. But Chan doesn’t rush you.

He walks beside you in silence, his hand in yours, and it’s the kind of silence that doesn’t ask you to fill it. The kind that just says I’m here. I’m still here.

You lean a little closer than usual. He doesn’t mind.

It seems he is deep in thought.

And when you step inside your apartment, the quiet settles again but this time it feels different. Not empty. Just calm. Like exhaling after holding your breath for too long.

Chan toes off his shoes, shrugs off his jacket.

You linger by the door.

“Want tea?” he asks, already heading to your kitchen like it’s second nature.

Because it is.

You nod, not trusting your voice yet. But your fingers twitch toward him, aching to hold something. Anything. Him.

He notices. He always does.

Without a word, he places two mugs down on the counter, crosses the room in three soft steps, and wraps his arms around you again. Just like before. No pressure. No questions. Just warmth. Just home.

You breathe in. He smells like chamomile and winter air.

“I didn’t mean to cry that much,” you murmur, voice small against his chest.

“I know,” he says, fingers threading through your hair. “But you needed to.”

A pause.

“I’ve cried over less,” he adds. “Like…when Felix dropped my protein pancakes that one time.”

You laugh, a little choked, but real. “You really liked those pancakes.”

“They had peanut butter and bananas. And the brand was discontinued. You don’t come back from that kind of loss easily.”

You bury your face in his hoodie. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Your idiot.”

Your heart does a tiny somersault. You don’t say anything. Just squeeze him a little tighter.

Later, when you sit on the floor with a blanket wrapped around your legs while Chan moves around your kitchen like he’s been living here for years. He hands you a bowl of soup, still too warm to hold properly, and sits beside you, his shoulder against yours.

“You know,” he says, voice low, “you don’t have to keep it all in like that.”

You stare into your tea. “I know. It just…feels safer.”

He hums. “I get that. But carrying everything alone doesn’t make you stronger. It just makes you tired.”

That lands.

He lets it settle before he speaks again. “I’ve been there too, you know.”

You blink. “You?”

He nods, sipping from his cup.

“When I moved away from Australia…I didn’t know anyone. I had the guys, eventually, yeah. But at first? I didn’t have anyone to talk to. Even the people I did talk to...those relationships didn't feel...real you know? I’d go whole days without saying a word to someone who wasn’t part of a schedule.”

You look at him. “That’s hard to imagine.”

He smiles, but it’s small. “It was lonely. And I didn’t tell anyone, because I didn’t want them to think I couldn’t handle it. But pretending to be okay didn’t help. Talking about it did. And that's where I met true friends."

You don’t say anything. Just listen. Just feel.

“You don’t have to be perfect for me,” he says, nudging your knee with his. “Or strong all the time. Or happy if you’re not.”

You glance at him, suddenly shy. “Do the others know? That I don’t really…have people here?” You whisper quietly.

“No,” he says, gently. “But if they did, they’d never judge you for it.”

You nod. You almost believe it.

“Felix would probably cry and then bake you something. Changbin would probably introduce you to a bunch of the girls at JYPE- which I can do for you. They've seen you around a few times and ask me about you. I'm sure they'd love to be your friends.” Chan adds. He bites his lip in thought. “Hyunjin would probably ask you to be his muse for a piece of artwork- just to make sure you weren't alone. Seungmin would pretend he doesn’t care and then start inviting you to everything making some excuse to make sure you tagged along. Jeongin would bring you snacks. Food is something he loves and he'd want to share it with you. Since it makes him happy. Han would- well, he’d find a way to make it worse and then somehow better. He'd also probably be with Lix on the crying boat.” He chuckled.

You laughed softly too.

“And Minho?”

“He’d act like he already knew. Then he’d tell you you’re part of the family now, and you've been a part of the family, so deal with it.”

Your eyes sting, but not from sadness this time.

“Sometimes I feel like I don’t belong anywhere,” you admit. “Like I keep showing up to things hoping something will click, but it never does. And I start to wonder if it’s me. If I’m just…not meant to be part of anyone’s circle.”

Chan sets his cup down and turns to face you fully.

“You belong with me.”

That sentence cuts through every doubt like warm light through fog.

“I know it’s hard when the world feels like it’s moving without you,” he says. “But you’re not invisible to me. You’ve never been. I came up to you first, didn't I?"

Your breath catches.

“And if the people around you can’t see how amazing you are, that’s on them. Not you.”

Tears threaten again, but you manage a watery smile.

He reaches out, brushing your cheek with his thumb.

“You’re not a background character, alright? You’re the main one. And I’m not letting you forget that again.”

You lean into his touch. “You make that easy to believe.”

“Then let me keep doing that.”

He pulls you close again, and this time, you let yourself fall into it fully. No hesitating. No wondering if you’re too heavy, too quiet, too complicated to hold. No calculating the space you take up in someone else’s life.

Just…surrender.

You melt into his chest, your arms curling around his waist, and for the first time in what feels like months, your mind goes quiet. Not empty, not numb- just quiet.

Like the part of you that always keeps score finally sat down and closed the book.

Chan doesn’t say anything right away. He just breathes with you. One slow inhale, one slower exhale, like he’s teaching your body a rhythm softer than survival.

“You feel safe,” you whisper, before you even mean to say it aloud.

He smiles, lips brushing the top of your head. “Good. That’s what I want.”

And when he says it like that, you believe him.

His hand moves gently up and down your back, slow and steady, like he’s memorizing you by touch. Not to fix anything. Not to rush you out of what you’re feeling. Just to remind you: you’re here, you’re loved, and you’re not too much.

“I used to be scared of this,” you admit, voice muffled against his shoulder. “Of being known like this. Of letting someone see everything I’m trying so hard to keep together.”

“Yeah?” he says softly.

You nod. “But it’s different with you.”

He pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes- those warm, dark eyes that never ask for more than you’re ready to give.

“I know how to hold things gently,” he says. “Especially the parts of you you’re scared to show.”

You blink, and the tears come again but this time they fall without fear. No shame. No guilt. Just soft, steady release. And he’s already there, catching them with his thumb, brushing them away like they were never something to hide in the first place.

You don’t say thank you. Not because you’re ungrateful but because you know he knows. Because gratitude is stitched into the way your fingers cling to the edge of his hoodie. The way you let your weight rest against him, trusting him not to flinch.

You stay like that for a long time.

No pretending.

No hiding.

No masks.

Just two people in the quiet, where being known doesn’t feel scary anymore. It feels like breathing. Like healing. Like the beginning of something steady.

And when Chan finally speaks again, it’s in a whisper just for you:

“From now on, even if it’s just me- you’ll always have someone to come home to.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha @iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric @panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee @shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin @whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun @ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael @skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads @jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld @kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9 @minsungsthirdwheel @everlastingspring143 @joyofbebbanburg @leezanetheofficial @tr-mha-fan @bubbly-moon @night-storm7 @missmajdastark @axel-skz @rockstarkkami @emilyywhyy

#skz imagines #skz stay #skz x reader #skz reactions #skz #stray kids reactions #skz angst #skz fluff #stray kids #christopher bang #bangchan #chan

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blingblong55 · 2 years ago

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My kind of love -Keegan P. Russ

Based on a request:

Just a thought : Keegan strikes me as the guy who would hold wife! reader close to him when they sleep in their bed. Or he'd carry her when he finds her asleep on the couch. ---- F!Reader, fluff/romance, established!relationship, boyfriend!keegan, cuddling ----

A/N: thanking Bon Iver and Niall Horan for this fluff🙏

It's four in the morning, Keegan comes home after nearly ten months of deployment, his duffle bag placed on the floor. Steps soft to not wake you up, after all, he is meant to surprise you with his early arrival. As he was about to go and check on the dog, who slept by the sofa, he noticed a blanket, your blanket. He approaches you, his gaze softens the second he watches his beautiful sleeping. You look so peaceful, so calm and in this moment when things for months went so wrong, this view is all he can adore.

"My love, I'm home," Keegan whispers, in his arms, he carries you to bed. They say people have a certain amount of luck and you are proof of that. Maybe out there in the cruel world, he doesn't have much luck but in this place, a warm, cosy and safe place he calls home, he knows luck is there. No one can say they are lucky because they don't have you and he does. A million men can say your name, a million more can watch you but just one gets to come home to you. One man in a sea of billions gets to kiss you, to listen to your ramble about crazy theories, to listen to you hum a tune and to love you and be loved back.

That man is him and in this precise moment, he knows why he proudly waited day and night to hide that ring in his pocket. If he wasn't a romantic, he would propose to you right here right now but he wants that moment to be magical because his precious girl deserves it. "Keegan, it's you," your voice so soft. Fuck, why must you make his heart melt like this? Why must you- damn you! Why do you love him? Why do you see what others don't and why must you make him blush just from the sound of your voice? Couldn't you be any less cruel to his weakened heart? Oh but he loves it, he loves that voice, that touch and stare, he loves the kisses and the 'Did your job go well? Are you hurt? Did you miss me?' he loves it all.

"Of course, it's me, darling," he sets you down on the bed and covers you with the sheets. "I'll be back," his lips touched your soft skin before leaving to take a short shower. You lay in bed, not being able to sleep without him anymore, you wait for him. Once he snuggles to you, you can feel his fresh skin, how his embrace wraps you with love and with care. "Did everything go to plan?" you ask as you nuzzle your face on his chest, a low chuckle escapes his lips as he brushes your hair. "It did, which is surprising," he kisses the top of your head and drapes his leg over yours.

In a warm bed, you and he lie, legs intertwined like they are the perfect match. Your back to his chest, soft breathing filling the room. As you close your eyes, he finds himself admiring your beauty from his angle. His arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you close for the rest of the night as the other arm caresses your head. His fingers brush through the hair, and slowly, they make their way to your forehead, where he slowly catches himself falling asleep.

Until morning and maybe even after being awake, he keeps you in his hold and under those warm bed sheets. "I love you to the moon and back- no, let's keep going beyond the moon," he whispers as he keeps holding you close. If only he dared to propose already and make you his missus. But only the brave wait for the exact right moment.

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yandere-paramour · 7 months ago

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So Noelle, being to a degree emotionally reliant on knowing that darling is safe and that her apartment is a sanctuary. How is she handling having that mental construct violated? Like say for example there's a break in and the apartment is robbed, darling isn't hurt or anything just that perception of having a safe secure place violated in some way. c:

GREAT Question, I was excited to answer this one.

First, let's explore the logistics of this. By the nature of her wealth and status, Atalanta has a trusted and experienced security team to protect her at all times. Since she was hired, Noelle has had security around her too, both because Ata likes her and because she is a potential risk. If Noelle is kidnapped and tortured for information, Montclair secrets could come out and that's a huge problem. So there is at least 1 security guard following Noelle around/Guarding her apartment at all times. A potential intruder would have to break into the building, get in the elevator, somehow know the apartment number, get past the guard, and then get into the locks. Noelle is no fool, she has taken precautions to protect both herself and Darling.

If someone managed to do all that, Noelle would be downright hysterical. Like she would have a mental breakdown, and Darling isn't even hurt in this scenario. If Darling was hurt, she might go on a rampage. For now, she is able to tone it down to just a simple mental breakdown.

You have never seen Noelle like this, and you will never see it again. In fact, very very few people have seen Noelle like this (Odette, her mom, and a few stepfathers). Noelle is a very, very calm person. She doesn't raise her voice or show any extreme emotions. You could be psychotic and she would calm you down slowly and gently, wrap you in a blanket, and hold you close as you slept.

But this is more than she can handle. This is violating her sacred space. She has carved out one space in the entire fucking world and some jackass has fucking defiled it? She can't have one damn thing? What did she fucking do in her past life to deserve all this?

You're not fucking staying here tonight. Noelle sends you with a security guard to a hotel room Atalanta arranged; she'll catch up later tonight. She has to do something first. You can try to protest but she's not in the fucking mood and you are going to listen and go. She's actually a little scary, she always speaks kindly to you.

You wait anxiously in the hotel for Noelle to come back for about 2 hours. When she finally comes, she is back to her normal loving, doting self, stroking your hair and lamenting about how scared you must've been and how brave you were and how she is so thankful you are safe and sound. She brought your favorite stuffed animal and some clothes for the two of you. She seems the same, only a little sweaty. After she showers, she cuddles you to sleep, then gets up to get her laptop and try to rebuild your lives.

The next day, Noelle allows you (after a lot of begging and pleading on your end) to go get some more essentials. When you get back through the kicked-in door, you are shocked. The place looks much, much worse than it did when you saw it last. The expensive glass vases and trinkets Noelle decorates with are shattered on the ground, the paintings clawed, the TV seemingly kicked in. The place looks ransacked, and your mouth drops open. You know Noelle would never be negligent enough to not leave someone to watch the door, and nothing sentimental seems hurt. All of your possessions are safely intact and pristine. Only... only the expensive things are destroyed... only the things that can be replaced.

"What-" You don't even know what to say, "What happened here?"

"What do you mean, Darling?" Noelle cocks her head at you, confused, "The burglars did this; it was like this when you left."

"No-"

"You're mistaken, my love. This must be such a great shock to you. Let's get your things and we can go back to the hotel room and rest. I'll even order some of those cookies you like."

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bloodnikki · 7 months ago

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Ekko loves Jinx. He loves every side of her even if he can’t get the name right. He wonders why it’s a struggle to accept her as Jinx until she’s gone and it hits him.

Guilt. It’s guilt that made him unable to let go. It’s guilt for his people. If he accepted as Jinx, and loved her anyway, he would’ve been a failure to them. He wouldn’t have been able to look them in the eyes as he fought to protect them.

Powder’s still in there was code for I’m not a bad person for wanting her. It maybe why he was so angry he wouldn’t let him call her that. Jinx wanted him to remember her crimes. Jinx needed him to see her for who she was.

He gets why she stayed with Silco. He was an awful man but at least he cared for her enough to respect the person she wanted to be. Ekko had been ashamed to love her.

‘Hey, I know we were meant to have this big talk after the battle but I can’t. I’m tired of talking. We run around in circles. Powder, Powder you say and I say I’m Jinx and you give those big eyes and I feel shitty for being me and you feel shitty because I’m me. I can’t do that. So, I’m just gonna listen to Silco. I’m going to end the cycle. He came to me the other day talking about being brave enough to end cycles or some nonsense. He talks too much. I guess it’s finally time I listen. Kinda owe him one time seeing as I killed him.

Ekko, do you ever wonder what we could’ve been? I do. Not all the time. I’m not that crazy but I do. It reminds me of how fucked and jinxed I am and your stupid big eyes and I just can’t do this anymore. It would’ve been easier if you just killed me.

So, no big talk. Instead, I’m ending the cycle. I’m going to this place I heard about from Vander when he was still kicking around. Maybe if we met there things would’ve been different.’

Ekko.hates when he finds the letter stuffed in his things at the lab. He thinks how he thinks of it as their lab but it’s not. It’s all hers and she’s gone. Vi said she didn’t make it. He cries for what feels like hours. He leaves and can’t will himself back to their shared space.

He misses her so much. Everything reminds him of her. His feet take him back to their lab and he’s ready to mourn her all over again when he sees a letter that wasn’t there before. In large pink ink, the top read She Lives.

He flicks it open and the first lines make him chuckle. ‘I just can’t seem to die. So, the world is stuck with me. The world is stuck with me but that doesn’t mean I have to be stuck here. I doubt you’d like to come with. I’m scared you’d say no. So, I’ve gone on ahead. I’m going to check out this place here. If I miss you, which let’s face it, you most likely aren’t gonna come, I’ll leave a note on where I’ll head next. It’ll be like a game.’

Ekko hates how excited he is she’s alive. He hates the idea of not telling Vi or anyone. He tells Scar though. Ekko’s packing a bag and he tells Scar “she made it. I’m going. Things are covered here and ya got this and I’m going and-“

“Good. Go.” Scar understands. “Come back once you both are ready.”

“I… thanks.”

Ekko follows behind her. Some stops, he knows he just missed her. Everyone tells him stories about her and he reads her letters. He cries some nights looking them over. She leaves a photo behind for him. The back reads ‘look at me! I’m finally putting on some pounds. Maybe I’ll finally grow boobs.’ She looks beautiful.

Their messages are a one way street. She can talk to him but he can’t talk to her. It must be justice for all the times he shut her out when he wanted to speak to Powder and only got Jinx. Ekko buys a notebook on the way to the third town. He wants to write down his thoughts to share later with her.

It’s almost two years and he’s just missed her more times than he could count. He wonders if she’ll ever slow down enough to let him catch her. From her letters, it sounds like she’s scared he isn’t coming. He hates that she’s no faith in him. Of course he’s coming. He loves her.

It finally happens. He finally sees her in person and there’s no way she’s getting away, unless she runs. He really hopes she doesn’t run.

“Ekko.”

And that’s it. He’s never letting her out of sight again.

#arcane #timebomb

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tia-amorosa · 2 months ago

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Episode 56: Family

Later that morning Alexander slept particularly late that day and immediately noticed the good mood in the house when he got up. When he met his father, who was suddenly a few years younger again, he was irritated. But Mortimer took him lovingly in his arms at the bottom of the stairs and told him that everything was all right and that his mother was back home… and waiting for him. “Mommy?”…

Bella turned around and already had tears in her eyes when she heard his voice. And again, the little eight-year-old boy heard that pleasant scent in the air. Then he walked to her with quick steps and hugged her, which she was only too happy to return. “Oh my little boy, no, you're not that little anymore…. Hey, you're crying…"/,,h-h, because… Because I always wished you'd come back,” sobbed Alexander, who hadn't expected this surprise so soon.

“I'm back here now, my darling. And I won't be going away any time soon, I promise you that, yes? Oh, you're so brave?“/”Can you always read me stories now and put me to bed?“/”Oh, I'd love to, we have so much to catch up on“/”h-hh, yes”. In Alexander has loosened a huge knot that has probably always been hidden away. But he never wanted to let on. Now everything is back to normal for him.

Mortimer arrived a little later. He was moved by the sight. His wife gave him a look that radiated something like gratitude. Mother and son enjoyed the closeness. And he didn't want to take that away from them. He briefly thought about what to do next. How would the townspeople react? And how can you explain something that you don't even understand yourself?

Meanwhile. “Did you think it would all happen so quickly now? I mean, we've been here less than 24 hours and it's all turned out well"/ ‘mhm…at least for your parents…’/ ”For the whole family. They'll be able to spend a lot of time together again and have the chance to see Alexander grow up…“/”And you?“/”I know what you're going to say. I'll go and see him, okay?”.

She got up and went to him. “You didn't even have to do much to get me around, Lazlo, it all came… Somehow all by itself. And it all feels so… right…"/ ‘It feels best when you're lying next to me and I can watch you sleep. …’ he flattered her. She smiled. “hnn, go on talking”.

“No, I'll save some things for later. Besides, I haven't gotten to know everything about you yet"/ ”yes, that's true. The feeling is mutual… Do you want me to help you look for a house?"/ ‘I want us both to like it, so yes.’/ ”mhm, o.k.. What do you say we go straight away?“/”,but without holding hands?“/” O.k….”.

The two of them went downstairs to the living room, where their mother seemed to be waiting for them. “Do you want to go out?"/ ‘Yes, we want to look for a house for him…’/ ”Good, but… There's something I really want to say,.. I can't thank you enough for what you've done, my darling. I wouldn't be here without you and… hh"/…

“Oh mom…“/ ”You didn't stop looking for me. I was far away, so far away and you found me” Bella felt the need to hug her daughter lovingly again. “it's not just my doing mom, the brothers helped a lot too“/”I know that. Please give them my heartfelt thanks too"/ ‘I will do that.’/ ‘And now go, but don't forget…’/ ‘I have to catch the right moment, mom’.

“The right time? It comes when it wants to come, Cassandra, and it can be sudden and then you have to act right“/”I know, mom… You told me to listen to my heart and I am."/ ”mhm. then go for now. I think he'll find something good here. The price range is probably good at the moment, at least that's what your father said“/”yes, Dad knows a lot of things here *chuckle“”.

Cassandra walked out of the house with Lazlo and immediately stopped in front of the garden fence. “What do you think of this one? It's right opposite my parents and you wouldn't have far to go…“/”uh… It's nice, but I don't really want to run the risk of your parents peeking through the window or…"/ ”thihi… I was expecting an answer like that. That's okay. Come on, we'll find something for you"/ ‘for us’. Finding a house for the two of them that they both liked was not going to be that easy.

@greenplumbboblover , @solorisims , @honeywinesims ⭐

#goth tales #goth family #ts3 story #the sims 3 story #ts3 gameplay #the sims 3 gameplay #ts3 screenshots #the sims 3 screenshots #bella goth #alexander goth #cassandra goth #lazlo curious #mortimer goth

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bluegalaxygirl · 2 years ago

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First Bath togeather (Zosan X reader)

Zoro x Sanji X reader, polly relationship, established relationship, SFW and Reader is GN. Honestly started crying while writing this thats why it took me a whole days to make it.

Warning: past domestic abuse, descriptive scars, fluff, making out, Nudity but its sfw, a bit of Body worship

Plot: Inspired by Night routine. After being togeather for a long time the boys have never taken a bath or a shower with you. You work up the courage to join them but try to hid the scars of your past.

It's late at night when Zoro and Sanji walk into your shared room seeing you on the bed still in your day wear reading a book. "Hay love, were going to get a bath, want to join us?" Sanji asks while Zoro grabs the towels and cloths. You look up from your book the offer so tempting, about to respond yes you remember your back, the only part of your body you hate. "Sorry boys i'll take one later" you say seeing Sanji's face fall into a sad frown but he doesn't push it, both are really respectful towards you. No means No, thats been clear from day one. "Well, we'll see you later than" Zoro says placing a kiss on your forehead before leaving the room. Sanji does the same lingering a bit longer, a way of showing that he isn't upset with you even though he's sad about you not joining them.

You were just about to go back to reading but as the boys leave Robin enters saying hi to the boys as they leave. Normally she wouldn't enter without knocking but she had her serious face on, one you didn't see often and it scared you a little. "Urm... Hi Robin" you manage to get out as he sits at the end of the large bed "I though you said you were gonna join them this time?" A smile finally appearing on the woman's face making you relax a little. She's the only one you've told about your past and your scars, she's a great listener and advice giver. "I know. I just.... dont want them to see" placing the book on the night stand you sit on the edge of the bed next to her looking down at your feet. She places a hand on your back over one of your many scars under your shirt rubbing it lightly "They love you very much. these scars aren't going to change that" Robin's voice is sweet sounding almost like sprinkled sugar. Your eyes meet with hers, somehow you regain your courage and nod at her grabbing your towel and pj's.

You get changed out of your day cloths in the changing room next to the bathroom, accidentally catching a peek at your back in the long mirror, the sight catches you off guard. You always try to avoid the sight of your back but you never forgot what it looked like. Long, think, jagged, raised scars stretch across your back crisscrossing in some areas. The memory's with it cause you more pain than anything, memories you try so hard to forget and yet they linger. Your mother hated you always calling you "That Demon child", she didn't always hate you but something in her snapped one day, it started with hurtful words then being deprived of essential things and lastly when she was really mad at you ,getting her whip out and hitting you over and over again. Ignoring your screams for her to stop and the apologies you'd spurt out but not really knowing what to be sorry about. she made sure to only hurt your back,No one but her would be able to see it so she would't get in trouble by other family or friends. You believed all the things she said about you, you hated very part of yourself and thought that it was normal for her to hurt you. It was only when she kicked you out the house at age 10 that you started to learn what life was really like. The trauma stayed with you but you found self worth, you weren't weak or useless, you were strong, brave, kind and found love.

You wrapped a towel around you heading to the bathroom, hearing the sound of running water and laughter from the two boys. Your body stopped you just before entering the room, second thoughts flew through your mind all you could think of was what they would say. Zoro the worrier, the man who deliberately took a slash to chest as not to scar his back "scars on the back are a swords mans shame" You weren't a swords man but that didn't stop you form thinking that he would think less of you. Sanji the cook with amazing hands always admired your skin. He'd constantly complement it, the softness of your hands, cheek or legs. He says he loves every inch of you but would be really love the jagged rough scars on your back. You were about to turn tail and run when you heard a voice from the bathroom.

"Oi, who's their? Stop being a Perv and show yourself" Zoro's voice came from the bathroom, you can hear the tension in his voice. You take a breath and step out holding the long towel wrapped around you in a strong grip. "Y/N" Sanji yells from his place in the bath outstretching his arms to you "You can be a pervert all you want my Love" You laugh at the comment, the feeling of dread being push away. "Finally decided to join us?" Zoro asks beckoning for you to come over with one finger. They both looked so handsome in the steaming water. Zoro's back against the large bath looking back at you, his arms stretched out and a small towel on his head, his smile almost cocky as he flexes his index finger into his hand. Sanji kneeling in the bath the water just covering his waist, his thin yet chiseled chest on displace. his hair was wet, it sticking to his face shaping it perfectly, they took your breath away.

"My love. i know were both amazing to look at but id rather you admire us up close" Sanji's voice snapped you out of it a dark red blush forming on your face. Both boys had a large smile on their faces liking the way you looked at them "Sorry" you stiffen a little walking closer to the bath. Zoro held his hands up for you to take helping you step into the bath. The water warm and soothing to the touch, your feet where just in when Sanji took your hips it made you flinch and both boys noticed, a short of shocked look formed on their faces. "Im sorry my love did i do something wrong?" he asks taking his hands off your hips. You didn't mean to flinch, they were always so kind to you, never crossing any boundaries you set, their touch was something you love, never mean or hateful just full of love. You placed your hand on Sanji's shoulder reassuring him "No not at all... im just a little... nervous is all. Could you both not look please" The cook seems to relax at your words doing as he's told and turning his back to you, as much as he wants to look to see all of you he knows its best not to. he wants you to trust him knowing at some point he will see you just only when your ready. Zoro has no problem turning his back to you, he's confused as to why your so against them seeing you though, your always so confident in your self and take great care of your body so why hide it form them.

You take your towel off and place it on the side sitting down in the water, the warmth feels so nice on your skin washing away all of the days stress. You slide further down into the bath till the water is up to your collar bones, you would go lower but you'd be in a very uncomfortable position "Ok" you say after composing yourself. Zoro turns and moves over next to you placing his arm around you kissing your cheek, you lean in feeling more relaxed now the worst part is over. Sanji joins sitting next to you and lays his head on your exposed shoulder "there's no need to be nervous. We're not gonna do anything" Zoro states wondering if thats whats causing you to worry. you smile up at him and nod "I know. you both are really sweet" your hands reach out of the water to place a hand each on their cheeks rubbing your wet thumb over their cheek. Sanji takes your hand and kisses your palm humming slightly at your touch "So soft" he whispers into you hand, it sends shivers down your spine, he touches you with such gentle hands it makes you swoon over him.

After a little while of relaxing with them and feeling more comfortable Zoro grabs the soap and starts washing his arms while sanji takes his body wash and offers it to you. "Thank you" you wash your arms and face, lifting your legs out the water to wash them only for Zoro to take your leg in his hands "let me" he sates taking the soap and running it over your wet leg and foot. your transfixed by this you heart almost pounding out your chest. "Want me to get your back?" Sanji says placing a hand under the water and onto your lower back touching on of your many scars. You jolt away almost kicking Zoro in the face in the process "NO" The sudden change in you shocked the boys. if you weren't comfortable with something you would just tell them so but you've never yelled or acted out almost hitting them. Unfortunately your fight or flight response kicks in and this time your body chose flight. You stand up quickly about to grab your towel and run when Sanji's hands grab your arms and pull you into him. The two of you standing in the bath as he held you close to his chest one hand around your waist and the other on the back of your head. "Shhhhhh, its ok." he soothes you lightly stroking your hair. he felt the scars, he knew thats what you didn't want them to see and even though he didn't even get a look at them he knew he would never hate them.

Zoro rose form where he was rubbing water and soap off his face glad that you misses his face with your kick. "Its hideous... please... don't hate me" your voice shaky, uneven breaths and a pounding heart threatening to tare you apart. A hand slides up your back Zoro taking in your scars, he's seen these types of scars before anger builds up in his body wanting to know who did this to you and where they are now but it was Sanji who brought him back running his hand up your back to meet the sword mans. They looked at each other realizing what was important now was you, not who did this. You flinch when a pair of lips place a kiss on one of of your scars, the worst one in between your shoulder blades travailing from one to the other in a diagonal motion. Taking your face out of sanji's chest you look behind you to see Zoro, his hands travailing up and down your waist while laying kisses across every scar you have. The tears in your eyes now falling down your cheeks "Why?" you let out not understanding some one showing such kindness to a horrible sight. Sanji takes his hand off your back and places it under your chin making you face him "Its a part of you. How can we not love it" your hand moved up to cover your mouth trying to stop the sobs from coming out but failing miserably.

Relief washed over your body, they didn't hate you, they didn't think your were ugly or weak, they didn't think less of you and it filled your heart with such happiness. Zoro finished kissing every scar making his way up your spine to the back of your neck "Your amazing baby" his words full of love "He's right you are amazing" Sanji followed up his hand reaching behind your back to run his fingers down your spin. "No more tears baby." Zoro says rubbing away the tears that rolled down your cheek, "Im sorry" You bit your lower lip composing yourself managing to stop the tears. "sit down love" Sanji helps sit you down in the water leaning your back against the bath again, a question still ran through your head though, looking at the two boys as they sit next to you, one on either side. "I dont get it. Why dont you hate them?" you asked wanting an answer. "Why would we hate them? We all have some kind of scar" Zoro notes pointing to his eye then chest. "I know that but scars on the back are a shame" you look up at Zoro, he couldn't believe you remembered that form all those years ago before he can respond you turn to face Sanji "Their rough not soft like the rest of my skin that you praise." Sanji looks down slightly and takes your hand not knowing what to say. he knows complementing your scars isn't a good thing right now. He tries to think of a way to convince you that their not ugly.

A silence fills the room, you thought maybe you shouldn't have said anything until Zoro moved closer pressing his lips onto yours, it was sudden and rough but you loved it leaning in as he places a hand against your neck deepening the kiss by pushing his tongue into your mouth, a soft moan left his mouth before pulling away "You are no shame. Your strong and no old scars are gonna take that away form you." he states before looking up at Sanji who had a loving smile on his face "isn't that right, Sanji" he asks giving the cook a small smile. Sanji move you so your back is pressed up against his chest and wrapping his arms around you hugging your torso. Zoro moving closer almost over you your noses almost touching as he looks into you eyes "He's right Mi amor. Your ours and we will never let anyone touch you like that again, although im sure you can kick their ass better than we can" you can feel the smirk on his lips against your neck. You are loved, all of you is loved, your strong, brave and kind. They only helped reassure you of that fact, you were a god/goddess in their eyes and you saw them the same way.

hope you enjoyed. I loved writing this and like i said before yes i cried. writing down words that i wish were said to me made me more passionate about this. I hope you all know that no matter what you look like your all beautiful and strong. Thank you for all the love so far.

#one piece #zoro x reader #polly relationship #sanji x reader #sanji x zoro #one piece headcanons #roronoa zoro #zoro x sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #zosan x reader #zosan

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theshiniestgemstone · 2 months ago

Note

How do you think everyone in the family would react to Gideon bringing home a trans man for the family to meet? 🏳️‍⚧️

Personally, I think it’d be a mix of praise, confusion, and acceptance.

I mean, as self-centered and ridiculous as the family may be, they’re open to everything because they’re true believers in Christ and loving one another.

Eli: Eli’s initial reaction would probably be stoic and quiet. He might not fully understand right away, but he’s also not the kind of man to make a scene or say something out of turn. He’d likely pull Gideon aside later to ask sincere (but maybe clumsily worded) questions. Not out of judgment, of course. Over time, and especially when he sees that the relationship is serious and rooted in love, he’d offer steady support. He’s still lost on some concepts as many older people are, but he’s trying.

Jesse: Jesse would 100% put his foot in his mouth at some point, probably immediately. (I also feel he wouldn’t catch on for a few weeks) Something like, “Wait, for real? Like he used to be a… Oh. Oh, okay. Cool. Coolcoolcool.” But he’d mean well, even if he’s bumbling. He’d try so hard to say the right thing and probably overcompensate by acting like they’re best bros way too fast: “You like football? You ever been to a gun range? You’re family now, man!” It’d be awkward but earnest, and once he got past his own confusion, he’d genuinely want to be welcoming.

Amber: Amber would probably surprise people by being the most quietly accepting right away. Her values are important to her, but she also has a fierce loyalty to her family and the people they care about. If she saw that he treated Gideon well and was part of his healing and growth, she’d offer a very warm welcome. She might be a bit guarded at first, but once she’s in, she’s all in with cooking meals, sending invites, calling him "honey" without missing a beat.

Judy: Judy would immediately go full ally mode. “Oh my GOD, I love that. You’re so brave. And hot, actually. Can I say that? I’m sayin’ it.” Very much, “You mess with him, I’ll kill you.” She’d defend him harder than anyone if anyone outside the family had anything to say.

BJ: BJ would be polite and deeply anxious about saying the wrong thing. He’d probably over-prepare with online research and use phrases like “gender-affirming” and “inclusive space” in conversation, trying very hard to be respectful and mindful of his preferences and beliefs, even if it doesn’t always stick. Once he relaxed a bit, he’d probably be one of the easiest to talk to and a soft-spoken, dependable ally.

Kelvin: Kelvin’s reaction be pretty chill. We see in s4 that he has a circle of queer people and drag queens. I think he’d get it on a spiritual level. He wants to learn specifically about his journey, always eager to talk about His love and how it can help you and either way. I think he’d be able to relate to certain aspects of feeling alienated in your own body.

Keefe: he would be absolutely kind and open. Absolutely zero judgment. He’d make a point of calling him by his name, using correct pronouns, and probably be the only one who doesn’t make it a thing at all. He’d talk to him about art or tattoos, and quietly offer a listening ear if needed.

Overall, I think they’d all be caring and loving. It’s proven within the show, and through my own interpretations, that they’re proud of moving forward. Even in the beginning when they gave Judy shit about living with BJ before they were married, they’re accepting of lifestyles that don’t mirror their own.

#gideon gemstone #answered asks #gideon gemstone x you #the righteous gemstone #gideon gemstone x reader #gideon gemstone x fem reader #the righteous gemstones #gideon gemstone fanfic #fanfic

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sysmedsaresexist · 2 years ago

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hey, thank you for taking the time to put together that post about childhood emotional neglect. I have a hard time wrapping my head around CEN as something to be pathologized because from where I stand it seems so universal--not sure if I knew a single person growing up whose emotional needs were consistently met by their parents, including people whose families i would've cut off my pinky finger to join. is there any chance you'd be willing to give me some examples of what a parent-child dynamic *without* CEN looks like?

Oh god

Okay, I'm going to give this a fair try, long post ahead. Skip to end for the TL;dr and my suggestion

---

This is a true story.

When I was five, I started having anxiety and panic attacks. Severe ones. They mostly presented in my ability to breathe sort of... Hiccupping. I would suddenly become INCREDIBLY aware of my breathing, and it physically felt slower, harder. Trying to talk to my mom never resulted in anything happening or changing, and I had already learned to not talk to my dad.

Combined with clear anxious tendencies, Tourette's, and a budding, severe case of OCD, this culminated in the conclusion that at any moment, ever, I could stop breathing. I took to sitting in front of fans, so that air could be forced in my face, I developed tics of sounds in my throat to make sure I was still breathing. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't function, I was scared to leave the house.

My grandmother was babysitting one night and I had the worst attack yet. Six year old me crumbled into my grandmother's lap, telling her what I was experiencing and how scared I was, and like no one was listening to me. I needed to go to the hospital, I demanded.

Now.

---

From here on out, this is not a true story.

My grandmother held me tightly, appalled that my mother hadn't gotten me any kind of help yet. She whispered soothing reassurances into my hair as she rocked me, calling my mom home from bingo.

At the very least, a quick trip to the ER (free) could ease my fears that I stopped breathing every ten minutes, and for the next half hour, she showed me ways to keep my mind busy while we waited and the next two times an attack hit she held my hand and said just breathe through it. See? You're still breathing.

By the time my mom was home, I was calmer, I told them I was okay and could be brave, and I slept like the dead that night. I knew I could always trust my grandmother.

---

That would have been my ideal situation. If I ever have children, this is how I want to be able to treat them.

With respect, and as if what they say matters and is real. I want them to feel heard and appreciated.

Now, here's the catch.

No one is perfect.

Maintaining those levels of attention, on top of working and other children and whatever else might be going on in your life, can be extremely difficult. Generational neglect and abuse mean that most parents don't even realize what's messed up and what's not.

My ideal situation won't be everyone else's.

Eventually, I will hurt someone, unintentionally. I will be low on spoons, or don't know them well enough to react appropriately to something. Maybe they don't want or need "coddling", and my method will be harmful.

TL;dr

In a way, it's reasonable to expect that emotional neglect is simply a fact of life, and different people will handle the effects differently.

When emotional neglect occurs repeatedly over a long period of time, it begins to have an effect on attachment and child development. The things you're excited about are so consistently brushed off that you start to believe the insidious thoughts in your head as you try to rationalize why they don't seem to care.

Your parents tell you so many times that you're overreacting that you begin to believe it and start keeping things to yourself.

Instead of looking at examples, answer these questions about situations in your past:

1) Would I have done something differently if the roles were reversed?

2) Were my emotional needs met?

3) Did I feel heard? Understood? Believed?

4) Were they interested, and being an active listener?

5) Did I leave the conversation feeling safe, and as if continuing to talk to this person was safe? Did I leave knowing I could approach this person again?

6) Does this one person repeatedly make you feel negatively about yourself or your interests? Is it a trend with them in particular?

Emotional neglect comes in ten thousand flavours-- most unintentional, most one-offs. Many of these situations will be handled by YOU just fine. Some will have more of an effect than others.

But when you're young and it's repeated, you learn bad habits and start to have bad thoughts about yourself.

#emotional neglect #answered asks #mod dude

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asmrbrainrot · 1 year ago

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The Gator Boys & The Moon Witch Ch4~

Slivers of the misty moonlight slipped in through the cabin window, scattering glowing fractals of light across the kitchen. Tonight had been…wild, to say the least. It was touch and go for awhile, but Timmy did surprisingly well under the pressure, and the two even managed to get Bodie (The man’s name, as she had figured out) back to his own bed where he was now sound asleep.

The younger gator on the other hand, did no such thing. Since Bodie had been stable, Timothy busied himself with any task he could find, no matter how trivial. Only now, had he found himself with literally nothing more to do than sit and wait. Esther placed her broom basket, (containing one sleeping Bella) in the corner of the room, glancing over at Timmy. The boy sat on a worn down old sofa, dark bags circling his sleep deprived eyes. The boy looked… well just terrible to be quite honest. But aside from the physical exhaustion it seemed that being left alone with nothing but his thoughts was eating at him.

Esther took the liberty of sitting down next to the fatigued youngster. “You were really brave, y'know.” She commented, “even if your plan wasn’t exactly-” she trailed off as stifled hiccups escaped the young man. He had been bottling up for what felt like forever, and now he had nothing to distract him. He drew his hands up to his face in a vain attempt to dam the river of emotion. A gentle touch guided them away. Timothy gazed up at the woman, watery, amber pools of remorse met deep, mahogany eyes. “Is my- is he?” He faltered, “is he gonna be okay?” The woman paused, studying the boy’s downcast expression. “He ain’t out of the woods yet, but the worst has passed.” She reassured, “We caught it in the nick of time too.” The halfblood seemed to calm somewhat at the women’s words. “He’s lucky to have you ya’know.” She commented, giving the boy a nudge with her shoulder. Despite her efforts this only seemed to worsen Timmy’s mood. His leathery tale wrapped around his legs, (which where now in the fetal position.) “No, um he-he’s really not.” He hiccuped, finally succumbing to the flood of emotion that he had been holding back for some time now.

Quiet, shivering sobs escaped the halfblood, as he cupped his face, ashamed. Esther placed a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder as he wept. Careful not to overwhelm him, she let the gator cry it out. Cry away all that poison that had been hurting him, all the guilt weighing him down. After what felt like hours Timothy was finally able to catch his breath. “I’m so sorry sweet pea,” she cooed, “I can only imagine you’ve got about a dozen bees in your bonnet right now…but you’ve got to understand this isn’t your fault-” “But it is!” The boy shot back, swatting the woman’s hand away, “He’s got shot because of me! Because I was being stupid! If I had just been more careful then maybe…” Timothy withdrew a little, Bodie would have tanned his hyde for snapping so rudely at anyone, let alone someone who had been so kind. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to- you've been so kind! And I just…” he faltered, observing Esther’s expression, “You didn’t deserve that, I’m sorry.”

The woman watched Timmy’s expression fall once more. “I was out fishin on the far side a’the swamp… didn’t tell Bodie where I was going, an when he came lookin for me, we were ambushed…'' he explained tearfully. Esther listened, she understood the feeling. “Exactly, ambushed.” She reaffirmed, “Listen we’re both plum wore out. Why don’t you get some sleep and we can sort this out in the morning?” “But what about-” “Dont worry I’ll watch over him.” Esther interjected. The boy nodded, still unconvinced but to tired to protest. Curling up on the couch the young man quickly nodded off. Esther withdrew a soft cotton blanket from her bag, placing it over the sleeping halfblood. “One more thing…” she mumbled. Squatting down to the broom basket, the witch gingerly scooped up the sleeping Bella, before placing her at Timmy’s side. The sleepy pup looked up at her mom, glassy black eyes protesting the move. “I’m sorry baby.” She whispered, “but he needs you right now.” The little fluff ball gave a begrudging huff before settling down at the boys side. Although neither Esther nor Timmy took notice of it, a small smile crossed the boy's face as he snuggled just a bit closer to Bella.

#gator boys #🐊🌙✨#Timmy #obsidian lantern #angst #Timmy angst #asmr roleplay #hurt/comfort #the gator boys and the moon witch #gator boys belongs to obsidian lantern #mage bunkshelf #siren son asmr #capitalmaudios #fanfiction #my fanfiction

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heathfall · 2 years ago

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HalfClan, Moons 7-12

Interesting things happening this moon(s)!

Moon 7: Frogpaw is now Frogears in honor of their spirit. They're still strange, but thanks to Nectarfoot, she's now also smart!

Speaking of Nectarfoot, she retires alongside Frogears' warriorhood. Being able to see Frogears through to warriorhood has done her good, and now she's calmed down and ready to settle down for her retirement.

(We'll see Frogears shortly. Don't worry.)

Also, Cricketstar catches yellowcough and loses a life. The dialogue said "several" lives but she was only down to eight, so.

Moon 8: Not much happens. Roachheart continues to be a bit of a prickly guy, complaining about people behind their back. Nectarfoot seems to be settling well into the elder's den, bickering with Alderfur.

Patrol time! We sent out Frogears, Marigoldfrost, Roachheart, and Cricketstar. They found a mysterious rabbit, shaking and moving rather un-rabbit like. After careful consideration, they hunted it and ate it as normal. Things seemed to be okay, but the thought lingers in all of their minds.

Moon 9: Cricketstar encouraged a fight between Clanmates, causing Frogears to gain a scar, and Alderfur was maimed by Cricketstar for questioning her leadership.

(Our brave new warrior, and literal old lady. I can't tell where Alderfur's scar is, but it's there. I guess the struggle of trying to keep a new Clan together is getting to Cricketstar?)

Her text says she's feeling sore. I bet she is, considering she's beating up her Clan.

Moon 10: Cricketstar's reign of terror continues. She injures Marigoldfrost (the other new warrior) and then retires Roachheart, who on the bright side is now wearing a very pretty lavender flower, given to him by Frogears.

Mousedapple tries, unsuccessfully, to convince Frogears to run away from the Clan together. He's the deputy, by the way.

(Marigoldfrost)

Cricketstar catches yellowcough again, and this time loses three more lives (down to five). I wonder if StarClan is trying to get rid of her? She keeps feeling a sense of dread.

(Roachheart is now living a great life in the elder's den. We now have three elders and five warriors, counting the deputy).

Patrol time! Brackentail takes Jasperstream, Turtlerun, and Mousedapple out on an herb collecting mission. They have a great time talking to a StarClan cat who comes down to join them.

Moon 11: Roachheart goes for a wander and is returned to the Clan.

Frogears and Cricketstar cross paths again. Frogears lies to Cricketstar, and finds the way Cricketstar acts increasingly uncomfortable. Meanwhile, Marigoldfrost imagines what having kits with Frogears would look like! How nice.

Moon 12: Not much happens this moon either. Jasperstream, Mousedapple, Frogears, and Marigoldfrost all go on a patrol, and hear an odd rustling from the border. Thankfully, it happens to be a mouse, and Frogears returns to camp with a big mouse hanging from her jaws.

Scene (Moon 10):

"What is the meaning of this treachery?" Frogears heard a yowl from the clearing. They crept out silently, spotting Marigoldfrost bristling at Cricketstar.

"I said, I will not lead a patrol into QuietClan territory," Marigoldfrost said, quietly. "They're far bigger than us. Things have been peaceful so far, but they won't stay that way if we try and invade our neighbors."

"I am your leader," Cricketstar said in a dangerous voice. She was far too thin for how early into leaf-bare it was, the yellowcough she had caught still ravaging her body. "You listen to me."

"I will not do it," Marigoldfrost replied. "Mousedapple will-"

"Mousedapple is not the leader. You will do wise to remember that, and remember your place."

"I will not." Cricketstar leapt at Marigoldfrost, screaming. Frogears could only watch as her leader bowled over her friend, flattening her against the cold ground. Despite her illness, she was strong, and had several years more practice than Marigoldfrost did. Marigoldfrost tried to shove her leader off, but to no avail.

"Cricketstar!" a voice that sounded like that of a lion roared. In a flash, a grey cat came sprinting into the clearing, breaking the two apart. Brackentail. "What in StarClan's name are you doing?"

"Punishing a traitor," snarled Cricketstar.

"Giving everyone yellowcough, more like. Go back to your den. You'll be a far kinder leader when you're well rested." Marigoldfrost still laid on the ground, and Frogears feared for a moment Cricketstar had killed her. At a nudge from Brackentail, though, she uneasily stood, blood dripping from her face.

"I'm sorry, dear," Brackentail said. "I'll get you cleaned up in just a moment." Brackentail left for her den. Frogears found that she could move at last, and crept over to Marigoldfrost. Her wounds looked deep, but Frogears had confidence in Brackentail.

"Why did she do that, Frogears?" Marigoldfrost asked softly, fear sparking in the eye that wasn't swelling closed. "Did I deserve that?"

"No. No," Frogears said. "No more than I did, or Alderfur did. There's something wrong with Cricketstar, Jasperstream is sure of it. If only Mousedapple could-"

"Mousedapple can't do anything," said Marigoldfrost bitterly, hunching back over. "I heard him talking about running away with you. What good is a deputy that runs away when things get hard?"

"I-" said Frogears. "I don't know." She shuffled closer to Marigoldfrost. "But I won't go with him. I'll stay here with you, no matter how hard it gets."

#warrior cats #warriors #heathfall #clangen #warrior cats clangen #halfclan #(sorry for any typos i have a hand brace now)

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youcancallmedrrobby · 19 days ago

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I made a seperate post about this, but I'm adding it to this gif set, because we all know visuals catch people's eyes, and this scene is so important. I'm going to get real personal in this post but it means a lot for you to take the time to read it... Putting this under a cut because I know it can be a sensitive topic and it got long...

I'm fat. And I don't think people realize the depths of the medical system's bias against fat people. Maybe you're aware it exists but unless you've lived it, it's hard to imagine how detrimental it can be. That bias costs lives.

I was placed on my first diet at 7. I missed out on school and social events to see dieticians. Every diet, every exercise program... none of it worked, but I certainly felt worse about myself each time. I viewed my weight as a moral failing because that's what the doctors told me, "you aren't trying hard enough." They were only concerned with appearance and not health. How do I know this? It turns out, there was a medical reason for my weight problems that nobody caught until I was in my 20s. They were so concerned with treating the symptom (my fatness), that they didn't care to look for the cause. Because in their minds, they already knew it - I was the cause. My moral failing. My laziness. My lack of discipline.

For two decades, I believed I was the problem. I hid every pain and illness away from my friends and family. I didn't want to give them any reason to judge me more - so I spent many years lonely in my own suffering. It isn't uncommon for fat people to avoid doctors. We know what is likely to happen from past experiences. We know our concerns are going to get dismissed with "if you lose weight, this will go away." The lazy doctor's solution to any ailment.

I've seen things get better over the years as doctors receive more training and as we understand different medical conditions better but then...

Last year, I had a medical emergency. I knew something was really wrong, so I braved up and went to the ER. The first thing the doctor told me was that if I wasn’t eating healthy, it would make sense that I wasn’t feeling well. I tried to explain that I do eat healthy and she just kept going back to that. I told her exactly what I ate in a typical day... she didn't listen (spoiler: fat people know how to eat healthy - probably more so than most people). When I finished, she said "if you continue to eat fatty foods, you're going to feel sick. Your body is designed to reject things like greasy chips."

I wasn't eating fatty foods (and even if I had been, that really wouldn't have been causing problems at the severity I was having them). So once again, I told her I had been eating low fat foods up until I had started getting sick. And at that point, I was so sick that I had actually not been able to stomach any food for a week. No matter what I said, she just kept saying the same thing over and over again. Her opinion was clear, "you are fat and you brought this pain upon yourself." She could not hear what I was saying because she had already decided what the issue was based on appearance.

I went home embarrassed and annoyed… but thankfully, I didn’t doubt myself because I know the ways things work now, I know to be aware of the bias... and that day, I knew something was wrong. I took the first avaliable appointment with my GP and spent the next few days in increasing pain. And wouldn't you know it... there was something wrong. And it didn't have anything to do with my size or diet. I was in emergency surgery less than a week after that initial ER visit. There is a HIGH probability, it would not have been an emergency procedure if that first ER doctor had seen anything besides my weight. Her bias resulted in prolonged pain and additional medical expenses. I made sure it didnt cost me my life, but it probably would have if I didn't make that GP appointment.

So... to have this discussion brought up on a popular show like The Pitt... wow. It got me very emotional. It is such an important discussion to have and one that I don't think is often portrayed in media (because the entertainment industry also has its own bias towards appearance). And yes, fatphobia is definitely not the only bias in the medical field - race, gender, disability, mental health, wealth... all important discussions. And I think The Pitt does a great job at looking at several of them (and will hopefully explore these themes further over many seasons).

Do I think McKay had a bias? I don't know, maybe. Probably. But I think most importantly, it highlights that we often aren't aware of our own biases until someone questions us. And when they do, I hope we all receive that feedback with the same grace and willingness to examine ourselves that she did.

THE PITT Dr. Heather Collins and Dr. Cassie Mckay -> 1x09 - 3:00 P.M.

#the pitt #cassie mckay #heather collins #If you only ever reblog one thing from me - please let it be this #tw fatphobia #tw medical #Personal #tw eating issues

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imaginespazzi · 3 months ago

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chapter 7🚨

It’s been a long night.

it’s been a long week actually

Instead they’d chosen to sit in an awkward silence that was suffocated by the lingering tensions of the last few weeks.

i’m also feeling the awkward tension

And that familiar urge -one that had once been so simple and easy to give into- had crept up Azzi’s spine; the urge to reach over and tangle their fingers together, to still the blonde.

do it i double dog dare you 🙂

Paige had continued to move restlessly, like she was waiting for something -somebody- to be her anchor.

let’s use words? 😭

But it didn’t feel like the right moment to talk about the injury and it sure as hell didn’t feel like the right time to talk about them- or at least what’s left of them.

what’s left of them? uhhhhhh😦

God, she really fucking misses Paige. Her Paige.

need this fixed NOW

Paige hums mockingly, “it’s okay Az. I’d be scared too if every time I backed out, I ended up crashing into something.”

okay one backing in is a skill and two a friendly banter???👀

“Baby you’ve done it at least six-” Paige pauses, her eyes widening as her brain catches up with the word -or really the word- that had just slipped involuntarily from her lips.

she said what now😮😮

Azzi doesn’t look away immediately, her eyelids blinking as she lets the term of endearment wash over her, seep into her veins and flood into her heart in a way that almost feels cathartic.

we’re making progress 🙂↕️

“Paige-” Azzi’s not quite sure exactly what else she wants to say -thinks say it again might not be the most appropriate thing to say right now- but it doesn’t matter because Paige doesn’t wait around to listen.

she said nope not today

And they’re so close together now -Paige’s lips right against the base of Azzi’s neck- that the younger girl can feel the blonde’s breath fanning against her skin. It causes an achingly familiar little shiver to run down her spine. Azzi gulps, blinking her eyes rapidly as she tries to focus on anything but the blue of Paige’s eyes and the reddish hue tingeing her cheeks.

i’m not falling for it. all this tension and it’s gonna end with an angst 😒

I wanna kiss you so fucking bad she thinks

UGGGGGGHHHHH

She wishes they were both brave enough to do something about that.

i also wish it too but the authors love to play around with people’s heart strings

Paige appreciates everything their teammates have done, it’s not what she needs right now. Still, the older girl -always the people pleaser- contort her features into a smile as she hobbles on crutches into the apartment, Azzi following warily behind, ready to catch her if she stumbles.

paige wanted that alone time and i don’t blame her

Paige hates -absolutely detests- being told that things are going to be fine when it feels like her whole world is crashing around her.

i wanna hug her🥺

And Azzi knows these things, because no matter what, Azzi knows Paige.

🥺🥺🥺🥺

“Do I need help dressing myself?,” Paige says, her voice dangerously low as the tension in the room thickens palpably, “No Evina. No I don’t fucking need help,” she curses and Azzi flinches, “I’m injured, not incompetent Evina. I can get fucking dressed by myself.”

oh no 😣

Azzi bites her lip, her fingers fidgeting with each other but when she speaks, there’s conviction in her voice, “I’m gonna stay.”

was it really ever a question mama E?

Every corner of this room is tainted with memories of what they had been, and what they’d never been able to become.

it will soon change don’t worry the authors aren’t that cruel

“I can’t do this without you,” she confesses in a whisper, her voice etched with uncharacteristic vulnerability as the teardrops begin to cascade down her rosy cheeks, “I can’t lose both. I can’t not have basketball and not have you. I need you Az. I really, really fucking need you.”

and my tears have started to fall

“You have me,” Azzi says slowly, as she turns her own body towards Paige’s, one of her hands instinctively reaching out to caress away the blonde’s tears, as her other hand finds Paige’s, finally tangling their together, “I’m right here P. You have me.”

oh thank goodness it ended on a good note. i’m happy that they’re slowly getting there

- - -

as always lovely writing and of course worth the wait. hope you have a great week and huskies in the final four wooo!

-🗑️

Do you know how much I appreciate you??

let’s use words? 😭 - now why would they do that? That's soooo boring.

i’m not falling for it. all this tension and it’s gonna end with an angst 😒 - okay but it technically did not!

i also wish it too but the authors love to play around with people’s heart strings - it's just so fun!!

it will soon change don’t worry the authors aren’t that cruel - oh aren't we?

#ask #fic talk #🗑️ anon my silly lovie <3 #angst is just so very fun ya feel me?

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charlenasaxen · 3 months ago

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Alice in Wonderland Quotes

“what is the use of a book,” thought Alice, “without pictures or conversation?”

“hear the Rabbit say to itself, “Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be late!”

“it flashed across her mind that she had never before seen a rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket, or a watch to take out of it”

“down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again”

“she looked at the sides of the well, and noticed that they were filled with cupboards and book-shelves”

“she did not like to drop the jar for fear of killing somebody, so managed to put it into one of the cupboards as she fell past it”

“Well!” thought Alice to herself, “after such a fall as this, I shall think nothing of tumbling down stairs! How brave they’ll all think me at home!”

“(for, you see, Alice had learnt several things of this sort in her lessons in the schoolroom, and though this was not a very good opportunity for showing off her knowledge, as there was no one to listen to her, still it was good practice)”

“(Alice had no idea what Latitude was, or Longitude either, but thought they were nice grand words to say.)”

“fancy curtseying as you’re falling through the air!”

“And what an ignorant little girl she’ll think me for asking! No, it’ll never do to ask: perhaps I shall see it written up somewhere.”

“you might catch a bat, and that’s very like a mouse, you know. But do cats eat bats, I wonder?”

“for, you see, as she couldn’t answer either question, it didn’t much matter which way she put it”

“just begun to dream that she was walking hand in hand with Dinah, and saying to her very earnestly, “Now, Dinah, tell me the truth: did you ever eat a bat?”

“Oh my ears and whiskers, how late it’s getting!”

“the loveliest garden you ever saw. How she longed to get out of that dark hall, and wander about among those beds of bright flowers and those cool fountains”

“she could not even get her head though the doorway; “and even if my head would go through,” thought poor Alice, “it would be of very little use without my shoulders. Oh, how I wish I could shut up like a telescope! I think I could, if I only knew how to begin.”

“or at any rate a book of rules for shutting people up like telescopes”

“It was all very well to say “Drink me,” but the wise little Alice was not going to do that in a hurry. “No, I’ll look first,” she said, “and see whether it’s marked ‘poison’ or not”

“she had read several nice little histories about children who had got burnt, and eaten up by wild beasts and other unpleasant things”

“such as, that a red-hot poker will burn you if you hold it too long; and that if you cut your finger very deeply with a knife, it usually bleeds”

“she had never forgotten that, if you drink much from a bottle marked “poison,” it is almost certain to disagree with you, sooner or later”

“However, this bottle was not marked “poison,” so Alice ventured to taste it”

“so it was indeed: she was now only ten inches high, and her face brightened up at the thought that she was now the right size for going through the little door”

“she tried to fancy what the flame of a candle is like after the candle is blown out, for she could not remember ever having seen such a thing”

“said Alice to herself, rather sharply; “I advise you to leave off this minute!” She generally gave herself very good advice”

“sometimes she scolded herself so severely as to bring tears into her eyes; and once she remembered trying to box her own ears for having cheated herself in a game of croquet she was playing against herself”

“Why, there’s hardly enough of me left to make one respectable person!”

“Oh, my poor little feet, I wonder who will put on your shoes and stockings for you now, dears? I’m sure I shan’t be able! I shall be a great deal too far off to trouble myself”

“I must be kind to them,” thought Alice, “or perhaps they won’t walk the way I want to go! Let me see: I’ll give them a new pair of boots every Christmas.”

“They must go by the carrier,” she thought; “and how funny it’ll seem, sending presents to one’s own feet!”

“It was the White Rabbit returning, splendidly dressed, with a pair of white kid gloves”

“oh dear, how puzzling it all is! I’ll try if I know all the things I used to know. Let me see: four times five is twelve, and four times six is thirteen”

“let’s try Geography. London is the capital of Paris, and Paris is the capital of Rome, and Rome –”

“Tell me that first, and then, if I like being that person, I’ll come up: if not, I’ll stay down here”

“Her first idea was that she had somehow fallen into the sea, “and in that case I can go back by railway”

“I shall be punished for it now, I suppose, by being drowned in my own tears!”

“O Mouse!” (Alice thought this must be the right way of speaking to a mouse: she had never done such a thing before)”

“Perhaps it doesn’t understand English,” thought Alice; “I daresay it’s a French mouse, come over with William the Conqueror.” (For, with all her knowledge of history, Alice had no very clear notion how long ago anything had happened.)”

“Où est ma chatte?” which was the first sentence in her French lesson-book. The Mouse gave a sudden leap”

“seemed to quiver all over with fright. “Oh, I beg your pardon!” cried Alice hastily, afraid that she had hurt the poor animal’s feelings. “I quite forgot you didn’t like cats.”

“I think you’d take a fancy to cats if you could only see her. She is such a dear quiet thing”

“she is such a nice soft thing to nurse – and she’s such a capital one for catching mice – oh, I beg your pardon!”

“Are you – are you fond – of – of dogs?”

“So she called softly after it, “Mouse dear! Do come back”

“animals that had fallen into it: there were a Duck and a Dodo, a Lory and an Eaglet, and several other curious creatures. Alice led the way, and the whole party swam to the shore.”

“The first question of course was, how to get dry again: they had a consultation about this”

“after a few minutes it seemed quite natural to Alice to find herself talking familiarly with them, as if she had known them all her life”

“she had quite a long argument with the Lory, who at last turned sulky, and would only say, “I am older than you, and must know better”; and this Alice would not allow without knowing how old it was, and, as the Lory positively refused to tell its age, there was no more to be said”

“At last the Mouse, who seemed to be a person of authority among them, called out, “Sit down, all of you”

“are you all ready? This is the driest thing I know. Silence all round, if you please! ‘William the Conqueror, whose cause was favoured by the pope”

“Found it,” the Mouse replied rather crossly: “of course you know what ‘it’ means.”

“But the insolence of his Normans – ’ How are you getting on now, my dear?” it continued, turning to Alice as it spoke”

“but the Dodo had paused as if it thought that somebody ought to speak, and no one else seemed inclined”

“they began running when they liked, and left off when they liked, so that it was not easy to know when the race was over”

“the Dodo suddenly called out “the race is over!” and they all crowded round it, panting, and asking, “But who has won?”

“the Dodo could not answer without a great deal of thought, and it sat for a long time with one finger pressed upon its forehead”

“the rest waited in silence. At last the Dodo said, “Everybody has won, and all must have prizes.”

“pointing to Alice with one finger; and the whole party at once crowded round her, calling out in a confused way, “Prizes! Prizes!”

“the Dodo solemnly presented the thimble, saying “We beg your acceptance of this elegant thimble”

“they all looked so grave that she did not dare to laugh; and, as she could not think of anything to say, she simply bowed”

“the small ones choked and had to be patted on the back. However, it was over at last, and they sat down again in a ring, and begged the Mouse to tell them something more.”

“It is a long tail, certainly,” said Alice, looking down with wonder at the Mouse’s tail; “but why do you call it sad?”

“You are not attending!” said the Mouse to Alice severely. “What are you thinking of?”

“I didn’t mean it!” pleaded poor Alice. “But you’re so easily offended, you know!”The Mouse only growled in reply.”

“I wish I had our Dinah here, I know I do!” said Alice aloud, addressing nobody in particular. “She’d soon fetch it back!”

“Alice replied eagerly, for she was always ready to talk about her pet”

“I wish you could see her after the birds! Why, she’ll eat a little bird as soon as look at it!”This speech caused a remarkable sensation among the party.”

“a Canary called out in a trembling voice to its children, “Come away”

“the Duchess! The Duchess! Oh my dear paws! Oh my fur and whiskers! She’ll get me executed, as sure as ferrets are ferrets!”

“she came upon a neat little house, on the door of which was a bright brass plate with the name “W. RABBIT”

“She went in without knocking, and hurried upstairs, in great fear”

“How queer it seems,” Alice said to herself, “to be going messages for a rabbit! I suppose Dinah’ll be sending me on messages next!”

“It was much pleasanter at home,” thought poor Alice, “when one wasn’t always growing larger and smaller, and being ordered about by mice and rabbits”

“Alice knew it was the Rabbit coming to look for her”

“An arm, you goose! Who ever saw one that size? Why, it fills the whole window!”

“it’s coming down! Heads below!” (a loud crash) – “Now, who did that?”

“Bill’s to go down – Here, Bill! the master says you’re to go down the chimney!”

“The first thing she heard was a general chorus of “there goes Bill!” then the Rabbit’s voice along – “Catch him, you by the hedge!”

“found quite a crowd of little animals and birds waiting outside. The poor little Lizard, Bill, was in the middle, being held up by two guinea-pigs”

“an excellent plan, no doubt, and very neatly and simply arranged; the only difficulty was, that she had not the smallest idea how to set about it”

“This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, “I – I hardly know, sir”

“at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.”

“I can’t explain myself, I’m afraid, sir” said Alice, “because I’m not myself, you see.”

“I don’t see,” said the Caterpillar.”

“Well, perhaps your feelings may be different,” said Alice; “all I know is, it would feel very queer to me.”

“You!” said the Caterpillar contemptuously. “Who are you?”

Which brought them back again to the beginning”

“And yet you incessantly stand on your head –Do you think, at your age, it is right?”

“And argued each case with my wife;And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw,Has lasted the rest of my life.”

“Oh, I’m not particular as to size,” Alice hastily replied; “only one doesn’t like changing so often, you know.”

“As there seemed to be no chance of getting her hands up to her head, she tried to get her head down to them”

“a sharp hiss made her draw back in a hurry: a large pigeon had flown into her face, and was beating her violently with its wings”

“Serpent!” screamed the Pigeon.“I’m not a serpent!” said Alice indignantly. “Let me alone!”“Serpent, I say again!”

“A likely story indeed!” said the Pigeon”

“if they do, why then they’re a kind of serpent, that’s all I can say.”This was such a new idea to Alice, that she was quite silent”

“what does it matter to me whether you’re a little girl or a serpent?”“It matters a good deal to me”

“I shouldn’t want yours: I don’t like them raw.”

“growing sometimes taller and sometimes shorter, until she had succeeded in bringing herself down to her usual height”

“(she considered him to be a footman because he was in livery: otherwise, judging by his face only, she would have called him a fish)”

“Then they both bowed low, and their curls got entangled together”

“There’s no sort of use in knocking,” said the Footman, “and that for two reasons. First, because I’m on the same side of the door as you are”

“The only things in the kitchen that did not sneeze, were the cook, and a large cat”

“I don’t know of any that do,” Alice said very politely, feeling quite pleased to have got into a conversation”

“she felt that it would be quite absurd for her to carry it further”

“she began thinking over other children she knew, who might do very well as pigs”

“Cheshire Puss,” she began, rather timidly”

“I don’t much care where – ” said Alice.“Then it doesn’t matter which way you go,” said the Cat.”

“But I don’t want to go among mad people,” Alice remarked.“Oh, you can’t help that,” said the Cat: “we’re all mad here.”

“How do you know I’m mad?” said Alice.“You must be,” said the Cat, “or you wouldn’t have come here.”

“I wish you wouldn’t keep appearing and vanishing so suddenly: you make one quite giddy.”“All right,” said the Cat; and this time it vanished quite slowly”

“Well! I’ve often seen a cat without a grin,” thought Alice; “but a grin without a cat!”

“Suppose it should be raving mad after all! I almost wish I’d gone to see the Hatter instead!”

“the other two were using it as a cushion, resting their elbows on it, and talking over its head. “Very uncomfortable for the Dormouse,” thought Alice; “only, as it’s asleep, I suppose it doesn’t mind.”

“There isn’t any,” said the March Hare.

“Then it wasn’t very civil of you to offer it,” said Alice angrily.”

“we shall have some fun now!” thought Alice. “I’m glad they’ve begun asking riddles”

“It was the best butter,” the March Hare meekly replied.“Yes, but some crumbs must have got in as well,” the Hatter grumbled: “you shouldn’t have put it in with the bread-knife.”

“You might just as well say,” added the Dormouse, who seemed to be talking in his sleep, “that ‘I breathe when I sleep’ is the same thing as ‘I sleep when I breathe’!”

“It is the same thing with you,” said the Hatter, and here the conversation dropped, and the party sat silent”

“Ah! that accounts for it,” said the Hatter. “He won’t stand beating. Now, if you only kept on good terms with him”

“but then – I shouldn’t be hungry for it, you know.”

“Not I!” he replied. “We quarrelled last March”

“Up above the world you flyLike a tea-tray in the sky. Twinkle, twinkle – ’”

“ever since that,” the Hatter went on in a mournful tone, “he won’t do a thing I ask! It’s always six o’clock now.”

“it’s always tea-time, and we’ve no time to wash the things between whiles.”

“I’m getting tired of this. I vote the young lady tells us a story.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know one,” said Alice, rather alarmed”

“Then the Dormouse shall!” they both cried. “Wake up, Dormouse!”

“I’ve had nothing yet,” Alice replied in an offended tone, “so I can’t take more.”

“Dormouse sulkily remarked, “If you can’t be civil, you’d better finish the story for yourself.”

“What did they draw?” said Alice, quite forgetting her promise.

“Treacle,” said the Dormouse, without considering at all this time.”

“I want a clean cup,” interrupted the Hatter: “let’s all move one place on.”

“This answer so confused poor Alice, that she let the Dormouse go on for some time without interrupting”

“Why with an M?” said Alice.

“Why not?” said the March Hare.

Alice was silent.”

“the last time she saw them, they were trying to put the Dormouse into the teapot”

“Once more she found herself in the long hall, and close to the little glass table. “Now, I’ll manage better this time”

“she walked down the little passage: and then – she found herself at last in the beautiful garden, among the bright flower-beds and the cool fountains”

“A large rose-tree stood near the entrance of the garden: the roses growing on it were white, but there were three gardeners at it, busily painting them red”

“Why the fact is, you see, Miss, this here ought to have been a red rose-tree, and we put a white one in by mistake; and if the Queen was to find it out, we should all have our heads cut off”

“called out “The Queen! The Queen!” and the three gardeners instantly threw themselves flat upon their faces”

“next the ten courtiers; these were ornamented all over with diamonds”

“mostly Kings and Queens, and among them Alice recognised the White Rabbit”

“Then followed the Knave of Hearts, carrying the King’s crown”

“besides, what would be the use of a procession,” thought she, “if people had all to lie down upon their faces, so that they couldn’t see”

“for, you see, as they were lying on their faces, and the pattern on their backs was the same as the rest of the pack, she could not tell whether they were gardeners, or soldiers, or courtiers, or three of her own children”

“Nonsense!” said Alice, very loudly and decidedly, and the Queen was silent”

“the unfortunate gardeners, who ran to Alice for protection. “You shan’t be beheaded!” said Alice, and she put them into a large flower-pot”

“Are their heads off?” shouted the Queen.“Their heads are gone, if it please your Majesty!”

“the balls were live hedgehogs, the mallets live flamingoes”

“The chief difficulty Alice found at first was in managing her flamingo”

“as the doubled-up soldiers were always getting up and walking off to other parts of the ground, Alice soon came to the conclusion that it was a very difficult game indeed”

“The players all played at once without waiting for turns, quarrelling all the while, and fighting”

“she knew that it might happen any minute, “and then,” thought she, “what would become of me? They’re dreadfully fond of beheading people here; the great wonder is, that there’s any one left alive!”

“she said to herself “It’s the Cheshire Cat: now I shall have somebody to talk to.”

“It’s no use speaking to it,” she thought, “till its ears have come, or at least one of them.”

“there’s the arch I’ve got to go through next walking about at the other end of the ground – and I should have croqueted the Queen’s hedgehog just now, only it ran away when it saw mine coming!”

“said the King: “however, it may kiss my hand if it likes.”

“I’d rather not”

“don’t look at me like that!” He got behind Alice as he spoke.”

“The Queen had only one way of settling all difficulties, great or small. “Off with his head!” she said, without even looking round.”

“the game was in such confusion that she never knew whether it was her turn or not. So she went in search of her hedgehog.”

“The hedgehog was engaged in a fight with another hedgehog, which seemed to Alice an excellent opportunity for croqueting one of them with the other: the only difficulty was, that her flamingo was gone across to the other side of the garden”

“she was surprised to find quite a large crowd collected round it: there was a dispute going on”

“The moment Alice appeared, she was appealed to by all three to settle the question”

“he had never had to do such a thing before, and he wasn’t going to begin at his time of life”

“King’s argument was, that anything that had a head could be beheaded, and that you weren’t to talk nonsense”

“Queen’s argument was, that if something wasn’t done about it in less than no time she’d have everybody executed, all round. (It was this last remark that had made the whole party look so grave and anxious.)”

“It belongs to the Duchess: you’d better ask her about it.”“She’s in prison”

“it had entirely disappeared; so the King and the executioner ran wildly up and down looking for it, while the rest of the party went back to the game”

“You can’t think how glad I am to see you again, you dear old thing!” said the Duchess, as she tucked her arm affectionately into Alice’s”

“Maybe it’s always pepper that makes people hot-tempered,” she went on, very much pleased at having found out a new kind of rule”

“Tut, tut, child!” said the Duchess. “Everything’s got a moral, if only you can find it.”

“flamingoes and mustard both bite. And the moral of that is – ‘Birds of a feather flock together.’”

“Only mustard isn’t a bird”

“either you or your head must be off, and that in about half no time! Take your choice!”

“all the players, except the King, the Queen, and Alice, were in custody and under sentence of execution”

“Alice heard the King say in a low voice, to the company generally, “You are all pardoned.”

“take this young lady to see the Mock Turtle, and to hear his history”

“we went to school in the sea. The master was an old Turtle – we used to call him Tortoise – ”

“We called him Tortoise because he taught us,” said the Mock Turtle angrily: “really you are very dull!”

“And washing?” said the Mock Turtle.

“Certainly not!” said Alice indignantly.

“Ah! then yours wasn’t a really good school”

“then the different branches of Arithmetic – Ambition, Distraction, Uglification, and Derision.”

“Alice did not feel encouraged to ask any more questions about it”

“Mystery, ancient and modern, with Seaography: then Drawling”

“used to come once a week: he taught us Drawling, Stretching, and Fainting in Coils.”

“I can’t show it you myself,” the Mock Turtle said: “I’m too stiff. And the Gryphon never learnt it.”

“he taught Laughing and Grief, they used to say.”

“So he did, so he did,” said the Gryphon, sighing in his turn; and both creatures hid their faces in their paws.”

“That’s the reason they’re called lessons,” the Gryphon remarked: “because they lessen from day to day.”

“You may not have lived much under the sea – ” (“I haven’t)”

“perhaps you were never even introduced to a lobster – ” (Alice began to say “I once tasted – ” but checked herself hastily, and said “No, never”)”

“They were obliged to have him with them,” the Mock Turtle said: “no wise fish would go anywhere without a porpoise.”

“why, if a fish came to me, and told me he was going a journey, I should say ‘With what porpoise?’”

“’Tis the voice of the Lobster; I heard him declare,

‘You have baked me too brown, I must sugar my hair.”

“And will talk in contemptuous tones of the Shark”

“marked, with one eye, How the Owl and the Panther were sharing a pie”

“Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup!

Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup!”

“more and more faintly came, carried on the breeze that followed them, the melancholy words: – “Soo – oop of the e – e – evening, Beautiful, beautiful Soup!”

“all sorts of little birds and beasts, as well as the whole pack of cards”

“The judge, by the way, was the King; and as he wore his crown over the wig, he did not look at all comfortable”

“rightly too, that very few little girls of her age knew the meaning of it at all”

“all the jurors were writing down “stupid things!” on their slates”

“she could even make out that one of them didn’t know how to spell “stupid,” and that he had to ask his neighbour to tell him”

“he was obliged to write with one finger for the rest of the day; and this was of very little use, as it left no mark on the slate”

“When did you begin?”

“Fourteenth of March, I think it was”

“the jury eagerly wrote down all three dates on their slates, and then added them up, and reduced the answer to shillings and pence”

“Take off your hat,” the King said to the Hatter.

“It isn’t mine,” said the Hatter.

“Stolen!” the King exclaimed”

“don’t be nervous, or I’ll have you executed on the spot.”

This did not seem to encourage the witness at all”

“looking uneasily at the Queen, and in his confusion he bit a large piece out of his teacup instead of the bread-and-butter”

“she decided to remain where she was as long as there was room for her.

“I wish you wouldn’t squeeze so.” said the Dormouse”

“You’ve no right to grow here,” said the Dormouse”

“the wretched Hatter trembled so, that he shook both his shoes off”

“the King repeated angrily, “or I’ll have you executed, whether you’re nervous or not.”

“It began with the tea,” the Hatter replied.“Of course twinkling begins with a T!”

“only the March Hare said – ”

“I didn’t!” the March Hare interrupted in a great hurry.”

“Well, at any rate, the Dormouse said – ” the Hatter went on, looking anxiously round to see if he would deny it too”

“That I can’t remember,” said the Hatter.

“You must remember,” remarked the King, “or I’ll have you executed.”

“I’m glad I’ve seen that done,” thought Alice. “I’ve so often read ‘suppressed’ and I never understood what it meant till now.”

“the Hatter hurriedly left the court, without even waiting to put his shoes on”

“Alice guessed who it was, even before she got into the court, by the way the people near the door began sneezing all at once”

“Give your evidence,” said the King.

“Shan’t,” said the cook.

The King looked anxiously at the White Rabbit”

“Treacle,” said a sleepy voice behind her.

“Collar that Dormouse”

“Behead that Dormouse! Turn that Dormouse out of court! Suppress him! Pinch him! Off with his whiskers!”

“Imagine her surprise, when the White Rabbit read out, at the top of his shrill little voice, the name “Alice!”

“she jumped up in such a hurry that she tipped over the jury-box with the edge of her skirt, upsetting all the jurymen”

“went on to himself in an undertone, “important – unimportant – unimportant – important – ” as if he were trying which word sounded best”

“You are,” said the King.

“Nearly two miles high,” added the Queen.”

“unless it was written to nobody, which isn’t usual, you know.”

“that only makes the matter worse. You must have meant some mischief, or else you’d have signed your name like an honest man.”

“Begin at the beginning,” the King said gravely, “and go on till you come to the end: then stop.”

“The jury all wrote down on their slates, “She doesn’t believe there’s an atom of meaning in it”

“If there’s no meaning in it,” said the King, “that saves a world of trouble, you know, as we needn’t try to find any”

“tried to beat them off, and found herself lying on the bank, with her head in the lap of her sister, who was gently brushing away some dead leaves”

“Why, what a long sleep you’ve had!”

“Oh, I’ve had such a curious dream!”

“how she would keep, through all her riper years, the simple and loving heart of her childhood”

“how she would gather about her other little children, and make their eyes bright and eager with many a strange tale, perhaps even with the dream of Wonderland of long ago”

“she would feel with all their simple sorrows, and find a pleasure in all their simple joys, remembering her own child-life, and the happy summer days”

#quotes #alice in wonderland

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