#born to be pretty forced to be ugly

[envy-of-the-apple]

Moon Starves Sun (FULL VERSION)

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

Word Count: 5.8k

Part one: Sun Eats Moon

Part two: Earth Kills Moon

(Warnings: forced relationship, implied nsfw content, implied noncon/dubcon, dark content, implied baby trapping)

When Satoru's close like this, he can hear your heartbeat. 

It's been a while. Ten years. An entire decade. Everything about this is different, yet so familiar. He feels like he's finally reached the shores, feeling the warm sands underneath his feet. Like he's been given his favorite food after being starved for years. Everything melts. Everything except for you. 

He'd like to stay like this forever, listening to your rabbit heartbeat, feeling your soft skin, but for your sake, he pulls himself off you. Lying on a wooden desk probably isn't that comfortable. 

Your eyes are shut. Your breathing is shallow. You're so pretty like this under the moonlight. Your clothes are barely hanging onto your body. He can see every mark he's left on you. Part of him wants to make more, but he'll let you off the hook for now. He's nice like that. 

"Still with me?" 

Your eyes flutter open. You don't respond, but at least you're not crying anymore. He can work with that. 

"C'mon, pretty girl," he says, voice soft, "let's piece you back together." 

The belt left lines on your wrists. He'll kiss them better later. For now, Satoru collects your clothes and heels from the floor, placing them on the desk. He helps you reclasp your bra, runs his fingers on your arms when you finish buttoning your blouse. It's a quiet affair. Every so often, he'd catch your eyes. You don't let yourself linger for long. Satoru finds that a little cute. 

You say nothing when he wraps an arm around your waist, guiding you out of his office. Maybe you're still dazed, still gathering yourself back up, because you don't struggle as much as he predicted. You try to leave his grip when the two of you reach the lobby. He's quick to stop you. 

"Where, do you think you're goin'?" He grips your wrist when you take a step away. 

You look at him, eyes shimmering like water. 

You swallow. "My apartment. I—I need to go back—" 

He clicks his tongue, bringing you back in. 

"We can get your stuff later." He tells you with a grin. "let's just go home, tonight. I'm exhausted." 

You open your mouth. Satoru waits. You say nothing, and he thinks you're starting to get it. 

The moon is a dusky red tonight. Satoru thinks it's an ugly color. 

☾

If Satoru could describe you in one word, it would be: predicatable. 

Normal, boring, a speck in the crowd—none of these are bad things. Just like how much of the universe is nothing, you're an empty void, too. Not everyone can be like him. From the minute he was born, Satoru was destined for greatness—a prodigy, heir to a millionaire conglomerate, the Sun itself. His life isn't written on his forehead for everyone to read. 

You are the exact opposite. Completely unassuming. He practically knows everything about you without even having to ask. 

Like how Satoru can instantly tell you've never been over to a boy's room before. 

You've probably never even been in a relationship before him, either. Even before he managed to corral you into his arms, you were always so annoying about the other things like school and friends. Though, you don't really have much of the latter anymore. His fault, Suguru never fails to remind him. 

He watches as your eyes linger over his shelf: the numerous trophies and awards. You're still standing meekly in the corner, still garbed in your school uniform, clutching your backpack. He has to roll his eyes at how obviously you're trying not to look at him. 

"What're you waitin' for?" He finally asks. You jump, eyes flitting over to find him before you find the floor. He resists the urge to roll his eyes again.

It's not like you two haven't done shit before. You sucked him off twice now, and he's finger fucked you against the bleachers. You should really stop being such a prude. 

"C'mere, pretty girl." 

You comply, dropping your bag, making your way to the bed. When you look at him from beneath your lashes, warily expectant, Satoru feels a thrill rushing through his body. 

He's always been impatient. It's in his nature to take. He nips at your mouth, eager to taste your soul from your soft lips. Soft. Everything about you is so soft—Malleable beneath his fingers. 

Satoru didn't explicitly say what his plan was, but you aren't stupid. He can tell you know what's about to happen when you stiffen in his hold, turn to stone within his grip. He would've allowed it if you hadn't gripped onto his shirt, pulling yourself away from his feasting. 

"Satoru?" You whisper, still leaning away. "The door...?" 

Annoyed, he glances over. His room is open. It shouldn't really matter. 

"It's fine." Satoru tells you. "No one's here." No one's ever here. 

You still look panicked, hands gripping his shirt. Satoru finds that adorably pathetic. How helpless you are. How that's all because of him.

He's sure to make a big show of it. Satoru gives a dramatic sigh, slumps his shoulders, but eventually pushes himself off the mattress to push at the door. He even clicks it shut. He's too nice, sometimes. 

"Happy?" You nod, you don't look very relaxed but your shoulders have dropped a bit. 

Satoru doesn't feel too guilty pushing you down, not when you're already in his bed. He isn't known for his patience. He tastes your skin, leaving marks when he can: teeth bites. He pushes you down down down down so he can sink his teeth into your flesh.

You're asleep and under the covers by the time he's done. The moon's out too. Satoru watches it, largely unimpressed. It's so tiny, a sliver of glowing white. 

And then you shift, turning ever so slightly, enough to catch his attention. He should probably kick you out and send you home. That's what he usually does. When he gets into bed with you, draping his arms around your limp body, he convinces himself it's because he's tired and waking you up would be too much of an effort. 

He lets himself enjoy your warmth; it's nothing like the cold glow of the moon. 

☾

Sometimes, even Gojo Satoru wonders if he's dreaming. 

Sometimes, life is too perfect for him to realize it is real. Everything falls perfectly in place, fitting together like those jigsaw puzzles his caretakers used to distract him with halfheartedly. 

You're in his kitchen, chopping vegetables. 

It had already been a few weeks, but he still wasn't used to this. You, being in his home, in his kitchen, in his bed. Satoru thinks he's masking it well, but his mind is still reeling, it's a difficult adjustment. 

Not a bad one. 

It's like he's been drowning for years and he can suddenly breathe when he sees your toothbrush next to his. It's like he's been stabbed and waking up to your sleeping face is the aloe. It's like he's been suffering through a blizzard, and you cooking in his kitchen, humming a song he doesn't know, is the warm sunny day. 

Things have changed since he brought you home. His home doesn't feel incomplete anymore. As though the apartment itself has agreed that this is where you belong. There are more clothes in his closet, more shoes by the door. The space is ever so slightly less empty and it fills him with tangible relief. He can cook a meal, but it's still nice coming home to something warm already made. 

It makes Satoru wonder what things could have been like, had it not been taken away from him. 

You flinch when he wraps his hands around your waist, nestling into the space in your shoulder. You hadn't heard him come in, apparently. Regardless, you don't linger, fingers hesitating before resuming your task. He finds this part of you adorable. Ignoring the thing that makes your heart race, as though he'll just fade away into the shadows. 

It's his ego that makes him slink into your warm skin, making sure you know he isn't going anywhere. 

"Smells good," he says. 

You nod, pushing away the bell peppers in favor of the onions. Unlike him, you acclimated extremely well. It'd taken nothing to lightly push you to add more and more stuff from your apartment to his. You quietly moved from one setting to another. He remembered this trait of yours from high school. Go with the flow. 

Though, perhaps, it was less out of genuine apathy. Satoru doesn't have to say what will happen to you if you refuse him. He doesn't have to throw lectures about his family and the influence he has on you. He likes that you aren't stupidly brave. He likes that you're meeker, quieter. You pick your battles. 

But he thinks he'd like to see you crack, just one more time. 

"Hey," he says, "let's go out for dinner tomorrow night. There's this restaurant just out of town that has great shrimp cutlet." 

He expects you to nod, like you always do whenever he decides to do something impulsive and meaningless. Instead, you bite your lip. 

"I can't." You mutter after a minute of silence. "I have work. Mr. Higuruma just closed a deal and—and I think I'll be coming home later and later this week." 

Home. It's enough to make his heart flutter. It's the first time you've called the apartment that. Your words almost make him forget about the second thing you said.

Higuruma. The lawyer guy with dead eyes. Satoru remembers him. He always looked at Satoru like he was a child, too stupid to do anything. He never liked how the guy looked at you. Besides, he was way too old for you, never mind that you were taken. You were always taken.

"Oh, right." Satoru gives an exaggerated sigh, fully leaning on you. "Work. What a shame." 

You nod, clearly thinking the conversation is done with. Satoru wasn't so charitable. 

"Y'know, you don't really have to work. Not anymore, pretty girl." His grip on your waist tightens ever so slightly as he pulls you towards his chest. Your hands freeze. The knife glints in your fingers. 

"I make plenty of money. You should just stay home. That way, you don't have to work shitty hours." 

You stiffen underneath his fingertips. He's disappointed when your skin turns frigid. When he peeks over your shoulder, intent to look at your face, there's a nervous smile twitching on your lips. 

"I don't think that's a good idea..." you trail off hesitantly. 

"Hm?" He tilts his head with faux confusion. "Why not?" 

The knife moves up and down, as though you can't decide whether to place it back on the cutting board. Satoru realizes it's your way of fidgeting. 

"It...it would just be unprofessional to leave when everything is so hectic." You finally decide on. 

Satoru scoffs. "So? Who cares. I'm sure everything will work itself out. Just rely on me, pretty girl." 

You don't like the answer, but you don't make a comment on it. Satoru just watches you rotate the knife in your hands. He wonders if you want to use it on him. Slice at his neck, leave him out to bleed on the pretty tile floor. Cut straight through his heart, ending it quickly. 

Or would you like to carve out his eye and keep it as a souvenir? He thinks he'd happily let you. It sounds romantic.

You don't do anything. Instead, you pull back your shoulders as if you're physically ready for war. 

"'Toru," you say gently, softly, and it works in his eyes, "I...can't let you support me like this. It's not right. It's not like we're married or anything." You laugh, like it's a joke. Satoru doesn't cave. 

"I mean, not yet." Satoru rocks you back and forth in his hold. "But gimme' some time to shop for a ring, okay? It needs to be perfect for my perfect girl." 

You follow his movements. He can see your mouth twitch out of the corner of his eye. Your eyes get glassy. 

He knows he's terrible, but he really wants you to crack. 

"You're right, Satoru." You say, "I'll put in my two weeks tomorrow." He grins in delight. 

"That's a great idea, baby." Satoru kisses you on the cheek.

Right, you pick your battles. 

☾

Satoru tells you he loves you, and you're gone, not even three days later. 

He breaks and shatters into pieces he'll never be able to put back. Each day without you is torture. He feels like a corpse, just going through the motions. His clothes feel looser. His skin doesn't feel like his own anymore. Every time he looks in the mirror, he sees someone he barely even recognizes. 

It's like you left with his heart. 

No, you ran away with his soul. 

One day, you were Satoru's, safely tucked underneath his arm...the next, you just weren't. 

His parents don't acknowledge it beyond casual disgust. Every time Suguru talks to him, Satoru can barely comprehend it. Days pass by. Everything reminds him of you. His bed feels emptier; he hates it when he reaches out to the space you used to take up and finds it cold. Your locker remains untouched. Nothing is ever the same. 

Satoru tries looking for you, but you're untraceable. No social media, no friends left to tell where you went, not even your fucking parents know where you are. 

You left him. 

You left him to rot. 

Denial comes first. It can't be. You wouldn't. You wouldn't fucking dare. Anger seeps in the next. For weeks, Satoru can only imagine what he'll do when he finds you. He'll break your legs this time. He'll squeeze your neck so hard that your head pops. He'll kill you over and over again until your corpse is begging to be forgiven. And he won't ever stop, because you're Satoru's. 

That doesn't stay for long. He feels himself get weaker day by day. Food tastes like dirt on his tongue. Any of his earlier vices are gone. 

He misses you. 

Why wouldn't he? You were his everything. 

Like all things, it passes. You aren't there to fuel the flames, so the fire wanes in his chest. The ache in his heart gets smaller and smaller. Things keep him busy. College. Then, his new position in the office. 

Ten years pass. He’s forgotten what you look like. But he remembers parts. Every so often, he sees a flicker of you within someone else. Your eyes are on another woman’s face. Your lips on a girl's smile. It irritates him to no end. It’s even worse when he starts seeking them out, keeping those parts of them for just the night. 

Sometimes, if he closes his eyes, he can still hear your voice—what he thinks is your voice—soft, needy Toru Toru Toru. 

“Gojo, sir?” 

He blinks. Ijichi stands in front of him. Satoru looks down at the meticulously crafted pages. 

“Mr. Higuruma needed you to sign this,” Ijichi lifts a paper filled with bureaucratic bullshit he pays other people to understand.

Why did Suguru take off now? 

“Sure sure,” Satoru says, “I’ll get it done.” 

Ijichi shifts nervously. “Well, it’d be best to finish it right now, Sir. His paralegal is just about to leave the building.” 

Oh, right. The lawyer’s assistant. Gojo could never get a good look at that person, but the assistant resembled a shaking deer to him at most times. He’s not even sure if they’ve ever talked to each other, but he always found the other a bit odd. Big eyes. A shaky expression. 

It was a little annoying to look at. 

☾

Some executive was throwing an office gala, and since he is Gojo Satoru, he needed to come along. 

And since you are Satoru's, you're dragged along too. 

Honestly, the only upside to this is you and that new dress he bought you. A velvet turquoise dress that he can't take his eyes off of. The gold jewelry draped across your neck makes you even more delectable. But his favorite part of the outfit is the shimmering diamond ring. 

The ceremony hadn't been anything extravagant. He'd just booked out one of his favorite restaurants, ordering lobster and sweet wine. He remembered hearing his heartbeat when he bent down on one knee, opening the elegant ringbox, like an oyster revealing its pearl. Looking back, he didn't know why he was so nervous: it's not like you'd say no. 

"What do you think of it?" He asked when you were back in his bed, bare from everything except that glistening ring. 

"It's pretty." You spoke, perfectly nestled in his chest. 

He feels in his heart when he hugs you, a small kiss in your hair. You say something, but he can't hear it; he is too preoccupied with feeling you in his arms. It's still so new, even after all these weeks. It's the anxiety, knowing at any second you could leave and he'd be nothing. He won't allow that, he can't. 

"I thought about something else, y'know?" He speaks quietly in your hair. "Ropes, chains, maybe. I could keep you here, forever. But—but then I realized how sad you'd get. I couldn't go through with it." 

You give no reaction. When he tilts your chin up to get a better look at you, your eyes are glassy. 

"You get that, right?" 

You nod. He's really too nice, sometimes. 

He spends the entire evening with you, tucked away in a corner, away from prying eyes. Just because he has to be there doesn't mean he has to be sociable. Every time someone walks up to him and you, a drink in one hand, he resists the urge to bite their head off, feigning politeness. He complains about their lack of decorum to you multiple times throughout the night, his head resting on your shoulder. You pliantly sit there, listening and nodding. 

About ten minutes after the last board member left, someone else walks up. By then, Satoru's patience has mostly declined. He peers over with disdain before he can really process who he's seeing. 

"Suguru!" He waves over. 

You stiffen, and Satoru remembers you haven't seen him in ten years. 

Suguru walks over with an easy smile on his face. He's nicely tanned, and Satoru is reminded of the pictures he sent over of the Maldives. Maybe that's where the honeymoon should be. 

"Had fun slacking?" Satoru asks with a grin; Suguru shrugs. 

When his eyes meet yours, he feigns delighted surprise. Suguru speaks your name with practiced shock. It's imperfect, only Satoru can see the amusement dripping from his fangs. 

"Long time, no see!" Effortlessly, Suguru corrals you into a hug. You follow, giving into the cold touch of affection before pulling away back to him. 

"Hello, Geto." You say when you're rightfully by his side again. "It's nice to see you again." 

Suguru laughs, light and airy. "You as well!" He looks at your hands, tilts his head. "Oh? Congratulations, you two! When's the date?" 

"Eh, we'll figure that out later." Satoru gives a quick kiss on your cheek. "Everything happened so fast, y'know? Us reuniting and everything: It feels like fate." Suguru's eyes flash. "Let's not rush this. We'll take our time." 

Suguru nods along thoughtfully. He's looking right at you, and you stare right back. Not used to feeling left out, Satoru is quick to intervene. 

The conversation is light, two long-time friends reuniting after a long spell. You stay quiet like decor, settling into Satoru's side. Suguru doesn't acknowledge you after that. 

"We gotta' go. It's getting late." He eventually says, tugging you along. 

Suguru gives a pleasant smile. "Of course, of course. We should catch up sometime." He directs this at you. You give a strained smile before Satoru leads you off. 

"Suguru." The man turns. Satoru grins. 

"I loved my gift. Thanks, man." 

Suguru's smile is catlike. 

"You kids have fun." He calls out right when Satoru's dragging you away all over again. 

You're silent. Not in the way you usually are, pliant and cute. You're thinking. He gives you a nudge. 

"What's goin' on in that pretty head of yours?" 

You shake your head. "Nothing." And then you say, "He's changed." 

From your view, Satoru supposed that's true, but really—

"Nah." Gojo shakes his head. "He's just dropped his act." 

Satoru's hand was wrapped around your waist when you two ran into him. You hadn't noticed him yet, eyes fixed on the floor. The lawyer hadn't changed since the last time Satoru saw him. That dead expression, those creepy eyes. Higuruma's eyes flit over your figure, before he finds Satoru's. 

He stares. Satoru stares right back. Something gives, and the lawyer calls out your name. 

"How are you?" His tone is cool, and this is another reason why Satoru can't stand him. The guy has no tells. He's just a talking robot. 

Unlike you, fidgeting by his side, practically vibrating with nerves. 

"I'm fine, sir." Your smile gets more painful to look at by the second. 

Your voice earns you a tired smile, a mild pinch of humor. Higuruma shakes his head, waving you off. 

"No need for formalities. We aren't at work." His smile drops just a bit, as he watches you for a bit more, eyes flickering to your hand. "I was...surprised when I saw the announcement. I didn't know you and Mr. Gojo were involved." 

Satoru grins, making himself known like a shark in the water. His grip on you tightens. 

"Oh, you didn't tell your boss 'bout us, baby?" He looks down at you with cruel mirth, pinching your cheek. You wilt. "We go way back—highschool sweethearts. Lost contact for a couple years. It's actually thanks to you we were able to find each other again. We'll send you the invites." He presses a kiss to your hairline. 

Higuruma hums at that. Satoru expected jealousy in his eyes; he's even more upset when he finds none. 

"I'll be sure to save the date." 

Then he shuts Satoru down completely. 

"I heard about your resignation. It's sad to see you go," Higuruma says. 

You nod, but you don't look at him. "Satoru and I talked about it, and we decided it's best if I focused on other things." 

"Very, very busy, this one nowadays." Satoru interrupts. "Between wedding plannin' and all that."

"Is that so?" Higuruma says dismissively, "in any case, you already knew this, but I've begun preparations to start a new firm." He reaches into his wallet, pulling out a card. "I always thought you were good at what you do. If you ever want to get back into the industry, call me." 

You take the laminate slip with a quiet thank you. Satoru feels blue turn into red. 

When Higuruma slips into the party, Satoru tightens his grip on you a little harsher than necessary. He's dragging you through the halls. Behind him, he can hear you stumbling over your heels, begging him to slow down. He knows he should care, but he doesn't. That damn lawyer. Those dead eyes. Mocking him. 

"Did you fuck him?" He asks when his anger has reached a high enough peak that he presses you against the wall. 

Your eyes are wild, flitting back and forth. He'd your expression a little cute if he wasn't feeling like a furnace, at the moment. 

"No. I—we never." You say. "Mr. Higuruma was my boss. And—and he's married—" 

"Really? 'cause you're precious 'Mr. Higuruma' was eyeing you up and down like he's already seen what's underneath." 

"'Toru." You plead. "Let's—let's just talk about this at home. Please? Let's just go home." Home. You said that word again. If he were a better man, he'd melt, but he's not. 

"Shut up." He spits out. "Hike up your dress." 

You stare at him. Then, you try to smile, like he's making a shitty joke. It wavers on your lips. 

"It's...we're still in public." You whisper and it's so cute you think he'd actually care about that. "We—we can't...we shouldn't—" 

"Baby." His voice drops, as he licks at your neck. "Pull up your dress, get rid of those panties. Otherwise, I'm just gonna take it off myself." 

He doesn't need to explain anything further. You already get what he's saying. Right now, Satoru doesn't care if you leave this building with your clothes intact. 

He thinks the worst part is that he knows he's being unreasonable. He's backing you into a corner where you'll have no choice but to surrender, and he knows that, but he keeps thinking about those man's eyes and how he looked at you and it was just all so much. 

He'll apologize to you later, with flowers and shiny gold earrings. He'd give you the world; just be good for him now. 

He just needs his fix. So just be good for him now.

☾

When Satoru discovers it's been you all along, he feels like an idiot. 

In a pathetic way of defending himself, he convinces himself there's no way he could have recognized you. You're so different compared to your high-school self. 18-years old, fresh-eyed, naive. The you now is all grown up: a mature voice, a new hairstyle, clothes he'd never even think you'd wear. 

It also didn't help that he couldn't even see your face since you turned away every time he looked at you. 

Embarrassing. He's just glad Suguru wasn't here to call his blunder. 

He thought about it a lot. He spent an hour in his office, pacing around, doing nothing but thinking and thinking and thinking. Part of him wants to corner you already. He can already feel your rabbit heartbeat on his fingertips, the look you always had in your eyes when he was right in front of you. Part of him wants to ruin your life the same way you ruined his. He wants to tear you apart, piece by piece. Leave you in tattered pieces. 

But he can't do that. Satoru still loves you. 

You left him a hollow shell. Broken. Tainted. There are pieces of him he still can't find. He should hurt you. He's hurt other people for doing less. But they weren't you. Even after all those years, he's never quite stopped loving you. 

But he wants to sate his bloodlust, just a tiny bit. 

His perfect opportunity comes where he, the lawyer, and you are all sitting in one of the waiting rooms. The lawyers explaining something, possibly about the ongoing case. Satoru doesn't really care. Besides, this is what Ijichi's here for. 

He waits until everyone is quiet. You're unassuming. By then, your shoulders have lowered, like you think you've gotten away with it 

"Hey," he says, "do we know each other?" 

The other two don't bother, but you stop completely. The pen in your grip shakes. Satoru resists the urge to laugh. 

You timidly glance up like you're still delusional enough to think there's a fifth person he's talking to. Satoru has always been told his eyes are like two suns: bright and intense. He lowers his glasses. You wilt under the solar flares. 

"Hm?" He prods, enjoying the way you shrivel. "Have we?" 

You swallow, glassy eyes flicking from side to side. Finally, you clear your throat. 

"No." You mutter, voice barely a whisper. "I don't think we have." 

"Are you sure?" To intensify the magnifying glass, he leans closer, like he's examining you. "'cause you look really familiar." 

To his delight, you chew on your bottom lip. He can imagine biting it until it's bloody and raw. He stops just when you're about to shatter completely. Breaking you too soon would take the fun out of it. 

"Oh, wait. I don't think that was you." He relents, pulling back and he can see the relief ooze over your face. "I think I got you mixed up with someone who interviewed here a couple months ago. My bad. Maybe you have one of those faces." 

You nod, eager to take the out. 

"Yes," you quickly say, "one of those faces." 

How adorable. You haven't changed since high school. 

He's usually not this obvious, but Suguru isn't here to berate him about it and it's not like anyone else will get on his ass. The women he brings in are his usuals: tall models with full lips and perfect bodies. Satoru parades them around like expensive jewelry. He wants to see you seethe in envy, stew in it. He wants you to see what you abandoned. 

But you don't do any of that. You just sit there, like the dutiful little workbee you are, right by your boss's side.

And then, you give one of them your jacket. Satoru can't stand it wrapped around her waist like she fucking owns it—own you. She wears it so flagrantly, like any token from you shouldn't be worshipped and coveted. He hates it. He hates it. 

"I've never done this in an office before." She squeals when she shuts the door behind her. "So, how do you—" 

"Get out." 

The girl pauses. What was her name again? Satou was too pissed to give a single shit. 

"Um, what?" 

"What, you deaf or something?" He waves her off as if he weren't seething. "Get out." 

"Oh," she says, blinks, and then she takes a step back. 

"Wait." Satoru stops her. 

"Take that off." He points to your jacket. She does it with zero complaints. When he tells her to drop it on the chair, she follows that too. Reluctant expectation. Kind of like you. Maybe that's why he was initially invested in her. 

He only takes the fabric after she's gone. It's soft underneath his fingertips. Nothing designer, but good quality. When you're finally underneath him again, he'll buy you better clothes, all the jackets you want. 

He needs you. He can't wait anymore. 

He needs you, whether you want him or not. 

☾

Satoru wakes up to something crashing. 

It's faint, obviously coming from the bathroom. Not the best way to be woken up. He remembers the first few nights he brought you home. He'd hear you crying in your sleep, choking on tiny sobs. It was the sweetest little thing, like a whimpering puppy. 

These noises are a little more concerning. 

He yawns, sliding out of bed. You didn't bother locking the door. You didn't even close it all the way, either. A sliver of light comes from the crack before he pushes it open. 

"Baby?" He calls. You don't answer. 

You had knocked over a caddy. Toothbrushes, hairclips, soap dispensers, perfume bottles were scattered all over the floor. You're curled up in the corner of the bathroom, huddled right next to the tub. You seem physically okay, no blood, no bruising, but he can't see your face. And you're shivering. 

Satoru's about to call out to you, when he steps on something. He looks down at the tiles. 

A positive pregnancy test. 

"I'm not keeping it." Your voice is hoarse, like you've been crying for hours. "I'm not keeping it." 

"Pretty girl." He coos, trying his best to keep the glee out of his voice and failing. "Let's not worry 'bout that, right now. C'mon, let's get you off the floor." He reaches for your hand. You smack it away. It stung. 

When you look at him, eyes bloodshot and brimming with angry tears, Satoru's heart skips a beat. He feels like he just trapped a wild animal, making it pace in a corner. Any wrong move could result in his hand getting bit off. It's scary. 

He's finally cracked you. 

"Fuck you." Your voice shakes and wobbles, but it's loud and you're clear. "Fuck you. You're a sick, twisted man-child. You ruined everything. You ruined my entire life and—and now you—" 

You're cut off by his giggling. It sounds psychotic even to his ears. He's beyond caring. You flinch when lifts your face up, forcing you to look into his eyes. He's smiling so hard it hurts. 

"Yeah, I did that. I ruined you. I ruined your entire fucking life. For me." He stresses, squeezing your face so hard you try to pull away. "But I had to. You—you wouldn't be here if I didn't." He sighs, pressing your body to his. "I need you."

You're both huddled on the bathroom floor, captive and lover. He's clutching you to his chest, smiling, nestling his face in your hair. You don't say anything for a while. 

"I'm not keeping it." You whisper. "I'm not. I wouldn't stand it if it ended up like you." 

It's spiteful. You're still in that phase where you think your venom can hurt him, as though he'd see your blows as anything but blessings. Satoru thinks to his own childhood. Where he was given everything, lathered in gold and silver. Yet, the house was always cold. But you were always so warm. 

"That won't happen." He tells you. "'cause you're here." 

Your anger has dwindled to smoke. Maybe you've finally realized how crazy he was for you. 

"Please let me go." It's not a beg. It's not even a request. 

"I can't," he honestly says. 

"You won't." You correct him. 

He smiles in your hair. 

"No baby," he says, "I can't." 

If you ran away again, if you escaped his claws, he'd probably die. Drop dead, rot on the floor. He needs you. Even more than he needs food, water, and oxygen. You won't understand that. You've never been in love before. 

You don't fight him. If anything, you sink into his hold. He's there to catch you, heart soaring. You lean into his chest 

"I hate you." You whisper. His heart beats a little faster. It's probably the first time you've ever been so honest with him. 

God, he loves you. 

"I hope our baby has your eyes," he says. 

"I hope our baby looks exactly like you." 

You say nothing, but when he leans down to kiss you, you finally kiss back. You're cracked, and your essence is ready to be molded in his image, just like he's always wanted you to be. 

If Satoru is the Sun, then you must certainly be his universe, the plane in which he rests, because there would be no existence for him if not for you. 

[heavenbarnes]

(tw allusions to murder and violence)

your older bf!simon who’s more accurately described as a gun dog.

trained to the sound of a gunshot- where you tell him to go, he’ll follow.

loyal like a hound, too. whatever heinous little mess you find yourself in, he’s there to clean it up.

lick the blood right off your hands.

“i didn’t mean to, he was being so awful- i just pushed him- i didn’t know his head would hit the curb!”

the tears in your eyes were doing less to convince him and more to make him harder between his thighs.

big thumbs, rough pads and blunt nails, pressed to your cheeks to wipe away the tears that were trailing off them.

“don’ worry, sweet’art- i’ll ‘andle it”

tells you to go inside and make a tea, let the kettle whistle long as you want. turn the telly up full tilt and put your feet up.

if you hear anything, don’t come looking.

so you do as you’re told, you curl into his side of the couch and you tune out the sound of the garage door opening, the distant sounds of dragging.

you don’t even flinch when you hear the first swing of an axe.

you forget, you’re free of thought when he takes you to bed and turns your brain to mush. lets it leak out your ears like-

anyways.

gun dog, retriever- picking up kill and dropping it at his master’s feet.

just once. he doesn’t like seeing you get dirtied by what he feels more aptly fits him.

after that, attack dog. hound waiting to be released, will bare his teeth if you so much as whistle.

“you should’ve seen the way he looked at me, simon”

his teeth could’ve shattered with the force in his jaw behind his bite.

“looked at me like he wanted me, thought that he owned me”

a visible shudder ran through him, visions behind his eyes of you with anyone else.

“told him i had you but- well, he said you didn’t matter”

so you stay inside and you forget, don’t even flinch when you hear simon get his keys and lace up his boots.

“i’ll be ‘ome soon”

you forget, isn’t till he’s kissing your forehead and laying you back on the couch that you even remember he was out.

long fingers wrapping around your ankle to sling over his shoulder. you don’t pay attention the the dried blood under his finger nails.

disregard the scratches down the length of his chest. replace them with your own.

“anyone ever gives y’grief, jus’ tell me and i’ll ‘andle it”

there’s a symphony of “yes, yes, yes” slipping off your tongue and you could blame it on clever fingers of his but-

you like being the hand that holds the leash.

fighting dog, ring dog- lay money on him and he’ll make you rich.

lay a finger on what’s his and he’ll make you pay.

“sweaty hands, tried to grab me when i walked past”

ignore the blood in the tread of his boots.

“called you weak, said a real man would’ve been out with me”

ignore the bite marks on the shell of his ear.

“called me a filthy slut- kind of the same way you do”

ignore the new wood chipper behind the house.

simon’s a big dog with loyalty in spades, born to serve one master.

you never ask so he never tells. play ignorant, blissful and unaware about what grows from the seeds you plant.

seeds scattered to the wind that happen to catch within him, seeds that take and grow gnarled and angry and looking for an excuse.

any excuse to show what he’s made of.

you know he’s always been a mean dog, you know he’s always had bite.

but you, of course, never worried your pretty little head.

not even when an ugly one turns up on the doorstep.

bad dog.

plays with his food.

[carpenterswife]

HALF OF ME (i)

SUMMARY: Despite appearances, you’d learnt Soldier Boy was, actually, capable of being a good man. Somehow, you’d wormed yourself into his good books, and had the rarest privilege of seeing him without the suit, the drugs, the ego, the everything. Just as things were going good, his heart somehow getting even warmer for you, the world separates you in the cruelest way.

PAIRING: Soldier Boy x Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT: 3573

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI. Sexism (set in the 1980’s), typical Soldier Boy behaviour, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, questionable morals (peer pressuring drug use), sexual content, eludes to smut, Soldier Boy may be a bit OOC at times, gore.

SERIES MASTERLIST / MAIN MASTERLIST

Becoming a world famous supe was never something you’d ever wanted. Sure, you’d grown up with their photos on your bedroom walls, your father telling you stories of when the first ever supe came to be, insisting he fought alongside the Soldier Boy in the war

The people around you seemed to idolise them. These… mostly regular people in tight suits, pretending to be better than everyone else.

You knew better. You knew enough. Enough to know supes were dirty, and corrupt, and definitely not the heroes they presented themselves to be. That their hands were more blood than they were skin anymore.

And, frankly, you wanted nothing to do with Vought or Payback — or whatever the fuck those shitty, useless superhero teams were called. (Seriously, what did they actually do? Except sit in their pretty tower and take the peoples’ taxes?)

Your father, however, had different ideas.

So, at 18, you woke up in the hospital, after an ugly head collision, with superpowers you’d never had before. A miracle, the doctors called it, a supe whose extraordinary powers had been hidden for her whole life. When you got home, you forced the truth out of your father. Compound V, he called it, a new chemical made by Vought.

No one was born a supe, he admitted, it all came from a liquid in a vial. The truth hurt you, as much as it didn’t really surprise you. Chosen by God, my ass.

This wasn’t supposed to be your life.

But it’s certainly what it turned out to be.

Payback were as shitty, if not more, than you’d originally thought. Each of them had… many flaws. Soldier Boy, obviously, was the worst. If the Devil reincarnated himself, he’d look and act like Soldier Boy.

Simply talking to the man made you want to shoot yourself.

Well… it did at one point.

Two years down the line, things had changed. Soldier Boy was still insufferable, sexist, arrogant, and a major asshole. But… he wasn’t so much a dick directly to you, as he used to be. In fact, if you didn’t know better, you’d say he was actually somewhat nice to you. As much as his macho heart could manage, anyway.

You noticed it the first time when he saved your life on a mission. He’d grabbed your waist when a grenade clinked at your feet, whirling you around and to the ground, squashing you against his firm chest, using his shield to protect you both from the hot blast. He’d shrugged it off as nothing; as something any leader would do for his team. Then you watched him hit Gunpowder about for not following his order to a T, and realised… maybe he did treat you different.

It was undeniable these days.

You were the only person on Payback that Soldier Boy could remotely tolerate.

“You need’a be more careful.” Despite the hard look on his face, Soldier Boy was staring down at you, as a Vought doctor wrapped clean bandages tightly around your midsection. It was a bullet to the wound; which, with being a supe, wouldn’t be too bad, but you didn’t heal inhumanely fast like he did. “You’re fuckin’ useless when you’re hurt.”

You rolled your eyes. “Thanks for your concern, Soldier Boy.”

His eyes narrowed into a harsh glare. “Ben.” He corrected you, for what was probably the 50th time. Each time he did, he got more annoyed with you. “How many times do I have to say it? Is there a brain in that pretty head’a’yours?“

You grunted, spinning on the bed and hanging your legs off the side of it. “Thanks for the compliment.” Ben rolled his eyes at your sarcasm, not offering a hand as you groaned in discomfort and got to your feet. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be healed up by the time we set off for Nicaragua, if that’s what you’re worried ‘bout.”

Ben just grunted, displeased. “Ain’t happenin’.” He immediately shot that idea down. “We leave for Nicaragua in two weeks. You ain’t comin’. Sit this one out.”

You stared, expecting a joke. Clearly, he wasn’t. “Seriously?” You groaned, unhappy. What was it with this guy? “I’ll be fine. It’s a silly little bullet.”

“I was holdin’ your fuckin’ guts in your body.” He walked away, reminding you of just how bad your injury actually had been. He had, indeed, practically been keeping your guts inside of you as you bled out. “You ain’t going. You’re stayin’ here.” You chased after him, pulling your shirt on as you left the infirmary.

“Ben—“

He whirled around to face you. “I said, you’re fucking staying.” He growled, glaring down at you. God, were you glad you were on his side. This man was terrifying. Six feet of pure muscle, strength and violence. “You’re better off here, using that face of yours to get some PR.”

“And, what? The others will back you up?” You scoffed, grabbing his wrist as he went to walk away again. His expression went cold at your touch, but you didn’t flinch. As much as he tried to scare you, Ben wouldn’t raise a hand at you… probably. You had faith in the man. “They can’t fight for shit, Ben. Gunpowder hasn’t even discovered his own dick yet. You think you’re gonna have your back covered out there?”

He ripped his wrist away harshly. “I don’t need my back covered.”

“Everyone needs their back covered.” You argued. “Even you.”

He chuckled, sarcastic and dry. “You worried ‘bout me, princess?” You gave him a ‘seriously?’ look, as he took a step closer, mouth curled into that ever-infuriating smirk. “I’d perform better if you sent me off with a taste of that—“

“Ben.” You interrupted him, unimpressed. You rolled his eyes at his predictable behaviour. “I’m not gonna fuck morale into you.”

“Shame.” His eyes flicked up and down, tracing the curves of your body. “Bet you’d be a firecracker.” He walked away again, and you threw your hands up, groaning. Ben chuckled as he turned the corner. “Think it over, sweetheart.”

“You’ve got a hand.” You called back to him. “Use it!”

Conversations like that were very common with Ben.

It’d be a normal conversation (as normal as it gets with him) — and then he’d start talking about fucking you against the nearest surface, and all pleasantries went down the drain. Seriously, he thought 80% with his dick, and 20% with his actual brain.

And that was being kind.

But, beneath all of his macho assholery, was his genuine worry. You knew he wasn’t letting you accompany the rest of the team to Nicaragua because of your injury, despite how minor it was, and that he was worried you’d injure yourself further.

You’d never slept with Ben, despite how much he’d tried to charm you into his bed. Your relationship was strange. He flirted, you flirted — there were lingering touches. And, sure, he’d never put his dick in you, but his fingers were a different question. And… oh, boy, could that man use his hands.

It was like being in a relationship, just without the sex. Which was odd, as it was Soldier Boy. But, the way he smiled at you and treated you, it made you feel different to the other women.

He was just… shit it showing it.

Poor bastard wouldn’t know emotion if it slapped him in the face.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

“I am not wearing this.”

Okay… scratch all of that. Maybe Ben was just a dickhead.

He lounged back in his chair, grinning lazily, legs spread like he owned the place. He probably thought he did. “Why not?” He took a sip of his whiskey, ice clinking against the sides, eyes never leaving you from over the rim of the glass.

You held up the fabric. “Seriously?”

It was basically a scrap of fabric, with how much it covered up. You didn’t shy away from showing skin. You quite liked short skirts and pushing the line. Because, as a supe, there was a line. Vought liked it when you showed skin — apparently it made your ratings go up with the male fans, no shocker. But, too much skin on display, the male fans started calling you a whore, and the ratings shot back down.

It was a bit like a balancing game, trying to find the perfect amount of skin to make the boys ogle but also respect you. An impossible feat, truthfully.

And this? This was definitely classed as too much.

“I don’t see the issue.” His smirk said otherwise.

“My tits are not gonna stay in this, Ben!”

His smirk just grew. “Again, I don’t see the issue.”

You groaned and put the dress down. “No. I’ll get my own dress. I am not wearing that.” You tell him, arms folding across your chest. You didn’t miss the way he checked out your tits, and the way the placement of your arms accentuated them.

He rolled his eyes, obviously not happy with your decision. Leaning towards, elbows on his knees, Ben’s eyes took you in. “Why?” His head cocked to the side. “You’d look hot. It’d make your ass look great.”

“That’s not a compliment.” You grumbled, pushing a hand through your hair. Ben made a small grunt of disagreement, but didn’t say anything otherwise. “Listen, there’s a certain line. Alright? If I wear that, every guy out there will be callin’ me a whore. Okay? Imma find something else.”

He hummed and sat back. “I think you should wear that one.” Sighing heavily, you just rolled your eyes at his persistence. “All those assholes will be blowin’ their pants just lookin’ at you, sweetheart.”

“Again, not a compliment.”

Ben stared at you, and silently took another sip of his whiskey. He always seemed to think these crude, rather sexist and inappropriate remarks were compliments. Like commenting on your body. Or saying you’d be a freak in bed. Which were obviously not actually compliments.

You rolled your eyes, rubbing your forehead. “I’ll find another dress, Ben.” You told him, definitive. There was no way he was going to convince you to wear that dress.

“What a disappointment.” He grinned, lopsided. “I was lookin’ forward to seein’ you in that dress.”

“Again,” you deadpanned as he checked you out once more, “you have a hand… use it.”

Ben just smirked, and sipped his whiskey again.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

You wore the fucking dress.

The asshole always won. Always.

He looked so fucking pleased, as you walked into his after-party, wearing the dress he’d picked out for you. His smugness was clear, brushing through the crowd with ease to come to you.

Ben hummed, eyes dilating as he stared you down. His eyes lingered on your tits, as they always did. “You look…” he hesitated, trying to think of a compliment that wasn’t degrading, and failed, “fuckin’ hot. If you weren’t such a bitch, I’d bend you over right here.”

Your face pulled together in disgust, looking at him with your lips pressed together “… gross.”

He chuckled. “Drink?” He offered. “I got your favourite.”

And there he goes again.

Being nice.

It did your damn head in.

Accepting his offer, you shivered as his large hand landed on the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd. They all seemed to part like the Red Sea as he came through, a fact that amused you greatly.

Seriously. These women looked at him like he was Jesus reincarnated, when he’d totally call them in a whore in bed.

Ben silently reached out for your favourite alcoholic drink, pouring it into a glass. His eyes scanned over the room, smirking at a few of the women ogling, sending them rushing to their friends and squealing. He merely chuckled and handed you the full glass.

“Thanks.” You murmured, taking it from him. Your eyes stared up at him for a moment, curious, before looking away again.

What was it with him? How could be such an egotistical one minute, and then be nice and respectful the next? It was like a guessing game, trying to figure out what mood he was in.

He grabbed your wrist, his grip firm, but not enough to hurt you. “Come with me.” He guided you through the crowd once again, to the doors in the back. As he pushed through into the room, he flashed you a cocky grin over his shoulder. Dickhead.

This room was far quieter. You noticed, immediately, the only people present were supes and celebrities, not the random civilians that’d been granted a pity invite — or the women Ben thought were hot. This was the main party. There were drugs covering every table, with various big names passed out on the chairs, blazed.

Ben lead you to the corner, where he’d obviously already been busy, if the half-snorted lines of cocaine proved anything.

Silently, he offered you a line, which you gratefully accepted.

You didn’t do drugs before you joined Payback. In fact, you’d avoided them, promising yourself you’d never become that type of person. But it was the norm within Vought. Every supe spent their nights filling their bodies to the brim with various drugs, poisoning themselves. So, you started smoking weed to fit in.

Then Ben found out you only did weed, and decided it wasn’t enough. With enough pressure, he’d gotten you onto any other substance he could convince you to try.

It made you more attractive, in his eyes, as you spiralled into addiction like him.

In fact, it got him rock hard, to snort lines or share a joint with you. It was so fucking hot, watching your eyes glass over as you got higher with every hit, with every line. God, it turned him on so bad.

You snorted your third line of the night, when Ben suddenly pushed you back into your chair. Bewildered, you stared at him, as he snatched up a baggie of the white powder. Your heart leapt to your throat, the moment he moved aside the slit in your dress, revealing the bare skin of your thigh. All breath left your lungs, watching him pour some of the powder onto your thigh.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

He was about to do a line off you.

He glanced at you through his lashes, smirking at the shocked and flushed expression you wore. He used his pocket knife to cut the lines, mindful of the sharp blade against your soft skin.

God, this was hot. He found it hot. You found it hot. It’d be a damn miracle if you ended the night with your clothes on at this point.

Your skin tingled as he sniffed up the first line, of his hands roughly gripping the top of your thigh to steady you, his other holding a rolled up $100 bill. He groaned in pleasure, body physically shuddering, head shaking, as the drug made his body run hot.

He did the next line, the grip on your thigh becoming tighter as his pupils began to blow up.

Was it getting hot in here? Or was it just you?

Maybe it was the cocaine in your systems, maybe it was the fact Ben was just… so damn hot, but you couldn’t stop yourself from grabbing his hair and forcing his head up as he snorted the final line off your thigh.

He looked up at you, pupils blown, lips parted. Holy shit. This man was sculpted like a fucking God. Your body shivered. “You finally takin’ my offer, sweetheart?” He chuckled, shaking off the immediate effects of the cocaine, raising himself up to your level.

“Fuck me.” You whispered, breathless, practically begging him.

His eyes went dark, almost black, with lust. The smirk on his lips made you squeeze your legs together. “Don’t need to ask me twice.”

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

You now understood the hype. You understood why women bent their knees the moment Ben uttered a word to them.

Holy shit, did this man have talent.

Your legs were still twitching, the space in between your legs throbbing and tingling with how many times you’d come on his fingers, his tongue and cock. You’d counted four, before your vision had gone white.

Jesus, he had stamina. A glance at the clock on the wall confirmed it’d been just over five hours since you’d first fell into Ben’s bed. That super strength was better for more than just fighting, after all. This man should be advertised for his abilities. No shocker he was an American sex symbol.

He’d just fucked your brains out.

And now, he was staring at you with admiration, laid on his side, in the same bed he’d just railed you in. “You feelin’ okay?” He murmured, genuinely concerned.

“Yeah.” You rolled over to face him, a jolt of discomfort and pain in your hips and thighs. You might have to hold back on… doing anything for the next few days, however. “You didn’t break anything.” You joked, soft and breathy.

He chuckled quietly, hand sliding around your waist and dragging you closer to him. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waitin’ to do that.” He whispered, uncharacteristically soft and gentle.

“To fuck me senseless?”

He smirked. “Mm, I have dreamt of that.” Your eyes narrowed in mild disgust at the image of him having wet dreams about you, swatting his chest. He grinned and caught your hand. “No… I meant how long I’ve waited to have you. You’re fuckin’ perfect. Not just your body. Everything about you is so sexy.”

Your brows furrowed, squeezing his hand, and then worming your fingers out of his. “What do you mean?” You asked softly.

He seemed to struggle for a moment. He wet his tongue with his lips, making your body tingle again. Jesus. “Let’s get dinner.”

What.

“Me and you.” Ben smiled, tracing the curves of your body with a featherlight touch. “Real fancy. I’ll pay.” Was he… asking you on a date right now? The Soldier Boy, asking you on a date? Instead of fucking you and tossing you out?

“You’re serious?” You asked softly, surprised. When he nodded, you grinned, biting your lip to contain it. “Okay, Ben. Let’s get dinner.”

His eyes lit up. Ducking his head down, his lips touched yours, gentle and affectionate. His kiss spoke so many words; his hands gently cradling your body, as he kissed you like you were made of glass. The touch was intimate and loving, widely different to the one he’d used when he’d been on top of you.

No, this was completely different. This was him being vulnerable. This was him showing you just how he felt, without the words.

He smiled against your lips and pulled back, just enough to speak, but his words were still brushing yours. “Yeah?” He whispered, in response to your agreement.

“Yeah.” You stared at him with big eyes.

He grinned, almost boyish in its nature. He stared at you in adoration, seeming to be collecting the words on the tip of his tongue.

You giggled under his stare. You sat up, pulling him with you, grabbing the blanket that he had draped over his headboard. It was fluffy and warm, and smelt like his cologne, and you didn’t hesitate to wrap it around your shoulders, cocooning yourself.

If possible, his gaze softened even more. “You’re adorable.”

Quietly, you laughed. “You sure you wanna do this, Ben?” You stared back at him. Ben was nothing if not a womaniser. Settling down was nothing like him. “Get serious with me, I mean.”

“You’re the only one I’d ever want to.”

Your brows pulled together, confused. “Why?”

Ben soothed a hand through your hair, green eyes drinking in the perfections and imperfections on your face. “You’re the only one I trust.” His voice was gravelly, still heavy with the effects of your recent endeavours. His hand travelled through your hair, and then came down to cup your cheek.

Wrapped up in his fluffy blanket, your head rested on the wooden headboard. “I trust you, too.” You whispered, tilting your head into his palm. His skin was rough, painted with callouses and scars. Every scar on his body had a story. And you’d spend the rest of your life learning every single one.

Despite himself, he smiled at you, thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. “I’d kill for you. You know that?” His words made you shiver. Ben killing people wasn’t exactly new… or surprising. But doing it for you? God, it made your stomach heat up — and other parts. “These assholes don’t hold a candle to you, doll. Countess? That whore is— is repulsive compared to you.”

You laughed softly, rolling your eyes affectionately. “Ben.” You scolded quietly, though not with an ounce of anger.

The supe just smirked, chuckling deep in his throat. “You want me to drop that bullshit PR relationship I have with her? I’ll do it. In a fucking heartbeat. I’ll be with you, publicly, if you want me.”

“You’d ruin your reputation for me?” Now that — that meant something. Ben could say anything and everything; he was a master manipulator. He could get anything he wanted with that smile and his suave words. But, if there was one thing he would always prioritise, it was his reputation. He’d do anything to be the alpha male. Anything.

“I’d do anything for you.” He grabbed your hand within his much larger one, guiding it to his chest. He pressed your palm over his heart, allowing you to feel his heartbeat. “I’ll do anything for you, to be with you.” You felt the steady rhythm of his heart. He wasn’t lying. That, or he was a great fucking liar. “I’m never leaving your side. I’m yours.”

Your eyes searched deep within his. “Always?”

Ben smiled. “Always.” He leant forward, gently pressing his lips against yours in a tender kiss.

Three months later, Soldier Boy died in a nuclear meltdown.

A/N: jesus christ this took me so long to write 😭 but i’m so happy with how this first chap turned out. it’s gonna get so much more fun to write we get to the action 👀 pls lmk if there’s any mistakes, as i will go back n fix them !!! hope you enjoyed <3

banners by @cafekitsune

TAGLIST: @onlyangel-444 @deans-spinster-witch @fumolemon @anundyingfidelity

[jar0fhoney]

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 (NSFW) - PART 4 - PART 5 (NSFW) - PART 6 - PART 7 (NSFW) - PART 8 (NSFW)

You started having the dream again. The disembodied eyes of your father floating in a black void. Just the eyes. Nothing else.

And for hours- and it really felt like hours- they would just stare at you. The eyes never moved, or blinked, or did anything other than hang in the air. But there was a terrible sense of dread when you looked into them. You couldn’t force yourself to look away.

And so that was why you had been losing sleep. You didn’t tell your mother that though. When she asked what troubled you, you made up some excuse to quell her worry. You could never tell her the truth; the truth that there was some piece of you left which never recovered. But guilt nearly destroyed your mother, and you couldn’t bear to let it fester in her any longer.

On Sunday you spread all of the ingredients the orc man gave you across your table. He didn’t even tell you the measurements. Your mother glanced down at you as she made her way to the root cellar. She stopped in her tracks, “By the Gods, are you making golden eggs?” You cocked your head at her questioningly. “Where did you find turmeric all the way out here?” She grabbed a pinch of it, “And so much of it too!”

“Uh-“ Your mother had a sparkle in her eyes that you hadn’t seen for a few years. She chuckled to herself, “Years ago. Many many years ago. There was a very nice orc family who lived just down the path. The wife taught me this recipe.”

Orc family? This was the first you have heard of an orc family. “You never told me you had orc friends Ma!” You jeered at her. She smiled warmly. “You hadn’t been born yet, of course you wouldn’t have remembered. Your elder sister loved playing with the little orc girl.” She reached for a jar from the cupboard and began concocting the mixture. When she was done the eggs swirled around in the vibrant yellow brine.

There was still turmeric left over, and your mother was so excited to show you how it could even be an excellent clothing dye. She took one of your more drab frocks got to work.

~

You weren’t used to feeling pretty. Sure, you knew you weren’t ugly by any stretch of the imagination. But to feel pretty? Beautiful even? It had been years.

But today, on regular Monday, you felt radiant. Your mother actually gasped when you stepped out of your room. You looked like a dream in the yellow shade your mother had dyed the fabric. She insisted on arranging your hair specially to go with the dress. “It’s just another Monday, Ma. Any more primping and I’ll be over-dressed.” The older woman sighed, kissing you on the forehead, “Fine go along now… before I start braiding daisies in your hair.” You giggled and practically skipped out the front door. Tucked in your basket was the jar of golden eggs.

The town square was nearly vacant, save for a few other shopkeepers opening up for the day. And then you saw the trio of orc men sharpening their arrows and adjusting the tension of their great longbows. You reckoned they were just about to leave for a hunt. Curse the Gods for your lingering gaze, but you made direct eye contact with one of them. You made direct eye contact with him. The orc you had bloodied and bruised the previous week.

Something (probably a lack of self-preservation) compelled you to start walking towards the bunch. If your mother could make peace with orcs, why couldn’t you? “But this isn’t a peaceful family with children, they’re trained killers, y/n…” You thought to yourself. The little muscle inside your chest was puttering away as you got closer. The two other hunting mates had started to notice your approach now. Your orc acquaintance had sort of a surprised yet dumb look on his face as you stopped before him.

”You didn’t write me a recipe, but you can thank my mother for knowing how to prepare these.” You extended the jar to him. His friends were snickering to themselves, and the orc just sat there staring at the contents of the jar. One of his buddies guffawed and whacked a big hand onto his back, “This simpleton can’t read to save his life… won’t be getting any recipes from him!”

You also held out the two silver pieces he had given you, and dropped them into his open palm. “And I can’t take these. Not after I injured you. Can we consider ourselves even now?”

“Khargaad, you didn’t tell us this was who the scuffle was with.” The other orc friend chuckled, “And look at that, not a scratch on her. Guess she won.”

Khargaad. Was that his name? Or was it a word in their mother tongue? He shot a venomous look to his friends, and with that they backed away leaving the two of you alone. “These look… like they’re supposed to,” He said in a tone of mild surprise. “Your mother… She knows other orcs?”

Was he trying to make conversation with you? “Um- Yes! Yes, it was a long while ago. They lived down the road from my family. It was before I was born, but they got along well from what I hear,” you replied. There was a deeply awkward pause before he glanced quickly at your dress. “Oh!” You gasped, “my mother taught me about this as well. The yellow stuff you gave me is an excellent clothing dye.”

“Yes, I know.” His tone was a little gruff. You felt foolish for telling him what he probably already knew. “Your name is Khargaad?” You blurted out. A hint of color rose to his cheeks, “Yup. Khargaad. And- um- what may I call you?”

”y/n,” you replied with a nervous smile. Silence hung over the both of you for a second. “Well, I’ll be on my way.” He said, turning on his heel to join his hunting mates. “Stay safe out there!” You responded. Your inner-self cringed, that reply was probably too familiar. He glanced back at you one more time before jogging to catch his friends.

~

The next day Milo found you sweeping outside the shop. “Why were you talking to those orcs?” He spat at you. You didn’t look up at him, “Just customers.” This technically wasn’t untrue.

”You don’t have orc customers”

”Says who. You?” You snorted at him, pushing the dust from the cobblestones onto his shiny leather boots. He yanked the broom from your grasp, “Why are you wearing that?” He hissed. You glared at him, wrenching the broom back from his grasp. “It’s none of your fucking business-“

“Let me buy you new dresses, y/n. You look like an orc.” You straightened a bit. “What do you mean?” Milo rolled his eyes. “It’s turmeric. They often dye their clothes with turmeric. It looks ridiculous if you ask me…” He trailed off. You were tired of this conversation, leaving him standing in the street. He didn’t bother to follow you inside.

The rest of the day was uneventful. You spent the last hour hammering some boards over the window still shattered from your target practice.

You didn’t notice Karghaad watching you across the square.

Thank you to everyone’s sweet comments, and to those who wanted a part 2 😘

@kennedyabraxas123 @allthecraftandthings @sunndust @blushycadaver @whyiamadegenerate @beaniebaneenie @reads-stuff-quietly

[obaewankenobis]

born to die; finnick odair

pairing: finnick odair/reader (afab but i don't think i use pronouns? also no use of y/n)

word count: 6.8k

part 2: find here!

summary: having just finished your victory tour, you, the winner from district 4, are forced to confront the reality of winning the games. luckily, you know someone who's done this before — finnick odair.

warnings: mentions of violence, death, nightmares, blood, sex trafficking, i mean... it is the hunger games so read at your own risk! mutual pining, slowish burn, unprotected sex ( wrap it before u tap it ), p in v sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, idk pretty standard stuff. minors dni!

a/n: sorry to everyone who followed me for my star wars content... anyways here is my first finnick fic cause my friend made me watch the hunger games a month ago so here i am. i was super interested in the cashmere/glimmer theory so i kinda used it here. i have a prequel and a part 2 planned so lmk if you want that <3

There were things nobody ever told you about winning the games, things you wished you would’ve known before you tried so hard. Before you’d clawed your way up a cliff of desperate survival and emerged on top. Before you’d killed people — other children — to be able to stand here now. Your father, a former Victor himself, hadn’t told you about this side of things before he died. With a pang, you realized how badly you wanted him beside you, and how impossible that was. How you were now confined in shoes so tall you thought you might wobble over, in a dress so thin you were beginning to shiver, and a hairstyle that pulled uncomfortably at your roots. It all tied in for a look that was clearly meant to have all eyes on you. It was your victory party, you tried to reason as you slipped into the dress and noticed just how much of you would be on display. They wanted all eyes to be on you. It was okay.

You just wanted to feel beautiful again, to not be plagued with the feeling of revulsion when you looked at yourself in the mirror. The outfit wasn’t the problem, it was perhaps the most stunning thing you’d ever worn: a loose dress with billowing sleeves that fell off your shoulders and opened around the stomach, the silky material melting from transparency to a solid, pale purple around the parts that clung to your breasts and hips. The opalescent color, meant to mimic the expensive pearls commonly found in District 4, shimmered in the moonlight, threatening to turn even the solid parts translucent and expose every part of you to the Capitol.

Not that they’d mind, you thought, the words leaving a bitter taste in your mouth that threatened to rise to the surface, breaking through a perfectly painted smile and tugging your blush lips into a frown. You couldn’t help but feel that was the point, with all the oogling that no one was trying to hide. And that feeling… that is what kept you from feeling anything but beautiful. You felt used, and exposed, but not beautiful. 

A hand on your arm startled you out of your bitter thoughts, your skin immediately crawling with disgust as your gaze traveled to the face connected to the hand still placed possessively on you. While not particularly ugly, the man in front of you was pushing fifty, and the lewdness dripping from his gaze as he leered at you, an eighteen year old girl… 

“There you are,” his lips curled into an unpleasant smile; he was close enough you could smell the stench of alcohol on his breath, almost overpowered by the sheer amount of cologne that clung to him. “I must say, my sponsorship has paid off… handsomely. I mean, look at you! Such a stunning addition to the Capitol, I just cannot wait for you to become—”

“Excuse me,” a new voice — a familiar voice — cut through. “I think your wife is looking for you, Quillon.”

Of course he knew this man, he seemed to know everyone. And of course the man — Quillon — listened, his eyes widening as he immediately removed his hand from you, leaving an unpleasant dampness from his sweaty palms. He backed away until he had disappeared into the crowd and it was just you and him.

Him. Finnick Odair, Capitol Darling, youngest Victor of the 65th Hunger Games, the most insufferable and obnoxious boy you’d ever had the displeasure of encountering. You were sure he’d never liked you from the beginning; you’d tried to introduce yourself to him at fourteen when you accompanied your father to the Capitol to train the new tributes, only to be brushed off without a second glance.

That dislike had only seemed to grow when you had been Reaped the year your father had been killed (the rumors of the siblings and children of Victors being chosen so often finally making sense to you), and Finnick Odair, master of the Games, expert of the field, had all but ignored you.

“You!” All of the rage you’d pent up about his mentoring skills — or lackthereof — were coming out in full force, though even you were surprised by the venom in your words. With a jab of a finger in his chest, you finally began to let it all out. He seemed to have sensed that you would come at him swinging, grabbing your wrist and dragging you to a quieter corner of the party, beneath a small pergola weighted with vines that crept up the sides and wove inbetween the planks on top.

“Look, I know you must be upset — ” No. You wouldn’t let him talk, not before you had the chance to give him a piece of your mind. You took a step closer, until your nose was brushing against his, and tried to keep your voice as level as you could.

“Nice of you to finally fucking show up, Odair. Didn’t think you’d see me again, huh? Not after you all but fucking abandoned me during training week. I mean, I know we never really got along, but seriously? Is that why you left me with Mags and I never saw you past the first day? You hoped you’d train Kier—” the breath caught in your throat as you finally uttered the name of your fellow District tribute for the first time since… well, that wasn’t important. “—and then I would be out of your hair, is that it?”

Finnick, however, took this as an opportunity to spit his own words out, his jaw clenched and his eyes hard as he looked down at you. “I was trying to help you.” He was so close you could feel his breath fanning your lips, almost making you want to close your eyes.

“Help me?” A laugh escaped your lips, one that could’ve almost been seen as genuine because of the honest disbelief that coated it. “You think I’d be better off dead?”

He didn’t respond. Couldn’t even look you in the eyes, choosing instead to fixate on a tiny rose growing from within the depths of the ivy layers. That was basically a confirmation of what you’d just said, but for some reason he couldn’t even admit it to your face.

 You weren’t sure why, but hot, angry tears were beginning to form in your eyes; you tried frantically to force them down. He couldn’t know how much he’d hurt you with his indifference. “You were supposed to be there for me, you were supposed to teach me how to survive, and you fucking left me to die!”

Had you done something? You replayed all of your interactions with him, coming up short with a conversation that would make him hate you so much he wanted you to die. Sure, you’d been a bit annoying when you’d trailed behind your father, and maybe you had been a little relentless to pursue his attention when he moved next door to you in Victor’s Village, but this? The way he couldn’t even answer you? The way he was just standing there, his gaze in some far off place? It made you angrier. How dare he be so indifferent, how dare he act as if he was doing you a favor?

There was a moment of hesitation before Finnick sighed. “It’s not like that. I was trying to protect you. Look— has Snow talked to you yet?”

This left you truly at a loss for words. “Snow?” You words were less harsh and more curious. “Why would Snow want to talk to me? You know what — don’t try to spin it on him, this is about us! About you—” You stabbed at his chest again, and this time he let you. “—about you abandoning me in that arena, when it was your job to fight for me! To keep me alive!”

“There’s a lot you don’t understand right now,” he began again, hesitantly reaching out to grasp the hand that had struck against his chest, and that was the final straw snapping; you were done.

With a scowl and a tug of your hand, you yanked it free of his grasp and whirled around, the flow of the dress whipping around from the sudden gust of wind. “Whatever, Odair. I’m done. If you can’t even admit what you did was wrong, then… then just leave me the fuck alone from now on.” You didn’t bother to look back, missing the way his jaw hung open and his entire face crumbled. If only you had any idea.

You found out soon enough.

“You’re quite popular now, if you didn’t know that already. Although you’re quite perceptive, I can’t imagine you don’t.” Though he sealed the compliment with a smile, it did little to soothe the unease stirring within your belly.

“Yes, Sir. I’ve noticed. Is that a bad thing?” You hated how weak you sounded, your voice faltering slightly at the end of your sentences, hanging uncomfortably in the air and weighed down with uncertainty.

“I knew you were a smart one,” he finally tucked the envelope in his hands into his pocket, his undivided attention now on you. “You see, with how desirable you are… there are certain expectations that come with that. We wouldn’t want the Capitol to be unsatisfied, now would we?”

When did attention turn into desire? When were there suddenly expectations, and why was it suddenly your responsibility to keep people satisfied? 

“I’m not sure what you mean, sir.” A hollow, empty statement, but a genuine one.

“Well,” it seemed Snow was particularly delighted by your response, as if it allowed him to explain something that pleased him greatly. “Victors have their place in Panem, just as all the Districts do. What would Panem be without Eleven’s grain, or Five’s power?”

Realizing it was not a rhetorical question, that he really wanted you to answer, you stumbled through a response. “Well, I— I suppose it would topple the whole structure. We… we can’t survive without eachother.”

“You’d be correct. The same thing applies to the Capitol. Without everyone doing what’s required of them, the Games fail to run smoothly. With no… incentives, shall we say, people… sponsors… become uninterested. There are things you, as a Victor and a mentor, need to do to ensure that interest remains. Do you understand me now, my dear?”

You did, oh how you did. And that was the worst part.

That was how you got here on the rooftop of the Victor’s apartment complex, wrapping a thin robe around the once pretty, now torn chemise that did little to hide your body. You barely survived the first night, there was no way you could spend the rest of your life doing this. No amount of hot showers and scrubbing your skin raw until it bled could free you from feeling so dirty. Tears glistened on your cheeks, highlighting your face in the pale dawn light and exposing your true emotions to anyone who could see you. Luckily — or perhaps unluckily — you were all alone in the Capitol, your family safe and sound because of what you’d agreed to, but so far away.

With slow movements, you hoisted yourself onto the ledge of the roof, telling yourself you wanted to get a better glimpse of the city skyline as the sun crept higher into the sky, not wanting to admit the real reason why, even to yourself. The wind whipped all around you, tearing the robe from your body and splaying your hair in different directions, but you felt as close as you could to freedom. If you just— took another step, or stumbled forward and fell, maybe you would truly be free in the entire sense of the word.

“There’s a forcefield. They wouldn’t let you get away that easily,” the all too familiar voice of Finnick Odair startled you out of your thoughts.

“Did you know?” You had to ask, but couldn’t bring yourself to turn your head and look back at his features, because you would surely crumble if you saw the look on his face.

To his credit, Finnick didn’t bother to sugarcoat it. “Yeah, of course I knew. That’s why…”

“That’s why you wouldn’t train me. You wanted me to die, so I wouldn’t end up like this—” you whirled around sharply to stare straight into his eyes for confirmation as you guessed what you were going to say next. “—like you. Because he makes you do this too, doesn’t he?”

Finnick was never an easy person to read, always hiding behind dimples that indented in his cheeks when he flashed one of his dizzying smirks. But now? You felt like you were staring at a statue, his gaze unable to leave yours but also unable to say anything in return.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, allowing the cold caress of the breeze to take hold of you. If only you could fall back, if only… 

“I tried to protect you,” his voice cracked, finally pushing something past his lips and drawing you away from the dangerous thoughts fighting in your mind. “Don’t you see it now? It would’ve been better if you’d died in the arena, you wouldn’t have to do this,” he spat out the word like it was hot tea burning his tongue, but you noticed the crack of defeat in his voice. The way his shoulders slumped, the way his sea green eyes were fixed on his shoes. “And I… I wouldn’t have to see you like this.”

You did see it now; there was a fate worse than death. “I should’ve listened to you, Finnick.” His first name felt foreign on your tongue, as if you were speaking an intimate language only known to the both of you. “I— I’m sorry. I had no idea, I…”

He let your apology hang heavy in the air, flicking his eyes over your shoulder to the waking Captiol, evident by the honks of car horns and the chatter of thousands turning into a dull buzz.

You couldn’t stand silence, it reminded you too much of what followed your father’s execution, what followed when your name was called from the Reaping Bowl. So with a huff, you jumped down from the ledge and hoped he wouldn’t notice your disgruntled appearance.

Not that you cared what he thought of you. But one look from him and you were a goner; your lips began to quiver and you wrapped your arms around yourself.

“Finnick, I… I don’t know how to do this,” a choked sob escaped you, and then it was all over and you were crying, shaking violently as you tried and failed to regain your composure. That seemed to snap him out of the haze he’d been in, his eyes flickering over and fixating on your figure, deep frown lines etching themselves on his face in a worried expression. “I don’t know if I can—”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he didn’t hesitate to surge forward as you began to sway, the lack of sleep from the night before becoming evident in the dark circles beneath your bleary eyes, cracks in your skin holding onto tears that had long since been shed. He placed a careful hand near the small of your back, hovering over your skin before you fell back into it, like he was uncertain if you would be okay with touch. It reminded you of two nights ago, where he’d been so close to you but still kept his distance, not wanting to invade your space. His reluctance to touch you without your explicit permission made sense now, it all did.

“I just— I don’t—” Your body convulsed with gutteral sobs that sliced his heart in two, his fingers threading through your hair as he pulled you into his chest, allowing fresh tears to stain in the wool of his white sweater. “I don’t…” you tried again, wanting to continue despite the hiccups, “I just don’t… don’t… know what to do.”

You could feel his lips moving against your hair from where they rested on top of your head as he answered. “You don’t have to do anything. Not right now, at least.”

Time passing was the last thing on your mind as you remained in his embrace, soaking up everything about him, relishing in the comfort his closeness brought to you. How when your mind began to wander, the rhythmic pattern of his heartbeat brought you back so you could listen with your ear against his chest. How when your body expelled the last of its shudders and gasps from your breakdown, you could feel his arms flexing, squeezing you a little tighter. How when you pulled back from his embrace, he traced the red indent on your cheek, left from one of the buttons on his sweater.

“When was the last time you slept, sweetheart?” Finnick asked in a tone so gentle it brought fresh tears to your eyes; perhaps it was the sleep deprivation this time.

“I— I can’t go to sleep,” you began to panic again, digging your fingernails into his clothed arms. “I just close my eyes and I keep reliving it over and over again, I can’t do it again, I can’t—”

“I get it,” he stopped your rambling with a simple sentence, and you finally felt like you didn’t have to explain, he just understood. “Just… come with me, okay? You can trust me.”

Wordlessly you nodded, allowing him to guide you gently through the long corridors of the various penthouses until you arrived to one that had been occupied by none other than yourself. No, I can’t sleep, you wanted to shout at him, but remained silent. Trust him.

You allowed him to go through the motions of a bedtime routine, paying no attention to the fact that it was probably breakfast time. Pulling back one side of the blanket, he patted the uncovered space, motioning you to come lay down beside where he sat. 

“Finnick, I can’t…” I can’t sleep.

He shook his head, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Just trust me, okay? Come and lay down, you don’t even have to sleep.”

Reluctantly, you threw the robe off of you and on to a chair, trying very hard to ignore the fact that the nightgown underneath did little to hide your body, reaching just past the tops of your thighs and exposing most of your legs. But Finnick didn’t even seem to notice, watching just your face as you settled into bed beside him, laying stiffly on your back until he motioned for you to roll over on your side, facing away from him.

“What are you—” you were shushed yet again and tried to comply, feeling a bit odd facing away from him when he was supposed to be distracting you.

You suppressed a shiver as his finger came into contact with your back, the thin silk of the nightgown doing little as a barrier and feeling more of a second skin. He began to trace a pattern— wait, were those letters?

“Finnick, what are you doing?” You forced back the beginnings of a smile, the first time you’d genuinely wanted to in what seemed like forever.

“Just relax, okay? Sometimes it’s okay to just… let yourself be distracted,” his voice trailed off, differing from the confidence you were used to, replaced by something much more vulnerable. “What am I drawing now?”

“I…” you frowned in concentration, trying to piece together the light strokes of his finger just barely gliding over you. “The sea, no! Waves?”

“Woah, that was fast. Didn’t know I was such an amazing artist, but it doesn’t surprise me—” The teasing tone had returned to his voice, no doubt an effort to continue to distract her

“Can you just continue drawing?” You rolled your eyes knowing he couldn’t see, but there was a slight humor to your voice that let him know it was working, that he was distracting you. His fingers continued their roaming, dancing so delicately and so dangerously close to your bare shoulder.

Finnick traced a moon, a star, and even a fish before he switched over to words, indenting each letter in your back with featherlight strokes of his fingers.

At first it was people, places. Your name. His name. District 4. District 1. Then it transitioned to phrases, which proved to be much more difficult. ‘You should sleep’—

“—Hey! I thought this was supposed to just be a distraction,” your words were finished with a heavy yawn that caused a chuckle to vibrate within his chest, and a feeling of warmth spread through you like wildfire. You couldn’t help it, in a moment you had flipped over onto your other side, wanting to see him. You could hear him, small chuckles passing from his lips and the slight rustle of the sheets beneath his body; you could smell him, a comforting, clean scent that instantly relaxed you, but nothing compared to actually being able to see him in all his glory.

You studied the high of his cheekbones, the straight edge of his nose, the golden glow of his skin that matched his bronzy hair dishevled from its place against your headboard. You studied the way his hair curled around his ears, the way you could faintly see the indents in his cheeks from where his dimples would appear if he were to smile, how the white of his two front teeth would poke out from his lips if he flashed you a smirk. They were full and pink, and, with a pang of jealousy that rocked your entire body, you wondered how many Capitol women had been blessed with feeling his lips on theirs — then swallowed that thought down with a shudder of disgust. He hadn’t wanted them, any of them, it was all a facade made up from by the Capitol, and you needed to realize that.

And while hearing him, and smelling him, and even seeing him was great, all you wanted to do was touch him. Not like that; no, you just wanted his arms around you again like they had been on the rooftop, shielding you from the cruelty of the world and finally allowing your body to feel safe enough to sleep. You wanted to reach out and trace the sharpness of his jawline, trail your fingers down to explore the planes of his chest, draw letters and shapes and meaningless patterns over his shirt like he’d just done to you. He watched you through sea green eyes that were glassy with sleep or emotion, which one you couldn’t say. His breaths came out short and shallow, hitting your face as you stared right back. You wondered if he could feel your breath fanning his face, or the warmth radiating from your body as you could from his.

He was close, so, so close, like that night you’d first seen him in the Captiol. You were wanting, just about begging for him to say something, something that would snap you out of whatever trance you were in.

It wasn’t fair that he could be so close, mere inches away on the bed, but be so unreachable.

But, as Snow had so graciously reminded you, fairness was a luxury you were not blessed with. So with great effort you tucked one arm under your pillow, using the other to pull the covers over you. Much to your relief, Finnick made no attempt to leave, saving you the embarassment of asking him to stay.

“Finnick?” You asked after several moments in a hushed whisper, not wanting to wake him. You felt guilty enough to have kept him up until mid morning.

“Mmmm?” Was the response, thick with sleep.

“Thanks for staying with me.” You fell asleep before you could hear his response.

Blood. Red and warm and sticky.

Heat. Blistering your skin and parching your throat.

A knife. Glinting in the sun, slicing straight through skin and muscle and bone.

A scream. Bloodcurdling and drawn out and all too familiar.

A scream escaped your lips, mimicking the one in your dream to an uncanny degree until you realized it was your scream. The sheets were tangled around your limbs, suffocating you and rendering you paralyzed as you fought with them, sweat drenching your forehead and leaving your hairline damp as you struggled for what felt like hours, though it was probably only a moment or two before your disorientation faded and you realized you weren’t back in the arena. Two hands were on your shoulders, strong and grounding, and you realized someone had been calling your name.

“You’re okay. You’re safe, it’s just— it’s just me,” Finnick’s voice was soothing to your ears, a calming melody against the screams and sounds of sliced flesh that were assaulting your mind.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, chest heaving as you sucked in as much air as possible, needing desperately to occupy your mind with something else, anything else. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up—”

“It’s okay,” he cut you off; his hands moved up from your shoulders to cup your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks and you realized you’d been crying. “I get it, you don’t… you don’t have anything to be sorry about.”

His arms wrapped around your body until you had been tucked into his side, your head resting in the crook where his neck met his shoulder, and allowed steadying inhales and exhales to relax you as he resumed tracing patterns on your back. You cried, for everything you’d lost in those games, mourning the person you were before, and he just stayed there, cradling you against him, wanting nothing more than to take your pain on as his own.

“I— I— I just— I can’t—” you hiccuped, fresh tears spilling from your eyes as memories from your Games kept crashing down, how your District partner had protected you and you’d killed him—

“Please, what do you need?” Finnick squeezed his hands a bit tighter around you, trying desperately to bring you back to today. “Just tell me, and I can get it for you— liquor, morphling, anything, just—”

“Finnick,” you croaked out, hating how your voice sounded so weak, so broken. “Can you just…” your eyes flickered down to his lips, and despite every cell in your body screaming at you not to ask: “Kiss me.”

His eyes widened like it was the last thing he expected you to say, “I— okay— are you sure?”

You answered his question by surging forward and capturing his lips with your own, telling yourself it wasn’t his lips that you craved, but that you just needed something to get you through the night. He reciprocated immediately, matching your desperation with his own, like the two of you were trading blows as he pulled you fully under him, settling himself between your legs. You felt the hardness in his pants and couldn’t help but roll your hips up to meet it, pressing your own desire up against his. That — the feeling of his cock straining through the material of his sweatpants — made everything a little too real, and you suddenly found yourself needing to justify your actions. Why you felt this way was a mystery, perhaps you were protecting yourself, scared he wouldn’t feel the same if you were honest, but you truly had no idea, it just slipped out.

“I just… can’t think about it anymore,” you panted out. He didn’t have to know that you’d been pining after him since you were sixteen, didn’t need to know you hid your wanting behind sharp jabs and petty slights. “I don’t want you to think— this doesn’t have to mean anything, okay?”

Maybe you were imagining it, but Finnick’s eyes flickered with something you’d never seen before, clenching his jaw for a moment. “Okay.” He didn’t sound okay. “This means… whatever you want it to mean,” his voice was husky with a mix of something that sounded a little like… well you weren’t really sure, and you soon forgot to ask him as he stole your lips in another kiss.

You swore you would never get used to the feeling of Finnick’s lips on your own, even if you kissed him every day for a thousand lifetimes. Because each time his lips met yours, the world as you knew it was set ablaze with the same fuel that set your whole body on fire. You could never get enough of him, the way his lips were so soft and gentle, the way his breath mingled with and matched your own until it was like you were breathing as one. The way his tongue slid into your mouth but didn’t invade it while his hands roamed your body, squeezing the flesh around your hips, your sides, not being able to keep them contained to one place.

They finally settled on the sides of your thighs, squeezing around the area where your nightgown stopped, fading into a lacy trim and then disappearing completely. With tentative hands, he gripped the bottom of your nightgown and slowly began to hike it up your body. You helped him slide it up your legs, your stomach, your head, until it was completely discarded and you were left in nothing but underwear, having not worn a bra to sleep and leaving your chest completely exposed. Before you even had the chance to cover yourself, he was pressed up against you and his lips were on your neck, nipping at the sensitive spots under your ear and near the base of your throat, soothing the sting of his teeth with the swirl of his tongue.

This continued for a bit without any talking or shifting around, until you decided you weren’t content with being the only one practically naked, and reached for the hem of his shirt. He got the hint pretty quickly, leaning back and sitting on the backs of his thighs before tugging the shirt over his head. His biceps flexed in the process as he revealed a body sculpted and shaped into what you could only describe as perfect, not a single flaw to be seen.

 Sitting above you, your legs spread around him and almost completely bare before  him, this was the first time he was truly able to take in all of you, his green eyes nearly black with how wide his pupils had been blown out. His cheeks were so flushed they nearly matched the red of his lips, swollen from the constant attack of your own.

“You’re so beautiful,” Finnick whispered, so quietly you thought you imagined it. He didn’t leave much time for the compliment to settle in before he was back on you again.

His lips trailed down your neck, sucking and licking a path of hot, open mouthed kisses down past the valley of your breasts, down your stomach and not leaving an inch of skin untouched. You let out a little whine at the loss of contact when he suddenly pulled away, stopping his kisses just by your hip bone. You opened your eyes to see him searching them for any trace of unwillingness, finding none. 

You nodded, desperate to have his mouth on you, and involuntarily shivered as a finger hooked around your panties and rolled them down your legs. You couldn’t help but feel a bit embarrassed as he was met with how eager you were for him, evident by the growing wetness between your thighs, and instinctively pressed your legs together to shield yourself from his prying gaze, despite being completely bare before him.

“You don’t have to hide, it’s just me,” he said as gently as possible, gripping your thighs and slowly spreading them apart, “Are you really sure about all of this? I don’t want you to think that’s why I stayed.”

God he was so good, you realized with an ache that rocked your body, shooting straight to your heart as you stared at him, met with only sincerity that made you want to cry again, because you could never truly have all of him.

He was doing this as a favor, as a distraction, not because he had any real feelings. But you were so desperate for him you’d take what you could get, which was why you nodded fervently and said, “Please, Finnick, I’m sure, I need you, just… touch me.” And as soon as the last words slipped past your lips, his mouth was on you, and you knew in that moment you were utterly fucked.

Finnick, on the other hand, knew he there was no coming back the moment he came into contact with your clit and tasted you with his tongue. He wanted you, all of you, and chanelled that into the expert motions of his tongue as he dove it deeper in you, continuing at an agonizing pace until you were trembling, practically begging for release. Your fingers raked through his hair, tugging him closer to you, his groans vibrating against your folds whenever you pulled a little hard.

And then, he stopped altogether, and you let out a frustrated groan at the loss of contact, but he was quick to make his way up your body again, peppering kisses along the way before swallowing your whine with another kiss, your mouth opening to let his tongue inside and tasting yourself on him. He broke away for a moment, just in time for you to cry out his name.

“Finn—” you barely had time to whimper again before he suddenly sunk a finger in and kissed you at the same time. His mouth never left yours as he continued, his tongue sliding along the seam of your lips as you parted them with a gasp. And he swallowed that with the kiss, too, like he was hungry for every part of you that he could get. 

Desire ignited every part of his body, reflected in the way he began to pump his finger in and out before adding another, wanting you to be ready enough for his cock that he so desperately wanted to sink into you.

 But Finnick had waited so long for this moment, he didn’t want to ruin it by moving too fast. No, he needed to relish in every moan elicited from your lips, every clench of you around his fingers. He needed to memorize every dip and valley of your body, kiss every square inch, memorize the taste and feel of you, in case he never got the chance to again.

He broke away his lips from yours and reattached them to your neck as his thumb began to trace a pattern against your clit. His pace quickened as your moans grew louder and more frequent. Your walls squeezed his fingers tighter, until you were practically undone, as he reveled in the sting in his roots and on his back as as you pulled his hair even tighter and your fingernails dug little crescent moons into his otherwise perfect skin.

“I’m gonna—” You were cut off as he sent you over the edge with the slight curl of his finger, pure bliss blinding every other sense until all you could think of was Finnick. It took you a moment to come down from your high, realizing it did little to satiate you because you still wanted him, all of him.

You reached for his bare torso, feeling each of his abs flex individually as you trailed your hands down his stomach. You stopped just above the waistband of his pants, not only wanting to feel him, but wanting to hear him say he wanted it just as badly as you did; but it seemed he was thinking the same thing and beat you to it, shucking off his sweats and boxers until he was also bare before you.

“Tell me you want me,” his chest heaved with each word, demanding you say just what you wanted to hear from him, tearing your attention away from everything else. “Need to hear you say it.”

“Want you so bad,” your voice was barely above a whisper. “Please, I need you inside me. Right now, just… please.” If you could get drunk off of the word please leaving your mouth you’d be wasted by now, almost wanting to laugh with how often you’d said the word.

“Whatever you want,” the way he said that made your spine tingle, the purr in his voice causing you to border on ferality.

This caused you to laugh and hook your arms around his neck, pulling him closer with the intention of kissing the smirk right off his mouth until you felt the tip of his cock brush against your entrance, making this feel a little to real once again.

“You sure?” He halted your movements, both hands resting on either side of your head as he remained hovering above you, repeating his question from earlier.

The vigor in your nod caused him to throw his head back with laughter, though not before you asked for confirmation of his own.

Mimicking your move from earlier he answered with a kiss, this one so sweet and quick it was more of a peck. Before he had time to overthink, he was inside you in a swift motion, a moan tearing from your throat as he paused, waiting for you to adjust to the sheer size of him. Your fingernails dug into his arms as he held still, waiting for you to give him the go ahead before he started moving.

“Just— move, please—” that was all it took before his hips snapped against yours and he was inside you fully, biting back a groan to match yours as you clenched around him.

After a while of slow strokes, you were starting to grow inpatient with how gentle he was being. Not because you didn’t like it, but because then you had the chance to slow down and remember it was actually Finnick, and not some nameless man you wouldn’t remember in the morning. He seemed to pick up on your growing disinterest quickly enough, and began quickening his pace until you were crying out. His thrusts soon became wild and erratic, signaling he was just as close to finishing as you were.

“It’s okay,” he crooned, his lips brushing your ear as his hand reached down to circle your clit once again. “Come for me, sweetheart.” 

You weren’t sure whether it was his command, or the pet name, way his lips felt against your ear, or even his thumb pressing against your clit, but you came hard and fast, your body spasming and clenching around his cock until he followed soon after. He collapsed on top of you, his chest shining with sweat as he continued to press kisses on you shoulder, up your neck, behind your ear. The weight of Finnick pinning you to the mattress was oddly comforting, grounding you and effectively keeping you from wandering back to thoughts of your Games. The distraction had worked, you realized as he eventually rolled off of you and up into a sitting position.

You wondered tiredly where he was going, but he had left and returned before you could even ask where. A damp towel in one hand, he cleaned you up with gentle movements, slowing when you gasped from sensitivity and pressing a tender kiss to your forehead while whispering sweet words of encouragement in your ear. The whole interaction was so domestic you actually felt nauseous as you remembered this was just a one time thing, and you’d never experience any of this again. This was just a favor done by someone who wasn’t even really your friend — a familiar stranger who knew more about you than most.

Finnick oh so desperately wanted to know what you were thinking. He would ask, but the look in your eyes kept his mouth shut as he fell on the mattress beside you. He itched to pull you close to him, to be able to fall asleep with the security of you in his arms, but couldn’t bring himself to make any first moves. Had he not slept here before you two had just fucked, he’d be questioning whether or not he should remain or go back to his room.

If only he knew you were craving his touch just as much as he was craving yours. So the two of you fell asleep shoulder to shoulder, with so many words left unspoken.

And when you woke up the next morning, you tried not to let your heart sink completely into your chest as you reached over and felt nothing. He was gone.

[zeisarinn]

igual que un angel — rin itoshi !!

heaven must have sent you to earth !!

my man !! + rin i love you !! + sassy man apocalypse !! + i need rin merch !!

rin itoshi was someone who always stuck to his schedule. always following the same routine from the moment he woke up until the moment he fell asleep. when you “forced” your presence into his life, he could never stick to his schedule ever again. always having things happen spontaneously around you was both a blessing and a curse. just like how you both were now half-way into watching the barbie movies, “here I am” playing in the background as you both watched Kiera dance to the music.

you watched the movie, humming to the music as rin played with your hair, the light and feathery touches making you want to fall asleep. you blink the sleepiness away, cuddling into rin’s side as your matching hot pink barbie themed pjs invaded your vision. you quietly giggle to yourself, thinking back on when he didn’t want to wear them at first until you practically forced him into the comfy fabric. 

your boyfriend was kind of dumb though, seeing as he still hasn’t noticed the way that you kept glancing up at him or maybe he was just being an annoying little shit again. gods, he was so insufferable at times… so pretty, I meant petty, I mean what? who said that? your boyfriend is so lovely, he would never hurt anyone (he would, specially if it was shidou). maybe to him, ignorance was bliss. a mischievous smile slowly starts to creep up your face, a grin forming as you look up at him. “rinnie,” you whine, a pout on your lips as you look up at him, watching as he barely even glances down at you when you call for him. you follow his gaze, tracing it back to the tv and realizing that he was watching the movie with his full attention. “...what happened to not wanting to watch a children’s movie, huh?” you ask him, a deadpan expression on your face as you reach your hand up to gently poke his cheek, a teasing smile on your face when he immediately looks away.

men are so weird, your boyfriend was definitely even weirder though. maybe he was a woman born in a man’s body, why was he always so much sassier than you anyways? maybe it was the itoshi genes in him or maybe he was a victim of the sassy men apocalypse or maybe this was a sign that you should’ve never made your boyfriend install tiktok. one moment it was “you look just as beautiful as the cherry blossoms” and the next was “you look like the ugly duckling.”

you watch as he huffs, a small pout forming on his lips as he not-so-discreetly glances back at the tv screen. you feel a laugh start to bubble up, giggles rocking your body as you hug rin even tighter. you lean up, pressing a kiss to his cheek and pouty lips before pulling away, watching as he playfully glares at you. you nuzzle your face into his neck, breathing in the light citrus scent of his body wash as he murmurs. “it’s… not bad” you hum at his answer, turning your head to watch the movie as you giggle. “whatever you say, rinnie, whatever you say.” 

work belongs to @/zeisarin 2024 don’t copy, steal, or repost without permission

[evilminji]

OKAY, FIRST? Like the Picture Says...

So!

Here I was, sittin', thinkin', pondering my thoughts. Thing to myself? "How could one? Presumably female, much like myself, Jedi repopul-" and THAT is when my brain, worn and weary, from years of The Internet? SLAMMED its fucking pint down on the bar counter, turned to me with an ugly scowl and sneered?

"You KNOW fucking how. Don't be coy."

( O.O) w-well alright then, brain. Little aggressive. Kinda wondering where you got the knife. I... I'ma just... go... *pint glass is thrown after me, shattering on the door as it just barely misses*

So! Yeah. Birth, probably. But STILL! That's like? Still ONE(1) fuckin Jedi right? And even IF Mr. "I am literally half midi-chlorians by blood" sired two Force Sensitives on his first go? That's no guarantee EVERYONE does?

Unless..... >.> we are taking into account a Force Sensitive RACE. THEN? Oh, THEN? It's not a matter of IF, but HOW MUCH. Enough to hit that arbitrary cut off point? What if you don't care? What if you say "everybody can be a Jedi"? Want to TRUELY spread the Light. Not just to those who are STRONG enough... but to EVERYONE.

There are a few races like that! But! That STILL? Doesn't solve the Puzzle! The Problem! Of how could One(1) VERY determined Jedi lady, who? Presumably is pretty cool with motherhood. Rebuild The Jedi Order, by NOPING™ out before Order 66.

Again, presumably AFTER taking on the role of Creche Master. And AFTER taking all the youngling on a Super Fun Unplanned Don't Tell The Other Grown Ups Suprise Feild Trip~☆ (yaaaaay!)(who wants snacks! Everybody got their travel bags and buddies? Let's gooooo~☆!)

Cause like? Still need a stable population. And enough Jedi to *obscene gestures multiculturally* at the Sith.

My? Proposal? We turn to the Wisdom of the Monster Fuckers. (Wait wait WAIT! Don't leave! HEAR ME OUT!) I KNOW this sounds like a sex thing! Not a sex thing! It's a "Who said Humanoid Meant Live Birth? Were fucking Aliens, Bro" thing! Just because? Our SI-OC? Was reborn AS a vaguely human shaped sentient?

DOESNT MEAN SHE'S A MAMMAL.

That weird hair color could mark her as some WEIRD, man! Fuck, for all we know she could be a fungus! It's vaguely body horror! You get over it! Adapt to new biology!

Learn?? You lay CLUTCHS. Fuckin EGGS. All baby making is external after the first bit. Something, something, easier to defend against predators. SI-OC doesn't remember that part. There was this high pitched ringing in her head then a thump. She was on the floor. May have fainted. What're you, a cop?

They offer her weird alien birth control.

She takes the birth control.

Learns she is a Rare and Near Extinct Species, a la Master Mundi. Learns it's VERY detrimental to her health to lay clutches. Takes a lot of resources, she can't LEAVE it, so with out a partner or community (or sufficient hoard of food) she WILL starve to death. It HAS happened.

No, seriously, look Mafame Che in the eyes. It HAS happened. And no you CAN'T "push your impulses into the Force". It's a biological imperative. Your body physically won't LET you.

Exactly three options. Babies born, they die, or YOU DIE.

......little intense. Got it. Yes she would like that birth control. She will continue to be both average and forgettable. Pay no attention to the Jedi Creche Master In Training! Oh look! It's kenobi! *yeets fellow jedi under the speeder*

Take some.... research trips >.> <.< >.> which is of course totally not scouting out new Temple locations! To the Wild Zone. Mmmmm, no one for WEEKS by hyperdrive! It's so calm out here!

Only took, like, 278 different planets scouted! To find the right one.

*starts building dwellings.* *starts directing "too old" Force Sensitives or Families that want to stay together and are willing to move, towards the location.*

New secret Jedi planet? Whaaaaat? Nooooooo. That would be illegal. Jedi can't break RULES! Don't be silly. Oh? Is that Skywalker? *same Speeder, new jedi. YEET!*

But WAIT! The War Approachth! D:> upsetting. Better get ready to give that "we totally need to Hide The Babies For War Reasons" presentation she has prepared. But FIRST?

A clutch. Got a transport pod ready to go. Got food stockpiled. Got the birth control out. Now? Just need a male! Too uh... contribute.

.......look, she wants her legion of tiny jedi babies okay? They glow like STARS. Everything is BETTER with them around. And she's kinda come around to this whole... disgusting slime... goo... Thing™. Cause I mean? At LEAST it's not pushing one OUT! ( o7 Padme, you have her respect. But also you are a madwoman.)

The Healers, are of course, FROTHING at the mouth.

YOU DUMB MOTHER FUCKER. They hiss, like healing and very concerned paragons of needle weilding fury. Where the FUCK are you going to just? GET?? A male of you INCREDIBLY RARE AS FUCK Species? You damn near dead and no longer existent species??!? You have DELIBERATELY put yourself in EXTREME medical distress! For WHAT?! Did you HAVE a plan!?

Yeah. :3 I call it Pulling a Yoda's Linage *Yoda ears move from Concern, to Intrigued*

*click*

..........what was that. Jedi SI-OC, What Was That?? *comms start blowing up* What did you just DO?

Oh :3c simple. She asked. It's the only polite thing to DO after all. She DOES need assistance. Surely someone would be willing to offer. If they can. How? You may ask?? Why look so CONCERNED Councilors! She simply assumed, that? Since there is no way of KNOWING where in the Galaxy surviving members of her Race are? And time IS of the essence? She SHOULD reach as wide an audience as she can, as FAST as she can... RIGHT?

>:3c so, of course, she posted her request to the Holonet.

Video and all.

"Grettings, I am Jedi SI-OC. I am an [race] and currently a Creche Master here at the Jedi Temple of Coruscant. I require the assistance of a healthy, willing Male of my species, as I have laid a clutch. And wish to have it fertilized. I would like to have children. We would, of course, discuss co parenting the children before beginning. I have, attached, further details. Thank you for your time. May the Force be with you"

Sexiest shit a LOT of people for egg laying races have seen in years. Well... those with Very Specific Jedi Kinks. Of course, no one ADMITS to jedi kinks. But like... you've thought about it. Don't lie. Everyone's thought about it. It's them and the Mandalorians.*commiserating noises*

But like? The NEWS CYCLE.

Holy SHIT.

Yeah, yeah, tensions and possible succession from the Republic. Sith plots in the background. But? *new casters violently clear their planned segments for THIS* JEDI? Horny on main!? Is THIS ALLOWED? IS this horny? What race is that? C-can other people volunteer? And if so, who? We take to the streets! Sir, what's your opinion on-?

OUTTA MY WAY, I'MMA BANG A JEDI! *frenzied mob like behavior*

*temple guards, unnamused.* back! BACK! Horny jail! For ALL OF YOU!

Just?? It's? So, SO? Important to me? That their are Mandalorian [race] that show up. Because the need to repopulate their people is more important then *scrunch nose* Jedi(ew). That it becomes the Galaxy's hottest Bachelorette show. WHO? Amongst these Fine And Acomplished Men? Will the Jedi CHOOSE? To have babies with! They ask.

And, presumably, marry and learn the power of family and friendship and emotions and be HEALED by LOVE etc etc.

There are shipping charts. It's horrifying. The talk shows LOVE it.

Council? Day drinking. Except for Mundi. He's just like "....but did you HAVE to you they Holonet? It's so MESSY >:/ everyone's in our BUSINESS now." Cause he's not a hypocrite. Grumpy asshole? Absolutely. But not a hypocrite.

Just? The single most "....who?" Jedi ever. Causing the BIGGEST fuss. Right at the worst possible moment, for Sidious. Causing an explosion of glee and hope and laughter etc, all across the Galaxy. Good feeling towards the Jedi. EVERYBODY talking about them. There's gonna be HUNDREDS more!

If she does this AGAIN (in a decade. Madame Che was NOT joking on the stress it puts on the body) there could be thousands new Jedi over the coming years! (Probably why the Sith fuckin wiped them OUT, not that she thinks about it. Fuckers. Who's laughing NOW?! Huh? WHO LAUGHING NOW?!)

Again! Very, unspeakably Ace. Not a sex thing. I just think I'd be funny? That the Forces answer to The Evil Sith plan was... Babies™.

What are we? Fuckin YODA?

@babbling-babull @hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @spidori @hypewinter @mayfay

[scorpionickiss]

Asteroid Vulcan 4464

TW: trauma mentioned.

here i will try to provide my own interpretation on the asteroid :p i am not a professional astrologer so take everything with a grain of salt.

vulcan is the Roman god of fire and destruction. he was the second son of jupiter and juno and the husband of venus. sometimes, he would be summoned to calm down fires. he was the father of caeculus, founder of Praeneste. his greek equivalent is hephaestus. he is considered the god of oven trade, arms, jewelry, metalworking.

he plots revenge against his mother, crafting her a deceitful golden throne. he did that because she exiled him for being born ugly. after being thrown off from mount olympus, he landed into the ocean, where he was raised by a sea nymph, thetis. his interest for fire and metalworking happened there.

during his adventures under the sea, he found the remains of a fisherman's fire, thus an unextinguished coal fascinated him, as it was still glowing. he took this coal to his grotto and made a fire with it. in the second day after he ignited it, he noticed that ”certain stones sweated iron/silver/gold.” in the third day the cooled metal was formed into jewelry.

one day, vulcan's foster mother left the grotto to attend a dinner party in mount olympus, wearing a necklace that vulcan made for her. ultimately, she got noticed by juno, who asked where was the necklace from. having thetis' reaction, juno became suspicious and later she realised how her son became a blacksmith.

so, what could this mean in a chart?

IN MY OPINION it may refer to places where you are forced to work on under pressure of heavy emotions. it refers to places where you have to work on your own and with some support outside of your family. in can refer to places where you may feel abandoned and where you fear abandonment, even places that caused such fears. surely, it represents areas of life that causes most trauma for you and parts of yourself that you are forced to transform, but it is for the greater good because once those purified, you will meet so much prosperity based on the placement of the asteroid.

ARIES/1ST HOUSE  1, 13, 25°.

you may have had a lot of transformative experiences regarding your image, and the way you act. depending on how the 1st house behaves in your chart, you are forced to do whatever it takes to achieve your purpose and to make yourself heard. if any planets are in the first house, you are forced to work on any hardships caused by those planets.

TAURUS/2ND HOUSE  2, 14, 26°

if you have vulcan in this placement, i feel like you might have gone through narcissistic abuse. someone might have been overly possesive towards you. if you are a woman and this asteroid is in afflicted aspect (square, opposition and even semisquare) to neptune/saturn/jupiter, i feel like you might have suffered a lot because you had a lot of expectations upon you.

GEMINI/3RD HOUSE 3, 15, 27°

you might have had a lot of conflicts in your near environment. you might have been bullied a lot in school and maybe by your neighbours. you might have been mocked for the way of your speaking. however, over time, you might become a master communicator and might have a job in areas relating to communication.

CANCER/4TH HOUSE  4, 16, 28°

might have had an absent mother figure. a lot of pressure in the family and might have suffered because of people who have extreme views about homeland. because you suffered in your family, you might have had tendencies to plot revenge against them. your mother figure might have not supported you in pursuing your dreams. could grow bitter over mother.

LEO/5TH HOUSE  5, 17, 29°.

you could be a pretty isolated individual. you are a very creative individual but any creative endeavor of yours might have been shamed on. might have been bullied as a kid because of the way you expressed yourself. i think that drama could surround you, you might have been involved in drama during your childhood, which might have created psychological blockages that affected self expression.

VIRGO/6H HOUSE  6, 18°

you might have been shunned away for being too kind. i feel like you could have been the kind kid who got bullied a lot for no reason. could have some health issues that you are forced to work through, and you will be very blessed once you do. i feel like you are forced to work under a lot of pressure in your work place and this effort would be greatly appreciated.

LIBRA/7TH HOUSE 7, 19°

if you have this, i feel like you might have abandoment issues because of some past trauma related to relationships. you might have been criticised to how you connect to others and this might have led to an isolation. might have had difficulties in marriages, and the damage caused by them might have also made you isolated.

SCORPIO/8TH HOUSE 8, 20°

this is very intense. with this placement, and individual could have gone through a lot of transformative experiences while developing. this might have been very discouraging to them, and any time they tried to rise up they were punished. however, with this aspect, i feel like all these things forced you to reach a higher, purified version of yourself.

SAGGITARIUS/9TH HOUSE 9, 21°

you could be very fascinated with spirituality and be shamed for it. you could say that you are spiritually gifted, but there might have been times where people did not believe you. you might find yourself fearing abandonment from people from different cultural backgrounds. you could be very wise, but maybe nobody took you seriously until you grew up.

CAPRICORN/10TH HOUSE 10, 22°

might have been very affected by male figures, like father, boss, and such. IF you are healed, i feel like you could feel very secure around masculine people and benefit a lot from them and if not, i feel like some insecurities related to abandoment might arise because of their behaviour. if you are a woman, you could have female rage because such presences.

AQUARIUS/11TH HOUSE 11, 23°

might have abandonment issues because of friendships that were gained in an online environment or in large groups. i feel like you might be an idealsitic person, but people never respected your ideas until they actually saw achievements of yours if you had any. might be very quiet in friend groups.

PISCES/12TH HOUSE 12, 24°

with this placement, you might have been prone to delusions during developing. like saggitarius/9h, i feel like you could have be highly intuitive but people could take advantage because of that. you might have been idealising people and things and you might have suffered because of that. i think you are an empathetic individual, but you could have been shamed for it and shunned away.

A/N a more in depth study on this asteroid will be on my patreon SOON.

if these do not resonate, consult the PERSONA CHART of this asteroid. also, if the degree of the placement is low(close to 30°) it may mean that the impact of this asteroid might not be felt as intensely. (29° AND 18° MAY MAKE AN EXCEPTION) of course, the impact of this asteroid also depends on the other planets/points/asteroids surrounding it. - however, in my opinion, the intensity of this asteroid may not be smoothened in the case of the following placements of degrees: saturn/cancer/mars/mercury degrees are bound to saturn/cancer/mars/mercury/pluto.

want a reading for this asteroid?

how to read the persona chart of this asteroid

[millidew]

its been almost 6 years since kaito and ouma have infested me. here's me talking out of my ass for over 2k words

to love the ouma-kaito dynamic is to love the themes of v3. to see one of them as 100% correct and the other as 100% wrong is to hate the themes of v3.

there must be balance. which is one of the themes!

at first, they each represent one end of their spectrums: lies, distrust, and logic VS truth, trust, and emotion. but it's not all black and white— they're far more similar than they think

to get the obvious visual foiling out of the way: short vs tall, scrawny vs muscular, pale vs tan (relatively...), round eyes vs sharp eyes, cool purple vs warm purple, black and white vs a colorful galaxy, and a tight "straitjacket" vs what's basically loose pjs

they're visual opposites, but they're also both purple, charismatic leaders, would rather die than their let go of their respective roles of hero and villain, and both want to end the killing game. they're also both SO dramatic. they cannot be separated.

all this is to say that they're the same, just taking different approaches (i mean, just compare their early FTEs. what are you two FUCKING talking about. your ass is NOT a pirate kaito shut up). ouma hides drops of truth within his lies and lives to poke holes in others' poorly concealed lies. kaito talks about being honest, but is also constantly lying to himself and others. and it's so fitting for them to essentially die with each other.

lying your way to the truth, and 10 other tricks to surviving a killing game:

v3 is a game that asks: who are you? why are you even alive? what parts of you are really "you"?

in other words: what is true and what is a lie? does it matter?

the flashback lights are all lies. tsumugi can literally rewrite their "truth" as she wishes. and of course, there's the fact that they're all fictional characters come to life.

and there's the big lie of ch1, brought back in ch6. although this is less relevant to me, personally, because kaede fully intended and did try her damnedest to kill so either way she's still at fault soo

the theme of the survivors is that they all have a reason to fight to live even if the world is hell, because they're pushed forward by the connections they made— kaede's encouragements, the training with kaito that led to shuichi and maki's happiness, and himiko's memories of tenko and angie. even though maki loses kaito, because she had those good times with him that led to her change in self-worth, she'll be okay in the end. she's not enforcing her own loneliness anymore.

basically, "maybe the real reason to live is the friends we made along the way"

shuichi explicitly says that his feelings are true, even if they're born of lies. to lie, there has to be a truth. to be truthful, you can't lie. yin yang and all that

it's even shown with the game mechanic of perjury. kaede and shuichi can literally lie for the sake of finding the truth

he rejects being forced to choose between "hope" and "despair," breaking the cycle. it's pretty easy to apply this to the other dichotomies in v3: truth vs lies, trust vs distrust, logic vs emotion. even heroes vs villains.

ultimately, i think v3 aligns more closely with kaito's ideology, because of course truth and trust is a good thing....!, but not without poking massive holes in it too. because kaito's a prideful hypocrite and the game does NOT let you forget it <3 more on that later

little white lies AKA ouma is sick of your shit part 1:

"is the truth worth it? aren't feel-good white lies ok? what even is a lie?" ouma asks with his little hater heart. (ch1 and ch4)

here, we see ouma questioning the individual nature of common sense ("gut instinct", if you will)— how can kaede decide if his talent is a lie? what is a lie? if ouma is 99% lies by weight, what is ouma??? an annoying grape??

we all want the truth, right? but the truth can be ugly. that's what ouma's always showing.

this is something shuichi also tackles with his feelings on his own talent. by exposing the truth, he causes pain to others. but this isn't about him, so you'll just have to keep that in mind

in the death road to despair in ch1, it's kaede's optimism that causes misery to the rest of her classmates. they're lying to themselves when they try to do it over and over. again, ouma calls her out on it, pissing off kaito who supports kaede 100%. the idea they can all get out and become friends is…also really unlikely. and even with kaede's murder "for the greater good", ouma disparages her for doing it in the first place: she lost the moment she seriously considered the thought, and played right into monokuma's bloodthirsty lil' paws.

right after the ch3 execution, himiko still refuses to let herself feel… until ouma calls her out on it. stop lying to yourself. and they all let it out, crying together. it's a good thing, and spurs on himiko's arc to be more true to herself. you did a good thing, ouma. now onto ch4! yay!

the "truth of the outside world", and ch4 as a whole, is probably the most in your face way of showing this. but more on that later.

the boys are back:

if you want a good relationship with someone, vulnerability is key, one that ouma unfortunately can't replace with a lockpick. you have to be honest. maki and shuichi were honest to kaito, which let him help them out.

ouma is definitely not vulnerable, up until the very end. ouma's distrust of everyone pushes them away, leaving him alone— without the "reason to fight to live" the others have— living out of spite and determination, until he dies for that too. like maki, he reinforces his own loneliness, but unlike her, he never makes those connections that make him change into a more well-rounded person.

kaito's better than him, which is a really low bar, but the game goes out of its way to tell you that he's still hiding secrets and adamantly refuses to let down his hero persona, harming both himself and those around him. you are COUGHING UP BLOOD, you are NOT okay. while his sidekicks still know something is wrong, he refuses to truly let them in, instead just brushing them off.

and that pisses ouma off. at the very least, ouma's honest about being a liar. kaito, in his eyes, is a coward. (not only that, people still like him despite being a liar..... but that's probably more to do with kaito being way less of a dick).

ouma, in kaito's eyes, is also a coward. he can call ouma a two-faced coward as much as he wants, but pot, meet kettle

chapter 4 AKA ouma is sick of your shit part 2:

ok. seriously onto ch4 this time. it's the perfect set up to the insanity of ch5. the tension is insane. also, ouma does not shut up about kaito having a crush on him. ok man.

from now on, it's the kaito & ouma show, the truth & trust & hope & emotion & hero VS lies & distrust & despair & logic & villain show.

and the game puts kaito, and all his themes, in the wrong. poor gonta and shuichi are just along for the ride

the stubborn belief that worked so well for maki in ch2 makes kaito refuse to believe, despite the evidence pointing to it, that gonta is the blackened, endangering everyone. and this is the cause of kaito and shuichi's rift which ouma takes great pleasure in. i'm sure this greatly validates his own distrust and loneliness, seeing it as the superior option

kaito's a liar, shuichi's a liar, and gonta is...not a liar but still technically wrong. YOU'RE ALL LIARS AND KAITO/SHUICHI STANS. YOUR FAVE IS PROBLEMATIC. OUMA'S FUCKING PISSED

it's the hypocrisy that gets to him the most imo

does he know?

anyways, it's a great showdown between their two ideologies. up until now, i'd say the score was roughly 3:1 in kaito's favor, but now it's definitely more even. it even features ouma punching kaito instead of the other way around like last time: something made possible imo because of kaito's sickness, which ouma forces him and everyone to acknowledge by doing this

this is a massive L for the hero side.... can the sidekicks clutch this victory and save the princess?

(interestingly enough, note that kaito doesn't even seem to hate ouma after all that. at the start of ch5, he puts ouma and gonta in the same category as having snapped under the pressure due to monokuma. his feelings, of course, change later on.)

...

are you sure about that

yeah, the truth sucks sometimes, huh?

what now?

chapter 5 AKA the boys are back 2 AKA voyage without passion or purpose AKA the sickest chapter name ever

ch5 combines ouma and kaito's ideologies through their swansong, their magnum opus, their collective theatre kid dream

the hangar man. THE HANGAR. no more cameras. no more prying eyes. no more heroes. no more villains. NO PASSION (KAITO). NO PURPOSE (OUMA). WHAT'S THE POINT. IT ALL BLURS (probably because of the blood loss)

think about it this way: kaito is literally dying, hypocritically refusing to let his friends in. ouma is metaphorically dying, because he lacks the "reason to fight to survive" everyone else has, because he has no trust, no friends, no bitches... anyways

(also the poison, which is. you know. is also literally killing him but shush)

the closest he had was, imo, miu for a little, then kaito in ch5. but in the end, it's all spite, not connection, that drives him. ouma kills himself to prove a point, and they both die as a middle finger to the mastermind— a hollow victory, in many ways.

think about kaito sitting alone in the exisal, hacking his lungs out in the metallic silence of the belly of the beast, having just learned one of the truths behind ouma's act, then killing him, then having to lie to all your friends for the hope that ouma's final, crazy plan works out. he's finally stooped to ouma's level. he's so used to the smell of blood by now. does ouma's blood on his hands look any different from his own?

even kaito's motto: "the impossible is possible! all you gotta do it make it so!" is pretty much an admittance. you can make a lie (impossible) the truth (possible).

also ouma bleeding out looking like shit laying in kaito's galactic coat like a cape. kaito squeezing his eyes shut before before pressing the buttons. these images changed lives.

the lying truthersssss...working together!!! to literally pretend to be each other!!! to blur into one being!! trusting each other to see it through for their shared goal!! at first glance, maki thinks it's her fault— that ouma manipulated kaito using her, but kaito disagrees, saying it was for the sake of ending the killing game.

this is all to hammer home the idea that we shouldn't see them as "hero" or "villain." the cast sees them as it first, but of course, we know that's not so simple by the time kaito steps out of the exisal.

in the end, they fail, but kaito puts his and ouma's dreams in their hands. they can do it better this time.

plus, kaito finally stops lying to himself and others about being a liar, the thing ouma gave him endless shit for. it only took him 5 chapters

is it wrong to call "that was a lie" ouma's catchphrase?

i still can't believe maki believed him. love makes you stupid i guess

extra thoughts:

you might be wondering why i call him "ouma" and not "kokichi." i do the same with some other characters: kirigiri, togami (though i switch between that and byakuya nowadays), and komaeda. it's because i don't know them like that. we are NOT friends. "kirigiri" is out of respect however

don't you think ouma has his own "sidekicks," his "villain lackeys," if you will, in DICE?

kaito's execution music should've had the "reach for the stars" line from sdr2 and i'm still mad about it

and they should've both in that exisal idc

kaito somehow exited that exisal with a new jacket. it's my headcanon that, in respect of a fellow theatre kid, ouma stole a second jacket from kaito's room and put it in the exisal

VR au post game low(high)key codependent oumota is everything and i'll happily read 1000 fics about it

also just outside of the Themes of it all, and tbh my main draw to this duo... they're so funny. they are SO. FUNNY. THEY'RE SO GOOFY TOGETHER. STOP TRYING TO ONE UP EACH OTHER

they should run around and beat each other with toy hammers. it's enrichment.

this isn't like thematically relevant but their love hotel events really show how well they could work together. they want a rival to pump them up and fight back so bad!! they'd have the craziest vigilante beef

WHY IS THIS 2.1K WORDS/???!> i am so weak to rivals man

tldr: look at this meme.

tldr 2.0: a true kaito fan is also a true ouma fan and vice versa. you may not like it, but they're two peas in a pod. don't worry though, they're not happy about it either.

[envy-of-the-apple]

Moon Starves Sun

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

Part one: Sun Eats Moon

Part two: Earth Kills Moon

Part three: Moon Starves Sun(Full part)

Synopsis: The aftermath of 'Sun Eats Moon' in Satoru's perspective.

(Warnings: implied sex, forced relationships)

When Satoru's close like this, he can hear your heartbeat. 

It's been a while. Ten years. An entire decade. Everything about this is different, yet so familiar. He feels like he's finally reached the shores, feeling the warm sands underneath his feet. Like he's been given his favorite food after being starved for years. Everything melts. Everything except for you. 

He'd like to stay like this forever, listening to your rabbit heartbeat, feeling your soft skin, but for your sake, he pulls himself off you. Lying on a wooden desk probably isn't that comfortable. 

Your eyes are shut. Your breathing is shallow. You're so pretty like this under the moonlight. Your clothes are barely hanging onto your body. He can see every mark he's left on you. Part of him wants to make more, but he'll let you off the hook for now. He's nice like that. 

"Still with me?" 

Your eyes flutter open. You don't respond, but at least you're not crying anymore. He can work with that. 

"C'mon, pretty girl," he says, voice soft, "let's piece you back together." 

The belt left lines on your wrists. He'll kiss them better later. For now, Satoru collects your clothes and heels from the floor, placing them on the desk. He helps you reclasp your bra, runs his fingers on your arms when you finish buttoning your blouse. It's a quiet affair. Every so often, he'd catch your eyes. You don't let yourself linger for long. Satoru finds that a little cute. 

You say nothing when he wraps an arm around your waist, guiding you out of his office. Maybe you're still dazed, still gathering yourself back up, because you don't struggle as much as he predicted. You try to leave his grip when the two of you reach the lobby. He's quick to stop you. 

"Where, do you think you're goin'?" He grips your wrist when you take a step away. 

You look at him, eyes shimmering like water. 

You swallow. "My apartment. I—I need to go back—" 

He clicks his tongue, bringing you back in. 

"We can get your stuff later." He tells you with a grin. "let's just go home, tonight. I'm exhausted." 

You open your mouth. Satoru waits. You say nothing, and he thinks you're starting to get it. 

The moon is a dusky red tonight. Satoru thinks it's an ugly color. 

☾

If Satoru could describe you in one word, it would be: predicatable. 

Normal, boring, a speck in the crowd—none of these are bad things. Just like how much of the universe is nothing, you're an empty void, too. Not everyone can be like him. From the minute he was born, Satoru was destined for greatness—a prodigy, heir to a millionaire conglomerate, the Sun itself. His life isn't written on his forehead for everyone to read. 

You are the exact opposite. Completely unassuming. He practically knows everything about you without even having to ask. 

Like how Satoru can instantly tell you've never been over to a boy's room before. 

You've probably never even been in a relationship before him, either. Even before he managed to corral you into his arms, you were always so annoying about the other things like school and friends. Though, you don't really have much of the latter anymore. His fault, Suguru never fails to remind him. 

He watches as your eyes linger over his shelf: the numerous trophies and awards. You're still standing meekly in the corner, still garbed in your school uniform, clutching your backpack. He has to roll his eyes at how obviously you're trying not to look at him. 

"What're you waitin' for?" He finally asks. You jump, eyes flitting over to find him before you find the floor. He resists the urge to roll his eyes again.

It's not like you two haven't done shit before. You sucked him off twice now, and he's finger fucked you against the bleachers. You should really stop being such a prude. 

"C'mere, pretty girl." 

***full version of pt 3 is on a03 and account restricted. in the process of censoring the fic so it can be posted on tumblr**

[silantryoo]

BONUS [ LIKEALOOK ] — normal girl.

l/n y/n, first year high school.

WARNINGS ; misogyny, classism, multiple one-sided relationships, mentions of death threats, mentions of toxic fandoms, hints of imposter syndrome, sexual innuendos, sexualization, objectification, incel behaviour, slut shaming (5.4k)

l/n y/n was born a pretty baby.

her family members - cousins, aunties, uncles, grandparents - gathered around her medical crib hours after she was born, basking in her beauty.

to the l/n's, y/n was a sight to behold. her small smile and her soft cooing ignited a fire within them, one that urged them to pamper the newborn with as much love they could muster.

it was safe to say that y/n was always surrounded with love, a plethora of it.

there wasn't a single time in her childhood that she didn't feel love.

y/n loved her parents, just as much, if not more, than they love her.

they did everything that they could to make her happy and healthy, enrolling her in whatever she wanted at the time. whether that be her attending hanlim (which they could barely afford) or a simple latte at the nearest café, the l/n's first priority was their daughter.

y/n knew that she wasn't as well off as the other kids in her school. her parents were decently well off but not enough to put them in the upper tax bracket that many of seoul seemed to be in, or at least pretended to. she had nice clothes, not designer, but just enough to not be bullied by her peers. her house was a fair bit away from the more booming areas of the city; a cozy, two bedroom house an hour away from gangnam.

she was content, making sure to never take her things for granted, always making sure her clothes were neat, her shoes were clean, and helping out with the chores as much as she could.

y/n didn't need much. she didn't want much, actually. as long as her parents were there with her, she was happy.

y/n just wanted to be happy.

she knew she was pretty.

being pampered all her life does a few things to her ego, but even then, it was only her family members telling her. there was only so much you hear from your family until it started sounding like each compliment was because you were family. y/n had a slight ego, sure, but didn't have a big head. she knew she didn't hold the attention of the general public that her parents were so sure she held.

at least, she didn't think so.

"i've liked you for so long!"

y/n stared at the note in his hands, the upperclassman's hands trembling. she couldn't understand why he was so nervous. they had hung out a few times beforehand, surely he wasn't actually in love with her.

y/n was only thirteen, and this guy - han hyeongjun - had spoken to her less than ten times her entire life.

as his hands continued to shake, y/n gently pushed his arms down, giving a soft smile.

he was in no means ugly. a lot of girls would die for a chance with him, both older and younger that y/n herself. hyeongjun was nice, even funny at times when y/n had spoken to him.

y/n simply didn't know him enough, and currently, her priorities weren't dating.

"i'm sorry..." y/n watched as his face fell apart, hyeongjun's eyes wide with hurt and shock. "i'm not looking for a boyfriend right now."

"i'll wait!" his voice tore through her eardrums, a desperateness lying underneath his shaky breath. hyeongjun swallowed back what seemed to be tears. "please... give me a chance."

y/n frowned. was she hurting someone? she never wanted to hurt anyone.

"hyeongjun-oppa, i'm really not interested." she could feel herself wavering, her guilt slowly starting to outweigh her stance. "i'm sorry..."

hyeongjun crumpled the love letter in his hand, tears streaming down his face. he would never want to force the girl he liked into a relationship with him, even though he so desperately wanted to, even though it tore through him like a pain his fourteen year old self could barely comprehend.

"i understand." his tears poured violently, hyeongjun's head pounding from holding back sobs. "i just... really like you."

y/n knew she was pretty, but she didn't think she was pretty enough to cause someone pain, especially someone she barely met.

"i'm sor-"

he left without a word, bumping into the younger girl's shoulder, his face tear-stained and etched with pain.

why did it hurt y/n too?

it was a one off thing, y/n decided.

han hyeongjun was a sweet, soft hearted boy. it was most likely a crush that he had, and not the emotions he claimed them to be. even if it was, there was no way it could actually happen again.

especially not in hanlim, where idols and future actors wandered the halls, all wearing some kind of designer shoes and expensive makeup.

here, y/n was just another face, just like she always was, despite her parents' preaching.

"what's your name?"

y/n's head shot up, her eyes wide. the girl that stood before her was tall and pretty, her loafers polished as if it was spit shined. her hair was dark, her skin pale in comparison, and y/n could see the faint twinkling of her necklace.

she suddenly felt so out of place.

"me?"

"yeah, you." the girl sat beside her, a scoff threatening to escape from her pink stained lips. "i don't think i've seen you before. what's your last name?"

it was an odd question to ask, at least for y/n. she knew last names held a significance, but only the adults in her life bothered to ask, never people her age.

the girl's eyes bore into hers, as if anticipating her question, ready to jump at the chance to compare herself with y/n.

"it's l/n."

"l/n?" she rested her chin on her palm, gazing at the girl with a predatory gaze. y/n couldn't place what it was, but it felt familiar enough to make her feel uncomfortable. "i don't think i know any l/n's. are you from gangnam? seocho?"

y/n could feel her eyes bug out. gangnam? seocho? there was no way her parents could ever afford an apartment, much less rent in those areas.

"uh, no." y/n didn't know why, but she felt so cold all of a sudden. "i live in nowon."

the girl sat up, her interest piqued. there was something about her eyes that shifted.

"oh." she twirled her blonde hair (probably an idol trainee, y/n thought) in between her fingers, eyeing y/n with a curiosity that seemed less than innocent. "i see..."

she could feel her intentions, how her puppy-like eyes held more than innocence. y/n felt like a zoo animal, being observed from a close distance, and this girl, although outwardly sweet, had ravenous intentions.

the girl smiled kindly, throwing y/n off guard. "what do your parents do for a living?"

y/n blinked. maybe she was wrong.

"um..." y/n's parents made a good amount, more than the rest of her relatives. even her high school friends said that she was rich, at least in comparison to them. "my dad's an electrician and my mom's a factory worker."

there was a pause in the air, heavy and suffocating. y/n was sure she said something wrong, but she wasn't sure.

"well..." the girl leaned back, deciding not to attack the poor girl in front of her (for now), and y/n sighed a breath of fresh air. "at least you're pretty."

"oh." y/n was pretty sure it wasn't a complement, but she'd take what she can get, especially since she was the black sheep in a class full of freshly groomed ones. "thank you..."

the girl smiled, resting her hand on her chin, her long, expensive looking acrylic nails slightly digging into her cheek. y/n glances her nails, dull and plain.

"my name's shim hyewon, daughter of shim sin. y'know, the politician?"

"oh." y/n had no idea about the world of politics, much less their names. all she knew was that the girl in front of her must've been rich. "i'm l/n y/n..."

just l/n y/n.

shim hyewon led a life that y/n hadn't been used to.

her parents were busy people, working as much as they could to provide for y/n, and she couldn't be more grateful for them. she rarely saw them in the mornings, her dad having an early start to his day, and her mom usually coming home an hour after she already left for school.

her commute wasn't bad, longer than it was during high school, but that was a given. her place horribly far from hanlim. her ten minute walked turned into an hour commute (give or take a couple minutes it takes to actually walk to the station).

it was a pain, honestly, but this was what she wished for. y/n wasn't gonna let an inconvenience like this get in the way of dreams, not when her parents poured blood, sweat and tears into it.

still, y/n couldn't help but envy hyewon.

the girl had been nice to her these past couple months, and though y/n felt uncomfortable with her constant classist remarks, hyewon was sweet.

she'd wait for y/n at the entrance of the school, scrolling through the latest model of her phone (the case differing week to week, sometimes day to day), barely fatigued from the twenty minute drive with her chauffer.

she shouldn't feel jealous at the wealth, y/n was already rich with the love and support from her parents. she genuinely couldn't ask for more, but perhaps if she had just a little bit of that money...

"took you long enough."

y/n fiddled with her black blazer, shifting around. hyewon's eyes dropped to her legs for a brief moment, and once again, y/n felt like a prize to be won.

she didn't dwell on it longer, as hyewon's face shifted into an expression y/n was used to; amusement.

y/n cleared her throat, rubbing her knuckles. at times, standing face to face with her friend felt more like a job interview than two peers talking about class.

"how long were you waiting for?"

"five minutes." hyewon shrugged, standing up from her leaning position. "i thought you weren't gonna show today."

y/n woke up late, too busy studying for their history exam to sleep. she needed high grades, and there was no time to study, especially since she managed to book some auditions a week before the test.

luckily, she caught the train, but the trek up on the way to school was slower due to her drowsiness.

"i always show up to class."

the two began to walk to class, finally entering school grounds. y/n could already feel eyes on them, more specifically on her.

it was a common occurrence after her first month in school, and she found a lot of the students (mostly boys, but a girl here and there) stealing glances, some of which even handing her confession letters.

maybe they weren't used to people like her walking around, someone who was slightly less well off, and not acclimated to their tightknit social circles.

it didn't make her feel any better though.

"you shouldn't." hyewon sighed, taking in the shorter girl's side profile. "this place is boring."

hanlim wasn't boring, not to y/n. school was school, and although it was tough and monotonous, she was on the path of doing something she loved.

y/n loved the spotlight like it loved her, but sometimes, she wished that people saw her less like a trophy and more like a human being.

hyewon glanced at her as they entered the building, her eyes raking over her with an untold emotion.

she was never a patient person, and her father always scolded her for it. perhaps now was a good time to practice it. hyewon could already tell that y/n was going to be tough to crack.

reaching the room, y/n could feel the cold air on her sweat soaked back, and she couldn't wait to finally sit down. the train was packed earlier, and y/n's legs ached from standing up the entire ride. she needed a breather, sooner than later.

"hey."

oh.

"ew." hyewon scrunched up her nose before playing innocent. she looked up at the older guy, smiling with her teeth. "oops! sorry, sunbaenim. it slipped out before i realized."

jay chang.

two years y/n's senior, and son of some popular american singer that y/n couldn't remember the name of. all she knew was that girls quite literally fell for him with a simple smile, and that jay was nothing but persistant.

"it's a good thing i wasn't talking to you, then." his smile was charming, and y/n was nearly fooled by it the first time they spoke. "you look nice today, y/n."

she nodded slightly, not wanting to give him too much. "thank you, sunbaenim."

"still a no?"

hyewon rolled her eyes. "kinda obvious, don't you think?"

"what?" he smirked, dusting his shoulder. "eventually, she'll need someone like me to take care of her."

y/n didn't think she'd ever need anyone, especially someone as big headed as jay chang.

what she needed was her desk, and her seat cushion... and a cold glass of water.

"i can take care of her just fine."

"whatever." jay frowned. hyewon always seemed to get what she wanted, despite probably being the youngest in the school. everyone treated her like royalty, and it pissed him off, knowing how she truly was deep down. "besides, y/n can't expect me to hold back when she looks like that everyday."

she was no better than him.

"that's all for me, i'm guessing?"

y/n felt a firm grip around her midsection, hyewon's arm anchoring her body against hers. it felt as if she was being claimed in broad daylight, and y/n did everything in her power to push down the discomfort threatening to make itself known.

"yeah." hyewon looked up at jay. "we're leaving."

"it's just a joke!" jay put his hands up, smiling as if he did nothing wrong. "unless you wanna make it a reality, y/n-ah."

y/n shook her head, the unsettling feeling getting worse as jay continued to hover over them.

"c'mon, don't be like that." he teased softly, a hint of frustration underneath. "at the very least, go on a date with your oppa."

hyewon pushed him aside, slamming the classroom door in his face. everyday, it was the same thing; the boy showing up in front of the classroom, loud and annoying, only there to harass y/n.

it was funny, honestly, and hyewon didn't mind that it helped y/n get closer to her.

"you okay, y/n?"

"yeah." y/n pulled away from her, hyewon's arms falling from her side. the younger girl clenched her jaw. "are all the guys here like that?"

"no." she hummed as the two made their way to the lockers. hyewon glanced at y/n once more. "almost everyone here is like that."

y/n couldn't get the icky feeling off her.

she felt an item for auction.

"it makes me feel gross." y/n confided softly, the feeling never leaving her, even when it was just her and her friend talking.

hyewon paused, and y/n felt the air shift into a thick cloud, filled with something similar to smugness.

"do i make you feel gross, y/n?"

she didn't want to upset her only friend.

"no."

but that was the exact answer hyewon was looking for.

"good."

the seasons passed, and so did y/n history exam.

getting her score back wasn't the nerve wracking part.

her grades were what she expected, and although it wasn't enough to be the top of her class (because y/n wasn't gonna slave over a one hundred and go to night school and cram school), she was satisfied.

it was the auditions she was worried about, her very first (and if it went wrong, her very last). she had managed to get a callback a week ago, and like before, it all went smoothly.

until she got to the HYBE building, of course.

"mom?" y/n's feet hit the cold floor, the air conditioning blasting. both her parents must've been home. "dad?"

she wandered into the kitchen, some dishes piled up, and the table freshly wiped. on the stove was a pot of kimchi stew, her mom's favorite meal and her dad's go-to dish.

she trudged to the living room, excited at the signs of her parents finally being home. y/n knew it wasn't normal for a fifteen year old to want to hang out with her parents, but she didn't care.

y/n loved her parents.

she heard the tv and walked faster, stopping as she stood in front of her parents' view, laptop in hand.

"need something, baby?" her mom, l/n eunji, pulled away from her dad's arms, causing him to pout slightly. he was always so clingy. it was cute. "come here."

y/n raced to sit in between them, rushing to open her email.

"can i tell you something?"

"what is it?" her dad, l/n junsang, leaned over her shoulder, snooping like he usually did. "you have a boyfriend? girlfriend?"

y/n glanced at junsang, shaking her head at his over enthusiasm to her getting a girlfriend or boyfriend (which she knew deep down he detested the though of).

"what?" he shrugged. "when i was your age, girls were throwing themselves at me. boys, too."

eunji rolled her eyes. her husband never changed. "girls were running away from you, actually."

y/n, not minding their usual antics, sifted through her open tabs, closing at least eight of them (for her paper due next month).

"but you ran towards me." junsang scrunched his nose, the mole dead center wrinkling along with his skin.

eunji shook her head. after twenty years together, she assumed her husband's ego would deflate just a tad bit. somehow, it worsened when y/n was born, their young daughter resembling him in both her smile and her beauty marks.

"you were the only one who caught my attention, though." he confessed like he always did, declaring his love on a random afternoon. "i could never say no to you and your pretty eyes."

y/n could gag, but it was nice to see her parents in love, even if it made her cringe.

"um..." she shifted the attention to her, hovering over the sketchy email she got. "are you guys done flirting?"

"sorry, baby." eunji looked at her daughter, her cat-like eyes gleaming. "what's up?"

"so..." the email in front of y/n made her heart beat out of her chest. "i had a callback, right?"

"yeah...?"

"i just got the email." y/n whispered. she knew it was her first audition, and there were much prettier and more talented girls that were at the audition, but she couldn't help but hope. "i was hoping to open it with you?"

junsang smiled. he was always so grateful that his daughter was open to sharing her achievements with him and his wife. being so involved in her life, regardless of its gravity, made him happy.

all he ever wanted, ever since he was young, was to watch his kid blossom.

the two older l/n's leaned closer, watching as their daughter opened the message.

y/n's eyes widened, reading the words over and over again, but she could only focus on one thing.

We look forward to working with you in the next coming weeks.

she got it? her first audition, and she got it?

y/n didn't know how to feel, a mix of gratitude and guilt coursing through her. it didn't seem fair to the others, the ones who strived for months, years.

"i knew it." junsang puffed out his chest. "no way can they deny our baby's pretty face."

her pretty face.

was that the only reason she got in? did they chose her for her face, just like everyone did in hanlim? her hardwork was glazed over, the spotlight on her features instead of her feats.

eunji flicked her husband's ear, her head lowering to meet her daughter's gaze.

"obviously, it's not just your face, y/n." her daughter was talented, and sometimes, she needed a reminder, just like everyone in her position would. "your dad and i know how talented you are. he just likes to say your face is pretty because people say you look like him."

"what?" junsang frowned. "am i not pretty?"

"junsang."

"you're very talented." he smiled, ruffling y/n's hair. "and smart too. all of which you got from m-"

"junsang."

"anyway," he waved his wife off, looking at his daughter. "you deserve it. you've worked so hard for it, and we're so proud of you. not only do we have a good daughter, but a talented one."

her parents were always her anchor, but sometimes she wished that she had the friend groups in the shows she had watched.

y/n wanted to belong both in her home and in society, where people saw passed her face.

"thank you." she whispered, earning a kiss on her temple from her mom. "i love you both."

"we love you too." eunji rubbed her back. "and don't listen to your dad about the boyfriend thing. i was the one that was getting hit on."

junsang paused, a frown suddenly on his face.

"you were?" his eyes landed on his wife, y/n deciding that now was a good time to hop off the couch and let her father and mother sort this one out. "wait, why didn't i know about this?"

eunji shrugged, standing up.

"i never told you."

eunji followed her daughter, not to her room, but to the end of the hall, her and her husband's door wide open.

"wait, what?" junsang heard y/n's door click shut, rushing to his feet to chase after his wife. "eunji, what?"

y/n met bts.

no, she worked with them, staring in multiple of their music videos, more than she expected to feature in (all at the cost of privating her social media accounts for a while. her success came with death threats, as expected).

it did wonders to her popularity in the industry, and she was amazed at how much more her peers both avoided and fawned over her. y/n always thought that it couldn't get much worse, but it did.

hyewon seemed to hover over her, watching as her locker was filled with threats from some of the older girls in hanlim. mixed into the pile were confessions, a few of which came from different schools. how they got in her locker, y/n would never know.

all she knew was that the attention was immense.

somehow, she avoided it today, waiting a couple minutes after the class president left to get cleaning supplies. there were a fair amount of students still in the class, but y/n knew they were all respectful enough to not but her.

she dusted herself off, walking outside the room and down the staircase. hyewon was somewhere nearby, either the roof where she usually sat (smelling like smoke) or in the girl's washroom close to the entrance.

"so..." jay? he never stayed after school, even if clubs were going on. "you can do a video with some older men but not go on a date with me?"

y/n's blood ran cold.

"sunbaenim." trying to not show her nerves, she lowered her head slightly, hoping that the sign of respect was enough for him to cool down.

it wasn't.

"do you like older men?" his arms crossed, his usually ironed blazer now wrinkling in his grip. "am i not old enough for you?"

y/n didn't like older men, she didn't even consider older anyone at all. she didn't wanna focus on that stuff, her sights on her dream university unwavering.

"i just don't want a boyfriend." her voice, soft and soothing, was strong with honesty.

"why not?" jay shot up, his dark eyes hard against y/n's features. "all girls want a boyfriend. you know i'll be good to you. i won't even force you to do anything."

y/n was sure his words meant to be reassuring, but it made her feel worse if anything, now knowing that jay saw her more like a toy than a human.

"i'm really not interested." she felt her voice go weaker, her legs frozen.

she wanted to leave, yet her legs stayed glued to the floor. there was a deep, unsettling feeling like her chest had been weighed down by something and she wasn't sure what.

"i don't believe you." the sinking feeling in y/n's chest was overwhelming. "don't tell me one of those bts oppas got to you first."

the staircase turned quiet, the soft whirling of the cooling units pushing through the vents. the green grass reflected the now setting sun through the window, birds chirping in the distance.

it should've been a beautiful day.

y/n felt a sense of shame she didn't understand. dirty and used, yet not even having her first kiss yet. she hadn't even held hands with anyone, yet somehow, everyone saw her as more.

she just wanted connection, love in both friendship and relationship.

jay was annoying, uncomfortable at times, but he wasn't cruel. she must've heard wrong. she had to have heard wrong.

y/n's voice came out in a soft squeak.

"i don't understand..."

she didn't, honestly.

she knew the industry came with it's consequences, but everything started even before then. it amplified, but it had always been like this in one way or another. she was always seen as something to get, something to possess, but never to connect with.

y/n was a want, but she was never a need.

"c'mon, y/n. quit playing dumb." jay was up to his wits end, and y/n could feel it in the air, a heavy smog filling her lungs. "there's another guy, isn't it?"

everyone assumed it was someone else, but it never was.

it was just her.

"are you playing hard to get or something?" his voice got louder, drowning out the birds and replacing it with a shroud of rage that concentrated around y/n. "you know how many girls would kill to have me tripping over them? and you're just here rejecting me over and over again?"

over the past few months, y/n learned to steel herself from the influx of confessions, always slightly in pain at the thought of breaking someone's heart.

it felt real, their 'love' for her.

but she knew this wasn't real, yet it hurt by the tenfold.

"it hurts, y'know." jay didn't seem hurt, and y/n was glad that his major was applied music and not broadcasting and entertainment. "you're not even giving me a chance. is it cause of the rumors you heard? are you that shallow? or are you just trying to hurt me?"

y/n didn't want to hurt anyone. she'd rather hurt herself.

"i didn't mean to-"

"but you did!" jay was fed up, nothing ever going his way. "do you like the attention or something? acting like a fucking tease all the time."

she could feel anger bursting through her chest, sick and tired of the names everyone threw her way. a thin veil frustration started to well up in her eyes, and behind, a seed of disappointment in others and in herself.

calming herself down, y/n spoke. "i don't understand why you keep calling me that."

"because you are!" jay whined, his eyebrows furrowing. y/n could basically see him stomping his foot. "you walk around with that face and expect me not to do anything."

a shiver ran through her spine.

"it's just my face..."

y/n didn't want to be seen as a trophy if it meant attracting attention like this.

did anyone even see her as human at this point?

"just shut up!" jay pushed his hair slick back, his voice echoing through the stairwell. "just fucking leave."

as if by his instructions, y/n's legs finally moved, her frame a blur as she rushed down to the main floor. she could feel her chest heaving, her eyes trained onto her feet. they carried her to the washroom, and she opened the door with a loud bang.

hyewon.

she was safe. her friend was here.

"woah," hyewon hummed, looking at y/n through the mirror. "you look crazy as fuck."

she felt crazy, her mind racing. she couldn't fathom how people saw her in that light, as if she was a medal incased in a collection of glory, plastered for the world to see.

"hyewon."

y/n rushed to her friend. she needed comfort, solace in the storm that happened mere minutes ago.

today should've been a good day.

"oh shit." hyewon pulled y/n in, her hands resting on her lower back. "hey... it's okay."

she could confide here, in between the porcelain walls, where she stood in the arms of someone she trusted. for once, she had someone to lean on, someone her age (or close to it) that listened.

y/n just wanted someone to listen.

"i don't understand why everyone thinks i want them or something." the emotions in her chest whirled with fervor, yet her voice was meek.

"i don't understand either." hyewon pull her closer, rubbing her back. "people here are fucked in the head."

y/n didn't want to believe that. she knew somewhere out there, there had to be people who were pure hearted, with pure intentions. somewhere, there were people who were just like her and her parents.

y/n wouldn't find them until after high school.

"i just wanted to make friends." she didn't mean to whine, but she was tired. "even the girls here think that i'm trying to do something. i can't even go near them without them thinking i'm trying to sabotage them."

hyewon pulled back slightly, looking at the shorter girl with vague intent. "i know you aren't, y/n."

"did i do something?" y/n was careful, never crossing the line of friendship (and most times, acquaintanceship) with anyone. she never wanted her words to be twisted, her actions perceived with an underlying meaning. "do i seem like the people they assume i am?"

she wanted to be seen for her, not for their ideals.

"no." hyewon brushed the tears off her cheek. "no, you're perfect."

"i just want people to understand." y/n was worried she'll never find anyone who cared enough about her. "i need someone to understand, or at least try. is that so much to ask for? for someone to actually care about me?"

"i know, baby." the taller girl whispered, y/n suddenly aware of how her breath hit her face. "i know."

y/n's first kiss happened on a beautiful day, in a porcelain school bathroom, the soft hum of the school's ac whirling through the vents, the sun setting through the windows.

(she always wished her first kiss happened with wonyoung, but wonyoung didn't need to know about this. y/n would rather die.)

she pulled back, bile threatening to release in her throat.

"i'm sorry"

"hey..." hyewon reached for her arm, and the predatory gaze was back. "it's okay."

it wasn't.

y/n rushed out, her legs carrying her as far from that school as they could. her lungs burned, her ears rang, and the humid air clung to her skin, refusing to release her.

sweat dripped down her back, tears poured from her eyes and betrayal suffocated her.

it hurt. everything hurt. the way jay's words stuck onto her like cheap perfume, and the actions of hyewon - of someone she knew she shouldn't have trusted - clawed into her.

she was battered, ripped to shreds, and never had she so desperately yearned for someone to hold her, to tell her that everything would be okay.

y/n wanted the comfort of a close friend, one she trusted with her gut. she wanted to hear the soothing words, the advice they'd give her. y/n longed for someone in her corner.

y/n just wanted to hear that it wasn't her fault.

(it wasn't, and it never was, and it never will be.)

(and two weeks later, y/n sported a new yellow blazer, assigned to a new seat and her commute lengthened to an extra thirty minutes.)

masterlist | next

taglist (CLOSED)!!

@moontealemonpie @rikisgeef @cutieseo @limbforalimb @ahnneyong @yumtooki @lcv3lies @sserajeans @jiwoneiric @blue4hour @trsrina @xyxlyn @misumiausworld @awkwardtoafault @d7dream @slowlyturninggay291 @perfectsunlight @juhyunsthirdwife @uzumakioden @txtbrainrot @rosiehrs @wlwgirlsworld @skisk1 @bzeus28 @deeznutzryu @jisooftme @jihyostolemyheart @li0ilthecxnt @eggomi @ddoxhan @zhivaxo @sweet-dhrafts @bearseulgs @marimo-anura @wonyoluvr @serenitygrace24 @ddeonutz @noiacha @livelaughchoerry @yunnybunnyy @ivy-aurora

[lizzybeeee]

The Lucanis vs Illario story would have had greater emotional depth/intrigue if the writers didn't water down how fucked up the Crows are as an organization.

Just some thoughts about how, out of all the side villains, Illario had some great potential to be a really interesting/tragic character in my opinion.

TL;DR: Zevran Aranai has a knife with Caterina's name on it for good reason and Lucanis/Illario need therapy...or whatever the Thedas equivalent is called...talking to Rook, I dunno

Going into DATV as a new player, or even as a returning one, the whitewashing of the Crows has a lot of the potential complexities of that life simply ignored or barely touched upon. The entire 'Illario vs Lucanis' boils down to: Illario seething in the shadows about Lucanis being the 'best boy'™ of the family while Illario is an after thought - which he is.

Let's be real, Illario is not subtle and immediately comes across as the Scar to Lucanis' 'Mufasa'. It's a questline with a very straightforward villain who has pretty lackluster motivations from what info we're provided - being 'I want power and to be the First Talon'. The game does very little explore what motivations he may have beyond being jealous of Lucanis/wanting more power.

However, if you play the quest line knowing what previous games have set up about the Crows - about how cutthroat and brutal the life is behind the glamour - then you can see that the entire Lucanis vs Illario conflict has amazing potential to be a dramatic tragedy.

We've seen how the life of Crow can affect Zevran - someone who was sold into the life through child-slavery. How interesting would it be to see how the life of a Crow can affect someone who was born into it? It's pretty clear in-game that Caterina intends for her grandchildren to carry on the family tradition - despite the fact that this 'family tradition' has likely led to the deaths of most of her grandchildren and however many children she had.

If there's banter about how Illario's/Lucanis' parents/cousins died specifically I haven't heard it, but the impression I got in-game was that it was likely linked to the Crows/politics in some way? Feel free to correct me! Still majorly fucked up that she pushes her grandsons into this life regardless!

Lucanis/Illario's situation was not like Zevran's - who was sold into the Crow's through slavery, with no one to speak up for him. Caterina was a woman who had power, who knew what the life of a Crow meant, and who still pushed those she 'loved' into it because is consolidated her place in the system. For all the Crows talk of 'family' Caterina doesn't seem to give a shit about them unless if they're contributing to the family business in some way - not to mention the whole 'you fail and we kill you' clause of being a Crow in the first place.

In the 'Wigmaker Job' from Tevinter Nights Lucanis talks about how Caterina hit him [also Illario] with her cane for mistakes and had him spend days without food/water. How he used to hate her but now 'realizes' that it was her way of ensuring he survived the life of being an Antivan Crow. Did it end up protecting them? It likely pushed them both to refine their skills out of fear. It's likely that simply by association with her they would be targets and thus needed to know how to take care of themselves and fight.

But why have him as a Crow in the first place? Why not simply train them well to defend themselves? You can't deny that she doesn't benefit from having her grandchildren in the family business - intentionally wanting Lucanis to take over her position as First Talon. The Antivan Crows are a force to be reckoned with and being one brings a whole lot of power in Antiva - being part of the elite of that group even more so.

If the game showed us the ugly reality of the Crows - the brutality of the lifestyle and how cutthroat the organization is, it could have really added some depth to Illario's betrayal - having it be more than "I want more power/respect" to "this is the result of what you taught me was valuable in life."

Warden: "Do you actually enjoy being an assassin?" Zevran: "And why not? There are many things to enjoy about being a Crow in Antiva. You are respected. You are feared. The authorities go out of their way to overlook your trespasses. Even the rewards are nothing to turn your nose up at."

Illario, bitter about Caterina favoring Lucanis - resentful of the fact that she has already decided that Lucanis will be her successor, being offered power by the Venatori (at the expense of the Crows) and accepting because why not? How different is it from what the Crows do? Isn't power and status the whole point of working yourself up in the Crows? Getting into a relationship with Zara because why not? Isn't sex part of the allure of being a Crow? Why can't he have this? Why shouldn't he have this?

Rook: "When we met, it didn't seem like Illario and Caterina were close." Lucanis: "It was hard to be close to her. Even for me. And...I was her favorite."

Why would he have connections to his family? Why should he? Caterina certainly never seemed to value 'family' beyond what they could do for her and their family legacy. Most of his family is already dead, and of those that remain the only parental figure he has obviously favors Lucanis. We don't have a lot of evidence in-game to show that Illario ever really cared for Lucanis, but the prequel story 'The Wake' and Lucanis' own banter imply that they were practically brothers, best friends. Perhaps he did care and then ceased to at some point, perhaps he didn't at all, or perhaps he accepted that an early death for them both was inevitable like everyone else in their family. Dead now or later - what was the difference? At least if Illario sells him out now to the Venatori then he'll get something from it instead of another dead family member to bury.

It's the tragic result of raising a child in an environment where he was taught and experienced the need for self-preservation at all costs. Constantly threatened, punished, and made well aware of that fact that his life was an expendable commodity. Then, when things in the world went to shit he picked the only option that made sense to him. To save himself.

The irony of the potential fall of the Crows, the fall of House Dellamorte, coming at the hands of one of their own - not because he had a change of heart but because he was taught too well by them. The Crows view those that fail them as disposable, someone to be discarded - if the Crows fail Illario, what is to stop him from applying that mindset to them?

But this would require the writers to acknowledge how messed up the Crows are and we can't do that to our 'Noble Freedom Fighters'™. They'll also need to address Zevran's existence and what lore was established in past games...and we can't have that either lmao.

[shiki-jin]

liar ♢

kaeya x gn! reader, reverse comfort

somehow my period cramps turned into kaeya revcomfort. do not ask me how this happened. also you should maybe expect another kaeya comfort fic cause i have a separate idea id like to write ....

i should probably redo my masterlist actually it's getting kinda ugly (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

CWS — implied suicidal ideation (kaeya), some self-deprecation (kaeya), talks of death at the beginning, alcohol

—

he's a liar down to his very core.

he knows he is; he was born one, and he'll die one. it'll be written on his overgrown gravestone, he thinks. he finds entertainment in the thought; maybe having a grave covered by flowers and vines would be the ultimate irony. he is a destined sinner covered in lies and pretty deception, and so his death will be ugly stone covered with colourful, lively plants.

he's not dumb enough to think anyone will visit him. even his own brother hates him, and for good reason. still, he's foolish enough to hope you might pour a bottle of death after noon above his rotting body. to hope you hold him dearly in your heart, but not too close. he doesn't want to lose you like he lost his family because of his predetermined sins. he's scared of the thought that he might really break if you leave. that his heart might fall down and shatter, that you might look at him in disgust, rage, and betrayal.

your voice is the one to take him out of his drunken spiral. speak of the devil, he chuckles, not really listening to what you're saying. he wants to, he does, but he's downed a few too many bottles to make out anything you're trying to tell him.

even so, the vague comfort of familiarity is enough to tear his eyes away from below, and he turns to try and look at you. he thinks you're wearing the knights' uniform, and he absentmindedly wonders if you'd come to check on him right after you had to deal with overtime after your regular shift. he doesn't want to know if it's the alcohol or his heart keeping him warm.

he just knows it feels nice when you wrap his arm around your shoulder to make him lean on you while you walk him downstairs. it's not as nice when he can't hear your voice anymore.

he leans his head against yours, trying to get you to talk again. he thinks you give him an annoyed glance, but he hums, satisfied, when he hears you speak. he tries his best to not inconvenience you too much and to walk on his own, but when he keeps stumbling, he realizes he might've gone a little overboard with the alcohol tonight.

he feels bad for you, having to make sure your own captain doesn't die of alcohol poisoning after nearly every shift, even when it's well past midnight. being forced to walk — no, carry — him to his own home and put him to sleep, listening to whatever words his drunk mind wanted to get out.

it must be exhausting, he guesses.

he must be exhausting.

he sits down on his bed, watching you calmly take his jacket and shoes off. you follow up by setting all the little accesories he wears aside and similarly discarding all his clothes — well, besides his shirt and shorts. you stand up with his boots in hand, but he can't stop himself from holding onto your fingers desperately when he thinks you're about to leave.

he looks towards the floor. he doesn't think he can bear to ask you what he wants to if he sees you, so he settles for your shoes. he slurs his words, but he's being genuine now.

“don’t go.”

he sees your shoes staying in their place, facing away from him, like you're contemplating whether to give in or not, and he adds a whispered “please”. he feels warmth around his wrist, and thanks the god he doesn't care for that he can actually understand what you're saying now.

“okay. i'll stay.”

he hears you drop his boots before you undo the tie around his hair, threading you fingers through it carefully a few times. he's lifted and laid down onto the bed with a gentle arm around his waist. he swears the mattress dips down and that he can see you sitting next to him, but he can feel his fatigue catching up.

he gives your hand a soft squeeze, and when he closes his eyes, he gets one in return. it's the only night in weeks that he's gotten actual sleep.

when he wakes up, he knows he definitely drank too much. he groans lightly, feeling even shittier than before. not like he'd expected anything else. he tries to grab the clock on his bedside table, but feels something cold.

a water bottle. next to it, a box of pills. he can just barely make out what it says, and realizes they're to be taken during a hangover. he looks to his side and notices your slumped form, still sitting on the bed, still leaning against the wall, still holding onto his hand. you're breathing quietly, chest rising and falling lightly while he just stares.

he thinks it's an uncomfortable position to sleep in, but you seem so serene he doesn't try to wake you.

it isn't long before he gets nauseous again, and decides he should probably take the water and pill if he wants to keep admiring you. he swallows them without much complaint, turning back to you.

he thinks he understands why others love to love now.

he doesn't deserve it, and he's probably the person most afraid of it on the entire planet, but he gets it now. why poets write verses filled with endless praise again and again, why artists create paintings with the same muse over and over.

he grasps your hand just a little tighter, willing you not to dissapear. he leans in closer, eyelids drooping while he studies the structure of you.

kaeya alberich was born a liar. he will always be one, and forever be destined for loneliness.

but he doesn't care as much about what fate says when you're next to him. he doesn't care about the sins staining his soul as much when you care for him like this; like he's precious, fragile, worth something, anything at all.

he doesn't care about the deception and lies that bind him every second of the day, because right now, he isn't lying when he whispers a confession of love to your resting figure.

[cressidagrey]

Welcome to the World - Chapter 2

Summary:

The quickest turnaround time between finding your mate and having a kid anybody in the history of Prythian has ever managed

Warnings:

Rhys bashing, Mention of Domestic Violence, Mention of Miscarriage, Mention of Child Murder, Mention of Adult Murder, Mention of Stabbing, Childbirth, Labour, a disgruntled Donkey named Thistle

(super pretty dividers thanks to @saradika)

He heard the door open and his mother’s voice, in conversation with another woman…and then steps on the staircase and he knew that the midwife had arrived. 

Finally. Thankfully. 

Somebody that actually knew what they were doing, because Azriel for sure did not know what he was doing. 

And still, now there was a very different kind of anxiety running through her, because…because that meant that he would need to go, to leave her alone and to wait until the baby was born…and he knew all that could go wrong during a birth. 

Snapshots of Nyx’s birth were seared in his brain, rearing their dark, ugly heads when he only dared to think in that direction. 

Everything could go wrong. 

He lifted his hand to Ciara’s cheek, feeling the soft, warm skin underneath his gnarly fingertips…everything beautiful in the world was right there in front of him. He didn’t understand why the mother had thought it prudent to give her to him. Didn’t think that he had done anything in his fucking life to deserve her. 

He had bathed in the blood of the enemies, and Ciara had burst into tears at only the mention of killing, her whole body shaking. 

But he knew one thing. He knew that he was going to fucking slaughter anybody that would ever put a hand on her or her child. 

He leaned forward to press one single kiss against her forehead, feeling her soft hair…breathing in nutmeg and clementines. 

Even now, with the notes of pain and anxiety running through her scent, it was the best thing he had ever smelled. 

It was so…perfect. So utterly warm and comforting and perfect. 

“It will be fine,” he promised her, forcing down the anxiety he was feeling. He wasn’t quite sure who he wanted to assure, him or her…he said it nonetheless. 

She really had enough of her own to worry about. She didn’t need Azriel‘s fear to bleed all over their bond. So he needed to get a fucking grip on himself so it didn’t get any worse. 

Ciara nodded, holding his hand tighter, small nimble fingers interlaced with his own. He was surprised to find callouses on hers as well, though they were concentrated on the top of her fingers, the sides…he had seen them on his mother's hands, on Rhys’ mother's hands his whole life. 

Needles pushed through fabric, again and again…one glance at the blanket lying carefully folded in that little wooden cradle made him wonder if she had made that.

And then there was a knock at the door. It opened…Nora, the midwife, was a female his mother’s age, greying hair shorn short, carrying along with her a massive bag, and bundles of linens. 

“So it seems like we’ll have a baby tonight,” she said brightly and Ciara sighed as he stood and Nora entered the room, putting her bag on Ciara’s desk. 

“How are you feeling, Ciara? You can wait outside,” she dismissed him without a second glance and he let go of Ciara‘s hand to leave the room…to force himself to walk downstairs, even when he wanted nothing more than to stay. 

He wanted to stay, but she hadn’t asked that of him and he was not going to put her in a situation where she thought that she needed to agree. 

So he walked downstairs. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked his mother who was bustling around the kitchen, needing something to keep busy or the nervous energy under his skin would drive him insane. 

“No, not really. Towels are in the armoire…I’ll put water on near the fireplace in her room…If you could take care of the animals…” she trailed off. He inclined his head. “Don’t let Thistle bite you,” she warned him with a grin, though it didn’t make him laugh. 

“You are jittery,” his mother said quietly, reaching out to put a hand on his arms and he turned his hand so that he could hold hers. As always, she swallowed whenever she felt the scarred texture of his hands, even centuries later still giving herself the fault for what had happened to him.

He had never given her the fault. Not for one second. They had both been stuck in a horrible situation.

And what his half-brothers had done to him, was not his mother's fault. He had told her that…multiple times. And still, still she thought differently. 

Thought that because she was his mother she needed to protect him against everything and anything. 

And it didn’t matter what he did, he couldn’t change her opinion…she still gave herself the fault.

“The one and only birth I saw didn’t end particularly well,” he answered honestly. 

Nyx’s birth was seared into his brain. He just prayed fervently that Ciara would have an easier time than Feyre had. 

Granted, she was a full-blooded Illyrian, but she was built slight but tall…what if the baby became stuck while passing through her pelvis and…

There was no Nesta here that could give up half her powers in exchange for Ciara’s life and the life of her daughter. 

“She’ll be fine,” his mother promised him. He gave her a doubtful look. 

She couldn’t promise him that. Something could always go wrong…and he couldn’t lose her. Not when he just got her. 

He had waited 5 centuries for Ciara. 

 “Females give birth to babies all the time, Azriel,” his mother pointed out drily.

He knew that. Of course, he knew that. But still. 

“Granted it’s her… first,” his mother’s voice shook and not the first time he wondered if he had been…if he had been his mother's only pregnancy. Or had there been more…maybe girls that hadn’t even been allowed to take their first breath before his father had…he shoved these thoughts away because they would do nothing but make him furious. 

“At least the first full-term one…that often is the most difficult, but Nora has delivered hundreds of babies,” she assured him quietly. 

“What do you mean?” he asked immediately. Why was it the most difficult one? 

Was it riskier? Why? 

“Her body doesn’t know what to do yet,” his mother said calmly, her hand tightening around his. “Ciara’s anxiety has been for weeks, which doesn’t help…Scared of the unknown. She’ll be fine , Azriel,” she assured him again. 

“But…” the protest was on his tongue before he could even think about it properly.

“But nothing,“ his mother said drily. “She will be fine.” She looked out of the window and he saw the snowflakes slowly drifting to the ground outside. 

Afternoon had come and evening would be there in less than a few hours, the sky already darkening. “It’s a good night to be born.”

It was. Icy but peaceful. 

His mother went upstairs and Azriel forced himself to go out to the barn in the back garden…

With no small amount of apprehension for his first meeting with Thistle the donkey. 

It was better that he got out of the house, before…Before the labour started in the earnest. 

He blinked twice as he saw the barn, which looked much better than it had the last time he had visited. 

Thistle the donkey wasn’t the only animal his mother had acquired. Though it was definitely the one in the worst mood. 

If he had ever met an animal that seemed to match Amren in both size and general behaviour…Thistle it was. 

Thistle had no hesitant to kick or bite and even tried to go for his wings when he wasn’t quick enough to pour grain in her trough for her liking

The wings were definitely beneath the fucking line of dignity! 

He glared at Thistle when she finally stuck her head in her trough and munched her way through her dinner. 

Which left him with the rest of the animals to take care of. 

Two more Goats were also waiting for their dinner and apparently to be milked…he couldn’t say that he had much experience with that, though there was a horrible diagram drawn on the chalkboard hanging on the wall…together with written instructions on what to feed which animal, and clearly whoever had last milked the long-suffering goats it had put everything back into place. 

He wondered if it had been Ciara or his mother…if it had been Ciara who was clearly willing to pull her weight and to work hard, even as pregnant as she was. 

Still, when he finally had a bottle filled with goat milk and the poor goat ran away,  probably happy to not have him pull at her udder anymore…he had a newfound respect for farm work because Azriel clearly wasn’t talented at it…give him some rabbits to hunt any day. 

He moved on to the chickens, who were clearly not amused by the fact that there was somebody with bigger wings than them. They blustered while screaming at him because he wanted to steal their eggs.  While being pecked to hell and back, he still reached out for the mental tether he had to Rhys, shoving any thought of Ciara and the baby far, far away from himself. 

* Rhys ?*

* Is everything alright? * his brother’s mental touch appeared nearly immediately . * Cassian said you are in Rosehall ?*

*Can I have the rest of the week off?* Azriel asked, keeping his voice even. 

* Is everything alright ?* Rhys repeated . 

*I need to take care of my mother’s donkey. * It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t the complete truth but he wasn’t ready…wasn’t ready to have this conversation yet. 

And especially not right now, when it felt like he was hanging on by a thread. 

*Her donkey.* Rhys repeated unbelieving and Azriel pushed a memory of Thistle biting at his wing at him. 

The laughter was immediate.

*Yes. And her chickens and her goats and whatever other poor creature she has apparently now saved,“ he said drily. He wondered if his mother still had a cat. She used to always have one, but he hadn’t yet come across a mouser.

*Is Esmeray alright?* Rhys asked him, worry edging his voice.

*Just busy. You know how she gets ,* he deflected. 

Also not a lie. Just not the whole truth. 

* Take a few days, Az.* Rhys agreed.

At least Rhys‘ bad conscience was good for some things .

***

“You’re in labour, child.” And with that, Nora took away any hope she had of a stay of execution.

Labour. Her daughter would be born soon, regardless of what Ciara wished. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to hold her baby or that she wasn’t looking forward to meeting her, to see her growing up…

It wasn’t that she didn’t want love on her, didn’t want to press kisses to her little head and see if she looked like Ciara…see if her hair curled or her nose scrunched and…

But once she was born…Ciara couldn’t protect her anymore. As long as she was safely in Ciara’s womb, Ciara could pretend she could protect her. 

But…

 “Up you go,” Nora said easily, helping her sit up on the bed and then stand, Ciara grimacing in pain at the change of position. 

“Good. Walking will make the pain the most effective,” Nora told her calmly. 

Right. She had told her that before. 

Something to do with the pull to the earth, making it easier for the baby to drop into position…

Ciara’s hand wrapped around the wrought metal of the footboard of the bed, hissing in pain. Another one of those pains, coming like waves of the ocean to crash into the shore… or crashing into her. 

“How do females do this multiple times?” She asked weakly, as another one of these waves of pain crashed through her and then receded, giving her a moment to catch her breath. 

“You’ll forget it once you hold your baby,” Esmeray said gently. “Move your wings to the side, sweetheart, I’ll rub your back.”

She did, weakly twitching them to the side…hers weren’t clipped, but she was quite sure that she did not have enough strength in them to fly. She couldn’t remember ever having done it anyway…and she hadn’t been willing to try while pregnant. Too worried to crash to the ground and hurt her baby. 

Esmeray’s hands pressed over the base of her spine as the next contraction built and she moaned softly in relief. Better. Still painful but better. 

And so it began. 

She walked her circles in her room, returning to lean against the footboard or against the walls when another wave hit her, letting Esmeray and Nora gently ply her with water to drink and then whatever weird tea it was, sweetened with honey and herbs. 

“You’re doing well,” Nora promised her, even when it was felt like she was making no progress at all, as the sun sank behind the horizon and night reigned. 

It was maddening .

She felt herself grow seemingly insane with every new wave of pressure that seemed to grow and grow and grow with nowhere to go…her legs growing weaker until finally, another wave of pain forced her to her knees in front of her bed, panting with breath, her mouth opening into a silent scream…her hands fisting into the quilt she had made out of fabric scraps at the shop…

The pain peaked and she groaned as a rush of warmth ran down her thighs, soaking the clean blanket beneath her with clear fluid.

What…she didn’t even have time to think about it before another wave of pain crashed over her, leaving her gasping for air.

“Your water broke,” Esmeray said, sounding delighted, still rubbing her back. "She will be here soon, sweetheart." 

No. No, she wasn’t ready. She couldn’t do this. Ciara just wanted…

But she couldn’t even finish that thought, because there was more pain. 

“Could you fill the bathtub, Esmeray?” Nora asked quietly. 

What? No, she…

“What’s wrong?” She gasped out between more rolling waves of pain.

“Nothing is wrong, Ciara,” Nora soothed her. Something was wrong. Something…

“You didn’t think I would need the water because the baby isn’t that big,” Ciara whimpered. What had changed? Why did she…

“She’s not. It will help you,” Nora assured her. “You���ll have less pain and could heal quicker.”

She should be able to stand it. She should be able to…

She went back to rocking, breath coming hard gasps, trying to find something to hang onto…

“In the tub with you," Nora said calmly, helping her stand, her legs shaking. Esmeray came to her other side and somehow between the two of them, she made it to the bathing chamber, every step agony. 

She leaned on the side of the tub, “I can’t get in there,” she whispered weakly. 

“You can and you will,” Nora told her, accepting no argument.

Ciara didn’t know how she managed it, just knew that somehow she slid into the warm water and for a moment it was pure relief.  She could still feel every contraction, but with the water helping her be buoyant, they didn't seem to hurt her nearly as much. They weren’t quite so maddening.

Still, exhaustion took over as her head lolled against the warm porcelain of the tub. Something inside her belly twisted and the sudden feeling of nausea made her start to move her hands over her mouth. 

Nora immediately placed an empty bowl under her chin as she vomited. “That’s alright, Ciara,” she said soothingly, Esmeray gently running her hand through her hair, holding out of her face as she reached again. "Your body knows what to do. It's getting rid of the food so it can work harder.”

Harder? Everything seemed to be tipped in black, her eyes closed…the pressure mounted. 

She couldn’t do this.

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…” it left her mouth in a weak chant. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t do this. 

“Yes, you can,” Nora disagreed. “You’re doing so well.”

No, she wasn’t. She wasn’t. It didn’t feel…

She couldn’t do this. She was too exhausted and nothing made sense, and she wasn’t strong enough. Not strong enough to do this and…“If I die, can you get her out?” She whimpered. 

Just her. As long as her daughter could live, she would die. That would be fine. It would be fine. 

She would die if it meant her daughter would live. 

The smell of cedar was suddenly there, a broad hand gently, touching her face, cupping her cheek. 

“You are not going to die.” 

[cryptidcat5105]

Empyrean AU

So I've been thinking about Onyx Storm and the reasons we got for Violet's silver hair and my brain decided "what if we just throw all of that out the window for now and give Violet albinism?" And so these mad ramblings came to be. I've got more too, but since I lack any fanfiction writing talents this is probably gonna turn into a series of vague made up lore about dragons, venin and magic itself with some occasional illustrations. Probably gonna name it Sky wielders AU.

Edit: art, part 2 and part 3 :)

Anyway assume there's spoilers for the entire series

I think albinism would be pretty rare on the Continent, maybe people only heard about it from stories and stuff. So when Violet is born and she's white as snow with red eyes I'm sure her parents nearly had a heart attack but quickly adapted.

Fast forward a few years and the Sorrengail siblings are hearing their first stories about dark wielders from Papa Sorrengail and at one point they would just ask "is Vi a venin?" to which Lilith would ban the fables in the house for a few months.

Everything else would go about as normal with Brennan faking his death and Violet getting forced into the riders' quadrant, except Violet gets a patch from Lilith before even crossing the parapet which indicates to leadership that no, she's not a venin, leave her be.(Violet doesn't actually know what it means and it confuses her greatly). She also gets to keep the Fables of the Barens for plot convenience.

I imagine the marked ones would all be collectively losing their shit once she gets in the quadrant, but would keep their distance once they saw that leadership didn't seam concerned, silently seething at the thought that Navarre would let the very thing that got their parents killed freely walk among them.

Xaden is overall just creeped out by Violet's appearance but quickly figures out she's just challenged in the pigment department and not a venin. Once he catches her at the marked ones' meeting things would go pretty much the same as in canon with Xaden adding some pointed jabs at her appearance. "What you lack in physical color you make up with your colorful vocabulary" or something along those lines probably, he still calls her a "violent little thing" though.

Sometime after this incident Violet starts noticing some of the older cadets locking eyes with her and bowing their head. She assumes most of them are either really tired or really high if the red rims around their eyes are anything to go by... until a hyperventilating first year with vivid red eyes corners her asking how to manage pulling from the earth.

Violet is obviously distraught at this but realizes pretty quick that if the both of them start spiraling shit's gonna get ugly real quick so she tries to keep a cool head and figure out what the cadet has done. (For my sanity and plot cohesion let's name this cadet Kate)

Violet: What do you mean you pulled from the earth?

Kate, panicking: Well it was really an accident. Some douchbag tried to jump me and it was self defense really. I don't even know how I did it. The othes said to come to you, since surely you know how to handle this, considering...*gestures at the whole of Violet*

Violet: I... I'm not a venin, I have never pulled from the earth? I don't know how I could possibly help. And who are these others? There's more of you maniacs?

Kate: But your eyes-... Uh, yeah there's more of us and they kinda assume you're a Sage, but I'm starting to realize just how wrong they were and just how screwed I am. *Slides down the wall*

Violet, considering her options, but tucking the Sage comment for later: Does the red fade?

Kate: From what they told me yea...but after one point it's permanent.

Violet: *sighs* I might have something that would probably give us at least some answers if not a cure

Violet than proceeds to have a whole metal breakdown about the existence of venin and how royally screwed everything is. Over the course of the next few days the same cadets that seemed to show an ounce of respect before, are glaring daggers at her and throwing suspicious glaces her way. She also started looking through the fables for some way to help Kate since she was clearly not like the evil monsters depicted in the stories, but rather a sacred and confused 20 y/o with no clue about what she's done.

Violet came to the conclusion that if the power from the earth is bad then the one from the sky is good so what's the harm in suggesting switching power sources if possible. One night Kate agrees to talk with her and they met near the river bank where the marked ones met at the beginning of the year. Kate was accompanied by two others but they looked just as nervous as her so Violet assumed they were both venin as well and looking for a solution just like their friend.

After sharing her theory about the sky and earth they spent the next few hours trying to pull magic from the air around them. They were not successful but at the very least all three cadets were able to sense the power coming from the sky and decided to try some more the following nights.

For maybe a week they all kept trying, some other cadets, even from upper years, all of them venin, joining them sometimes. They were all able to feel the magic but it was slipping their grasp like water.

At one point Kate kinda just gave up for the night and decided to just try and feel the magic around them, to study it in a sense. After a little while she felt a slight trickle of power cooling her skin. She quickly got up thinking she accidentally pulled from the earth again but quickly realized that the earth's power was warm not cold and there was no patch of desiccated land either. She looked around and everyone seemed to be staring at her.

Kate: What just happened?

Other cadet: Dude, I think you just pulled from the sky if you're eyes are anything to go by.

Kate, irritated: Ugh, great! Even the sky gets our eyes red! Awesome!

Violet: They're not red! Take a look at your reflection, they're silver!

Overall excitement spreads through the venin that are part of this little group and they figure out that they've got to let the magic come to them instead of taking it themselves.

Everyone fully stops channeling from the earth and their eyes no longer have any red hues. Instead they have a constant supply of power that feels borderline sentient with how it seems to watch their backs and make them aware of any possible threats. Their eyes also become iridescent and they all figure out they can change their eye color at will (Wink, wink! nudge nudge!). They're a bit weirded out by everything but pretty happy they no longer have to deal with the effects of channeling from the earth.

Her little gathering has been trying to convince her to channel from the sky as well since it would keep her safer in the quadrant but she tells them that she only figured out channeling from the sky as an answer to their problem and it didn't feel fair to do it when she didn't have a serious reason to.

Violet in the meantime starts recording all her new findings and bonding with her squad but not really telling them about what she's been doing, while in the background all the usual things happen, like challenges and the gauntlet except this time Violet has a bit of extra training from the nights spent past curfew so she does a bit better. During the Gauntlet the dagger trick still happens because I love when people win on a technicality. Everyone gets lined up for Presentation and they start marching forward. Quite a few dragons have been lowering their heads and sniffing some cadets, particularly the first years Violet's been helping and she hopes that none of them get torched today. A few dragons have been sniffing at her as well but she just thought it was because of the dragon scale corset or her peculiar appearance. Once they reached the end of the line of dragons Violet saw the golden dragon everyone seemed to be muttering about. It was pacing excitedly on the spot and raising itself onto it's back paws as if to see the line better. The brown next to it looked so done with the golden one and once Violet locked eyes with the smaller dragon, the brown immediately put a foot on the golden one's tail to keep it from bolting into the line of cadets. Violet was a bit concerned about the whole ordeal but she would not question the ways of dragons.

Threshing goes about as well as in canon except when Violet finds Andarna, she's imidiately accosted by a wiggling mess that's sniffing and circling her like she's some old friend.

Once Jack Fucking Barlow and his entourage show up the fight to protect the dragon ensues and Xaden still comes to watch the shitfest, but this time Andarna actually barrels into one of Violet's opponents (just because I would've like it to happen in canon) and Sgaeyl is reasonably concerned because Andarna was way more chill about all of this before Presentation. What the hell happened with being calm and collected, Golden One?

Tairn shows up, scares the shit out of JFB, torches the guy that wasn't already passed out because of Andarna and stops to sniff Violet as well before commanding she gets on his back. Violet starts wondering why every dragon has an obsession with sniffing her but gets sidetracked by Tairn's aerobatics.

When they finally land Violet notices there are a bunch of larger, battle-scared dragons, nearly on par with Tairn, in the clearing that weren't at Presentation, every single one of them had one of her sky wielders between their front legs and she felt a sense of pride at the sight despite the shock of getting two dragons herself.

Andarna continues to be hyperactive nudging Violet this way and that but Tairn didn't look too concerned so she took it as a good sign.

Violet: I don't mean to offend you, but are you excited that you bonded or is there another reason you are this happy?

Andarna: Oh, I'm happy I bonded, alright, but there are other reasons too. Those can wait a bit though, so don't worry!

Violet: Ok, I'll trust your judgement...

Tairn: Wise decision.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

[rotting-ink]

V De Winters- The Market

They couldn’t bear being in the house another moment. Their fingers dug into their palms, so hard that it left fingernail imprints, deep and dark, when they forced themselves to unfurl them. Their spouse was in their own room, angrily needling a doctor about… Their aggressively lowered libido. They hated it. Their spouse had few pleasures and being deprived of just one had lit a fire under them. 

But it wasn’t just them. The maids couldn’t stop staring at V, whispering. They had half the mind to dismiss half the staff and keep the house quiet, they wanted their quiet! Not the ongoing noise, the refurbishments, the unpacking of the original De Winter’s storage and boxes, and V’s own meager belongings tucked elsewhere. Everyone who came by, the grocer, the carpenter’s, everyone, whispered about them, their marriage, in low tones, either gleeful or scandalised. They couldn’t bear to sit there anymore, doing nothing but looking pretty, with a bandage over half their face, just so they wouldn’t bleed everywhere. 

The accident had happened weeks ago, but their sliced flesh refused to properly mend, not for a long time. It was ugly. It made V ugly. Inflamed skin, that made their eyes seem to go yellow in the corners. For the first time their eyes, their pretty pretty eyes, that their mother always crooned that they got from their blue blooded father (a lie, V can tell when she was lying), seemed garish, and putrid. They were constantly running a low grade fever, the doctor making them swallow handfuls of pills each morning and afternoon, not daring to draw any blood in case it led to another seeping wound. 

No, V was a doll that should be kept out of reach, sweet and pretty, not to be broken unless you wanted the porcelain to yellow and their hair to split and fall off. Even one tumble ended with… This. 

V reached up to gingerly touch the bandage, already mostly bled through, and winced. They hadn’t even touched the wound, bound to create a disgusting scar, just the skin around it and it had throbbed painfully. They couldn’t decide which was worse, the noise around their new grand house or skin on their face feeling far too tight. 

They had enough. 

Not making too much noise, they clumsily wrapped another bandage over the spoiled one, before getting their coat and gloves. They just… Just wished to go outside for a while. V had always made easy friends before, with the limited amount of peers in their circle. Or maybe it was because they were basically family at that point. Who knows. 

When they stepped out, a lurch of nostalgia flipped their stomach. Made their wound sting too. Their entire face felt too hot. They hadn’t been back here in… Years. Maybe… A decade? They struggled with the exact amount of time split between here, the town they were born, and in Kaer Llundain. Only dregs of their childhood remained, the place their mother had lived in for years (They refuse to go near), the chestnut tree outside of a line of demolished homes, now being rebuilt. The mistletoe tree, where they had found out about their illness. Just a scratch as they climbed with their friends and they were in bed for weeks on end, the next door neighbour watching over them as their mother worked. It was a miserable time, and they couldn’t afford a physician or a Witch to come from out of town, and the hospital refused to take them.

V began to wander, pressing the bandage down more securely. They could hear the sounds of crowds just a few streets over and walked with purpose. For the first time, they were left alone. They were alone and for the first time since they were a child pinching pennies, they had money with them. 

Just something small. For themself. Something nice. 

They continued to walk, finding themself a bit breathless. Could be that their nose was stinging from their injury, but also they don’t think they had ever walked so far in just roughly twenty minutes. Yes, they were fit, but they had done exercises inside for about a quarter of their life now, nothing like this. 

But before long they were finally there- The markets. Right in the middle of town. Their mother used to take them here every Sunday, when it had been a good week for her. Up until V’s first experience with their sickness, then it was only when she went first, and saw it wasn’t too crowded. Even now, V took great pains avoiding other people, quietly wishing they had brought their cane that they had shut away. They wouldn’t even walk on the old cobbles, preferring the newer granite setts that looked like they were freshly laid in.

They finally stopped at one stall, selling blankets and shawls. Their fingers itched, remembering when they were forced to stop working for… About 3 months. They tried out knitting at that time and made a small, wobbly, dusty-grey square of wool. It looked terrible, but V was proud of it. Did the job too.

They smiled and slowly dragged their fingers along the fabrics. They were lost in a small fantasy, a thick blanket, soft, for when the house was at the coldest, so much so they only awoke when they heard a word that made their blood grow cold. 

“- That whore.” 

Their sharp intake of breath of cold hair hurt their throat. They risked a glance to their right, and were met with two pairs of eyes looking right at them. 

Suddenly the crisp air became so much colder. People looking, hard, cold, stares. They knew. The blanket underneath V’s palm moved back sharply. The seller pulled it out of their reach and refolded it, before giving V a look. 

“Buy it first, then you can touch.” She said pointedly. 

V felt their ears turn red. 

“Poor De Winters.” Came another whisper. “No doubt duped into it. Someone should be looking after them.” 

V struggled to breath. Their lips were dry but they didn’t want to stick their tongue out and wet them. Something hot rose behind their eyes, but they didn’t want to cry. No, they knew what tears would lead to. They weren’t some debutante, they weren’t an innocent, they weren’t a sheltered noble. V took a deep breath and put on a smile, showing their crooked canines, your tiger teeth, their mother would say. 

“I’d love to buy all of these. Poor, darling J struggles with the cold weather.” They drew their expensive coat further around themself. 

The seller gaped at them, nearly dropping the blanket that now bore V’s disgusting touch, like it was a black mark. The other two ladies tittered nervously and glanced at each other. 

“I… Yes, yes!” The seller immediately put out the fabric, sliding it right back under V’s touch. Where it belonged. 

“I’ll pay extra if you could deliver these within two hours.” Their fingers greedily dragged over the blanket. Soft. 

No more words needed. She started putting the blankets away in baskets, breath coming fast and hard in her excitement. V watched her, smiling to themself, and dug into their purse, tucking a few crinkled notes into the basket, nourished by the shaky gasp the woman made. They took the blanket and folded it over their arm, like it was an oversized hand warmer. 

“Have a lovely day.” They finally turned to the two bitches, and showed their tiger teeth again. 

They didn’t wander through the whole market. They couldn’t bear it. But with each step back home, blanket heavy against their forearm, they triumphantly aimed their foul thoughts at the crowd they left behind. 

Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck all of you.