#but there's a whole world and so few regions

[dragonidpyrus12]

God, I remember when I was little, we had two distinct classes during elementary year 3-4, which got repurposed a few years later. One was something... it was design, but not. I vividly remember we had a task to draw our house but in a building sort of sense, like you see on blueprints. Amazing class, would love to see it make a comeback.

The other was a civic class. And we had a philosophy class in high school too, but it didn't really hit where it should. I don't really remember much from it unfortunately, but it did mention our right to vote and why and how we earned it, for kids obviously. But the fact it got taken out, in my region, of the learning process is really telling.

I'm so glad you have been so lucky. In a sense, one of my parents would sort of say "yeah voting is important", but that doesn't usually motivate me, in any situation. Also one of my classmates wanted to become a teacher as well, I've heard some of her discussions with our headmaster/diriginte, so I know what you mean about that module!

Goodness... Honestly, the state of this information is just heartbreaking like you said... I've also heard from many teachers over the years, my teachers, that a lot of the information is just... too much, not needed, and outdated.

Oh my god, that sounds horrifying. There's very little actually acceptance for... different ideas in our society, especially when it comes to the communist movies or actual history. Many (not all) middle-aged people don't even BELIEVE about things that Russia did to our country and our people, let alone all the way back to Dacians.

Also side-note, can I find info on the research online or is it just in research groups specifically? I'm curious, sorry!

It's so sad that, in order to actually understand what happened with the Iron Guard, you either have to bump into it online and be curious enough to look into it, or you have to go to uni. I haven't gotten to uni, but at least I'm glad you actually learn more about it there. And yeah, it's hard to call them anything other than monsters...

I've always felt that everything is kind of... all over the place. You don't really have a direction, and yeah they kinda slack off big time. Not to mention that religion classes eventually become Opt-in (or opt-out, I forgot), but at that point there's not... really much you learn there. No offense to anyone else, but that's what it felt like to me.

Man... I remember when I was bullied for wanting to know more, or for becoming better. I didn't like English in particular, took a really bad grade, cried about it and then I learned to love English thanks to YGO. Once I got better, the bullies of the class liked to pick on me even more than usual, that I was one of those "know it alls" now. That just made me more stubborn.

I can probably say I grew up in the Iohannis "Educated Romania" regime. I can DEFINITELY say I have 0 fucking clue what the hell to do now. Like the school didn't prepare me for the real world, and it also didn't give me great knowledge, and I acknowledge that and I'm always open to learning for because of it. I also have short memory, so that might have a play in it.

But I had to learn the things that I have from online sources as a result. And I had to comb through online sources to make sure the information is refutable.

Younger generations? I'm even scared to think about them. The pandemic also brought out more evidently the issues the education system has and made a lot of people indifferent to any sort of education as a whole.

Agreed on the results if there will be investing in education at all. You don't get these results in a few years, you get them over the span of a generation or two.

Yeah... Yeah it's ever since communism fell. Nothing major changed, there only patches in a structure that was outdated and outright wrong at times.

Funny you should say that, avem si noi genetica in programa! Dar e la stiinte ale naturi (si in programa de BAC, poti da ori la plante, animale si ecologie, ori la anatomie si genetica). Probabil la alte profile se repeta alta materie din anii trecuti.

Foreigners in the replies of posts regarding Romania; I regret to inform you the extremist candidate loss was not in anyway related to America's current situation.

Has Trump been brought up? Yes, but from what I've seen, in that manner at least, it was mostly in progressive circles that would have already voted just fine

This was entirely our own hubris and doing

Simion's number 1 mistake was threatening our place in EU and NATO, the two best things to have happened to this godforsaken country in ever

Simion's number 2 mistake was threatening our democracy in a country with generational trauma the likes of which westerners cannot begin to comprehend

[teethsmoothie]

bit by the worldbuilding bug . was trying to think of a name for the pkmn fanregion ive been cooking off and on for a couple years &realized i never even considered the geography of the place

[danidoesathing]

(On a related note: Giopara's a Machop or an Emboar. Meanwhile, League Viktor would probably be something weird like... A theoretical Future Paradox Meowscara? (Electric/Dark, probably. The "floating" flower would be the Hexclaw disguised by illusions.))

i definitely think he'd be some kind of fighting type. unfortunately there are no dog fighting types (besides lucario, but the vibes are right for giopara). honestly i think the Pawmot line fits weirdly well? both typing wise (electric fighting) and in terms of "means well but is very smug and causes a lot of havoc" vibes. and obligatory Tinkaton (MY GIRL MY BELOVED) because that thang has a big ol' hammer and is fucking VIOLENT but i think its too fucked and evil up for giopara.

and if we're talking theoretically pokemon id still say a theoretical Steel Eeveelution because again the "Evolution pokemon" where it's hidden ability is adaptability is PERFECT for Viktor (arcane Viktor would start off as just an eevee and then get turned into a theoretical ghost type against his will. thanks to a certain someone).

but for real pokemon id say maybe bisharp or metagross? maybe iron moth if we're talking about paradox pokemon? there's not a whole lot of steel/electric which is fucking weird to me. or any steel/psychic that fit beside legendaries (i think iron leaves is decently fitting too but again. legendary)

[beardedmrbean]

Russian military personnel still in Syria are experiencing a lack of food and drinking water as an evacuation of troops and equipment continues, according to the Main Intelligence Directorate of the Ukrainian Defense Ministry (GUR).

The Russian personnel are experiencing the problems at military bases in Tartus and Hmeimim and on ships anchored offshore in the Mediterranean Sea, the press service of the GUR said in a statement on Telegram on December 15.

The GUR also said that the remaining Russian service members were waiting for military transport planes involved in the evacuation that were supposed to deliver food.

The statement said Russia continues to withdraw its contingent from remote areas of Syria.

"At the same time, on some routes, the Russians are accompanied by armed groups opposing the Assad regime," the GUR said.

The statement added there are rumors circulating among Russian soldiers that Moscow has agreed to maintain its presence at the two bases, where the number of military personnel is up to 3,000.

RFE/RL was unable to verify the information from open sources. Russian authorities have not commented on this information.

The Russian Foreign Ministry said on Telegram that it had evacuated part of its diplomatic staff from Syria on December 15. It said the withdrawal was carried out by a special flight of the Russian Air Force from the Hmeimim air base.

Russian transport planes have departed the Hmeimim air base in recent days as part of the evacuation following the fall of Syrian leader Bashar al-Assad. The longtime ruler was overthrown last week following a lightning offensive led by the Islamist group Hayat Tahrir al-Sham (HTS). Assad fled to Russia, which was his regime's main backer.

Satellite images taken on December 13 by the space technology company Maxar appeared to show Russia preparing for the withdrawal of military equipment from the Hmeimim air base. The images showed what appear to be at least two Antonov An-124 cargo planes on the tarmac with their nose cones open.

Russia also has sent several landing ships and civilian vessels to Syria, according to open-source information.

In Damascus, HTS has appointed an interim government, and its leader, Riad al-Asaad, told AFP on December 15 that he is confident the factions that helped topple Assad will unite as one force. HTS and the transitional government have insisted the rights of all Syrians will be protected.

U.S. Secretary of State Antony Blinken spoke with spoke with British Foreign Secretary David Lammy about the situation in Syria, State Department spokesman Matthew Miller said on December 15.

Blinken and Lammy discussed the situation "and the principles endorsed by the United States and countries in the region that should be upheld during the transition process and formation of a new government," Miller said in a statement.

Blinken on December 14 attended an emergency meeting in Jordan of foreign ministers from the Arab League, Turkey, and top officials from the European Union and United Nations.

He said afterward the United States had made "direct contact" with the HTS and other parties. He declined to discuss details of the contacts but said it was important for the United States to convey messages to the group about its conduct and how it intends to govern in a transition period.

Blinken said a joint statement had been agreed at the meeting in Jordan that sets out the principles that other countries want to see in Syria's political transition, including inclusivity and respect for minorities and women and ensuring that terrorist groups do not take hold in the country.

[jewishvitya]

A pro-Palestine Jew on tiktok asked those of us who were raised pro-Israel, what got us to change our minds on Palestine. I made a video to answer (with my voice, not my face), and a few people watched it and found some value in it. I'm putting this here too. I communicate through text better than voice.

So I feel repetitive for saying this at this point, but I grew up in the West Bank settlements. I wrote this post to give an example of the extent to which Palestinians are dehumanized there.

Where I live now, I meet Palestinians in day to day life. Israeli Arab citizens living their lives. In the West Bank, it was nothing like that. Over there, I only saw them through the electric fence, and the hostility between us and Palestinians was tangible.

When you're a child being brought into the situation, you don't experience the context, you don't experience the history, you don't know why they're hostile to you. You just feel "these people hate me, they don't want me to exist." And that bubble was my reality. So when I was taught in school that everything we did was in self defense, that our military is special and uniquely ethical because it's the only defensive military in the world - that made sense to me. It slotted neatly into the reality I knew.

One of the first things to burst the bubble for me was when I spoke to an old Israeli man and he was talking about his trauma from battle. I don't remember what he said, but it hit me wrong. It conflicted with the history as I understood it. So I was a bit desperate to make it make sense again, and I said, "But everything we did was in self defense, right?"

He kinda looked at me, couldn't understand at all why I was upset, and he went, "We destroyed whole villages. Of course we did. It was war, that's what you do."

And that casual "of course" stuck with me. I had to look into it more.

I couldn't look at more accurate history, and not at accounts by Palestinians, I was too primed against these sources to trust them. The community I grew up in had an anti-intellectual element to it where scholars weren't trusted about things like this.

So what really solidified this for me, was seeing Palestinian culture.

Because part of the story that Israel tells us to justify everything, is that Palestinians are not a distinct group of people, they're just Arabs. They belong to the nations around us. They insist on being here because they want to deny us a homeland. The Palestinian identity exists to hurt us. This, because the idea of displacing them and taking over their lands doesn't sound like stealing, if this was never theirs and they're only pretending because they want to deprive us.

But then foods, dances, clothing, embroidery, the Palestinian dialect. These things are history. They don't pop into existence just because you hate Jews and they're trying to move here. How gorgeous is the Palestinian thobe? How stunning is tatreez in general? And when I saw specific patterns belonging to different regions of Palestine?

All of these painted for me a rich shared life of a group of people, and countered the narrative that the Palestininian identity was fabricated to hurt us. It taught me that, whatever we call them, whatever they call themselves, they have a history in this land, they have a right to it, they have a connection to it that we can't override with our own.

I started having conversations with leftist friends. Confronting the fact that the borders of the occupied territories are arbitrary and every Israeli city was taken from them. In one of those conversations, I was encouraged to rethink how I imagine peace.

This also goes back to schooling. Because they drilled into us, we're the ones who want peace, they're the ones who keep fighting, they're just so dedicated to death and killing and they won't leave us alone.

In high school, we had a stadium event with a speaker who was telling us about a person who defected from Hamas, converted to Christianity and became a Shin Bet agent. Pretty sure you can read this in the book "Son of Hamas." A lot of my friends read the book, I didn't read it, I only know what I was told in that lecture. I guess they couldn't risk us missing out on the indoctrination if we chose not to read it.

One of the things they told us was how he thought, we've been fighting with them for so long, Israelis must have a culture around the glorification of violence. And he looked for that in music. He looked for songs about war. And for a while he just couldn't find any, but when he did, he translated it more fully, and he found out the song was about an end to wars. And this, according to the story as I was told it, was one of the things that convinced him. If you know know the current trending Israeli "war anthem," you know this flimsy reasoning doesn't work.

Back then, my friend encouraged me to think more critically about how we as Israelis envision peace, as the absence of resistance. And how self-centered it is. They can be suffering under our occupation, but as long as it doesn't reach us, that's called peace. So of course we want it and they don't.

Unless we're willing to work to change the situation entirely, our calls for peace are just "please stop fighting back against the harm we cause you."

In this video, Shlomo Yitzchak shares how he changed his mind. His story is much more interesting than mine, and he's much more eloquent telling it. He mentions how he was taught to fear Palestinians. An automatic thought, "If I go with you, you'll kill me." I was taught this too. I was taught that, if I'm in a taxi, I should be looking at the driver's name. And if that name is Arab, I should watch the road and the route he's taking, to be prepared in case he wants to take me somewhere to kill me. Just a random person trying to work. For years it stayed a habit, I'd automatically look at the driver's name. Even after knowing that I want to align myself with liberation, justice, and equality. It was a process of unlearning.

On October, not long after the current escalation of violence, I had to take a taxi again. A Jewish driver stopped and told me he'll take me, "so an Arab doesn't get you." Israeli Jews are so comfortable saying things like this to each other. My neighbors discussed a Palestinian employee, with one saying "We should tell him not to come anymore, that we want to hire a Jew." The second answered, "No, he'll say it's discrimination," like it would be so ridiculous of him. And the first just shrugged, "So we don't have to tell him why." They didn't go through with it, but they were so casual about this conversation.

In the Torah, we're told to treat those who are foreign to us well, because we know what it's like to be the foreigner. Fighting back against oppression is the natural human thing to do. We know it because we lived it. And as soon as I looked at things from this angle, it wasn't really a choice of what to support.

[aellesira]

彡 gifts from you mean the whole world to me!

pairings, aether, albedo, alhaitham, cyno, diluc, gaming, kazuha, kaveh, kinich sethos, tighnari, venti, xiao, zhongli x reader. (separate)

ᯓ ᯓ' summary, what they get you on your birthday and why + how you react to it! and the silent message each gift passes. [ 1.7k word count. ] content, birthday gifts from our favourites, most are based off their voice lines, sorry for repeats or any ooc, fluff, mostly not established relationship, pining. happy birthday to me!

Yawning, you slumped down onto your bed after the day you had. Looking at the giant pile on the opposite corner of your room, memories of today and this week stirred in your mind, reminding you of everything you’d done today. All the gifts you were given by your lovely friends…

AETHER.

The Traveler, your partner in crime. 

These days you don’t get to see him because of how immensely busy he is off in other nations; he has long since passed from your own region of Teyvat.

But Aether has his own list of his favourite people, and you are one of those lucky few he loves dearly. So of course, his present is here too!

A picture of you two. You looked lovely in it, Aether was the one taking the picture, so it was more like a selfie, with Aether wrapping an arm around your shoulder. Paimon was flying in the background as well — you would be able to notice her if you squinted.

The Traveler and Paimon keep a lot of pictures, ones they take of you as well. This is one present you hold very, very dear.

ALBEDO.

He asked to sketch you, most definitely. 

And quite the lovely sketch he made, as lovely as the person it was of, you remembered a conversation the day before. He had asked if you would like to be his live model, or if he could take a picture of you. 

Nevertheless, the completed sketch was what was in that scroll. Carefully opening the ribbon, you were pleasantly surprised.

Framing it was obvious. Could you let such a thoughtful gift sit in your drawer somewhere in its beauty? I feel like Albedo would also want to see your reaction to his gift to judge if it was too little for something like your birthday, but he could tell you liked it.

ALHAITHAM.

Wouldn’t think too much of your birthday.

He doesn’t think it’s worth all the enthusiasm it gets, and that goes for his own and others’ birthdays.

Maybe he would do a favour for you just because it seemed like the right thing to do, even when he doesn’t bother with gifts on birthdays.

Although if you were his special someone, he might try to get you something you said you wanted a few weeks prior to your birthday, although for friends he draws the line.

CYNO.

I don’t think he’d know what you like specifically or what qualifies as a ‘good’ birthday present. Either he’d forget or he’d give you some new limited-edition expensive TCG card.

You don’t even play that often?

Nevertheless, it’s a sweet gift from Cyno, even if he wasn’t sure what you’d like as a gift.

Was half-considering offering to walk around the desert as like… a date (if he had a minor crush on you)? But he didn’t have time, didn’t know if you had time, and there is nothing romantic about roaming in the sand with beetles being the most interesting thing there — Tighnari told him that — so he relented.

DILUC.

Depends on how close the two of you are, but if you were someone he cares about, he would first get you a card.

Nothing too heartfelt; it was a rather fancy-looking card adorned with a simple happy birthday message from him, but it was really nothing much. Only for formalities, although you wished he would bring down the walls he let up for so long, at least with you, so as to make him less formal with you.

Maybe would buy you some expensive item from the shops, he doesn’t mind much, not with you.

GAMING.

Only a memory, because his gift wasn’t in your room.

 Oh! Your birthday is coming up? Just kidding, he’s been planning his gift for you for a few weeks now. He loves his friends, and that includes you, naturally!

Of course, it’s not Gaming it he doesn’t book you a private Wushou dance performance, just for your birthday. You’re always so busy, so you have to make sure you come to this one; it’s special.

You also knew he would make a reservation at Xinyue Kiosk, and damn, you can’t eat that much. Soups, curries, dim sum, rice, and so many other foods you couldn’t name…

All the same, you were really happy with his gift, touched by his kindness.

KAEDEHARA KAZUHA.

Definitely spent a few nights in his spare time trying to come up with a haiku for you.

As much as he has a habit of bringing on his flowery words of praise for you, your good qualities, and little things about you that only he notes, writing a haiku for you became something that he found rather difficult.

It wasn’t that there wasn’t anything to say about you, but could he write about you in a way that would capture your image anywhere close to perfect?

He thought not. As he put it, no word in our language could come close to describing you, and even though he had so much to say, he had only a little to write.

He gave it to you after your party, which of course, he had time to attend. Promising to read it once you come home, here you are. 

Swooning and struggling to hold your giggles, although nobody would hear you anyway. You told yourself he did this for all his close friends, but perhaps Kazuha tried to hide his true feelings for you in that poem, ones you shared too.

KAVEH.

Let’s be real; he doesn’t have enough money right now to spend on you.

But I feel like he would try to just barely hold on to enough to get you something he remembered you said you liked. 

Kaveh is an emotional person. Not in the sense that his feelings are out of control, or that he is too dramatic, but Kaveh truly cares for people. You of all people, anyone would note. 

Knowing that, the little trinket, bracelet, or small thing that Kaveh was able to give you meant more than any expensive gift anyone else could give you, even if he didn’t know that himself.

Maybe, one day you would have the courage to tell each other how you feel, but until then, he is happy with your shy little smiles and giggles whenever you get to see him.

KINICH.

Also wouldn’t know what to give you.

He frees up his schedule to spend some time with you, and that time is spent exploring Natlan for fun. And it is fun! Whenever you had to cross a pit of lava or a deep valley, he’d hold onto your waist and grapple through the sky.

At first it was pretty scary, but you knew Kinich knew what he was doing. The close proximity to someone you trusted also helped, although it flustered you a little.

Not a physical gift, but his presence was more than you could have asked for.

SETHOS.

He could give you anything, anything you wanted, and yet, it still wouldn’t feel like something attributed to him. Sure, you could spend time with one another, but he’d made that a habit a long time ago, of seeking you out constantly, so he ruled that out.

Totally not based on his voiceline — gives you a desert dweller hairstyle!

And it looks very cute, braids and all, you keep it for the whole day, especially with that pretty flower in your hair you don’t quite remember Sethos putting on…

TIGHNARI.

Speaking of flowers, Tighnari gets you a potted plant. Whichever Sumeru flower you loved, whether that be a Sumeru Rose, Kalpalata Lotus, Padisarah, a Nilotpala Lotus, it was one of them for sure.

It was there right now, right by your windowsill. If you looked hard enough it had already started to bloom under your care.

Tighnari comes around a few times after that, whenever he has time, and it is truly such a sweet thing, to see his gift bloom into such a beautiful flower as the day passes.

You love taking care of it, and make it a habit to water it every morning.

VENTI.

Was going to get you something, maybe, maybe not… you didn’t know. But alas, he eventually forgot it was your birthday and spent his evening at the tavern, like he usually does.

He didn’t quite expect you to go there too… had you been seeking him out? Then he remembered the poem he created a few days back. Stopping his incoherent rambles and songs although people were still tipping him for them, he sang.

It was about you, but did you know? Probably not. Still, it was quite a lovely song, about someone he cherished, a friend he wished to keep forever by his side. A lovely song.

You decided not to bother him while he performed, wondering who was this special person he sings for. You hum this tune in your room right now, wondering.

XIAO.

A memory. Also another that doesn’t care for mortal traditions, such as birthdays — he doesn’t understand it.

But it’s you, so… maybe he could give you something. An amulet. He created an adepti amulet for you, one you wore right now. After all, the one thing he wants for you above all else is your safety.

Even if he feels he can’t show you his care, he’ll do it however he can.

ZHONGLI.

Asks to spend time with you, if you would allow it. He takes you to a market with many fine brocades, gems, and jewelry to buy.

Of course, he knows what you’d like best, and what is best, so…

You end up having a lovely collection of trinkets, bought by him, although you insisted repeatedly not to dote on you so much.

The two of you have dinner, watch some stories and plays, all to end it with a final goodbye after the lovely day you had with Zhongli giving you a Glaze Lily. You as you were now, smiling and blushing at the flower in your hair, greatly remind him of someone dear.

[wanderingcritter]

Friendly reminder to never EVER let losers on the internet convince you that alterhumanity is wrong or will never be accepted by general society.

I went to my city's local renaissance faire earlier this week and I had genuinely such an incredible experience. I went with my tail, theta delta necklace, and mask (which I may post here once Im fully done with it lol) gear and received so many compliments. Not only that but I saw and talked to quite a few other alterhumans, like at least 10 and that was after only being there for 1 of the 2 days for less than 2 hours. Also please keep in mind that this was by no means a large ren faire (at least compared to others in the region) and the area I live in is very mixed in terms of progressiveness. But at one point I was walking past some vendors and an older lady running one of the booths exclaimed how much she liked my mask and asked to take a picture of it, and explained how her granddaughter was just starting to learn how to make some of her own. And then told me that the booth next to hers was "selling some therian masks" (yes she actually used the word therian completely unprompted!) and sure enough the couple in there were selling some masks made by their 11 year old daughter (which were absolutely gorgeous btw). Afterwards, as I was out near the parking lot waiting for my ride so that I could leave, I was practicing quadrobics and some 5-6 year old kids walked past me with their parents and looked absolutely awestruck. Shortly after another woman approached me and told me that her young granddaughter was completely overjoyed when she saw me me running around and had wanted to come play with me, and had said "Ive never seen a creature play like that before!!"

Not only was the ren faire itself super fun and cool to be at (I can't wait for next year omg), but it was unexpectedly the most positive alterhuman related experiences Ive had maybe ever.

There is a future where we are normal, where others see us as who we truly are and where we don't have to conceal ourselves to avoid judgement. The road isn't always going to be smooth, especially as we grow in numbers, in fact I fully expect things to get a whole lot worse for us in the years and decades to come. But one day, maybe even in our lifetimes, you will walk through a pride parade and see someone enthusiastically waving a massive theta delta flag through the crowd. You will hear strangers casually use species neutral language like it's the most normal thing in the world. You will sit down with your family to watch the newest popular tv show that includes a character who has received species affirming medical care. You will walk past a cozy locally owned business that has an "all species welcomed!" sticker on their window next to their lgbtq+ and poc welcoming signs.

We are everywhere, and we're not going away. There will always be those who refuse to understand us, but there will be more who choose to love and accept us in our entirety, I have absolutely no doubt about that <3

[djarins-cyare]

Oh, Your Love Is Sunlight

Summary: Din takes you on a picnic date Rating: Teen Pairing: Din Djarin x GN!Reader Word count: 2,106 Tags/warnings: Excessive fluff, feelings, food consumption (including meat and dairy; sorry to those who don’t partake, finding photos of vegan Star Wars food is hard!), fleeting thoughts about bunk-sharing, helmet removal, kissing, hand-holding, gift-giving Author’s note: Happy 1st Tumblr birthday, Moon Fairy Mina @evolnoomym! I made a moodboard for your first birthday party with the prompt “having a picnic date with Din”, and then I couldn’t stop myself from writing something to go with it. It ended up far fluffier than I usually aim for, though maybe I’ll write the smut that inevitably follows next year! Much love, darling 😘

Din instructs you to close your eyes until the loading ramp has fully descended, then guides you a few steps forward onto the sloped surface. The thrum of suspense rises in your gut like a hyperspace engine coming to life, only to be cut short when he has to dart back inside for forgotten supplies. With his grand reveal delayed, you’re left to interpret the world on which you’ve landed through your other senses.

You notice the air’s freshness first. After a whole week cooped up aboard the Crest, it hits your lungs like water on a parched throat, quenching your thirst for freedom. Warm sunlight caresses your skin while a soft breeze carries the heady perfume of grass and wildflowers. A low, static-like buzz mingles with a closer chorus of wildlife and birdsong, each sound weaving its own melody into the moment.

“Open your eyes,” Din commands at last, his smooth, modulated baritone adding a final note to this sensory symphony.

A gasp escapes your lips as you obey… the sight that unfolds is kriffing spectacular.

A verdant meadow stretches out before you, overlooking a sun-drenched valley beyond. The low background hum is the distant roar of waterfalls, where vast torrents of azure water plunge into a sparkling lake before winding through the valley to your right. Along the banks, large grazing creatures – shaaks, you think – lumber at their leisure. A tall, lush forest fringes the meadow to your left and behind the ship, its ancient canopy whispering secrets of a new world.

It’s breathtaking.

“Are we on Naboo?” Only that planet’s renowned vistas could rival this incredible display, but you can’t be there. It doesn’t match the heading you were on.

The Mandalorian shakes his helmet. “The biosphere is similar, but this world is in the Unknown Regions and, so far, it’s uninhabited. I discovered it by accident a couple years back. Once the Nav Guild drops a hyperspace marker out here, the New Republic will settle it fast, but it remains off the grid for now. What do you think?”

“It’s stunning, Din. Are we here for a bounty?” Your gaze drifts back to him – the only other thing in the galaxy that could rival the landscape’s splendour in your eyes. The sunlight glints in his armour as if he belongs among such beauty.

“No…” he replies, a trace of awkwardness in his tone as he gestures toward a basket by his side – the forgotten supplies. “I thought we could have… a picnic.” Before you can fully register your surprise, he adds in a soft, playful tone, “A… date?”

Astonishment renders you mute for several drawn-out moments, freezing you in rapturous inertia. Then, with a smile as radiant as the sun itself, you finally reply, “I’d love that.”

After months of pining for him, you’re not about to look a gift traladon in the mouth.

He spreads out a couple of blankets on the grass and begins unpacking the basket. As you watch him lay out enticing treats, it becomes clear why he’d insisted on making every meal for you both since his supply run at the last outpost yesterday. He’d filled the cooling chamber with surprises for this ‘date’.

When he extracts a chilled bottle of blue milk, a nostalgic lump forms in your throat. “You remembered!” you exclaim softly.

“Of course,” he responds warmly. “I drank it as a kid, too. We both have good memories attached to it.”

Din puts together a carefully crafted three-course meal. Hunks of bucco bread slathered with soft moof milk cheese and topped with slices of red fruit make for a simple but tasty starter. Next, he serves up a mouthwatering main course: cold cuts of nerf steak paired with vibrant purple topato mash and buckwheat noodles. Just when you think you’ve reached your limit, he unveils a plate of Parnassos swirl cake – squares of sweet, buttery, purple-swirled indulgence.

You eat back-to-back in the seamless rhythm you’ve become used to – his helmet near at hand, of course. After months of gaining his trust, removing it to eat together was a welcome victory, and you don’t take it for granted. Instead, you savour the resonance of his unfiltered voice as you each describe your favourite things in the galaxy (besides this delicious food and epic view).

You can’t find the words to confess that he’s one of your favourite things.

After the meal, you lay back on the blanket, digesting both the sumptuous food and the surreal notion that this is a genuine date.

It’s been nearly a year since Din first took you aboard, and almost six months since Grogu left for his Jedi training. In the wake of their parting, you brought the grieving Mandalorian to your homeworld and looked after him while he brooded. With his ship destroyed, he seemed grateful to have a ‘home base’ of sorts when he started taking bounty missions to finance a replacement Razor Crest. There was never any doubt that you would fly away with him again once Peli found him a new ship.

You’ve always been close, but it’s never been anything more than mutual respect and a deep friendship – or so you believed. Perhaps you aren’t the only one who’s spent your nights wishing you could crawl into your shipmate’s bunk. The idea of two warm bodies pressed together softens the chill of deep space and makes the galaxy seem that little bit less lonely.

A rustling beside you interrupts your reverie. Curious, you prop yourself on your elbows to find Din unbuckling his belt and lifting off his bandolier, his cloak already a charcoal pool behind him. As he begins to unfasten his cuirass, you comment, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you take your armour off outside the ship before.”

“Who’s gonna see?” he drawls, his tone laced with a secret smile. “Even the shaaks are too far away now to catch a glimpse.”

Despite his relaxed demeanour, you notice how he extracts his blaster from its holster, resting it within easy reach at the blanket’s edge. The beskar may come off, but the warrior remains.

Once he’s down to his flight suit, he rolls up the sleeves and unzips the front, revealing his dark undershirt. This is virtually naked for Din.

You offer an approving smile. “Way to relax, bounty hunter – I’m impressed.”

“Yeah? Good,” he rasps, those two husky syllables igniting a surge of desire within you.

Then, once again, he catches you off guard. Reaching up, he does the unthinkable. He removes his helmet.

“Din!” you exclaim, clamping your eyes shut and laying back on the blanket to direct your now unseeing eyes at the sky instead of his uncovered face. You press a hand across them for good measure. “A little warning, maybe?”

“You already saw my face when Grogu left,” he reasons, though his words only deepen your confusion.

“Yeah, but then you put your helmet back on and haven’t taken it off since,” you counter. As you protest, you feel him lift your hand away from your eyes, but you keep them firmly closed. “What— why— your creed, Din!”

“It’s already broken; the transgression has been committed. I’ve just been… hiding behind my helmet ever since. But you’ve already seen me, and nothing will change if you see me again now.” Still holding the hand he just peeled off your face, his voice grows warm and resolute as he implores, “Look at me, cyar’ika. Please.”

It feels surreal �� perhaps you’re dreaming or teetering on the edge of sanity – but you can’t deny him what he so earnestly requests.

Slowly, you relax your eyelids and blink them open, expecting to see your stoic Mandalorian. Instead, you encounter a nervous, messy-haired, forty-something knockout, propped up on his elbow and hovering over you. He’s just as gorgeous as you remember, except his eyes are no longer shadowed by sadness; now, they sparkle with an unspoken promise.

For several long, heavenly moments, you simply gaze at one another, absorbing this rare, unrestricted view – the second mind-blowing sight of the day. The fluffy clouds drift onwards overhead, the waterfalls cascade endlessly into the churning lake, and the blazing sun edges ever closer to the horizon. This beautiful world spins on, yet you see only each other.

Before long, you notice Din’s focus keeps drifting lower, and when you wet your lips, he audibly inhales. You watch him wet his own in kind before his eyes dart back to yours beneath a questioning eyebrow.

A soft smile, an encouraging nod – that’s all it takes. And suddenly, he’s kissing you. It’s tentative and shy – he moves with a gentle hesitance that makes you reach up and cup his cheek, urging him to let go. He breaks off to draw a steadying breath… once, twice. Then his lips return to yours with greater passion – eagerness filling in for his obvious inexperience.

You soon find a reciprocal rhythm, slowly deepening the kiss until every touch of his tongue against yours sends sparks crackling through your body. With low hums, you encourage what you like, and his impressive ability to observe and learn soon elevates him to the best kisser you’ve ever known.

When he finally pulls away, he remains close, hovering above you with kiss-swollen lips. “So, how am I doing?” he asks.

“How are you doing?” you echo, unsure what he means.

“The date,” he clarifies softly. “Mandalorian dating mostly involves sparring; this kind of thing is… new to me. Is it what you hoped for?”

Flustered by his assumption that you’d hoped for any kind of date, you stammer, “Y-yeah… it’s wonderful. You’re doing… kriffing amazing.”

Relief washes over his features, and you marvel at seeing it on his face as well as in his body language.

“Cara suggested the picnic, but I planned the details myself,” he confesses, explaining how he knew you wanted this.

Nevarro’s marshal has been your confidante for months, though she swore she’d never tell Din of your feelings for him, conceding it could only complicate your friendship.

“So… she told you? About… me liking you… like this?” you ask, put out by her broken promise.

He smiles at your euphemism. “Only after I told her that I like you… like this. Then she threatened me with bodily harm if I didn’t act on it.”

You snicker as you realise you’ve both been as foolish as one another, instantly forgiving Cara’s breach of trust in pursuit of your happiness.

Looking into his sparkling brown eyes, you shake your head and whisper, “This is crazy. I never imagined you’d feel the same way – that what I’ve been feeling all this time could ever be mutual.”

Din closes the distance once more, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips before murmuring, “Oh, ner mesh’la dinii, it’s mutual, trust me.” You pull him back in for a deeper kiss, slowly and blissfully making out as the sun begins to dip below the horizon.

When it’s time to leave, Din carries his armour back to the Crest while you pack away the picnic things. You watch your gorgeous, messy-haired man return to your picnic spot against a blazing sky, the lake beneath reflecting amber flames.

As you take a final, lingering look at the vista below, he steps up behind you, pressing in close. His arms encircle you, drawing you back against his unarmoured chest, and he whispers, “I have something for you.”

Before you can speak, he raises his hand and uncurls his fingers. And there, nestled in his palm, a silver mudhorn pendant sparkles in the vestiges of sunlight. Your breath catches as you recognise his clan symbol – a silent declaration that you are his family.

Swallowing tears that dare to betray your emotion, you can offer only a breathy whisper in response. “Stars, it’s… I— thank you so much.”

You long to voice the thousand other words that churn within – that you consider him family too, that you’re in love with him, that you’d happily spend the rest of your life with him. Yet you hold them all back. Words have never been your way, nor Din’s.

Gestures are your language.

Once he’s lowered the mudhorn around your neck, you turn to face him, drawing him close and resting your foreheads together in a wordless Mandalorian kiss.

When you part, your hands entwine as you saunter back to the ship, savouring the setting sun’s enduring glow. You came here as friends, but you leave as something more. And with this planet’s sun-drenched beauty etched in your memories, even the darkest corners of the galaxy don’t seem so lonely anymore.

Translations:

cyar’ika [SHAH-ree-kah] – sweetheart/darling

ner mesh’la dinii [ner MESH-lah DEE-nee] – my beautiful lunatic

Just a few notes in case anyone’s interested:

Yeah, the title is a Hozier lyric. Unoriginal, I know, but I couldn’t come up with anything decent!

The first photo in the moodboard is actually Naboo; it’s from Episode II: Attack of the Clones when Anakin and Padme have their picnic up in the Lake Country (I just cropped them out), so technically, it’s Lake Como in Italy.

Definitions: Shaaks are grazing animals, mostly raised as livestock because of their massive bodies, and are the SWU’s equivalent of sheep. The Unknown Regions is an area of the galaxy that isn’t mapped. The Nav Guild is responsible for mapping the galaxy. Hyperspace markers (also called navigation buoys) mark coordinates to keep ships on course, and all planets and astronomical objects have one. A traladon is a Corellian animal, but they use “gift traladon” across the galaxy in the same expression we use on Earth (“don’t look a gift horse in the mouth”), meaning one shouldn’t question a gift. A cooling chamber is a refrigerator. Blue milk is the SWU’s ubiquitous version of cow’s milk and comes from banthas. Bucco bread is a type of golden loaf made from grain farmed on planets in the Outer Rim. Soft moof milk cheese is the equivalent of ricotta cheese and comes from the milk of moofs (SWU goats). Red Fruit is the in-universe name for tomatoes. Nerfs are another type of cattle, rather like buffalo. Topato is the Star Wars word for potato, and though they’re usually green, we have purple potatoes on Earth, so I figured they’d have purple topatoes in the SWU. Buckwheat noodles are usually from Corellia, but I assume they can be made anywhere. Parnassos swirl cake looks and sounds fucking delicious.

Screw canon and that stupid midlife-crisis N1 starfighter – I prefer to imagine that Peli got Din a new Razor Crest like he asked for.

A note on the images in the moodboard: I want to reassure everyone that I don’t use AI when creating images for my fics; I use an ancient and outdated program called Adobe Photoshop CS4, which was released 17 years ago (well before AI even existed). I do my best to manually extract, layer and blend elements from different images, then tweak them until I’ve created the image I want. It takes forever, but my blood, sweat and tears go into the process, and I take pride in doing it myself. Once I have the images, I use Canva for moodboard layouts.

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[some-israeli-guy]

I want to take a few minutes to talk about my connection to Israel, as a Jew. I want to do that because some people desperately need to understand this, and also I'm procrastinating on uni homework.

Some years ago there were calls to return artifacts from the British Museum to the countries they're from. I know Britain pretty much went anywhere and took anything they wanted, but it got me thinking about cultural identities and their connection over time.

The middle east was home to some of the world's most ancient civilizations, and I'm sure most people living there could trace their lineage back to those civilizations (theoretically of course, we don't have data going that far). But how are they related to them? Do modern day Iraqis have any connection to Babylonians? They don't have a common language, religion, holidays, costumes… there is no cultural connection there. Babylonians happened to live in the same place, but other than that…

But this is not the case for Jews. Wherever Jewish people ended up throughout time, we kept a direct connection to ancient Israelites. I speak the same language they did thousands of years ago, I celebrate the holidays they celebrated. Our holy book is localized to Israel. We have holidays where we use local flora as decorations. We remembered our home, wherever we were, and waited to return.

The city I grew up in has flooding every winter. The whole area does (the Sharon region). It's because it used to be a swamp. There are 3 limestone ridges blocking the rivers from getting to the ocean, and when the early Zionist pioneers bought lands in this area (which were uninhabited swampland at the time) they had to open up tunnels through the limestone and drain the swamps before people could live here.

Why am I telling you this? Because we already did it before. Ancient Israelites already dug tunnels and drained swamps and lived here. There was a prayer during Yom Kippur specifically for the safety of people living here. All of the towns in the Sharon were razed by the Mamluks in the 13th century, and it became a swamp again. Until we returned.

To anyone who call us "colonizers": These "ancient" Israelites don't just share a religion with us, they ARE us. We were expelled from our homeland, but we kept our identity, we refused to let go, we kept wishing to come back home. We were always indigenous to Israel. We don't belong anywhere but here.

And now they're are trying to tell us that some people with a name invented by Rome to erase Judea and Israel, with a religion and language from Arabia, who didn't have a distinct cultural identity other than "Arab" until a few decades ago, belong here more than we do? I don't think so.

[read-marx-and-lenin]

I'm asking this in good faith, but this is something I'm genuinely confused about. Regarding the Holodomor, or the Soviet famine of 1930 in general, why does it matter if it was a genocide or not? At best it seems to be a natural famine exacerbated by poor decision making, and while that is far different from a genocide, I don't understand why that specification matters, because it was still made worse by Soviet intervention, unless I'm getting the facts wrong which I probably am.

It matters to the Western propagandists who were insistent for decades despite zero evidence that the famine was used to commit atrocities against the people of Ukraine. The refrain the whole time was that once the Soviet archives were made public, they'd finally have the proof they needed. The archives are eventually opened, and surprise surprise, there's not only no evidence of the deliberate withholding of grain, there's evidence of significant amounts of food aid being sent to help alleviate the famine. The myth of a Ukrainian genocide began as Nazi propaganda and was adopted as part of the "double genocide" narrative by Western reactionaries after WW2 to downplay the crimes of the Nazis and to maintain a narrative about liberal opposition to "authoritarianism", painting Western capitalists as the "free world" fighting against both fascism and communism. (Don't ask them why they stopped fighting fascism after WW2 though.)

As for the human elements of the famine, it is also part of the typical Western narrative, even among those who admit the Holodomor was not a targeted anti-Ukrainian genocide and who admit that there were environmental factors, to try and put substantial amounts of blame on the Soviet collectivization of agriculture. I am not going to lie and say collectivization went smoothly with no issues, but you cannot ignore the factors of reactionary sabotage by kulaks (including the destruction of animals and grain and the outright murder of party officials) and the effects of Western sanctions and sabotage on the economic development of the USSR.

While some have argued that there was a complete "gold blockade" on the USSR during the famine and so the Soviet Union was forced to export grain to facilitate international trade, the blockade was never enforced by all Western nations at the same time and the Soviets were still able to export gold and silver at various times throughout the 1920s. It is true, however, that gold reserves were stretched thin at the time and the Soviets simply didn't have enough gold to cover their international debts. Soviet gold mines had never been extraordinarily productive and the rest of the Soviet economy was still developing at the time, so grain was one of the few things that they expected to have in surplus. In addition, there were various other sanctions in place by 1930 that did limit who they could trade with and what they could trade with, but the export of grain was almost never restricted. The famine caught them off guard at a very bad time.

While international grain exports were restricted during the famine as grain was diverted to famine-stricken regions of the country (and grain imports were increased as well), the problems with hoarding only worsened as in the panic of the famine, kulaks sought to exploit the people and create a profitable black market on grain. A struggle against the kulaks coincided with worsening environmental effects and the spread of disease among both crops and humans.

The famine was not man-made, it was not entirely natural, and it was not the inevitable outcome of collectivization. It was a perfect storm of a variety of factors. Stalin was not some heartless monster condemning millions of Ukrainians to death for daring to defy the glorious Soviet Union. He was not some idiot who had no idea what he was doing, plunging the nation into famine out of ineptitude. He was not a stubborn maniac who refused to abandon failing economic policies even at the cost of human lives. He was a human being, one of many in charge of the Soviet Union, dealing with concurrent disasters as best as they could.

[crescenthistory]

Haunt Me, Then; Part 2

Pairing: Sirius Black x Fem!Reader

Part 1 of the The Hunger Games AU

Chapter Synopsis: On a Capitol Train filled with all the people that might give you answers, in their own unique ways, you find yourself feeling more confused and conflicted than before. Peter isn’t managing well, Sirius wants to talk but remains cryptic when you let him, and Bellatrix and Barty prove to be unpredictable companions to say the least. 

WC: 8.4k

Tags: Fem!Reader, Use of Y/N, Hunger Games typical warnings of corruption, oppression and widespread pain, mentions of imminent and past death, references to loss and grief, heavy hurt/comfort, bittersweet moments, Barty and Bellatrix are their own warnings, disassociation, kind of miscommunication trope, yearning, childhood best friends (to mentor/tribute to lovers), unwanted physical touches

A/N: huge thanks to my darling aimee (@ailoda) for taking on the feat that is beta-reading this series! keep in mind that this thg au is not thg compliant; i do what i want lol. i am open to doing a taglist if people are interested<3

Perhaps it was an odd aspect to focus on, but the chairs on the Capitol train were ridiculously comfortable.

While District 7 was far from the poorest region, there was not an emphasis on luxury goods either. In large families like the McKinnons, it was not uncommon to struggle to make ends meet, and no waiting room you had ever spent time in had plush seating options. The closest you had come to riches was through Sirius’ parents, who moved from District 1 prior to Sirius’ birth on request from the Capitol. They never would say why; they would never really say anything. At least Sirius and Regulus did not have to want for anything, and they gave whatever support they could to their friends. To you.

Yet, the chairs on the train felt like the most abundant lounge you could have pictured. Textured and ruffled like it was designed for angels.

In a few weeks, that was all you could hope to be, really. Angels. 

It felt easier at this moment to focus on the chair. How it felt against your thighs, how it removed aches from your bones, the ones you would have preferred to focus on, because pain was the most distracting thing of all. You wished to place your whole attention, your whole burdened soul inside the soft down of the pillow, to disappear into the microscopic world and not have to face anything.

To hide in your mind was a skill you had always excelled at, especially the past few years. Despite your mastery and best intentions, Sirius broke through.

Even as you blocked out the rest of the room, you were acutely aware of Sirius. You knew he was sitting across from you, table pushed to the side so there were no real barriers between you two. You knew he had his head in his hands, occasionally dragging his fingers through his hair and pulling, as if it would do him any good. You knew he sounded like a man at war; occasionally huffing, grunting, sighing into the nether. 

And because you were so aware of Sirius, you unfortunately remained aware of Peter, as Sirius kept looking his way and occasionally speaking to him. 

Curled up on the sofa a bit to the left of you, Peter laid crying. Not loud wailing, though he would have been well within his rights to do so. Just silent tears and the occasional hiccup. It tore your heart open and made you want to run further away into yourself. 

Bellatrix and Barty – who you had learned seemed to only bring out the worst in each other – sat on the sofa across from Peter, chattering away as if they were not witnesses to this ironic train wreck in motion. Last time you checked in, they were gushing over the potential costumes you and Peter might be dressed in and what dynamics they hoped to see between the tributes in the arena, how their champions would play into it all. Or, at least Bellatrix was talking at Barty with enough enthusiasm to power District 12, You tuned them out long ago, until they became nothing to you.

Like you hoped you would be to them soon.

Sirius nudged your shoe with his. 

Your gaze fell to where his foot laid beside yours. You had matching shoes. Even after 5 years in the Capitol, he still wore black boots, as if he was moments away from heading into a forest.

You trailed up to find his insistent eyes on you already. He seemed to have been studying your face, one corner of his lip twitching into a half-smile. He tilted his head at you, almost in question – you had no answer, so you merely shrugged. 

That seemed to be enough for him. 

Sirius clapped his hands together, loudly enough to disturb Bellatrix and Barty’s conversation – the latter of which sent Sirius a nasty look you had yet to decipher – but not so loud as to startle Peter. “Alright, we have no more time to spare,” Sirius declared, ending the short period he had awarded you all to absorb the shock of the moment. Though, perhaps mostly himself. “Peter, Y/N, why don’t you head to your rooms to breathe or change – there’s rows of clothes to choose from already hung up there – and then the three of us meet up in 30 minutes in the parlor to start talking strategy?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Barty beat you to it.

“What do you mean the three of you, Black?” He somehow managed to snarl and laugh at the same time. “News flash, but your Capitol representatives are meant to be along for the whole ride.”

Sirius didn’t move his gaze to meet Barty’s as he spoke. “You are meant to be just that – representatives. You can join us for meals and public outings, but you have no business joining us outside of that.”

“How lovely of you to think you have a choice, Siri!” Bellatrix purred in a sing-songy tone of voice that did not at all match the contents of her speech. She rose from her seat and began walking in Sirius’ direction. “The parlor in 30 minutes sounds absolutely splendid. We can then discuss how to frame the tragedy that is the three of you in the most entertaining way for the interviews.”

The line of Sirius’ lips was tight and you caught a glimpse of his eyes flashing, but Bellatrix moved in front of him before you could read him further, blocking your view. You could hear him open his mouth, but Bellatrix lifted an arm to place a finger in his face, presumably over his lips. “Sh, sh, sh, little Prince, save the tantrums for the cameras.” 

She flicked the finger over his nose as she moved past him to float towards the door. When you saw Sirius’ face again, his eyes were squeezed shut, head turned to the side.

Bellatrix made a whistling sound that had Barty rolling his eyes and standing up – did she call on him? If that was what she did, he apparently listened for all intents and purposes, striding through the space between you and Sirius. These Capitol people seemed to walk as if it took no effort, as if they weighed next to nothing, movements all tied together in beautiful elegance.

The smirk and wink Barty shot you as he passed was neither.

The door slammed shut with a bang that, though expected, made Peter jump in his seat where he was just beginning to sit up and gather himself. You smiled sadly at him as he stared down into the floor.

Sirius, on the other hand, opened his eyes with a sigh. He took a moment to look between you and Peter, lingering on you when you actually met his eye. There was a miniscule shake of his head, seemingly instinctive, before he cleared his throat. “Alright. I meant what I said. I’ll take you two to your rooms to collect yourselves alone, and then we’ll talk strategy.”

So much for catching up.

There were a hundred things to be said, but the mere thought of raising any of the points made your blood heat uncomfortably. Instead, you nodded and got up from your seat, squaring your shoulders.

Half on instinct, half to make some connection with the one person you truly know in this place, you moved past Sirius to give Peter a hand up. At last, when you stood before him, he looked up to meet your eyes, tears still swimming in his blue irises. 

“C’mon, Petey,” you whispered, squeezing his shoulder with one hand and grabbing his hand with the other. He huffed a breath you wondered if maybe was supposed to be a friendly sign as he clutched onto you in turn, allowing you to help him up. You brushed off the invisible dust on his sleeves and smiled more assuredly this time, before turning on your heel and facing Sirius.

When he didn’t say anything, just stared emptily at the scene before him – your hands hovering over Peter, Peter’s lip audibly quivering – you once again cut through the silence. “Go on then.” Not your most politest, but you did not have it in you to be right now. You figured you should be allowed some sins, now towards the end.

Sirius seemed to snap out of it but merely nodded in turn, gesturing for you both to follow as he made his way out of the room.

The atmosphere was nothing short of awkward as you and Peter trailed behind Sirius through the impossibly long and winding corridors of the train. You had never really felt the age difference between you and Sirius while growing up, it was barely a year and you both assumed the positions of the older kids looking out for younger siblings and friends. Yet now, walking directly behind his broad back, defined with lean muscle that rippled with how tense he was, you felt so impossibly small. Not necessarily physically, just in every sense that mattered. You and Peter were like a set of puppies, stumbling after the seasoned elder, and you despised it. 

You reached out a hand behind you to find Peter’s. Some of the tension seeped out of you when he gripped you in return, his firm fingers settling beside yours like a welcome weight.

“That one there is Peter’s room.” Sirius came to a stop at the end of the hall, four doors on each side. He nodded with his chin towards one that was slightly ajar as he spoke. “And yours is across the hall.” He didn’t say your name, just set his intense eyes on some vague point beside your head.

You looked away. 

Squeezing Peter’s hand, you let go and gestured for him to enter his room first. Though it might not make a difference, you wanted to be with him as he entered, so he didn’t have to do it alone. Peter took small steps towards his room, pushing the door open with the tips of his fingers. To both your and seemingly Peter’s surprise, he gasped, and took a proper step into the room – it was huge, much more so than you would have expected to be possible on a train. Sirius had been right, there was an open closet filled with clothes to the right, and a bed in the middle that looked just as plush as the sofas.

“Yeah, live it up, Petey,” Sirius said dryly, a semblance of that old humour of his you remembered leaking into his voice. “It’ll be even better in the Capitol. See you in a bit.”

With more ushering than perhaps necessary, Sirius encouraged Peter to walk completely in, and shut the door gently behind him.

As Sirius turned to look at you, you turned away from him, hand already placed on your own door handle. You pushed it down and made to enter when you felt Sirius’ cold fingers curl around your elbow. It was a stark contrast to how Bellatrix would grab you, this was a featherlight touch, as if you were delicate, as if you were precious.

It made you look up at him through your lashes to find him already scanning your face.

“Y/N…” He trailed off.

You placed your fingers over his, careful to study how his face seemingly perked up at your touch, only to fall when you peeled his hand off of you. “Later, Sirius. If you want to explain, absolve your soul while you can or whatever, then do it later. Spare me right now. I just want to lay down.”

You took a small step towards the door again. Sirius pressed his lips harshly together before nodding, putting on a forced smile for a second. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right, we can talk it out later – but until then, quit talking like that.”

“Like what?”

“About absolution and doing things while you can. Quit talking like you’re dying.” You could tell by the look on his face that he was being serious, but that didn’t ease up the knot in your chest at all.

All you could do was to hum noncommittally and turn around to enter your room. You didn’t lift your eyes to look at Sirius before you shut the door in his face.

You did not have it in you to change; you would rather cling to what you had from home. Instead, you sat down cross-legged on the floor in front of a full body mirror and leaned your forehead against it, slumping in preemptive defeat.

With laboured but increasingly measured breathing, you tried to get an overview of your situation thus far, playing over the past three hours to digest.

You wish your first thought was something poetic, something deep – some grand final words you could write in your diary that would be distributed all throughout your district as an ode to your memory once you’re slaughtered in an arena by some District 2 child for entertainment. You wished that if not your life, at least your mind could be worth something.

Nothing came to you though. Your first and most eloquent thought remained: fuck.

You were truly and genuinely fucked, why would you think of anything else? A part of your mind tried to remind you of Sirius’ request, his near-plea, to not talk like that, but how could you? He didn’t tell you what else to think of if not that.

Staring at your increasingly hollow reflection, you found you were left with more questions than answers.

The events of the day flashed before you and you did your best to file away only what you thought might be of significance to you going forward. Mary’s teary face and Marlene’s insistent eyes were important to you but not helpful, so you pushed them aside. Instead, you tried to bring forth any mention of this year’s games, anything Barty and Bellatrix have said or done that can give you an indication of what lays ahead of you.

It was clear that Bellatrix knew that you and Peter knew Sirius. Reunion, conundrum, loverboy. Her hints were a far cry of subtle, let alone tasteful, though you thought perhaps that was her goal exactly. At this moment, feeling like a young girl stowed away in your room, you had no idea what to do with that knowledge – but you held onto it, knowing you had to gain answers somehow.

The one thing you could do in what felt like an ocean of confusion and despair was to try and grasp onto some form of strategy to carry you through. Not the strategies Sirius was talking about for the games, but a personal strategy, a perhaps feeble but significant attempt at maintaining your sanity. Yourself. 

Thoughts would float by and you would try to keep only those that might help you survive mentally until it is finally your physical life on the line, on the pods in the arena.

Yet, even as you managed to let your hometown and your fears go, your thoughts still snaked away towards Sirius, a miniature betrayal it had committed against you every day for the past 5 years. You didn’t understand him, you didn’t understand how he avoided your every question and statement, yet still seemed so insistent on your survival and his apologies.

It had been years and all you had wanted was to hear his voice again, even hear some of the specific words he said – but now, they felt hollow even in their sweetness.

I had to go, I’m sorry, I know you.

It reminded you painfully of the words that had haunted you up until this day: I’m sorry, I had to. You’re wonderful. I love you. You’ll be okay. I love you. 

I bloody swear to you, he had said to you just some hours ago, you will make it through these games. As you envisioned his face when you saw Peter and recalled how you yourself felt when you listened to his quiet cries, you knew he could not mean that anymore. There was more than you on the line.

Whether it was a panic attack or a fit of rage that was brewing, you knew you needed to shake it off. Far from 30 minutes had passed, you thought maximum 10 – you really would need a clock in the arena – but you couldn’t stay put any longer.

Climbing to your feet, you ruffled your hair and squeezed your cheeks to try and feel better, paving away the chaos to instead focus on what is right in front of you. That had to be your strategy then. Moment by moment, step by step.

Opening your door tentatively, you stepped outside it, stopping for a mere moment in front of Peter’s. Wondering if you should go inside, listening to catch whether he was crying. 

You didn’t hear anything distinct, and even if you had, you didn’t think you would be much comfort for him at the moment. 

The corridors you walked through were highly industrial, another stark contrast to your hometown that was mostly built on wood and a few bricks. They felt the perfect amount of inhuman – while you were sure some design and craftsmanship had gone into building even this train, it felt void of interest and love. Just as a Capitol train should be.

The humming of the wheels were distant but ever present as you explored, feeling almost like you were sneaking out past curfew.

Not that you used to have a curfew, but Sirius did, and you would ditch it together. He was never one to be construed by Walburga and Orion’s chains – as he called them – and would ask you to meet him at the corner of their property at midnight. You might run through the woodlands surrounding you, lay down in a field and watch the stars, climb onto the roof of your primary school and point out whatever landmarks you spotted across town, sharing memories even though most of them had been made together.

Sirius’ childlike laughter echoed faintly in your ears when his real voice cut through your thoughts.

At the very end of a hallway that opened up into a larger room filled with seating arrangements and shelves, there was one final door to your right. It was slightly ajar, not enough for you to look in, but enough for you to hear.

“You mean to tell me this is a fucking coincidence?” Sirius’ tone was seething even in its whisper, but the anger didn’t seem to be directed at any one individual.

There was no response in the momentary silence before he continued. “She was never supposed to be picked, which means they did it on purpose. Pete is just the nail in the bloody coffin.”

Your brows furrowed, your hand coming up to steady yourself on the wall. It sounded like he was talking to someone, but you couldn’t hear anyone else.

“I don’t bloody care if they do, I–” He drew a sharp breath, you could picture the slight parting of his lips revealing white teeth. “Sorry. No, I know, fuck. Sorry, gods – I don’t want to keep saying that. Yeah. Yeah, sure.”

His voice faded into indecipherable mumbles.

You knew he was talking about you. He had to be, and the implications hit you like an arrow – both the implications of his words and of him talking about you in the first place.

If you were trying to clear your head, this surely was not helping you in the slightest. With the effort only a tribute must possess, you pushed off the wall and kept walking into what seemed to be the parlor, head keeping straight forward and not trying to steal a glance through the gap in the door.

You set your focus on the chandelier they had somehow managed to squeeze into the middle of this open space in the middle of the train. It cast the room in a light yellow glow, highlighting the different textures in the many pieces of even-more comfortable cushions across the room.

It was a comfort you didn’t want at the moment; you walked towards the window at the end of the room instead, seeing the outskirts of your district disappearing in a haze of browns and greens.

“You’re early.”

You only turned your head slightly to see Sirius walking slowly into the room, putting a small rectangular object into the sidepocket of his sturdy trousers. His face was carefully measured, but his eyes still betrayed him, eyes boring into yours with an underlying current dancing through the grey. 

“Oddly enough I didn’t feel like being cooped up.” You made an active effort to not add some comment about spending your final days in a more worthwhile manner. 

Sirius still felt it based on the way the corners of his lips twitched. He neared you, standing at the edge of the sofa closest to the window you were tracing with your fingertips – it wasn’t as cold as you were hoping. “Even though you said you wanted to lay down?” he asked, a certain mirth mixing into his tone, referring to your excuse from earlier.

You shrugged, nonplussed. “I did. I only needed a minute or two.”

Sirius’ gaze softened as he leaned his weight against the sofa, crossing his arms as he regarded you. “Take as many minutes as you need, princess,” he whispered.

You turned then, mirroring his stance as you leaned against the window. His face was open, laid bare for you even in his continuing torment.

“Can you make this make sense to me?” It wasn’t the question you wanted to ask the most, but it was the one you figured you might gain the most help from. Sirius used to be your clarity in situations like these.

He breathed in deeply, looking down in respite. “Five years ago, I survived the Hunger Games and was asked to stay in the Capitol. I did. Today, against all bloody odds, you and Peter were reaped, and got stuck with me as your mentor, and those two as your Capitol escorts. Together, we have to figure out how to get you through it.”

It was a rehearsed speech, laid prepared on his tongue, the Sparknotes poison you had asked for. His tone was controlled, some bitterness still leaking through

Asked to stay.

“Why?”

Sirius looked up at you then, an exasperated smile teasing his lips. “Which why are you searching for, princess?”

Why did you stay? Why were we reaped, if you don’t think it was a coincidence? 

For some inexplicable reason, you took pity on him and shook your head, trying to reflect his half-smile. “Let’s not. Let’s not.”

If Sirius could soften more with all his muscles and grit on display in his skintight black tshirt, he did. He pushed off the sofa, as if on his way towards you, beginning to speak. “Whatever you wan–”

When a high-pitched giggle made its way down the hall, he cut himself short with a frown and turned his head – you did the same.

“I’m happy to see we’re at a respectable distance this time,” Bellatrix said through a grin as she walked in, swirling down into a seat on the sofa Sirius was leaning against. “Your fans will be much more pleased this way.”

Sirius’ jaw ticked, gaze moving from Bellatrix to Barty who had trailed in behind her and opted to lean against the doorway, arms crossed much like Sirius’ and a wicked gleam in his eyes.

“I thought I told you to stay away for this meeting.” Sirius tried, despite all of you remembering just how that went last time.

“And I thought I told you where to stick it.” Barty’s tone was somehow both teasing and menacing.

Sirius scoffed, but the sound was tight as his eyes twitched at the sight before him. He looked between the two Capitol representatives with disdain. “Try to be of help then, why don’t you? Scaring the tributes is not going to help anyone win.”

Bellatrix twirled her black curls as she grinned. “You don’t want us to upset your sweetheart, Siri?”

“I don’t want you to terrify my friends, no.” Sirius’ tone was cool as he replied. “And we’re still waiting for Peter.”

“Pipsqueak is lost somewhere behind there.” Barty pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “Didn’t know where the parlor was.”

Sirius pinched the bridge of his nose. “And you didn’t help him?”

Barty snorted. “No, why would I?”

Tired of simply witnessing this miniature battle of wits, you pushed off the wall and began walking towards the doorway Barty was currently blocking. “Don’t bother, I’ll go find him,” you announced. “Then we can get this over with.”

Barty didn’t move. He still filled the doorway, grinning at you like the Cheshire cat. “You need something, sweetheart?”

“Would you move so I could go get Peter?” You were already exhausted by this, not willing to entertain his games.

“Junior,” Sirius warned quietly behind you. It took you a second to realise he was talking to Barty.

Barty’s gaze flitted between the two of you, grin never faltering. “Aren’t you going into the arena? You can’t let someone standing in the doorway stop you. Move me yourself.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t have an axe right now. So. Move,” you said dryly, referring to Sirius’ infamous weapon of choice. 

Barty chuckled, but – despite your assumptions – moved to let you pass, instead walking over to plop down on the sofa, sprawled out like he owned the place. “You might make the games less boring for me after all, birdie.” 

You didn’t deign it with a response as you headed down the less-lit hallway to find Peter. You could hear Bellatrix’s voice faintly in the background, grateful for a short reprieve.

It wasn’t hard to find Peter, yet you purposefully stalled on the way back. He had been roaming in the other direction, apparently on advice from Barty, utterly lost and confused. His face when he heard your voice and whipped around was enough to soften the stone in your stomach somewhat and you walked in comfortable silence on the way back.

“Ah! There they are!” Bellatrix sounded elated, clapping her hands together as you and Peter emerged. Sirius’ head picked up too, offering you both a tight smile. He had moved to stand by the window you had been by earlier, fingertips lingering the same way yours had.

As you went in, you moved to drag a chair up beside the two sofas, creating a half circle of sorts, and brought your knees up to your chest. 

“Petey, why don’t you sit with me, mate?” Barty said, faux friendliness dripping all over his sentence. 

“You don’t have to do that Peter.” Your response was immediate.

Peter looked between you for half a second, eyes wide, before smiling nervously. “It’s, erm, alright Y/N. I’ll just sit.” He sat down on the end closest to you, but Barty moved closer, arm over the edge of the sofa, fingertips almost tickling Peter’s hair. He was enjoying this way too much.

Sirius seemingly agreed with you, pushing off the wall with his foot and walking to stand beside your chair where he could see all of you. “Okay then. Let’s talk business.”

“Yes, let us,” Bellatrix said, sitting up in her seat. “We should start with optics. How shall we frame our little triangular tragedy here?”

“There is no more tragedy here than in every other district.” Sirius’ arms were folded, displaying every muscle he had earned over the past five years, and his face was equally as focussed. “We should focus on their strengths as individuals instead. Peter is resourceful and Y/N is–”

“Desirable. That’s how we should market her – if the Capitol’s heartthrob is all sweet on her, then surely everyone else would be too.” Her eyes were gleaming, set dead on Sirius, as if you weren’t there despite the way she was talking about you.

Your breath was caught and there was a twinging of your heart warring with the rage in your stomach, but Sirius beat you to it.

“Stop.” His tone was firm, one that would leave no room for argument had he been addressing any other two people in the world. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. Focus on what matters.”

“Stop what?” Barty laughed, inserting himself into the ridicule unfolding before you. “Addressing everyone’s favourite rumours? We would be stupid not to add it to our narrative. Just because you don’t want to say you lov–”

“That. Stop that, right now.” Sirius’ eyes were hardened as he set his sights on the two of them. “I don’t give a fuck about any rumours. These two, Y/N and Peter, are like my siblings. Sister and brother. The younger kids I looked after back home. We grew up together, yes, but we also grew apart when I moved to the Capitol. That is the true narrative and the one we will be sticking to, disproving all others. You want to be a team? You want to join our meetings? Then we must front the same picturesque storyline.”

Your neck felt like it had been snapped and your lungs punctured from the whiplash. It took every last bit of your willpower for your face to remain neutral, even as Sirius metaphorically slapped it. 

You were embarrassed that the cryptic rumours they were referring to was not what spread the most alarm in your head. 

Siblings. It wasn’t even funny how sour that word tasted on your tongue, and it hadn’t even been you who said it.

The Sirius who was speaking now was not one you had grown apart from, it was one you didn’t know. It was evident to you that this was a theatre, a performance, even if it lacked the theatrical joys you had previously associated with this very same boy. His face was firm, disconnected and determined all at the same time, a mix of opposites that only the Capitol could concoct in someone.

Bellatrix barked a laugh, seemingly not buying it. “Siblings? That is the narrative you prefer going with?” She tsked. “You have so many juicy television opportunities here, Black, and you go for the most boring one?”

Sirius sat down on the armrest of the sofa, shoulders squared to look broader. More intimidating. “Television, Lestrange, is supposed to last for the entirety of the games, not just the preparations before it. If you limit these tributes to a storyline that cannot follow into the arena, they are doomed to irrelevance. You don’t want boring tributes do you? You want a victor.”

He leaned back, looking at her with a gaze that told you he knew he had her. “Instead of some irrelevant rumour sob story, we explain their connections to me as a strength. An older brother who taught them, who they learned from. Give them framings and stories within their own rights. It will carry on into the arena through intrigue and comparisons in a way soapbox drama never will. I thought you knew this. It’s basic strategy, Bella.”

He was smirking now, an expression of glee that seemed more for effect, a final push, than a reflection of any genuine mirth. Bellatrix, on the other hand, had lost a lot of her usual fanatics, instead of staring Sirius down in an indiscernible manner.

“While I love that you get to hash out your drama,” you said, irony poison dripping from your words, “would somebody explain what teh fuck we’re talking about? What rumours?” You didn’t care that you were rude, you didn’t care how Sirius’ eyes twitched. You were wounded and frankly irritated to be spoken of and not to.

Sirius opened his mouth to speak, but Barty’s bark of laughter interrupted him. “What, Capitol news doesn't trickle all the way down to 7?” There was no hiding the condescension in his tone, but his glee somehow shone even brighter. “Beloved victor Sirius Black is rumoured to be in love with some girl from his district, much to everyone’s utter heartbreak.”

“Which is ridiculous considering I haven’t even been to 7 since I volunteered.” Sirius was strictly looking at Barty, ignoring your burning gaze. “Tabloids getting bored and sparking up irrelevant drama shouldn’t be involved in the Hunger Games where there is actual action to focus on.”

Bellatrix tsked. “Don’t underestimate the power of a good love story, Siri.”

“This wouldn’t be a good one – it would be far-fetched. Y/N and Peter are like my siblings. I haven’t even seen them in 5 years. Can we focus on strategies that are actually worthwhile, please?”

You felt nauseated and dizzy but nodded to signify that you were in agreement. Anything that would ease the teasing and bring you back to the fact that you were mere days away from the end of a blade.

You were beginning to grow nervous that they would refuse, that they would try to analyse the potential of a love story, when Barty kicked his legs up on the table with a loud bam and folded his hands over his stomach. “Alright, then. Whatever. Big Black and his two woodchippers take on the arena.” 

Bellatrix scoffed.

“If we’re to have learned from Sirius… does that mean we have to use axes like you did?” Peter, to your surprise, piped up, looking uncomfortable with the idea.

Sirius kept his business-face on as he bobbed his head side to side. “Maybe pose with one for a couple of promo shots, depending on the public’s reactions. But in the arena, you use whatever you need whenever you need.”

You didn’t say anything. Couldn’t, despite yourself and despite the fire in your veins. 

Siblings. 

You watched Sirius expressionlessly and noticed how his eyebrow closest to you kept twitching. You caught him casting a quick side glance your way, but it didn’t linger enough for you to analyse.

“Have you got no input on this, birdie?” Barty’s voice drawled, and you knew he was talking to you.

Without looking at him, you bobbed your head much the same way Sirius just had. “I don’t really give a shit about rumours or narratives or what anyone thinks of anything. I care about the part where I’m stuck in an arena to fight to the death.”

In a swift movement, Barty lurched up from his seat on the sofa and crossed Peter to sit on its armrest, body leaned forward into your personal space. His fingers were somehow elegant even in their bordering-on violent endeavour as they shot out to grip your chin.

“So you want to die then?”

“Junior,” Sirius hissed, pushing off his opposite armrest at the same time as Barty to stand before the two of you. Ready to intervene. 

The latter shot him a sideway glance with a wicked smirk looking between Sirius’ face and yours. “You are not fooling anyone,” he laughed heartily at Sirius before zeroing his green eyes in on you. “And you are choosing imminent death if you keep up your nonchalant attitude. It’s the Hunger Games. Play your part or get played.”

You held his gaze despite the churning in your stomach, biting back a comment about that choice already haven been taken from you. Instead, you said, in a voice a tad bit quieter than you would have preferred, “What game do you want us to play then, Junior?”

His smirk faltered for only a second before he released you with a huff. Leaning backwards, he let his body tip over the side of the armrest to land on his back on the sofa across Peter’s lap, who froze with his hands hovering in the air. You could just barely see his teeth flash. “I’m the one who gets to not care. I’m here for the circus, not the show, darling, and I’m counting on you to make it interesting. Show a little heart.”

Your eyelashes fluttered in confusion at the biting yet uncaring tone he sported, entirely uncertain where to place him. Bellatrix just scoffed once more, clearly upset with the day’s developments, while Sirius remained overtly tense beside you, fists dangling at his sides, clenched.

“Well, I think–”

Sirius cut Bellatrix off immediately. “Enough! That’s enough, alright? This is a brainstorming session, not a bickering one. The narrative is that the District 7 tributes this year are close friends, two kids I used to train and look after like siblings when we were younger. I will make a plan for how we present Y/N and Peter together and then I will go over individual strategies with them at a later point. Need I remind anyone that all of us rely on a good presentation?”

He spoke to you all, but it was clear it was pointed in the direction of Barty, who was quite literally kicking his feet over the armrest, much to Peter’s heightened nerves, and Bellatrix, who was beginning to look utterly bored with you all.

Their silence was their consent, so Sirius went on to look at Peter, accepting his meek nod. Then he turned to you, almost hesitantly. 

There was a storm in your eyes at how you were being spoken of, how you were being treated – but you didn’t know if Sirius could interpret that anymore. If he could, it didn’t stop him as he nodded to himself as he began to pace around the lot of you.

“Alright. Alright. Any final inputs before we part ways for dinner?”

“What, you don’t want to dine with us, Siri?” At Sirius’ increasing distress, Bellatrix seemed to find her footing once more.

“We don’t have the time to spare. It’s late anyway.” He stopped for a second to look at his two former friends. His siblings. “There’s a dining hall around five rooms down that way. Pick out anything you want. This place is yours, be comfortable.”

Peter nodded quickly. “Yes, I know where– I, uhm, found it… earlier.” He shot Barty a weary look, referring to his earlier diversion, making the older boy nearly giggle with delight.

“Great.” Sirius’ voice was calmer now, tired. He looked between you and Peter, but struggled to let his gaze rest. “Good job today. I– I’ll see you tomorrow.

You swallowed hard and realised you would probably struggle eating any dinner. Yet, you tried to stick to your earlier idea of moment by moment, step by step, so you nodded with your lips tightly pressed together.

“Yeah thanks. Same. Let’s go, Peter.”

It took some time to wrestle an entertained Barty off of Peter, but you headed back down the same hall you retrieved him from earlier, not looking back over your shoulder as you did so.

Just like the seats, the food provided by the Capitol was delicious. It was lush and rich, to an almost too intense degree, making you feel more like cattle fattened up for slaughter and less like important guests. 

You ate what you could as quickly as you could, and then you were left jumping your leg beneath the table as you waited for Peter to finish too – you knew you couldn’t leave him alone lest Barty or Bellatrix found him, but you were suddenly craving being cooped up in your room in the very same way that had stifled you earlier. 

Luckily, it didn’t seem that Barty and Bellatrix wanted to play with you any longer. Maybe it wasn’t as fun when Sirius wasn’t there, or maybe they were just too focussed on plaguing him wherever he was. 

You told yourself you didn’t feel bad for him. You had grown accustomed to lying.

You kept lying to yourself as Peter finished and you went back to your designated rooms, you kept lying as you hugged him goodnight and went each your way, you kept lying as you laid down on your ridiculously soft bed. 

The lies were many and merry; that you didn’t care; that you cared too much; that you were okay; that you were not okay. That you had any hope of sleeping tonight.

Sleeping had never been your forté, so after the violence of the Reaping and the reunion of a lifetime, you had little luck. 

You even lied as you told yourself you had tried for long enough. Truth be told, despite your time blindness you had a feeling you hadn’t been in bed for too long before you got out of it to stand in front of the mirror once more. Memorising yourself. 

You did eventually change into some of the clothes the Capitol provided, though they didn’t seem real. You were wearing what was supposed to be pyjamas, but they were much too reminiscent of normal trousers and shirts for you to feel like you were about to go to sleep. It made you miss your old ratty sleep shirt at home, but even the thought of it worsened your ache. It had been Sirius’.

With a sharp breath, you decided to explore the halls once more. Not for any thrill of adventure, you just had an inexplicable need to find a window to look out of. To watch the world pass by. 

You walked in the opposite direction of the parlor, further and further back, wanting to find the very end of your district’s compartment of the train. To know that behind yours were two tributes from District 8, two people you would soon be pitted against, brought a chill up your spine.

At last you meet a door in the middle of the hallway. The train was long and huge, but it cannot go on for longer than this, you thought. This must be the final room of your compartment, the one with the huge windows you had always noticed when you watched it from the outside.

Your hand falls to the handle. Gently, you open it.

“Oh–” The first thing your eyes landed on when you entered the room was not the landscape you had so longed for, but Sirius’ own staring back at you. Grey like the mountains cornering you but deep like the oceans you would pass in District 4. He was sitting down, as if he had had the same thought as you to come here to watch the windows. The thought pained you.  “Sorry, I didn’t– I’ll go.”

Sirius shot up and out of his seat, taking just one step forward. “No! You don’t… you don’t have to. You shouldn’t. Come sit, I’ll go, if you want.”

There was a lot to decipher in that sentence, a lot that you frankly did not have the energy for. Instead, you regarded him for one more second before slowly closing the door and moving to sit on the opposite side of the sofa from him. It was a cream – also, stupidly comfortable – sofa that stretched out in a half-circle at the very end of your compartment of the train. The wall above it was steel grey, barricading you from the next part of the train, but the walls on either side were wide floor-to-ceiling windows; the ones you had longed for. They were certainly reinforced to a degree you could never even imagine to ensure they wouldn’t break. 

You didn’t tell him whether you wanted him to leave. You just sat sideways on the sofa, leaning your head against the last bit of grey wall and looking out the window closest to you. 

“If you sit down on the floor and stare straight ahead, it’ll feel like you’re flying.” His voice was softened, a stark contrast to your earlier meeting. 

You still couldn’t help but bite back. “What a nice brother you are, giving out advice to the younger kids.”

It sounded like it pained him when he sighed. “Y/N–”

“Don’t.” You still weren’t looking at him, staring blankly ahead. “Just… don’t.”

You weren’t quite sure why you were upset with him. It was so much and yet nothing at all, stretching out across the past five hours and five years. You were upset with him for leaving, of course you were, and you were upset with him for changing, but of course he had. You were upset with him for confusing you so much, both through his words and actions, and perhaps, through your feelings. 

There was no time or need to address them now, yet they ruled much of your visible dismay as you got caught up on how he wanted to present you to the world.

Siblings.

Sirius was quiet for a moment; then, you heard the soft sound of him walking across the room to settle down on the floor in front of the window closest to you, just like he had said you should. He stared out, but you could feel him observing you in his periphery.

“There is a lot for you to resent me for,” he whispered. “Please don’t let that be one of them.”

Part of your brain wanted to rage against him for being cryptic.

The other just asked, “Why?”

He leaned back on his arms, biceps flexing, looking with an empty gaze into the mountainside. “It’s for your own good.”

“Why?”

Maybe you were being petulant. Maybe he deserved you being petulant if he wanted to cast himself as your older brother. 

Sirius made an exasperated sound and shook his head, turning to look at you – you didn’t return the gesture. “Princess, don’t make me spell it out for you, it’s worse enough as is. Everything will be better if people think we see each other in a familial sense.”

“As opposed to the truth, which is what?” At last, you turned to face him, doing your best to school away your pain, but still being left with an indent between your brows. You didn’t know what you wanted him to say.

Evidently, neither did Sirius. All he did was whisper your name, so pleadingly, so achingly it made your throat hurt.

“Being your sibling didn’t make them think any more favourably of Regulus.” The words were out of your mouth before you could help them, though thankfully with less ire than before. Just a mixture of your own confusion and heartache. 

Sirius closed his eyes as if he got nauseated. He seemed to weigh his words carefully, face scrunched up as his muscles tensed. With memories of Sirius throwing Regulus around in circles, their laughter harmonising as they ran after you through the streets, you had no choice but to give him time.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, the first apology you uttered to him. “Is he…?” You trailed off. To ask was insensitive, it was cruel – but it was necessary. You needed to know.

Sirius’ face remained trapped in his pained scrunched up expression. He didn’t seem angry with your question, though you never had seen him angry with you.

“Yes.” 

The word hung heavy in the air between you like a suspended body. It was everything you had expected and nothing you had hoped. You didn’t ask how he knew.

Silently, you slid off the edge of the sofa and scooted over to sit beside Sirius, whose breath hitched. Just like him, you faced the window, but you had your knees hiked up and your arms wrapped around them. You laid your head tentatively down on top of them, turned towards him. Watched as the environments flurrying by cast coloured patterns over his alabaster skin, watched as his eyebrows twitched as if he would start crying.

Watched as silent, warm tears rolled down your own cheeks.

When he peeled his eyes open and met yours, they softened. His brows were still furrowed together and he swallowed heavily.

His hand just barely shook as he reached up to wipe the tear on your right cheek away with his thumb, touch gentle and cool against your skin. You closed your eyes and sighed.

Sirius let his hand drop from your face and it felt like a loss. 

Neither of you said a word for a minute. There were so many things you wanted to say, needed to ask. Yet nothing came to mind. Just two kids sitting beside one another, trying to remember how to breathe. 

“Tomorrow when you arrive at the Capitol…” Sirius whispered, trailing off. You found his eyes to be redrimmed when you opened yours, once again staring out the window emptily. “Just… don’t trust anyone, okay?”

He sounded more haunted than ever. “I wasn’t planning on it,” you whispered in return, half-wanting to lighten his torment.

“And, I know– I know that should include me. I know you don’t trust me. But please, can you try to listen to me anyway?”

You watched him silently. You couldn’t deny him even if you wanted. “I will.”

Sirius nodded once, twice. Then, he shook his head and rose to his feet effortlessly. He looked down at you and reached out a hand, an open invitation. 

You held his gaze for longer than you should have before you turned your head back forward to look out the window, resting your chin on your knees. You were grateful to not have to see his reaction.

Still, you could hear his soft sigh. “Get some sleep soon, alright princess?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, suddenly fascinated by the granite. “Soon.”

Your every muscle sat at rapt attention, listening to his footsteps as he walked to the door. They ceased for a minute when he reached it, and you almost turned your head to look back at him – before the hinges finally creaked and Sirius disappeared.

You doubted you would get to spend enough time with him before your games to make the aching panic stop seizing your chest whenever he leaves. You reminded yourself that he is headed off to bed to sleep, not to the annual Hunger Games.

This time around, that would be you.

You turn your blurry eyes back to the window and find that when you stare into the middle of it, it does feel like you’re flying. 

[cherriibombfics]

Hello. I saw your request open and I'd like to request Self aware fic about White Lily Cookie having existenial crisis about how her whole life, the truth behind cookie creation was scripted. She would be wary about the player at first but eventually get comfortable enough to talk/hang out with them. The rest is up to you. Thank you in advance!

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ɴᴏɴᴇ

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ᴀ/ɴ: ɪ ɢᴇɴᴜɪɴᴇʟʏ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ꜱʜᴇ'ᴅ ʟᴏꜱᴇ ʜᴇʀ ᴍɪɴᴅ

ᴡʜɪᴛᴇ ʟɪʟʏ ᴄᴏᴏᴋɪᴇ x ʙᴀᴋᴇʀ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

❀ WHITE LILY COOKIE would be one of the first cookies to become self aware after discovering the truth of the witches and the reason behind her own kind's creation. That doesn't mean she'd be happy about it though.

❀ There was a being inside of the Cookie Kingdom that oversaw all of Earthbread? And they believed the entire world to be nothing but a game? It was horrifying. The implications would plague her mind for a long time. So much so that eventually she'd visit the kingdom herself.

“The Tree of Wishes? I didn't know there was a cookie that granted wishes here.” She stood next to the tree, watching as little blueberry birds brought wrapped gifts to eager cookies. “It’s unlike anything I’ve seen before.”

“No, the wishes are granted by Baker!”

“Who?"

❀ She was surprised that all the cookies spoke so highly of you. From clearing the local area to allow expansion, overseeing all trade with other regions, and even granting wishes it seemed. But how? How could a being such as yourself be so kind and down-to-earth when you were a witch? Were you a witch?

❀ From her understanding many different kingdoms had their own interpretation of what exactly you were. A kind of celestial being? A dragon? A guardian of a realm cookies could never hope to reach? There were so many theories but none of them ever seemed to explain everything about you. You were so strange but so far out of reach that she might never know.

“I just don't understand. Why would a being like that be so kind to a cookie? It doesn't make sense.”

“Why don’t you ask them yourself?”

❀ She knew Gingerbrave had a good head on his shoulders, but he was still so young. Did he believe he could speak to you? It was a thought that could only come from the mind of an innocent child.

❀ That’s what she thought until he brought you to her. You were a cookie, at least now anyway from what she gathered, and were the unofficial monarch of the entire Cookie Kingdom. You’d only been there a short while, hiding your true nature and only revealing to a short few within the kingdom’s domain. Including Gingerbrave who probably shouldn't have told her.

“But I don't understand why you hide your true identity. You’re such an important figure for the entirety of Earthbread, you deserve much more than what you have now.”

“I don't need much. I just like watching over these guys, y’know? Besides, I’m just a normal person, there’s nothing special about me.”

❀ Nothing special? You were so humble! You did so much for everyone and didn't ask for anything in return. She’d keep your secret for you of course, but she’d wanted to learn so much more about you.

❀ Everything, about you.

[moody-alcoholic]

Cross My Heart

Part 8 - Welcome To The War

Summary: eventual poly141 x reader. Enemies to lovers, mini fic.

CW: use of weapons, death, cannon typical violence, bombs/ explosions, military inaccuracies, blood, mention of injuries.

AN: Taking a break from this. Got to work on main project (the next chapter so close to being finished i's haunting my dreams)

Previous parts - masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy <3

“I still think you’re crazy going after Makarov.” You say crossing your arms. “Why do you want him so bad?”  

“He’s a terrorist.” Price says like that’s supposed to explain everything. 

“The ULF and Al Qatala are terrorists, according to your country.” Price nods and moves back to the table. 

“We’re not concerned about Al Qatala, the ULF want the same goals as us.” 

“Is that why the Americans are working with Farah?” 

“They’re not.” Ghost says. “Not anymore.” 

“I assume you had something to do with the death of The Wolf?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. Price nods.

“I remember it happening. Konni helped sneak The Butcher and Khaled out.” 

“The Butcher? Jamal?” Price asks then looks at Ghost. The energy in the room changes. 

“What?” You ask, you don’t think you’re going to like the answer. 

“We thought he was dead.” Ghost says. Price braces himself on the table. That news seems to have put a wrench in whatever plan they had. At least they know now they know he’s alive before-

“Hold on.” You stand up out the chair.

“He’s going to be at the meeting with Ivan and Makarov. He was supposed to torture Alex. He’s already on his way to the base.”

“Makarov’s already changed his plans.” Price says.

“Yeah but The Butcher hasn’t, he’ll still be heading there. You take the whole building out. That's one hell of a blow to Konni, take out one of their strongest posts as well as Ivan who basically controls that whole region.” You look round at them with wide eyes and hands in the air like you’ve just come up with the best plan in the world. 

“That’s where Makarov was going to launch his attack from, it’s the only place they have on the border.” They’re just looking at each other, not saying a word. You look down at the plans on the table. There’s handwriting on one of the pieces of paper. It grabs your attention and you pull it out. 

It’s a diagram of missiles, they look new though. Konni doesn’t have new missiles, they’re still using cold war stuff. Then you remember what that man said in the room ‘he's planning a nice surprise for the ULF.’ You pull the paper towards you, turning it over. 

“It’s not been translated yet.” Ghost says. You ignore him, you recognise the handwriting it’s Ivan’s for sure. 

“He’s buying missiles off Al Qatala.” You say looking up at them. 

“No. Because then-” Price doesn’t finish his thought, his eyes flicking up to Ghost. 

“He would have American missiles.” Ghost says. 

Fuck.

—

Farah didn’t take it so well that Jamal was still alive. Alex went white as a sheet when he heard about the torture part. Soap seemed perked up looking over the shitty floor plan of the compound you drew for him from memory. 

“If we take this place out we’ll halt them in their tracks. They won’t have the missiles, the building will be gone and Jamal will be dead.” 

“Busy day.” Alex says. 

“How sure are we that Jamal is moving the missiles there, and not to some other place? Especially now you got Alex out.” Farah asks. Gaz turns a laptop around. 

“Spotted on the Russian border a few hours ago.” Gaz says, you lean over to look. It’s pictures of a convoy, big trucks going through the border. 

“We are still waiting for the satellite but it’s the best we have for now.” Price says. 

“Okay, we can be ready to leave within the hour.” 

“No. ULF has to stay here.” Price says, Farah opens her mouth to protest Price raises his hand stopping her. “It’s across the border, you can’t get involved. It’ll just be us.” 

“If it’s true that Jamal is alive, Al Qatala could regroup. This could change the outcome of this war.” Farah says. 

“We’ll get him.” Price says. You raise an eyebrow, he looks so sure. 

“What do you need?” She asks. 

“A car, explosives. We’ll be back before the morning.” Price says. She sighs standing back up and ordering someone around in arabic. Price moves with Ghost and they head out the room. You chase after them pushing past them and stopping in front of Price. 

“I want to come.” You say, he stops raising an eyebrow at you.

“You got stabbed-”

“You got shot.” you interrupt him

“-Less than 48 hours ago.” He finishes.

“I know my way around that compound. I can get you in and out without being spotted.” You say holding your ground.

“Just tell us where to go and we'll figure it out.” Gaz says, you shoot an angry look at him.

“I know that place like the back of my hand. I can get you through anywhere you need to go. I know where everything is. I know how to disable their systems, where all the gear is stored, where to avoid.” You feel like you’re pleading with him. They need you, there’s no way you’re going to sit around and not be involved with this. Besides you owe Caleb. 

“Can you shoot?” Price asks. You smile and nod. 

“Go with Soap, Farah has gear lying around he’ll help you with what you need.” He sighs, you look at Ghost and Gaz. You have no idea what Ghost is thinking, not with his mask. Gaz just has an eyebrow raised watching you.

“Thank you. I won’t let you down.” You say and rush past him to join Soap.

“You look cute when you get flustered.” Soap says his hand landing on the top of your back and leading you out the building. 

“Shut up.” You say elbowing him maybe a little too hard, hanging your head feeling heat rush to your cheeks. 

…

The gear you found was a little too big for you, the weapons in your hands feels foreign. You have shot a gun before, well, pistols. You don’t have time to worry about it though, as soon as you were finished with Soap you all piled into what looked like an old army 4X4. 

The drive took over 2 hours. Price parked the truck behind a different tree line and you all walked in silence to the back of the compound. There is only one way in the compound officially, but there’s a basement back from the cold war era. 

“It’s used for storage, most people think it’s sealed off but I’ve used it before, when things needed sneaking out without the rest of the base knowing.” You explain as you sit in the tree line with them watching the base. You can’t tell if there are more or less people around. Its evening and the sun is almost set, Price said the darkness will give them the cover you need. 

As soon as outdoor light starts coming on you move. They're quieter than you, more sure on their feet quick and silent as you cross the open grass to make it to the building. You silently point them over to what looks like a drain cover about a hundred meters from the base. 

They pull it off to reveal an iron ladder built into the wall itself. Ghost goes down first, then Soap, you and Gaz follow after leaving Price to go last. You walk down the tight hall which you were told once used to be part of an old storm drain system. Eventually it leads out into the main room. Crates and boxes are piled everywhere, some as old as the cold war. 

“That door leads into the kitchens. It’ll be closed by now. It's the best way in.” You say pointing at the door up some steps. 

If you thought Caleb was going to help you, you would have taken this route to get Alex out, maybe then he wouldn’t have died. All the guards you killed would have been alive.

“Gaz, Soap, start setting up the charges, we’ll clear the building.” Price says. They nod and split off in a different direction.

“Ghost take point.” Price says, Ghost pushes past you. You assume that means he’s supposed to lead. Good, you’re still not sure how comfortable you are with killing in cold blood. Most of the people working here are innocent, at least they’re just working here for a better life for their families, children. They’re not all in as deep as you or Ivan.

You make it into the kitchen and as suspected it's deserted at this time of day. It doesn’t feel right though, it’s almost too quiet. There’s movement, everyone's head snaps in that direction. A woman walks round the corner in a world of her own. Lights flick on when she looks up she freezes dropping whatever was in her hands.

Price and Ghost start shouting which just seems to confuse her even more as she slowly raises her hands.

“Where is everyone?” You ask in Russian. Her head snaps to you, her mouth opens but words don’t come out. You don’t have time for this. “We won’t hurt you, just tell us what’s going on.” 

“When Makarov arrived there was a lot of shouting. I don't know what happened. They didn’t stay long before he left.” You can see tears coming down her face. 

“What’s she saying?” Price asks. You almost want to shush him.

“Where were they going? Was The Butcher with them?” You ask.

“I don’t know. I only saw Makarov. They left a few hours ago.” She says with a sob. 

“Okay, where is everyone? Is Ivan here?” 

“He sent everyone home. Ivan is upstairs.” 

“Makarov was here but he left a few hours ago. Ivan is upstairs.” You explain to Price. He nods at Ghost who drops his weapon and goes over to the woman. You’re not sure what's happening, you just hope they don’t hurt her, you look round the rest of the room. You hear zip ties looking back over to see Ghost pushing her into a store room.

“Let’s go.” Price says. You follow them as they clear the rooms. Even the ‘prison’ wing is empty. Before you know it you’re heading up the stairs. The only people being left alive are the guards on the gate entrance. You wonder why they left the woman in the kitchen, maybe she can get away before she’s buried in the building when it goes down.

It’s dark upstairs, the only light coming from the conference room at the end. You’re moving slow, your heart hammering in your chest. You watch as Ghost and price check the rooms almost in sync before moving on. You’re at the back this time. That you don’t mind. 

Suddenly you hear movement behind you, before you have chance to react an arm locks around your neck. A yelp leaves your mouth loud enough to signal Price and Ghost who turn around. You feel the barrel of a gun pressing against your temple. Your hands fly up to his arm to try and pull it off but he pulls you backwards into a room.

His arm is around your neck squeezing just enough that you can’t get a breath of air. He pulls your body up, you feel a stabbing sensation in your side. You hope you haven't torn stiches. Weapons are trained on you both.

“Fuck me! 141 you’re taking the piss right?” He says in Russian. It's Ivan.

“Makarov’s looking for you.” He says to them in English. 

“Good, we happen to be looking for him too.” Price responds. He takes a step closer and Ivan tightens his grip. You drop one of your hands, you have a knife on your hip. You don’t know if John can tell where your hand is going, you just hope he doesn’t give you away. 

“How much are they paying you huh? Fucking traitorous bitch.” He spits in your ear, your fingers brush over the hilt of the knife. His grip is cutting off your oxygen, not that you could breathe right not anyway. 

“Where’s Makarov?” Price asks.

“Ha! Like I would tell you!” He shouts, jolting you. You use it as an opportunity to pull the knife up over the safety clip. You shift your hand ever so slightly so you can hold it more secure. 

“I thought you didn’t like him? What did Jamal steal your promotion?” You say through gasps of air. 

“At least I know where my loyalties lie.” He growls in your ear. You smile, that pissed him off. Before you can think too much about it you twist your wrist driving the knife into his thigh. 

His arms let you go immediately, you throw your body forward. Shots are fired, you can smell blood and gunpowder in the air. Someone grabs your vest pulling you up and out the way. You regain your balance standing up, Ghost holds the top of your arms as Price rushes into the room. 

"You good?" He asks, you nod.

You hear moaning. Holy shit he’s not dead. You turn to see Price hauling him to his feet, throwing him into a chair. Ghost pushes past you into the room. You follow him slowly watching as Ivan holds his hand on his shoulder. 

“Where are they?” Price asks again. You go over to the computer. He hasn’t changed his login and before you know it you’re in. You’re only half listening to Price and Ghost trying to get info out of him. There's the sound of skin hitting skin, the sound of his groans. 

He won’t talk. That’s not your job though. Your job is to find out what you can from the computer, maybe that will tell you where Jamal and Makarov are. You see a mail from a burner address, you recognise the program, it’s the one they use for secure communications. 

“They’re heading to Volgograd.” You say reading the email. 

“What's there?” You hear Ghost ask, you turn to see if they’re talking to you. 

“I don’t know.” You say going back to the email. 

“Charges are set Cap.” You hear Soap say over the radio. Now you don’t have long, you need to leave. A gunshot makes you jump. You turn to catch the end of Ivan’s body falling to the floor. You swallow hard looking back at the computer and opening a new program you don’t recognise.  

“Oh shit!” You say watching the countdown tick away. “Price!” They both come over and you stand up so they can see. 

“This is the missile program.” You explain, there’s markings on the map and a countdown. 15 minutes. 

“Do you recognise any of the targets?” Ghost asks. You reach over clicking on the map, it zooms in and pops up coordinates. You have no idea what to do with that. The map it’s using is old and black and white, you’re trying to make out points of interest. 

“That’s where they’re being fired from.” You say pointing at the screen. “There being fired from within Urzikstan.” 

“So what came over the border?” Ghost asks.

“Those missiles didn’t look long range, how far is their first target?” You zoom out, moving over to the first target. You’re squinting at the map, it’s almost like there's a straight line of targets across the land. 

“80 kilometers.” “He’s making a new border.” Ghost says moving away from the computer. 

“We need to leave.” Price says. 

“Wait, some of these targets have innocent people living in them.” You say finally recognising some of the locations. Price sighs standing back up.

“Nothing we can do.” He says walking away. 

“We can stop it!” You shout, turning back to type on the computer. He grabs your shoulder, turning you away.

“We can’t. Then Makarov will know we’re onto him. We can't let him know, as long as he is using this we have an advantage over him.” He’s gripping your shoulders. You let out a frustrated huff. 

“Innocent people will die.” You say. He lets go of your shoulders and walks over to the door. 

“Innocent people always die. Welcome to the war.” He says and walks out the room. You look over at Ghost, you still don’t know what he’s thinking, he waits a few seconds watching you then leaves the room. 

You look back at the computer, there’s only 5 minutes left on the countdown. You didn’t even know how to stop it really, you were just hoping you could figure it out. You can hear Price talking in your ear, but you’re not really listening. You look over at Ivan’s body on the floor. You walk over and kick his arm with your foot.

There’s blood pooling out his head. Maybe it would have been more satisfying if you had killed him, maybe not. You’ll never know, he’s dead now. 

“Come on! Let's go.” Ghost shouts at you from the doorway. You nod following him out taking one last look at the computer, only 3 minutes left. 

…

You leave the building out the front gate, catching up with Soap and Gaz on the way. It’s bitter sweet. Ivan’s dead the base will be destroyed but now you have no idea what has been coming over the border. Makarov and Jamal got away and managed to get their missiles off.

“What do we do now?” You ask as you make your way back to the car. No one says anything. Maybe you’re not allowed answers anymore. You look over at Soap walking next to you, he smiles. The sound of the charges going off back at the base rumbles through the ground. You hope that woman in the kitchen got out, you doubt it though. 

Suddenly everyone stops, you almost bump into the back of Ghost. You look past him you can see the car a few meters ahead of you. 

“What?” Gaz asks. 

“Shh!” Price snaps. You feel a pit form in your stomach. You and Soap look around, it's dark out you look up, the moon is bright in the sky. You don’t hear anything at first, then Price takes another step forward. You’re trying really hard to listen, then you hear a faint beeping. You look up at Soap, he’s frowning, he takes a step opening his mouth when the car explodes.

next

Banners by plum98

[kelocitta]

what did you think of watcher? i noticed a good few people dropped the dlc because of high expectations and how different it felt from the rest of the game. which is a shame because it gets very good but that's how rain world goes.

[Non-spoiler Answer] I liked it! I was actually one of the beta testers for it and distinctly we were all super thrilled with the overall way it 'felt' because it did actually feel like vanilla RW again. It's not 1-to-1 obviously, but it was super nice to go back to that more esoteric wandering game than what Downpour was- which was very much a very distinctly more 'normal game' experience. Its got a few quirks that need some more evening out, either due to time constraints or just being a hard thing to balance without a bigger playbase, and hopefully they will be. There's also the issue of anti-spoiler rush to finish things before everyone starts posting about it, which means people get irritated easier or frustrated when progress isn't consistent, they only want the big reveals and bits or lore and are considering the process of getting to those a blockade rather than the game. I think a lot of people just forgot what its like to play vanilla Rain World, or at least didn't remember what its like to play vanilla Rain World without a wiki open or a guiding hand. Cause if you were playing RW truly blind, c'mon, this was a game where you wandered through a couple ecosystems until you effectively climb into a plot once you get up the leg and into Five Pebbles and someone can actually talk to you and point you towards a more physical goal, and even then most players who ascended had no clue what was happening, much less why. The pearls are fun but lets be real, most of us read those on the wiki and not painstakingly delivered all of them for the bits of bite-sized region lore. Rain World has always been like that, it was why it was so much more niche prior to DP- some people grew to love that quirk but most people bounced off hard cause of it. I enjoy Downpour but it's design philosophy is miles different, and in a much more accessible and appealing way. With that said, I think it has a great story, and one that is frankly, much more obvious and at the forefront of it than base RW. People saying it doesn't have a plot are insane imo, its extremely there, minus the initial wandering the (at least the first) goal and plotline is not at all vague. I was also pleasantly surprised by some fringe things I got correct, or at least put my thumb on at some point, lmao.

[Small Spoilers about a small game design choice of the DLC, not plot]

One thing I'm surprised lots of people didn't like was actually the region cross-warp mechanic, I get why they don't like- things don't connect into each other in a sensical, worldbuild-y type way, but for me, who was someone who had a pretty big gripe with Downpour's 'Bubble Narrative' choices in how it was laid out it felt super cool to have this implication of an impossibly large, tangled world where you don't and can't know how everything is laid out. Everything in Downpour takes place in Five Pebble's immediate area. The creatures are consistent across the timelines (Not in distribution, things go extinct or change locations, but nothing distinctly new 'comes in' despite the massive world changes.) It makes the whole thing feel like a terrarium, where you can see it all despite the fact you shouldn't, that you don't have the right to know everything about the world. The fact that you aren't getting the full regions, that you really can't tell how they all connect- how much of the world is inbetween them, whether these areas are actually physically connected- its delicious to me frankly! The world is so big, so complicated, and you only ever get snippets of it. You are denied the full picture of life, its impossibly big- the world stretches out so far. Its the kind of the design that says 'hey, all those fan regions people make? Maybe those are all out there, somewhere, they fit into this grand puzzle but you'll never know where or how' I like that! The world is big and complex and unknowable again! We've seen outside the Five Pebbles bubble and were told only a scrap. I actually really like how jumbled up everything is after vanilla and downpour, I like thinking that the world map we have is full of empty spaces and unknowns in how all these places bleed into each other. I can understand why people miss the connections, or the pearls, but frankly I really like the spin they put on the exploration mechanic to spread things away from FP that isn't just 'make the bubble bigger'

[headspace-hotel]

i finished rain world as the survivor. really cool and beautiful game just wish there were more plants

my opinion of regions (i had the downpour DLC which I know pipeyard is exclusive to it):

outskirts: i like the landscape but it can be annoying to navigate, theres a few places where if you miss a jump you have to spend like 5 minutes circling back around. 6/10

industrial complex: this is actually one of my favorites, theres lots of different areas to explore and lots of variety of terrain. 9/10

shaded citadel: another one of my favorites to explore, visually interesting, the lantern mice are really fun and the darkness gimmick is also fun, trying to get to memory crypts is terrible though and memory crypts is also terrible. 8/10

garbage wastes: just a lot of garbage piles not very visually interesting. I didn't spend a lot of time here though. 4/10

shoreline: the swimming mechanic sucks so bad and its easy to get stuck in a dead end here. It's cool that you meet looks to the moon here but the region itself is meh. 5/10

chimney canopy: really visually similar to a lot of the previous regions, just has a lot more platforming and death pits. its fun though. The Gutter is best avoided entirely. 6/10

the exterior: I completely skipped over the leg and the underhang and climbed up the wall instead, so that's the only part I can speak to. It's hard but really fun. I first encountered the dropwigs here, i love how they leave bait for slugcat to lure them in, it's so funny. 8/10

five pebbles: again, I missed almost the whole entirety of this region because I went in via climbing the wall. I LOVED the murals with the karma symbols, it was cool to have that window into the lore, and the encounter with five pebbles itself was also really neat. 8/10 I guess from that tiny piece of it.

pipeyard: it's ass. like all the worst parts of the game combined into one region. i thought i was going to be trapped in the sump tunnel for eternity. 2/10 i guess it could have been worse

sky islands: i actually didn't make it here at all so N/A

farm arrays: I visited but did not go very far. very straight and linear with lots of pits full of tentacles. The one cool thing is that we get to see the rain deer which are a really cool terrestrial megafauna. 5/10

drainage system: i kinda hated this one, way too much drowning in narrow pipes. 3/10

subterranean: the upper parts of it are pretty basic, just a disorienting maze of pipes with packs of black lizards crawling around everywhere, but the depths subregion is PHENOMENAL. the design of the guardians is so interesting and the guttering torchlight and roving searchlight-like illumination gives it a unique atmosphere. 8/10 lots to enjoy

[florencebirdsong]

More Than Duty

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Agatha All Along Week 2024 - Day 6

summary: you were given leave to choose your own bride until Agatha Harkness came along. Charmed and lured in by her promises of power, your King Father declared you were to be wed. Now, it's your wedding night and certain duties must be upheld.

Set in a world where one can get pregnant from a cum strap

tags: arranged marriage au, virgin reader, strap-on, breeding kink, fingering (r receiving), marking, pet names - princess & good girl, strap referred to as cock once, doggy style 

authors note: you're getting the largely unedited version for a little because if I have to read this one more time I'm going to despise it forever

Also don’t question the time I’m posting this I once again thought I only needed to write 100-200 more but it was actually OVER A THOUSAND. WHY DO I KEEP DOING THIS. Ahem. Anyway, here’s day six which is almost three times as long as the others.

Reader is referred to as princess multiple times, mentioned royal wedding dress, specified looking for a bride, described as wearing a plain night shift.

ao3 | masterlist

“I know this isn’t exactly what you had in mind, dear. But there’s no reason not to enjoy ourselves tonight.”

Your hands twist nervously in your simple shift. Your wedding dress had been elaborate. It needed more than one person to get you out of it. Which is not ideal for a wedding night.

You hadn’t had this in mind, exactly. You’d thought you had convinced your father to let you choose your own bride, as long as she met a few of his somewhat reasonable specifications. But then Lady Agatha Harkness had walked into his court. You don’t know whether it was her disarming charm, the power she holds, the boon to the kingdom the exchange would have or his own personal gain but he decided Lady Harkness would be the perfect match for you. He also decided you needed to get married the moment the decision was made. 

Thankfully, a royal wedding took months to prepare and you would have some time to get to know your future bride. Not that you had spent much time with her in the end. Only a few dinners here and there. She’s a busy woman, running her own region which she needed to organise another taking over. She can’t look after it and a whole kingdom, after all. Something she insisted despite your father’s good health. She also spent a lot of time with the court. Learning what her new duties will be and charming her way into their good graces.

It would be unnerving if you weren’t so relieved. One of the suitors your father had originally brought forward had no interest in what her royal duties would have been as Queen. Running a kingdom on your own would have been nothing short of hell.

So, small mercies. 

“Darling,” she says and you try not to startle.

She’s so much closer than before. She cautiously raises a hand to cup your cheek, like you’re a scared animal. You lean into it, eager to soak up any affection she gives you, and her thumb gently brushes over your skin.

“I know you’re nervous but we both have royal duties to attend to.”

You swallow harshly and look down. This is more than duty for you. You’re ashamed to admit you’ve been looking forward to this night. To having Agatha’s sole attention on you. You’ve dreamed about what could happen, what she’ll be like. 

You’ve only been told the very basics. That your wife will enter you with a specially designed device. That it may hurt for a moment but you will feel ‘a pleasure-like feeling’ afterwards. No one would explain exactly what that means. It makes you both more nervous and more excited. The only thing you know about the device is its shape and its intended use. Continuing the royal line.

“I know. It’s just,” you hesitate although Agatha has likely guessed already, “I’ve never done this before.”

“I’m aware,” she says and you flick your eyes up in time to see something flash in her eyes. “I promise to be gentle,” she says softly, a voice you haven’t heard from her before. You gently grasp the wrist of the hand cupping your cheek and nuzzle the hand. “The royal line must continue and it must be of your blood.”

You nod and leave the safety of her caress to cautiously lean closer. She waits for you to come to her and she waits for the first brush of your lips to move. She presses closer and her hands grab your waist and pull you against her. You make a surprised sound and cling to her shoulders for balance. Which you immediately lose as she begins to walk you backwards. The back of your knees hit the bed and she guides you to lay down in the middle of it. It’s hard to notice any of it with the feel of her lips against yours. The way her hands slide along your exposed skin as she leads you doesn’t help. She can’t keep her lips on you the entire time but you don’t mind so much until she pulls away properly. You chase her lips but she stops you with a hand dangerously low on your chest. 

Whatever look you’re giving her makes her eyes darken. One hand travels to the hem of your shift. You grab her wrist without thinking, anxiety rearing its head again. No one has seen you naked like this before. With the intention to- to touch. To feel.

“Let me see you,” she says, her voice firm.

You slowly relax your grip. This is your wife and someone who has shown how eager she is to see you undressed. She isn’t going to laugh or mock you. Your fingers slip from her wrist and she pulls your shift the rest of the way off.

It feels exposing in a way you haven’t felt before. You try to cover yourself instinctively but her hands grab your wrists and holds them down as she has her fill. You squirm but she doesn’t release you. Instead, she leans down and begins to suck deep, purple marks along the curve of your breast. It feels better than you were expecting it to (how can something feel so good when it isn’t down there?) but it doesn’t come close to the feeling of her lips wrapping around the stiff peak of your nipple. You gasp and arch into her. She flicks her tongue and your hand tangles in the thick curls of her hair. She does it again and a small whimper escapes you. You can feel her smile. She begins to trail kisses again and you think she’s going to repeat the same delicious thing until you realise she’s heading down instead of across.

“Wait,” you say, moving your hand to land on her shoulder. She lazily raises her head to look at you.

“Yes, princess?” she says in a tone you don’t have a name for.

It makes something spark between your legs and you determinedly ignore it to be able to speak.

“I want to see you too,” you try to speak as confidently as she did but there’s the tiniest waver to your voice.

She quirks an eyebrow before sitting up, taking her warmth with her. She pulls her own shift off and you think you understand her reaction. She’s beautiful. Your eyes devour every detail from her dark eyes to her pebbled nipples to-

Oh. You stare at it with wide eyes. It had looked so much smaller on the page. 

“Don’t worry, dear. Your body knows what to do.”

She leans back over you and the thing hanging between her thighs nudges your most sensitive spot. She muffles your whimper with a kiss. You cling to her. Excitement and anxiety swirling into a heady mix as she slowly, slowly begins to push inside of you.

“A-Agatha,” you say, your voice high and needy.

Agatha shushes you quietly and continues to slowly push inside of you. Your legs open wider instinctively. It doesn’t help with the stretching feeling. Nor the building tingling sensation. She continues to steadily push inside of you and the slight pain is overshadowed by the feel of her. Her hands tight on your hips, breath hot against your neck, her hips slowly getting closer and closer to yours.

“That’s it. Take it.”

You spread your legs wider, trying to do what she says. You don’t know why she felt the need to say it. You feel so full you can’t do anything but take it.

“Agatha,” you gasp as she bottoms out, nails digging in as you try to ground yourself.

She groans again and her next thrust is harsher than her last one. It forces a whining moan from you as it hits something inside of you that feels so good.

“Knew I had to have this sweet cunt the moment I saw you,” she grunts and settles into a slower, rougher pace. You can’t help the little noise you make every time she bottoms out. “When I found out about this little ritual of yours, I knew I had to fill this sweet cunt.”

Every word builds an unfamiliar fire inside of you. You don’t know what’s happening to you, what she’s doing to you,  but you can feel how big it’s going to be big. The feeling of your pleasure growing as it builds drowns out any worry you may have had. 

You wrap your legs around her waist and pull her tight against you, moaning at how full you feel. It forces Agatha to still.

“Princess,” she says warningly but you don’t care because that thread snaps inside of you.

Pure, unadulterated pleasure flows through you and you’re aware of nothing else.

You come back down to Agatha’s face hovering over yours, eyes devouring your every twitch.

“I- what?” you say, completely at a loss for words.

“You just came dear. And I just came in you,” the look on her face mirrors one of a cat that got the cream.

“You…” you stare up at her with wide eyes as you pulse at those words. “But you didn’t…?” you ask after a moment.

“No,” she confirms and your face drops. Her hand cups your cheek and you lean into the touch. “It’s the best time to do it to get the results we want.”

“R-Right,” you stutter and look away, somehow embarrassed by that while she’s still inside of you.

“But you can make it up to me,” she says and you nod eagerly, missing the darker edge to her pleased smile. She pulls out and you whimper at the sudden empty feeling. Her hands grip your hips again and you squeak as she manhandles you onto your stomach and then onto your knees. You automatically put your hands under you but a hand on the back of your head pushes your front back down. A pillow finds it way under your hips. This is a position you weren’t taught about.

Agatha’s hands run down your sides, over your hips, down your ass and stop at your thighs. Her thumbs gently hook around your inner lips and you whimper quietly at the feeling, especially since it feels like you’re dripping.

“You look so good full of my cum,” she says in a rough voice.

You feel that clenching feeling again and she chuckles lowly. Fingers brush your sensitive entrance and your hips jerk in surprise before needily pressing back against them. They start low and move up before gently pushing into you. Embarrassment flares through you when you realise that dripping feeling wasn’t just a feeling. She doesn’t comment though. Instead, she languidly pumps her fingers in and out of you, seeming content to enjoy the way you squeeze around her.

“Too bad I can’t feel this when filling you,” she sighs. You want to protest, you feel plenty full right now, but you know what she means. The idea of her pushing her strap back into you has you pressing back on her fingers again. “Probably a good thing. I’d never let you leave this bed.”

You whimper and try to open you legs wider, begging her to understand what you need. She must because she removes her fingers and a moment later the tip of her strap is dragging teasingly through your folds. You arch more, trying to get her inside of you again and unconsciously presenting for her. She groans and fills you with one thrust. She starts slow but hard, making you feel every inch of her. It doesn’t take you long to become a moaning mess again. Sinking into a hazy place you have’t been before. Filled with Agatha grunting above you, her cock filling you, her nails digging into your delicate skin. It’s all you could want.

Agatha gets louder, and slightly higher, and you realise the same thing that happened to you is happening to her. She’s coming. And you don’t get to watch her. 

A strange warmth fills you, one you didn’t notice last time. Agatha leans her forehead against the back of your neck, breathing heavy. 

“Good girl,” she says in such a deep voice that your toes curl.

You stay there for a long moment. Agatha buried deep inside of you, catching her breath as you try to even your own, fire still licking up your insides. It’s an awful sort of tease when she pulls out.

She removes the pillow and pushes you onto your side. Instead of getting up like you’re expecting, she curls around your back. Her fingers trail a light path down from your hip and your muscles jump at the feeling. They stop just above the sensitive button she’s so far neglected.

“Agatha? What’re you- “ you cut yourself off with a gasp as her finger begins to gently circle your clit.

“We have to make sure it sticks, don’t we?” she says.

You were so close to the edge before that it only takes a few firm circles and a swipe to fall over it again. It’s a lot gentler this time but it still has your body locking up in pleasure. Agatha leisurely strokes you through your high, her nose lightly nuzzling the back of your neck.

Her hand moves back to your hip and you bask in the warm afterglow.

Some time later, when both of your breathing has calmed and you’ve slipped into that soft space between awake and sleep, you decide that your mouth is dry enough to drag yourself out of bed for a drink. You don’t get far.

Agatha grabs you arm and rolls you onto your back. You give her a confused look as she climbs back on top of you.

“You are not leaving this bed until there’s no possible way I haven’t put a baby in you.”

Day 7: Royalty AU