#like he's upset about burning in the sunlight and not having a reflection but the blood drinking doesn't faze him

[rackartyg]

hmm i don't think the nuances of astarion's reaction to araj is to do with him finding romanticisation of his vampirism specifically to be distasteful so much as, like, she's objectifying him and that's what he doesn't like (but instead of sex, it's based on his vampirism). something something there's a difference between strangers and someone you trust something

[beomev]

𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗲𝗱 𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗲, yoon jeonghan

정한────𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝖾 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗍 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱𝘀

𝗷𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗴𝗵𝗮𝗻 x fem!reader ⠀⠀⠀⠀─── ⠀⠀⠀⠀𝘄𝗰 1.6k ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲 fluff, friends2lovers ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗹𝘂𝗱𝗲𝘀 reader is sick, mutual pining, swearing, mentions of medicine, reader is referred to as "girl", jeonghan just being the menace he is ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 friends by chase atlantic ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀 hii guys! this is my take on a classic sick fic so i hope you guys like it <3 i do think the ending is a bit rushed, possibly because i CANNOT write a confession scene TT. this officially marks my seventeen writing debut, so if you'd like to see more, feel free to comment or send an ask to get added to my taglist :D ⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂋 ⠀⠀⠀⠀❛ 𝗮𝗿𝗰𝗵𝗶𝘃𝗲

The sunlight peeked out of your burgundy-coloured curtains, laced with white on its ends – perfectly shining right upon your face. 

You groaned, shuffling in bed. Your migraine really wasn't doing you any justice. You got up and placed your hand flat on your forehead.

“Is that too hot? Am I running a fever?” you questioned yourself as you pushed away your comforter to get up. You groggily walk towards the kitchen, positioning yourself in front of the wooden cabinet where your medical supplies are stored. You tiptoed, grabbing the cabinet's handle in an attempt to open it. Whose idea was it to fix a cabinet really high, you thought, as you grabbed hold of the electronic thermometer.

40 degrees Celsius, it lit up.

“You're actually joking..” you sighed loudly, placing a hand on your head. You had an important seminar today, which you were looking forward to. It was being led by a professor you were really fond of, whom you sent a request to cover a topic you weren’t keen on, so you thought it’d help to attend. 

Guess that’s ruined.

You plop the thermometer inside one of your hazel-coloured coffee mugs as you walk back to your room, clearly upset.

“Oh well,” you sighed as you got in bed, “Guess it’s for the best,” you shrugged as you felt your eyelids grow heavier by the second, still covered with your shimmery eyeshadow from last night’s after party.

“You’re burning up,” you hear a muffled sound from beside you. You try opening your eyes, failing. You were fine about an hour ago, but you wondered what made you so suddenly exhausted.

“Jeonghan?” you called out, attempting once again to open your eyes, and once you do, you see someone like.

Same hair, same height, same handsome face.

“Oh, it is you, what are you doing here? What’s the time?” you ask as you try to get up.

“Stop moving around, you’ll make it worse,” he mentions, positioning your pillow upright for you to lean on.

It was these sorts of actions that made your stomach twist.

You grabbed a hair tie from the stand next to your bed, tying your black hair into a bun, trying to look a bit less messy.

You didn’t want him to see you like this.

You didn’t want him to see how you looked messy – messed up makeup, messed up hair, messed up clothes..

Just, all messed up.

“I’ll be right back,” he exclaims as he places his things on the corner end of your bed, walking towards the kitchen. “Top cabinet right?” he adds.

Perhaps he got the message?

You make sure he’s out of sight before opening up your phone’s camera to look at yourself reflected on the screen. “Shit,” you curse under your breath.

You did look like shit.

“Why did he have to show up now..?” you sigh, covering your face with your hands, looking down. 

The universe was out to get you, you thought.

You glance towards the sheets of paper he placed on your bed before walking towards the other end of your apartment. You stretch towards them, peeking at the familiar notes, reading through them.

“Wait, what? Did he go to my seminar?” you ask, eyes wide. Why would he when he had a good amount of sessions to attend himself?

Jeonghan opens your door, walks in with a tray of medicine, and places it on your table. He grabs a bubblegum-pink coloured bottle, looking at you, grinning. 

“I am not drinking that,” you shrug. “That tastes like absolute ass,” you add, chuckling.

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not,” you answer more sternly this time.

He walks over, looking at the sheet of papers in your hand. “Looks like you found them,” he says as he takes a seat. “I had free time, so I popped in to take some notes for you. I was planning on giving them to you, but since you’re being stubborn,” he extends the last bit, shrugging, taking the file of papers gently from your ice-cold hands.

“Hey, that’s not fair..” you sulk in response.

“I think it is pretty fair. Some medicine for notes that were beautifully hand-crafted by one of your best friends? Seems like a pretty good offer to me,” he shrugs, taking a seat on the corner of your bed. 

You cross your legs, “Were there no tablets remaining?” you ask, in hopes that you wouldn’t have to take the syrup version.

“All a painkiller’s going to do is treat your symptoms, and that’s not what we want,” he chimes, opening his phone.

“But I’d rather die than have that..” you groan, plopping on your bed. Right now, Jeonghan felt more like a dad than a friend.

“I think you should just get it over with.”

“And I think you should make your way towards the door,” you say, rolling your eyes.

And all you see after that was a pout. A pout, coming from Jeonghan? 

“Are you.. pouting?” you ask, feeling your face burn up. It's not your fault you couldn’t handle it, he looked too cute, pouting, wearing his beige little hoodie. You could almost coo.

“You look ugly,” you chuckle, as he scoffs.

“Okay then, Yn! I’ll just make my way towards the door, and I’ll take my notes with me as well. Try not to die!” he jumps, fixing his attire and making his way towards your door, waiting for his cue.

“Wait..” you sigh. “Give me the bottle,” you add, feeling yourself fill with unwavering confidence.

Jeonghan spins around, he knew you too well.

“That’s my girl,” he says, handing you the bottle. You scoff at his remark, feeling a blush creep up your face. You pour the thick pink liquid into a small measuring cup, chugging it as it reaches the appropriate value. 

You scowl as your taste buds sense the disgusting aftertaste.

“Oh gosh,” you gag, receiving a hearty chuckle from Jeonghan. You look up at him to see him recording you. 

“Hey!” you yell as you attempt to pry his phone out of his hands.

You swore you couldn’t remember what happened, but now you were on top of your guest, your hands pinning his, on your bed. The phone, the medicine, hell, even your fever was long forgotten. You feel the clock in your room slow down, maybe Jeonghan feels it too?

Your hands were placed on top of his, but not for long, as he interlocked his with yours.

“Why are you holding my hand?”

“Why are you pinning me down?”

You jolt, suddenly standing up at his words, coughing up a sorry, clearly embarrassed.

He senses that you’re tensed and gets up, grabbing his bag.

“Rightfully earned,” he grins as he places the handwritten notes in your hands. 

You notice the way his hands linger a bit longer than it usually does.

He turns, making his way to your room’s door. You sigh dramatically, like the ones you’d hear in a cartoon. One’s where the main character is a step closer to fulfilling their goal. 

And your goal remained Jeonghan – that too, for the longest time you could remember. Sharing beds together since you were kids, but you and Jeonghan never really grew out of that habit, although now it hurts to be that close to him, knowing that there was nothing more. 3 AM calls, leading to Jeonghan always ending up at your apartment – maybe you’d drink, maybe you’d watch a movie, or maybe you’d just sleep. You’d also realised recently how much you and Jeonghan would act like a married couple, repeatedly getting flustered when people asked how long we were in – because we weren’t, it would just remind you of your little unrequited torment. The way you two would go as each other’s dates because it was more ‘convenient’. Staring a little longer at each other. The awkward phase when you reach the age you promised you’d marry each other if you were still single. Getting 'fake married' as kids, and the way your family and his family still remember it, teasing you and Jeonghan every now and then.

But there were moments you wondered if he really hadn’t felt anything towards you. For not even a second? Maybe even a small, “She’s cute,”? It hurt you, beyond imagination – almost as if there was a hole in your heart, a hole that could only be mended by the menace, Jeonghan.

“I don’t want to risk our friendship, but I can’t keep it hidden for much longer, or I’ll actually explode,” you comment trying to force out a laugh while brushing your hand through your disheveled hair, bangs all out.

You take a step forward, looking into his eyes for any sense of mutual agreement. 

“What if..” you start, “What if we were more than friends.. ?” you mumble, looking down now. Voice nothing but a whisper.

“Hm?” he teases, lowering himself by tilting his head to bring himself on eye level with you.

“I don’t think it’s much of a difference anyway. Everyone already thinks we’re a couple anyway,” you ramble on, turning your head, refusing to face his stupidly cute grin.

“Hm, I dunno,” he says, standing upright now, shrugging.

“What.. ?” you reply, multiple thoughts rushing into your head as you widen your eyes. Were you about to get rejected? Asshole, you thought.

“You know me better than I know myself. How did you not notice my feelings? Are you really that oblivious, or are you just playing?” he jokes, clearly taking advantage of the situation.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve loved you all my life.”

ㅤ⠀ㅤ ིྀㅤtaglist: @daydreamnet @blossomnet @k-films

ㅤ⠀ㅤㅤ⠀ㅤㅤ⠀ㅤ﹔℘๋࣭ ⭑ send an ask or just comment to get added

[societyfolklore]

Dangerous Notes - Part 13

Title: Dangerous Notes - Part 13

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Singer!Female Reader

Fic Summary: Reluctantly agreeing to fill in for her sick friend at a prestigious jazz club, The Armoury, Reader finds herself thrust into a world of old-world glamour and unknown danger. The club’s enigmatic owner, Bucky Barnes, has set his sights on making her a permanent fixture on his stage-and in his life.

Chapter Summary:  Determined to hold your ground, you head into The Armory for Saturdy  rehearsal- only to end up somewhere you should have been.

Word Count:  5.9k

Fic Warnings: // Explicit Content // Mature Themes.18+, Minors DNI,Dark Romance, Slow Burn, Possessive/Obsessive behaviour, Violence, Smut (eventually), Emotional manipulation / subtle coercion, Mob activity,   Chapter Warnings:  Implied organized crime violence, snarly males, upset feeling

A/N: Dangerous Note is updated Thursday – On a biweekly schedule. 

It had taken a while for you to come back from the edge. But eventually you did. You put the kettle back on to boil and you cleaned up the broken pieces of the mug, quietly apologizing to the ruined thing as if it, too, had been collateral damage.

You made yourself another tea you didn’t drink.

Just stood there, arms folded while it steeped too long, the steam curling around in the sunlight that came in through the window. The light was warm but fragile, painting soft shapes across the counter. You weren’t sure how long you stared at the mug. Long enough for the surface to go still. Long enough for your reflection to show in the dark swirl of liquid, distorted by movement and heat.

You weren’t going to go in today. That had been the plan. They could make do one night. Bucky could have his win. But was it even that clear cut? If you did show, he won. If you didn’t- he won then too, didn’t he? It was a lose-lose masquerading as choice.

But even now, part of you kept checking the time. Kept listening for a knock that didn’t come. Kept circling the drain of what you owed, what you feared, what you refused to give him. You walked from room to room like a ghost, unable to settle, unable to let the decision rest. Every creak in the floorboard felt like an excuse not to go, and yet you still kept half an eye on the clock.

You didn’t owe them anything. Not after the stunt with Kara. Not after Bucky’s little performance. Not after the way he’d stared right through you like he already knew how far you’d bend—like he had the map and you were just tracing the route. It wasn’t just about control. It was about performance. About showing him -and everyone else- that you wouldn’t be played like a note in one of their backroom songs.

And yet…

You were a professional.

This was still a job. One you hadn’t walked away from, not when things got hard. Not even when it might’ve been smarter to run.

Singing made you happy. It gave you back something small but essential. Breath, structure, focus.

Despite everything else going on around it. Despite the tension, the manipulation, the games. It was the one thing that still felt like yours.

Singing again was making you happy. Happier than you'd been in so long. There was clarity in it. Relief. A thread of control in a place where everything else was chaos.

And you couldn’t help the voice in your head that whispered about retaliation. About consequences. About what it meant to vanish from the roster without warning when Barnes had just reminded you how easily he could reach into other people’s lives, lives you cared about. You’d been warned without words, marked without touch. That dinner invitation wasn’t an ask. It was an expectation.

You didn’t want to see him. But you didn’t want him thinking you were scared either. And maybe worse, you didn’t want him to think you’d rolled over.

Maybe that was what this was now- one long game of emotional chicken. You didn’t know why it mattered that he didn’t think he’d rattled you.

But it did.

So you’d go in. There was supposed to be band practice anyway.

You’d run through the set list.

You’d be cool. Professional. Untouchable.

Because you weren’t going to let this place change you. Not entirely. Not yet.

“I’ll show up. I’ll sing. I won’t fold.”

Scene 2: Arrival at The Armory

You arrived for practice, purposeful and composed. Not out of fear, and not because you owed Kara anything. But because you wanted to be there. Because this was your job, and you were going to show up for it on your terms.

You entered through the side staff door, not even registering how quiet it was at first. Had it been this still last week? You couldn’t remember. Your focus was narrowed, honed to a sharp point.

It wasn’t until you stepped toward the stage that the quiet hit you. No voices. No tuning. No banter. No footsteps in the wings. 

Maybe you were early. Maybe the band was just running late.

You caught sight of the others gathered by the bar, Yelena, Wanda, Pietro. No one else.

Taking a breath, you straightened your shoulders and walked out across the floor like you belonged there.

Your heels echoed sharply on the wood of the stage, louder than usual. Like a sound that didn’t want to be ignored.

The sound made Pietro’s head snap up. He was standing at the bar with Wanda and Yelena, all of them locked in a low conversation. Yelena subtly grabbed someone on the other side of the bar.

“Songbird,” Pietro also squacked as the nickanme came out surprised, tinged with a hesitancy that put you on edge. “I should’ve d'exted you- we’re not really running practice today."  "Why not?" You kept moving stepping off the stage. "I figured you wouldn’t be in de mood so...” Pietro hands flailed about as you stopped putting your bag down on on the tables that weren't set up. 

“I’m a professional. Of course I show up. This is still my job. Issues or not.”

Pietro laughed lightly, but it sounded off, like he wasn’t sure if it was safe to actually laugh. Wanda shifted behind him, her eyes narrowing slightly, while Yelena remained perfectly still, arms crossed, watching you like she was waiting to intercept something. The way they looked at you made your skin itch. Like they were bracing for fallout you hadn’t planned to unleash.

What was everyone’s problem today?

“You really don’t 'ave to,” Pietro tried again, voice softer now. “Come on, I’ll get you a coffee. We’ll put your stuff in the dressing room and go, since it’s just us-”

“No, we can practise. I mean, you can just text the band and tell them to come in if you want. I’m fine. You don’t have to coddle me.”

Had he really canceled practice just because you’d been... what? A little shaken last night? You’d held it together. More or less. Sure, you'd maybe unraveled behind closed doors, but that didn’t make you unreliable.

If anything, it made this morning more important.

You weren’t here to be looked after.

You were here because you chose to be. Because you wanted to feel capable again. Because walking back in through that door was your way of drawing the line.

Pietro’s eyes darted toward Yelena.

“No one’s trying to coddle you. Let’s just go 'ave a coffee, yeah? I could use the caf-”

Pietro’s sentence was cut off as loud voices burst out from behind the Staff Only door, sharp enough to make your pulse skip. It wasn’t the usual low muttering of backstage business. This was raised, clipped. Angry. Urgent in a way that made the hair on your arms rise.

Pietro flinched mid-step. Wanda's hand went flat against the bar. Yelena was already moving, eyes narrowed like she’d been waiting for this.

“Maximoff-” Yelena’s voice was sharp.

“I know,” Pietro barked back. His hand closed around your arm before you could register it.

The staff door behind the bar slammed open.

Bucky. Steve. And the man you now knew was Sam Wilson came barreling out onto the main club floor, their strides long and deliberate. The sound of their footsteps echoed over the hardwood like distant gunfire- precise, hard, and fast.

They looked lethal—faces carved in stone, postures tight with something that vibrated like restrained violence. Suits sharp, movements tighter. Their energy didn’t just fill the room- it took up space in your lungs. They were already talking over one another:

“I want eyes. Who do we have down here?” Bucky was already tucking something into the inside of his jacket- sleek and practiced, like a man used to concealment.

“Nat’s already en route.” Steve had his phone in his hand, eyes scanning. His voice clipped. “Barton’s there. Two on the roof.”

Bucky turned his head, catching movement on his left. He stopped mid-step. His gaze flicked and found you.

Those hard blue eyes sliced clean through the room. His whole body stilled.

“What’s she doing here, Pietro?!” His voice cracked across the air like a whip.

You felt your eyes go wide at the look on his face. He took a step like he might come toward you, furious, not in control and Yelena moved first, her body sliding into place with trained efficiency.

“She’s going. She’s goin' OK?” the blonde snapped, arm extended to hold him back, her free hand waving toward the exit. “We’ve got this. You can go." 

“GET HER OUT OF HERE.” The roar from him was enough to hit something old in your bones. Something instinctual. Something primal.

Pietro yanked at your arm. Your legs didn’t move, frozen in place, your brain white-noised out. A deer in headlights. Just staring.

Pietro pulled again, harder this time, and your body obeyed, barely. You turned, stumbled a step before catching yourself.

“Off we go, Songbird,” Pietro murmured, trying to keep it light, but his grip didn’t loosen.

You were being physically moved again. Herded. Steered away like someone’s inconvenient mistake, like an item left out in the wrong scene. There was no aggression in Pietro’s grip, but there was firmness. Intention. You didn’t have a say-  not really.

You twisted once, catching a final glimpse over your shoulder, Sam’s jaw tight. Steve looked like something just short of detonation. And Bucky? Just glaring. Eyes like ice. 

The hallway lights felt too bright, the echo of your footsteps too loud. Every inch you moved further from the main floor only deepened the wrongness gnawing at your chest.

“What’s going on?” you asked, voice low and sharp.

“It’s business,” Pietro said without looking at you. “Not your kind of business.”

You were so tired of that phrase. Tired of being in the theatre but never in the script. Always made to perform, never told the story.  “It’s not safe,” he muttered. “Don’t ask questions today.”

“They looked like-”

“It’s between families. Dat’s all you need to know.”

His tone made it clear you wouldn’t get more.

And somehow, hearing that didn’t make you feel safer, it only made you more certain that whatever this was, you were closer to the center than anyone wanted to admit.

He pushed open the staff door. The sunlight outside hit you like a slap. Too bright. Too loud. Tires screeched somewhere just up the block as someone pulling away hard. Whatever was going on was happening away from here. 

Pietro slowed as he walked you around the back of the building to where there was small lot for parking. He didn’t speak. Just unlocked his car but paused putting his hand on the roof. 

“You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“I never am, am I?”

He didn’t answer. Then, softer:

“Let’s just get you home… OK? Can you just let me take you home now?”

“Sure.”

It wasn’t his fault. Not really. He was just trying to help in the only way he knew how. Maybe they were all just… stuck. You most of all.

You were holding the door open, about to step in when steps came back from the alley you'd just left.

Wanda stopped breathing a little hard, she'd clearly sprinted to get there. 

“Yelena said." She paused to catch her breath. "To just take her to the dressing room.”

Pietro straightened, glancing from you to Wanda, clearly torn. You just held the door open, unsure if you were waiting to be told to run or retreat.

“Barnes wants her out of here.”

“Like he was thinking that hard,” Wanda scoffed under her breath, throwing a look over her shoulder like she half-expected Bucky to come storming out after her. “Yelena wants to keep her here. Or do you want to go argue with her?" 

Pietro sighed, muttering something too low to catch. He rounded the car, hand dragging down his face before he gently closed your door for you.

“Come on, Songbird. Best not to upset anymore people today, shall we?”

You were back in your dressing room. Not locked in. But it might as well have been.

Pietro had told you to stay put and shut the door. Wanda had been nice enough to bring you your bag, her expression unreadable as she handed it over, but other than that... nothing. No update. No check-in. No hint as to what was going on. It was like the building had swallowed you.

You sat. Waited. No one came.

Time passed unevenly. You checked your phone. Part of you wanted to see if there was anything on the news, something to explain what was going on. But there wasn't anything. Not even social media had an answer. But you weren't really good with that.. Eventually you got up sticking your head out, checked the hallway. Still empty. Sat back down. Poured yourself a glass of water. Didn’t drink it.

No music drifted in from the bar. No staff clatter. No muffled laughter from the lounge. Just the low hum of a world rearranging itself on the other side of the walls. You pressed your fingers against your knees, grounding yourself in small ways. Stillness felt like a threat now.

Whatever had happened upstairs, it had been more than you'd even prepared yourself for when you'd decided to come in. You had expected tension. Maybe awkward stares. Not... this.

What the hell makes someone look like that?

That had been fear. Fury. War.

And it hadn’t passed. That kind of expression didn’t come and go like weather. It lingered. Rooted.

Something had happened. And whatever it was, it didn’t stay upstairs. You could feel it pushing at the edges of the room.

The silence wasn’t peace. It was containment.

~#~#~#~#~#~

Pietro knocked first with a particular rhythm, one you were starting to recognize. One tap, followed by two in quick succession. Familiar. Intentional. Like he was trying to be polite, even when there was nothing polite about the way the day had gone so far.

"Did you want anyt'ing to eat?"

You looked up. His jacket was already on. The place was warm, and you'd never seen Pietro wear a jacket indoors, he’d was always in his button-up, sleeves rolled, always one lean away from cracking a joke. But this version of him looked different. Less relaxed. Heavier in the shoulders. His posture straighter, more braced. Like he was waiting to be called back into something.

“Going somewhere?”

“No.”

But he didn’t move to leave either.

He stepped inside instead, crossing the threshold with an almost apologetic glance. He didn’t sit, didn’t say anything more. Just leaned against the edge of the dresser, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, eyes fixed somewhere near the floor. Like he was keeping watch. Or maybe like he didn’t know how to be anywhere else. Like staying still was the only thing he could do without making it worse.

“You’re not just a piano player, are you?”

His mouth twitched, the ghost of a smirk. “Not all the time, Songbird.”

Course he wasn't.

No one here seemed to really be who they were. Or what you'd thought they were. It felt like everyone had a double life around here and maybe you'd wandered straight into your own without realizing.

You both sat in silence, the absence of Pietro's normal background humming made the room feel painful. The tension seemed to hang in the corners like smoke, thin but choking. Having them both in the room made the space feel smaller, like their stillness had a gravity of its own. It was almost a relief when Yelena joined you a few minutes later, a bottle of vodka and two glasses in hand. She set both down on the coffee table, then dragged the chair over from the dressing room vanity and sat down across from you with a sigh that said she wasn’t here to posture.

"I know it’s not your usual whiskey, but I figured, you weren’t goin' to complain."

She poured without asking. You didn’t refuse as you picked up the glass, watching the chilled liquid roll around in it. Yelena took a sip from her own. For a while, no one said anything.

"Quiet der afternoon," she said finally, her voice dry, like she’d tasted the silence and found it lacking. "It’s normally not this... interesting around here all the time. When I came in today I thought our biggest issue was going to be that we seem to be getting low on lemons.."

You raised an eyebrow but didn’t reply. She didn’t need you to.

The blonde leaned back in the chair, legs stretched slightly forward, rolling the base of her glass in one hand. "Most people would’ve cried by now. Or yelled. Or made a scene. You? You just went quiet. That’s... rarer than you think."

“Not really in a crying mood.”

Yelena snorted. "Yeah. I figured. Still- credit where it's due. You're a lot calmer dan some of der guys who’ve worked ‘ere."

You didn’t respond to that. You weren’t sure whether to feel proud or concerned.

Then a beat passed. A longer one. She sighed, resting her glass on her knee.

"Barnes is a businessman," she said finally. "But not the kind you find in Midtown."

“I had worked that out.” You rubbed your temple and went to drink but stopped lowering the glass again. 

“And here’s where he likes to do his business, his little hub,” she added. “Which means... the longer you’re here, the more you’re going to see. Whether you mean to or not. That’s how it works around here. It’s not about permission- it’s proximity. You hang around long enough, even by accident, and suddenly you’ll seen too much. That’s just how it is.”

You let out another sigh and lifted your head up to look at both of them, wanting one question answered at least.

��Does Kara know?”

Yelena smirked, setting her glass down with a small clink.

Pietro just shook his head, mouth twisting slightly. “Kara isn’t the most observant. More sparkle than smarts.”

At least now you knew your friend hadn’t fed you to wolves on purpose. That counted for something. That counted for more than you expected it would.

“You, however, seem to ‘ave a bit of common sense.” Yelena pointed out, her eyes keener now, holding you in place.

“Teacher. Gotta have eyes in the back of your head.” You felt your self smile though it was a bitter one. God, if only you didn’t notice things. Maybe then this would be different. 

“At least you’ve got an idea what kind of place this is now.” Her voice wasn’t warning. It wasn’t even apologetic. It was matter-of-fact. Like it was a good thing. Like it meant they didn’t have to lie anymore.

Why did she sound so okay with that? Shouldn’t they want you not to know?

“And today was-?”

Yelena looked over at Pietro, then back at you.

“Not something you should ask about,” she said, repeating Pietro’s words from earlier. “Just because you ‘know’”-she even lifted her fingers for air quotes- “doesn’t mean you get told.”

She picked up her glass again and took a sip, as if that ended the matter.

That was always the rule here. They let you see just enough to keep you scared and never enough to make sense of it.

Yelena stood, draining her glass.

“You’re a singer. Sing. Try not to pay too much attention. And maybe, one day, this’ll be a funny story you tell your grandkids about the time you worked for a mobster.”

You couldn’t imagine a version of this where you laughed about it.

You could barely imagine a version where you survived it.

She left. Pietro lingered.

“I’d offer you a smoke, but...”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t move for a moment, then finally shifted his weight against the dresser, arms folding across his chest. Some of the tightness had gone out of his frame, like he’d been holding his breath since before Yelena walked in. He glanced toward the door, then back at you, softer than before.

“Kara’ll be back soon enough.”

He sounded more certain now, like saying it helped him believe it. You weren’t sure if that was meant to reassure you or himself.

You watched him, studying the way his shoulders had dropped, the way his fingers finally stopped twitching. How had he expected that conversation to go? Had he braced for screaming, for tears? For you to fall apart or throw something? Maybe you surprised him by not doing any of that. Maybe you surprised yourself.

You didn’t tell him about the lunch. About the way Barnes had texted you like it was already decided. Like your time, your will, belonged to him now. You weren’t ready to unpack what that meant, not out loud, not to Pietro.

You didn't tell him about the lunch date Bucky Barnes had forced you to agree too. Didn't say that even if Kara came back you had a feeling that it would still mean you be tethered to here in someway, to Barnes. Maybe after this, Bucky would leave you alone. Maybe whatever happened today would distract him, redirect him. You weren’t sure if that was wishful thinking or a warning.

“Yeah…”

Pietro gave a small nod, pushed off the dresser, and left without another word.

You sat back in the silence considering the glass in your hand. You downed your vodka and poured more.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a fog. You drank more than you should have—not enough to feel drunk, but enough to soften the edges. Just enough to take the sting off, to let your thoughts blur around the corners like breath on glass. You didn’t want to get up on stage completely clear-headed, not tonight. God knows you didn’t need to be that out of it either. You just wanted to dull it all, make the day feel less like it actually happened.

Maybe then everything from the shouting upstairs to Yelena's carefully vague warnings would feel like a dream. Like something you imagined, or misinterpreted. Maybe it would slide off you easier that way.

It must have been close to opening when you started to hear noise in the halls. Footsteps. Distant voices. The quiet cracked open like a shell, replaced with the low hum of preparation. The rest of the staff arriving.

The Armory stopped feeling like a fortress. But that didn’t make you feel any safer.

You switched to water. Needing to hydrate, more for your vocal cords when anything else. 

Did your makeup. Took your time blending the edges, blotting your lipstick twice instead of once. You reached for the old dress first, the one you'd planned to wear. The safe choice. But your fingers drifted. Slid along the navy fabric instead. His choice. You weren’t sure why you picked it. Maybe it was some act of united front? Maybe it was some twisted attempt to make him feel better?

You didn’t want to think about it as you stepped into the fabric and zipped yourself back in. Not tonight.

You hovered in that murky in-between, where your nerves had dulled just enough for the stage to feel like a safer place than the silence you'd been sitting in.

Pietro was still in his jacket at the piano when you went to stand in the wings. Though he'd rolled the cuffs up again, a small return to normal. Some anchor. You gave him a nod, one he returned with a flicker of something that might’ve been relief.

So you sang.

The crowd didn’t notice anything wrong. But you did.

You glanced toward the usual table- his table- out of habit more than expectation. But it wasn’t empty.

Bucky wasn’t there.

Two couples sat there instead. One of the girls threw her head back in a laugh at something the guy beside her had said, blonde curls bouncing as she lifted her drink. The others smiled, clinking glasses, caught in some happy, oblivious moment that didn’t belong to you. you were just the entertainment, adding to atmosphere. 

The staff weaved between tables tight-jawed, polite. Overly careful. Even their smiles looked rehearsed. Wanda caught your eye and offered a sifter smile, like she was trying to sell normalcy and wasn’t quite convinced of it herself.

Whatever had happened that morning. It had rippled. Still was.

You sat in your dressing room afterward. The performance was behind you, your voice already fading into the wood and velvet of the stage like it always did. Normally, you just went home after you were done. You got changed, you didn't even say goodbye most of the time, after all the band stayed on after you were done.  But tonight, you stayed. 

No one had told you could go.

But no one said you couldn’t. Leaving just didn’t feel like the right thing to do. Not yet. Not when everything still felt like it was balancing on a thread.

You were stuck in limbo. Sitting there, hands folded in your lap, trying not to fidget, trying not to pace. Trying not to let your thoughts loop back on the same jagged edges. You told yourself you’d wait a few more minutes. Just long enough to be sure. But then a few minutes turned into ten. Then fifteen.

No one came to get you. No one told you anything.

Eventually, you pushed to your feet, every movement stiff like your body had finally realized how long it had been bracing. If anyone had made the decision to keep you here, it had been Yelena. She was the one who told Pietro to bring you back.

So if something had changed, she’d know.

Pietro had been right, you didn’t want to upset anyone else today. Not when you didn’t really know what was going on. Not when you were still technically here, and not sure what that meant anymore.

You grabbed your bag. You went to find her.

The back-of-house corridors felt tighter at night, like you’d stepped into some maze of worn carpet and fluorescent flicker. The walls pressed in, the hallways twisting like a rabbit warren- enclosed, tangled, full of corners you’d never paid attention to until now. Your heels clicked too loud in the quiet, but you didn’t slow down.

You reached the side door and stepped out, blinking under the warm glow spilling from the overhead lights. The Armory’s main floor was quieter than you expected, it must have been later than you thought. A few tables still hosted lingering guests, their conversations low and lazy. Some stood at the bar, half-empty glasses in hand, coats slung over stools.

You pulled your coat tighter around yourself, suddenly aware of how exposed you felt in the navy dress. It had never felt like yours.

Slipping into the crowd, you kept to the edges, trying not to draw attention. Just part of the background. Just passing through.

Yelena stood at the far end of the bar, talking to an older man you didn’t recognize- balding, with an untamed beard and easy smile. They were both leaning in slightly, voices hushed. Maybe not that tired, just someone who was already done for the night and wanted to go home. You’d seen that look on your own face too many times. A kind of end-of-shift exhaustion, the kind that didn’t come from one bad day but from too many of them stacking up back-to-back. Yelena looked like she was coasting on what little remained in the tank.

You hovered near the edge of the bar, hesitant to interrupt. Not quite ready to walk behind it like you belonged there. Your nerves buzzed beneath your skin, mirroring the tired edge on Yelena’s face.

The older man noticed you first. He pulled back slightly, head tipping in your direction in a way that made Yelena turn.

Her eyes found yours. And something in her expression shifted.

You weren’t sure what it meant yet. But it wasn’t surprise.

Yelena waved you over and patted the older man’s arm, and that’s when you noticed the tattoo on his hand- something old and Soviet, faded but still visible across his knuckles.

You opted to go around the front of the bar, cutting through the low buzz of conversation, though you hesitated when the man didn’t move. He didn’t make space. Just watched you, calm and unreadable.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just…” You trailed off. Wanted to know if I could leave. But you didn’t say the words out loud.

Yelena gave you a warmer smile than you were expecting, given the tone of the day. Her voice, when it came, was soft, almost amused.

“Course.” The accent stretched it into something like a purr. “Dis is Alexei. II called him to drive you home.”

You must have looked a little unnerved by the news, because the man next to her straightened up, not in offense, just  acknowledgment. Like he understood exactly what you were thinking before you said it. His expression didn’t shift much, but there was something steady in the way he looked at you, something that made it clear he’d done this before. Driven people who didn’t want to be seen. Waited for them to make peace with being handled.

Alexei reached out and took your bag from your hands before you could say anything.

"Let me," he said simply. His voice was gravelly, but not unkind.

You noticed the flash of metal in his teeth when he smiled faintly, the way his fingers closed around the handle with quiet confidence. The bag didn’t even seem to weigh anything to him.

“Papa, she can carry her own bag,” Yelena chided from behind the bar, but there was no real bite to it.

Your head jerked slightly at the word- papa. You hadn’t expected that. And maybe you should’ve. Maybe it explained something about the way he’d moved, the way she hadn’t had to say much to get him here.

Alexei didn’t blink. He just moved like this was routine. Like escorting people out of complicated situations was something he'd done too many times to count.

Alexei let out a loud sigh, the kind that said he'd been standing too long and was too old for drama at this hour. “Okay,” he muttered, with a little theatricality. “Let’s get you home before Barnes gets cross about you being up past your bedtime.”

“Oh, makes sense.”

You stood, smoothing your coat as Alexei gave Yelena a small kiss on the cheek. She didn’t look thrilled about it, but she didn’t pull away either. The moment might’ve felt sweet if things were different. If tonight hadn’t been what it was.

Yelena swatted him lightly and gave you a look. “Sleep. Have a bath. Just… try, ok?” Like she already knew you'd get caught in your own head once you were alone.

Alexei made a quiet sound and adjusted the strap on your bag. “Come on. Best we get out of here before Barnes sees you’re still here.”

“Right…” you muttered.

You stayed quiet as Alexei walked just behind you back through the corridors, though he stepped around you to open the door. He walked through first, holding it open behind him, blocking the alley that led up toward the street as you followed the same path you had with Pietro earlier toward the back car space.

The car he led you to was a black SUV. Solid, quiet, and unassuming in the way only something deliberately chosen for discretion could be. It looked like the kind of vehicle you’d see idling on government curbs, or parked at safe houses. Clean, but not shiny. Functional. When he unlocked it, the soft beep barely echoed off the alley walls. The passenger side door creaked as he opened it, gesturing for you to get in.

You slid into the back seat without protest, the leather cool against your legs. Alexei shut the door behind you, walked around the front, and folded into the driver’s seat like he’d been doing it for thirty years.

The engine rolled to life. The car idled as he checked the mirrors, fingers tapping once on the steering wheel before falling still. The low hum of the motor filled the quiet like white noise.

“Comfortable?” he asked casually, not looking back. His voice was even, unaffected, like this was any other ride.

You didn’t answer. Just sat there, hands in your lap, eyes fixed out the window. The leather seat felt cold against your legs. Familiar in a way that made your chest tighten.

He gave a low hum. “So. You sing, yeah?”

You blinked at the back of his head. “Yeah.”

“I used to sing too,” he said, completely deadpan. “In the shower. Great concerts.”

You let out a sound- part huff, part breath- and realized it was the closest thing to a laugh you’d made in hours. Alexei didn’t look back, but his eyes crinkled slightly in the mirror. Like he’d scored something.

The SUV rolled out of the alley. Streetlights passed overhead, casting gold and shadow across the dash. The city moved around you in soft blurs, traffic, lights, the after-hours hush of a place still pretending to be awake.

There was a stretch of quiet. Not uncomfortable. Just still.

Eventually, you asked, “Do you drive people around for Barnes often?”

“Sometimes,” Alexei said. “He likes using people he knows and I have known him long time. Yelena thought you might prefer someone… not as connected as some of the others.”

You turned your head slightly. “Connected?”

“I mean, someone not so active, in everything. I'm retired now,” he said, voice low and matter-of-fact. “Mostly I drive. Meet interesting people. I make people feel safe.”

He glanced at you through the mirror. A pause.

“You feel safe right now?”

“…I don’t know what I feel right now.”

Alexei nodded once. The SUV rolled to a slow stop at a red light.

You stared out the window, the weight of the day pressing harder now that the car had stilled. The silence was thicker at red lights. Less to distract you. No forward motion to pretend with.

Outside, a neon sign flickered. A couple crossed the street in front of you, laughing about something, their voices muffled by the glass. For a second you imagined switching places with her. Someone who got to laugh like that. Someone who got to choose where she was going tonight.

Your fingers flexed in your lap.

It was strange how normal everything looked from in here. Like nothing outside had cracked or shifted. You caught a faint glimpse of yourself in the window, drawn, tired, blurred in the faint light. Someone who looked like she was on her way home. If only it felt like that.

Alexei spoke again, voice soft, almost fatherly.

“Been a long day, from what I’ve been told. Just sit back. Alexei will get you home.”

"....yeah... a long week."

You’d thought the phone call with Kara was going to be the low point. Her voice chirping down the line while Bucky smiled in the background. But that felt like days ago now. You just wanted to go home, lock your door, and pretend none of this was real. Sleep it all away.

You checked your phone.

Nothing.

You didn’t know how to feel about that. Not relief. Not dread. Just that sinking, slow weight again, limbo. Always limbo. Stuck between moments until Bucky decided to let you go. 

[materlux]

Sunlight on Snow.

Jiaoqiu has me in a chokehold, I love me a pathetic (affectionatly) man.

Location for this fic is heavily inspired by my latest brainrot fic: Star-shaped by Milksnake-tea (go read it, it's very good!!)

CW: 2nd person perspective, reader called 'little star', fluff? Idk it's pretty tame.

Honkai Star Rail | Main Masterlist

The wind pulls at your loose t-shirt, it nips at the exposed skin of your legs and arms. Snowflakes gently fall around you and the snow coating the ground deepens. You should be feeling cold, actually you should be dead, frozen to death by the harsh winds and low temperature. 

   If you were dead, maybe your frozen corpse would be used like a landmark on a mountain, guiding fools through a snowstorm.

   But you aren’t dead and it’s weird, you admit that it must be freaking out the wild life, a small group of deer trail after you. If it were possible for animals to feel like humans, you’d think it was a kind of morbid curiosity to see how long you’d last, but they don’t, you think.

   Truth be told you don’t know much about mortal lives, you have encountered them before in your endless life, made friends with them, even lovers. But that doesn’t mean you understand them all, for every planet you find, new forms of mortal life greet you, all different in nature and belief.

   You have yet to encounter any living mortal life that you could speak to on this planet, the ones you have found in the fields of white were all frozen solid.

   Snow crunches under your feet, cold air fills your not-really-there lungs. A smell you recognise comes with each breath, smoke, you conclude, a common smell associated with civilisation.

   You look out over the horizon spotting a line of dark grey cutting into the pale clouds, like flint splitting an otherwise clean white rock. The deer trailing you must smell and see it too, cause they turn and leave.

   Going towards the smoke, you find a camp of tents: Primitive housing made of fabrics or furs, wood and a kind of rope, often used as temporary homes. You wander around the outskirts of the camp, behind the tents. They seem to be in a horse-shoe-like shape, curving around a large fire pit. Above the fire sits a dark metal cauldron, a new smell fills your senses, it’s strong and burns in a way you haven’t felt before.

   The camp is empty, lights inside the tents cast long shadows across the fabric and reflect on the pearly snow. With the coast clear you move closer to the cauldron, keeping your hands to yourself, you peer over the edge into the red liquid inside. The smell becomes stronger, it burns your nostrils all the way into your bones, it’s electrifying. It makes your eyes water in a familiar sensation, but this time you don’t feel it in your heart.

   A young man exits a tent with a small bag in hand, he reminds you of other mortal beings you have met before. A pair of tall ears twitch in the harsh wind, a large fluffy tail flicks from side to side, sending snowflakes flying. He stops short of the cauldron, his eyes open and his brows furrow, you wonder if something has upset him. You look over your shoulder, but see nothing but endless white, snowy plains blending in with white clouds.

   “What are you doing out here?” The man questions, his other hand comes up to his chin as he tilts his head. “Did you wander over from a nearby village?” He wonders quietly, his eyes close again.

   “No,” you answer simply, you haven’t seen any villages nearby. “I was walking and then I saw the smoke, and I came to investigate.” You rattle off your walk through the snow, the animals you encountered and the dead you saw. He looks at you, perplexed by your presence.

   “Are you not cold? It’s freezing out here, even I could use some more layers.” He looks over your flimsy, loose clothing. He’s dressed in a heavy red jacket that’s closed all the way up to his chin, large fur lined boots peek over the snow.

   You shake your head, he walks over and studies you closer. He undoes his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, the tail of it grazes the snow and the weight makes you sink. He sits down on a log and picks up the little bag again, he opens it and begins adding things to the cauldron.

   “Won’t you get cold without this?” You gesture to the jacket, the fabric is dense but soft.

   “Maybe, but you need it more than I do.” He smiles at you, kindness, compassion, these are common qualities among mortal beings.

   “But I don’t need it,” you say deadpan. He looks at you, his brows furrow again and his smile disappears.

   “You aren’t dressed for this weather.” He’s becoming more confused by the minute, which makes sense you suppose. You shrug off the coat and throw back over his shoulders, you sit down on the log beside him, the skin of your legs meeting the cold wood and snow.

   “Okay, so, I’m not like you,” you start off. “I’m a star, a sun, a stellaron? Why I have a mortal form and not a celestial one, I don’t know, but I do know that the cold doesn’t affect me.” You smile. He stares at you for a while, then his eyes open again, light gold scans your face. 

   “A star,” he mutters. “Well, what is a star doing here on a frozen planet?” He turns back to the red liquid in the cauldron, stirring it in a clockwise motion.

   “Nothing really, I just found it.” You shrug.

   “Well little star, my name is Jiaoqiu,” he tells you. “I’m a foxian healer from the Xianzhou Yaoqing, and you are?” ‘Xianzhou’ is a name you have heard before in your nomadic life, but you have never encountered one.

   “I don’t have a name.” It’s true, you weren’t born to a loving mother, no one was around for your creation. The aeons call you the celestial child, but that isn’t a name by mortal standards, more like a title.

   “Then what should I call you?” He asks, his head tilts and his ears droop with the motion. “Whatever you like! I have had a lot of names.” Every planet you have traversed has given you a new name, something fitting to them.

   “Whatever I like.” There’s a sly smile on his face, something very fox-like you note. “Then I will continue to call you ‘little star’.”

   The wind and snow picks up around you as he cooks something, you ask him about it and it’s bright colour. You ask him a lot of things actually; about himself, about foxians, the Xianzhou Yaoqing, and so on. He asks you things in return; about the galaxy, the aeons, your nomadic life, where you have been, and so on.

[yanderejustforyou]

The Prison of His Protection

Shoto x reader

ok i know this gif is not the vibe of this short fanfic but i had to add it

Your mother, with that comforting, knowing smile, had spoken of destiny, of finding that one person who would complete you. She painted a picture of gentle affection, of a love that nurtured and supported. But she never, in her infinite wisdom, warned you about this. About a love that felt like a vise tightening around your throat, stealing the air from your lungs with each fervent embrace. Shoto’s love was a tempest – a whirlwind of adoration one moment, a chilling storm the next. He made you feel like the most precious thing in the world, his every touch a burning brand of want. Yet, with each passing day, each possessive glance, he chipped away at the edges of your being, leaving behind a hollowed-out shell of your former self.

The air in your room, once a haven of solace, now hangs heavy and cold, like a shroud. You remember when the sunlight used to stream through the window, painting golden patterns on the walls, warming the very core of your being. Now, the shadows cling to the corners, mirroring the unease that has taken root in your heart. The comfortable murmur of your inner thoughts, the symphony of your own desires and dreams, has been silenced. It has been replaced by the relentless, echoing thoughts of him. It's a psychic invasion, the relentless drone of his presence shaping every aspect of this space, this life. Even the placement of your books on the shelves, the angle of the cushions on the window seat – everything reflects his control.

You had once envisioned a future filled with the boundless possibilities of freedom. Never could you have imagined becoming a gilded cage bird, your wings clipped by the very person who professes to love you. Each day is an exercise in confinement, each moment punctuated by the weight of his “protection,” a shield you never desired, a shelter that feels more like a prison. How did it all come to this? You barely recognize the person staring back at you from the mirror. The spark of rebellion, the flicker of independent thought, is slowly being extinguished.

The ring on your finger, a symbol of supposed unity, feels more like a shackle. The cold, unyielding metal presses relentlessly into your skin, a perpetual reminder of your captivity. It's not just a physical sensation; it's a constant ache that echoes the pain in your soul. It is not a symbol of unity, of togetherness. It is a symbol of ownership. You are not your own. He owns you, and this ring is his branding iron.

A tremor runs through you as the door creaks open, announcing Shoto's arrival. His eyes, usually an enigmatic mix of warm and cold, are now like shards of ice – distant, unreadable. This is his withdrawn phase, the one where he pulls back, leaving you stranded in the silence, the space thick with tension. He is a constant presence, even in his absence. You are always aware of his proximity. There is a ghost of him in every corner, a quiet, looming watchfulness that never ceases. He never leaves you alone, not truly. He is perpetually present, like a shadow.

“You’re upset,” he states, his voice a low, even cadence that betrays nothing of his interior. The tone is not one of concern, but of a grim observation, something akin to a hunter surveying his prey. There's a possessive undertone, a chilling note that reminds you that your emotions are merely a reflection of his own. “You’ve been quiet, lately.” His words are a gentle accusation, as if your silence has offended him.

You resist the urge to respond. Words are useless, futile attempts at communication in a landscape where you have no voice. They are more for show, for his own benefit, than a genuine attempt at dialogue. Your silence is not an act of defiance, but of resignation. It is the only freedom you can claim, the solitary space that he cannot fully enter.

His movements are deliberate, each step measured as he approaches you. He kneels before you, drawing your attention to his imposing figure. You can practically feel his presence on you, his invisible hand shaping the space. Your gaze falls to your hands, where the ring chafes against your skin, leaving behind a raw, angry indentation.

“Look at me,” he commands, his voice firm yet devoid of warmth. You flinch, not just at his words but also at the inherent power that pulses beneath his controlled facade. He doesn’t need to raise his voice to wield his influence. He controls not just the space, but also your emotions, your very breath.

With a heavy sigh, as if you are lifting a great weight, your eyes meet his. A familiar ache settles in your chest, a potent blend of sorrow and fear. His eyes, that once held a glimmer of hope, now seem fractured, their depths reflecting a complex and troubled interior. A part of you craves the affection you once knew, the warmth you witnessed, but it's like chasing a ghost. He is both familiar and foreign, both loved and dangerous.

A choked sob gathers in your throat, a silent scream that is left unsaid. You want to hurl accusations, to demand your freedom, to unravel the tangled knot of this warped "love." But confronting those cold, unwavering eyes, all you feel is the suffocating force of his affection, the oppressive weight of his perceived protection.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” his words are soft, a gentle plea that is laced with a hint of something akin to regret. It is a subtle crack in his facade, a momentary glimpse behind his fortress of control. “But the world would do worse if you ever got out.”

His words, like a poisoned dart, pierce your heart. It’s not just about his twisted sense of love. He genuinely believes you are incapable of navigating the world on your own. It’s a belief steeped in arrogance, a conviction that your safety relies solely on his dominion. You are not just loved, you are owned. He thinks the world will destroy you, but the irony is he’s already tearing you apart.

The realization is a crushing blow, a cold, hard truth that sends a shiver down your spine. It's not out of malice or spite that he does this. It is out of his perceived love, his desire to keep you safe. And that, in a way, is far more terrifying.

A tear escapes your grasp, tracing a lonely path down your cheek. You imagine pushing him away, screaming yourself hoarse, demanding to be set free from this suffocating prison. But you know it's a futile gesture. You've tried it all before, and the result is always the same: his detached gaze, his cold, clinical touch, as if your pain is a hurdle he's willing to overcome.

“You think the world is a better place for me if I’m kept in here?” your voice is barely a whisper, shaky and raw with emotion. “You think keeping me locked up, hurt, and broken will keep me safe?”

You search his eyes for some sign of empathy, for some understanding of the pain you endure, but there is no movement, no shift in his expression. For a brief moment, a flicker touches his eyes, a subtle change that could be regret, guilt, or even just confusion. But it’s fleeting, like a moth brushing against a candle flame.

“I do what I have to,” he responds, his voice calm and controlled, as if he were reciting lines from a script. “I’m keeping you safe from what you don’t understand. The world out there is too dangerous. If you leave, they’ll take you from me. They’ll hurt you. Worse than anything I could ever do.”

His words are a wave crashing over you, a relentless torrent of twisted logic that drowns any remaining hope. Tears flow freely now, a torrent of grief and despair. He genuinely believes his actions are justified. He is not doing this to inflict pain. He believes he is protecting you. And that, more than anything else, is the most devastating truth of all.

In his mind, his love is a shield, a bulwark against the evils of the outside world. But you've become an object, a possession, a fragile thing that must be caged for its own preservation. A delicate, precious item that must be locked away. You are no longer seen as a partner, but as a ward, a burden he has taken upon himself.

“Please,” you beg softly, your voice breaking with each syllable. “Please, let me go. I don’t want to be your prisoner.” How you crave to escape the gilded bars of his love and breathe the air of freedom.

He takes your hand, the one adorned with the ring, and brings it to his chest, his grip firm and unyielding. He is not holding your hand in affection, but in possession. He is reminding you of his claim over you. There is nothing gentle in his touch, only the cold, hard reality of his ownership.

“You’re not a prisoner,” he says, his voice almost convincing, the words smooth and practiced, masking the truth. “You’re safe here. I’m giving you everything you need. I’m protecting you.”

You want to scream, to tear your hair out, to violently reject this fabricated reality. "Safe" is not how you feel. "Protected". But the words are stuck, caught in the lump that has formed in your throat. You finally muster the strength to whisper the truth, the only truth that matters: “I don’t need your protection. I just need you to love me.”

His gaze softens, a delicate shift in his expression, but it’s like a mirage, a deceptive image on the horizon. The walls remain as they were. You remain trapped, as she always have been. You feel the air press down on you, the weight of his misguided devotion. He doesn’t understand. He never will.

"I do love you," he says, his voice imbued with a calm conviction, but it’s a hollow echo. It has become an empty promise. "And that's why I can't let you go." And in that statement, you understand. To him, love is not freedom; love is possession. And he will never truly let you go.

[misssassylover]

꧁𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐰𝐞 𝐠𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐰?꧂

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: After months of distance, you and Matt reunite for a bittersweet day filled with tension and unresolved love. As you drive home, the question still hangs between you. Where do we go now?

24th Street

Where you held me, grabbed my arm

What a mental fire alarm

'Cause a lot of that felt wrong

Like I miss you

But when I kissed you back, I lied

You don't know how hard I tried

Had to fake the longest time

It starts on 24th Street.

You shouldn’t have come. That’s what your gut tells you as your boots scuff against the cracked sidewalk, city sounds muffled by the weight in your chest. But the text had been simple.

“Meet me where we used to get bagels?”

And your feet had moved before your mind caught up.

Matt’s already there, leaning against the brick wall like time never passed. Hands buried in his hoodie pocket, head tilted down like he’s fighting something he won’t say out loud. You stop a few feet away. Close enough to feel him but too far to fall again.

He looks up. You see it in his eyes. The mix of nostalgia and something darker. His hand reaches out, fingers wrapping around your arm just above your wrist. It’s gentle, but your muscles tense anyway.

“You remember this place?” he asks, voice quieter than it used to be.

You nod, eyes not meeting his. “Yeah.”

The air feels tight. When he leans in, your lips meet his for a split second. A second too long. And you hate yourself because it feels like a lie, like you’re watching someone else’s mouth respond. You used to mean it. Every kiss, but this one tastes like memory, like ash.

You pull back. He doesn’t chase. Good. Because if he did, you might’ve broken all over again.

Where do we go now?

Where do we go now?

Where do we go now?

Where do we go now?

Where do we go now?

You both walk in silence. No bagels this time. Just the stretch of sidewalk and a question hanging between you like smoke.

Where do we go now?

You almost ask him if he still calls his mom every Thursday, if he still sleeps with his socks on when he’s upset. But that would feel like pretending nothing broke.

Matt kicks at a pebble. “Do you ever think about us?”

You don’t answer. Not because you don’t, but because when you do, it’s always during the quiet parts of the night when your chest tightens and your hand reaches for a phone you don’t have the courage to use.

The silence makes it worse. The weight of “what now?” is heavier than the past. You catch his reflection in a store window. He looks older, tired. So do you.

Where do we go now?

Where do we go now?

It loops in your mind like a broken chorus. Neither of you has the melody anymore.

You look hopeful

Like we're supposed to work somehow

Can't you tell our light burned out?

Got a lot to cry about

There's nothin' left here

All our best years are behind

What a brutal way to die

But you choose it every time

Matt’s house is still filled with sunlight at five in the afternoon. You sit at opposite ends of the couch, like strangers stuck in a waiting room.

He watches you like he’s looking for something. Like he expects a version of you he used to know to show up at any moment. You can’t give him that.

“You look at me like we’re still… salvageable,” you whisper.

Matt’s brows knit together. “Aren’t we?”

Your laugh is dry. “We had a spark. We also had shouting matches at 2 a.m., doors slammed, nights apart when we were supposed to be together.”

He flinches like you slapped him.

You stare at the old photos still framed on the shelf. One of you in matching hoodies, blurry and warm. Another on the beach, eyes shut, sunburned, smiling. Your throat tightens.

“I cried more with you than I ever did alone,” you say.

“I know,” he replies. “But I also made you laugh more than anyone else.”

“That’s the part that hurts.”

Matt looks down. His hands curl into fists on his lap. “I chose us every time, Y/N.”

“And every time, it ended the same.”

We could meet down the line

After all of the time

And give an actual try

I can't promise you'll like it

I know I changed overnight

So I can't blame you for fightin'

And I'd be losin' my mind

If you lived in your writin'

You sip the cold tea he offered when you walked in. It’s bitter, but you drink it anyway.

“I used to think a lot about you,” he admits. “Still do.”

Your heart skips.

“I know.” You look out the window, watching a couple argue across the street. “You thought about me like I was some savior.”

“You were,” he says quickly.

You shake your head. “You fell in love with an idea.”

He doesn’t argue. He just breathes slowly, like he’s trying not to cry.

“Maybe in a few years,” you say, “we could try again. If we’ve grown. If it doesn’t hurt to see each other anymore.”

He nods. “And maybe I won’t have you in my thoughts all the time”

You smile. Not the kind that fixes anything. Just the kind that knows it’s too late to undo what’s already done.

“I changed,” you say.

“I know,” he answers. “So did I.”

And for a moment, it feels like you’re talking to someone new. Not the boy who loved too loudly and your not the girl who ran. Just two people trying to make sense of the after.

'Cause now I'm half of myself here without you

You're the best in my life and I lost you

And we had no control when it fell through

It was one-sided, hate how I hurt you

If I could, I'd have changed every feelin'

Reservations were up to the ceilin'

Guess the space was the thing that I needed

But I miss you

Matt offers to drive you home, and you walk together to his car.

The sun is lower now, painting the sidewalks in orange and gold. Your shoulder brushes his and neither of you move away.

“I didn’t know how to need you without depending on you,” Matt says.

You nod. “And I didn’t know how to stay when I felt unseen.”

There’s a pause.

“I miss you,” he adds, like a confession.

Your breath catches. “I miss you too.”

Matt stops walking. You turn to face him. There’s something honest in his expression. No walls, no defenses.

“If we could go back,” he begins, “I’d choose you differently. Softer. Smarter.”

You smile, eyes wet. “If we could go back, I’d let you love me. Fully. Not just the parts I liked.”

And for a second, just one, it feels like maybe the pain was worth the knowing.

Where do we go now?

Where do we go now?

Where do we go now?

Where do we go now?

Where do we go now?

You both sit in his car. The same car that used to hold late-night laughter and fast-food wrappers, now too quiet. The engine hums, but neither of you speaks.

Matt’s fingers rest on the steering wheel like always, except he hasn’t turned out of the parking lot yet.

“You want music?” he asks.

You shake your head. The silence feels truer.

The drive starts slow. City lights blur past, familiar roads stretching into something that feels like an ending and a beginning all at once. He doesn’t ask for directions. He still remembers how to get to your house without GPS.

Your hands are in your lap, fingers twisted together. You feel his glance every so often, but he never says what’s sitting on the tip of his tongue.

He pulls up outside your house, the porch light casting soft shadows across the dashboard. You both stay there for a moment, suspended in the in-between.

“I used to love dropping you off,” Matt says, voice low. “Not because it meant goodbye, but because you’d always turn back at the door and smile like you wanted one more minute.”

You don’t say anything. You just look at him. Eyes tired, but soft. Present.

“I still want one more minute,” he admits.

Your throat tightens. “So do I.”

But you reach for the door anyway. Hand on the handle, not moving.

“Matt?”

He turns toward you, like he’s bracing.

You don’t kiss him. You just rest your forehead against his for a breath or two, eyes closed, fingers barely brushing his jaw.

“Maybe someday,” you whisper.

He nods, and the smallest exhale escapes his lips. Like he knows better than to make promises now.

You step out. The car stays parked as you walk up the front steps. This time, you don’t turn around at the door.

But he’s still watching when you go inside.

And in that pause between leaving and letting go, the question lingers again, softer now, like a thread between two hearts still figuring it out.

Where do we go now?

You don’t know.

But maybe, not yet, isn’t the same as never.

[clawsdevour]

hiiii!! do you mind if u make kuroo x albino reader who's a manager¿? (no pressure) fluff

nekoma's captain

wc: 1.0k content warning: fluff, reader is albino, manager f!reader x kuroo, slight angst??, not proofread

note: hihi hopefully you enjoy this little story, ngl i was kind of struggling to find a plot for this short scenario until it came to me bc i wanted to include the descriptions of albinism for the reader. hope it somehow meets your standards!!!!

*✧;..

In the gym where you’re acting as Nekoma’s boys volleyball current manager. Hair tied back into a ponytail that swishes side to side brushing against your light, pale skin. You’re currently outside filling the boys’ water bottles before their quick break from practicing and coming up with new tactics for upcoming tournaments. The sun was radiating with heat that felt like your skin was getting pierced. You’re on the last water bottle, hastily filling it to the brim before twisting the cap back on. Hurrying back in the gym to ensure your skin doesn’t burn from the blazing sunlight, you carry over the heavy water bottles and place them on the benches where the boys will rest once they call for a timeout. 

You sit on the bench, keeping your eyes peeled watching them practice their spikes and blocking. They were all getting stronger, turning a single spike down with their reinforced blocks as well as learning how to keep more control on their spikes to manipulate them around the court. Even though they were rapidly improving, Kuroo caught your eye. Kuroo seems sluggish whenever he was on court. You realize Kuroo has had this very frustrated look on his face ever since they started practicing. Even though your sight is very blurry from afar, you could tell his brows were constantly furrowed and his constant grin was wiped off his face, his energy was completely different.

The team calls for a time out to get rehydrated and res while they discuss how to make their new moves even more sharper and powerful against opponents. Handing out their waters right down the line, the last to receive their water bottle was Kuroo. He was sitting a bit slightly farther away from the others, looking down as he breathed in deep pants. Gulping, your snow white skin taps him on the shoulder with the water bottle. He looks up into your light piercing eyes, as if you’ve disturbed him, startling you. 

“Oh.. thanks.” He mumbled under his breath while flashing a forced small smile at you. Wiping away his sweat as he reaches for the bottle, he just holds it in his big hands, doesn’t even take a sip. You’re a bit beyond worried, no one’s ever seen him so upset before.

Brushing a natural white strand of hair behind your ear, you can’t help but feel the intense tension rise. You had to break the silence and cheer him up before he heads back on court.

“U-Um.. are you okay..?” With a lowered voice you asked him, trying to not pull the attention of the others onto him. He takes a quiet sip of water before angeling his head up to look at you. 

“Yeah. Why?” His face is stern and serious, brows furrowed at you with his eyes slightly narrowed. His eyes so still, you could see your reflection in them.

“Well.. look. I’ve noticed that you aren’t playing at your best today …Is something wrong that maybe.. I could help you with?” Kuroo just looks down and sighs. His grip on the water bottle tightens to the point his hand is shaking as he exhales. 

“I just.. haven’t been able to block like how I used to. I kind of, realized that somehow I started to feel weaker, that it’s like I’m suddenly falling behind everyone.. You know, maybe I shouldn’t be Nekoma’s team captain” a grimace expression appears on his face. You sit down right next to him, putting your left hand on his back to comfort him while he lets it out.

“Kuroo… you know what I think?” He turns his attention to you, ready to listen to what you have to say about him. Nothing you say could make him feel even more disappointed in himself than his own self doubt.

“I think you’re one of the most amazing volleyball players I’ve ever seen play on court. Your skills are beyond just a position where you’re able to call yourself ‘captain.’ You as a person, too! You’re the only one on this damn volleyball team to keep everyone together besides me. Trust me, I appreciate you looking out for them more than me Kuroo.” You’re in your own world talking about him, he’s watching you talk with your hands more than what your mouth can say. Your eyes gleamed whenever you said his name.

“Gee.. thanks I didn’t know you thought so highly of me. That’s nice to hear once in a while,” Kuroo’s lips curl into a smile as he looks up. His hand is scratching the back of his head. Your pale eyes burn into him as you watch him let out his last deep sigh of frustration, fleshing out his negative self esteem. 

“So… time’s almost up. You should drink all that water before the next practice round,” waterbottle in hand, he shakes a big nod at you. Chugging down his water and looking back at you. Putting his arm down, swishing the water in his mouth before swallowing it all down. 

“Ha, I feel so much better knowing you look up to me like that. I, thank you for choosing to manage the volleyball team with me. And as your senior, I’ll play even harder for you to keep looking up to me,” his silly old grin was back as well as his bright and chaotic energy. It was as if your little pep talk replenished him back to his old self. 

“No need to thank me, just get out there and show them what it means to be Nekoma’s team captain Kuroo!!” You cheered at him while gets up. He’s peering back at you thinking to himself. He had one more think to say to you,

“Alright, but um.. Before I walk off, is your hair naturally white?” A bit surprised, but not really, you heard around school that he’s into science and that biology chemistry stuff. You figured he was gonna ask you this sooner or later since you’re the only person at Nekoma with albinism. “Ugh, yes. Now get on that court and pounce on them! Stop stalling for time captain, you got volleyballs waiting get hit down by your strong blocks and spikes!!” You can’t help but shout at him since the practice was back in order, the boys taking in their positions while regripping their shoes, giggling as he turns his back on you to head onto his side of the court.

masterlist here

[gamerbearmira]

I've been thinking about how the gifts might work in the Tangled AU, if there are gifts, and I've come up with a cool idea

Gifts show up as the kids and grandkids grow, there isn't a set age or date when gifts are received, it's different for each child and depends on their emotional development, mental state, and maturity, as well as the nature of the gift itself, giving a five year old a magical power isn't always a good idea. The gifts are divided into three categories: healing, enhanced abilities, and light, as these are essentially the three core aspects of the Sundrop's power, and they are all tied to emotions and mental health in some way, each set of siblings has one of each type of power

Julieta: her gift is largely unchanged from canon, but the extent of the healing is tied to her love and compassion, if her mother or someone she loves gets hurt and she gives healing food, it'll heal instantly, if a stranger is hurt, it'll take a few moments, if it's someone she dislikes but is still willing to help, it'll take a minute or two, and if it's someone who poses a threat to her family, someone she absolutely DOESN'T want to help, then her cooking will have no effect.

Pepa: she can create balls of light, the size can range from tiny lights that can be mistaken for fireflies to essentially creating a second sun, these balls of light don't burn but they can certainly blind you, pepa can control how bright they are to an extent, but her mood is also a factor, if she's sad, her lights are dimmer, if she's mad, the lights will flicker rapidly, and if she's happy, they shine extra bright, she can also make light in different colors, light color isn't affected by her mood, but she sometimes uses color to reflect her mood, this Pepa associates her emotions with certain colors rather than certain weather

Bruno: he has the gift of enhanced sight, he can see things clearly even from far away and notices even the slightest details or changes, his gift works best if he's relaxed and happy, if he's anxious or scared it won't work as well, and if he gets overstimulated his gift stops working at all until he can calm down, in these moments his gift only works to let him see important things, like a support beam that's unstable or a stampede of animals coming his way

Dolores: her gift is also similar to what it is in canon, but with a MAJOR difference, she can choose not to hear certain things, and, like Bruno's gift, if she gets overstimulated her gift will shut off completely until she feels better unless it's something important like someone screaming for help or her parents calling her name, her gift also doesn't make sounds a normal person could hear unbearably loud, she can tell when it's a sound others can hear but it won't hurt her ears

Camilo: he can turn into pure sunlight, his whole body becomes like a giant glow stick that can be molded to get anywhere as long as light reaches it, he can even go through windows, basically if light can get there, he can get there, his power can also work with moonlight and artificial light, but it's a little trickier for him, and if he's in a place that's completely dark, he's essentially just a walking glow stick, like Pepa, the brightness of his light is also affected by his emotions, and he LOVES using color and light to express his mood, he also has a harder time shifting and moving into light if he's sad or upset or just not in a good place mentally

Antonio: at age five, he might not have developed his gift yet, but his will be healing through animals, I know that sounds weird but hear me out, Antonio's gift is essentially service animals and emotional support pets, he can train a pet to help someone either physically or mentally, and when that pet helps the person, they are healed over time, say someone broke their leg and is having trouble moving, Antonio can give him a dog he trained to help him move around and the next day his leg is healed, like Julieta, the effectiveness depends on Antonio's love and compassion for who he's helping, a key difference here is Antonio can help with both physical and mental healing while Julieta is exclusively physical healing, it also depends on how well the person being helped treats the animal

Isabella: she can grow glowing flowers, these flowers look a lot like the Sundrop flower that Alma took, but the flowers Isabella grows only glow, Isabella spent a lot of time experimenting with what she can do with her power, she can grow HUGE flowers, or flowers with thorns, or flowers with long stems she can climb or swing on, it's not quite as versatile as her canon gift, but the different ways she's found to use her power are still impressive, she's loves decorating with flowers that glow different colors and putting on a light show, if she's in a bad mental state than her flowers wilt and die, and once again the brightness of the light is affected by her mood

Luisa: she has super speed, pretty simple, she can run super fast and, like the other enhanced ability powers, if she gets overwhelmed then her power doesn't work unless it's an emergency, an interesting thing to note is that this Luisa also does weight lifting and agility training, Luisa got into them shortly after her gift developed, as those skills help make the most of her speed, her speed also doesn't cause any crazy wind gusts or trails of fire

Mirabel: she does get a gift here, it's the gift of empathy, she can hold someone's hand and feel what they're feeling, by helping the person talk through their emotions and feelings, she can heal them mentally, Mirabel's gift applies exclusively to phycological healing, and the healing's effectiveness is once again tied to the healer's compassion, Mirabel also needs the person to be open with her about their feelings, if they don't want to share what they're feeling, then Mirabel can't feel their emotions and thus can't help them

I'm not sure if singing or an incantation will be a part of their gifts, maybe it won't be necessary but it would make their gifts more effective, if there is singing involved, then each gift would have a different incantation, which is fun to think about, but what do you think?

I think they're amazing❗ I'm definitely leaning towards having gifts/powers of some kind. And these are. So cool <33 I likehow a some of them involve healing in some way. Kinda calls back to Alma's ability, though hers is more concentrated, you know she cam heal physically more directly, just by touching her hair (and possibly through will).

BUT YEAH. Personally I like Julieta, Pepa, Mirabel and Camilo. I just think they're so rad, especially Pepa, I like that idea. So rad. <333 THANK YOU FOR SHARING ❗❗❗

[thedragonagelesbian]

"You know," Astarion sauntered over to him as Cyrus was buckling up his armor-- what a shame it was, really, to cover up a body like that underneath so much metal, "as I was settling down for my trance last night, I couldn't help but glimpse something most curious."

Cyrus humored him with a thin smile and a lift of his brow. "Oh?"

"Unless there are any other flame-kissed tieflings we know, I do believe Karlach visited you after yesterday's libations."

"She did," Cyrus admitted, smile widening-- for a moment, before his eyes flashed with apprehension. "I hope there aren't any hard feelings between us."

"Hardly. The more I reflect, the more I think you had the right of it. I mean, a vampire and a paladin? The very concept is a little ludicrous, don't you agree? You're too busy, I don't know, saving drowning puppies or something equally nauseating to have much time for me."

A more shrewd man might've called his dismissiveness for what it was-- layered on so thick and cloying Astarion was near choking with it to hide that kernel of genuine sentiment. But Cyrus was so miserably easy to deceive, and he responded by smiling again, warm and reassuring as the sunlight Astarion had oh so recently rediscovered.

"I'll always have time for you, Astarion."

Damn him...

"Well," Astarion drew out the word to hide a cough, "do I get to know any of the tawdry details?"

Cyrus gave a shrug. "We talked."

"Tease."

"We just talked," he repeated, though it was heavier this time. He cast a forlorn glance across the camp before sighing as he buckled his gauntlets. "Karlach is concerned about burning me if we do much more."

"What, and no one's told the poor woman how much you enjoy a little pain?"

The suggestiveness was rewarded by a faint blush, spreading across Cyrus' cheeks and down his neck to that most delicious mark Astarion had left behind some nights ago.

"It's come up... but she insists. She's very worried about hurting me. It's sweet, actually, as much as it may frustrate us both."

Astarion pursed his lips, eyes lingering for a moment longer on Cyrus' neck. He felt the stirrings of hunger, yes-- he had gone into yesterday's celebration assuming he'd be able to partake in his own private feast. But more than that, he felt his stomach twisting like it had that first night. When he realized Cyrus had grown limp and cold beneath him. Cyrus had trusted him, fully and unconditionally, and even though Astarion had abused that trust, Cyrus had given him another chance. Let him feed again, let him kiss him, let him fuck him, vulnerable and exposed and thoroughly at Astarion's mercy despite everything. The naivety and reckless disregard for personal well-being were as endearing as they were upsetting, though Astarion would never admit to either emotion.

Perhaps what Cyrus needed was someone who would worry about hurting him. He certainly wasn't going to worry about it himself.

"Sweet," Astarion repeated slowly. He dragged his gaze back up to Cyrus' face, back to those achingly kind eyes. Selfishly, he wondered if he was ever going to get to taste Cyrus' blood again, the honeyed smolder of divine health crackling and sugary on his tongue. "Yes, absolutely darling."

[russicnroses]

Here is Volume 2, Chapter 3 of BlOOD+ RUSSIAN ROSE. This chapter in particular includes extended versions of the original texts to heighten the details. There are a total of 16 pages.

128, 129, 130

In a small, remote village, both adults and children regularly gather at the village tavern, especially in the spring when the snow melts. A boy, known for his uncanny ability to predict the future, is approached by a man asking if his mare will give birth to a filly or a colt. The boy predicts that the mare will give birth to a filly and assures the man that his household will grow prosperous. The man is thrilled and gives the boy's father some money as a reward.

The boy’s father praises him for being clever but warns him not to get carried away, as a wrong prediction could cause problems. The boy, however, is confident in his ability and explains that it's just like when he correctly guesses which hand his father is hiding a pebble in during a game they play.

A few nights later, the man who had asked about his horse storms into the tavern, drunk and upset, announcing that his mare has died. The tavern becomes silent as everyone knows the man worked hard to buy the horse. The boy notices one of the man’s friends, who had been watching the scene, with a suspicious expression. The boy suddenly realizes that this man had poisoned the mare out of jealousy. Though the man puts on a kind facade as he helps the drunk farmer out of the tavern, the boy can’t shake off the vision of him mixing poisonous plants into the horse's feed.

130, 131, 132

The young boy’s father returns home looking troubled, revealing that a man was beaten by his comrades after it was discovered he had poisoned their food. The father blames the boy for sharing gossip, but the boy notes that others were pleased to hear about the culprit. Years later, the boy has become a young man, now a pilgrim who has left his village. He serves as an assistant in a church, having gained the priest’s favor by anticipating his thoughts and saying what he wants to hear.

After spending several years at the church, the young man is called out by an older monk who has been there longer. In a sudden act of violence, the monk attacks him, revealing his jealousy over the young man’s relationship with the priest. The monk continues to beat him and eventually burns his face with a hot iron, leaving him to die alone in a snowstorm. As the young man lies in pain, he reflects on his past questions about his powers and whether he will die now.

In his vulnerable state, the young man hears a soft, melodic voice belonging to a girl, who comments on his beautiful hair. Despite being blind from his injuries, he feels her gentle touch and wonders about the nature of this encounter. The girl expresses sympathy for his suffering, suggesting he is one of the chosen ones, which confuses him. Her voice hints at another presence nearby, but his weakened state prevents him from fully grasping the situation.

134, 135, 136

A heavy presence looms in the air, and an intense heat washes over the young man as liquid fills his mouth. The realization strikes him: it is blood. A wave of panic grips him, leading to violent convulsions as his body betrays him, lifting against his will before collapsing into the cold snow, where he loses consciousness.

When he awakens, he finds himself in a dilapidated church, long abandoned and silent. The blizzard outside has calmed, allowing a piercing light to stream through a shattered window. In the midst of the illumination, he perceives a small silhouette moving toward him, eliciting a sense of astonishment. He had thought her lost forever.

-

As the figure emerges from the shadows, the young man recognizes her as DIVA. A profound connection surges through him, an understanding that the blood he tasted belongs to her. She reaches out, brushing her fingers through his silver hair, her presence radiant in the sunlight.

Memories flood back—stories of a black-robed statue of Mary once revered in this region. DIVA, with her ethereal beauty, eclipses even that sacred image. He feels compelled to submit to her, surrendering himself completely and acknowledging his allegiance. His submission resonates within the hushed walls of the church, drawing the attention of those who bear witness.

-

Before the congregation stands the iconostasis, an opulent wall adorned with icons of saints and angels, creating a sacred barrier between the worshippers and the altar. The holy throne, hidden behind this divine façade, is considered the heart of the church.

The atmosphere thickens as the priest steps forward, a censer in hand, signaling the commencement of the ritual. The incense wafts through the air, its rich aroma mingling with the solemnity of the moment, while the gentle chime of a bell echoes throughout the sacred space.

Amidst this reverent scene, the priest’s gaze falls upon the girl, absorbed in the Gospel at the altar. Outside the iconostasis, the faithful raise their voices in melodic devotion, their prayers filling the air with longing and hope. The girl, with her flowing golden hair and striking blue eyes, embodies an otherworldly grace, reminiscent of an angel descended from the very icons that surround them.

137, 138, 139

### Page 137 Extended Summary

Grigori reflects on the first moment he encountered the girl, feeling an overwhelming sense of light and warmth emanating from her. Since pledging his service to her, he has stopped suppressing his innate powers. As he works to repair the dilapidated church that now serves as their sanctuary, he finds fulfillment in listening to the stories of the visitors who seek him out. Initially, these encounters involve simple requests—a child seeking lost toys, a woman needing a minor injury healed—but as he engages with them, he becomes aware of the growing magnitude of his abilities.

Gone are the days of fear; he no longer dreads the presence of others. The nights pass without the need for sleep, his physical form remaining robust and vibrant. The church, once neglected and forgotten, now becomes a haven of healing and hope. Among the visitors, some women cast meaningful glances at him, filled with unspoken desires and regrets, ensuring that he never lacks for “meals” in a metaphorical sense, as their attentions bolster his strength and power.

Word of Grigori’s talents spreads beyond the local towns, reaching the ears of the aristocracy in the capital. This newfound reputation culminates in an invitation from the ailing Empress Alexandra, who wishes for him to visit Petersburg to aid her ailing son. Unbeknownst to her, the girl—his light and muse—remains a constant presence in his life, infusing his days with purpose and inspiration.

### Page 138 Extended Summary

In the hushed atmosphere of the church, Grigori shares quiet moments with the girl, knowing the rhythmic chanting of prayers will shield their words from prying ears. She exudes a childlike playfulness, smiling as she leans on her hands, clearly uninterested in the Gospel she pretends to read. Despite her ethereal beauty, there’s an unguarded innocence in her demeanor, a quality that remains unchanged regardless of her physical appearance. This juxtaposition captivates Grigori, revealing a softer side of him that contrasts with his usual cold demeanor.

Anastasia’s frustration spills forth as she expresses her disappointment regarding a recent ball. She feels invisible, particularly to Grigori, who devoted his attention to her mother instead. This moment of vulnerability prompts a gentle intimacy as he reaches for her hand, leading her to sit upon the grand throne. There’s a palpable connection between them, an unspoken understanding that transcends their roles.

As she critiques her white dress, adorned with delicate ribbons and lace, she likens it to the attire of mourning. She gazes at Grigori, challenging him with her playful defiance, and comments on the ever-present white garments that seem to shroud her family in an air of death and somberness. Despite the lightheartedness of her tone, her words hint at a deeper restlessness, a desire to break free from the constraints of her life.

### Page 139 Extended Summary

Anastasia, her playful spirit unbroken, continues to voice her dissatisfaction with her appearance. She twists the fabric of her dress, still resonating with the themes of death and loss that linger around her family. Her remarks are laced with an unsettling truth: the continuous wear of white garments suggests an oppressive atmosphere of despair that has enveloped the royal household for years. With a mixture of humor and a darker undertone, she muses on the sweetness of death compared to the suffocating monotony of existence.

Suddenly, she leaps down from the throne, her movement effortless and weightless, as if gravity holds no sway over her. Her hair dances in the air, and she turns back to Grigori, revealing a spark of mischief in her bright blue eyes. She expresses a yearning for adventure and excitement. In that moment, she embodies the spirit of a young girl trapped in a gilded cage, craving the freedom to explore the world beyond the confines of her royal duties.

Grigori watches her, a mix of admiration and concern swirling within him. Her innocence, juxtaposed with her profound observations about life and death, leaves him captivated. As he considers her words, he feels a burgeoning need to protect her from the heavy shadows that loom over their lives. Their bond deepens, forged by the shared understanding of their unique circumstances, and he resolves to find a way to bring her the joy and liberation she seeks.

140, 141, 142,

Grigori sighs with a wry smile at Anastasia's mischievous eyes, recognizing that such expressions are unique to her. He recalls being summoned multiple times to treat Alexei, during which his worried sister would hold his hand tightly. He had once sent away the hysterical empress to focus on the treatment, leaving behind a bittersweet memory of his sister. Grigori, now infiltrating the court, begins his research on the wings, aiming to create beings superior to humans, born of DIVA, to dominate the world. He and Yuri discuss the growing chaos and the fading value of their country. Grigori wonders what final game they might play. The oblivious citizens continue their prayers. Anastasia, eyes sparkling, rushes to Grigori, hugging him and expressing her admiration for his perceptiveness. She notes that others treat him like a god. Her playful tone shifts to a cruel one, stating that no god exists. Grigori responds with a cold gaze, reflecting on how people see only what they want. He gently strokes her golden hair, and their contrasting appearances create a divine image. Grigori suggests they host an opera to end things with grandeur, debating the choice of performance. Anastasia dismisses the idea of using an old story, suggesting instead something more appealing for her sister. She giggles and spins away, her white shoes echoing on the stone floor. Singing, she comments on the beauty of the moon, likening it to a blue rose. When Grigori realizes she's quoting an opera, Anastasia approaches him, touching his chin. With a theatrical tone, she announces her intent to kiss him. Grigori, embracing her slender waist, playfully reminds her of her divine status. Their playful banter continues, with Anastasia smiling coyly and implying a deeper connection.

144

On this page, Anastasia's sultry whispers envelop Grigori like a soft, intoxicating shroud. Her breath, warm and humid, caresses his cold neck, creating an electric tension that fills the air between them. This intimate moment escalates quickly; a sudden sharpness pierces his skin, a wound that opens with a soft pop, allowing warm blood to trickle down his chest. The rich crimson flows, stark against his pallid skin, mingling with the atmosphere thick with ritualistic reverence. As sacred items—the Gospel, the candelabra, and the cross—clatter to the floor in disarray, their fall echoes through the chamber, a symbol of disrupted sanctity. Anastasia, lost in a fervor of delight, savors the taste of blood on her lips, a vibrant red that stains her mouth and transforms her expression into one of unrestrained pleasure. She gazes up at Grigori, her eyes shimmering with a mix of satisfaction and detachment, unbothered by the consequences of her actions. With a flick of her wrist, she departs from the throne, her demeanor shifting as she steps into a more practical role. She approaches a young man waiting at a concealed door, her voice a melodic command as she instructs him to send a beautifully crafted invitation to her sister. The request is lighthearted yet tinged with an undercurrent of expectation; it must be lovely. In a sudden moment of realization, Anastasia glances down at her pristine white dress, now marred by the dark stains of blood. A playful smile breaks across her face, transforming her demeanor from one of seduction to innocent delight. Tilting her head slightly, she admires the patterns created by the blood, finding a peculiar beauty in the chaos. The juxtaposition of her earlier allure and this newfound childlike wonder encapsulates her complex nature—both alluring and innocent, dangerous yet captivating.

[little-lego-ninjas]

that there ain't no stoppin' your plans and those slow hands:

Hey guys! I decided to write that silly little idea I had for a lava one shot, and it came out really cute, so I decided to share it with you guys <3.

Dusting his hands off on his pants, Kai glanced back towards the water. It wasn't a bad day in the slightest, not with how gentle the waves looked and how the sunlight reflected on the water's surface. It was pretty and almost calming, if it wasn't for the annoyance steadily building up inside of him.

Now normally, he would feel pretty accomplished after stopping a petty criminal like one currently tied to a nearby palm tree, but after accidentally blowing up his bike's engine, his good mood had burnt to a crisp. Sure, he had apprehended the criminal, but now he was stuck on the beach, by an entire ocean of water, until the Bounty could come get him.

"... Maybe we could just walk back home?"

At least he wasn't alone though, so there were little victories. Kai crossed his arms, gesturing at the faint sight of Ninjago City on the horizon. "Hate to be a downer, Cole, but unless you wanna walk for the next six hours, we're not going anywhere."

Cole hummed, drumming his fingers on the handlebars of Kai's bike, little wisps of smoke escaping from the once-burning engine. Nya was gonna kill him for it, followed by Pixal and then maybe even Jay, but Kai could deal with that. Machines were never reliable anyway, even if they helped with coming and going.

Kai plopped down into the sand, resting his chin in his hand. "Sorry for getting us stuck."

"I don't mind," Cole said, his voice even and calm, like being stuck for a couple hours didn't bother him at all. Knowing Cole, it probably didn't.

Kai sighed, glaring out at the water as if it was to blame, already tired of being stuck and waiting to be rescued. It was almost embarrassing, a trained ninja blowing up his own ride. Kai groaned, hiding his face in his hands.

He tensed when he felt a hand card through his hair, relaxed when he recognized the touch, gentle yet so strong. "Cole," Kai mumbled, "what are you doing?"

Cole's hand left his hair, the earth ninja sitting down beside him. "You can't be that upset, right?"

Kai peeked at Cole again, then glanced away. "Maybe I am upset. I mean, we caught the guy, but we're stuck for the next couple hours because I shot a blast of fire at my own bike!"

"Well," Cole poked at Kai until the fire ninja looked up, if only to glare at him. "You could be stranded alone. You've got me."

Cole smiled, and Kai was pretty sure he should have jumped into the ocean when he had the chance because oh no. Kai had told himself countless times that he had no romantic feelings for anyone on his team, but dammit Cole had him in a way he had never felt before. There was just something about the other man that made Kai desperately want to spend way too much time with him.

Kai had a reputation, a persona even, that he was the cool sauve playboy, the one who always got what he wanted and then changed his mind about it later. Besides, the only one who even knew he was pan was Nya, and he sure wasn't about to confess his sexuality to Cole. Especially not if it meant jeopardizing their friendship.

Kai looked away, nodding but not meeting Cole's stupidly pretty eyes any longer. He had a crush, so what? He could get over it. It was no different than any other time he had feelings.

"Kai?"

He would get over Cole and be happy for the Master of Earth if he ever found a nice person to settle down with, he could be happy for Cole and get over his little tiny crush like the adult he was, he wouldn't ruin their friendship. He couldn't.

"Kai, hey?"

Kai looked back at Cole at the sharp sound of worry in his voice. "Yeah?"

Cole did look worried, his eyebrows pinched. "You okay? I mean, if you would rather be alone, I can go watch the guy-"

"No!" Kai snatched onto Cole's arm (why, why, why had Cole felt compelled to remove all the sleeves on his gi?). "I- um."

Kai let go, cheeks flaming. "You can… do what you wanna."

Cole sounded amused. "Are you nervous?"

Kai shot Cole a glare, which only made Cole laugh. "Why would I be nervous?"

Cole shrugged, stifling his laughter. "I mean, I'm a little nervous."

Kai knit his brows, watching Cole closely. He didn't appear to be nervous, but he was rather good at hiding his own feelings. It was something they had all gotten better at over the years and battles, which they probably shouldn't have ever started doing, but Kai sure didn't feel like airing out his traumas. He would rather shut up and talk about something else anyday.

Kai tilted his head, nudging Cole with his elbow. "What's got you nervous?"

Cole shrugged again, not quite meeting Kai's gaze. "Well, we are both just sitting here, on the beach, alone. Feels like a bad movie plot."

Kai's eyes went wide, then he glanced toward the palm tree where the criminal was futilely trying to free himself. "I mean, we do have a third-wheel."

Cole followed Kai's gaze, then snorted. "Yeah, we do."

Kai threaded his fingers together, cringing slightly at how sweaty his palms felt. "So… when you said it was a bad movie plot, was it a romantic movie?"

Cole got quiet suddenly, and Kai cursed himself for ever opening his mouth. Of course it wasn't a romance flick, what was he thinking? Cole didn't like him the way Kai did, he was being ridiculous and putting the very thing he wanted to protect in jeopardy.

Kai blinked away the frustrated tears building up in his eyes. "Never mind, it was totally an action movie. 'Cause- 'cause we're ninja."

"What if it was an action/romance movie?"

Kai snapped his head up, finding Cole looking at him with something like hope burning in his eyes. "I- what?"

Cole's cheeks flushed, and the earth ninja looked away, drawing his knees up to his chest. "Um. I mean, we're ninja, yeah, so action and stuff? But also there's- there's room for romance and hand-holding and- um."

Kai snickered and Cole scrunched up his nose. "I'm trying!"

Kai laughed outright then, falling against Cole's side from the force of his mirth. They both froze, eyes fleetingly meeting before Kai sat upright again, clearing his throat loudly. "Is this a bad time to come out?"

Kai didn't look at his teammate, didn't let him speak. "Because I'm pan. Like, pansexual."

There was a beat of silence, then Cole sighed. "I owe Jay money."

Kai jerked his head back at Cole. "Why. Do you owe Jay money?"

"I thought you were bi," Cole admitted sheepishly, half hiding his face against the crook of his arm.

Kai stared at Cole, unable to find what to say. The earth ninja filled in the brief silence. "I'm- uh. I'm not really sure what my sexuality is yet, but I mean. Guys. Mostly."

Kai bit down on his lip to keep his giggles in check. "Guys."

Cole nodded, his eyes meeting Kai's. "Like you."

Kai's brows shot up and he knew he was blushing something terrible. "I- me?"

Cole nodded again, his own cheeks pink again. "Yeah. You."

Kai swallowed. "Oh. I think you're- I like you, I guess, a little."

Cole snorted, elbowing Kai's side. "You guess, or you know?"

"Man, don't make me say it!"

Cole fell backwards laughing, grinning up at the sky. "You like me too, then?"

Kai huffed, flopping down beside Cole, tucking his hands under his head. "Yeah."

"Yeah."

They drifted into silence, the only sounds their breathing. Kai's heart was still pounding, a roaring sound playing in his ears from how excited he was. Cole said he liked him back, liked him. Kai pressed his lips together, rolling onto his side. "Hey, bro?"

Cole shifted, rolling onto his side to meet Kai's eyes, one of his brows arched. "Bro? Really?"

Kai kicked Cole's shin, ignoring Cole's idginant huff. "If we… you know, like each other. Can we, maybe, kiss?"

Cole blinked, surprised. "I don't see why not? But uh," Cole got shy, cheeks pink again, "I've never kissed anyone."

Kai stared, then snorted, scooching a little bit closer. "So I'm your first?"

Cole nodded. Kai grinned, stopping just before their bodies would be flush. "It isn't difficult, I'll lead."

Cole's lips quirked. "Sure."

Kai cupped Cole's cheek, rubbing his thumb across his cheekbone, smiling when Cole did. Slowly, Kai moved in, barely pressing his lips against Cole's, feather-light and more a brush of air than lips. He pulled away a little, close enough to easily move in and do it again. "Good?"

Cole looked a little lost, and a little miffed. Kai yelped when Cole flipped them, Kai suddenly laying atop Cole, the earth ninja beaming. "Better."

Kai flushed, swatting at Cole's head, cutting off his laughter with a kiss, a real one this time, full on lip-to-lip action. Kai tilted his head a little, moving his lips against Cole's, a mixture of first-time messiness and self-assured techniques. Cole hummed against him, arms tight around his back, holding him flush to Cole, which Kai wasn't about to complain about.

They pulled apart slowly, Kai resting his forehead against Cole's. "So… yeah."

Cole was grinning. "I liked that."

"Good, 'cause I did too. We are so doing that again."

Cole opened his mouth to reply, but clamped his lips shut when a shout sounded nearby.

"I mean, get it I guess!"

Kai shot a venomous glare at the criminal, who didn't look too upset at being tied to a tree anymore. With a sigh and an eye roll, Kai clampered off of Cole. "Sorry for him, I forgot he was there."

Cole nodded, his face painted crimson, sitting up. "Yeah, me too."

Kai stretched slightly, glancing around the beach for any sign of other people. "At least it wasn't the Bounty."

Cole groaned, hiding his face against his knees, making Kai laugh again. Crouching down beside the earth ninja, Kai ruffled his hair. "When did you get so shy?"

Cole shrugged, peeking up at Kai. "I've always been shy."

Kai arched a disbelieving brow, then shrugged. "I'm gonna go find a dorky shell for Lloyd." He walked a few steps, then glanced back over his shoulder. "Are you coming?"

Cole hurried to his feet, pinning the criminal with a glare. "If you move, I will magma punch you."

The man tied to the tree paled and made to nod, then froze instead. Kai snorted, reaching for one of Cole's hands, then paused mid-motion. That might be presumptuous to think they were already at hand-holding. Instead, Kai swung his hands, acting like that was his original plan the entire time.

"Aren't you being a little harsh?"

Cole gave Kai the most done expression he had ever seen from the black ninja. "No, I'm being stern."

Kai rolled his eyes, glancing down at the sand at his feet, skimming his gaze down the beach. "Yeah, sure."

Cole elbowed him and Kai yelped, snagging Cole's arm to keep from falling over. They blinked, meeting each other's eyes before Kai coughed and glanced away. He made to let go of Cole's bicep, but Cole held him in place. "If this is an action/romance movie, we probably should stroll down the beach."

Kai gawked, then burst into delighted cackles, tightening his hold on Cole's arm. Maybe being stuck on the beach wasn't all bad after all.

[blzzrdstryr]

Midnight chatter

Yandere Diluc x gn!knight!reader

Wordcount: 2385

CW: Yandere, drugging, kidnapping

This was a third week after his return and fifth day of the tireless fight with winery work, when Diluc received an unexpected guest. During his travels across the world, the winery business fell into disrepair and almost collapsed, so once he learnt the state of the wine industry he decided to settle in his office and try to battle the endless reports about necessary expenses and small profits all on his own.

He started to work with the first rays of sunlight well into the night, squeezing every bit of energy his body had, not only because financial issues could affect him personally, but also because of the night vigilante of Mondstadt title he took upon himself.Due to the increased workload he couldn’t find time to patrol the dark streets and alleys of the city, while experience and conscience didn’t allow him to thrust the safety of ordinary citizens into the hands of bumbling, cowardly and lazy knights.

The day soon turned into the late evening, and dawn winery workers started to go home, when someone knocked on his door. It was Adelinde.

Her steps were faster than usual, her stoic face shadowed by the note of concern. Diluc wanted to say that no, he won’t go and have a rest, but she spoke first.

“Master Diluc”, she stopped before his desk: “we have a guest, a knight”.

He lifted his head shifting the eyes from the report to the head maid and pondered - despite his long absence, a lot of people in the city had a general idea how much he dislikes the Favonius Order and so a rare knight would actually dare to bother him, unless… Unless, they were acting out an order from someone high-ranking, like Jean or Varka for example.

Apprehension that his former colleague somehow learned of his nightly escapades sent an unexpected wave of shivers and vague feeling of unease, but he didn’t let it get to him.

“Ask why this knight is here and if it’s something unofficial tell them to leave”, he ordered, at which Adelinde blinked, slowly and tiredly, as if she was looking for the strength to tell something incredibly upsetting or scary.

“The thing is, master Diluc, that I already let them in”.

“Without my permission?”, his eyes widened at that, and the heart started to pick up the pace. What if this knight was really sent here by Varka or Jean? If it was true, Adelinde, unknowingly set him up to fail.

She was looking after him from his earliest childhood, so she was allowed to do and say more than any other of his staff, yet this perceived audacity was unheard of before.

“They were badly injured and said that they needed to stop for the night and once it’s over they will travel to the city with the first sun rays. We helped them to patch up their injuries and offered a room for guests, yet they declined and remained to sit on sofa”, the maid explained absolutely unfazed, after noticing Diluc’s dissatisfaction and then added : “If you are that displeased, master Diluc, I can tell this tired and battered knight to get out from here into the dark night”.

Her voice remained even and emotionless as usual, but even like that young Ragnvindr could hear a light mocking in her words. And to think about it - he got so freaked out over some silly coincidence - the knight stopped here because of the injuries, not some insidious scheme.

“Alright”, Diluc admitted defeat: “they can stay… and offer them some food and tea”, he added just as Adelinde’s hand touched the doorknob.

“Will be done”, she replied before exiting the office. The corners of her mouth slightly moved and crept upwards.

***

Despite his earlier goal of finishing as much work as he can, Diluc couldn’t do anything. Small digits and letters started to float and dance before his eyes while the long lines fused together, when he tried to analyze the state of wine business in naught. But the worst thing was the fact that his thoughts strayed to the topic of mystery knight again and again and Diluc lost count how many times he caught himself thinking who this person is.

He sat like that for a while, until the cinnabar of dying sky got replaced by the darkness and pleasant chill of the night.

Diluc scolded himself for his uncharacteristic indecisiveness, standing up from the desk and locking the office, when this thought, loud and persisting, knocked into his head again. Wouldn’t it be nice, he wondered, to learn who this night is, and finally decided. After all the thoughts about them pestered him for a long time.

Quietly and carefully walking through the unlit corridor of the winery, he confirmed that all servants and workers had already left for sleep, some into the rooms of the main building designated for them, some into the cabins around it. All in all, he was confident that there’s no one except him, the knight, Adelinde and a couple of other maids.

His steps were quiet and slow and not even a single board in the wooden floor creaked under his weight as he knew the winery like the back of his hand. With a bated breath he made his way downstairs, making out vague shapes of the familiar objects. Moonlight pouring out through the windows illuminated only the silhouettes, but even with that he quickly noticed the unknown frame.

The person was half-sitting half-lying on the sofa, and their sword and armor were placed nearby the furniture, reflecting the pale light of the moon. They weren’t moving, seemingly asleep. Diluc couldn’t make out their face even after making a coming closer, so he decided to take the risk and summoned a small wisp of flame.

The dancing light illuminated everything in a small radius and what he saw made him jolt and take a step back. You were the mystery knight.

Why are you still a knight? Where were you? Who injured you?

Still shocked by the previous revelation, Diluc accidentally knocked over the breastplate with his foot and it fell on it’s side with a loud thump.

You woke up.

“What… Who?”, you stirred and half sat on the elbow: “Ah, it’s you” and saw him :”What are you doing here?”.

Caught red handed, Diluc didn’t find any words - it was so sudden and unusual to be caught unaware, and because of that doubly unpleasant.

“This is my winery and I am free to do whatever I want”, he decided to hide the awkwardness behind the faux annoyance.

“Easy, easy” you half smiled, half yawned: “I just managed to fall asleep”. You yawned again and blinked at him with sleepy tired eyes.

“I have sleep medicine if you want some”

You got surprised and touched by his sudden responsiveness: “Thank you, but I think painkillers would be better. My body is aching and that’s the main problem”.

Maybe because of the trembling, dancing light or maybe because of the recent sleep you imagined worry and pity twisting his facial features.

“I have it too. Wait here”, he quickly replied and vanished into the dim darkness of the winery, not giving you any time to answer, as you were left to sit and wait for him. Diluc, to your own surprise, happened to be extremely stealthy, able to move without producing a single sound.

“Here”, you first heard and then saw him,as Diluc used pyro vision to light the nearby candlestick and then opened the medicine vial he brought and handed it to you: “Drink it all”.

“Thank you”, you whispered to him, taking the painkiller before making a big gulp. The taste was horrible, so horrible in fact that you almost immediately started to violently cough. Well, if it’s as effective as foul, then I will be good as new in no time, you thought to yourself, suppressing the urge to throw up.

Diluc stood nearby and observed your reaction, his hand extended on his own when the coughing started as he awkwardly tried to pat your back in the gesture of comfort. “I will be here with you until you fall asleep”, he stated once the fit stopped and then, seeing your highly raised brows explained further: “Painkiller takes time to work. Tell me if you won’t feel better”.

You nodded in response, and closed eyes, listening to the sensations of your body. Your injuries still burned and screamed and throbbed, yet a strange numb sensation started to slowly surround you. Just like Diluc said, medicine would need time to fully settle in.

“If you're here can you talk with me?”, you decided to shorten the time in conversation: “Ijust wanted to talk with you. For a really long time”.

“About what?”, he allowed himself a shadow of the smile, Diluc that you used to know peeking through the gloomy facade, like a long awaited sun or it’s reflection on the tranquil mirror of the water surface. Next words stuck in your throat, bitter and acidic and totally unfit, and you had to force them out through your own hesitance to destroy this calm.

“What happened that day? The day before you left. I asked Jean and Kaeya and other knights who were present with you, yet no one said anything”, the water surface bubbled and the visage of that old, sunny Ragnvindr shattered into thousand pieces. The person before you adopted the same cold facade of annoyance and indifference.

“Why do you need to know it?”, he answered the question with another question and you sensed barely buried hurt and grief.

“You leaving hurt. A lot”

“That’s why you are still a knight?”, you quickly nodded at that.

A minute passed by and he still stood, without saying a single word, thinking what to do. On one hand, he didn;t want to open up, the story of his eighteenth birthday was incredibly painful and personal experience to be shared so freely, on the other hand he yearned for your understanding.

"Alright", he broke the silence:"Let's make a deal, you answer my questions and I'll tell you the whole story after. Deal?"

"Deal".

Diluc looked at you again, looked at the bruises and cuts, still peeking through the bandages and for a second his mind lit up with one thought alone: what disgusting bastard did that to you. He suppressed the rapidly rising rage, deciding to start from the most important.

"Is my leave the only reason why you decided to stay?" his heart picks up the pace again, he needs to know the answer.

"Basically yes, you knownI didn’t do it for my parents… I just.. That tragedy, I know it's not my place, but… I always wanted what happened to you. I asked this question to myself everyday and night, and I missed you terribly".

His breath hitched and he lowered his gaze. For some reason you always managed to fluster him with the words alone, even if it wasn't your intention.

"Your parents must be happy", h e changed the topic, stifling the heat in his heart.

"Yeah, they're ecstatic that I stopped being difficult and made their aspirations real. Hm, do you have any other questions?"

"What happened to you? ",he pointed at the bandages covering most of your body.

"Ah, catching treasure hoarders does that to you, usual stuff", you dismissed his concerns and Diluc started seeing red from the way your voice remained so calm and unbothered. Usual stuff? Usual stuff?!

"Grandmaster could send anyone else", he snapped:"Favonius Order has more than plenty of vision holders, they should've sent one, instead of you! You could die!".

Diluc’s sudden explosion left you speechless, but soon your own weaved words of irritation:"Ordo Favonius doesn't consist of Jean and Kaeya only. We can't let them handle all the hard and dangerous business all the time. Ordinary people like me can still help, even if the gods didn’t favour us. Don't think of me as some helpless idiot just because I have no shiny vision to show off"

Your heated response seemed to work and Diluc turned red from embarrassment, realizing how annoyed you got, despite the worry for your health and still present anger at the other knights for letting you get hurt. He also didn’t like how you looked at him, reprimanding and disappointed.

"Alright, sorry", he cleared his throat:"where were you before? I haven't seen you anywhere"

"City gates aren't the only thing that needs guarding. I was sent to the Liyue border, to make sure that no treasure gang crosses it. I think I will get sent there again, once I fully recover".

Diluc got angry at that too, yet this time he suppressed unpleasant feelings, already knowing how you will rebuke and reprimand him again. There's no convincing to be done, as you won't change your opinion. You left him no choice for what he was going to do.

"Alright, you answered all my questions", he said before changing topic again:"Did painkillers start working? I have another".

Being so engrossed in the conversation you forgot about the ache, yet once he mentioned it your body started to hurt with a renewed strength.

"Yes, I would like one", you decided and Diluc vanished in the unlit hall yet again.

"Here", he handed the small bottle to you already opened. The new substance was different, sweet and viscous. You managed to take two sips before your eyelids started to feel up with lead, and soon even lifting a hand seemed like a highly arduous task. Whatever the thing that Diluc gave you wasn't a painkiller.

"What…", you uttered, before your body relaxed and you fell asleep once again. Diluc bent over, looming over your unconscious form, as his hands carefully took the bottle away. He didn’t want it to somehow fall and injure you

This is a necessary measure, Diluc assured himself, before making a plan of actions. He would need to fake your disappearance and forge enough leads to direct investigation into the completely opposite direction, but now he needed to wake Adelinde up and ask her to prepare the room in the basement. He didn't want you to be uncomfortable in your new home.

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Worth the World

Spike x Reader

Words: 2459

Summary: On a particularly bad day, the reader can barely bring herself to get out of bed. Spike does his best to comfort his girlfriend without being overbearing. 

Notes: This is inspired by one of my favorite fics ever by @suckmysupernatural. I got this idea when having a depressive episode myself, so I hope you guys enjoy a little comfort fic with one of my favorite vamps. Plus, I’ve never written for Spike before and since I’m getting back into Buffy, I thought this would be the perfect time. (Also, this is entirely based on my own experience, so it might not be everyone’s experience with this kind of thing {but please be nice, I just used a few of the things I felt so it’s all based on my own emotions and insecurities!}) Enjoy!

Warnings: Depression, self-loathing, anxiety (This imagine was really just a way for me to put down my emotions and write something comforting, but I hope you all like it too)

-

You didn’t want to move. You weren’t really sure if you could. Your limbs just felt… heavy. Forcing your legs to move, you slowly swung them over the side of the bed, using all the strength you could muster to sit up straight. 

It wasn’t that something terrible had happened. In fact, the day before had gone pretty well. You’d spent most of it watching movies with Willow and Buffy and, when the sunset, you went on a long evening walk with your boyfriend. There were no deadly forces plotting world domination, no vengeful vamps after you or your friends. Hell, your favorite restaurant was open and you brought home leftovers for breakfast. 

Now, the idea of eating made your stomach turn. You managed to shuffle your way to the kitchen of your apartment, but just stood in front of the counter, leaning on the marble top for support. Just standing there felt like it took every ounce of energy you had. It was almost painful, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. You did your best to keep them from falling. You had places to be today, meeting up with the gang and  you didn’t want to worry them with your moping. 

With slow steps, you made your way back to your room to get dressed. Of course, most of your clothes were dirty and you didn’t care enough to wash them. So you threw a sweatshirt over your pajama top and put on some shoes, hoping no one would ask about it. You caught your reflection and felt that dark, empty feeling in your chest grow. Pathetic. Your shoulders sagged forward and you blinked away more tears as you watched them well in your eyes. You didn’t have the right to feel like this. How much had Buffy been through and she still greeted every day with a smile. Everything was perfect and yet you were pathetic enough to still want to crawl back into bed. You just hoped that you would feel better by the time you saw everyone. Especially Spike. 

-

You sat with your legs pulled up to your chest. Xander and Willow were debating whether or not using wooden bullets would be a good vamp killer. Buffy was listening in amusement and Giles just looked exasperated, distracting himself by putting books back in their proper place on the shelves. No one said anything about your pajamas. You actually felt kind of invisible, like no one even really knew you were there. It made the empty feeling that much worse. 

“What do you think, Y/N?” 

“Xander, don’t you think that’s a little insensitive?”

“What? It’s not like we’re planning on dusting her boyfriend. Even if he is annoying and evil and-”

“Xander.” Willow said sternly. When you looked up, everyone’s eyes were on you. 

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t really paying attention.” Your voice held little to no emotion. You were almost too exhausted to feel anything. You just felt hollow. 

“If I shot Spike with a wooden bullet do you think he would, you know,” Xander made a motion with his hands that was meant to simulate a vampire dying. “Just theoretically, of course.” 

Everyone was expecting a witty remark. You and Xander were close and teased each other often, especially about your relationship with Spike. Instead, you just shrugged, your eyes fixating on a spot on the table. 

“Maybe.” 

The group collectively exchanged a look of concern, but didn’t press anything. After all, what reason could there be for you to be upset? They knew that if something had happened with Spike, you would tell them and there weren’t any recent deaths to worry about, so they continued on with their playful conversations about breaking curses and some movie that they had watched recently. It felt like you were intruding- like an unwanted bystander that everyone wished would just disappear. While no one had said anything like that, the thoughts filled your head nonetheless. 

This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened, but you’d never told them. An episode like this hadn’t happened in months so you had hoped they had stopped. Some days you were as happy as you ever had been, but others you felt like a burden. Worthless and pathetic- pitying yourself for no reason at all. 

Spike didn’t even know, even after almost a year of dating. You never dreamed of telling him. Spike was always saying that you were the strong one. You were the one that helped him through every day of his endless living. He got his soul for you. What would he say if he saw you like this? If he knew the doubts and loathing going through your head. He would know that you’re weak and vulnerable and you didn’t want that to happen. 

So you didn’t tell them. You kept all of your thoughts inside of you as they ate away at your mind. On the outside, you just looked tired. Everyone knew that you stayed awake into the late hours because of Spike, so you hoped that’s what they would think. You were tired, but it wasn’t from lack of sleep. It was like your body just wanted to give up. Maybe if you could just wake yourself up, everything would go back to normal. 

Buffy and Willow went out for coffee, so you went with them, hoping the caffeine would be enough to shake you out of this. Instead, it just made you more jumpy and anxious. The cup shook in your hand, but you kept drinking, still hoping that it would give you enough energy to fake it. This, like your out-of-it demeanor, did not go unnoticed. 

“Hey, are you feeling okay?” Buffy asked, suddenly stopping her conversation with Willow about shoes. At first, you didn’t realize she was talking to you. You were so focused on the thoughts swarming around in your head, you hadn’t noticed they were both looking at you with concern. 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Because you’ve been spacing out all morning. What’s going on?” 

“I guess I’m just tired.” You shrugged, grimacing from the effort the small movement took. 

“Are you sure? Did Spike do something stupid, because you know I’ll-”

“Really, Buffy, I’m okay. I think I just need to go home and rest for a while.” You finished the rest of the coffee, feeling your heart beat faster as the anxiety built up in your chest. “I’ll see you guys later, okay?” 

“Okay.” Buffy gave you a skeptical glance and Willow smiled sincerely.

“Feel better, Y/N.” 

“I’ll see you guys later.” You faked the best smile you could before turning away from them. 

“Is she going to be okay?” Willow wondered, watching the way you nervously messed with the hem of your shirt as you walked. Buffy narrowed her eyes and grabbed her bag. 

“I don’t know, but if she won’t talk to us about it, there’s one person she will.” 

“Oh do we have to go there? You know that place gives me the creeps.” Willow whined. Buffy just gave her a look and the two trekked off in search of your sun-hating boyfriend. 

-

You stood in the middle of your living room as the tears slowly started to pour down your cheeks. The coffee must have given you enough energy to cry and now you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t speak, you couldn’t move, you just stood, frozen by the overwhelming emptiness inside you. Pathetic. Useless. Worthless. Everything was swirling around your head, breaking you down further until you had to lean against the window sill to stay standing. 

You could faintly hear something outside your door, but you made no motion to open it. It sounded far away, or maybe you were just blocking it out. All you could hear was your heart pounding, along with the hundreds of doubts rattling in your head. It was until the door burst open that you flinched. 

“First, the slayer comes banging on my crypt, telling me that something’s wrong and then you leave me to break down your door- if I could die, you would have scared me to death. Why didn’t you open the door?” Spike huffed in frustration. You didn’t turn around. Frankly, you hardly noticed he was there. His irritation quickly faded, replaced by worry. “Y/N, love, what is it?” 

You still didn’t respond, keeping your back turned with your hands clinging to the window sill to keep from falling. Spike approached you slowly and you thought you heard his footsteps, but part of you thought you were just imagining him. Why would he come for you? It was the middle of the day and the sun was high in the sky. A rush of guilt washed over you. He came here despite the danger of being burned and you didn’t even have a reason. You’d put him at risk for your own pitiful problems. 

“Darling, why won’t you look at me?” He took another step towards you, but stopped. The sun’s rays created a shield around you, preventing him from pulling you into his arms. “If you could just lower the blinds, that would make this far less awkward.” 

“You d-didn’t need to come here. T-the sun.” You stammered. You wanted to reach for the curtains, but you still couldn’t move your arms without your legs giving out. 

“A little sunlight isn’t going to stop from me from getting to you,” he said sincerely. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him rush to the window, the sound of his skin sizzling in the light made you let go of the ledge. Your legs buckled just as he got the curtains closed. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” You had hurt him. All you had to do was reach up and shut out the sunlight and you couldn’t even do that. He burned himself just to reach you. 

“It’s alright. I’ve got you. It’s alright.” He held you up for a moment before sinking to the floor to hold you in his lap. “I’ve got you love, I’ve got you.” 

“Y-you shouldn’t be here, Spike. I’m not-” You hid your face from his view so he would see the tears. “I’m not worth all of this. There’s something wrong with me. One minute I’m fine and the next I’m like this and I don’t even know why. I don’t have a reason to feel like this. It’s like I’m… broken or something.” 

“You aren’t broken.” Spike said softly, tucking your head under his chin and gently rocking you back and forth. “You’re human.” 

He held you like that for a long while, not saying anything or even moving off of the floor. He didn’t make you look at him until he was sure you had relaxed enough. Putting a finger under your chin, he gently lifted your face to meet his. 

“I’m sorry about all this.” You sniffed, using your sleeve to wipe some of the dampness off your cheeks. 

“I don’t want to hear those worse from you for the rest of the day.” Spike gave you a small smile and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I would trek across deserts wrapped in a blanket if it meant being here with you. Every second is worth it.” Now, he lowered his lips down to yours for a slow, sweet kiss. When he pulled back, his eyes were shining with the soul of a man in love. “To me, love, you’re worth the world.” 

You stared into his eyes and knew that he meant every single word. While it didn’t chase away your doubts or the empty feeling in your chest, it helped you see that this feeling would end. And for now, that was enough. 

“I love you.” You whispered, pulling him closer. He kissed the top of your head. 

“I love you too, darling.” He hooked his arm under your knees and stood, holding you against his chest. “Now, why don’t I get you something to eat and we can spend the day in bed?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “I’ll behave, I promise.”

“Spike.” You laughed lightly. 

“There,” He beamed, “I knew I could get a smile.” 

He carried you into your room and placed you on your usual side of the bed, laying your fluffiest blanket over top of you. Then he vanished into your kitchen, the sound of your cupboards opening and shutting reminding you that he had no idea where anything was. It almost made you smile. He came back in with a bowl of your favorite cereal, a class of milk, and a thin leather bound journal. 

“What’s that?” You wondered as he climbed into the bed beside you. He handed you the cereal and milk and put his arm around you, pulling you close. 

“Eat your cereal.” He ordered teasingly, opening up to the first page. You tried to look over his shoulder, but he pulled the book away, laughing. “Do you want me to read or not?” 

“What is it?” Your curiosity made your tone amused and playful. You were starting to sound like you again. 

“Well, ever since I got this pesky soul back, I’ve had an unbearable amount of feelings running about in my head, so I figured I could at least put them to good use.” 

“Spike, are they…?” You perked up with excitement. He smiled sheepishly. 

“Poems.” He looked down at seemingly endless pages of his writings and back at you. “They’re mostly about you, of course. I thought, maybe, you’d like to hear them. See if they’d make you feel a little better.” You were almost too awestruck to nod. 

“I’d really like that.” 

With your cereal in hand, you curled up beside him, laying your head back against his shoulder. He read softly and slowly, his gentleness with his words almost lulling you to sleep. The poems were beautiful, forcing you to stay awake if only to hear one more word. Spike felt you relaxed against him as he read and paused his reading to kiss your forehead, then your cheek, and lastly your lips. 

You felt the emptiness for a few more days, but each day, he was by your side, making sure you ate and gave yourself time to breathe. By the time you started to feel normal again, he’d read most of his poems and continued to write more and you were able to go for your evening walks without feeling exhausted. Your friends were more than supportive and helped you through it all while still giving you the space you needed. 

It wasn’t the last time an episode like this happened, but now you always knew that, no matter what, you’d never be alone.

-

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination;  @mylovegoesto; @yellowbadgergirl; @itmejado; @suckmyapplejacks; @kendahl0216

[angsty-omi]

arms tonite

fuckboy!atsumu miya x fem!reader

genre: angst, unrequited love,

cw: suggestive content, swearing, heartbreak

word count: 1.5 k

Different girl every night and no repeats; that was the rule of law Atsumu Miya lived by. Whether it was Asians, Whites, or Black girls he didn’t discriminate. If they had a beating heart and a pussy then he was set. Hearing about these conquests as his best friend, really made you think ‘wow who’s the poor that let Atsumu put his dick in that night?’ And as you would find it, soon enough it’d be you.

Media portrayal of college students, especially in movies, falsely portrayed college students and gave unrealistic ideas of how they live. These media outlets give impractical ideas of what college students are- intense party seekers, people who have all the time in the world, or just lazy nonworking students who revolve everything around their social lives. This was, by all means not true.

You, and many other diligent college students, can attest to this. The heavy number of finals and research papers due would soon drown you in your sleep. To prevent you from feeling overwhelmed, you always went to him. The one person who could talk your ear off, which though annoying, kept your mind off things, Miya Atsumu. See, Atsumu had the ultimate college experience. The ones that occurred on screen, the ‘intense party seeking’ events where somehow your invite was always lost in the mail. Every Wednesday, you’d always fit him into your schedule for brunch, which mostly consisted of him talking about the ‘new freshman babes’ at the Inarizaki Frat House, and you lived vicariously through him, not because you were envious of his lifestyle, rather, you were just interested in what could’ve been. 

“Did you get that Y/N?” Your thoughts were interrupted.

“U-uh, yeah! Of course, I did.” You tried playing it off, but Atsumu could see right through you. He knew all your mannerisms, for example, when you bite your lip, it’s a sign that you’re prepared for a big change or if you handball your T-Shirt, you’re feeling insecure. He could tell you had something weighing in on you, but he decided to ignore your blatant lie and wait for you to tell him.

“So, are you gonna tell how you’ve been doin’?” He lightly asked. 

“Yeah, uh life has been hard for me… I guess. It’s just that- with all these finals I am feeling so overwhelmed,” you buried your face in your hands to attempt forgetting about school. Knowing Atsumu, he would just drown out your sorrow, or so you thought. You continued, “I can’t eat, sleep, or you know-,” not even acknowledging the fact you just referred about your inability to get off. Atsumu became was suspiciously quiet. 

“What,” you furrowed your eyebrows. “Nothing, Nothing,” he shook his head, chuckling.

 “No, seriously what’s so funny?”

“You really want to know?”

“Yes.”

“Ya’ reeeaaaallly want to know?”

“I said yes already, just spit it out,” you irritated with anticipation. 

“I could help your little issue down there,” Atsumu grinned. Studying? When has Atsumu Miya ever wanted to study with you? The only reason he got into this school was because  he was a D1 athlete. Unless, he turned a new leaf and he chose a path where you don’t slap a ball back and forth because quite frankly you thought that it was risky caree- Oh. That little issue. “You’ve got to be kidding, I would never,” you felt offended. It wasn’t that he was ugly, it was quite the opposite. He had a charming personality, while also being built like a Greek God, and with a face like that it’s no wonder these girls fall for him. However, you felt too prideful to sleep with him. Sure, you may have some underlying feelings for him that you shut down deep inside, but you didn’t want to be treated like a human toy. So, that thought was always out of the question.  

“Never say n-” He was interrupted with his corny ringtone.

“Hello?... Yeah, I’m free, right now… Alright, see you then.” 

Atsumu always did this, it was like clockwork. He’d bail on you when you clearly were in distress and he could not even prioritize time to listen. He even, left you with the check. Sure, he’d Venmo you afterwards, but it still hurt nonetheless. On the walk back to your dorm, your thoughts were full of cursing Atsumu out for always bailing on you. Holding it in for so long only lasted you so much before you exploded. 

That night, Atsumu came over, not even expecting your wrath. 

An hour in, and he still couldn’t understand your argument. “Atsumu, if you could just.. I don’t know- not bail on me? Cause you know, it’s common courtesy!” You exclaimed. 

“Dude, it was literally just a few times, I don’t know why you’re getting so upset?”

“Upset? Upset? Upset is an understatement. How would you feel if I dropped you for some dick?”

“Like that would ever happen. C’mon, Y/N, you’re acting like my girlfriend and I’m uncomfortable.” He blurted, frustrated that this argument has lasted almost two hours. He just rejected you, and you didn’t even get the chance to even address those feelings. 

“Get out.”

“You know I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I don’t care, get out.” You wiped a treacherous tear from your eye. You opened the door, and gestured him to leave. But, he just stood there. Moving over to him in tears, you tried to push him out. Your measly arms were incomparable to his toned abs that he’s built since high school. He grasped your arms, and for a moment you could feel his padded thumb, wiping your cheek. Your faces were only a few inches away. This was your chance to get a taste of him, before he turned into a stranger. You leaned in his lips.

The lack of return made your heart drop. You let go and rambled with apologies,“I-I’m so sorry. Look, I-” He shut you up with another kiss, more passionate than yours. “I told ya’ I could fix that little issue of yours.”

The morning after, you woke up with your body aching in pain. Drool all over your chin, and in disgust, you wiped your mouth and skimmed your calendar. ‘The biomedical final isn’t at 10, it’s at 8-’ whispering to yourself. Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach. Then, you slowly gazed at your alarm clock, ‘7:57 AM’ it read. 

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” you screamed to yourself. Without thinking, you dashed out the door and sped to the testing center. At the entrance, your professor met eyes with you. “Testing entry is closed, I thought you were better than this, Y/N.” Scolding you up and down. I only missed the final by a couple of minutes, why is she shunning me? You thought. But before you could continue, you looked down. There you were, love marks all over, in your panties and an oversized T-shirt to top it off. 

You rushed into your dorm, to find the vampire who did this to you. The universe was seemingly against you once more, because on your way over to your bedroom, you slipped on a textbook. How ironic. The loud slam woke him up, making him sit upright. “Oh my God Y/N are you okay?” He said with a concerned look on his face.

“Why the fuck are you still in my bed?” 

“Well if you wanna know the details-” He smirked, “No no no, I’m okay,” you interrupted him. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to understand what went on. 

You felt blood drip on your upper lip. Both of you just stared in shock. Immediately, he swiped you up, bridal style, and plopped you onto the sink. He stood in between your legs, soaking your nose with numerous amounts of toilet paper. There was a comfortable silence in the air. You know, Atsumu was quite beautiful with his mouth closed. The way the sunlight accentuated his sharp features, with his eyes reflecting a shade of light hazel. In an impulse, you pecked his lips and to your surprise, he reciprocated. 

It’s been a month since you’ve been hooking up and it’s become your new normal. As a small treat, you wanted to do surprise.

Prior to this dynamic, as best friends you always had a spare key, which his twin brother made sure of because Atsumu was forgetful. As tacky as it was, you were wearing a trench coat, that covered your bright red two-piece lingerie underneath. Silently twisting the knob, you walked into to his bedroom. The apartment was still clean, signaling that he wasn’t home. In which, gave you enough time to position yourself on his bed. After many awkward attempts of seductive positions, you chose the cross-over leg at the edge of his bed, which accentuated your hips. 

You heard his front door open, and his loud voice gave you the signal. You felt relaxed, but it wasn’t until you heard another voice. High-pitched and fruity, it was one of those voices you could tell it’d belong to a pretty girl. You panicked, and mentally scolded yourself for pushing Atsumu to go with a minimalist aesthetic for his bedroom, which left nowhere to hide for you. The knob was opened slightly, where only he could see you. Eye contact was made, and he immediately slammed the door shut. 

There was a muffled, “Hey! uh- my room is kind of dirty right now. Let’s go over to yours.” And after, hearing the front door shut, you assumed she complied. In awe, you mentally kicked yourself over and over again. You took off your attire immediately walking into your bedroom, it burned your skin with insecurities and embarrassment. So much for putting yourself out there. Although, what hurt the most was the way his eyes were full of disgust when he saw you.

That night, he knocked at your door. You opened it, thinking it was your food.

Your heart was beating rapidly, because just an hour ago you made a whole scheme of routes to take without seeing him. You coyly responded with, “you’re not my DoorDash,” and tried to close the door. But he blocked it.

“We need to talk,” he said in the most serious tone you’ve personally ever heard from him. How could those words scare you when you’re not in a relationship.

“What was that shit you pulled earlier?” He irritated. You felt so small under his gaze.

“I thought it would’ve been nice,” you mumbled. “Nice? That girl was the president of one of the most notorious sororities. She could’ve seen you.” He yelled, continuously blaming you. The way he viewed her, would never be the way he saw you. You were just a friend who needed a favor, not someone he actually wanted to pursue.

“You know what? Fine, my fault. Sorry that I ruined it, sorry that I showed up, sorry that I even planned it, sorry I ever thought that you saw me more than just a skank, sorry I even called you over that night, and finally, sorry for ever loving-” it just slipped out. His eyes widened, “Finish that sentence, Y/N. If I knew-”

“Knew what? Knew that I loved you, you wouldn’t have gotten involved? Yeah, well it’s too late. You know what? Just get out. I never want to see you again, Miya,” you sobbed, tears flowing down your face freely. Pounding your fists against his chest. His immobility gave you a small sliver of hope.

“I’m not ready, Y/N. I can’t give you what you want.” Conflicted, unbeknownst whether he was talking to you or himself. “But we can still be friends.”

That sentence was the nail in the coffin.

“It hurts to even look at you Atsumu.” Your voice cold. For someone that could read you so well, why did he think that would save your relationship? “I’ll.. be on my way then.” He slowly got up, and turned the knob. Selfishly enough, he made one more glance at you. He embraced this last glance. Did you know you were beautiful? Even with snot, running down your nose. Of course, you didn’t look back, you were too focused on biting your lips.

Atsumu’s face went pale. He knew what sign that meant. And the change was him. You were really set on ghosting him. With the door closed and Atsumu leaning on it, he couldn’t help to question why that made a pang in his heart.

[theartofdreaming1]

Katniss, Peeta, and Haymitch are slowly becoming a proper team! No more secrets! (for the most part)

As usual, my thoughts regarding this week’s prompts and (many) random thoughts on chapters 4-6 are below the cut.

heart

Losing that comfort of sleeping in each other’s arms after the Victory Tour must have been hard for Katniss and Peeta! Up until Katniss hurts her ankle, they probably didn’t really do much about it, just trying to make it through on their own... After she hurt her ankle and Peeta’s spending more time over at her place, I can easily imagine him staying over, at least until she’s fallen asleep, which might help a little... Since they are living only three houses apart from each other, I like to imagine that they can see each other’s bedroom windows from their bedroom (how else would Katniss know that Peeta sleeps with the windows open? I can’t really imagine that they would be able to open the windows of the train they were on - y’know, for “safety reasons” (i.e. making sure nobody can escape)); maybe they’d both light a candle and put it by their window, as a signal they are going to sleep... It’s not the same, but it helps a little 

mind

I mean, aside from the systemic rigging of the reaping system (i.e. poorer people generally having more entries, so they can have some food), I can easily imagine there being a manipulation of the “odds” when someone becomes too vocal or troublesome for the local authorities, such as someone trying to unionize a district’s workforce, for example

soul

In the districts, their impact has to be big - their win alone was a huge defiance of the Games as they used to be... sticking together and sticking up for each other ultimately led to them defeating the Capitol’s rules! In-between the Games and the Victory Tour I don’t think there was much noteworthy going on (although maybe the fact that, so far, none of the new victors’ loved ones had been hurt - Prim, Mrs. E., but also Gale and his family would be visible during the celebrations, I’m sure, same probably goes for the Mellark’s - might tell the people in the district that Snow and his cronies were aware of the attention any assassination attempt would gather and that this, in turn, might actually could become the last straw that would spark a revolution. In a way, that was proof that the people on top were at least a little afraid of what the people in the districts would do...) And then, especially during the visit of D11, with Katniss expressing her thanks and Peeta reaching out to share their winnings with the people from D11, another district than their own - it must have provided a lot of inspiration, I’m sure. 

As for the Capitolites, maybe some of them would notice for once how unhappy/riled up the people in some of the districts were... or at least stop to think about how this time, a show of love and companionship actually provided more “entertainment” and intrigue than the brutal gore and bloodshed from previous Games (also, longer lasting - there is actually much more “story” to be had from the star-crossed lovers from D12 than from any individual winner of previous Games, if you think about it... Their “love story” is still on-going, with an upcoming wedding and the promise of a family... it’s still creepy and voyeuristic as hell, though)

Chapter 4

Everything he [Haymitch] said was true about the Capitol’s expectations, my future with Peeta, even his last comment. Of course, I could do a lot worse than Peeta. That isn’t really the point, though, is it? One of the few freedoms we have in District 12 is the right to marry who we want or not marry at all. And now even that has been taken away from me. - God, this sucks so much! As Katniss rightly points out, her misery isn’t about Peeta at all - it’s about her (and also his, just pointing that out) agency being taken away! She’s being stripped even of that little sliver of agency that inhabitants of D12 usually have (choice of whom to marry, or whether to marry at all)

I wonder if President Snow will insist we have children. - Eugh, just the idea of Snow being the one to have the last word on that subject... 🤢 The invasion of privacy here... - The only person who should get to decide whether Katniss should have children or not is Katniss herself! Period!

My mind searches frantically for a way out. I can’t let President Snow condemn me to this. Even if it means taking my own life. Before that, though, I’d try to run away. - Boy, Katniss is even contemplating taking her own life, rather than to submit to the life the Capitol wants to force on her; it’s not her first choice (she’d rather run away), but it shows the desperation she’s feeling

Could I even manage to take everyone I love with me, start a new life deep in the wild? Highly unlikely but not impossible. - Later we will see that Peeta and Haymitch also belong into the category of “people Katniss loves” 😊(as well as her family, Gale, and his fam, of course)

“And Peeta’s team is probably still asleep.” “Doesn’t he need prepping?” I ask. “Not the way you do,” Effie replies. What does this mean? It means I get to spend the morning having the hair ripped off my body while Peeta sleeps in. I hadn’t thought about it much, but in the arena at least some of the boys got to keep their body hair whereas none of the girls did. - Gotta love that everlasting sexism that, even far into the future, still won’t allow women to have frickin’ body hair (y’know, like most humans do 🙄)

I can remember Peeta’s now, as I bathed him by the stream. Very blond in the sunlight, once the mud and blood had been washed away. Only his face remained completely smooth. Not one of the boys grew a beard, and many were old enough to. I wonder what they did to them. - Katniss seems to have committed every single detail about Peeta to her memory, including how his body hair looked when she cleaned him in the last Games... okay 👀😏 On a more somber note, what is it that the Capitol is doing to these poor kids?! The boys couldn’t grow beards and - I’m assuming - the girls wouldn’t get their periods while in the arena (since the Games can last for weeks, it would be a huge disadvantage if any of the girls also had to content with cramps + periods  - aside from worrying about getting murdered, I mean); it’s such a violation of one’s autonomy over one’s own body, yikes

Flavius tilts up my chin and sighs. “It’s a shame Cinna said no alterations on you.” “Yes, we could really make you something special,” says Octavia. “When she’s older,” says Venia almost grimly. “Then he’ll have to let us.” - Eeek, no thanks!😦 And frankly, it really shouldn’t be Cinna’s call to make but, y’know, Katniss’s!!! I don’t know, I get real panick-y just reading this exchange (I have never even gotten my ears pierced - my mom wouldn’t let them be pierced until I could make my own decision on that subject matter and as someone with skin issues and bad experiences with needles, I really don’t feel the need to have any unnecessary metal inserted into my body, so... I’m good)

His [Peeta’s] apology takes me by surprise. It’s true that Peeta froze me out after I confessed that my love for him during the Game was something of an act. But I don’t hold it against him. [...] “I’m sorry, too,” I say. [...] “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. You were keeping us alive.” - That apology of Peeta’s... *chef’s kiss*; it was totally understandable that Peeta was upset and needed some time apart from Katniss after her confession, which had caught him completely by surprise, not even Katniss blames him for that... But his apology shows that he really made use of their time apart to work out his emotions and to reflect on both their situations - that’s some emotional maturity to be envious of! Plus, his apology is a good move to get their communication channel opened up again

It would be nice if he’d come to me with this earlier, before I knew that President Snow had other plans and just being friends was not an option for us anymore. But either way, I’m glad we’re speaking again. - Come on, Katniss, cut this boy some slack! He can’t read minds - how is he supposed to know about these things if you don’t tell him anything? It’s nice that you’re glad that you guys are on speaking terms again, but communication isn’t a one-way street, y’know?

I remember the tiger lily cookie and, now that Peeta is talking to me again, it’s all I can do not to recount the whole story about President Snow. But I know Haymitch wouldn’t want me to. I’d better stick to small talk. - Katniss really should have listened to her instincts here - Haymitch might have a better idea of how the Games/Capitol works, but he knows little about teamwork, which is an important factor in their specific (and unprecedented!) situation; I’m not blaming Katniss for relying on her mentor here, but this entire approach is going to crash and burn in the next chapter

It’s good to feel his fingers entwined with mine again, not for show but in actual friendship. We walk back to the train hand in hand. - Not to say that you can’t have friendships where you frequently hold hands - you totally can - but it is noteworthy that I don’t think I can recall Katniss holding hands with any of her other friends... (somehow, I can’t really picture Katniss holding hands with Gale casually like that... nor with Madge or Finnick later on) 

At the door, I remember, “I’ve got to apologize to Effie first.” “Don’t be afraid to lay it on thick,” Peeta tells me.- There is something about this exchange that speaks to me... maybe because it reads like some sort of an inside joke between them? Or because it shows that, despite being on good terms with Effie, Peeta’s totally aware of how high-maintenance/over the top Effie is... I dunno ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Peeta has painted the Games. Some you wouldn’t get right away, if you hadn’t been with him in the arena yourself. Water dripping through the cracks in our cave. The dry pond bed. [...] Others any viewer would recognize. The golden horn called the Cornucopia. [...] And me. I am everywhere. [...] “What do you think?” he asks. “I hate them,” I say. I can almost smell the blood, the dirt, the unnatural breath of the mutt. - These are the pieces Peeta meant to exhibit in the Capitol, right? I wonder if he hoped that these paintings of his impressions/memories of the Games might actually connect with some Capitolites and might even move them to feel some empathy for the Tributes? Maybe he hoped that they would be more receptive for that kind of thing if he packaged it in art?

“All I do is go around trying to forget the arena and you’ve brought it back to life. How do you remember these things so exactly?” “I see them every night,” he says. [...] “Me too. Does it help? To paint them out?” “I don’t know. I think I’m a little less afraid of going to sleep at night, or I tell myself I am,” he says. “But they haven’t gone anywhere.” - I do wonder, whether and how painting out these moments could have therapeutic value for Peeta - on the one hand, the act of painting out specific intrusions/flashbacks might be helpful because he’d end up focusing on the more technical side of painting, y’know? Focussing on mixing the right shade of a certain color might help create some emotional distance from the moment itself... also, since painting usually takes some time, Peeta would actually spend a considerable amount of time facing these moments head on, rather than trying to avoid them (avoidance tends to increase the frequency of flashback/intrusions) and maybe spending so much time on them could also help him contextualize them within the broader narrative of his life, which is the basic principle behind Narrative Exposure Therapy, which is said to be pretty effective at treating PTSD... just my two cents

I can’t believe the size of District 11. “How many people do you think live here?” Peeta asks. I shake my head. In school they refer to it as a large district, that’s all. No actual figures on the population. - Perfect example of how tightly the Capitol controls the information the people in the districts have about the other districts... which is basically nothing. Let’s keep them in the dark so they are less likely to connect with each other and band together...

Cinna comes in with a pretty orange frock patterned with autumn leaves. I think how much Peeta will like the color. - Lol, Katniss bringing everything back to Peeta because she definitely hasn’t a crush on the guy, I see 😉

And then he [Peeta] hesitates before adding something that wasn’t written on the card. Maybe because he thought Effie might make him remove it. “It can in no way replace your losses, but as a token of our thanks we’d like for each of the tributes’ families from District Eleven to receive one month of our winnings every year for the duration of our lives.” - Peeta, the rebel! Talk about an act of radical kindness! I’m so proud of him. But also, I think this is another excellent example of how he and Katniss are on the same wavelength (this took me some time to find, but here you go): I silently say good-bye to Thresh and thank him for my life. I promise to remember him and, if I can, do something to help his family and Rue’s, if I win. (Ch. 23, THG)

I look at Peeta and he gives me a sad smile. I hear Haymitch’s voice. “You could do a lot worse.” At this moment, it’s impossible to imagine how I could do any better. The gift... it is perfect. So when I rise up on tiptoe to kiss him, it doesn’t seem forced at all. - Peeta: does anything that exemplifies his sense of morality; Katniss: *swoons* - but honestly, it is so beautiful how Katniss is so attracted to Peeta’s goodness and kind heart - it also tells us a lot about her (she is quite pure, as Peeta will point out later in this book) and what she values

“Wait, please.” I don’t know how to start, but once I do, the words rush from my lips as if they’ve been forming in the back of my mind for a long time. - And then Katniss launches into one of her spontaneous, heart-felt, and inspiring speeches/acts, expressing her thanks, sympathy, and a sense of kinship with people beyond the borders of her district, beyond the superficial barriers the Capitol has been trying to maintain in order to weaken the ‘common folk‘ and keep the exploitation going

The full impact of what I’ve done hits me. It was not intentional - I only meant to express my thanks - but I have elicited something dangerous. An act of dissent from the people of District 11. - Again, Katniss has done something that will solidify her as a symbol of the revolution without intending to do so and that’s the point, I think - she inspires people through her genuine displays of caring for others (which, in Panem, is already rebellious on its own)

Chapter 5

“We’re going!” says Peeta, shoving the Peacekeeper who’s pressing on me. “We get it, all right? Come on, Katniss.” His arm encircles me and guides me back into the Justice Building. - Protective Peeta! Also, I think it’s interesting to note the wording of Peeta’s arms “encircling” Katniss and then “guiding” her - his arms surround her, and he’s leading her away from harm (at least to the extent that is in his power - can’t really be safe from harm in Panem, can you?), but it doesn’t seem smothering or oppressive  to Katniss in any way -”guide” has more of a connotation of giving direction without force, imo; in contrast, when Katniss talked about her kiss with Gale she mentions she’d never imagined how those hands [...] could as easily entrap me. (Ch. 2, CF); granted, these are two very different situations - the phrasing just stood out to me

“What happened?” Effie hurries over. “We lost the feed just after Katniss’s beautiful speech, and then Haymitch said he thought he heard gun fire, and I said it was ridiculous, but who knows? There are lunatics everywhere!” - Very telling how a clueless Capitolite like Effie wouldn’t register the rebellious aspect of Katniss’s speech; by keeping the Capitolites in the depths of sweet, sweet ignorance while simultaneously harshly trying to curb any spark of rebellion by cutting off the feed, the government is actually drawing the attention of the ignorant Capitolites to the act of rebellion itself (and also letting the people in the districts know that there was something censor-worthy going on); kind of shooting themselves in the foot here

As far as I know, Haymitch has only been here once, when he was on his Victory Tour decades ago. But he must have a remarkable memory or reliable instincts, because he leads us up through a maze of twisting staricases and increasingly narrow halls. [...] Eventually we climb a ladder to a trapdoor. When Haymitch pushes it aside, we find ourselves in the dome of the Justice Building. - I wonder how Haymitch has come to know this part of the Justice Building? Has he been to District 11 more often than Katniss supposes (he is friends with Chaff, after all), did his mentor take him there for some private conversation, or was there a moment during Haymitch’s Victory Tour where he felt so overwhelmed by feelings of guilt and powerlessness that he fled to the most desolate, solitary place he could find?

“I was supposed to fix things on this tour. [...] Calm things down. But obviously, all I’ve done today is get three people killed, and now everyone in the square will be punished.” I feel so sick that I have to sit down on a couch, despite the exposed springs and stuffing. - Obviously, all of this is awful and no one - especially a traumatized, 16-year old girl - should have to suffer carrying such a burden... But also, here we see one of the downsides of Katniss taking sole responsibility for everything - she totally forgot that Peeta might feel responsible too, only that he didn’t even know what’s at stake - which leads us to-

“Then I made things worse, too. By giving the money,” says Peeta. Suddenly he strikes out at a lamp that sits precariously on a crate and knocks it across the room, where it shatters against the floor. “This has to stop. Right now. This - this - game you two play, where you tell each other secrets but keep them from me like I’m too inconsequential or stupid or weak to handle them.”"It's not like that, Peeta-" I begin. "It's exactly like that!" he yells at me. - When kind, gentle Peeta’s mad, you know shit has hit the fan 😳 But also, being passed over/kept out of the loop seems to hit pretty close to home for Peeta (while I would like to know what his home life looked like before the Games, I have to admit that at this point, I’m somewhat afraid I might not be able to handle the truth...). I just think this scene is an important moment that leads to an end of (most of) their detrimental secrecy (hello end-of-CF-Haymitch!) and establishes their little team as such (hence the drawing)

“You’re always so reliably good, Peeta,” says Haymitch. “So smart about how you present yourself before the cameras. I didn’t want to disrupt that.” “Well, you overestimated me. Because I really screwed up today.” - Remember the last time someone overestimated Peeta (Foxface and the berries)? That ended in someone’s death as well... And, Haymitch? ‘Never assume’ applies to you, too!

“Do you think I gave them [Rue’s and Thresh’s families] a bright future? Because I think they’ll be lucky if they survive the day!” Peeta sends something else flying, a statue. I’ve never seen him like this. - Considering that his rebellious act of kindness is now threatening to become a sword of Damocles, hanging over those towards which he wanted to extend his kindness - simply because he’s been kept out of the loop (again)- Peeta’s anger is quite understandable

“Look, boy-” Haymitch begins. “Don’t bother, Haymitch. I know you had to choose one of us. And I’d have wanted it to be her. But this is something different. People are dead out there. More will follow unless we’re very good.” - Peeta doesn’t really care if it’s just his life on the line, but if other people’s lives are at risk? He takes no shit (it’s admirable in one way and deeply concerning in another); also, Peeta is right - while there still is a game to play, it’s not the Games, so different circumstances and rules apply

“From now on, you’ll be fully informed,” Haymitch promises. “I better be,” says Peeta. - Peeta generally is a very cooperative fellow, but don’t ever think he can’t be forceful and stand his ground when it matters!

“Did you choose me, Haymitch?” I ask. “Yeah,” he says. “Why? You like him better,” I say. “That’s true. But remember, until they changed the rules, I could only hope to get one of you out of there alive,” he says. “I thought since he was determined to protect you, well, between the three of us, we might be able to bring you home.” “Oh,” is all I can think to say. - This is such a quiet, sweet moment and also shows that Katniss, Haymitch and Peeta have been some sort of team from the start (also, in their team effort they actually managed to get the both of them back home!)

Everything is happening too fast for me to process it. The warning, the shootings, the recognition that I may have set something of great consequence in motion. The whole thing is so improbable. And it would be one thing if I had planned to stir things up, but given the circumstances... how on earth did I cause so much trouble? - Lol, you’re giving yourself a little too much credit here, Katniss ;) Frankly, the Capitol has been the one to create this powder-keg they are sitting on in the first place - all it needed was a little spark... All these injustices, the humilitation, the pain inflicted... it’s like an elastic rubber band that’s been stretched and stretched - until it snaps

“I’m something of an expert in architectural design, you know?” “Oh yes, I’ve heard that,” says Portia before the pause gets too long. - Bless Portia’s heart, making sure they avoid that awkward silence 😂

Effie looks so distressed that I spontaneously give her a hug. “That’s awful, Effie. Maybe we shouldn’t go to the dinner at all. At least until they’ve apologized.” - Aww, Katniss doing something nice for Effie!😊

Peeta and I join hands. “Haymitch says I was wrong to yell at you. You were only operating under his instructions,” says Peeta. “And it isn’t as if I haven’t kept things from you in the past.” - Peeta sorta apologizing, even acknowledging that he also had kept secrets from Katniss? We love to see it👍 - [...] “I think I broke a few things myself after that interview.” “Just an urn,” he says. - Peetaaa... stop diminishing your own physical injuries! Good thing that Katniss won’t let him: - “And your hands. There’s no point to it anymore though, is there? Not being straight with each other?” I say. “No point,” says Peeta. - Gasp! Honest, open communication as a good basis for a successful relationship? It’s more likely than you think!

“Was that really the only time you kissed Gale?” I’m so startled I answer. “Yes.” With all that has happened today, has that question actually been preying on him? - Peeta, you sly dog! Your priorities 😂

Some crowds have the weary-cattle feel that I know District 12 usually projects at the victors’ ceremonies. But in others - particularly 8, 4, and 3 - there is genuine elation in the faces of the people at the sight of us, and under the elation, fury. - I do think that it’s interesting how D4 is one of the districts being elated to see Peeta + Katniss and displaying such fury, despite being a Career district; just goes to show that, just because their odds are better at winning the Games, doesn’t have to make them more simpatico with the Capitol’s cruelty... (Considering how Finnick knows how to perform CPR, it’s highly likely that people in D4 are also used to awful and precarious working + living situations... maybe that’s exactly why they generally are so robust and do well in the Games; and maybe they are simply not that above joining the other Careers as long as it improves their chances of survival, like Katniss or Thresh had been... worked for a while for Peeta, too)

Effie starts giving me pills to sleep, but they don’t work. [...] Peeta, who spends much of the night roaming the train, hears me screaming as I struggle to break out of the haze of drugs that merely prolong the horrible dreams. He manages to wake me and calm me down. Then he climbs into bed to hold me until I fall back to sleep. After that, I refuse the pills. But every night I let him into my bed. We manage the darkness as we did in the arena, wrapped in each other’s arms. - 😭 Also: Very telling how Capitolite Effie just throws pills at the problem (with the best of intentions, I’m sure), which is an immediate, unpersonal, and superficial solution at best, whereas Peeta holding Katniss, offering comfort, understanding, a sense of safety, and human connection is so much more personal, intimate, and effective (for both of them!)

I personally killed the girl, Glimmer, and the boy from District 1. As I try to avoid looking at his family, I learn that his name was Marvel. How did I never know that? - You know why, Katniss -  I suppose that before the Games I didn’t pay attention and afterward I didn’t want to know. - Still, not knowing his name didn’t stop you from humanizing him, Katniss, and that’s important, too

Whatever we do seems too little, too late. Back in our old quarters in the Training Center, I’m the one who suggests the public marriage proposal. Peeta agrees to do it but then disappears to his room for a long time. Haymitch tells me to leave him alone. “I thought he wanted it, anyway,” I say. “Not like this,” Haymitch says. “He wanted it to be real.” - Come on, Katniss, don’t be so callous; Peeta’s just as much of a prisoner here as you! Also, it’s all about being real or not real with these two, isn’t it?

Chapter 6

... you would think that at this moment, I would be in utter despair. Here’s what’s strange. The main thing I feel is a sense of relief. That I can give up this game. [...] That if desperate times call for desperate measures, then I am free to act as desperately as I wish. - Honestly, I think it was pretty short-sighted of Snow to let Katniss know so clearly that she didn’t succeed in her task; she did her utmost and it wasn’t enough - might as well fling caution to the wind now. All bets are off. If there had been still some small chance she could have ‘made things right’, she probably would have been trying harder to comply to his expectations. (I’m sure Snow thought the upcoming implementations of his stricter regime would be enough to keep Katniss in check, but pride comes before a fall ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

It’s essential to get back to District 12, because the main part of any plan will include my mother and sister, Gale and his family. And Peeta, If I can get him to come with us. I add Haymitch to the list. - For such a ‘loner’, Katniss sure has a lot of people that are important to her... And how ironic that Peeta, who she isn’t sure she’ll be able to convince in following her will be a much more willing participant that Gale, who Katniss is pretty much banking on joining her

“You’ll probably have to pass a new law,” I say with a giggle. “If that’s what it takes,” says the president with conspiratorial good humor. Oh the fun we two have together. - The dynamic between Snow and Katniss is so strange; despite the obvious antagonism there is definitely some vibe of interacting with each other at eye level and it’s weird (Sidenote: Is there any law in Panem preventing minors from marrying?)

“I want to taste everything in the room, “ I tell Peeta. [...] “Then you’d better pace yourself,” he says. “Okay, not more than one bite of each dish,” I say. My resolve is almost immediately broken at the first table, which has twenty or so soups - couldn’t have happened to me; I hate soup (like, thick soups I maaaybe can get behind, but clear soup/broth is just flavored water to me, no thanks - then again, I’m a picky eater)

Peeta and I make no effort to find company but are constantly sought out. We are what no one wants to miss at the party. I act delighted, but I have zero interest in these Capitol people. They are only distractions from the food. - Well isn’t that a mood for every social gathering ever (one person I enjoy talking to and lots of food I like? Perfect.)

I pick up a small roasted bird, bite into it, and my tongue floods with orange sauce. Delicious. But I make Peeta eat the remainder because I want to keep tasting things - Katniss seems to like the combination of meat and fruit, huh? (the lamb and plums, now bird and orange sauce) Personally, it’s a combination that’s on thin ice for me; there are only a few dishes with that component I actually like and it took me forever to tolerate them (I don’t know if it’s the texture or the taste, but something makes me apprehensive about it); anyway, Katniss making Peeta eat the rest is such a casual, couple-y thing to do (or at least something you do with someone you feel very comfortable with, I think)

Peeta looks at the glass again and puts it together. “You mean this will make me puke?” My prep team laughs hysterically. “Of course, so you can keep eating,” says Octavia. “I’ve been in there twice already. Everyone does it, or else how would you have any fun at a feast?” I’m speechless, staring at the pretty little glasses and all they imply. - Oh boy, I have a lot of thoughts on this part: A) I just noticed how this is the second delicate/fancy glass/drink that’s bringing about a jarring revelation: first that orange juice with the frilly straw in THG, now these tiny wine-stemmed glasses, B) “Everyone does it” + “how else would you have fun?” are the shittiest reasons I’ve ever heard at a party for doing something stupid you probably don’t want to do (I’m having flashbacks to all the times I had people trying to pressure me into drinking alcohol as a teen - it was even legal, btw - although I insisted that I didn’t like the taste (which I still don’t, to this day); it was tiresome 😑), C) “everyone does it” - the people in the Capitol must have some messed up teeth if that’s a regular occurence (sure, they probably bleach their teeth all the time, but also... they’d really need to, D) the obvious: how effed up that they just puke to stuff in more food when in the districts people literally are dying from starvation?! (and yeah, unequal distribution of resources sadly isn’t just a thing in Panem, I know... but there is something about actively purging yourself just for funsies that’s just extra, well, sick)

All I can think of is the emaciated bodies of the children on our kitchen table as my mother prescribes what the parents cannot give. More food. - God, how awful! How powerless they must feel 😟

And here in the Capitol they’re vomiting for the pleasure of filling their bellies again and again. Not from some illness of body or mind, not from spoiled food. - Ooh, I’ve never noticed before how this passage not only recognizes physical reasons for purging, but also mental reasons! Wouldn’t have necessarily expected Katniss to acknowledge eating disorders like that, tbh... She has become a lot more cognizant and sensitive when mental health issues are concerned

One day when I dropped by to give Hazelle the game, Vick was home sick with a bad cough [...] he still spent about fifteen minutes talking about how they’d opened a can of corn syrup from Parcel Day and each had a spoonful on bread and were going to maybe have more later in the week. How Hazelle had said he could have a bit in a cup of tea to soothe his cough, but he wouldln’t feel right unless the others had some, too. - Aww, Vick is such a sweetheart! Hazelle is raising her kids right!

“Peeta, they bring us here to fight to the death for their entertainment,”I say. “Really, this is nothing by comparison.” “I know. I know that. It’s just sometimes I can’t stand it anymore. To the point where... I’m not sure what I’ll do.” He pauses, then whispers, “Maybe we were wrong, Katniss.” “About what?” I ask. “About trying to subdue things in the districts,” he says. - Peeta’s rebellious nature coming through again!

“Sorry,” he says. He should be. This is no place to be voicing such thoughts. “Save it for home,” I tell him. - I know Katniss means D12, but her phrasing of “home” evokes a more domestic, couple-y connotation again 😊

I don’t want to dance with Plutarch Heavensbee. I don’t want to feel his hands, one resting against mine, one on my hip. I’m not used to being touched, except by Peeta or my family, and I rank Gamemakers somewhere below maggots in terms of creatures I want in contact with my skin. - It’s telling that, while Katniss is not big on being touched aside from her family (does that include Gale? probably? although they hadn’t even really hugged until Katniss had been reaped, so... I dunno), she’s totally fine with Peeta touching her (more than that: remember how good she felt holding his hand again in Ch.4 and how she’s feeling safe in his arms when they are sharing a bed), it says a lot about how comfortable she feels around him

Plutarch steps back and pulls out a gold watch on a chain from a vest pocket. He flips open the lid, sees the time, and frowns. “I’ll have to be going soon.” He turns the watch so I can see the face. “It starts at midnight.” - Honestly, this very subtle hint/foreshadowing of the clock setup of the Quarter Quell arena is simply brilliant! And also, midnight is going to become an important point in time as well from here on out (lightning tree, in the hanging tree song, saving Peeta and the others from the Training Center in the Capitol)

It’s another mockingjay. Exactly like the pin on my dress. Only this one disappears. He snaps the watch closed. “That’s very pretty,” I say. “Oh, it’s more than pretty. It’s one of a kind,” he says. - The disappearing mockingjay on the clock is interesting because A) Plutarch can’t really be flaunting the symbol of rebellion as Head Gamemaker, duh, but also B) the clock arena will be the place where the Mockingjay will disappear (until the rebellion will be able to use her for their cause); and that last comment by Plutarch clearly is aimed at the Mockingjay (Katniss) herself

When I open my eyes, it’s early afternoon. My head rests on Peeta’s arm. I don’t remember him coming in last night. - Okay, Katniss must feel hella safe and used to Peeta joining her in her bed, because apparently she didn’t even wake up when he did, like... I’m a fairly heavy sleeper, but I can’t imagine sleeping so deeply that I wouldn’t jerk awake if someone crawled into my bed while I was snoozing

“No nightmare,” he says. “What?” I ask. “You didn’t have any nightmares last night,” he says. He’s right. For the first time in ages I’ve slept through the night. - Telling how the first time Katniss sleeps through the night is after Snow let her know her performance wasn’t enough; she’s must have been so tense and on edge, desperately trying to calm down the districts and convince Snow, that she hadn’t been able to sleep properly, aside from the obvious sleeping issues she’d have from the PTSD (I’m often that way before an important exam - especially if it’s an oral exam; I get tense just thinking about it 😓)

“I had a dream, though,” I say, thinking back. “I was following a mockingjay though the woods. For a long time. It was Rue, really. I mean, when it sang, it had her voice.” “Where did she take you?” he says, brushing my hair off my forehead. “I don’t know. We never arrived,” I say. “But I felt happy.” - Interesting how in Katniss’s dream, the mockingjay is Rue - lending further credence to the hypothesis that maybe Rue was originally meant to be the Mockingjay (would make Plutarch’s comment of the mockingjay being “one of a kind” a bit more hypocritical/exaggerated/dramatized, which still fits with his flair for propaganda/showmanship... and ultimately, Katniss as the Mockingjay was unique, but that doesn’t mean that the rebellion couldn’t have made someone else their symbol if they needed to); also, Peeta brushing Katniss’s hair off her forehead is so sweet and intimate 😊

After I got home, we [Madge and I] started spending time together. [...] It was a little awkward at first because we didn’t know what to do. Other girls our age, I’ve heard them talking about boys, or other girls, or clothes. Madge and I aren’t gossipy and clothes bore me to tears. But after a few false starts, I realized she was dying to go into the woods, so I’ve taken her a couple of times and showed her how to shoot. She’s trying to teach me the piano, but mostly I like to listen to her play. - Honestly? I’d love to read a fanfic about Katniss and Madge figuring out their friendship (let me know if there already are some!); it’s cute how they end up including each other in their hobbies 😊 Ah, the classic “I’m/We’re not like other girls”, which often is especially prevalent during your teen years (I’d be lying if I said that I haven’t been gulty of this in my past 😅)... Katniss might actually would have benefited from talking with Madge about her boys’ troubles, though... And it’s so funny how Katniss admits that she has no interest in clothes, despite it being her supposed “talent”, while she also admits that she does admire Cinna’s work

... there’s a mob scene. The square’s packed with screaming people, their faces hidden with rags and homemade masks, throwing bricks. Building burn. Peacekeepers shoot into the crowd, killing at random. I’ve never seen anything like it - I... I have. At least on tv... In different places, at different times, but... yeah...

[kataraslove]

katara: “do you hear that?”

aang: “sounds like it’s coming from over there...”

for kataang week day 3: post canon @kataang-week​

newly wedded aang and katara (now sporting a cute little bob) were travelling across the world for their honeymoon. on their way to the kingdom of omashu, the two decided to stop and revisit the cave of two lovers. as aang and katara leaned in for a quick kiss by the entrance of the cave, they heard a blood-curling scream come from inside. immediately pulling away, the couple shared a suspicious look with each other before deciding to investigate.

katara cautiously grabbed her pouch as aang drew out a small flame to lead the way. however, the waterbender stopped her husband to remind him that the tunnels were filled with fluorescent crystals that glowed in the dark. 

“oh yeah,” aang recalled. he looked down at the flame dwindling in his palm. “i’ll put it out when we get further in there. if we hear screaming again, we’ll be able to find out where it came from.” 

“you can also use your earth bending this time around.” 

aang nodded. “that i can.” the gentle lines of his face - reserved especially for his wife - quickly switched up to the avatar look, the signature look that he bore whenever there was danger and people in need of his help. 

“let’s go.”

(continued under the cut, 2.4k words)

the broad sunlight of the summer day was reduced to a small crevice against their backs, as the two lovers made their way into the shadows of the labyrinth. their primary light source came from aang’s flame, which had grown brighter the farther they travelled. the avatar could not help but become a little bit mesmerized with the vivid red and orange hues that danced in his left palm, the warmth that occupied his hand having stretched out to his entire body. the flame synchronized so perfectly well with his heartbeat. fire is life, he recalled the words of the sun warrior chief. not just destruction. 

aang nearly chuckled out loud. firebending came so naturally to him now - almost as natural as his airbending. to think that there was ever a time that he had outright hated the element and vowed to never learn it, even if it had meant jeopardizing his avatarhood.

however, a small voice crept to the back of his mind, uncomfortably reminding of the exact reason as to why he initially refused to learn the element at the age of twelve. it was the same reason that brought shame and guilt inside his gut - even eight years later - whenever the memory unexpectedly crossed his mind. what he had done to katara on that day, how he had refused to listen to jeong jeong’s advice and lost control of his fire, the image of her fresh burns - it was all there, forever smeared across his brain and heart as a painful reminder. no matter how many times katara had insisted that good had come from that day through the discovery of her healing abilities, aang could never wash away the trauma associated with that event.

he inhaled sharply. it won’t happen again. he wasn’t twelve anymore, and he had full control over all the elements now. fire was energy, he had learned, and life.

sparing a glance at katara, who had been awfully quiet since they got into the cave, he noticed that his wife was chewing anxiously on her lower lip. the trouble in her beautiful features was easily detectable by the bright flames within his hand. he moved closer to her, his shoulder gently bumping hers in an attempt to comfort her. “you okay?”

she met his eyes, and he could see the hint of fear reflected in them. “aang, i’m worried.”

“you have nothing to be worried about,” aang reassured her with a small smile. “whatever it is, or whoever it is, we can take ‘em.”

katara shook her head. “i’m not worried about the who. we’ve probably dealt with far worse than whatever is lingering in this cave. but i - aang, what if it’s bad?”

he frowned, confused. “what if what’s bad, then?”

she studied her hands carefully. her hands were the hands of a fighter, of a healer. the same hands who had resurrected an avatar back to life and saved a firelord from near death, while dismantling another firelord from the throne. he felt the sudden urge to draw her hands in his own, to hold her tight enough to ease away her fears.

“what if there’s a bunch of dead bodies stashed away in this tunnel, rotting away for days or even weeks?” she answered in alarm, eyes widening at the dark path ahead of them. “or, what if there’s a bunch of people lying around in pain, on the brink of death, and I don’t have enough water to save them all?”

his eyes turned to the road ahead. he saw nothing, except for earth and more earth. but he knew better than to dismiss those kind of fears. 

“that wouldn’t be your fault.” he responded gently. “we’ll do our best to help, to make sure that whoever is out there is safe and unharmed. but if they do happen to be harmed - or worse, dead - and we’ve tried everything that we could,” he shuttered out a breath at the imagery. “i don’t want you to blame yourself for whoever you can’t save, katara.”

“and i don’t want you to blame yourself, aang.” she placed a hand on his shoulder as they walked on. he tried to ignore the immediate sweep of panic churning in his stomach at her proximity to the fire. if he envisioned a future with both katara and firebending, he would have to get used to accepting that she would be around the times when he required the element. 

“i know you feel a sense of responsibility, as the avatar, to ensure that the world is kept safe,” she continued on. her voice softened, a sad tone. “i know it upsets you when it isn’t.”

“wasn’t i the one consoling you just a second ago?” aang joked, deflecting. 

“we’re consoling each other.” katara insisted with a small smile. the corners of her mouth dropped at her next statement: “i know you don’t like to talk about it, aang, the stress and pressure that you feel. but i also know how it keeps you up at night. why you choose to sometimes spend long periods of time meditating.”

just like that, she had flipped the switch on him in the way that only she knew how. katara was undoubtedly right. of course he had seen and experienced his fair amount of injustice and morbidity; they all had. but the guilt of not being able to do anything about it - to know that people all over the world were counting on him to end their suffering and plight and despair, while there were many days when all he could do was sit in lavish cushions arguing endlessly with politicians who could not relate to the earth kingdom boy who had nothing to eat, or to the water tribe girl who had lost her parents, or to the air nomad who was the sole survivor of an entire culture - ate away at his heart and mind at every minute of every hour. even now, when he was supposed to be enjoying his blissful vacation with his wife.

“aang.” he felt katara lightly pull his chin towards her, forcing him to look at her before his mind could wander down the same dangerous road that it had so many days and nights before. she stopped the two in their tracks, the light from his palm illuminating their darkened features.

the fire reflected back in the indigo of her eyes, embodying the energy and intensity and life that was katara, his best friend, his saviour. suddenly, he was transported back to a time during the war, when he had just been a fidgety twelve year-old boy staring up at his fourteen year-old best friend. his heart thumped furiously against his chest the closer he inched to her face. when their lips met, he felt electricity course through his veins and wondered if the warmth that pooled in his stomach was what love felt like. 

as he caught her lips in his own again, this time at the age of twenty, he could confirm - a memoir to his twelve year old self - that the warmth was indeed love. but love was also so much more, he came to realize over the years. love was the cautious hands of a fourteen year-old girl spending weeks at his side, healing him from his coma, sobbing in despair and frustration when he would not wake up. love was the way that he had thrown his arms around her waist, and she around his neck, relief flooding each other’s veins at the knowledge that they were both alive and safe and together after his defeat of ozai and her defeat of azula. love was the way her hand fit so perfectly in his, palm pressed to palm and fingers intertwined, as the two watched the early formations of republic city from their home, vowing to leave a lasting legacy on a world where benders and non-benders of all types could live together in safety and harmony.

love was also the brief kiss in an abandoned cave that said a million more things than he could ever say in words. 

when the two pulled back, he noted the way that her eyes twinkled up at him under the fluorescent light. the crystals shone overhead, leading them down a familiar path, just as how it had done when he was twelve. aang checked his left palm and realized that he had extinguished his flame during the kiss. 

katara’s smile reached her eyes when she grabbed for his hand, pulling him along. “funny,” she said, bemused. “that thing you said when we were kids. guess it held up all these years, didn’t it?”

“what thing?”

“oh, you know,” she replied with a casual shrug, a mischievous glint forming in her eye. “you choosing to kiss me over dying - ”

he groaned. she was never going to let him live that one, was she?

“did i say that?” aang feigned innocence. “i can’t quite recall. maybe what my awkward twelve-year old self had meant to say, instead, was that the thought of not being able to kiss you is just so unbearable that i would rather have chosen death.”

“mmhmmm. sure you had.” a blush slowly crept up her cheeks, betraying her sarcastic tone. success.

“good thing that hasn’t happened yet, though. the not being able to kiss you anymore part.” he paused, adding as an afterthought: “the death part, too, if we’re being honest.”

“don’t speak so soon. what if there’s a serial killer in here?” she hushed him, looking around conspiratorially. 

“you’d rather a serial killer kiss you instead of your own husband? ouch.” 

she smacked his arm. “aang! i’m serious. with the recent bender supremacy uprisings going on in major cities of the earth kingdom, it’s not out of the realm of possibility. what’s stopping a bender supremacist from kidnapping a bunch of non-benders in omashu and dumping their bodies in this cave right now?”

“well, for starters, we would’ve heard by now if that were the case, wouldn’t we have? there’d be rumours, like with what happened with hama. so far, there hasn’t been any reports of mysterious non-bender disappearances in the cities where the uprisings are taking place. definitely not any in omashu.”

a dark look settled across katara’s face at the mention of the estranged bloodbender. “an earth bender supremacist could be dragging bodies from the city and burying them in the rubble of the tunnels. no one would even think to look because the legend says that the cave is cursed.”

aang scratched his head, suddenly very wary about his surroundings. his eyes scanned everywhere around him, from the plethora of crystals that provided them light on top to the solid stone that held the cave in place, trying to spot any semblance of a decomposing body. just as before, he couldn’t detect anything unusual.

while he knew that katara’s suspicions had merit to them, his mind still hesitated over the idea of a bender supremacist trapping people in caves. he would have heard something by now, if that were the case. besides, they were drawing all of these inferences from a scream that he wasn’t even sure came from a human. the high-pitched sound could have belonged to a species of wolfbats, for all they knew. and even if it were to emerge out of a person, who was to say that it was connected to the victim of a bender supremacist murderer? it could have been from a lost and hungry traveler stuck in the cave for days, unsure of their way out. or perhaps it was from someone whose foot was trapped under rubble, screaming out in sheer pain. maybe it even belonged to a villager being chased by an angry spirit.

he walked over to one of the walls, running his hand over the sharp rocks that pricked at his skin. or perhaps, he thought bitterly, gritting his teeth, it was his own refusal to accept that he was failing the world again that led him to dismiss such possibilities. given the political climate, it was entirely possible that bender supremacists were using their bending to hide bodies within the cave. he just wasn’t aware of any of it because it was all taking place underneath his nose, while he remained in blissful ignorance with the women he loved on what was supposed to be his vacation.

aang closed his eyes. he focused on the vibrations emitting from the ground, trying to detect if there was anything that could give him a clue, like a direction to the source of the scream. he was even searching for the large footsteps of badger moles or the fluttering wings of wolfbats. while he was no toph, his earthbending had vastly improved over the years to the point where he had gotten very good at perceiving the world around and underneath him through vibrations. but this time around, he was sensing absolutely nothing. 

well, not entirely nothing. aang noted that some parts of the earth below his hand felt kind of fresh. and quite warm. it didn’t take an earth bender to realize that their texture and temperature were evidently different from the rocks comprising the rest of the cave. this new formation of rock - whatever it was - also felt very familiar to him, almost like he had dealt with this type before. 

his eyes widened in recognition. it was rock that had hardened after the eruption of a volcano. and not just any ordinary eruption; a special kind of eruption that didn’t require any volcano whatsoever.

lavabending.

“hey, katara. would you be able to come over here? i think i found something.”

aang’s words were interrupted by the sudden howl of a blood-curling scream. this time, he had felt the vibrations perfectly through the earth, and spirits did they hurt. he winced in pain, his ears ringing, reflexively removing his hand off the ground.

the screaming did not seem to stop the longer the seconds passed. multiple more emitted from the path ahead in unison, echoing off the chambers of the cave. his heart pounded. there was no denying that the cries had unmistakably belonged to humans. 

katara already had a stream of water out from her pouch. she had sprang into action, pointing in the precise direction that the noise was coming from. 

“this way,” she shouted, running ahead. 

be careful, he couldn’t help think as he trailed after her.

--

this art was adapted from the following comic panel in imbalance part 2: