#so leaving it at a point like an “end of a chapter” i think its perfect

[hirugaymi]

Revisting this post. Hirakagi 28: I was RIGHT this whole time??????

Spoilers, of course. For the entire chapter and its precursors.

OH. MY. GOD. OHMYGOD. IT'S BEEN YEARS, HASN'T IT?

Oh, Harusono-sensei, for as much as I criticize some of your writing decisions, I will be forever thankful for what this chapter and this whole 10 seconds touch arc has given to me. A sensible, empathetic and understading writing of a character that's not in the alloromantic and allosexual spectrum.

Hirano has always been very dear to me, but his relatability and complexity factors were handled so beautifully. I genuinely felt like crying as I read the chapter's translation for the first time.

So, let's go by numbered parts, ok?

Part 1: repulse and discomfort

Exhibit A: the subject is clearly displaying signs of discomfort.

Here's a summary of what Hirano feels about intimacy as of chapter 28:

Kagiura is someone he's comfortable initiating casual, intent-less touching: headpats, leaning against each other's shoulders, sharing a room.

He doesn't understand the whole "intent behind the touch" thing. Can't really comprehend why Kagiura is so adamant on making their interactions change from the status quo.

Emotional intimacy is a much more comfortable territory for Hirano to navigate. He instigates their dialogues about their complicated feelings once Kagiura attempts to hide himself, he wants to understand Kagi's whole relationship bullshit so goddamn bad. He twists and turns the situations in his head as if to deliver his perceptions honestly without hurting Kagi's feelings and making him feel rejected.

Exhibit B: the subject is thinking real hard. This is for all of you calling him an emotional wall.

And finally: Hirano HATES being touched with romantic intent right now.

Exhibit C: would you hug someone who's looking at you like he wants to LEAVE?

I've seen many people fall for Kagiura's rose-tint flowery perception of their interactions. I love Kagiura dearly, he's my baby and my dearest son but, my God, he is selfish. That's the whole point of their conflict. Kagi is NOT thinking about Hirano's limits or Hirano's comfort all throughout HiraKagi with a single exception, that being when he stepped so hard over the line that his own puny little puppy brain started blaring alarm signs that he was going to ruin their relationship forever (when he almost forced Hirano into a kiss).

Kagi does that because he doesn't understand Hirano's...not understading. You can fault him and he absolutely is at fault for being selfish about their relationship but it is complicated to put into his allonormative cute little head that Hirano can love him wholeheartedly without wanting to be held like a boyfriend.

At least, not right now.

Part 2: meeting in the middle

Exhibit D: let's understand out feelings. For the puppy's sake.

Hirano cares. HiraKagi's plot would've died in chapter 8 if he didn't. He's developed this capacity to adequate to Kagiura's advances by internalizing Kagi's desires and trying to make them meet his limits and testing his own boundaries for Kagiura's sake.

This is...incredibly relatable. I'm gonna be real with you. It's how most aro/ace spectrum people who still get into relationships with allos will end up thinking. SOmetimes you love someone to the point of adaptation. Of course, everyone has their hard limits and Hirano is looking for his here.

Hirano takes what he's learned about his perceptions of intimacy gathered from his own experiences and from other people (like asking Sasaki what it feels like to want to kiss someone) and crosses all that information to reach the conclusion:

Hirano wants to be in control.

I COULD make this into a post about how I think this translates into cliché BL sexual dynamics that Harusono-sensei likes to both subvert and play into. But this is a post about Hirano being a well written aro/ace character in a genre that barely has these so I won't. Next time maybe.

Hirano wants to reach out. Hirano wants to put himself out there outside of his hard steel boundaries and bend himself over and over again for Kagi's sake because he just loves Kagi so much. As the person and presence he is in his life. He love Kagi's existence and constance and that's why he's so fucking desperate to keep him here. Why he felt so guilty when it was gone (adults AU).

Hirano doesn't need a glorious, romantic realization. He just needs to know what he feels about Kagi is, too, deep and profound love.

Part 3: think puppy, think!!

Exhbit E: actual fucking dog Kagiura Akira (1 year old).

I get why people don't read HiraKagi because they don't vibe with Kagi's whole deal. I'm well aware he's Harusono's most flawed character and tbh he does get away with so much shit just because he's a cutie. I'm talking about you, people who look over Hirano's clear signs of NO.

I love him dearly, though. Endearing, sweet, huge boy who is so blinded by his own feelings that he fails to see beyond his flowery shoujo version of events. He's a little crazy. I like that about him. Hirano likes that about him.

Kagi's point of growth in the manga is very tied to the idea of "growing up". Finding out he likes a boy basically triggered his puberty all over again. His advances towards Hirano are fully intentional. Sensei doesn't really write about this part of it but I BET YOU this boy thought about researching how you do gay sex. He's so overeager and blindsided by his own determination that he fucks up his own chances.

In chapter 28...He doesn't do that.

Exhibit F for Feelings: this scene made me tear up. He can TELL.

Kagi said exactly what he needed to say. He can TELL. He sees it. He sees the effort, the attempts to understand him, the frustration in Hirano's own heart of noit being able to give all that affection back in a way where the two of them can be satisfied. This means so fucking much.

Kagi is selfish. Kagi overbearing and way too stubborn. Kagi's growth right now is about learning to appraoch Hirano with the same empathy Hirano has approached him. We'll see if he's able. I'm cheering you on, puppy...

so there’s a new hirakagi chapter...can I talk about it a little?

Keep reading

[katethetank]

Possession of the Heart - Chapter 2

Rating: 18+ minors gtfo Chapter Summary: Tommy hosts a party as their debut into California society, and Steve gets some unwanted attention from an Alpha who attends. Tired of being trapped in the manor, he explores the land around him until he stumbles upon the gamekeeper's cottage. CW: Alcohol consumption, Billy is a creep Pairing: Alpha!Tommy x Omega!Steve - Alpha!Eddie x Omega!Steve Word Count: 3.5k

Chapter 1<<Masterlist>>Chapter 2

The first two weeks of living at Hagan Manor are lonely ones. Steve sequesters himself to his quarters, only coming out for silent meals with his husband, refusing to speak another word of the arrangement offered. Tommy busies himself with work, making phone calls and meeting with oil barons, politicians, and the high society of the area. 

Steve refuses to show his face.

His tears ran out by the third day, utterly devastated that the man whose family paid to wed him would dare think so little of him when he was once considered something of a treasure. Steve never really saw himself that way, but going from Madonna to whore so quickly in the eyes of his spouse completely shattered any hope of happiness they could have together. Any semblance of trust is gone, not to mention respect. Clearly Tommy has none for Steve, demanding that he bed any Alpha who is willing. And Steve now has none for Tommy, knowing how little he thinks of him. 

His avoidance of his husband comes to an end when Tommy insists on hosting a soiree as a formal entrance into California society. Steve has no choice but to attend and play the part of the dutiful spouse, and begrudgingly puts on his finest attire. Dressed in a crisp white shirt, black waistcoat and tie, black trousers, and shoes shined to perfection, he descends the stairs to be greeted by his husband. Tommy is dressed in a similar fashion, but is also wearing a suit coat. He had instructed Steve to go without one, stating that it would do a disservice to his figure. It leaves him feeling like a lamb being led to slaughter. 

Guests soon arrive and so many introductions are made that Steve can’t keep anyone straight. Bows and greetings of thank you for having us Lord and Gentleman Hagan happen so often that Steve doesn’t even hear it anymore and just gives a demure nod of his head on pure reflex. And the mingling scents of so many Alphas in one space is overwhelming to the point where he can feel a headache blooming behind his eyes. This evening cannot end soon enough.

After all the guests are accounted for, Steve is able to leave Tommy’s side and ease some of his stress with a bit of champagne. He makes his way across the parlor, giving polite smiles to the people he passes, and before he can reach the bar, a hand appears in front of him holding a glass of bubbling libations.

“Pardon me, but an Omega of your standing shouldn’t have to retrieve their own drink.”

Steve turns to find himself being looked over by a man with golden curls and piercing blue eyes. He’s sure he greeted him at the door, but he has no real recollection of anyone who has entered his home. The chivalrous act, no matter how small it is, is appreciated in his current state. 

He takes the glass from this stranger and has to resist the urge to drink all its contents in one go. “That’s very considerate, thank you Mister…”

The man chuckles and runs his tongue over his teeth. “You don’t remember our introduction?”

Steve flushes in embarrassment and takes a sip of the dry champagne. “You’ll have to forgive me. I met everyone in this room just this evening and recalling all their names is simply not something I’ll be able to do.”

The man laughs, but not unkindly. “William. William Hargrove. But those close to me call me Billy.” He offers his hand and Steve takes it without a second thought. Instead of giving him a cordial handshake, William bends down, and without breaking eye contact, places a kiss to the back of his hand. “And it’s an absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

The gesture is far too forward, and something in his gaze makes Steve want to flee. Surely this man is well aware that Steve is the Gentleman of the house and this behavior is incredibly inappropriate. His instinct is to slap this Alpha across the face, but making such a scene at their first event will do more harm than he could ever imagine. Not having much choice in what he can do, Steve forces a smile and withdraws his hand from William’s grasp.

“Well. Thank you again, Mr. Hargrove. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to return to my husband.”

He begins to make his leave when there’s a hand placed on his lower back and William’s lips far too close to his ear. “The pleasure is all mine.”

Steve pulls away abruptly and begins to cross the room back to Tommy’s side. He only takes a few steps before he realizes that his husband has watched the entire interaction and is glaring daggers at Mr. Hargrove. If he cannot handle seeing another Alpha place a single hand on Steve, how can he possibly be able to cope with one knotting him?

When he returns to his husband, he is met with a cold glance and nothing more. All Steve wants to do is retire to his quarters and pretend this evening never happened. But he does what is expected of him and stands by Tommy’s side making polite small talk with their guests and feigning interest in discussions of oil and lumber and the money to be made. 

Steve takes his leave after some time and heads to the washroom. After relieving himself, he makes sure that his attire is perfect and not a hair is out of place. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, readying himself for another round of dreadfully boring discussions that he plans to ease the tension of with another glass of champagne. However, when he opens the door and steps out, he runs into a broad chest. Before he has a chance to stumble or lose his footing, the hand of William Hargrove grasps onto his waist to steady him. The heat from his palm can be felt through Steve’s clothing and it makes his insides churn.

“Careful there, Omega. We can’t have someone as pretty as you hurting themselves now can we?”

Steve glances around and is struck with fear realizing that they are the only two in this wing of the manor. His mind flashes with the image of this brutish Alpha pushing him into the washroom and having his way with him, exactly what Tommy has requested he do, and it makes him want to scream and run as far from this estate as his legs can carry him. He’s been treated as an ornament since his betrothal to Tommy, but this is the first time he has truly felt like an object. Something that others can take and use however they like. Something his husband can lend out and reap the benefits of. 

A part of him wants to accept these advances just to get it over with. 

But his self respect is far too great to let a man like this, with a predatory smile and lecherous gaze, lay a single finger on him. Steve steps out of his hold and tips his chin up. “You’ll be wise to keep your distance, Mr. Hargrove.”

His dark laugh echoes off the walls of the hall and he takes a step closer. “I can’t help that you’re so magnetic. You draw the gaze of everyone here, sweet thing. Lord Hagan sure was fortunate to find such a beautiful specimen. If only we all could be so lucky. What I wouldn't give to have someone like you in my bed.” 

He lifts his hand and the back of his knuckles graze over Steve’s cheek. It sends a cold shiver down his spine and he slaps the hand away reflexively. “Keep your hands to yourself and your vile words behind your teeth. Good day sir.” Steve spins on his heel and walks as quickly as he can back to the party with William’s laughter trailing after him like a ghost. 

Thoroughly shaken from the interaction, Steve grabs a fresh glass of champagne off the bar and goes in search of his husband. He’s not in the parlor with the majority of his guests, so he makes his way to the study, following the scent of cigar smoke. As he approaches the open doors, he stops at the sound of Tommy’s boasting. 

“Gentleman, I suspect I should have news of a pup any day now. Just because my legs have lost their functionality doesn’t mean everything else has.” There’s a round of hearty laughter and the clinking of glasses, congratulations and slaps on the back. Steve’s eyes begin to water and he abandons his plan of staying next to his husband until all their guests leave, and makes his way to the stairs.

Once he’s locked in his room, Steve downs the entire glass and removes his formalwear while tears fall freely down his flushed cheeks. He dresses in his bedclothes, finding much comfort in the silk shirt and pants, and takes a seat at the window overlooking the estate. It’s a clear night and the moon casts a white glow on the rolling hills and treetops. This manor has been a prison for him since the day he arrived, and he vows to himself that starting tomorrow, he’ll do his best to spend as little time inside as possible. 

The next morning he joins Tommy for breakfast and says nothing when he mentions that they’ll be having another party the following week. “It was such a success, don’t you agree? I think we might make this a regular occurrence, darling. Everyone had a wonderful time and mentioned how lovely it was to meet you. You certainly were the belle of the ball, though I should expect no less.”

Steve quietly eats his soft boiled egg and toast, and tries not to think about the unwelcomed touches and comments. But his eyes snap up when Tommy tacks on, “I shan’t be inviting that Billy Hargrove back, though. I didn’t like the look of him.”

He didn’t like the way Billy looked at Steve, is what he means. 

“As is your right, Tommy. This is your home.”

Tommy appraises him for a moment and asks, “So you didn’t care for his company?”

Steve isn’t entirely certain that Tommy is asking him if he just didn’t like the man, or if he didn’t find him to be a suitable partner to bed. But either way, the answer is the same. “No. I did not.”

His husband nods in approval and turns back to his breakfast. “Very well then.”

The weeks in between these now regularly occurring parties are spent outside the confines of his room. Steve has found much comfort in whiling away the hours in the garden, either practicing sewing and needlepoint, or finding escape in the books he’s pilfered from Tommy’s study. He’s walked the grounds a bit, but hasn’t gone far. The ownership of the land is much more expansive than he realized, reaching past the grassy hills and deep into the wooded areas surrounding the estate. Hunting land, as Tommy told him. Perhaps Steve will venture further if his need for escape can no longer be done in the pages he holds. 

If only he could escape these godforsaken parties. Every weekend it’s much of the same; suffocating attire, champagne that’s lost it’s decadence, the choking smoke of cigars and pipes, forced smiles, awkward small talk, and Steve finding any excuse he can to retire to his room early. And every weekend he endures lustful gazes from Tommy’s associates and spiteful glares from their Omega partners. William Hargrove is now not the only one who’s invitation has been rescinded. Deputy Callahan hasn’t been invited back after he spoke to Steve for too long and stood too close. English nobleman Duke Henry Creel asked Steve to dance, and hasn’t been seen at their home again since. Judge Robert Newby made the mistake of being kind to Steve and getting a genuine laugh from him. That hasn’t happened since they moved here.

With Tommy slowly removing everyone that he deems a potential threat, Steve is unsure how his husband expects him to produce an heir. He has no desire to do such a thing to begin with, especially not with any of the men brought into his home who look at him like he’s a meal to devour. But if Tommy is bull headed enough to keep insisting that Steve find a temporary bed partner, he sure isn’t making things easy. 

After another long event dodging unwanted attention, faking another headache in order to duck out early, and sitting through another breakfast of Tommy declaring which Alpha is no longer going to be in attendance at their next soiree, Steve takes his leave and settles himself in the garden. Try as he might, the book he is reading isn’t helping to shake off the unsettling feelings, and escaping between the pages seems impossible. He sets down his book and looks out over the grounds. It’s a sunny day, and the breeze is enough to keep his skin from overheating, so he decides on taking a walk and seeing how far he can wander.

He roams the hills aimlessly, smiling at the grasshoppers who leap out of his way and the birds who grace him with their songs. Wildflowers speckle the landscape and he stops to collect the different ones he finds, making a small bouquet to take back to his room when his little exploration is over. His task leads him to the tree line where a path wide enough for perhaps a horse and cart to get through draws his attention. He follows it through the wooded area, collecting more blossoms as he goes and enjoying the break from the heat of the sun shining high overhead. It must be nearing lunch time, but Steve is happy to skip a meal with his husband in favor of this small taste of freedom.

The path eventually leads him to a clearing where he’s delighted to find a wide stream. It looks deep enough to take a dip should he desire, and the water is crystal clear, sparkling under the rays of the sun. A stone bridge connects to the other side and Steve crosses it, following the path further down to see where it leads. The trees are thinner here, allowing more light to shine through and illuminating the tall grasses and wildflowers. Steve adds more to his collection until the path ends and he’s met with a moderately sized stone cottage. Moss grows on the sloping roof and the ivy here looks magical compared to the vines that still choke the outside of Hagan Manor. It’s quaint and looks like something out of a fairy tale he read when he was young. 

He approaches and walks around the perimeter, attempting to assess if this dwelling is occupied or abandoned. He gets his answer when he turns a corner and sees a covered wood porch that houses several cages of pheasants. He quietly steps up onto the porch so as not to disturb them, and peers inside the cage closest to him. A pheasant is sleeping peacefully while sitting atop a nest. It’s mostly covered, but Steve can see just a peek of the eggs she’s guarding. He smiles at the sight and walks slowly around the porch observing all the others. “Nice day for a nap, isn’t it ladies,” he says quietly. 

Steve nearly jumps out of his skin when a voice calls out, “No need to whisper. They don’t startle easily.” He clutches his chest and spins around, his wide eyes landing on a man who just stepped out of a path he didn’t see previously. “But clearly you do. My apologies, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Steve hasn’t seen this man before. He absolutely would have remembered him if he were in attendance at the parties Tommy has hosted. He’s tall and lean. The leather boots on his feet are scuffed and dusted with dirt, indicating they’re well worn and see a lot of work. Cuffed brown trousers sit high around his waist, held up with suspenders that stretch over broad shoulders. His shirt, most likely once a crisp white, is faded and softened with use. The sleeves are rolled up just below his elbows, highlighting the veins in his forearms, and the top buttons are open, exposing a glistening patch of his smooth chest. He has long dark hair that’s pulled back into a low bun at the base of his neck, and a brown flat cap rests atop his head. Underneath the brim of the cap, large dark eyes blink up at him from the bottom of the steps. His features are masculine, but there’s a softness to his look. The curve of his nose and fullness of his lips offset his strong jaw and chin. He’s handsome, and Steve realizes too late that he’s been staring.

“No, no it’s fine. Are these pheasants yours?”

The man smiles, and it’s devastating. Dimples crease his face and Steve has never seen anyone look at him this way. Like he’s a person. “I believe they’re actually yours. You are the Gentleman of the house, are you not?”

“Oh. Yes, I am. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

The man sets down the rifle slung over his shoulder and places his hand on his chest. Bowing slightly, he introduces himself. “Edward Munson, the estate’s gamekeeper. Friends call me Eddie. And these lovely ladies have no names, but are happy to be employed by Lord and Gentleman Hagan.”

Steve finds himself genuinely smiling back, immediately charmed by this man. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. And please, call me Steve.” 

Eddie smiles politely and tucks his hands in his pockets. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too. What brings you out this way, if you don’t mind my asking?”

He realizes again, a little too late, that he’s invited himself to this man’s home unannounced. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I was just taking a walk and the path I found led me here. I can go, I had no intention of disturbing you.” Steve descends the stairs and is surprised that Eddie takes several steps back, giving him a wide berth. 

“No apologies needed. You’re welcome to come visit them any time. It shouldn’t be much longer before the chicks start to hatch.”

Steve smiles at the thought of seeing what the baby pheasants look like and decides he might just need to come back. “I think I would like to see that. You don’t mind my checking in?”

Eddie shakes his head and looks at him kindly. “Not one bit. This is your land after all. I’m just your humble servant. And should you find the desire, follow the stream south. There’s a few more clearings where you’ll find some lilacs that are blooming.”

Steve is confused for a moment until Eddie nods down at his hand that’s holding his bunch of wild flowers. “Oh! Thank you, I’ll do that. I should be going, I’m sure I’ve missed lunch by now and if I dally much longer I’ll miss supper as well. It was nice meeting you Eddie.” Raised in high society, Steve is so accustomed to addressing people by their proper name, that he surprises himself by how effortlessly the casual farewell rolls off his tongue.

Eddie doesn’t seem to notice or mind. He just tips his hat and says, “Come back any time, Steve.”

He turns and makes his way back around the cottage to the path that he came in on. Before he reaches the trees, Steve hears the rapid approach of boots on the ground. When he looks over his shoulder, he sees Eddie rushing over. Steve stops, wondering what might be the trouble. Eddie comes within an arm’s reach and holds out a shining red apple. “For you. Since you missed your lunch.”

Something flutters in Steve’s chest and he takes the fruit from Eddie’s hand, shivering as their fingers just barely graze each other. Standing much closer now than they were before, he picks up Eddie’s fragrance of suede and cedar. It’s an intoxicating combination and Steve has to fight his urge to lean into his space to breathe it in deeper.

He takes a step back, ignoring the rapid beating of his heart, and looks up into those captivating eyes. “Thank you. You’re too kind.”

Eddie bows again and starts to back away towards the cottage. “It’s no trouble at all.”

As Steve makes his way back down the path, savoring the sweetness of the apple and the man who gave it to him, he decides that he will definitely be returning. He spends the remainder of the day trying to convince himself that his reasons lie with the blooming lilacs and hatching chicks. Yet as he drifts off to sleep that night, he dreams not of flowers and nests, but dark eyes and a bright smile.

Chapter 1<<Masterlist>>Chapter 3

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Well well well...what do we have here?

Taglist is open! Likes, comments, and reblogs are all greatly appreciated!!

@mrsjellymunson @the-unforgivenn @watermelonmite @hiscrimsonangel @micheledawn1975 @stedestielfrattficlover @disrespectedgoatman @orie-jai

[radioactiverats]

Are seekers in trines then drawn towards being in romantic poly relationships or is it more of a some seekers in trines are not romantically involved but might be more friendship or platonic focused with one person in there trine. You indicated that Thundercracker and Skywarp are in a romantic/flirty relationship but does Starscream have that kind of relationship with them too then? Just curious kinda the idea has just been rattling around in my brain since the new chapter 18. With starscream actively looking to expand the trine as well oof the tension with seeker reader!! Feels like seeker reader and starscream are pretty bonded though so it was so sad to read Starscream flirting and looking to find other seekers to frag!! Ahhh I can't wait to see how it turns out! Its such a good update I can't wait to see the progression!! 💖💖

Thank you for your ask and for following along with the story!! <333

In this AU all types of trine relationships exist, platonic/romantic alike. Trining for me feels more like a declaration that you trust these bots to have your back no matter what. Here specifically, the Elite Trine engage in romantic/intimate activities on top of their bond with each other, but I imagine TC and Skywarp spend more time together and have their own sort of way to interact - because Starscream’s the leader, and SIC to boot. He’s always busy and grumpy as a result :,)) Imagine engaging with a group of friends and they’re all your friends, but you have different sorts of relationships with each of them individually. At the same time, this leaves Starscream stranded aloft on a plateau of loneliness more often than not, because there’s no one to really understand his troubles as leader. TC and Skywarp probably help Starscream blow off steam quite often, or cajole him into letting himself be taken care of before he actually shuts down. Starscream snarks at his trinemates a lot, but deep down he’d worry if anything happened to them :,)

Starscream’s pretty open about flirting with other bots, you know this. Maybe it’s a seeker thing, maybe it’s a Starscream thing. But either way, he doesn’t seem to think much of flirting with others - he seems to view it as a valid tactic to gain allies. All the same, he doesn’t realize the effect it has on you. You at least take comfort in the fact that he doesn’t sleep with just anyone anymore - you’d listened in rapt fascination and horror during one Girls Night when Skywarp got hold of some engex and decided to regale you in great detail with tales of their past. But with your instincts emerging now, you’re not sure how you’d take it if Starscream came back to your shared habsuite directly from a tryst with someone else, or if he simply didn’t come back for the night. (Absently, you wonder whether it’s your presence that caused this change, but nah. You can’t, won’t be so presumptuous. Especially when you get to leech warmth from his frame every night - you’re not complaining.)

The bond you share runs deep, but it’s one of those characterised by a fierce protectiveness, care, and trust. Beyond that, you don’t know what to call it, and there are trine bonds like this. You’re happy knowing that the depth of your affections for him are reciprocated, but you can’t help but want more given that he actively wants a flock. You’re right in front of him. Your instincts scream that you would be a good candidate, and and the turning point now is Starscream realising that you’re suited to be a trine leader, which opens up the possibility of bonding as leaders and forming a flock together. (Of course, when others try to court you as a potential trinemate, Starscream turns his nose up at the very idea of you being anything less than trine leader and doles out the rejections for you.) Your reaction to his flirtations with others are a sign - he’ll be observing you carefully, testing your reactions to potentially pushing your bond further.

But at the end of the day, the connection with him is one based on a deep sense of care and trust for each other. You’d trusted him with many of your ‘firsts’, so to speak, graduation, fighting, injury… and now trining instincts. Even if you had more choice in the matter, you would without a doubt choose him to guide you through these experiences, because you can’t think of anyone you trust more. His bond to you is markedly different as well, because by virtue of staying by his side for so long, you understand what he’s up against - the stresses of being Air Commander and SIC, Megatron, his worries about his trinemates. You see it all, and as a result understand him in a way that’s different from the others. TC and Skywarp had remarked on it, too - you’re good for him, Thundercracker had told you gently. The way he so naturally assumes to find you by his side… it’s a good thing. I hope you feel the same.

[qoldenskies]

What would you say are your greatest goals as an author? :>

overall? i think i'd just like to make something good, and get it published. ive got a long way to go when it comes to my skill, but i have a lot of stories that i would love to make fully realized one day.

in fandom specifically? i think one day i'd love to make something worthy of being The fic in a fandom, not rottmnt specifically just in general. the idea of someone being invested in my work enough to want to make an animatic of it like that is something ive found myself daydreaming about,,, im always so excited when i see discussion about my work that i'm not facilitating already! :3 and i am admittedly a bit of a raging egotist, but this isnt news

[crystalkitty1220]

Man I wonder where the leader of the fear realm could've gone, it's alMOST LIKE NEVIN HAS AN

[perexcri]

happy one year to her and one of my better opening lines for a fic <3

now, because i'm curious:

[waywardsalt]

tbh i might go ahead and put dungeons in as a part of the bellum x linebeck fic's plot since like. 1) struggling to actually figure out a main plot and having dungeons as sort of bit points to hit and be little bits of fitting exploration and bonding and 2) i do kinda want to do dungeons. i like thinking of them and again i do think its fitting.

[icemankazansky]

A Simple Guide to Not Being Afraid to Write Comments to Fic You Read

I've seen a lot of posts about the current state of fanfiction comments. Writers, especially writers who have been in fandom for a decade or more, are frustrated by the lack of comments, and have noticed a definite decline in comments (and all other forms of reader interaction) in the past ten years or so. Many readers feel daunted by the expectation of leaving comments, afraid they'll do something wrong. As a fandom old maid, the latter confused me for a while, until I realized that most of the people who feel that way probably have not been taught this form of communication.

But your loving fandom elders are here for you. Come along as your auntie tumblr user icemankazansky makes this shit easy.

The easiest way to think of fanfiction comment etiquette is to compare it to something you likely already know: Gift Receiving Etiquette.

Fanfiction began as largely a gift economy. And a lot of it still is! You'll see authors participate in exchanges like Yuletide and Id Pro Quo; those are ficswaps in which authors write for a specific person to specific prompts. And even outside that, fanfiction is not written for money; authors write and post it simply for the joy of creation and community with fellow fans. Fic is posted free for anyone to enjoy. Is that not a gift?

So. When you as a reader finish the chapter or story you're reading and you are faced with the comment box, try to follow the same etiquette you would when receiving a gift. (And even if you didn't love this gift and it's not your favorite gift ever, we already know that it's more useful than the products from your cousin's MLM that they're passing off as gifts, because you read the story. At the very least, it entertained you for the time you took to read it.)

The big rule of gift receiving etiquette is not to insult the person who gave you the gift, either directly or indirectly. That's it. Full stop.

I've been seeing a lot of comments lately that are just along the lines of, "Thank you for writing this story and sharing it with us." A+, top of the class, full marks, you're doing amazing. If you don't feel comfortable commenting on the story itself, that is perfect feedback. And that's the most basic way you respond to a gift, yes? Thank you for the gift. Thank you for thinking of me. Thank you for sharing.

Does this rule mean that you cannot say anything at all that might be negative about anything? No, absolutely not. What you want to avoid is saying something that is, at its core, a negative evaluation of the author or their work. Let's do some examples.

Character A's obliviousness about Character B's MASSIVE crush on them made me so frustrated! I was tearing my hair out internally screaming, "JUST LET HIM LOVE YOU."

✔️ Excellent comment! You're allowed to have all sorts of feelings about things that happen in the story, and in fact authors LOVE to hear about any emotions they made you feel. Yes, frustration is not a positive emotion, but the thing you are expressing frustration about is not the author themselves or their shortcomings.

Contrast that to:

I was really frustrated that it took you so long to post this chapter. The cliffhanger at the end of the previous chapter had me tearing my hair out, and then you just left us hanging FOREVER!

❌ Nope! Here what you are expressing is frustration with the author and how fast they come out with new chapters. Imagine your sister buys you a gift for your birthday, but she isn't able to give it to you until the next week, and you respond with: "What took you so long?" I think Emily Post would frown on that.

Reframing

The way you say something and the point of view from which you give feedback can have a HUGE impact on the message you're sending. Let's take the last comment (the one about wanting an update) and see what happens when we reframe the same sentiment as a positive:

I was SO EXCITED to see that you updated this story! I have really been looking forward to seeing what happened after the cliffhanger in the last chapter.

✔️ Now it's not an insult. The author will be happy to know that you are happy to see new work from them.

This idea extends beyond the story itself: to the fandom, the characters, the pairing, the tropes, etc. Let's do some examples.

I looooove reading about these sexy boys SO IN LOVE even though the movie you're writing about is SOOOOO problematic.

❌ Nope! Assume that the author enjoys the canon, characters, pairing, etc. in the stories they write. This comment is insulting to the author because it basically says, "That thing you love is not great, and you should probably feel bad for liking it." Imagine your aunt gifts you a sweater from a popular retailer, and you respond with, "This is so cute, I love it! It's a shame that it was made in a sweatshop." Do you have a valid point about the canon or the retailer's business practices? You very well might. Is this the proper time and place to talk about it? Absolutely not.

Let's do a reframing exercise. You should be very careful about how you approach commenting negatively on anything in the story that appears in the tags list, but you can make it a compliment and good feedback if you have the right perspective. See the difference with these two approaches:

I kind of think frottage is disgusting, but I liked it in this story.

❌ Nope! You just told the author you think their kink is disgusting. That's like telling your poor aunt who is just trying to keep you warm this winter that she has awful taste in knitwear. Try again.

Frottage normally isn't my kink, but I love your other stories with this pairing, so I decided to give it a try, and I'm SOOOOO GLAD that I did! This story was 🔥🔥🔥

✔️ "This normally isn't my thing, but you made me expand my horizons!" Authors love to hear that. That's like telling your aunt, "I never thought this color looked good on me, but I look so cute in this sweater! I'm so glad you helped me step outside my comfort zone, because I'm the better for it."

thank u, next

The last thing I want to address is this new trend I've seen in commenting lately: placing an order. If your mom surprises you with new headphones, you don't respond with, "I wanted the white ones 🙁," or, "You should get me a new phone, too." It's easy to see why that isn't appropriate in a gifting situation, and it's also not appropriate when commenting on fanfiction.

Let's do some examples:

This fic was soooo cute, but it would have been a million times better if Character A had been with Character C instead of Character B.

❌ There are a few things going on here. Number one, you're telling your mom you wanted the white headphones, not the ones she actually bought you. You're also disparaging the A/B pairing that the author chose to write about, and as we discussed, we can assume that the author wrote the pairing because they liked it. Even if it's not their favorite and/or they also write A/C, they made a choice for this story to be A/B, and the comments section of a fic is not the place to question choices the author made in their own work.

You should write a story where Character Z who is not even in this story does [thing that is vaguely referenced in the B plot].

❌ "You should get me a new phone, too."

I want a sequel. 😞

❌ "Thank you, next!"

You can reframe this kind of sentiment if you are careful about it, and it's not all you say.

I really loved this story. I would be so interested to see these ideas explored further if you ever decide to write more in this universe.

✔️ Not "gimme." Not "more." This is, "If you build it, I will come." It is a HUGE difference.

You already know how to do this. You know how to graciously accept a gift; just use that same etiquette, and boom! Now you know how to fearlessly write a comment to fic you read. You're doing amazing. Go forth and comment.

[sketchtastrophee]

more old art!! featuring theo and my human harley fan design!! RUN THEODORE RUN (he's cooked)

im gonna talk about chapter 4 under here so only click if ur ok with spoilers! also its a huge yapfest. like HUUGE. i just want to voice my opinions about prototype because i've seen ppl sort of miss the point of what happened at the end of the chapter

I LOVED CHAPTER 4! IT WAS SO COOL!! i was sooo worried but im glad it turned out good. rip pianosaurus tho..

tldr (for the bunch of paragraphs where I talk abt prototype)

prototype being ollie is deranged because it means he was terrorizing the toys of safe haven on purpose for the fun of it when he could have killed them at any time. he also created an extremely close emotional bond with poppy for OVER A DECADE just to tear it all away from her at the end and tell her it was meaningless (he then proceeds to taunt her over the phone abt it). bro is LITERALLY TROLLING

you cant tell me that final scene w the "ive got something special in mind. i prepared it just for you, and this time you'll never want to leave." isnt some tom and jerry shit

ABT PROTOTYPE REVEALING HIMSELF AS OLLIE... (the long explanation)

we ALL knew he was ollie, but i don't think people are seeing the point of this reveal. it wasn't about revealing himself to us the player, it's about the implications that arise from it. he had been playing both sides for 10+ YEARS. that's deranged enough but not even CLOSE to the end of it

as ollie he had emotionally supported poppy in her lowest moments (as heard in the ollie and poppy tape). this tape also insinuates that (at least around the time it was recorded) the two of them called frequently, possibly every night. he wasn't just pretending to be everyone's ally, he was PRETENDING TO BE THEIR CLOSEST FRIEND THAT THEY COULD VENT TO 😭 he heard this poor girl sob into the phone and tell him about how she felt her humanity being taken from her, AND HE KEPT UP THE CHARADE AND COMFORTED HER, KNOWING THIS PATH HAD BAD INTENTIONS

what's worse than all of that, though, is that him being ollie means that at any time in the last 10 years he could have used the persona to force his way into safe haven. AT ANY TIME HE COULD HAVE KILLED THEM ALL. HE COULD SIMPLY USE THE OLLIE VOICE AND ASK THEM TO OPEN THE DOOR. why is this worse, you ask? because HE WAS LITERALLY TERRORIZING THEM ON PURPOSE.

think about the note in the cart/cave area. a toy from safe haven writes that prototype was right outside the door the night before, he'd gotten past the traps and was just tapping on the wall and staring. they said after he was gone they still felt they could hear it. HE IS LITERALLY BEING SCARY ON PURPOSE???? LEGIT TRAUMATIZING THEM AND FOR NO REASON. HE COULD GET IN THERE, HE'S SIMPLY CHOOSING TO MAKE THEIR LIVES HELL

so thats crazy.. BUT ALSO THE ENDING? in the poppy and ollie tape he says "im right here, poppy. for you. i'll always be here." AND AT THE END OF THE GAME, WHEN POPPY ASKS WHAT HE DID WITH OLLIE, HE SAYS THAT. you know what that means? that means he said that shit to her ALL THE TIME. clearly only the two of them would be familiar with the phrase which is why after he said it, she immediately knew he was ollie the whole time

i feel bad for poppy. she ran off but she was valid for that. all her friends from safe haven are dead, the only ones left are the player, kissy and ollie, but she soon realizes that ollie is WORSE than dead. he is LITERALLY HER ENEMY. the thousands of conversations they had, probably hundreds of times she vented and told him her plans and discussed her life with him? ALL FOR NOTHING. any time she thought she was winning the past 10 years was a lie, she was ALWAYS LOSING because he was GETTING ALL THE INFO FROM THEM. she genuinely never had a chance and i think she realized that

in her dialogue you can tell she's grieving ollie (obviously he IS prototype, but i think she's grieving the thought of him). saying "you lied to me" to the prototype of all people is absurd (considering he's done far worse than lie) but when you think about how she feels, it makes sense.

also the part where she said "this isn't right". again, a weird thing to say to him of all people, but if you put yourself in her shoes she's grieving the friend she thought she had, and she's struggling to grapple with the fact that it all meant nothing. somewhere in her mind she believes "ollie" as a personality is there somewhere, because how could someone be that close with you and mean none of it? she thinks that voicing this pain he's inflicted will change his mind, but it won't. and that's why it's genuinely really sad. that's why she asks if there was ever an ollie. i don't think she meant it literally, and i don't think his answer was literal either. she didn't mean "were you a mf named ollie once" she meant it like "was our friendship ever genuine?" which makes his response both heartbreaking and interesting.

so not only is her world shattered now, most of her friends are dead and the one who wasn't turned out to be her opp, but now he's TAUNTING HER OVER THE PHONE AND THREATENING HER. nice one... (loved the quip after she ran off btw. that shit was hilarious. like bro u made her crash out and went "some friend, huh?" YOU CANT SAY THAT BRO)

anyway think of it from her perspective: everyone you knew is gone, and soon the only 2 people that remain will be too. you can't run, or hide, or do anything. he WILL find you, and when he does he'll lock you away FOREVER where NOBODY WILL BE LEFT TO SAVE YOU. I WOULD RUN TOO.............. plus her running off probably led him away so.. she saved us sorta.

ALL THAT TO SAY THAT I REALLY LIKE THE OLLIE REVEAL FOR REASONS FAR BEYOND A SIMPLE TWIST. him being ollie for over a decade raises many many questions, and suggests very dark things.

hes crazy and the fact he did a monologue means he knows he won. he wouldn't have spilled the beans otherwise...

[nefastnefertiti]

WHY CHAPTER 431 OF MY HERO ACADEMIA SCREAMS CENSORSHIP

First let's start by the "afterword", the note Horikoshi left after 430 and before the extras, chapter 431.

Original japanese for those who understand.

The best traslation I found and most people are agreeing with.

Key sentences are:

1.The real final chapter is 429, 430 is more like a curtain call.

2. PS: For chapter 431, I turn off the cameras and free the characters from their dramas.

This note being left after 430 and before the extras is so important. . The clarification of "the real final chapter is 429" and 430 is the curtain call is screaming: the show has ended here. This is further stated by "i turn the cameras off" by the man who use to refer himself as the camera man, I leave you with an example.

(They're talking about Vol 37 cover)

And back to point number 2: "and free the characters from their dramas", which could perfectly be understood as "the characters are no longer tied to their previous plots and drama" no longer connected to the main story.

It may seem like a reach until here, we're just trying to convince ourselves that's not canon, right? They´re delusions, right?

The problem is how far away everything about 431 antagonizes the whole story, the characters doesn't feel like themselves, they even regress back all their development, the drawing style looks totally different and there are many irregularities that call for our attention.

Dabi, 431 and by Horikoshi

Toga and Ochaco in 431:

Toga and Ochaco by Horikoshi:

All Might's signature for Katsuki (Horikoshi would never mess this up):

Kirishima with 6 fingers lol, Horikoshi loves drawing hands, he would never.

Katsuki's odd teeth what the fuck. (His hand looks good to me)

Ochaco and Shoto just look, weird. It's clearly not Horikoshi's art style.

And this awful background (center) was the main giveaway.

Horikoshi's backgrounds are so professional:

At this point I'm getting tired since the difference is astounding, don't believe me, just check the manga.

I don't think Horikoshi would've allowed those mistakes had he have a role in the making, maybe he did, there's no saying about that, but clearly if he did his involvement was very low.

Character's development wise now.

Seriously? "Deku"? And Katsuki complaining for picking him up. He cried his eyes out when Izuku lost his quirk and now he's back at season 1?

Izuku would never in a million years turn down that offer. And if he did, it would never be like this, so devoid of emotion and empathy.

430 showed us an Izuku aiming for his dreams again and at 431 this Izuku ¿? It's okay with being a teacher? Ok. And if that's not the problem, why he outright rejects Katsuki out of nowhere? When their rivalry was one of the main points of the plots for 430 chapters and now just um over? Without justification? Ok.

Ok.

Now specifically about that ship canonization and bkdk.

Horikoshi has been doing this for 10 years. The choices he took the whole manga were incredibly intentional, all those romantic tropes given to bkdk, his interviews, all stand in direct opposition to what happened in this last chapter.

I, myself, don't know much about Jump but what I've heard is they end lot of shonens with the same heterosexual formula. I don't think all of this is a coincidence.

Something really important that needs to be adressed to is what happened back in June (I think), when suddenly MHA announced it was ending in 5 chapters could've something to do with this. The manga was suddenly rushed to its ends with unsatisfying resolutions and as if that was not enough, one month later (at most) the same happened to JJK and all of this came accompanied by a switch of one of the heads of Jump.

About 431 again though.

I was just thinking what would I do if I was pressured to write something that ruins the biggest project of my life and goes against everything I was hoping for? Refuse. Tell them to write it themselves. If I can't do anything to stop it and it'll be there, alright, but I WON'T DO IT.

And I think this could be Horikoshi's case.

I've never seen a shonen manga come so close to implying his male protagonist and his male deuteragonist are in love before. Yes, it was not EXPLICIT but it was so fucking clear if you knew how to read, all the way up to 430. All those cliches tropes he gave them, he knew, we know.

I thought I'll die trying to explaineverything that seems wrong with this with nothing to back me up but the fact that he added that note is clear for me. I'm surprised they allowed him to publish it, I thought we wouldn't even have that.

PS:

It's interesting this being posted the same day 431 comes out. Also "heroaca is pretty dark, huh?"

I'll not go into this anyways because it's kind of a reach but the conclusion is: I think it's a "soft" censorship and Horikoshi did his best to relay his message given what he had.

Thanks for reading!

[violetszn]

one

summary ✩ you found it hard to believe that it could actually be this hard finding a roommate. when you take up your boss’s offer and end up letting his daughter move in, you find it even harder believe that a match could be this perfect.

warnings ✩ 5.3k ✩ swearing and drinking but that’s pretty much it for this chapter. also one little innuendo towards the end.

notes ✩ so this one is around 5k words but i haven't decided yet if i wanna leave the rest of the chapters around this length or if they'd be better longer. definitely let me know what you're feeling about the length !! <3

chapters ⇨

The Last Drop hummed with its usual late-night energy, laughter and low conversations falling over the clink of glasses and the occasional small argument among friends. You wiped down the counter, only half listening to a group of regulars argue over a card game while keeping an eye on the random drunkard who always underestimated his tolerance.

“I don’t need to slow down, I can handle my alcohol — I’m a grown man alright? Back off!”

Vander leaned against the bar beside you, arms crossed, surveying the crowd like a guard dog. His presence was grounding and authoritative. The kind that made people behave without him ever having to say much.

“You look tired,” he noted, his voice carrying over the noise.

You exhaled, pressing your hands against the cool surface of the bar. “Yeah, I’ve been dealing with a headache of a situation. Trying to find a decent roommate is way harder than I thought it’d be. Way harder. The last guy that sent in an application actually asked if he could have a pet puma, for ‘future references’.”

Vander raised a brow. “Sounds… rough to say the least. You put up a flyer?”

You gestured toward the message board near the entrance. “Couple days ago. I’ve had some applications, but nothing promising. Another guy asked if he could keep his pet tortoise in the bathtub.”

Vander let out a deep chuckle. “That’s a new one.”

“Yeah, so unless you know someone who won’t bring in a wild animal or hog my bathroom, I think I’m out of luck.”

Vander tilted his head slightly, considering something. 

“Actually… I do know someone.”

You glanced at him, intrigued.

“Vi.”

You hesitated. The name was familiar. You’d heard plenty about her from Vander and Powder, seen quick glimpses of her on Vander’s lockscreen or when Powder was excitedly showing off pictures. And yet, despite how often she supposedly came to the Last Drop, you’d never actually run into her. Just bad timing, you guessed.

“Your… daughter?”

“Yeah. She’s looking for a place closer to campus,” Vander continued, reaching for a clean glass and absentmindedly polishing it. “She’s responsible, keeps to herself most of the time. She can be a bit of trouble sometimes but I promise she’s got a good heart. Knows how to throw a punch if you ever need backup.”

You furrow your brows in confusion. “Why would I need backup?”

Vander gives you a raised brow in return. In a place like Zaun, that was a rhetorical question. 

You mulled it over. Vi was somewhat of a mystery to you, but if Vander recommended her, that meant something. Plus, finding a roommate was proving to be a nightmare. At this point, you’d take a mystery over a guy who collects wild animals.

“I’ll think about it,” you finally said, tossing the rag over your shoulder. “but it sounds promising.” 

Vander smirked. “I’ll let her know.”

And with that, the conversation shifted, but something told you your search for a roommate might be over sooner than you thought.

The steady hum of the city outside your window was almost comforting, a distant reminder that the world kept moving even as you buried yourself in coursework. You sat at your desk, fingers hovering over your keyboard, eyes blurring slightly from staring at the same paragraph for too long.

With a sigh, you leaned back in your chair, rolling out the tension in your shoulders. Just as you were about to force yourself to focus, your phone buzzed beside you.

A new email.

You grabbed your phone and squinted at the screen. 

Subject: Roommate Application – Vi

Your eyebrows lifted slightly. That was fast. You hadn’t expected Vi to actually apply so soon — hell, you weren’t even sure she’d be interested. But Vander must have mentioned it to her right away. You couldn’t help but wonder if he talked you up the way he did her.

Curious, you opened the email.

The application itself was pretty straightforward. 

Name: Violet. Preferred Name: Vi. Occupation: Student. Side gigs: Boxing instructor, part-time fighter. Hobbies: Same as my side gigs. 

You huffed a quiet laugh. At least she was honest.

Scrolling further, you skimmed through the standard details; her budget, preferred move-in date, and emergency contact which, unsurprisingly, was Vander. But what really caught your attention was the attached photo.

It wasn’t anything posed, just a casual shot, probably something Powder had taken. Vi sat at a gym bench, hands wrapped, sweaty and mid-laugh, her pink hair a little messy. Even through the screen, there was an energy to her, something sharp but effortless.

You sat back, tapping your fingers against your desk.

So, this was Vi.

Technically, you’d seen her before, but this was the first time you were really looking at her. And now, she might be your new roommate.

“Well,” you muttered to yourself, “could be worse, I guess.”

You were just about to close the email when something at the bottom caught your eye.

Socials: @ CherrybombVi

Your eyes flickered back to your assignment, then back to the email. You hesitated, then scoffed at yourself. It wasn’t even a question, you were obviously going to look. If she included it, that meant she didn’t care if you saw. And honestly? You needed to know what kind of person you’d be living with.

Tapping the link, you landed on her Instagram profile. The username fit, CherrybombVi. Bold, confident, and straight to the point. Her bio was just as simple: 🥊

Most of her posts were fight clips, training footage, or gym shots, but even those had an effortless appeal. One video showed her in the ring, body fluid and sharp as she dodged a punch before delivering a brutal counter. Some seemed to be borderline thirst traps but something tells you it isn’t even intentional - she just looks like that.

Then there were the more casual posts; Vi leaning against the ropes, smirking at the camera, a candid of her laughing with Powder, a rare mirror selfie that showed off her tattoos, muscles, and sweat-slicked skin in a way that had your brain misfiring.

Your face felt hot.

This was your potential new roommate? You had only ever caught glimpses of her in photos before, never enough to form a real impression, and yet somehow you hadn’t expected… this. Before you could spiral too much, your finger moved on autopilot and hit Follow.

You set your phone down, exhaling sharply, only for it to buzz almost immediately.

New DM from CherrybombVi.

Your stomach flipped as you opened the message.

CherrybombVi so ur the one vander’s been hyping up?

Your breath hitched slightly. She followed you back that fast? Fingers hovering over the keyboard, you tried to come up with a response that didn’t make you sound completely unhinged.

You depends what exactly has he been saying?

A typing bubble appeared almost immediately.

CherrybombVi that ur looking for a roommate that ur not an asshole and that u can make a decent drink

You huffed a quiet laugh.

You i mean yeah he’s not wrong

CherrybombVi cool so when do we meet?

Your stomach did another stupid little flip.

You how’s tomorrow?

CherrybombVi works for me Last Drop?

You figured you’d say that

CherrybombVi best place in town. vander pays me to say that

You does he?

CherrybombVi nah, but he should

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself.

You alright, Last Drop tomorrow. we’ll talk, see if this’ll work

CherrybombVi sounds good hope ur not easily scared off ;)

You bit your lip.

You guess we’ll see.

As soon as you hit send, you set your phone down again and let your head fall back against the chair. Why did that make your heart race?

The Last Drop was busy tonight, the usual crowd packed into their favorite corners, drinks in hand, conversations rolling over the music playing from the old speakers overhead. You were behind the bar, moving on autopilot as you poured drinks and exchanged easy banter with the regulars.

Despite keeping yourself busy, there was a part of you that kept one eye on the door. You weren’t nervous exactly, just… anticipating. When the door finally swung open and she walked in, you knew immediately.

Even without the pink hair, Vi carried herself in a way that made her stand out. She was relaxed but sure-footed, like she belonged in every room she stepped into. She was dressed casually, hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket, eyes scanning the room until they landed on you.

Your stomach did something weird.

Vander, who had been stacking glasses nearby, glanced up and grinned. “Right on time.”

You barely had time to react before he clapped a hand on your shoulder. “Go on, take a break. I got the bar.”

You blinked. “You sure? It’s busy.”

“I’ve handled worse,” Vander said easily, already moving to take your spot. “Vi’s here to see you. Go talk.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. After drying your hands on a towel, you stepped out from behind the bar and made your way over to where Vi had already claimed a booth near the back.

Up close, she was... yeah. The photos hadn’t lied. Sharp jawline, freckled skin, toned arms resting on the table as she leaned back in her seat like she had all the time in the world.

“Hey,” she greeted, smirking just slightly. “Guess you’re real after all.”

You raised an eyebrow as you slid into the seat across from her. “Did you think I was fake?”

“Wouldn’t have been the weirdest thing I’ve seen on the internet,” she said, shrugging.

You snorted, shaking your head. “Fair enough.”

Vi leaned forward slightly, resting her arms on the table. “So. Roommates.”

“Roommates,” you echoed, feeling a little caught off guard by how direct she was. Not in a bad way, just… unexpected.

Vi tilted her head. “I’ll be real with you. I don’t make a mess, I always cover my share of the rent, and I don’t bring random women over. Schedule-wise, I’m out a lot for training and classes, but I’m usually home at night. I crash early when I can.”

That last part caught your attention. Not because it was weird, just that Vander made it sound like she was always busy.

“You sleep early?” you asked, more curious than anything.

Vi nodded easily. “Not super early. At a regular time, really. I get up early for workouts often. Kinda have to if I don’t wanna get my ass handed to me.” That made sense. If she was constantly training, she’d need the rest.

You nodded. “Vander did say you keep busy.”

Vi smirked. “That’s one way to put it.”

You leaned back in your seat, studying her. She was easy to talk to, even with how little you actually knew about her. It made the whole thing feel… simple. Like this might actually work.

“What about you?” Vi asked, tipping her head toward you. “Vander said you’re not an asshole, but that’s a pretty low bar.”

You huffed a laugh. “I’m clean, I don’t throw parties, and I pay on time. Only real downside is I have early mornings sometimes, so if you’re planning on sneaking in at sunrise, try not to slam the door.”

Vi grinned. “Deal.”

You looked at her for a moment, then exhaled. “This might actually work.”

Vi smirked. “Guess we’ll find out.”

And just like that, it was decided.

You and Vi shook on it, sealing the deal with a firm grip. Her handshake was just what you expected: strong, confident, and steady.

"Guess that makes it official," Vi said, smirking as she leaned back in her seat.

"Looks like it," you replied, mirroring her expression.

By the time your break was over, you had worked out the details; rent, move-in date, all the necessary logistics. Vi would be moving in the following week, giving you time to clear the spare room and make space for her things.

That night, you wasted no time. As soon as you got home, you started rearranging—cleaning out the closet, dusting off the shelves, and making sure everything was ready. You even sent her a quick message:

You room’s all set whenever ur ready

Vi’s reply came fast.

CherrybombVi damn ur quick i’ll be there next week

You stared at the message a little longer than necessary before shaking your head and setting your phone down. This could be good. It'll be nice sharing the burden of rent and livening up the quiet apartment a bit.

The knock at your door was solid, deliberate. You took a steadying breath before opening it, and there she was, duffel bag slung over one shoulder and a couple of boxes stacked neatly at her feet.

"Hey, roomie," Vi greeted, smirking slightly.

You swallowed, trying to ignore the way your stomach twisted at the casual way she said that. "Hey. You, uh… you travel light."

Vi glanced at her stuff and shrugged. "Don’t need much."

You nodded, stepping aside so she could come in. As Vi walked past, you could feel the presence she carried, like she was used to taking up space without trying.

Clearing your throat, you motioned down the hall. "Your room’s this way." Vi followed as you led her to the spare bedroom, pushing open the door to reveal the space you had cleared for her.

"It’s not much, but, uh…" You shifted slightly, tucking your hands into your pockets. "You can do whatever you want with it. Move stuff around, redecorate, it doesn’t really matter to me."

Vi stepped inside, scanning the room with a thoughtful nod. "Yeah, this works. Thanks."

You exhaled, relieved that she seemed satisfied. "Cool." For a beat, neither of you said anything. Then, remembering something, you added, "Oh, uh, Powder wants to come over for dinner later. Hope that’s okay."

Vi turned to look at you, eyebrows raised. "Powder?"

You nodded. "Yeah, she, um, she said she wants to throw you a welcome dinner where 'I do all the cooking and her presence is enough' or whatever it was she said."

Vi studied you for a moment, arms loosely crossed over her chest. "You and Powder are close?"

You hesitated, then shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so. We met a couple of years ago in an art class."

Vi’s brows lifted slightly in surprise. "She never mentioned that."

You smiled a little. "She probably doesn’t think it’s a big deal. She sat next to me the first day, and we just kinda clicked. She’s the one who told me about the job at the Last Drop, actually. Said Vander needed someone and that I should give it a shot."

Vi huffed a quiet laugh. "Figures. She always did like pulling people into her world."

You nodded, shifting on your feet. "So… dinner?"

Vi smirked. "Yeah, alright. Could be nice."

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. "Cool. I’ll start dinner in a little while."

Vi gave you a long look, something unreadable flickering in her eyes before she nodded. "Sounds like a plan, cupcake."

You tried not to think too hard about how that word made your heart do something weird.

The kitchen was warm, filled with the rich scent of garlic, tomatoes, and seared chicken as you finished up dinner. You’d gone with something comforting; pasta, creamy and packed with flavor, with garlic bread crisping up in the oven.

Powder arrived first, waltzing in like she lived there. "Damn, something smells amazing."

Vi followed behind, empty boxes in tow from her unpacking earlier. "Wait—you actually cooked?"

You glanced over your shoulder, stirring the sauce. "What, did you think I was bluffing?"

Vi smirked. "No, I just figured I was gonna be living off instant noodles and bar food."

"You still might, jury's not out yet," you teased. Powder snickered as she stole a piece of garlic bread straight off the pan.

Once everything was plated, the three of you gathered around the small dining table, Powder practically vibrating with excitement as she took her first bite.

"Okay, what the hell," she mumbled through a mouthful. "You made this? Like, from scratch?"

"That’s usually how cooking works, Pow." Vi grins, watching as you tease her sister in a similar fashion to the way she does.

Vi took a bite, pausing for a second before nodding approvingly. "Alright, yeah. I’m impressed."

You smirked as you grabbed the bottle of wine you’d set aside for you and Vi, pouring a glass for each of you. Powder gave you both a pointed look, crossing her arms.

"I feel like I’m missing out," she said.

"You are," Vi said, taking a sip.

Powder huffed dramatically before refocusing on her food.

The conversation flowed easily after that, mostly Powder bouncing between ridiculous stories from their childhood and Vi occasionally cutting in to correct the details.

"And then she—" Powder pointed at Vi with her fork, "—convinced Mylo that licking a frozen pipe wouldn’t actually make his tongue stick."

Vi grinned, unbothered. "To be fair, I thought he’d be fine."

"He had to drink hot water through a straw for a week!"

"Okay, but I was the one who got yelled at, so really, haven’t I suffered enough?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "Sounds like you two were menaces."

"We were," Vi confirmed, smirking. "What about you? Chaotic too?"

You shook your head. "Not really. I was pretty quiet. Spent most of my time drawing, painting, reading, or writing."

Vi tilted her head. "Writing, huh? What kind of stuff?"

"Just little things," you said, suddenly self-conscious. "Short stories and stuff—whatever came to mind."

Vi nodded, looking genuinely interested. "That’s cool. And what do you read?"

"Mystery, horror, romance – stuff like that."

Vi’s brows lifted. "That’s a mix."

You smirked. "I like a little balance."

"So you’ll read about a guy getting murdered in one book and then flip to people making out in the next?"

"Pretty much."

Vi huffed a laugh, shaking her head. "Alright, yeah. You’re an interesting one."

The night stretched on like that — easy conversation, laughter, and shared stories over empty plates. By the time you realized how late it had gotten, the food was long gone, Powder was curled up on the couch half-asleep, and the wine bottle between you and Vi was completely empty.

Vi stretched, rolling her shoulders as she leaned back in her chair. "Alright, now it feels official. I’m moved in."

You exhaled, smiling. "Yeah. Guess so."

She glanced at you, something unreadable in her expression before she smirked. "Not bad, roomie."

"Not bad yourself," you said, and for the first time since you’d started looking for a roommate, you actually felt relieved.

Maybe this was going to work out after all.

The night wound down slowly, the energy in the apartment settling into something quieter, warmer. Powder stretched out with a yawn, rubbing at her eyes before glancing at her phone.

"Alright, Ekko’s on his way to pick me up," she announced, pushing herself up from the couch.

Vi smirked. "Finally getting rid of you? Thought we’d have to drag you out."

Powder scoffed. "Please, I’m leaving before you two start acting all old and responsible." She turned to you. "You better keep her in check."

You let out a soft laugh, the wine making everything feel pleasantly hazy. "I’ll do my best."

Powder slung her bag over her shoulder, then pointed at Vi. "Don’t scare off your new roommate yet."

Vi rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah."

The night had settled into a comfortable quiet after Powder left, leaving just you and Vi in the kitchen as you worked together to clean up. The occasional clatter of dishes and the sound of running water filled the space, but neither of you seemed in any hurry to finish.

Vi leaned casually against the counter, drying off the last plate as she watched you with an amused smirk. "Gotta say, didn’t expect my new roommate to be such a responsible drunk."

You huffed a laugh, placing the last dish in the drying rack. "Yeah, well… unfortunately, I have class pretty damn early tomorrow, so I should head to sleep. Hopefully, I can sleep off this wine."

Vi pushed off the counter, stepping into your space just enough to make you notice. "Shame. You’re kinda fun when you’re a little tipsy."

Your stomach did a weird little flip at that. "Oh, so I’m not fun when I’m sober?"

Vi smirked, tilting her head like she was sizing you up. "Didn’t say that. Just means I’ll have to stick around to find out."

You swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of how close she was. The buzz from the wine definitely wasn’t helping.

Vi’s smirk deepened like she could tell. "You should drink plenty of water before bed. Wouldn’t want you waking up miserable."

You cleared your throat, ignoring the warmth creeping up your neck. "Yeah. Good idea."

Vi stepped back, giving you an easy grin. "Goodnight, then."

You hesitated for a second before nodding. "Goodnight, Vi."

And with that, you slipped into your room, shutting the door behind you. You were so in trouble.

Sure enough, you wake up at six with a pounding headache and the overwhelming regret of past decisions. The wine from last night lingers unpleasantly, a dull throb at your temples that makes you groan as you drag yourself out of bed.

You quickly pop some Tylenol and chug a glass of water, wincing at the way your stomach protests. The apartment is quiet. Vi’s still asleep, and you do your best to move through the space as quietly as possible, getting ready with slow, deliberate motions.

By the time you step out the door, the worst of the headache has dulled, but you’re still exhausted. And with your schedule ahead of you, you don’t have time to recover.

Mondays are always brutal. Between the early morning classes, tutoring sessions, and art class, you barely have a second to breathe. The hangover becomes background noise, something you push through as you move from one thing to the next. By the time you finally head home, you feel like you’re running on fumes.

When you step into the apartment, Vi is in the living room, dropping effortlessly into a set of push-ups. She looks up as you shut the door behind you, barely even out of breath.

"Damn," she grins. "You just getting home? Thought you might’ve died out there."

You groan, dropping your bag by the door. "Yeah, my Mondays are usually packed. It’s when I have my earliest classes as well as my art class. On top of that, of course, I had tutoring scheduled for this afternoon. I’m beat."

You rub your hands over your face, feeling the exhaustion settle deep in your bones.

Vi pushes herself up to sit back on her heels, resting her forearms on her knees. "Sounds like a lot."

"You have no idea," you mumble, kicking off your shoes.

She watches you for a second, then smirks. "You survive the hangover at least?"

"Barely," you mutter. "Didn’t really have time to deal with it."

Vi chuckles, shaking her head. "Damn. And here I was thinking I was the overachiever."

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small, tired smile that creeps onto your lips.

Vi stands up from the floor, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. She’s dressed in just a sports bra and a pair of sweats, her toned muscles catching the dim afternoon light.

"You look beat," she remarks, stepping closer, her gaze flicking over you like she’s assessing just how exhausted you really are.

You let out a tired sigh, rubbing your temples. "Long day."

"Yeah, no kidding." Vi tilts her head. "Why don’t you sit down for a bit? I’ll make you some tea or coffee — whichever gets you back to life."

She steps closer still, reaching out to touch your arm. It’s just a light, fleeting thing, but it’s enough to make you pause. "Seriously," she says, her voice softer now, edged with something almost… considerate. "You should take it easy tonight."

You exhale slowly, your body already sinking into the pull of exhaustion. "Some tea sounds nice… thanks, Vi."

She just nods and heads to the kitchen. You collapse onto the couch, your limbs aching as you listen to the quiet, rhythmic sounds of her moving around. Soon enough, she’s pressing a warm mug into your hands before settling beside you. The tea is perfect — soothing, the heat seeping into your fingers as you take slow sips.

Vi doesn’t rush you. She just sits there, the hum of the television filling the silence as you drink. Her presence is steady, grounding in a way you wouldn’t have expected.

Once you set the empty mug down, Vi stretches, then stands, shaking her head with a smirk. "Alright, time for you to crash."

You groan but make no move to get up. "I should probably—"

"Not push yourself until you pass out on the couch?" Vi interrupts, nudging your arm. "Yeah. Let’s not do that."

You sigh, dragging yourself upright. "Fine, fine. You win."

"Damn right I do," she quips, watching as you shuffle toward your room. "Drink more water before you knock out."

You mumble something unintelligible as you push open the door, already peeling off your clothes in favor of pajamas. The second your head hits the pillow, I’m you’re out.

You don’t hear Vi moving around the apartment.

You don’t hear the quiet stretch of tape wrapping around her knuckles, the slight pop of her joints as she shakes out her limbs in preparation.

You don’t hear the door unlatch or the way it clicks shut behind her as she slips out into the night, her steps light and deliberate, leading her toward the only place that gets her heart pounding the way she craves.

The underground pit calls to her, as it always does. The roar of a nameless crowd, the thrill of a fight that doesn't come with rules or restraints. It’s a part of her she refuses to let go of.

By the time you wake up the next morning, groggy and still half-buried in sleep, Vi’s already at the kitchen table, scrolling through her phone like it’s just another normal day.

She looks the same. Same easy smirk when she glances up at you, same casual posture.

But when you step closer, you notice the fresh bruises on her knuckles, the faint swell of her lip. Injuries that definitely weren’t there yesterday.

And yet, she doesn’t say a word about them. And, for some reason, you don’t ask.

After about a month of living together you pick up on Vi’s… personality. She’s a flirt through and through and honestly? A fucking menace. Guess you see where Powder gets it from.

You’re trying to read. Really, you are. But in your defense, it’s incredibly difficult when Vi has decided that the living room is her personal gym and you have a front-row seat to the show.

She’s in the middle of her workout, wearing nothing but a sports bra and sweatpants that hang low on her hips. Her abs flex with every movement, her arms tense and defined as she pushes through another set of sit-ups. She’s completely in the zone, brow furrowed in concentration, jaw tight, strands of pink hair falling onto her face.

And you, despite trying your hardest not to, are watching.

It’s not your fault. Vi is just… really fucking distracting. It’s an effortless kind of attractive. Like she isn’t even trying, like she has no idea how good she looks. But she has to know, right? There’s no way she doesn’t know.

You drag your eyes back down to your book, determined to focus. It works for all of ten seconds before Vi shifts into a plank position, muscles taut, posture flawless.

Shit.

You must be staring harder than you thought because, without even looking at you, Vi smirks.

“See something you like?”

Your entire body tenses up.

“No,” you say immediately, forcing your gaze back to the page in front of you. “I’m reading.”

“Uh-huh.” Her tone is full of amusement. “Didn’t realize your book was in my direction.”

You clench your jaw, refusing to take the bait. “It’s not.”

She finishes her set, stretching her arms over her head as she sits back.

“Oh, come on,” she teases, rolling out her shoulders. “You’ve been staring for, like, five minutes. I’m flattered, really.”

You huff, sinking further into the couch, arms crossed over your chest. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“And you’re a bad liar.” Vi grins, leaning back on her hands. “But hey, it’s fine. I like looking at you too.”

Your brain practically short-circuits. Vi says it so easily, so casually, like she’s not making your stomach do flips. She’s so smug about it. Meanwhile, your stomach does something inconvenient, and you have to force yourself to maintain an expression that doesn’t immediately give you away.

You clear your throat, trying not to sound as flustered as you feel. “You’re messing with me.”

She tilts her head, all innocence. “Am I?”

You narrow your eyes at her, but she just smirks. Desperate to change the mood, you pick up the nearest pillow and chuck it at her. She catches it effortlessly, laughing.

“Shut up.”

“No shame in it.” She tosses the pillow back onto the couch before stretching her arms over her head again, arching her back slightly as she groans from the stretch. You force yourself to look away, determined not to give her the satisfaction of catching you again.

But even as you turn back to your book, you can still feel her watching you, like she’s just as entertained by your reaction as she is by the workout itself.

“So,” she starts, casually leaning back on her hands, “since you were so obviously checking me out, what’s the verdict?”

You exhale sharply through your nose. “The verdict?”

“Yeah. On me.” She smirks, flexing her arm like some over-the-top gym bro. “Do I pass inspection?”

You roll your eyes, fighting the urge to smile. “Oh, absolutely. Five stars. Would ogle again.”

Vi laughs, tilting her head as if considering. “Only five?”

You shoot her a flat look. “Vi. I wasn’t checking you out, alright?”

“Come on… I feel like I deserve at least a six.”

You finally set your book aside, leaning forward with a feigned serious expression. “Sorry, but I don’t go higher than five. Gotta keep my ratings fair and unbiased.”

Vi grins, clearly enjoying herself. “Unbiased, huh?” She shifts forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “So if I were, say, a random dude at the gym, you’d still rate me the same?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Well, no, because if you were a random dude at the gym, I wouldn’t be—” You stop short, realizing too late where that sentence is going.

Vi’s smirk widens. “Wouldn’t be what?”

Your face burns. “Nothing.”

“Oh no, that sounded important.” She leans in, elbows on her knees, like she’s trying to coax the answer out of you. “You wouldn’t be… checking me out? So I am your type, hmm? Good to know.”

You groan, pushing your hands against your face. “Oh my god, I hate you.”

Vi chuckles, shifting to sit cross-legged on the mat. “You love me.”

You peek at her through your fingers. “Bold assumption.”

She winks. “I’m a bold girl.”

You shake your head with a dramatic sigh. “I’m moving out.”

Vi gasps in mock horror, pressing a hand to her chest. “No, don’t go! Who else will stare at me while I work out?”

That finally pulls a laugh from you, and Vi grins like she’s just won something.

“Alright, alright,” she says, pushing herself to her feet. “I’ll stop messing with you… for now.” She grabs her water bottle, taking a long sip before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and shooting you a lazy grin. “But hey, next time you wanna watch, you could always just join me.”

You scoff playfully. “In your dreams.”

She throws you a look as she walks past, heading toward the kitchen. “Oh, you have no idea.”

Your heart does something foreign in your chest. You turn back to your book, pretending to read, but the words are still a blur. How are you meant to put up with her if she acts like this?

tags ✩ @jupitism @fungalinfectionyeast @mk-a-1 @rhian88 @baylegend6 @lovely-wisteria @antobooh @arahiraaai @eriiwaii @elliesngirl @avalovesmus1c @pryncess123

[lavilavs]

୨୧ ── Starts with a cliché, ends with a cliché

› Pairing: Damian Wayne x Fem!Reader

› Scenario: Life is full of clichés, no? It just so happens that its favorite is Damian and the stuck-up rich heiress that he met on his first day of school. He can't stand being your shojo-manga-made love guru (that sucks, sadly) anymore if you keep on having angst as your genre.

› Warnings: Light cursing and light KMS jokes

› Notes: English is not my first language + Reblogs and likes are very appreciated! + Is it obvious I like friends-to-lovers? + 80% backstory, 20% present time (jk) .. 4k words

A sigh leaves his lips. It was difficult to finish one chapter without you popping inside his mind. You've been dancing around in his train of thought the whole day. Memories of the past have resurfaced without reason.

Perhaps he misses you that much.

Damian sets the first manga you've lent him with care by the side. The bustling street across his windows entice him to stand up. It's time to do something else other than read. Apparently, reading manga fuels his desire to visit you after a week of no communication.

You've been silent since you've fought with your first normal boyfriend.

Through his window, he noticed the old bookstore a few streets down to the west was now gone. Damian watches the cranes and construction workers build something new on top of it. That store had sentimental value for both of you. You used to sneak with him there after class to recommend some manga.

His reflection on the mirror adds another thought to his head. He's changed so much. Damian was taller and mature than he was before. Everything has changed since he went to Gotham. Even when he wasn't born, everything has changed.

Change is the only thing permanent in the world. Everyone knows that. Humans have lived and gone through change that nobody could disagree with. Damian learned and accepted change at a young age, believing that it is the only thing constant in a world that is different every day.

That's what he used to believe—until he met your annoying, spoiled ass one random Monday at school.

"You're handsome. I like you, you're mine now."

"What did you just say?"

"You're mine."

And it ends up being one of the famous last words of a spoiled heiress who just got thrown onto the floor by a boy who grew up being trained since he first learned how to walk.

You pointed at him and declared that with no warnings whatsoever; how couldn't he react harshly? If you expected him to drop down on his knees to solemnly pledge his love for you like the stories your nanny told you before bedtime, you were dead wrong.

In fact, your nanny was wrong about everything! Not all men who look like a prince act like one. Even the Beast would be put to shame if they cast this little twerp as his younger brother with rabies, if he had one. Sadly, he'll be scouted as a dog in romcoms who bites nuts instead. Because he for sure looks like he will when prompted to.

To think that a fresh 14-year-old Damian Wayne would be the one to forcefully push you out of your Disney princess phase and into your typical teenage girl fixations phase. Puberty held their hands up and slowly walked away on having their job stolen away.

"Hmph." 

He scoffed when he saw tears threatening to spill from your eyes as you dusted and straightened your blouse and skirt. The women in the League of Assassins was obviously much stronger and tougher than you, but it didn't make his disappointment any less.

Being surrounded with people who had a 'kill or be killed' mindset and then thrown into a normal society where safety is a given with all these superheroes protecting them... It's throwing him off.

It was apparent that you were one of those stuck-up rich kids with the way you acted. Judging with the book of cliches in mind, you'll cry about this to your parents later and have him arrested and put into a life behind bars for eternity. 

Good luck with that when he has Bruce Wayne and Talia Al Ghul as his parents. Although, he can easily break out by himself.

But there was one mistake. One that cost him a life's worth of embarrassment in school. After all, "an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth." That arrogance of his cost him his family jewels getting kicked by you. 

He missed the other cliché—crying makes you stronger.

Oh, and this backstory? Yeah, totally not related to the first paragraph. It's just Damian reminiscing back to the old days because he's appalled that you're still a hopeless romantic that makes him doubt that change is permanent. 

Damian Wayne-Al Ghul is sitting here listening to your girl problems. Not just any girl problem—it's your love problem! A recurring yet still difficult topic for both of you.

And how is it difficult, you may ask? Simple—the boyfriends you pick certainly aren't the brightest or the kindest, so even the logical Damian Wayne is troubled by how your boyfriend of the week is acting.

The use of their intelligence surpasses even his, and not in a positive way. How can he even begin to comprehend that one time when a guy who almost took you out on a date unhingedly recommended you not to search him up?

You must've thought, "Holy shit, is he a celebrity from another country?" and that would've been ideal if he weren't included in the local wanted list! That gorgeous specimen had charges of multiple felonies, arson, theft, and a lot more.

When you cried about it to him, you were more concerned about the fact that he specifically told you not to search him up. Like—just be quiet, bro. You didn't have to say all that. And the fact that he didn't even use a fake name? clever. Wow, Einstein would be turning in his grave from having his title of world's smartest man stolen.

With that pretty face of his, you wouldn't even think he'd do all of that, to be honest. But pretty privilege doesn't work on Damian. No matter who they were, they deserved a background check. Or perhaps a Google check would be fitting given the circumstances. Thank God he did. What could he have done when something happened to you?

Another funny, ironic cliché has happened to poor, little Damian. Fate rolled his dice of cliché, and it somehow ended up being the "the more you hate, the more you love" cliché that happens to characters that start off sour but end up falling in love with each other.

Only that it was one-sided—at the moment!—on his part.

His confession ended up being a total failure when he realized you didn't like him anymore like you once said you did. Damian still thought you did because of your words—those words of declaration you did 6 years ago, that is.

The flowers in his hand wilted downwards, saddened by the surprising rejection of their buyer.

"You told me I was yours?"

"Did I? I don't remember."

That stupid look on your face almost made him crash out.

"Do you even remember how we first met?" He groans, threading his fingers through his hair.

"What? You didn't just spawn in my life?!"

It was a miracle Damian didn't go berserk, Damian couldn't find the energy to be furious when that surprise in your voice was genuine. Did he throw you too hard, perhaps? If he did, he wanted to go back in time just to give you your own kick to the nuts. Not that you had one! Just figuratively speaking.

Damian dreads the thought of hurting you again. But if you were going to turn out less of a stuck-up rich kid and his friend? It was a small sacrifice to be made. But also... with a little hint of revenge 'cause that shit still hurts his pride.

Oh—so many conclusions in his mind that he's starting to laugh slowly like a maniac.

"None of that matters anyway! We're friends, Dami. This confession is the worst that could happen to us." You laugh at his face while having him in a headlock.

That chippy smile on your face looked so annoying to see, and yet, it also served as his tranquilizer.

How could he be mad when you already looked so happy to have him in your life? It slowly dawned on him that it wasn't that bad to be just your friend. 

Only until you went on a spree with love interests that were...

1.) Had the brain of a rock

Whether emotional or plain intelligence, the contenders could never have both. Having both was only a myth. A story you would only hear from your other girlfriends. It was amazing that they were blessed in the boyfriend department. Guess God really makes all of us equal with situations like this.

And the worst of the worst,

2.) Criminals

It's self-explanatory. If that's not enough to hear, Damian swears he wants to bash his head every time you tell him about your villain hear-me-outs. In exhibit A we had Poison Ivy and Arkham Knight. It was understandable at some point. When he asked you what part of them is attractive, he wasn't ready to hear your answer.

"First of all, are you too busy fighting for your life that you can't see Poison Ivy's gorgeous face? Dude, every stolen picture of her is totally hot! She's so photogenic."

"I could hear you out on Ivy, but Arkham Knight? Please, elaborate." He was so done with your bullshit. The way you even prepare yourself into that pose before you speak into an imaginary mic has him dumbfounded.

"I can't see his face."

"Pardon?"

"All aura. No face. Very hear-me-out material." You nod in agreement at yourself whilst the boy shakes his head sideways.

And then we have Exhibit B... Yeah, no. Not elaborating.

"Hear me out on Psimon."

Before Damian could process what you said, you had already passed by him with your friends. It wasn't of importance, just another hear me out. Then it clicked.

"The big-brained midget?!"

If only he wasn't in school, he would've yelled that with all of his might. The best he could do was whisper-shout with a disgusted look. It was just too shocking for him to not say it out loud. That information was something that needed to be spat out.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, his ears perking up at that custom notification sound he set up for you.

: As if you aren't? :p

Damian suddenly felt cold. Have you developed super hearing all this time? How long have you had those powers? Oh, shit—if you have super hearing, then all the compliments he whispered into the air, you heard all of that? Okay, no need to linger on it any further, Damian! What matters is that she didn't understand the compliments you said in Arabic.

With the secret out, he typed back.

: Super hearing... That's impressive.

Within a few seconds he already got your reply.

: Do I look like Superman's secret love child? My parents are the blandest and most boring people here in Gotham, dude. How can I have powers?

: Besides, this goes to show that I know you well enough to know what you're thinking. <3

He erupts into steam, his eyebrows furrowing at the small heart at the end of the message. The warmth in his ears teases him, a reminder of his feelings for you. It wasn't even intended that way, and he still finds it cute.

Ah, where were we?

Right, going back to your dating history—it was either academically and emotionally challenged ones or plain criminals.

Have you dated the mentioned criminals above?

No, you didn't. It was just crushes.

Ask Damian about it, and he'll tell you that exhibit A and exhibit B would be far better than the criminals you actually date. Because they actually have brains that the exhibit C of criminals—don't! The Google guy about 46 paragraphs ago is one of the prime examples of exhibit C.

Either way, Damian Wayne is still your best friend through and through, even if you are... questionable. You're one of the first to have broken down his walls.

You didn't soften the devil child with love. It wasn't that you saved him from a dire moment either because let's be honest with ourselves—who'd win in a fight? A sheltered heiress who rebels or a child born from a lineage of assassins and skilled crime fighters? It was such a coughing baby vs. hydrogen bomb question. 

Everything started when you started reading shojo mangas after the incident with Damian on the first day of school. You were too preoccupied by your manga that you bumped shoulders with him making you drop it onto his feet.

Damian already recognized you as the girl who kicked his nuts. A grimace on his face when he looked at the book that was once in your hands.

He picked up what you were reading and was immediately entranced by the wonderful colors the panel had. The romantic dialouge that was written with heart and soul was speaking to him so poetically. There's no context or any understanding about the story and yet he felt every word in this new profound piece of literature.

"If you want one, go ask your mommy or daddy to buy you one, because I am not sharing with the likes of you." 

You really have a way of annoying him. 

The confident strut you have in your walk annoys him further. It has arrogance like his. The others weren't important as long as you had fun and remained yourself. Even so, he's drawn in. He made sure to find you in recess. 

Damian finds you alone in the center with that book up in your face. It was no smiling matter but he was glad there was less people around you. Guess people can't keep with your stuck-up attitude too, huh. His own attitude falters with each step he takes towards you, it was getting hard to approach you after all that planning inside his head.

Was he shy? No way! Damian Wayne Al Ghul can't be shy now. Especially not to a girl who has her head up high in the clouds. He's just here for those books of yours. 

He smoothly sits down across you, eyes meeting anything but yours. And when it does, you're both surprised at the softness it held. Your mouth wants to say something. Something mean, something sassy, anything to push him away.

"Why are you here?" Your mind wants him to stay. 

Otherwise, you wouldn't have questioned him.

"What's that book you're reading?" He stretches himself to get a closer look at the manga.

A big smile adorns your face. You repeatedly slap the seat beside you, getting him to stand up.

"I'm glad you asked! And correction, it's called a manga." Damian doesn't find your eye rolls annoying now that he knows there's a humorous undertone to it.

He receives the manga with a smile when you held it out for him. 

"I'm Damian Wayne. You are?"

And that was just the start of Damian Wayne learning more about romance. With the help of mangas and his family, he learned to care about others and that there was different kinds of love. There was no denying that you were a big factor in creating who he is now. Thanks to you and your 'weird' interests.

It's just ironic that the knowledge he got from it is now used as reference for your bestie therapy. Damian wants to joke that you might've gotten him hooked on shojo's to make him your own love guru. 

And let's face it—even if Damian was helping you by comforting and giving advice... his only experience with love was the time he liked you and prior knowledge about how couples act from shojo manga alone.

To put it simply, he wasn't the best love guru you could've picked.

Still, he tries his best for you. Damian still had you in his heart. No hard feelings if he was only your friend. All that he wants now is for you to finally find your match here in Gotham.

He once recommended you to try long distance relationships. The men in Gotham aren't exactly romancable when they have a chance of having a criminal record. And as your best friend and love guru, candidates involved in crime is a no-go.

But you refused, you only wanted a man from Gotham. 

"I mean, you and Dick are from Gotham, you're both decent. Along with Bruce... I guess. So, there's hope!"

When you finally found a decent boyfriend who graduated college and has no criminal record, it was as if the heavens have heard both of your prayers to find you a man in Gotham who lives like a saint.

And yet, you're here. Crying in Damian's arms more than ever. 

You clearly loved this guy more than everyone you dated. He was just a guy. And that's why you love him. And because he was just a guy, he had the balls to cheat—cheat on you of all people!

"Saint my ass, the only thing blessed about him is his looks. If he didn't have that, he would be nothing! Can you imagine waking up early in the morning to go to gym, go home, doomscroll, eat, and sleep? God, I'd kill myself."

He knows he shouldn't laugh.

"It's okay to laugh, that's how I get through knowing my roster of ex lovers." You show him a sarcastic laugh that slowly makes him cease. He puts his hands up in mock defeat with an apologetic smile on his face.

"I'm sorry. Just... still not used to your words like that. It cracks me up." He laughs again. Yes, this is your emergency contact as well by the way.

"I'd seriously kill myself if I lived like that, Dami. Imagine a life like that—imagine it was completely opposite to the one you have now—you'd kill yourself too, right?!" You were so adamant with your words that he can't stop laughing. That dead serious stare was too much.

Damian ceases his laughter for your sake, having enough of clowning the situation and focusing on the real issue at hand.

"I get that this is your coping, beloved, but you'll have to tell me everything that happened for me to help you." His soft voice almost makes you cry again. Damian's gaze has you melting beneath his sight, full of affection for you to handle just yet. You nod slowly.

"Okay, okay, but let's do that."

"We'll do that, don't worry."

Damian plops you down on his bed, shutting his blinds and locking the door before you felt the bed dip beside you from his weight. The blanket flies up in the air and landed on both of you. His scent on the fabric surrounded you, basking you more with his warmth.

It was too dark to see, just like you wanted it. He wouldn't see your face, you wouldn't see his. It was perfect to say everything without worrying about the other.

His hands search for your face, cupping it gently. As you felt his arms cage your body close to his, it was your sign to start talking. 

"I don't understand how he could betray me like that. How they all could betray me. I've thought about it a lot. I can't seem to find any reason for them to leave." You notice your words and Damian could already feel how nervous you are with your slip up.

"Not that I say that in a negative way, I just—" 

"I know. I know you. You've changed."

You haven't and Damian prays you won't ever change. 

He feels your hold tighten around him. You're scared to lose him too.

"I say that there shouldn't be any reason for them to leave because I know our boundaries, I support them whatever and whenever I can, I give them assurance, I earn their trust, and I love them with all of my heart." Damian pats your head as you ramble. 

You were tearing up, making a stain on his shoulder. He hears your hiccups beside him, struggling to contain it any longer. 

"Do I have a quality that I can't see that makes people leave? Is it that unlovable and hideous? Dami, can you see it? If you do... tell me why I'm so hard to love."

The silence is agonizing for you. Damian can't even speak about it. You're overthinking that maybe you do have a bad quality that's unnoticeable to you. Is he thinking how to sugarcoat it? That only makes it worse. What's the point of doing this if he'll turn back on the agreement of saying nothing but the truth?

"Before I answer you—may I ask you a question, beloved?" 

Happiness swells in your heart when you hear his voice. He smiles when he feels your nod against his chest.

"Do you think they know your worth if they treated you like that?"

You feel his eyes stare at you through the darkness. You'd know it was him based on the warmth it radiates. So intense... and it was all directed at you. He shifts you closer before speaking again.

"Even a real diamond loses its worth if its seen as a fake' heard that before, beloved? And I'm sure you've noticed the way they treated you." Damian's anger was evident in his last sentence. He was pissed that they let you think you were below them. 

"If it was up to me, I'd treat you right. Even better than them."

He feels your head snap at his words, gazing back at him in the darkness. This wasn't the usual advice he gives. It doesn't sound like it came from a manga. It wouldn't have been if it came directly from Damian's heart. 

He had no mangas to help you today, no mangas with wisdom to share about your predicament, no cheesy quotes to relieve you off your stress... just his heart. It was words written by his heart long ago. The unsent letters it wrote inside of him was about to be delivered by his mouth unrelentlessly.

"I'd love you right, until you're reminded of your 'worth'." Fuck, how you wish you could see him right now. You want to see his face as he tells you everything that will cure your anxiety. 

The horrible dating history has left you with fear that if you let Damian in, he'll also notice that bad quality of yours that makes everyone leave. It terrifies you to even think of it. You can't handle getting your first love and friend taken away from you too. People just leave when they get to know you... or after they get something from you.

You seclude yourself to avoid that pain again. Damian understood that overtime. He also failed to see who you really were beneath that persona you created for yourself. But now that he's gotten to know you a lot better. Best believe that he'll make you feel that the 'worth' you fret so much about is as high as his inhertitance combined.

"But, do not base yourself on that metaphor. You are no diamond with an unstable 'worth'. You are you; a person worth loving." He sounds apologetic for bringing that diamond thing in the first place, but surely, you must've understood his intentions behind it... hopefully.

"And...—" A sudden bright headlight seeps through his blinds, giving you a clear view of his warm face staring at you as if you were the most precious person he's ever laid eyes on. It was quick to disappear as it was to appear, the dark room had nothing but both of you in Damian's bed having a second chance with confessions.

Has your name sounded this angelic with his tongue before? Yes, many times.

His big hand clasps with yours, the other pushes a strand back in your ear.

"I'll have various words to replace the word 'hard' in the words 'You aren't hard to love'. Be it difficult, punishing, strenous, heavy, tough, tiring, hellish, complicated—and a lot more, but shit, how can it be when its so easy for me to love you?" 

Ah—don't cry, don't cry, don't cry! 

Too late, you're sobbing.

He chuckles while wiping your tears away.

"Love has different forms, right? I was content having a platonic one that made loving you a dream. But if the men who can't even dream of loving you like me can have you—then, stay by my side instead." As if that wasn't making you cry, Damian wasn't done.

"I'm not difficult to love as well. I'm happy alone with the thought that the woman who taught me how to love—has learned to love me back after all these years."

His body melts at your touch, gently caressing his face with the warmth he longed for.

"Dumbass. I learned that years ago." 

How cliché can this be? You've loved him all this time.

extra scene - 01

It felt right for everything to end and start this way. If only your taste in men wasn't questionable enough to make you question yourself if you're lovable, you would have been snuggling like this with Damian years ago.

He hears you grumble about it.

"We've always done this before, beloved?"

"Platonically we did!"

Okay, ouch?

Damian stays silent, trying to mask his laughter with fake cries. You feel a pang in your chest, feeling bad for what you said.

Damian doesn't stop with his noise that it starts to feel fake.

You know he couldn't see your deadpan face but he can hear you.

"Are you finished?"

The doors shoot wide open revealing Dick and Jason with their feet up high. Of course they're the ones busting down doors but why?!

At the far back, there was Alfred holding a sign that said—WHAT THE FUCK?

"Say no to teenage pregnancy, say no to teenage pregnancy!" Jason and Dick chant by the door until they walked and surrounded both sides of the bed. They both apprehended you. Dick easily held your hands behind your back with his own and Jason had to pull out ropes to keep Damian contained.

"What is this about?!" Damian tries breaking free.

"Master Dick said something about the curfew of having a girl in your room, Master Damian."

"We weren't even doing anything."

Dick flashes out a big, bright flashlight from his pants. You both look at him confused.

"I saw you both through the blinds. And Damian, your eyes... they never lie." The eldest brother gives him a questionable look.

Through the blinds? Damian's eyes? What is he saying—then the flashlight seemed oddly familiar. Damian figured it out before you.

"I thought it was just a truck."

"You don't know what it is 'til it hits you, kid." Dick smugly grins at him.

"You climbed up until the 3rd floor?"

"That's not the issue here, beloved..."

Damian groans. "I am not that type of guy anyways."

Jason laughs at his younger brother then goes silent in a flash.

"I know what you read." Damian gulps.

"What is it?" You pop in. "No—Todd, wait—"

"Best friends to lovers, 20k words, slow burn, romance, fluff, misunderstandings, light angst, heartbreak, hurt/comfort, and eventual smu—"

"TODD!"

[acid-ixx]

I hope you don’t mind but I need to ramble this to someone, neglected Wayne reader right? The fam would forget to bring them to social events and whatnot right? So there would be very few pictures, articles and interviews or even facts about them, meaning that reader Wayne is a rarity. Still following me? Reader Wayne with a small but devout fanbase.

I’m talking they are trading the latest pictures and sharing links to the rare interview with reader in it, following any social media they have that isn’t private, they are just fascinated by this micro celebrity that seems to always be forgotten. Okay but also imagine one of the heroes developing a para-social attachment to reader. My money is on Conner Kent, mainly bc he can project his own issues with his dads onto reader and he can Dolores ~Encanto~ reader with his super hearing and develop a even bigger parasocial obsession with them

I hope you enjoyed this ramble, I will leave you be now, see ya later alligator! 🐊

omg another one of my asks that actually predicted a major plot point... this ask ties well with the last part written here. i'm thinking about having the reader get a love interest/s but i have already written an outline but one thing is for sure—

you have more than just your family interested in taking you.

major spoilers below the cut. — an excerpt from chapter xx

(name) wayne may have been a name forcefully deleted off of the face of the internet, but that doesn't mean it doesn't have its conspiracies of its own. nobody knows who you are beyond the blurry, unsolicited pictures of you. it may have been a photograph of your back, or articles published in unknown websites and buried at the far end about a kid entering through the fancy gates of the wayne manor.

you are a product of a one-night-stand.

but they don't know who the mother is, don't know your age, or where you come from, and what business bruce has with the woman to guarantee your adoption at the instance she had disappeared without warning.

your existence was a mystery most would like to solve. after all, it was your picture that was plastered all over the newspapers and articles, it was your name that journalists whisper and it was a silhouette of your face that the underground knows by heart. every known information about you was shared discretely yet efficiently like some sort of virus.

you were a target for interest, a large sum of money if they will. and alfred had taken it in his hands to make sure there would never be a repeat of what had happened before.

it was a clumsy mistake, one that cost you your memories, and one he swears on his life he'll never make again.

the first course of action he needs to arrange, which may seem difficult for most; he needs to confront bruce.

after all, your freedom is your doom.

maybe this is out of the picture, but id' like to imagine you and connor having a therapy session where one comes out absolutely obsessed with the other, and it's not you.

connor's character for me is so, so good for an angst potential. it's like his personal struggles is a way for him to show you how absolutely you two are meant to be. and he may have met you through bumping into you (false) or maybe... he has seen you stalking through the shadows back when he visits the manor. using his superhearing, he can hear your voice from the kitchen begging alfred to relay a message to bruce, sounding so absolutely desperate. it's the way you tell alfred how you wished your father actually spends time with you, or how nobody seems to notice you— that he kind of just makes a silent promise that he will talk to you soon, he needs to know why this family seems so keen on ignoring and how hypocritical tim is for literally doing the same thing to you when he's aware of kon's past.

if he (or anyone else) should be a love interest (though he is a minor character in the series unless you guys want him to be a major one), i can already imagine the absolute hell you have to suffer not only from your family but from your own lover. just imagine the stockholm syndrome or the delusions you convince yourself with because you're finally loved by someone but that love restricts you from the very freedom you tried to build.

the batfamily would be so conflicted because why are you choosing some stranger over them...? then you slap them in the face with, "well, this "stranger" wants to kidnap me and lock me up, sure! but at least they actually looked at me for more than five seconds!" and you can watch how the color drains off their face, their conflict giving you the perfect opportunity to run away from both your ex-family and your soon-to-be-kidnapper-lover who thinks your comeback is a funny way for you to propose.

[pollyanna-nana]

One of the most tragic and compelling aspects of Dunmeshi, to me, is that we’ll probably never know (unless Kui tells us lol) how Delgal actually felt about Thistle. I’ve seen people say that he genuinely cared for him as a brother and his journey to the surface was to save him from his madness as much as it was his people. I’ve seen people say that he saw Thistle as nothing more than a fancy accessory or tool that ended up going astray. Others I’ve seen (and personally agree with) say that the truth lies somewhere in the middle. But honestly, I think any one of these interpretations has the potential to be correct… and that’s just heartbreaking.

After all, Delgal is dead. Like, dead-dead. The very first chapter of the manga starts with his spirit leaving this mortal coil, taking that answer with him. And…

How he talks about Thistle here… it’s interesting. He does not ask for him to be talked down, or captured or imprisoned, but instead “defeated”. Which Mithrun interprets as asking for his death… which is reasonable, because that’s likely how the vast majority of adventurers interpreted his words, too. Obviously as he was crumbling to dust he probably didn’t have the capacity to be particularly verbose or explain the complex backstory to how the kingdom ended up this way, but the effect is the same no matter how he may have felt with it. He asked for Thistle to be killed.

But… even in situations where he wasn’t under any such time limit to explain what was going on, he still seemed not to. Most glaringly:

Yaad seemingly has no idea that it was Delgal’s fault that Thistle sought the demon’s power. Obviously he couldn’t talk to him about it because Thistle was, uh, a little out there by that point, but why didn’t Delgal explain? Was he embarrassed? Mournful? Couldn’t find the words?

Delgal was scared of dying. He wanted prosperity at any cost, and how could Thistle possibly refuse? Did he even realize that what he was the one who pushed his own brother— One who basically helped raise him despite being a child himself, and in many ways is still a child— down this path? Or was it like watching an overzealous employee misinterpret directions?

The way Yaad describes things here makes it sound like Thistle simply dug too deep in his studies and fell into madness, but we know that’s not true. Delgal didn’t “suggest” he learn magic, he wanted a mage who could help himself and his people defy death, which he admits to Thistle openly:

So, why? Why not tell his grandson, at least, the truth of the matter? Did he worry it might make the remaining residents more likely to upset Thistle, and therefore suffer the consequences? Did he just not care? For what it’s worth though, Yaad does suspect the truth from Delgal’s behavior.

He “always blamed himself” for his descent into the dark arts. This is just Yaad’s observation, and that’s without knowing that it was quite literally Delgal’s fault Thistle went down this path. So, why? Why was it all kept a secret?

Of course, this made things ripe for the winged lion to manipulate to its advantage. Clearly despite knowing he’d pushed him into using it, Delgal still thought the lion was a force of good that was misused by Thistle as a result of his madness. His face in that last panel is particularly haunting. He looks terrible, gaunt and pale with overgrown hair and missing teeth. Had he gone mad, with grief and sorrow, as well?

Could he no longer see Thistle the way he did when they were younger? No one can ask him, because he died long before the story even began.

To go back to the original question, well, how did Delgal see Thistle? None of the previous points make a definitive answer any clearer, and I think that’s just brilliant. And so, so tragic.

[cxffecoupx]

sundays

choi seungcheol x reader pure fluff, very domestic allowing their partner to sleep in because they were overworked anyway and need the rest with scoups wc: 995 warnings: mentions of food author's notes: first request from the prompt list. thank you so much anon! most of the feelings i wrote this with comes from all the stress last week, so this was pretty healing for me to write. also i tried a different style in this, not sure i liked it at first, but do lemme know what you guys think. also, i love domestic, boyfriend seungcheol, if it wasnt already obvious.

saturday; 8:26 p.m.

the soft vibrations startle you in the quiet hum of the library. people look towards you, some annoyed, some with no particular expression on their faces. dead inside.

somewhat like you.

you mutter apologies as you rush out with your phone. seungcheol's name lights up the screen. you pick up the call.

"hey baby."

"hey, cheollie."

"have you eaten yet?"

"no; i still have a little to finish the chapter. so maybe after that..."

"baby..." you swear you could see the pout on his face when you hear his voice. "how many times have i asked you not to starve yourself?"

"cheol, i'm not starving, i promise to eat after this chapter."

"you want me to order something for you?"

"no no, i'm good. i'll grab something from the cafe. i gotta go, i'll call you when i reach room, okay?"

after a hum, you end the call and go back to your table.

-----

saturday; 11:52 p.m.

you were writing notes - two three textbooks open on the desk, along with your laptop, and notebook on your lap, your pen tucked above your lips as you ponder something. the weighted blanket covers the chair and your figure, and although sleep is fluttering in your eyes, the thought of having to physically get up and out of this cozy comfortable cocoon makes you wanna sleep in the chair itself.

your phone buzzes with a text, making you groan because you'd have to pull yourself out of the position you're currently in. you do it anyways, and see that seungcheol had sent you a text.

big baby🍒: you up for a walk? me: i have to study me: :( big baby🍒: who are you kidding? big baby🍒: we both know youre falling asleep rn me: >:( me: but you make a good point me: when are you leaving? i'll get ready big baby🍒: already in front of your door

you get ready quickly and open the door to find seungcheol waiting out, cheeks red and lips shivering. you smile as you pull his face to yours to kiss his lips, mumbling a weak excuse that it's to warm them up. he wraps his scarf round your neck and interlinks your hands as you head for the walk.

when you return an hour later, it's with much reluctance that seungcheol says he should leave. but then he pouts every half minute after muttering his decision.

"do you wanna stay over tonight?" you offer, knowing fully well he would never reject. he doesnt even hear the whole question before he's kicking off his shoes and entering your room. you head over to your wardrobe to take out some of his clothes he'd left behind at various points of your relationship and bring it to him. when he's done freshening up, he comes out to see you settling back into your cocoon, head deep in the books. he decides to keep company as he lays on the bed, scrolling through his phone.

-----

sunday; 2:57 p.m.

seungcheol had fallen asleep some multiple times in between keeping you silent company, but when he wakes up now, he's full awake and shocked to see you still sitting at your desk, now with some snack packets littering around. he decides to walk over and call you to bed, but that's when he notices that your eyes are half-closed and your head hanging in a way that makes him wince. drool almost makes its way down your chin before he takes a tissue and wipes it off. he gently nudges you awake.

"yn, baby. you need to get to bed. come on now."

he's honestly surprised when you easily comply, maybe because of your half-asleep state, because usually you'd reject and sit for some time more. the walk that he'd planned to tire you out had worked, he thinks to himself, as he supports your asleep body to your bed and lays you down, tucking you in the soft, weighted blanket - your favourite - before settling in beside you.

as he drifts back to sleep, he hears you murmur to him.

"seungie, wake me up early tomorrow, okay?"

it's only after he reassures you that he will that you finally wrap your arms around his torso and settle into the warmth of his chest before falling asleep.

-----

sunday; 11:17 a.m.

seungcheol is awakened by you snuggling closer to him. it's way past the time he was asked to wake you up at, but he wouldn't dare wake you up when you seemed to sleep so peacefully. that too on an off day? he could never.

he takes his sweet time admiring your features during this moment of calm: your eyelids that are open in the slightest, the little sniffs with each breath you take because winters meant you're cold at every passing moment, the hair that fell out of the neat bun you made before going to bed, puffy cheeks that seem to move as you chew on something in your dream (he guesses). his urge to touch your face overpowers every other thought as he lightly traces his finger along the line of your brow. this seemed to have woken you up because you sigh before opening your eyes; the first thing you see in the morning being his handsome, bed-face that's smiling towards you.

a view you could never get tired of.

you press the lightest of kisses on his lips and turn to check your phone. panic seeps into your brain within a millisecond when you realize its way past your wake-up time. you sit up in a swift motion.

"cheol, i asked you to wake me up at 7!"

"relax baby, it's a sunday."

"but-"

before you could argue back, he sits up and places a smooch on your lips.

"no buts. you don't have to rush every time; it's alright to take breaks."

another kiss.

"good morning, baby. let's go make some pancakes."

[maysileeewrites]

bittersweet symphony || chapter 1

Haymitch Abernathy x f!reader || series masterlist

summary: Surviving the Hunger Games was only the beginning. As you try to navigate through this strange, terrifying new after-life, you find comfort in someone you'd least expected it from, but new threats are already rising ...

chapter warnings: angst!!, capitol-typical nastiness, President Snow being President Snow, Reader dealing with PTSD, a bit of fluff

word count: 4.7k

Stay alive, Princess. 

Stay alive. 

Haymitch’s words keep replaying in your mind in a constant, never-ending loop. 

Stay alive. Stayalivestayalivestayalive. 

On and on it goes, like a prayer, like a mantra - like the only thing keeping you sane. 

Stay alive, Princess. 

You stand on the platform, terrified, panic gripping at you, as you try to get a bearing on your surroundings, trying to locate Kai and your little allies. 

Stay alive. 

You watch, helpless, and frozen in fear, as little Lucas is speared by one of the Careers during the bloodbath. 

Stay alive. 

Finn, Sarah and Dalton - all three of them taken by the wave that floods the arena during the fifth day. Their screams are like a living, breathing pain, mixing with Haymitch’s words in your mind. 

Stay alive. 

You’re running through the forest, clutching Cassie’s hand, hoping against hope that you’ll be able to outrun the two Careers chasing you. Kai, with little Flora on his back, is already a few paces ahead of you, but when Cassie lets out a panicked scream, he stops, turning around, his terrified dark grey eyes finding yours. You shake your head, silently telling him to run, to save his own and Flora’s life. But, he doesn’t. Of course. 

Stay alive. 

Cassie’s terrified scream when, suddenly, a group of wolf mutts join the fight between you, Kai and the two remaining Careers. 

Stay alive. 

Kai’s dark grey eyes finding yours as the knife of the Career runs through his body. A chocked sob leaves your mouth and you want to run towards Kai, but he’s shaking his head, attempting to smile. His last, silent plea is clear: grab Flora and run. And so, you do. 

Stay alive. 

Flora, twisting her ankle and crying out in pain as she crashes to the ground. You bend down immediately, but it’s already too late - the mutt’s already got to her. 

Stay alive. 

Claudius Templesmith’s voice ringing out through the arena. Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present to you the winner of the 61st annual Hunger Games? You look up, seeing a hovercraft descending towards the point where you’re lying on the ground, writhing in pain. The last thing you remember seeing - or maybe you’ve just been imaging things this whole time - is a short, fleeting flash of sunrise, the last wisps of fading clouds in the sky, as the sun rises in the distance. 

Then, everything goes black. 

You’re drifting in and out of consciousness. 

Moments of awareness - the blinding, uncomfortably bright lights of the room you’re in, the terrifying feeling of being trapped - are followed by awful memories of the Games, like Kai’s eyes finding yours for the last time ever or sweet litte Flora getting torn apart by those horrible mutts. 

But somehow, Haymitch’s voice always finds its way into your mind as well. 

Stay alive, Princess. 

Why?, you want to ask. What’s the point? Why should I deserve to live, if everyone I wanted to save died? 

But Haymitch isn’t here to answer you and even if he were, he probably wouldn’t have an answer for you - at least not one you’d like to hear. 

And so, you keep clinging to his words, like a mantra, like a prayer. Like a promise. 

Stay alive. 

Stay alive. 

Another moment of being uncomfortably close to consciousness or at least it feels like that. 

„No, absolutely not. She’s just a girl-“

Haymitch, you think. 

„But she needs to look-“

„I don’t care. You’re not going to do that to her.“ 

„But-“

The rest of the words are cut off, and then there’s Haymitch chuckling darkly. 

You drift off again, comforted by the thought than when you finally return to the land of the living for good, at least Haymitch will still be there for you, looking out for you.

Stay alive. 

Even before you open your eyes, you know that this time, you won’t be allowed to just drift of again. 

You’re alive. 

You survived. 

Somehow, you survived the Hunger Games. 

But you fear that surviving the Games was only the beginning. Because now, you have to live with yourself. You have to live with everything you’ve done; you have to live with the painful, ugly memories from your time in the arena. 

You’re a Victor now. 

Slowly, hesitantly you open your eyes, still clinging to some desperate thread of hope that maybe none of what you remember has actually happened, that when you open your eyes you’ll wake in the small bedroom you share with your brothers back in District Twelve and that Kai and everyone else you’ve come to love and care about during these last few days is still alive and well. 

But when you open your eyes, you’re not greeted by the sight of the small, ramshackle house your family lives in. 

Instead, your eyes land on a tapestry that feels somewhat familiar and then-

„Well, look at who’s finally had enough beauty sleep.“ 

You know that voice, know its’ deep timbre and that dry, mocking tone. And somehow, that makes you feel better, even if only slightly so. But still, even if it’s only Haymitch, your surly, drunken recluse of a mentor that you can’t quite figure out - and you’re not quite sure why you have that strong urge to figure him out, to understand him better, but that’s neither here nor there for the moment -, a friendly face is a friendly face. 

And finding yourself thrust into this strange, terrifying new world in which your best friend is dead, having sacrificed his life for you, and you’re somehow the Victor of the 61st annual Hunger Games, you feel as if you’ll need all the friendly faces you can find. 

You sit up, wincing when you notice how weak your arms suddenly feel. It’s as if all the fight you’d built up in yourself during your time in the arena disappeared the moment that hovercraft lifted you up into the air. 

„Haymitch“, you whisper, your eyes finding his grey ones. 

He’s standing at the side of your bed, his arms crossed in front of his chest. 

He looks the same as you remember him, his grey eyes as piercing as you remember, and his dark curls falling into his face, yet something about him feels different. You can’t quite put your finger on what, exactly, that is. Maybe it’s the look in his eyes, somehow warm and distant at the same time. Maybe it’s the dark circles under his eyes, though they were there before as well. Or maybe it’s the way he carries himself - all tensed-up, like he expects an attack at any moment. 

But then his mouth quirks into that familiar, crooked grin, and for a moment, all you can focus on is the way his grey eyes are piercing yours and how somehow, inexplicably, your heart starts beating faster inside your chest. 

„Great job staying alive, Princess“, he says, and his voice seems to lose some of its usual biting, sarcastic edge. 

You nod, attempting a smile yourself, but somehow you can’t quite muster up the energy for it. Because while you may be glad to see Haymitch, the truth is still this: you survived. Which means that Kai and all your little allies didn’t. 

You survived - yet you promised them the same thing: that they would survive. That you’d be there for them. 

„I, yeah …“, is all you say, turning away from Haymitch and looking at the floral-patterned wallpaper instead, as you try to fight off memories from the Arena. 

It’s no use. Even though you’re here, in this strange new afterlife, you’ve still got one foot in the Arena. Tears start to prick at your eyes and you squeeze them shut, biting down hard on your lip, not wanting to break down and cry ugly sobs in front of Haymitch. 

The thought is strange - surely he’s seen you in far worse moments, assuming he watched your Games, which he must have, otherwise how he’d have known what sponsor gifts to send you at always the exact right time? But still, it’s there. You don’t want to cry in front of Haymitch, you don’t want to be that vulnerable. 

He - and everyone else that’s watched the Games - has already seen so much of you, you can’t help but want to keep at least some pieces to yourself. Though you know, deep down, that that’s not how the Games and the Capitol work.

„Hey“, Haymitch says, breaking you out of your thoughts. You notice how his voice suddenly sounds unusually soft and calm, almost as if he were talking to a wounded animal. „Where’d you go to, Princess?“ 

At his words, you open your eyes again, not able to hold back the tears that immediately start streaming down your cheeks. You squeeze your hands into fists, hating how weak you must appear to him. 

And so, even though you want nothing more than to just break down completely and sob for everything and everyone that you’ve lost until you have no more tears to cry, you do your best to compose yourself. Crying can come later, you tell yourself. Later, when you’re alone and no one’s there to witness and judge your breakdown. 

„I - will it always feel like this, Haymitch?“, you ask, your voice sounding rough and strained. 

You can see by the dark, pained expression in Haymitch’s eyes that he immediately understands what you’re trying to say, without you having to explain it further. 

He clears his throat, his grey eyes finding yours again. „You want the truth, Princess?“ He doesn’t wait for you to say anything - you don’t need to. „It doesn’t, not really. But you’ve got to keep fighting, no matter how impossible it might feel. You can’t - you can’t give up, not like …“, he trails off, his eyes taking on a far-distant expression, and your heart breaks for him when you see the pain and grief written so clearly on his face. 

„You can’t give up, you can’t - don’t let them have that as well.“ 

You nod, squeezing your hands even more, until your fingernails dig sharply into the soft skin of the inner sides of your palms. 

„I - I just … I just - I feel so - exhausted, Haymitch“, you admit, your voice almost breaking on the last word. 

There’s a dark look in his eyes, but he just nods. 

„I know“, is all he says, „I know, Princess.“ 

Somehow, you make it through the next few days. Though survive might actually a better word to describe it all. 

First, you’ve survived the Arena. 

And now, you’re trying to survive this strange new after-life that you’d never thought you’d actually have to experience. 

Yes, you’ve somehow survived the Games - somehow you’re a Victor now. 

But even though your time in the Arena was nothing short of a living, breathing nightmare, the after-life in the Capitol is almost worse. 

It seems that at every corner, there’s some new Capitol citizens that want to get to know you, Twelve’s shining new Victor. Every day, you’re pinched and prodded by your prep team, stuffed into dresses that somehow always seem to walk a very fine, strange line between girlish and seductive, and every day, you’re paraded around somewhere new. Every day, there’s new faces, new hands touching you. 

First, it’s just your prep team and your stylist, then it’s some of your Sponsors. A courtesy of President Snow, Arienne, a member of your prep team tells you. Isn’t he just such a wonderful President, giving your Sponsors the chance to get to know their new litte Victor personally? 

You try to nod and smile, but inside, you feel frozen. 

Your eyes search for Haymitch, who’s just entered the room, a bottle of liquor - already half-empty, as you can see - clutched in his hand. He seems to sense your gaze on him, because after exchanging a few pleasentries with your prep team and stylists, he walks towards your side, coming to stand close right next to you. 

He’s so close that your arms brush when you turn to look at him, but somehow, his closeness doesn’t bother you - it doesn’t unnerve you like all the touches of your prep team do. He’s not prodding, not looking to rub your skin raw and shiny, not viewing you as a once-shiny toy, now needing to be polished anew. 

„Something’s bothering you“, he says, so quietly that at first, combined with the usual slight slur to his voice, it’s hard for you to make out his words. But once you realize that his words are much more a statement than a question, you understand why he’s being so quiet, so unlike his usual loud, boisterous self. 

You nod, your eyes scanning the room quickly. Your prep team and stylist don’t seem to have noticed how you and Haymitch are standing just a few feet away from them, and none of your Sponsors are here just yet. 

It’s the calm before the storm, you realize. 

„Listen“, Haymitch whispers, his grey eyes searching yours, „you’re not going to like what’s coming next, but-“

„I feel like a priced cow, trussed up for auction!“, you whisper furiously, the words leaving your mouth before you’ve had a chance to think them through. You realize your mistake the moment the words are out of your mouth and you feel your insides freeze, but there’s no taking your words back now. 

At least it’s only Haymitch, you try to reassure yourself. 

It’s only Haymitch. You may not be able to figure him out entirely and you may not even like him all that much, what with all his arrogant, sarcastic behavior, but still, you feel safe around him. You can’t explain it, not really, but you do feel safe around him - or at least much safer than around anyone else you’ve encountered ever since this strange after-life of yours began. 

To his credit, Haymitch’s eyes widen in shock for just a short, fleeting moment, before he clears his throat and his features morph into his usual mask of disdain and arrogance again. 

„Listen, Princess“, he says, his voice serious, without even a hint of his usual dry humor, „I know how you feel, trust me, I do - but you’ve got to play nice, to play along, understand me?“ 

„I-“, you start, wanting to protest furiously, but when his grey eyes find yours again, the realization hits you like a punch to the gut: Haymitch is right. This is your life now. And no matter how much you might not like any of this, you’ve got to play along. 

You’ve got to. 

You sigh, the sound a mixture of annoyance and defeat. 

You want to ask Haymitch why and what’s the point, and haven’t the Capitol already taken all they can from you already, but then you remember where you are and that it’s not exactly safe to speak your mind so freely. 

And besides, that’s just the point, isn’t it? It’s never going to be enough. If they can hold annual Hunger Games just for their own entertainment, it’s clear that for these people - at least for those pulling all the strings -  limits simply don’t exist. 

You’re a Victor now. 

You’ve survived the Games, but at what cost? 

Not for the first time in your new life you find yourself wondering if simply dying in the Arena wouldn’t have been the better, safer, less painful option. 

You blink furiously, suddenly feeling pressure building behind your eyes. 

Beside you, you hear Haymitch inhaling sharply, and the next thing you know, he’s reaching for you hand, squeezing it softly. The moment is over before it can really begin, though, by the time your eyes find Haymitch’s again, he’s already stepped away from you again, both his hands cradling the bottle of liquor, but your skin still burns where he’s touched you. 

„Don’t let them see“, is all he says, his voice all sharp, cutting edges. 

You nod, allowing yourself one small, fleeting moment of squeezing your eyes shut. You picture Kai, smiling at you, telling you that it’s all going to be alright, somehow. 

Then, you open your eyes again, breathing in deeply and squaring your shoulders. 

You nod at Haymitch, an unspoken understanding passing between you two. 

His lips quirk into a sad, crooked grin. „There you go.“ 

And then, when you’ve already turned away, your eyes landing on a pair of outlandish-looking Capitol people, who must surely be some of your Sponsors, he whispers, so quietly that at first you’re not sure whether he’s meant for you to actually hear the words: „I’m here for you, Princess.“ 

You don’t turn back to look at him, tucking the words away into a corner of your mind instead, keeping them close to your heart, just like you did with the last piece of advice he gave you before the Games.  

I’m here for you, Princess. 

It doesn’t get any easier, trying to make it through these strange, uncomfortable moments in the Capitol, just slightly more bearable. And even that is an oversimplification of things, but during the following days, you try not to let your thoughts stray too much in that direction anymore. 

Haymitch is right - everything will be much easier if you just simply play along with everything that’s thrown your way, no matter how much you may despise all of it on the inside. 

And so you smile, laughing at your Sponsor’s vapid jokes, letting them touch and pet you like you’re an animal at the zoo instead of an actual human being. Though that’s just it, you suppose - to them, you’re not really human. 

You can’t help yourself but bring this up to Haymitch after the second day of meeting your Sponsors. 

„They don’t - they don’t really see us as actual humans, do they?“, you say, quietly, defeatedly, crossing your arms in front of your chest in order to ward off the slight chill in the night air. You’re up on the roof, as safe from watchful eyes and listening ears as you can get in the Capitol, at least according to Haymitch. After dinner, he’d suggested getting a breath of fresh air and the dark look in his eyes had told you that fresh air wasn’t all that his suggestion entailed. 

At your words, he laughs darkly, taking another sip from his bottle. „Whatever makes you think that, Princess?“ 

You shoot him a dark look. „It’s just - all their going on about how I seem so smart and well-spoken for someone that’s District, so - well-behaved …“, you say, trailing off, trying not to cringe at memory of an older woman - though with all the cosmetic surgeries done to her face you’re left in the dark when it comes to guessing her real age - grabbing a strand of your hair, running it through her fingers with a greedy look in her unnatural lilac eyes. 

„And the way they talked about some of the other tributes, it’s horrible …“, you whisper, your insides freezing when you recall how they’d talked about little Sarah and Finn - or, according to them, those wild savages. „Like we’re not even human, just … something - something less than …“ 

You shake your head, your gaze landing on Haymitch whose grip on the bottle in his hand has tightened so much so that the whites of his knuckles are showing. There’s a dark, pained look in his eyes, and by the way he’s staring off into the distance you can tell that he’s not really here in the moment with you right now. 

Not for the first time since meeting him you find yourself wondering what on earth happened to him that could’ve turned him into the cynical, drunken recluse you’ve always known him to be. 

As far as you can recall, there’s no one there for him in District Twelve - no friends, no family. Though surely he must have had friends and family before going into the Games. A mother, a father, maybe siblings. Maybe even a sweetheart. 

And now, he’s got no one. No mother or father to take care of him, no loving sweetheart, no caring friends. Something must have happened to them, his loved ones. It must have had something to do with his Games, you’re sure of it. 

If President Snow has no qualms about showing you off to your Sponsors like you’re nothing more than a glorious toy to be played with, then what limits are there for him when it comes to tributes causing trouble in the Games?

You don’t recall much about Haymitch’s Games, other than the fact that he must have somehow managed to outsmart the Gamemakers. That’s all that your father’s ever managed to cough up when you asked him about it and you’d never been able to get much more information from anyone else you’d asked. Back in Twelve, everything to do with Haymitch’s Games is all kept very hush-hush, which is rather strange, considering that he’s not only the only living Victor of Twelve, but also managed to win the Games during a Quarter Quell at that. 

Come to think of it, you can’t really remember any clips from Haymitch’s Games. There’s that one clip of his pre-Games interview with Caesar Flickerman during which he confidently announced that he’s not nervous about going into the Games, because even though there might be twice the amount of tributes as usual, that doesn’t mean that they won’t be any less stupid than usual. 

You also vaguely recall him allying with Maysilee Donner, a blond girl from the merchant sector of Twelve with an array of necklacesa around her neck. You’d think them pretty if the image of her neck, skin shredded to pieces after a pack of mutt birds attacked her, blood gushing and gushing and gushing, wasn’t burned so hard into your mind. 

But that’s it. 

The Victor of the Second Quarter Quell, and there’s hardly anything you know about his Games. 

You start shivering then, though it’s nothing to do with the slight chill in the air. Icy panic is flowing through your veins, turning your insides to ice. 

„- here, take that.“ 

Haymitch’s voice and his hands on your arms draw you out of your thoughts. 

You’d been so absorbed in the terrifying thoughts rushing through your head, you haven’t even noticed Haymitch taking off the sweater he’s wearing and leaning in closer towards you, sweater bunched up in one hand. Without the soft, knitted sweater, he’s left wearing a dark, tight shirt, and for a second you’re mindlessly ogling the way the shirt clings to his chest. How did you never before notice just how strong and muscular he actually is? 

But then you realize that you’re ogling him the exact same way you’d been ogled at by your Sponsors earlier that day and immediately force your eyes upwards.

There’s a dark, knowing look in Haymitch’s eyes, but it’s the smirk he gives you that really does you in, causing blood to rush to your cheeks. 

This is Haymitch, you remind yourself. Haymitch. Your mentor. Haymitch, who - as you’re becoming more sure of with every passing second - must have done something during his Games that caused him to lose everything and everyone he cared about after winning. 

The thought immediately sobers you up and you bite down hard on your lips. 

Haymitch smirks. „Take that“, he repeats, thrusting the sweater into your hands.

„But - but you’ll be cold“, you say, flushing the moment the words leave your mouth. 

Haymitch only rolls his eyes. „Just take the damn sweater, Princess. I could do without all the shivering and teeth chattering … besides, your coronation’s tomorrow, can’t have you falling ill before that, can we now?“ 

You nod, taking the sweater from him, though the mention of your Victor’s interview with Caesar Flickerman gives you pause. 

You know that it’s inevitable, that there’s nothing you could do to prevent any of it, and yet the thought that you absolutely do not want to live through any moment from your Games ever again, is there all the same. Not that you can really escape your memories from your time in the Arena - they’re woven into all of your nightmares and most of your waking moments. 

Still, it’s something else entirely, being forced to watch all these moments while surrounded by an audience of Capitol people, than to wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat and calling out for Kai, even though you know that you’re never going to feel the comforting weight of his arms around you ever again. 

Just thinking about Kai causes your heart to ache. 

Pressure builds behind your eyes, and for once, you don’t try to fight off the tears, letting them fall down freely instead. 

But even as the tears are streaming down your face, your body shaking with silent sobs, you tell yourself that you’ll only get this one moment. This one stolen moment in the dark, with Haymitch by your side. 

Just this one moment. 

Because come tomorrow, you’ll have to go through everything all over again. You can’t let yourself fall apart, not yet, not while you’re still here in the Capitol. 

And almost as if he’s read your thoughts, Haymitch reaches for your hand after you’ve pulled his sweater on, squeezing it lightly. 

You squeeze his hand back, your eyes finding his. 

There’s so much more you want to say, so much more you’re burning to know and understand about him, but in this particular moment, you don’t need any more words to understand each other. 

You don’t know how long you stay like that, just sitting next to each other in complete silence, your hands still joined.

But when, after some time has passed, you both wordlessly get up, you feel considerably lighter, and the pain in your chest has lessened, if only by a small fraction.  

Your interview with Caesar Flickerman the following evening is every bit as horrible as you’d imagined it to be. 

You fight hard to keep your composure, to smile and nod when it’s expected of you, but you barely make it through the whole ordeal, especially once the viewing of the clipped-together version of the Games begin. 

It’s surreal - surreal and absolutely horrible - seeing Kai and all your other allies there on the big screen. 

Watching a whispered late-night conversation you’ve had with Kai during the end of your time in the Arena, you feel as if you’ve stepped out of your body, watching yourself interacting with Caesar and the audience as if from afar. 

Your eyes find Haymitch then, who’s sitting in the first row, a half-empty bottle of liquor clutched in his hands. He holds your gaze, nodding as if to say: that’s it, keep holding on. 

And so you do, suffering through the rest of the footage of the Games and more empty, meaningless chatter with Caesar. 

Then, it’s time for President Snow to crown you Victor of the 61st annual Hunger Games. You stand, frozen and rooted to the spot in cold fear, as the President places the fragile looking gold crown on your head. 

„Congratulations“, he says, and you have to fight to keep your composure as his stale breath hits your skin. 

You force yourself to nod as the President turns to Haymitch, who has been called up on stage as well and is now standing right next to. „And I believe congratulations are in order for you as well, Mr. Abernathy“, Snow says, reaching for Haymitch’s hand.

As Snow shakes Haymitch’s hand, Haymitch’s dark grey eyes seem to blaze with barely concealed disdain, but other than that, his expression is entirely unreadable. 

Still, Snow’s puckered lips quirk up into a terrifying smirk. „You’ve truly outdone yourself this year, Mr. Abernathy …“ His eyes flicker towards you, before turning back to Haymitch. 

„I’m sure that I speak for everyone in the Capitol when I say that we’re all so very curious and eager to see where her journey will take our lovely new Victor next … Though it’s reassuring, of course, to know that you, Mr. Abernathy, will be there at her side - for all of it...“ 

Snow laughs, though his eyes remain cold and expressionless. 

You can’t help but shiver, your heart pounding with fear. But when you turn to look at Haymitch, he won’t meet your gaze. 

Your bite down hard on your lip, so hard that the metallic taste of blood floods your tongue, but you don’t feel the pain. 

Something is wrong, you think, heart pounding in your chest. 

Something is very, very wrong. 

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