#you want your sister to care about you and she just doesn't

[goldfades]

family ties | chapter one, DAYLIGHT | burrow⁹

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MASTERLIST

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 3.7k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | the youngest kelce has spent her whole life navigating the chaos of her famous last name, always lingering in the background while her brothers took center stage. but when travis falls for taylor swift, she suddenly finds herself feeling like a third wheel in her own family. and after your heartbreak with an nba player, you never thought you'd find love again.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | just normal prologue stuff! kelce family bantering, mentions of jayson tatum, olivia h mention (IT WAS FOR THE PLOT I SWEAR), heartbreak (but no graphic descriptions), nothing else!

⟢ ┈ ev's notes: okay listen guys i had to think of a random basketball player and the first one i thought of was jayson tatum. if ur not attracted to him, just like... imagine someone else but the celtics are not mentioned so... it's fine!!!!! it's a minor little detail but yeah!

also, i might change some stuff that was from the OG fic just because it doesn't fit the plot i've made LOL. enjoy!

You were an accident in every possible way.

Born an astounding eight years after Travis, nearly eleven after Jason, you weren’t exactly planned. By the time you came along, your parents had been convinced they were done, their hands already full with two loud, competitive boys who spent more time wrestling in the backyard than sitting still. And then—there was you.

A baby sister in every sense of the word.

Your brothers treated you like some kind of rare, delicate thing at first, unsure what to do with you other than stare into your crib and poke at your tiny hands. But that didn’t last long. Before you could even walk, Jason was letting you sit on his lap while he played video games, and Travis had appointed himself your unofficial bodyguard, glaring at anyone who so much as breathed in your direction.

You grew up surrounded by chaos—loud dinners, backyard football games that almost always ended in someone getting tackled too hard, and a house full of laughter. Your parents tried their best to raise you with the same principles that had shaped your brothers, but you were different from the start.

Where Jason was responsible and steady, you were restless. Where Travis was loud and the life of the party, you were observant.

It wasn’t that you were quiet—no one raised in a Kelce household could be described as quiet—but you learned early on how to move through the world a little differently. Being the youngest meant you had to be quick-witted, fast on your feet, and always ready to hold your own. If you didn’t, you’d get run over.

By the time you hit high school, you had learned how to use your last name to your advantage. It got you free drinks at parties, easier conversations with teachers, and a built-in reputation before you ever had to prove yourself. But it also came with expectations—the kind that lingered over you like a shadow.

People expected you to be just like your brothers.

Maybe a little wild, maybe a little reckless. Definitely athletic. Definitely loud.

And you were some of those things.

You were an athlete, sure—your dad would’ve had an aneurysm if you weren’t—but not in the way people wanted. You had a sharp competitive streak, but you never cared about being the best. You played because it was fun, because it was expected, because you liked the feeling of winning, but you never had dreams of making it big. Not like Jason. Not like Travis.

And as for being reckless? You were a Kelce, so it was in your blood. But you were also smart. Calculated. Where Travis would throw himself into anything just to see what would happen, you thought three steps ahead. You weren’t scared of getting into trouble, but you were good at avoiding it.

That was the thing about growing up the way you did—watching your brothers carve their paths before you. You learned how to navigate things differently. You let them be the loudest people in the room while you played the long game, slipping through cracks unnoticed until you wanted to be noticed.

You didn’t date much in high school—not seriously, anyway. Not because people didn’t try (being a Kelce came with its perks), but because most boys were too intimidated by the idea of dating Jason and Travis Kelce’s little sister. You never really minded. Most of the guys at your school weren’t worth your time, anyway.

But you did notice the way people looked at you.

The way guys wanted to say they had a shot with you, even if they never tried. The way girls sometimes whispered about you, speculating if you were actually as down-to-earth as you pretended to be. The way teachers expected you to either be a slacker or a prodigy, like there was no in-between.

You weren’t sure when exactly you started feeling like an enigma—like people had decided who you were before you even had a chance to figure it out for yourself.

Maybe it was when your friends started bringing you to parties just because your last name got you through the door. Maybe it was when people started assuming you were only where you were because of your family. Maybe it was when you realized that, no matter what you did, you’d always be compared to the brothers who came before you.

By the time you graduated, you had perfected the art of keeping people at a distance. You knew how to smile just enough to be approachable, how to joke just enough to make people like you. But you also knew how to keep things yours.

And so you did.

You left home with the intention of making a name for yourself—outside of football, outside of the Kelce legacy. You weren’t running away from it, exactly. You just needed something that was yours alone.

And for the most part, you succeeded.

You built a life that had nothing to do with your last name. You found your own friends, your own career, your own world. You managed to exist outside of the NFL bubble, despite how often it tried to pull you back in. And for years, that was enough.

You were nineteen when you met Jayson Tatum.

Nineteen and reckless in the way only someone on the verge of something monumental can be—when success feels inevitable, and the world hasn’t yet taught you how cruel it can be. You had grown up in the shadows of your last name, in the periphery of stadium lights, in the echoes of your brothers’ roaring crowds. But Jayson was the first person who made you feel like the center of something.

You weren’t naïve. You knew what it meant to love someone like him—someone whose name was already in the rafters, whose presence carried weight before he even walked into a room. He was smooth, confident, charming in that way that made you want to believe him. And maybe that was the problem: you did.

It started fast, the way these things always do. Courtside seats, late-night flights, whispered phone calls from different time zones. He made you feel special, called you his “genius,” said he had never met someone like you before. But love with him always came with conditions. He loved you, but he wanted you to fit into his world, to mold yourself into the spaces left between his career, his schedule, his life. And you tried. God, you tried. You sat in the stands, smiled for the cameras, learned the rhythms of his world even when he never bothered to learn yours.

And it was never enough.

It was always push and pull, a constant cycle of breaking and rebuilding. He would tell you he couldn’t do it anymore, that you were too much, that he needed someone who understood his life. And then weeks later, he’d be back, whispering apologies, promising he had figured it out this time. And you—stupid, hopeful, nineteen, then twenty, then twenty-one—kept believing him.

Until December 2022. The last time. The worst time.

You had always been careful, always known how to exist just outside the spotlight, but this time, the breakup wasn’t just yours. It was public. Messy. Everywhere. Headlines dissecting your relationship, tabloids picking apart your heartbreak like it was something they were entitled to. Your face plastered across the internet, grainy photos of you leaving restaurants, ducking into cars, standing alone in a crowd. Strangers speculating about you, about him, about what went wrong, about whether you were as heartbroken as they hoped you’d be.

And the worst part? You were. You just didn’t want them to know it.

You had never cared about fame—not like that, not in the way the world suddenly seemed to demand from you. You weren’t built for it, for the attention, for the scrutiny, for the way people suddenly decided you were interesting now that you were broken.

It was the lowest you had ever been.

After that, you buried yourself in work, in building something no one could take from you. You stopped trusting the cameras, stopped giving interviews, stopped letting people in. And love? Love became something you didn’t have time for. Something you couldn’t afford.

Not until Joe. But that was another story.

⟢ JULY 2023

The Kelces did the Fourth of July the same way they did everything else—loud, chaotic, and with enough food to feed an army.

The backyard was still a mess from the day’s events. Empty plates stacked on tables, beer bottles scattered across the deck, remnants of water balloons forgotten in the grass. The kids had long since crashed, curled up in the living room after a full day of running around, and your parents had finally turned in for the night. That left just the three of you—Jason, Travis, and you—lingering in the kitchen, picking at the last of the food and settling in for what was, by tradition, gossip hour.

Jason was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, looking half-exhausted, half-amused as he nursed what was probably his final beer of the night. Kylie had gone upstairs an hour ago, throwing a “don’t let him stay up too late” over her shoulder before disappearing. Travis was still riding the high of a long day—barefoot, tanned from the sun, and grinning like he knew something you didn’t.

You, for your part, were perched on the counter, sipping a Coke because you had a feeling one of you needed to remain at least somewhat coherent.

“So, uh,” Travis started, reaching for the last deviled egg on the platter. “Speaking of cool people, guess who I started talking to?”

Jason shot him a tired look. “Oh, here we go.”

You glanced between them. “What do you mean, talking to?”

Travis grinned. “Taylor Swift.”

You blinked. “What?”

Jason groaned, running a hand over his face. “Jesus Christ, Trav.”

“What?” Travis said, clearly enjoying himself. “It’s not a big deal.”

You snorted. “You just casually dropped Taylor Swift into the conversation like it’s the weather. That’s not normal.”

Jason pointed at you. “Exactly. Thank you.”

Travis rolled his eyes, shoving the deviled egg into his mouth. “It’s not like that. We’ve just been texting. I shot my shot, and what do you know? The Kelce charm works.”

Jason looked unimpressed. “Define ‘texting.’”

Travis chewed thoughtfully. “Like… texting.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Travis.”

He smirked. “Okay, fine. I invited her to a game. She didn’t come, but she thought it was funny. We started talking. She’s cool as hell.”

You stared at him, processing. “Hold on. You shot your shot with Taylor Swift—arguably the biggest pop star in the world—by inviting her to a football game?”

Travis shrugged. “I mean, yeah.”

Jason huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “I hate that it worked.”

You leaned forward, intrigued now. “Wait, so what do you guys talk about?”

Travis grinned. “Oh, you know. Life. Music. Football. Friendship bracelets.”

Jason made a strangled noise. “I swear to God—”

“I’m serious!” Travis held up his hands. “She thought it was funny! That’s what started it, actually.”

You narrowed your eyes, skeptical. “And how often are you guys texting?”

Travis took a sip of his beer, clearly stalling.

“Travis.”

He sighed dramatically. “Every day. Okay? Happy?”

Jason looked at you, then back at him. “Holy shit. You like her.”

Travis scoffed. “Of course I like her, she’s Taylor fuckin’ Swift.”

“No,” you cut in, pointing at him. “Not just, like, ‘fan’ like her. You actually like her.”

Travis hesitated. And that was all you needed to see.

Jason whistled low, shaking his head. “This is gonna be a disaster.”

You grinned, tilting your head. “Or… it’s gonna be the greatest thing to ever happen to you.”

Travis gave you a look, something half-serious beneath all the usual bravado. “You think?”

You shrugged. “I think you have a long road ahead of you if you actually wanna date Taylor Swift. But if anyone’s got the balls to do it, it’s you.”

Travis sat back, considering that. Then he smirked. “Yeah. You’re right.”

Jason groaned. “Oh God.”

You hopped off the counter, stealing the beer out of Travis’s hand and taking a sip. “I can’t wait for Mom to find out.”

Travis laughed, shaking his head. “You’re evil.”

“You love it.”

And just like that, the topic shifted—because that was the thing about being a Kelce. No matter how big the news, how crazy the story, at the end of the day, you were just family. Talking shit in the kitchen, making fun of each other, and watching history unfold in real time.

The whole thing kind of unraveled in front of you.

One minute, Travis was dropping Taylor Swift’s name into a conversation like it was nothing, and the next, she was there. Not in a surreal, once-in-a-lifetime, see-her-from-a-distance kind of way—but in the real way. The kind where she was suddenly just… around. Sitting across from you at dinner, feet tucked under her on the couch, sipping a drink at the same backyard parties you had been going to your whole life.

It wasn’t weird, not exactly. It was just happening.

You had been close to fame before, obviously. Jason and Travis had built their careers in the public eye, and you had spent your whole life in and around that world, brushing shoulders with athletes and celebrities who treated your last name like a golden ticket. You knew how to navigate it, how to smile politely and act like it didn’t phase you.

But this was different.

Because this wasn’t just fame. This was Taylor Swift—and she wasn’t just a headline or a name on a stadium marquee. She was here, in your world, existing in it like she belonged. And the strangest part? She kind of did.

You liked her. She was easy to like. Funny, quick-witted, smarter than people probably even realized. She had this way of making everyone feel like they were the only person in the room when she talked to them. Even you, at times, when she wasn’t entirely preoccupied with Travis.

And, well. That was the thing, wasn’t it?

Because she was preoccupied with Travis.

That was the whole point.

She wasn’t your friend. She wasn’t coming around to hang out with you. She was here for him. And that was fine. It was great, actually. You had never seen your brother like this before—completely, stupidly, out-of-his-mind happy. He glowed around her, and you were happy for him.

But somewhere along the way, you started to notice it.

The third wheel feeling.

It wasn’t obvious at first. Not in the beginning, when everything was still so new and exciting and unbelievable.

But then came the dinners where you felt like a spectator to their conversations. The trips where you ended up walking three steps behind them. The inside jokes you weren’t a part of, the glances they shared across rooms like they were in on some secret that you weren’t.

And sure, Travis had always been larger than life. His presence had always been something you had to navigate around. But now? Now, there was them. And you? You were just… there.

It got to the point where even your nieces—who were still young enough to have no filter—started noticing. You’d barely sat down at one of your parents’ Sunday dinners when Wyatt, with all the innocence of a child, looked up at you and asked, “Where’s your boyfriend?”

You had laughed, mostly out of shock, but the sting was still there. And then it happened again. And again.

And that was how Elliot became your best friend.

At just over a year old, she was the only one who didn’t ask why you were always alone, or where your mystery boyfriend was, or when you were going to bring someone home like Travis had. Instead, she was just happy to exist beside you, happy to let you carry her around like a little security blanket when you needed an excuse to step away from them.

You spent more time with her than you did with the adults most nights, letting her babble nonsense at you while you tuned out the rest of the room.

--

Joe Burrow wasn’t born into greatness.

He was born into a world where nothing was guaranteed, where talent didn’t always mean success, where hard work didn’t always lead to the dream. He grew up watching his father grind his way through the football world, moving from coaching job to coaching job, never staying anywhere long enough to feel settled. He understood from a young age that football wasn’t just a game—it was survival. It was everything.

But for most of his life, Joe wasn’t the guy. He wasn’t the five-star recruit, the kid whose name carried weight before he even stepped on the field. He was good—great, even—but great didn’t always mean enough. Ohio State was supposed to be his shot, his moment, the place where he proved himself. Instead, it was where he sat on the bench, waiting for a chance that never came, watching other guys take the field while he tried to convince himself it wasn’t slipping away from him.

There were nights he thought about giving it up. That maybe it just wasn’t meant to be. That maybe football had already given him all it was going to. But he wasn’t built to quit, and when LSU came calling, he took the leap.

That was the moment everything changed.

LSU wasn’t just an opportunity—it was a resurrection. It was the first time he felt like the guy, like he wasn’t just taking up space on a roster but actually belonged there. The game slowed down, the doubt faded, and for the first time in his life, he thought: Maybe I can actually do this. Maybe I can be great.

Then came 2019. The season. The Heisman. The national championship. The moment his life shifted from maybe to inevitable. He went from overlooked to undeniable, from backup to first overall pick, from fighting for a shot to standing at the top of the football world.

And somewhere in all of that, there was Olivia.

She had been there from Ohio State, through the struggles, through the late nights spent questioning everything. She was safe, steady, someone who knew him before everything changed. And for a while, that was enough. They built a life together in the in-between spaces of his career—through the transfer, through LSU, through the draft, through the move to Cincinnati.

But something had shifted along the way. Maybe it was the fame, the pressure, the way football consumed everything in its path. Maybe it was the fact that he had spent so long chasing this dream that he didn’t know how to slow down, didn’t know how to be the kind of man who could put something else—someone else—first.

Or maybe they had just grown into different people.

The love had been real. That was never a question. But real didn’t always mean forever, and when the cracks started to show, neither of them could ignore them. The long distance, the late nights, the feeling of being together but not really together. Football had always been his first love, and Olivia had always understood that. But understanding didn’t make it easier.

By the time the breakup happened, it felt inevitable. A quiet ending, no messy headlines, no dramatic fallout. Just two people who had spent years trying to make something work, finally realizing it wasn’t meant to.

Joe had never been one for public spectacle, had never been the guy who wanted his love life picked apart. But that didn’t stop people from talking. From wondering when he’d date again, who he’d be seen with, what kind of woman would fit into the world he had built.

But he wasn’t looking. Football was still everything, still the thing that took up all the space in his life.

At least, until you.

[httpswritings]

Lost On You

alexia putellas x realmadrid!reader and misa rodriguez x realmadrid!reader (as friends)

This story contains unrealistic plots (you'll know which ones I'm referring to as you read throughout the story) and it doesn't have a closed happy ending for ale/reader but it does have a cute ending for misa and reader's friendship.

It’s still a blur how it all happened, but somehow, you caught the attention of a Real Madrid scout. The memory feels hazy, like a dream you can’t quite piece together.

Almost three years ago, you walked Misa, your lifelong friend, to one of her training sessions. You were always early—your fear of being late to anything saw to that—and that day was no exception. With time to kill, Misa insisted you join her for a bit until her session started. She grabbed a ball and nudged you to take a few shots, claiming it would help her warm up.

“This isn’t fair. You know I’m terrible at this, Mimi,” you protested, shaking your head.

“So what? You’re here with me. We’ve got, like, forty-five minutes to kill,” she replied, grinning.

“No, you have forty-five minutes until training. This isn’t exactly my thing,” you shot back, though your resolve was already crumbling.

You could never say no to her, especially when she looked at you with those dark brown eyes. Misa was three years older than you, but she’d always been your rock. She was your protector—through school, through high school, through everything. No one dared mess with you because they knew Misa and her friends would have your back.

There were only two times anyone tried to tease you, both involving girls who thought they were bold enough. Both times, it took just one of your tears for Misa to lose her temper. She got expelled twice—once for each girl—and she never once regretted it. That’s just who she was: fiercely loyal, always protective, and endlessly caring, like the big sister you never had.

So, of course, you gave in. You took the ball from her hands, laughing as she bounced on her toes with excitement. Her Canarian accent always thickened when she got worked up, and you couldn’t help but think it sounded even more beautiful than usual.

In the background, unbeknownst to you, a Real Madrid agent had been watching.

You’d never played football before. Growing up, you were too afraid of being judged, of people labeling you as something you weren’t. The fear of being seen as "too masculine" or "lesbian" kept you on the sidelines, even though you secretly loved the sport. You only ever allowed yourself to enjoy it from a distance, never daring to join in, even during playground games. And even if you had wanted to, you knew your parents couldn’t afford to pay for football lessons.

It was Misa’s passion for the game, along with your own journey towards the acceptance of your lesbianism, that slowly helped you feel more comfortable with yourself. But by then, it was too late to learn—you had no idea how to play.

That’s why, when you took the ball and Misa urged you to take a few shots, you missed all three attempts. Both of you burst into laughter, treating it as nothing more than a silly game to pass the time. But just as you were about to leave, a woman approached you.

She introduced herself as Sara and began asking questions—your name, where you played, what position you were in. At first, you and Misa thought it was a joke. After all, Sara had just witnessed your disastrous technique. You played along, teasingly telling her you were Misa’s biggest rival, both of you laughing at the absurdity of it.

But then Sara started asking more specific questions, and it dawned on you that she was serious. You quickly apologized for joking and admitted the truth: you’d never played football before.

To your surprise, Sara didn’t seem fazed. She insisted on scheduling an appointment to see more of you. You had no idea why she was so interested, but Misa’s piercing stare made it clear that refusing wasn’t an option. Denying the request would’ve driven her crazy, so for the sake of your friend, you reluctantly agreed.

At the appointment, Sara closely analyzed your movements. You felt completely out of place, convinced this had to be some kind of elaborate joke you weren’t in on. You struggled to keep up—missing the ball, running out of breath quickly, and looking utterly lost most of the time. It was embarrassing, to say the least.

A few days later, Sara asked you to come back. That’s when she dropped the bombshell: she wanted to sign you to Real Madrid. She made it clear that you’d be starting from scratch, and it would take years of hard work to even dream of making it to the first team. But she believed in you—enough to set an ambitious goal: she wanted you to debut by the age of twenty-two. Surprisingly, you managed to do it a year earlier.

Your playing time was limited, especially in high-stakes matches. Sara was cautious about putting you under too much pressure too soon. Real Madrid’s women’s team wasn’t a powerhouse, and she wanted to shield you from the weight of failure. That’s why you didn’t play in the Copa de la Reina final, where Real Madrid came agonizingly close to winning their first title, only to lose to Atletico de Madrid. You also sat out the matches against FC Barcelona, and honestly, you were grateful for it. You watched Barça evolve, seeing the names of players who came and went: Lieke Martens, Jenni Hermoso, Asisat Oshoala, Aitana, Patri, Graham, Pinà… and Alexia.

Since entering the world of women’s football, you’d studied Alexia closely. She was the epitome of perfection—a relentless winner with an insatiable hunger for success. Her passion for the game was unmatched, and it drove everything she did.

To your astonishment, you were called up for a few friendly matches ahead of the World Cup. It was your chance to prove how far you’d come. Your improved physique and growing understanding of the game shone through, and after a standout performance, you earned your spot on the World Cup roster.

Your inclusion raised eyebrows. You’d only played two matches with the National team and had limited experience with Real Madrid’s first team, mostly featuring in their youth categories. But you were determined to make the most of the opportunity.

During the first training session, you stuck to Misa’s side like glue. You’d already met Jenni and Laia during the friendly matches, and they’d been incredibly supportive. But Alexia was a different story. She arrived late, still recovering from a long-term injury, but she was ready for the World Cup.

The first time you saw her, it felt like witnessing a celestial being. Her bright pink hair framed her face, and her eyes seemed to light up the room. She was warm and approachable as she introduced herself.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” she said, glancing at her teammates with a smile.

Your cheeks burned red. Misa, standing beside you, bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud. She knew all about your crush on Alexia, and she wasn’t about to let you live it down.

Alexia was an absolute sweetheart, always going out of her way to help you. She became so invested in you that she couldn’t help the feelings that began to grow. The tournament ended with your victory over England, and you scored the most crucial goal of the match. Over time, you and Alexia grew so close that the thought of returning to your separate lives filled you both with anxiety. Fortunately, you had one last chance to spend time together—the trip to Ibiza—and you made the most of every moment.

Afterward, you returned to your routine: striving to improve at Real Madrid B, focusing on your studies, and catching glimpses of Alexia whenever your paths crossed during national team camps.

You watched FC Barcelona thrive, and a pang of envy crept in, wishing you could one day celebrate such victories with your own team.

As time passed, you turned twenty-two, sitting on the bench as your team suffered yet another defeat in El Clásico. What hurt the most was seeing Misa’s disappointment. Your body ached to step onto the pitch, but your mind held you back..

It wasn’t until Spain’s Supercopa final, with your team trailing by three goals and forty-five minutes still on the clock, that something inside you snapped. You didn’t know what came over you, but you stood up, driven by an unshakable determination. You practically begged your coach to let you on the pitch, to at least try to lessen the blow, even if it meant losing by just one goal.

Alexia watched as you prepared to step in, and her heart ached. She thrived on Real Madrid’s defeats, but the hatred she held for the team paled in comparison to the love she felt for you. Her mind was set on scoring, even if it was just once, but her heart wanted to pull you off the field. She wanted to humiliate Real Madrid, not you. To her, you were different—you always had been.

When you were subbed in, you delivered a stunning performance, scoring and assisting to help your team clinch their first title. It was a wild, unforgettable display, fueled by your desire to see Misa succeed. It was an unusual philosophy, but Misa was everything to you in football. Even as you wore the Real Madrid badge on your chest, right on top of the area of your heart, where Alexia belonged, Misa was the one who dominated your thoughts. You had stood by her side through every defeat, every heartbreak, every moment when the weight of the game seemed too heavy to bear. Each loss had carved a little piece out of you, not because you were the one on the field, but because you felt her pain as if it were your own. She was more than just your best friend—she was your closest friend.

But this time was different. This time, you weren’t just watching her fight—you were watching her soar. The cup gleamed in her hands, a symbol of everything she had worked for, everything she had sacrificed. The smile on her face wasn’t just one of victory; it was one of triumph over every doubt, every setback, every moment when the world had tried to tell her she wasn’t enough. And as you stood there, watching her bask in the glory of her hard-earned success, you felt a surge of pride so overwhelming it brought tears to your eyes.

This was everything. This was the moment you had been waiting for, not for yourself, but for her. You had seen the sleepless nights, the endless training sessions, the quiet moments when she questioned if it was all worth it. And now, as she lifted the cup high, her laughter ringing out like music, you knew it was. Every drop of sweat, every tear, every ounce of pain had led her here, to this pinnacle of joy.

You caught sight of Alexia’s sad expression, and it weighed heavily on you. You moved closer, but she stopped you, forcing a small, fake smile and telling you to celebrate your victory and enjoy the moment.

In that moment, as she lost and you won, she felt like she had lost you too. She had lost herself in you, and now, in defeat, she was determined to find herself again. But rediscovering herself meant letting you go. She had to lose you to find who she was.

[cod-indulgences]

Simon Riley x female!reader, alt POV, drinking, references to oral, hints of Johnny x reader but nothing happens between them

@skeletonsucker ask and ye shall receive

part 1 here

Johnny was having a grand time. Good drinks, the bar not so crowded he got itchy but not empty. Simon's little bird so blatantly delighted to be out and enjoying herself, smiling and sipping her cocktails with a flush in her cheeks. He saw how Simon just relaxed around her, following her with his eyes and a hand always half-reached out to grasp hers when she came back into orbit.

Maybe they should have kept better track of her drinks though.

"he's just so...like I don't know. You know?"

Johnny bit back his laughter. "Sure, love, I know."

"no! No you don't, he's just so good, Johnny, like he's so amazing. So good." You make little grabby hands in the direction of the mens room that Simon had excused himself to. "I just wanna, squeeze him. Forever. He's so cute!"

Gaz does laugh, the fucker, but you don't seem upset. Instead you turn the big eyes on him. "He is!!"

"Ok, yes, I believe you, Simon is cute," Gaz soothes, and he and Price share a look over their beers. Price just shakes his head.

You light up when Simon comes back, standing to hug him before he can sit down. Adorable, and Johnny smiles and sits back with his drink. And then chokes on it when you start giving a run down of your favorite parts of Simon to kiss.

Poor Simon, brick red and flustered, trying to herd you back onto your seat. He waves at the bartender for water but nope, too late, Johnny sees that look on your face. That's someone who doesn't care about anyone or anything else than whatever their alcohol-soaked little mind has latched on to. Johnny's intimately familiar.

"I want to suck your dick," you say, baldly, and at normal fucking volume.

Johnny and Gaz both burst into laughter. Price holds it for a moment longer but Simon's face, his eyes all wide with dismay and shock, sets him off too.

It'll probably take some sweet talking, but Johnny is absolutely going to get you back out and drunk with them again.

Oh Christ, you're not stopping- who calls a dick fucking yummy, but hell, that's some enthusiasm you've got. And Johnny can't say there's not an appeal there, soft hazy eyes and pink tongue licking your lips as you describe sucking Simon off, playing with him, getting him to come all over your face the way you love, fuck.

Johnny subtly adjusts his pants, and then snorts with laughter again as Simon decides to cut his losses and hoists you up in his arms, dropping cash on the bar for his tab as you pout. Johnny's with Simon on this one, you're definitely not walking out under your own power now, but it's funny as fuck to see him try and fail to contain his little drunk girlfriend who is now cooing in his ear about road head, Simon holding her head down as he drives, filling her throat with his come-

Johnny returns your wave goodbye and swallows more beer to wet his suddenly dry throat. Fucking Christ.

Where the fuck did Simon find you? And do you have a sister??

[bwat5-blog]

A Sister's Love: Jinx & Vi

**Spoilers For Arcane**

A while back I had a short but pleasant discussion with someone on one of their posts about Jinx's treatment of Vi, and how it can feel like Jinx doesn't seem to care about Vi in many instances. In hopes of further discussion, I posted in the community where many of you wonderful folks shared your thoughts on the subject and I got a lot of really good insight into this as well. I was thinking about that this morning and it got me thinking about Jinx in general, and more specifically the times when even if it's not as clear, her love for Vi shines through.

I've said this many times but it bears repeating. I am aware that I have been quite harsh on Jinx. The unfortunate reason for most of that is that a significant amount of Jinx fans have an obsession with comparing her to Caitlyn or Vi that borders on the fanatical. But my issue has never been, and will never be with the character herself. I think she is absolutely amazing as a character and loved watching her story unfold.

*I do this every-time but I think it's important. Especially because some of you have shared with me that your own mental health is what has made you connect with Jinx so strongly. I understand and recognize that her mental health plays an immensely important role in her character's journey. I am in no way, shape or form a qualified mental healthcare professional. So any disrespect or lack of sensitivity is not my intention*

Jinx & Vi:

The journey of these sisters is heartbreaking and inspiring in equal measure. It is many people's favorite part of the story and for good reason. They are so close when the show begins and ripped apart by the darkness in their world. Only to fight their way back to one another through love and sacrifice.

But their story is not without conflict. In fact at their lowest point they almost kill one another. There is much that can be said about Vi's love for Jinx, the times she fails her, and those important moments, but I want to focus on Jinx right now.

I don’t have exact quotes on hand, but someone in the community made an excellent point during our discussion. Even when Vi and Jinx are at odds, and Jinx’s hallucinations try to convince her that Vi no longer loves her—that she’s been replaced by Caitlyn—Jinx fights back. She defends who she knows her sister to be, even if she can’t always silence those voices. It’s only pain, fear, or manipulation that pushes her too far, making her lose her grip on what she knows to be true.

During the horrifying sequence when Jinx is being saved by Singed, she hallucinates. And who does she hallucinate in that terrifying moment when she is in terrible pain and in such need of comfort? Vi. Even though she just tried to kill Vi on that bridge. The vision is only corrupted when Caitlyn appears, which all stems from Silco and Sevika feeding Jinx's paranoia.

Okay. I know what some of you are thinking seeing me post ANYTHING about the dinner party on a Jinx positive post. Hear me out. There is no question that Jinx does ALL sorts of fucked up shit here. But we are talking about her love for Vi. What does she want here? She wants things to be like they used to be. She wants her sister. She is in such a dark and twisted state that she cannot see how terrible her actions are, but at her core, she wants her older sister to love her like she used to. She doesn't hurt Vi (I mean aside from the bonk). Additionally, and again- I AM NOT SAYING SHE DIDN"T DO TERRIBLE THINGS HERE- Even with all she did to Caitlyn, she knows Vi cares for Caitlyn, she views Caitlyn as the one who was taking Vi from her, and yet she doesn't kill Caitlyn and she easily could have. This is not about justifying anything she does. It's about looking for what lies beneath the darkness in her to see the person she has the potential to be again.

Here at their lowest moment, when Vi and Jinx have almost killed each-other, and Jinx is glad Vi is the one who is going to finish her, Jinx screams "NO!" when Isha does this. She doesn't want Vi to die.

Vi is at her worst during her pitfighter arc. I'm not going super in-depth on this because this post is about Jinx but Vi is in a self-destructive spiral and totally alone. It's quite clear in one moment that Jinx is there in the crowd but if you slow down the whole sequence you actually see her there a few times. This was primarily what I was discussing with some other people and I believe Jinx was watching over Vi in the best way she could process. I'm sure there was some degree of pleasure in seeing Vi cast out by Caitlyn at first, but with all other signs pointing to Jinx caring for Vi I don't think Jinx was here laughing at her sisters pain. More trying to be there and watch over Vi but with no idea how to approach her with all that happened.

*I fully recognize there is a degree of speculation on my part for this point but I think it's reasonable, feel free to let me know if you disagree!*

With everything that has happened between them, the fact that Jinx comes to collect Vi when she finds out about Vander speaks volumes. There is still much to be worked out between them but she wants their family to together again including Vi. And although I couldn't find the GIF for it, when jinx is in the dark with her lighter after Vi and Vander fight is such a heart wrenching moment. She is clearly so afraid that she has caused the death of her sister, her dad, or both. She cares so much for those that she has left.

Jinx and Caitlyn's history is the furthest thing from simple. But in this moment, Caitlyn cast Vi out, hit her, became the commander and placed Zaun under martial law all because she wanted Jinx (this is not a who is right and who is wrong I'm just making a point), Jinx would HATE Caitlyn. But she knows what she means to Vi. And she just saw Caitlyn save Vander. Jinx easily could have let Rictus finish Caitlyn then jumped in if it was just about saving Vander but she still jumps headfirst into the fight.

In the aftermath of Isha and Vander's death, Jinx could easily have escaped Caitlyn. But Caitlyn tells Vi that all Jinx wanted was to make sure Vi was safe after Vi sacrificed herself to protect her.

Jinx's mindset in this moment is a complicated topic. But I want to focus her feelings about Vi. Vi has come and broken her out of jail, risked everything for her again. And Jinx realizes Vi will never give up on her. Even at great cost to herself. So Jinx punches her and leaves her, and almost begs her to start living for herself. Because she knows Vi cannot give herself that permission. She wants Vi to choose her own life, and to choose love.

Free and clear, obviously Jinx was going to do something horrible but thankfully Ekko talked her down. Even still, she could have done anything. But what does she choose to do? She chooses to ride to war with her people, honoring Vi's faith in her.

And of course, the absolutely devastating final sacrifice (I know she's alive but you get it) of Jinx saving Vi's life when the pain and grief finally overwhelm the fearsome brawler. I have mentioned it many times, but Jinx's core belief is that everyone who gets close to her dies. She thinks she is a curse on all who love her. But in her last action, she saves the life of the older sister she knows will always love her, and who never gave up on her.

I have touched on most of this before but it was just on my mind this morning. I hope I didn't bore anyone. I know there are LOTS of strong feelings about Jinx and like I have said over and over nothing here is about justifying the wrong she did. It's just about looking at those moments that showed her true colors even when she herself couldn't see them. Hope you enjoyed, take care!

[wc-confessions]

Something that really bugs me about this fandom is the weird switch-up on TigerDove. Like, before Tigerheart's Shadow most people thought it was...well, bad, for a lot of reasons.

People seem to forget how creepy their early relationship was. Even if we put aside the fact that Dovewing was an apprentice (and before anyone says some bs about them not being that far apart in age-neither are Frostpaw and Splashtail and that one is rightfully treated as weird) he uses her for his own purposes. The dude uses his relationship with her to ransom her sister. Hell, he uses straight up SpottedThistle creepy phrases constantly saying shit like "we have a connection...you saved me so now we're bonded for life" or whatever the hell.

Even after all that, he's still not even all that great to her in his own SE. "How dare my wife raise our children to accept the ways of the outsiders that took them in!!!" Dude SHUT UP. Hell, there's a few moments in the newer books that rub me the wrong way too, like in Ivypool's Heart when he snaps at Ivypool that she "sounds like her sister" because her clan is important to her. Ah yes, this is the perfect example of a man who loves his wife

Listen; I don't care if someone likes these two. I actually quite enjoy the more fanon depiction they have of "guy who loves his wife and the wife who is actually the one running things" but it just bothers me that people act like that's what their relationship is and always was, or that it was just "a rough start".

Also it's sometimes used as an argument against saying Tigerheartstar isn't a great guy...as if loving your wife automatically makes you a good person? Dude, some of the worst people alive still loved their families, that doesn't really work. Like you can admit a character you like is a bad person you don't have to make excuses

TLDR: It bothers me when people act like this couple is and always has been super sweet and wholesome when they really weren't. Ship it if you want idc, just not for me

ฅ^>⩊<^ ฅ

[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Hello! 👋 Thank you for your writing and effort. Can I request a story about reader and Donna having an affair? Maybe reader is Cassandra's gf but Cassandra doesn't treat her right like she flirts with other girls in front of reader and stuff like that? In the process of Cassandra sending reader to run her errands to her aunt Donna house they fall in love. Considering that Donna is super possessive and jealous everytime she sees reader they make love and is a struggle letting reader go back to the castle

One day Donna finds a hickey on reader's neck and goes mad because reader had promised it that Cassandra and her weren't intimate anymore (Cassandra was busy with other girls). Reader tries to explain her that she didn't enjoy it but Donna in her madness and jealousy kicks her out. After that when Donna comes to her sense she realizes she can't live without reader and is willing to fight for her so she goes to the castle and lady dimitrescu thinking her sister has just come to visit her invite her to have dinner. At the dinner table she sees reader and Cassandra but reader looks sad and pale. At one point in the night Donna notices Cassandra and reader fighting and Cassandra about to raise her hand on reader so Donna sees red and punches her niece. That's all the truth comes out and lady dimistrecu having noticed how her daughter treated reader scolds her terribly in front of everybody and let reader go with Donna. G!p Donna is that's okay?

Yess!!! Thank you for your request!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the delay, and the language mistakes!!! :)))))

Your arms, my safe place

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem, castle maid! Reader

Warnings: G!P Donna, a bit of smut, Minors DNI, angst, dark themes, (Y/N) is Cassandra's gf, but things don't go well... mentions of abuse?

Word count: 9,796, too long, sorry

Summary: You wanted to be with her, but fate has another plans for you...

N/A: HELLO AGAIN PEOPLE!!! I'm back as you see!!! Thank you for all your support all this time, you're wonderful!!! I'm here again, but I'm afraid I'm unable to update everyday, but I'll do it when I can, I guess maybe 3 times a week!!! So... Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :)) Oh, and sorry about the language mistakes!!!

Donna's hands slipped under your uniform, untying the ties that held it to your body while you worked on the buttons of the blouse of her dress. Your head spun and the excitement was overwhelming.

Determined to leave behind anything that would interrupt the moment, you broke free from your thoughts when your hands brushed her skin, when your fingers unclasped her bra with a quick movement.

Donna began to become wild, dominant, as if the simple act of claiming you, of making love to you, reminded her that you were one step closer to stop being Cassandra's, to being only hers.

After all, feeling like you were hers wasn't the same as being so. Donna knew that, and it tormented her.

A few intense kisses on your neck brought you back to reality, making you moan, close your eyes, and forget about your worries. Her lips felt soft on your skin, her teeth barely grazed you, but made you tremble.

“D-Donna, b-be careful,”  you said, making the brunette move away from your neck to slide her hands under your legs and lift you romantically, placing you gently on the bed.

“Mm?” she murmured distractedly, bringing her hips closer to yours, making you notice her imprisoned erection pressing against your body and forcing you to emit an involuntary moan.

“N-not the neck, okay? You could leave a mark on me and Ca…” you said with a slightly clearer voice, putting your hands on her shoulders and causing her expression to suddenly harden.

“Shut up,” Donna snapped at you with a cold, angry look, hitting the mattress with her fist. “D-Don't say her name,” she hissed, looking away and accelerating her breathing.

You rushed to fix things as best you could: cupping her face in your hands.

“Shh, darling, forgive me, I didn't mean… Donna, my love, I'm sorry, okay?” you said tenderly, to which the lady closed her eye and let the air out of her lungs slowly.

“I know, I… It's just that I…” she stammered without looking directly at you.

“Come here,” you said, bringing your lips closer to hers, kissing the lady to distract her from the uncomfortable truth of the situation, one that seemed increasingly difficult for the doll maker to assimilate.

The insecurities were silenced with the wet sounds of your kisses, with gasps and sighs that increased with each look, word, whisper, caress…

Your hands sought the warmth of her pale skin, her perfect breasts, her arousal struggling to free itself from the black fabric of her underwear… That was more than enough for Donna to roar anxiously, grabbing your legs and freeing her shaft, bringing it closer to your wetness.

Donna was in a hurry, her body was in a hurry to claim you and her thrusts began to move your body while you closed your eyes, noticing how your walls stretched and pleasure began to invade you.

Your hands moved erratically as she claimed your body desperately, moaning in a very low voice, grunting every time she felt you squeeze her. They were quick movements, but when you opened your eyes you felt relief; relief to see her eyes looking at you as always, with love, with tenderness, in a way Cassandra never did.

You could have lost yourself in her perfectly controlled thrusts, in all the sensations that ran through your body, but something prevented you from doing so, forcing you to focus, to finish that forbidden act as soon as possible.

“Ti amo, (Y/N),” the lady whispered, stopping to kiss you slowly, to check that her haste, her eagerness wasn’t hurting you.

“I love you, Donna,” you answered, with a melancholic smile. “D-Don't stop, please.”

She obeyed with a timid nod, resuming her movements as she separated your legs even further, taking absolute control.

The moans, the creaks of the bed accompanied your feelings until the pleasure was too intense, releasing an orgasm, revealing that your body was ready to enjoy the woman you loved, without thinking about anything else.

Her release came soon after, warming your body, caressing your walls in a wet and lustful way. Afterwards, Donna pulled away with a grunt, lying down beside you to begin your favorite part of those visits.

Yes, sex was incredible, but what you really enjoyed were those moments embraced, naked, those tender smiles of Lady Beneviento looking at you, those kisses soaked with the sweat of the effort of loving you… Yes, that was your favorite part.

After a few comforting moments of silence, you inched closer to her naked body, burying your head in her chest as her delicate hands lovingly caressed your hair.

“I could lose myself in your arms,” you whispered, your voice hoarse from the passion that seemed to still reverberate off the bedroom walls.

Donna laughed softly, pulling you closer to kiss your forehead, to brush your hair away from your face as you sighed. You wondered if maybe that was her favorite part too.

Your hands tangled together, absentmindedly playing with each other as the lady in black hummed an unfamiliar tune. Your gaze focused on her soft, fine hands, contrasting with the roughness of yours.

“You know? I find incredible that we have come to this…” you sighed, losing yourself again in her gaze. “I remember the first time I came… You closed the door in my face…”

“Mm, it's true,” the brunette said, amused, with a touch of shame in her voice. “I wasn't used to visits.”

“Oh,” you continued joking, sensually bringing your lips closer to hers, without kissing them, leaving the lady frustrated, teasing her.

“Now I can't live without them,” she answered, thus beginning a fight of kisses.

“Donna,” you said, trying to get away from her addictive lips with amusement.

 “(Y/N),” she said shortly after, sitting on the bed and looking away from you for a moment.

“What's wrong?” you asked, noticing how her body separated from yours, creating a horrible feeling of cold and abandonment on your skin.

“Mm, niente, io…”

“Hey! Are you done yet?! Angie doesn't like to be alone…” A sing-song voice sounded from behind the door, breaking that tense calm, that moment of lucidity from the lady in black, those words, which, surely, would start a conversation that you didn't feel like having, not that day.

“Angie…” Donna hissed, shaking her head and rolling her eye. “Go away!”

“I don't want to! Come here now! I'm bored!” the doll shrieked, with a mocking melody in her voice.

You laughed at the doll's always irreverent attitude, and at the embarrassment that it produced in its owner.

Donna looked at you and her smile also widened, joining you in a tender and soft laugh, resting her forehead against yours.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N), you know the way she is,” she said amused, shaking her head and tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

“Poor Angie,” you mocked in a low voice while the doll tried to get your attention with soft knocks on the door. “Besides, I…” you said, immediately staying quiet.

“What?” the lady asked, suddenly nervous, her gaze reflecting the fear of hearing that phrase, the phrase that always stabbed a knife deep into her heart.

“It's late and…” you whispered unsure, looking away and uncovering yourself, searching for your clothes. “I have, I have to…”

“Don't say it, please,” Donna interrupted, shaking her head, grabbing your wrist.

“I'm sorry, Donna, but I have to go,” you finally said, disobeying that silent plea, making her hand gently leave your skin. “It's going to get dark.”

“But, but,” the woman said, shaking her head and searching in her mind for an excuse, some words to make you reconsider your decision.

It wasn't really a decision. Your heart ached at the thought, knowing how much it hurt Donna to see you leaving, something that was becoming more and more difficult.

In silence, you both dressed again, without looking at each other, without doing or saying anything. The tension slowly increased; a tension that couldn't be dispelled with an apology or an empty promise, not anymore.

“Can I brush your hair?” Donna asked in a whisper as you looked at yourself in the vanity, searching for a mark, anything that could give you away to your true owner.

You nodded, letting her take a brush and gently run it through your hair as you both looked at each other in the mirror. Her bright eye betrayed regret, sadness, and yours betrayed lack of sleep, tiredness, laziness…

It was an overwhelming sight, but somehow it had its own sparkle. She was at your side, her beauty accompanying you, her hands caressing you as she gently combed your hair. Donna was with you, and that made you feel complete.

“Are you two deaf!? I'm here...” the doll joked, but without causing the same laughter as before.

It was a sad moment, the only moment you hated when you were with Donna.

“(Y/N), you don't have to do it,” Donna said softly, checking the result of her movements in the mirror and bending down slowly, surrounding your waist with her arms. “Please, stay with me a little longer, please.”

“You know I can't.” It was all you managed to say, shaking your head and pushing her hands away as you got up from the chair.

“We could play chess, or, or I could teach you to cook my recipes… Or maybe we could read in silence, with the fireplace sheltering us from the cold and…” the brunette insisted, pulling your body back, holding you tighter again.

“I can't, Donna,” you said, moving away abruptly, regretting it instantly. “Don't make it more difficult for me, my love…”

“You make it difficult for me,” she replied, giving some room and moving away. “You don't know what it's like to see you leaving every week, to see you going back to… to her,” she whispered with a cold look, with her teeth clenched.

“Donna,” you reprimanded, cupping her face in your hands, fearing that the tension would suddenly explode, embittering the moment. “I'll be back, you know I always do.”

“What if one day you don't?” she asked, grabbing your wrists, hurting you.

“Honey, please let me go,” you said in a calm voice, being released instantly. “I promise I'll be back. You're the only thing that makes my life worth living.”

“But, tesoro...” she insisted, grabbing your wrists again, this time more gently. “Io...”

“Shh...” you hissed, putting two fingers on her lips before kissing them softly, noticing the salty taste of a tear that came out of your eyes involuntarily. “Donna...”

“(Y/N), don't leave,” the brunette said again, lowering her gaze, blinking erratically.

“I'll be back, darling,” you repeated like a mantra that relaxed, but at the same time, distressed you.

Finally the lady in black nodded, keeping her hand in yours, but accepting the reality.

With a passionate kiss, you pulled away from her, walking towards the bedroom door, something you couldn't do, as her grip refused to let you go.

“Donna, please...” you said, increasingly nervous, pulling on her arm. “Donna, let me go.”

She did so with an angry growl and a dark expression, turning to give you her back, making her dress dance hypnotically as she sat at the vanity, unable to watch you walk away.

“Just be patient, my love,” you said quietly, opening the bedroom door, not wanting to wait for an answer.

“It's about time! Let's play!” Angie shrieked as she saw you walk past her. “Hey, silly, are you leaving?”

“I'm sorry Angie, but I have to go back to the castle,” you said, putting on your coat, refusing to look back.

A loud noise startled you: Donna's fist hitting the vanity furiously. It was time to leave, you couldn't leave her like that, but you had to.

“Cazzo!” the brunette shrieked as she hit the furniture over and over again.

“Oops,” Angie sighed, looking at you accusingly. “It's your fault, silly.”

“I, I just…” you said sobbing, knowing that you couldn't even help her, that you couldn't stay to ease her madness. “I-I have to go…”

“Yes, go! I'll fix your mess, like always!” the doll scolded you, walking gracefully towards the bedroom. “Donna, Donna, don't do that... Donna...”

The brunette's screams and sobs echoed in the walls until you went up the elevator, turning them off like the end of a movie, the end of a melancholic symphony that split your soul in two.

“I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, my love,” you sighed quietly, closing your eyes and walking automatically towards the exit, towards the cold of that place, far from the comfort and warmth of your lover's arms.

Born and raised in that forgotten village, your future was written. You couldn't be what you wanted, but what you had to be. Being just another maid was your destiny, and you had no choice but to accept it.

The castle always gladly hired any young girl who was willing to work, to serve its mistress, but the work wasn't as hard as you expected.

Alcina Dimitrescu was an imposing woman, but elegant and even kind. Little by little you got used to being there, to sharing your existence with the lady of the castle and her daughters, who, on the contrary, didn't have much in common with their mother.

Crazy, free and unhinged, yes, that seemed like a correct statement for the three Dimitrescu sisters. Bela, Cassandra and Daniela were like mischievous agents of chaos who broke the harmony and elegance of that place.

After a year working in the castle, things improved before getting worse. One of the three sisters, Cassandra, seemed to have some interest in you. You never thought that those three creatures had interests beyond blood and chaos, but for a moment, you thought you were wrong.

She approached you, laughing evilly, looking at you while you did everyday chores. Habit made your body miss those eyes when they weren't looking at you, miss that laugh when there was only silence in the castle.

An "I like you", a slight blush on her cheeks and a quick kiss were the closest thing to a confession of love that came out of her lips.

Scared by her presence, and despite yourself, attracted, you let her lips kiss yours, you let your body experience what it was like to kiss chaos itself, and you liked it.

Little by little you began to feel that beyond the blood there was a heart beating desperately for your attention, that those looks and laughs were the expression and confirmation that even the daughters of a Lord were capable of love.

You lived happily for a while. Cassandra paid attention to you, all the maids began to respect you and even the lady of the castle granted you certain privileges for, according to her, having captured the interest of her daughter.

You were in a dream, in a fairy tale. You became a wandering smile that began to see the light at the end of her dark future. But it didn't take long for you to realize that fairy tales were just that, tales.

When you couldn't be more in love, Cassandra began to lose interest.  Maybe if you had opened your eyes earlier, you wouldn't be in that situation.

But your eyes needed to see what your intuition was saying, and so it happened. You saw that the suspicions your mind was screaming at you were true.

Cassandra said you were hers, she did, but she had no qualms about flirting with other maids, whispering in their ears, chasing them down the halls, and, of course, not being careful that you didn't see her.

You believed, she said, everyone thought that Cassandra Dimitrescu was your girlfriend, they really did, you really did.

But the concept of commitment and fidelity was far from the chaos inherent in the young Dimitrescu. Deep down you didn't consider that way of thinking as evil or bad-intentioned.

You knew that she didn't make you suffer on purpose, she was just like that.

You tried to bear it, not to look at the marks on the necks of other maids. You tried to ignore it, to forget that you were hers, but she would never be yours.

The pain became unbearable and the love you felt for her began to fade away.

At that moment, just when you thought your life would be a curse, that there was no other solution than to wait patiently for Cassandra to pay attention to you, you met Donna.

The first time your girlfriend asked you to take some supplies to the old estate you even thought of running away, of never coming back. That thought left your mind as soon as it arrived; you would gain nothing, and you would lose everything.

Instead, you decided to fulfill the errand and approach the old mansion.

The rest of the Lords weren’t a mystery, but shadows that you never really managed to see. Of all of them, the village especially feared the inhabitant of that old house, Lady Beneviento.

You knew what she was capable of doing, you knew that her mind was sick, seriously injured, and that she was dangerous, very dangerous. The villagers often said that they no longer feared nightmares but the lady in black.

That day you arrived there trembling with fear, only to find a woman dressed in mourning, a woman who hid her face with a black veil, a woman who didn’t speak, whose presence evoked the night and the darkness itself.

You completed your task with a kind gesture, which was answered with a soft nod and a sharp slam of the door.

Even with that brief encounter, your head began to wander, to wonder. While you were washing dishes, cleaning a hallway, or while Cassandra was taking you, you could only see that black figure and theorize what kind of creature was hiding behind that black veil.

Over time, it became increasingly difficult to get the lady out of your head, and everything got worse when those errands became frequent.

You were unable to find out anything about her, but the slamming of doors was no longer common. Instead, Donna remained silent, looking at you, as if she were studying you, as if she wanted to check that you didn’t want to hurt her.

That apparent vulnerability sparked much more interest on your part, and you began to talk, to ask, to address that stoic figure.

Little by little those conversations moved inside the mansion. Your almost childish insistence on communicating with the lady was clearly a cry for help, a cry to forget for a moment the place you had to return to, and it worked, it worked too well.

The doll stopped being her speaker and her lips uttered a word for the first time, almost a whisper, a melodic one, impregnated with a soft and attractive accent: your name.

It was impossible to resist staying a little longer, to listen to her hoarse voice a little longer, and you simply let it happen.

She offered you tea, listening to any nonsense you had to say and answering briefly but nodding with interest. You didn't know why you were so interesting to her, until you eventually realized how alone she had been all that time.

You couldn't deny that you began to feel, to notice something more inside your chest every time you approached her, every time her pale hands touched yours when she served you tea.

Without wanting to, but without stopping it, you were falling in love with the lady in black.

One day, a day of tea and chat like any other, that black veil fell. It was removed with a gentle movement of her hands. Donna trusted you. She wanted to show herself as she was because it was inevitable to deny that she also felt something for you.

Donna was the most beautiful woman you had ever seen. Her face was not stained with blood, her lips were not painted black. Her only eye shone without that yellowish evil you saw in Cassandra's. She was a truly beautiful woman.

The scar that the will of the Gods left on her face was one of her most horrible fears, one of her greatest insecurities. Her revelation was also a plea, a vote of confidence, of knowing if those feelings were worth it, or if you would end up falling off the cliff like her family did.

Your answer, your only answer, was a kiss. A tender, desperate kiss, the sudden capture of her lips with yours.

Knowing the consequences of entering someone else's territory, Donna accepted that forbidden relationship, just like you.

You may have felt these visits as an escape valve from your hardships at first, but you refused to see it that way. No, Donna wasn’t an escape from a place you didn't want to be, she was the place you wanted to be.

Yes, she was sick, she was crazy, but she was loving and attentive too. She smiled, she listened to you, she hugged you, she caressed you, she loved you.

You saw in her everything that Cassandra didn't have. You began to believe that it was what you really deserved, that Donna was yours, and you were hers.

The furtive kisses and caresses didn't last long. Something inside Donna made her resemble her adoptive family: jealousy, possessiveness.

She wasn't jealous of the world, she wasn't jealous of anyone who looked at you, she knew where the root of her sometimes abrupt and erratic behavior was: Cassandra.

Feeling displaced made her feel frustrated and, after making another confession to you, she took you for the first time.

Her face wasn't the only thing the Gods changed. Her body did too, enough to make her even more self-conscious. For you it was never a problem, for her, your natural reaction and your slightly mischievous smile was one more reason to love you madly.

For the first time in your life, you didn't squeeze your eyes shut. You didn't feel the need to repress the pain of some unpleasant scratches on your bare skin. All you felt were soft caresses, playful tickles on your skin, kisses that ran over your lips while your bodies moved anxiously.

Cassandra was the first, or so you thought until that moment. In reality, the first woman who truly loved you was Donna.

She made you feel comfortable, she gave you more pleasure than you could ever have felt, she told you she loved you, she whispered it in your ear while she took you slowly, not wanting to hurt you.

At first you felt guilty, you cried on her bare chest after your first time. A few kisses didn't mean that much to you, but having Donna inside you, making love with her for the first time, knowing what it was really like to feel loved, broke one of your emotional barriers.

Donna comforted you. She didn't scold you for having ruined that moment, for you feeling remorse. She understood you.

Time kept passing and the visits kept increasing. Any excuse was good to melt into her arms, to make love calmly or wildly, to feel like you had never felt before and to forget that you would have to return to the castle, that those arms wouldn’t always protect you.

After walking through the snow, without even realizing it, you returned to the castle. All the thoughts about how you met Donna and your miserable life with Cassandra had made your return a simple formality.

“(Y/N), you're back,” one of your companions, Irina, said. She was your best friend for a long time. Now, she was just another maid. “The lady was getting worried.”

You rolled your eyes, closing the doors and taking off your coat.

The heat of that castle, one that at first seemed pleasant to you, was uncomfortable, oppressive, and even more so after that tense moment with Donna, a tension that was increasingly common in your visits.

“I'm sure you all were very worried,” you said ironically, glancing sideways at the red mark on her neck, one that indicated that Cassandra had passed by there, probably tired of waiting for you.

The girl noticed what you were looking at and quickly covered herself with an apologetic smile.

“(Y/N), I'm sorry, she came over and…” she began to explain, making you snort and shake your head.

No, you didn't need to know what your girlfriend had done with her in your absence. It would probably be Cassandra herself who would tell you if she got bored.

“Cut the crap, Irina, I'm not interested,” you said in a dark voice, pushing the girl away with your hand.

“Yes, of course,” the young woman nodded, with an absurd bow, as if you were something more than her, as if you were a maid who has to be respected.

How ironic, not even your girlfriend respected you.

“Oh, there you are, I thought you had gotten lost, dear,” a deep and sensual voice appeared behind you, freezing your steps: Alcina Dimitrescu, lady of the castle.

“My lady,” you murmured with an elegant gesture, fearing that running away to your room and crying wasn’t going to be possible.

“You've taken your time, my dear, have you had any problems with Donna?” the tall woman asked, putting a hand on your back to gently push you to walk beside her.

“No, my lady, she...” you said, stopping to think about an answer, one that wouldn't raise more questions.

To Alcina, the relationship that seemed to exist between her daughter and you was real, pure and sincere. You didn't quite understand why Cassandra pretended in front of her mother. Maybe she was afraid of her, or maybe she was trying to protect you. You didn't want to know.

“Mm?” Alcina murmured arching her eyebrows, urging you to give an answer you didn't have.

“Well, she's had a breakdown,” you said without thinking, blaming poor Donna, blaming her mental illness.

You felt horrible for doing it, but you had no other choice. You didn't know the consequences of your mistress finding out about your affair.

“Gods…” the lady in white whispered, shaking her head. “Poor woman.”

“Um, I decided to stay with her until she was calmer. I hope I didn't overstep my bounds, my lady,” you said in a formal tone, looking down at the wooden floor, with the images of the previous passion sending confusing signals to your head.

“Oh, not at all, dear,” the woman said, with a grateful smile. “I appreciate it.”

“Thank you, my lady,” you whispered, wanting to run, to insult yourself for having lied, for having accused the woman you loved of your delay. “Excuse me, my lady, I would like to retire to my room, I fear I have caught a cold,” you lied again, looking for any clumsy excuse to get away from her, from any Dimitrescu who got in your way.

“Of course, I wouldn’t forgive myself if you got sick, but... (Y/N), when you are done, I would like to ask you something,” the vampire said, walking faster, confirming that you had gotten what you wanted, to be alone.

“Fine, my lady.”

The bath you took was a blessing. The heat penetrated your body naturally and the water eliminated any remaining evidence of your infidelity.

Feeling the sweat leave you, how her kisses disappeared from your skin in the soapy water was more painful than other times. The lavender disappeared to impose on your skin the sweet aroma of the castle soap, making you forget every single sensation you felt when making love with your lover, her smell, the humidity of her home, the mark of her fingers caressing your skin…

Love, forget, serve, pretend, that was your daily routine. You could only do one thing: wait for the next week, long for Donna's hugs, for her body warming yours.

If you could bear the situation, it was because you knew you would return to her but… for how long? Was Donna right and one day you wouldn’t return?

The days passed slowly, too slowly. What Alcina wanted to ask of you was simple, but you were deeply grateful for it. She wanted you to have the privilege of tidying up the wine cellar, a place where no maid was allowed to enter. Of course, you weren't just any maid.

The task was especially pleasant. While you were down there, you wouldn't have to look askance at the necks of other maids looking for Cassandra's mark on them, and even better: she couldn't bother you.

It was too cold in that place for her to bear, which made your stay down there even comfortable.

But of course, what seemed like an advantage, a respite, a longed-for relief in your daily life, would bring unexpected consequences.

One night, in your privileged room, the atmosphere was heavy with uncertainty and a bad feeling prevented you from thinking about Donna, from longing for her.

“Wakey, wakey…” a shrill, yet whispering voice stalked your ear as a lump slid under the sheets.

The ferrous scent of those lips gave her away and her childish laughter confirmed your fears: Cassandra.

���W-what are you doing here?” you asked, startled by the intrusion, by some uncomfortable kisses that were beginning to run down your neck.

“What? (Y/N), I'm your girlfriend, remember? I've come to see you,” the young Dimitrescu said, sensually dragging her words while she moved the fabric of your pajamas aside to look for more places to play.

“Hey, I don't want to be rude but… why now? Didn't you say you wanted to have fun with other maids?” you asked delicately, without altering or removing her lips from your skin.

“Oh, don't be like that, silly, you know you're special,” Cassandra purred, pulling you a little closer to her.

Your heart was beating fast and your conscience was screaming to be heard.

You didn't know how much time had passed since she got into your bed, since she physically claimed you, but you knew it was enough to affirm that there was no kind of intimacy between you two, not anymore.

That lack of interest in having sex with you relieved Lady Beneviento. Knowing that you would never be physically hers again served as a consolation every time you had to leave. You promised her you would never sleep with Cassandra again.

Of course, to make that promise was a mistake. Chaos couldn’t be predicted, and you should have known that better than anyone.

“So you suddenly remembered that I exist?” you asked again, pushing her away, just as her teeth sank into your skin, making you hiss in pain. “I thought you weren't having fun with me anymore.”

“Don't be a whiner, (Y/N). I want to take you,” she said, climbing on top of your body, dominating you with kisses that weren't reciprocated, at least not voluntarily. “Hey! Why aren't you paying attention to me? Oh, you're not mad because I had fun with Irina, are you?”

“No, but…” you denied nervously, stopping her hands from scratching your skin under your pajamas while her hips moved anxiously. “Listen, Cass, I'm really tired and…”

“What's wrong? Has Mother made you work too much?” the young woman asked, it almost seemed like she cared about you.

“No, not at all, but I would prefer that…” you murmured, fleeing from her kisses and provoking a childish moan from the vampire.

“Hey, don't move! What are you doing? Are you rejecting me?” she asked impatiently, analyzing your gaze as if she could see behind it.

“No, I...” you said, containing the trembling of your body, the irrational fear that direct question and the answer your heart had produced in you.

Even though Donna was your lover and Cassandra was your girlfriend, you didn't feel infidelity in that way. Letting Cassandra take you was much worse than having sex with Donna. It was cheating on the only person who truly mattered to you.

Breaking your promise was for you the worst of deceptions, a betrayal of the doll maker's trust, a true infidelity.

But the pressure of those chaotic eyes looking at you, demanding answers, answers that would please her, made you forget any attempt to refuse and you simply sighed, staying silent.

“That's better, hun, hun,” the young Dimitrescu laughed, amused, breaking the straps of your nightgown with a quick movement and insisting on sucking, licking, biting your skin.

You closed your eyes so as not to see, but you couldn't help but feel. Every scratch, kiss or movement was terribly painful. She was having fun, but you only suffered, you could only think about Donna, that every second that passed, every hysterical moan that came out of Cassandra's lips, was one more stab in Donna's heart.

You could only act in that way, reciprocate, obey and let yourself go.

None of Cassandra's movements unleashed pleasure in you. Her kisses weren’t hot; they didn’t provoke sensations like Donna's did. Cassandra’s fingers inside you didn't feel like Donna’s erection sliding comfortably into your walls.

It was a rough act. You just wanted it to be over soon, for Cassandra to get what she wanted, and leave you alone.

Luckily, she didn't take long.

After noticing her absence, you ran to your private bathroom naked, looking at the marks your girlfriend left on your body, washing your hands, your face, everything her lips had touched. Unlike when you took a bath after seeing Donna, that time you hoped that the smell of blood and Cassandra's perfume would disappear from your skin.

You rubbed your arms, your neck, your lips, but it didn't disappear; she couldn't disappear from you.

Crying, you went back to bed, looking for a new nightgown to spend the night in, searching for some memories with Donna that would make you forget what you had done.

But that wasn't the worst. The worst thing was that the next morning you would have to go back to the Beneviento estate, you would have to see your lover.

You thought you had the strength to do it, to force her to close her eye while she made love to you and ignore the new details of your body.

You knew you couldn't do it, you just knew it.

“I've missed you...” Donna whispered when her arms protected you again, when her lips rested on yours again. “Tesoro...”

“Me too,” you answered, letting that romantic hug comfort your wounded conscience and make you forget what happened the night before. “Um, um... Donna...” you said unsure.

“Mm?” she asked, brushing your hair away from your face as she always did, smiling at having you in her arms again.

“I was thinking… that… that…” you stammered, deciding that maybe you should suppress your desires and not have sex, at least that day. “Well, the other day you told me that you wanted to play chess or teach me your recipes… how about now?”

“I thought that before…” she murmured, looking at you confused, blinking erratically. “I would like to make you mine first, tesoro.”

“Yes, well, I know, but it's that… well, it's that… I'm on those days, you know, and…” you lied without knowing how to do it, causing the lady in black to frown, suspicious of your words.

“Oh, you're talking about your period… I-I don't remember the last time I… well, I…” Donna hesitated nervously, with a slight blush on her cheeks, cheeks that you caressed amused.

“Don't be nervous, my love,” you joked, whispering in her ear, inevitably biting her earlobe. “Just think about it. It will be much better when I come back next week.”

“Mm.” She nodded unsurely, playing with your hair, with an air of disappointment in her eye. “Fine, let's do something different.”

“Good…” you said, sighing in relief, perhaps too relieved. “How about chess?” you proposed, clapping your hands in the air and approaching the corner where you used to have tea.

“Va bene,” the lady answered, smiling distrustfully.

“Hey! Chess? Come on! Let's play hide and seek!” Angie protested, comically tugging at your dress as you walked.

“Angie, lasciala estare,” her owner ordered, making the doll cross her arms with a snort.

“Hey! What happened to you?” Angie asked, pointing at you, pointing at your neck.

The puppet's tugs had shifted your uniform dangerously, revealing a red mark on your neck, one you wanted to hide.

“For Gods’ sake, Angie, shut up...” you growled, moving your clothes to hide the mark, something that of course didn't deter Donna from slowly approaching, removing the fabric again with a moan of shock.

“What's that?” she asked.

“What's what?” you asked back, nervous.

“I-it was her, wasn't it? She wasn't supposed to touch you anymore,” Donna murmured, clenching her fists on either side of her hips. “You promised me she wouldn't touch you anymore!”

You closed your eyes, feeling the pain of guilt, the sadness of a broken promise.

“Donna, it's not what it seems, I…”

“It's exactly what it seems, (Y/N),” she said, hissing, getting dangerously close to you and grabbing your arm tightly. “You fucked her.”

Vulgar words didn't usually come out of her mouth, Lady Beneviento was losing her mind, and that time, she was right.

“You don't understand, it's not what you think, I don't…”

“Lie to me again, come on,” Donna threatened, with a hatred in her gaze that made you shudder.

“What did you want me to do?” you protested, crossing your arms, letting a childish defensive attitude take over you. “Do you think I had another option?”

“There's always another option,” she added, shaking her head. “You told me that there was nothing physical between you two anymore.”

“You don't understand, Donna.”

“I don't understand? You've fucked her, you promised me that...”

“You think it's easy?! Huh?!” you yelled, frantic. “What right do you have to judge what I do? You don't know how things are.”

Donna laughed sarcastically, with her eye wide open and her knuckles white from the pressure.

“You're right, I don't know how things are, I don't know what happens when you leave, when you go with her,” the lady in black murmured, pointing at you with her finger, her breathing becoming more and more agitated. “But it's quite clear.”

She turned her back on you, but you grabbed her shoulder, which was pushed away with a grunt and a quick movement from the brunette. You desperately tried to reassure her, to make her understand that the night when Cassandra played with you didn't mean anything.

“Listen to me, Donna, please,” you said in a less brusque, more pleading tone. “It didn't mean anything, I didn't enjoy it, I didn't want to, I…”

“Shut up! Cazzo… shut up, shut up, shut up!” Donna shrieked as she kicked the floor furiously.

“Donna, you're scaring me,” you sighed, moving away from her little by little. “If you'd just let me explain…”

“I don't want to hear your explanations!” she shrieked again. “You've deceived me, you're a bitch.”

Anger and helplessness forced you to act irrationally, slapping the lady in black, causing a painful silence to reign in the old house.

“Shit, I…” you said regretfully, trying to get closer to her again. “I didn't mean to, I couldn't… Donna, I…”

The words tried to come out of your mouth, but you weren't successful, you had reached a dangerous limit, you were walking on the edge of a cliff, and the only hand that could save you was further away than ever.

Donna stared at you, mouth agape, with a hand on her cheek, without saying anything, transmitting all her hatred with a look, one that you would never, ever forget.

“Get out of my house,” the lady murmured, looking away from you while you looked at your hand, shaking your head. “Sei una bugiarda! I don't want to see you again!”

“Donna, please, listen to me, I beg you,” you pleaded, grabbing her shaking arm, being pushed away by a rough push that almost made you lose your balance.

“Don't touch me, bitch,” she hissed in an even darker voice. “You broke your promise... Get out of my house! Get out, get out, get out!”

“Donna, Gods...” you sobbed, shaking your head as she walked towards you threateningly.

It was the first time you were afraid of her, truly afraid.

“Donna, please...” you stammered, being grabbed by the arm and letting yourself be led towards the exit.

The lady pushed you, making you fall into the snow.

“Donna! Don't treat her like that! You're stupid, listen to her!” Angie protested, hiding behind a piece of furniture, avoiding the wrath of her owner.

“I thought we were something, that I was something to you,” the lady in black growled, with her hair moved by the winter wind, while you checked that you hadn't been hurt.

“You are, I, I love you...” you said with difficulty, shaking the snow off your body. “Donna, I love you.”

“Liar! Liar, liar, liar!” the lady screamed, stamping her feet again, out of her mind, completely mad, slamming the door shut with a thunderous noise that echoed in the mountains.

“Donna…” you sobbed, tears warming your cheeks.

Just as you expected, it was all over. You had broken your promise, you had condemned yourself to a life without Donna, without the only thing that kept you fighting, and it was all because of you, because of the fear of being brave, of confronting Cassandra, of asking the lady in black to take you in her arms, and rescue you.

That fleeting thought that maybe Donna would come for you, to fight for you, was the last hope that kept you going the following days, but she wasn't going, she wasn't there, there was only you, alone, with a woman who didn't love you, with the only one who did betrayed by your lies, by an infidelity that Donna wouldn't be able to forgive.

“Remember to label the wine correctly, (Y/N),” Alcina said, on one of the endless afternoons in the winery.

What was once a refuge became a prison, one in which you would be alone, far from Cassandra, but with your thoughts and regrets as your only company.

You were no longer the same. Your complexion had turned pale, dark circles adorned your sickly presence, since, at night, your only protection against your girlfriend was to keep the window open, to let the cold in.

Over time you became a ghost of what you were, the ghost of another ghost, a long and sad shadow that didn’t want to see the light if Donna was not next to you.

Alcina's soft voice caught your attention, but unfortunately you could only emit a sad sob. It was getting harder and harder for you to pretend, to act as if you hadn't lost anything, as if everything you wanted and needed was in that castle, and not behind the forest, in the old Beneviento Estate.

“Yes, my lady,” you murmured, earning a serious look from the lady in white, who left a bottle on the table, walking towards you slowly, threateningly.

“My dear... I can't help but feel that something is wrong with you,” she said in a low voice, putting a large hand on your shoulder, forcing you to hide the tear that was welling up in one of your eyes.

“No, my lady, everything is fine,”

No, nothing was fine. Without Donna, nothing would ever be fine.

“You lie terribly,” Alcina sighed shaking her head and pulling your wrist to bring you closer to her. “Gods, look at those dark circles under your eyes, you look awful, dear.”

“I'm sorry, my lady.”

“Tell me (Y/N), has Cassandra done something bad to you?” she asked, making you be alert again.

She had never asked such a thing, your nerves were about to explode.

“Of course not, my lady,” you answered with a false smile, which tightened her grip even more while she frowned, knowing, being convinced that, again, you were lying.

“You know I hate lies, young lady, now, you are going to dry your tears and tell me…”

“Sorry, my lady,” a saving voice appeared in the cellar, making the lady of the castle growl, making her finally let you go.

“Damn it, Olga, you know that you are completely forbidden to come down here,” Alcina protested, putting her hands on her hips.

“I'm sorry, my lady, but it's just that…” the girl apologized, looking down, with her hands shaking in front of her body.

“It's just that what!?” your mistress shouted, echoing off the old walls, causing you to automatically shrink.

“Lady Beneviento is here, my lady,” the maid explained, as best she could, with her voice trembling, just like her body.

Lady Beneviento. That name made you look up quickly, your eyes suddenly opened and you let out an involuntary gasp that caught Alcina's attention for a moment, making her look at you out of the corner of her eye.

“Donna,” you whispered.

Luckily, you managed to avoid your boss's inquisitive gaze by turning around and pretending to place the bottles correctly.

“Gods, why did it take you so long to say it? You are more and more useless every day,” the tall woman protested, rubbing her eyes with contempt.

“Sorry, my lady,” Olga apologized again, pointing to the stairs. “What do I do?”

“What?” Alcina insisted, with an arrogant tone. “Has she told you what she wants?”

“W-Well, her doll was talking about some unfinished business but…” the maid murmured, making you freeze in place.

Had she come for you? Would that be possible? No, it couldn't be, she hated you. She kicked you out of her house…

“Oh, I understand,” the lady in white sighed, with a soft laugh, but looking at you out of the corner of her eye again. “Always so shy… Gods, what does it cost her to call me to say that she wants to have dinner with me? Anyway, tell the others to prepare food for one more person.”

“Yes, my lady”

“And you… go for a dress, dear, we have visitors,” she said looking at you with a different sparkle in her eyes.

“My lady, I…” you said trembling, not wanting to face Donna, not wanting to be in her presence. Not in that castle, not where she would never be yours. “I would rather not disturb and…”

“Nonsense, you are family, dear. Go on, be good and put on something nice, I am convinced that Donna is very happy to see her… errand girl…” she said with her usual irony, one that you mistook for an accusation, making you feel guilty.

You had no choice but to obey, you couldn’t do anything else.

There, in the dining room, there she was: Donna, covered with her black veil, following you with her gaze while you sat in front of her, asking with your eyes, wanting to know the reason for her unexpected presence.

The Angie doll, unlike her owner, had no problem greeting you effusively.

“See, silly? We've come... Hey, what happened to you? You look like a ghost,” the puppet whispered to you in an indiscreet manner, but just before you could ask or speak, the three Dimitrescu sisters appeared next to their mother.

“Hello, hello...” Cassandra sang while the others politely greeted their aunt. “But what do we have here, my elusive girlfriend... It seems that you can't escape from me today, huh?”

As she spoke, your blood boiled more and more, her unconsented touch on your cheeks made you burn with pain, with shame, while she sat on your lap hastily, without the slightest decorum, kissing you passionately in front of your lover.

It couldn't be worse.

“Ahem, Cassandra, darling, show some decorum, will you?” Alcina corrected, causing the young woman to wink at you and stand up, letting you see how Donna tightly gripped her fork, and how Angie tried to soften the pressure.

You’d had awkward dinners, but that one, without a doubt, was the worst of all.

If it weren't for Alcina's pleasant chat with her sister, everything would be silent. You knew that Donna wasn't paying attention. She only saw how Cassandra made fun of you by feeding you dinner with evil laughter, or speaking to you in indiscreet whispers about what she was going to do to you as soon as Donna left.

The sound of a piece of cutlery falling to the floor interrupted that tense calm. Donna had dropped her spoon and you, as helpful as ever, bent down to pick it up under the table.

You discreetly handed her the fallen object, realizing that there was something in her hand, something she left in yours and that you squeezed tightly.

A note, or so it seemed. You didn't know what it contained, what it meant, whether it was an explanation, an apology, or an insult. You were dying to know, but you couldn't, not with Cassandra beside you.

Your brain worked very hard to ignore her non-consensual assault on your privacy, focusing on the best way to find out what that piece of paper contained.

Okay, the idea was stupid, but it was the best you could come up with given the circumstances.

“Oh, wow,” you said falsely, regretting having let the glass of wine spill on your formal dress.

You were a terrible actress.

“Excuse me, but I have to go to the bathroom,” you said hastily, abruptly removing Cassandra's hand from your leg and getting up from the table.

Nervous, you ran through the halls, pretending to wash yourself so as not to raise suspicions until, finally, you opened that paper.

I have come to fight for you, to take you home in my arms, amore mio.

I don’t want, nor can, live without you

I love you

You read it once, and again, and again. The smile lit up your dull face when you understood what Donna was doing in the castle.

At last, because of Angie or her own conscience, she had come to her senses. Donna had understood that you needed her, that you never wanted to hurt her.

It didn't mean that she had forgiven you for having cheating on her, but it was a written proof of what she felt for you. She would not give up easily and she had found the courage to fight for you, even risking invading Cassandra's territory.

“Oh, Donna...” you whispered, pressing the note to your chest. “Donna, Donna, Donna…”

The sound of distant footsteps brought you out of your euphoria. Was it her? Could you finally love her, really be hers?

“Donna?” you asked out loud, getting the echo of your voice as an answer.

“Mm, no,  wrong,” a mocking voice said, one you knew, one that made you quickly put the note in your pocket. “Are you blind?”

“Cass, I…” you said as you saw your girlfriend licking her lips, coming closer while laughing, like a predator stalking its prey.

“If you wanted to see me, you didn’t have to stain that pretty dress.”

“It was an accident,” you lied, moving away from claws that were going straight for your waist. “We should go back.”

“Why the rush? It was a very lucky accident, don't you think?” she purred, forcing you to crash against the wall, with no option to escape. “Mother and the others are busy with Aunt Donna, so... well, you and I can play...”

Her tongue on your neck burned like a hot iron. The love you felt for Donna forced you to feel disgust for your girlfriend's actions. No, she wasn't going to get what she wanted that time, not when you were so close to getting the life you deserved, a life with Donna.

“No,” you said in a whisper, opening your eyes and standing firm.

“Excuse me?” Cassandra questioned, as if you had said something extraordinary, something she never thought she would hear from your lips.

“I said… No!” you screamed, pushing your girlfriend back, forcing her to step back sharply with her eyes wide open.

“What!?” she screamed angrily. “What do you mean by no? Listen, you silly girl, you are my girlfriend and…”

“No, not anymore,” you hissed. “I'm sick of you… of you making fun of me every day. It's over…”

“Why do you say those mean things to me? You don't have to… You can't say those things to me!” Cassandra yelled kicking the ground angrily, like a capricious child.

“It's over, Cassandra,” you said confidently, holding the note tightly in your hands, gaining all the courage you never thought you had.  “You are a spoiled, pampered and capricious brat… you think you have the right to play with people, with their feelings… well, I'll tell you one thing… You won’t play with me anymore!” you said furiously, trembling with fear, but without faltering.

“How dare you…” the young Dimitrescu hissed in a dangerous tone, her gaze darkening more and more. “Well, I've been very patient with you, pet. Do you think I don't know that you leave your window open to avoid me, to laugh at me? You can't avoid me! You're my girlfriend! You're mine!”

“I'll never be yours!” you shouted back, with all your strength.

Those words were too much for the young woman, who approached roughly grabbing you by the collar of your dress, almost lifting you into the air.

“You're going to pay for it, pet… You're going to…!” she shrieked, raising her hand, about to punish you for your insolence.

Something prevented her from completing her action, a pale hand wrapped around her wrist, preventing her from moving, Donna’s hand.

The lady in black appeared to save you, pushing your now ex-girlfriend away from you with a furious growl.

“Donna!” you sobbed in the middle of a desperate cry.

“What are you doing? Stay out of this, Aunt Donna,” Cassandra said surprised, to which your lover paid no attention, walking quickly towards you and cupping your face in her hands.

“Tesoro... are you okay? Did she hurt you?” the lady whispered, checking your condition while you clung to her, shedding a sea of ​​tears on her shoulder.

“I'm fine, I'm fine because you came... you came for me...” you said sobbing, finding the comfort you so lacked, the pleasant warmth of her arms.

“Of course I came... Oddio... I'm so sorry... I behaved like a fool...” she whispered in your ear, melting into you in a sincere, strong, safe embrace.

“Hey! What's going on here?” Cassandra asked, with a disgusted look at you. “What the hell…? Oh, no, it can't be true…”

“Get away from her, I won't repeat it,” Donna threatened, placing you behind her body in a protective gesture.

“You? Are you trying to snatch what's mine? Mother!” the young woman shouted, moving nervously and trying to grab you again. “You bitch… you've been cheating on me! Now you'll really pay for this and…!”

The lady in black moved quickly, pushing the young Dimitrescu aside and slapping her with a blow that left everything silent, lost in the echo of the walls.

“But, but…” Cassandra protested, incredulous at what had just happened. “You hit me!”

The sound of fast heels alerted you. Of course, that commotion alerted the lady of the castle, who was running towards you, causing a sinister smile to appear on Cassandra's wounded face.

“Mother, mother, come, come!” her daughter shrieked with childish satisfaction, pointing at you. “Aunt Donna hit me.”

Alcina looked at you briefly, studying the arms that held you, your tears, with a cold face.

“Now you are going to pay for what you have done... you are going to... Ah!” Another slap crossed the young vampire's face, but it wasn’t Donna's, but her own mother's. “Mother?”

“You stupid spoiled brat...” Alcina hissed, with her teeth grinding, with a visceral hatred towards her own daughter. “How dare you treat a girl like that?”

“What? But, but, but she…” Cassandra protested, embarrassed and terrified.

“Oh, come on, do you think I'm stupid? I know perfectly well what you were doing to poor (Y/N). Tell me, girl, what have I done wrong with you? Haven’t I educated you on how to treat ladies?”

“But…”

“Silence!” Dimitrescu shrieked, making you shrink even further into the arms of your lover, who remained stoic, ready to protect you. “Gods… (Y/N), are you okay?” she asked in a motherly tone, but visibly upset.

You simply nodded, moving away from the hand that rested on your shoulder.

“Mother, it's not fair,” Cassandra protested, with tears in her eyes, tugging at her mother's dress.

“Shut your mouth and get out of my sight! It's clear that you need new lessons… Until then, you're grounded! Go away!” the matriarch shrieked, pointing down the hallway, where the young woman, turned into a tangle of flies, fled in terror.

The tall woman sighed and seemed to calm down, turning her gaze towards you and sighing exhaustedly.

“Donna, how disappointing…” she said in a kind but accusatory tone. “I must confess that I never imagined that you, of all people, would be capable of such a thing…”

The lady in black didn’t respond, she simply hugged you tighter. She wasn’t going to let you go, she would never let you go again.

“And you…” the lady in white said. “Oh, my dear… how could you? Cheating on my daughter with Donna… no, no, no, that is not right, my dear…”

“My lady, I…” you stammered as best you could, with a sore throat, with your heart about to explode.

“Shut up,” Alcina ordered you. “You are fired. Take your things and get out of my castle… Oh, and Donna, I'm sure you won't waste the chance to have a maid like her, will you?”

You both looked at each other. You didn't know if Donna was smiling, but you were; your face regained its full brightness when you realized what was happening.

Alcina wasn't firing you, she was setting you free, allowing you, and Donna, to form the life together you dreamed of so much. It was all too good to be true; you even feared it was just a dream.

But as you left the castle in her arms, in Donna's arms, as she promised you, knowing that you wouldn't come back, that you would finally be free to be with her, you realized that it wasn't a dream, but reality, a reality you finally wanted to be in.

[thesweetnessofspring]

Mutual you know I love you and respect your opinions but I just CANNOT get behind you hating on Katniss being related to the covey 😭 what did she do to you????❗️

Look I totally get not wanting everything to be interconnected and like "fate" and stuff because part of the value of THG is that there's no chosen one. So like I understand and appreciate and enjoy that reading of it

But I don't think Katniss being covey ruins that? I think it's more to show the same group of people being routinely oppressed over and over again. Not to mention 12 is a small district, so I guess it just doesn't bother me so much. But I'd love to hear more of your opinion

I don't like it because:

There are NO INDICATIONS of Katniss being Covey from the original trilogy. Maude Ivory and Katniss both being quick to learn new music was put in during TBOSAS, but other than the songs, there is no other definite evidence of the Covey even existing. And because Katniss seemingly knows nothing about the Covey, I genuinely hate the idea that a Covey-Mr. Everdeen never shared his culture with her, other than songs, which don't necessarily have to be limited to the Covey's culture anyway. And before anyone mentions the lake or woods, TBOSAS says other people went there too, Francis is the one who made the movie say only the Covey knew about it but that's not canon. There is a fiddle player from 12 in MJ, so if he were Covey, where are Mr. Everdeen's instruments? Where is a hint of a Covey name for Katniss or Prim (like maybe just a ballad or just a color, something inconspicuous but important)? I can accept a culture being snuffed out/going way underground in 12 without Katniss knowing about it and thus we only get the smallest clues about its existence, but I can't accept that her father was part of that culture and didn't share it with his kids or even leave any clear indication it was part of him. Especially when he works such a dangerous job and his death could mean all memory and knowledge of his people might disappear. And I mean, he was willing to sing The Hanging Tree so it's not like he wasn't willing to risk giving his children forbidden knowledge.

As you mentioned, the whole "fate" thing. Lucy Gray was rigged to be reaped, but Prim was random chance. It shows you can do everything "right" (i.e. not be made a target by the Capitol, not take out tessarae, be the youngest age with the least amount of slips) and random odds don't care. You can be reaped. I see Katniss being Covey making the "it was rigged for Prim to be reaped" theories happen all over again, like Snow knew and wanted to kill off the Everdeen line. Now, in TUC, Suzanne plays with the idea of if something is fate or our own choices, so I can see a similar theme play out in the background here if a reader chooses to explore it. Was there some kind of fate that Lucy Gray used to bring about Katniss and Peeta going into the Games together? But I don't like the idea of it being a bloodline thing. I'd rather it be from Katniss's merit, like Lucy Gray's ghost observed her in the woods and chose her to be the Mockingjay and knew that Peeta would be the one to get her there as he is Snow's foil.

A non-Covey Katniss still shows that the same people are oppressed over and over. D12 is as a whole, even the merchants, though they certainly benefit from certain privileges those in the Seam don't have. But Katniss, who is Seam, is incredibly oppressed as well, as have the generations before her. And again, saying that Prim being reaped and Katniss going into the Games shows that one group (the Covey) is a more oppressed group supports the "Prim's reaping was rigged" theory that is such bullshit.

I don't see anything being gained in terms of the themes. Katniss may be a "chosen one" in a sense, but she was a girl who loved her sister, and Rue, and Peeta, and got caught up in being the Mockingjay. Making her Covey turns her into a traditional "chosen one" and it just does not jive with the theme of THG or Katniss's character at all. If the Capitol is built on the same 15 families having power, then why would that be replicated in the rebellion with the Covey being the "chosen ones" to bring down Snow? As if because Lucy Gray was betrayed by Coriolanus, those of her people are the ones who must take him down as well. Not because Katniss and the districts have been oppressed and so it's something she feels bound to do as a duty to the people, as she realizes in MJ. Katniss was used by some of those powerful families, but she wasn't powerful in that way. Making her Covey gives her extra mythology that goes against this idea and makes her "special" even if she wasn't special until that Reaping Day.

The fact that the district is small is why I'm not bothered by Haymitch and Mrs. Everdeen having some kind of history (it's there in CF, so it is an original part of the story) or even if Mr. Everdeen makes an appearance! I'm from a big city but it's wild hearing how some of the older generations in my circle are connected and now that I'm an adult, knowing about the relationships and drama that happened to my older siblings' cohort (especially as their kids are now becoming teens and learning some of that history). Life does connect in interesting ways! My personal favorite theory is that Mr. Everdeen hung around the Covey and learned music from them (maybe Haymitch was even a little intimidated thinking Lenore Dove would prefer Mr. Everdeen to him?) but making Mr. Everdeen's connection a family connection (blood or adopted) really sinks the themes of the original and Katniss's role.

[veryextraincorrectfegbaquotes]

Sad Shanna Lore won the poll so now I present to you the text that explains that one thing age said while beating Ain with a chair!

To say it all changed when he died would be inaccurate. Him dying had just further entrenched things. Shanna had already been feeling minimised, underestimated and babied. She was naturally meek, shy and soft-spoken, and on top of all that she was the youngest of four sisters. The only way to avoid being babied would be to run away, and Shanna would never have the guts to do that. Well, she'd have the guts, but not the lack of sense to try to strike out on her own in a small town. Could she get set up? Sure, there'd be folk nice enough to give her a place. Could she avoid her family? No way in hell.

What sealed her away as shouting on the inside only was when her father died. He'd been a poor father, to say the least, but being handed a divorce made him realise what he'd been taking for granted, and made him desperate to reconnect with his family. But Fiora, Farina and Tate had all chosen their stance, and it was that they wanted nothing more to do with him. But Shanna was too young and too kind to a fault to genuinely hate him. So he brought everything he had to reconnecting with her. Days out, short trips, everything he could manage. It was the happiest she'd been in ages, since he kept bringing her to new places where she could try her hand at things. Winning at carnival games, going on the biggest roller-coasters, sitting in the splash zone. They were her efforts, her choices, hers.

Then he died. It was a mundane thing, slipped at home, hit his head on the edge of a counter, nobody there to call for help, closed his eyes and never opened them again. For everyone in Shanna's family except her, it was a morbid convenience. A drawn out divorce involving a man they wanted nothing to do with was suddenly tidied up. They could wash their hands of him, and so they did. They assumed Shanna felt the same. Assumed she'd just been humouring him, meek little Shanna too shy to tell him no. They didn't go to his funeral. So no-one could take Shanna. They never even imagined she might want to go. Too sad an affair for someone as emotional as her, they reasoned.

Who could she talk to about this? Tell her family that the man they could never love again she'd learned to love? Not forgive, but still see value in? Someone to cry over in private? Someone all the photos of had been thrown out, except the few she had snagged and hidden? They hated him. She couldn't say they were wrong to hate him, he'd earned it. But she didn't hate him. She didn't hate anyone. She hated conflict. So she withdrew yet further, spending her time alone. Her dear sisters would only see her as their baby sister. Her mother would only see her as her baby girl. Did anybody see Her? Was it only when she looked in the mirror? Was it ever?

With no-one to talk to, nobody she felt she could be genuine with, and no desire to cause trouble, Shanna could do nothing. She could sit in her room, look at secret photos and write in secret diaries, while away hours reading scary stories and watching scary videos to remind her she was alive. Was she depressed? How could she tell? If she was, what would it matter? Who would she tell, what would she do. Stay quiet, stay out of the way, say Hi with a smile, do your chores and a bit extra to show you care, stay in your room so you don't spend more time than you have to feeling like your family is condescending you. One day into the next into the next, look out the window at night and wonder if anyone else feels like this, put your hand against the glass, hoping a bit of your warmth can reach them if they're out there, get a bit scared from staring out into the darkness. Night into day, day into night, what day is it? Doesn't matter. Nothing can keep earnest little Shanna down, she's anxious and scared but does her best! It's not wrong, but it's not everything.

Go on forums and never say anything. Go in chatrooms and don't type. It doesn't feel real, but what does? Day in, day out. Have I seen this video before? Are they all blending together? No matter, watch it again, it's not real anyway. Say Hi with a smile, do your chores and a bit extra to show you care, go to the town wall just to look out at the forest, imagine going there at night, it'd be so scary but so alive. Does the tree falling alone in the forest at least own the thud it makes? Ride your pegasus, imagine just flying in a direction and not stopping until you hit the ground. Where would you end up? Would the sky look different, there? Is emptiness less lonely than feeling like nobody sees you? Does any of it matter out there, with nobody else in sight or sound? Day in, day out.

Get dragged out of your room, told to make a friend. Push back, you're tired of always acquiescing, emptiness is comfortable now. Meet someone, she's different from you, but also seem to want to get away from everyone in the world for a while. You feel like there would be comfortable, but still not yours. She feels like she'd belong there, like a proud stone pillar, like Stonehenge. Maybe you could learn from her? Is this being friends? Being with her makes you happier, it'd been a while. She's protective, but not to a degree that makes you want to go somewhere else. She doesn't bar you from things, if you say you want to try she hangs back as you try. She's harsh, not as harsh as she is to others but still enough to make it feel like she knows you can handle it. Her name is Clarine. She's your best friend.

Day in, day out. Go spend the day with her, both of you want nothing else. Go out walking, go have picnics, go to her place that's small but being so close to her makes your heart flutter. Smile brightly, hurry through your chores but still doing a bit extra to show you care, almost skip out the door to see your friend, tell her stories about the things you do without her, she listens and questions, doesn't just pat your head and call you cute. Day in, day out, always something to look forward to. Look at the photos, wonder what it would've been like if they'd met. Only look at them though, not staring. Don't stay up late, lots to do tomorrow. Go on an adventure, do things that matter that only you are trusted to do. Everything has changed and it's all getting better. Still not time to tell her about the past, but it's not as important anymore.

[sylus-little-meow-meow]

The Sleepover: Part 3

She's back with Sylus again.

But it's that day. 

The day she finally decided to end things. 

He's standing in “their” room, his gaze distant, like always and that's something she could never change no matter how many times she tried.

She could wear the most gorgeous gowns or a potato sack and he'd simply give her a once over and a non committal “you look lovely” before he went back to whatever he was doing, his gaze never lingering. 

He's changing out of his robe and into something more befitting of a leader. 

She's never even seen him in casual wear. 

Sylvia: Sylus?

Sylus: Yes, kitten?

He doesn't look in her direction, doesn't note the shift in her tone.

Sylvia looks at her fingers.

Sylvia: You're never going to love me in the way I do you, are you?

The man freezes on the spot, his fingertips hovering over a black button down before he withdraws his hand.

Sylus: Where is this coming from all of a sudden?

Sylvia gives a laugh, but it's hollow just like this entire relationship.

Sylvia: You're dancing around the question. You don't want to answer it, do you?

Sylus: Kitten—

He turns around but she slips off of the bed, fighting back tears as she yanks off the shit she tried using to impress Sylus in the bedroom, the see through nightgown about as appetizing to him as a box  of  stale crackers. 

She's biting her lip so hard it's almost bleeding.

What's worse?

Having an ex so obsessed with you to the point they'd kill one of the most precious people in your life?

Or one who doesn't care at all?

Granted, at least with Sylus she'd still have her older sister. 

But she doesn't have either because her love life is a mess and every man she chooses is just…

She shouldn't feel hurt towards Sylus. 

This is nothing in comparison to what she went through, but the frustration of him agreeing to date her despite the fact he probably knew he'd never love her is too much.

Because she loves him.

Right down to her core she knows she's fallen in love with him.

And that's why she needs to let him go.

This will always be one sided and it's become clear there's someone else out there he's looking for.

She can see it in the way his gaze sweeps over every destination, like some part of him is missing and maybe he thought it was her once upon a time, but now they both know better.

It isn't her.

So she goes to the closet, moving him out of the way as she begins to collect her things.

Her jaw is clenched and her eyes are hard. 

Outwardly she'll show anger, yet on the inside she's crying for him to stop her.

For some small part of him to care.

Sylus: What are you doing, kitten?

Sylvia: Nothing you need to worry about. I'm done here. This was fun, but I think it's time we cut things off. 

Sylus looks down at her.

She internally pleads for him to hold her back, to lightly grab her wrist, to ask her to stop what she's doing but he doesn't.

Instead he steps back.

Sylus: If that's what you truly want, kitten.

Her hand pauses.

Sylvia: If you really think this is what I want you should go fuck yourself. 

She yanks the last piece of clothing off the hanger and spins towards him, the tears threatening to spill over, but she won't allow them to because Sylus doesn't deserve her vulnerability.

Sylvia: I wanted love and I wanted a partner. You've made it clear you don't want to act as either of those for me. You're not even present in this relationship.

Sylus stares at her, the quiet expanding between them and her outburst.

There's not even a flair or hint of emotion in his eyes. 

She wants to cry. 

She wants to scream.

She wants to throw something just to get him to react to her presence at all. 

But she doesn't.

Instead she stalks past him, her gaze trained forward, eyes on a door that will open and shut for the very last time.

Sylvia: Send me the rest of my things when you get the chance. Try not to forget because I know half the time you forgot I was even your girlfriend. Have a nice life, Sylus.

She says and then slams the door behind her.

When she sees Mephisto, she ducks her head to hide oncoming tears.

It's over.

They're done. 

The memory turned dream fades as a cool hand brushes against her forehead. 

Sylvia: Sylus…?

She murmurs, nuzzling her face into that same hand, pressing it more into her cheek with her own.

Sylvia: Did you come back for me…?

Her voice cracks, tears seeping through her closed eyes.

She buries her face into his palm. Did he finally see her after all this time?

The voice doesn't say anything, but the hand tries pulling away and Sylvia clings tighter, not wanting to let go of this one small gesture. 

Sylvia: Don't go. 

Sylvia: Please. 

She sounds pathetic, pleading like this, but she can't help it. 

If he's here now, even if this is a dream, she doesn't want to let him go. She wants him to stay.

She's completely forgotten that Sylus already moved on with another.

All she knows is that one small gesture from Sylus proving that their time meant something to him would mean everything to her. 

Sylvia: Don't go.

She says again and feels the hand shift, no longer trying to pull away and her body relaxes as a second one brushes the hair out of her face.

They're surprisingly gentle. 

Caring. 

She manages to slip into a peaceful sleep, feeling the hands of someone who cares about her.

                        ************************************

Felix awoke to the sounds of Sylvia calling out in her sleep.

He got up off the couch and found her tangled up in her bedsheets, her face flushed and beads of sweat trickling into her hairline.

Did she feel sick?

Did she need to throw up?

He approached her and gently touched her cheek.

Then he heard a name.

Sylvia: Sylus…?

She said it so quietly, her voice cracking at the last syllable.

Felix stiffened and attempted to pull away, not wanting to confuse her if she fully woke up.

But she held fast.

She asked Sylus to stay.

And it killed Felix that it wasn't him she was asking, but some other man.

He swallowed his pride, ducking his head as he warred with himself, wondering if there was even a right choice.

In the end, the hopeful expression on Sylvia's face—her eyes still closed—made him shift closer and brush the strands of hair off of her forehead with gentle finger tips. 

She relaxed then, a content smile finding its way to her lips. 

Felix didn't leave until he knew she was fully asleep.

She didn't need to wake up and have her dreams crushed when she realized it was him.

Felix goes to leave, but pauses at the doorway, looking back at Sylvia, her silver hair mussed, her face clear of makeup which softens her features.

It's looking at her that Felix realizes Sylvia wasn't the only one in this room with an unrequited love, wondering what it would be like if Sylvia looked at him like she did with Sylus.

He'll probably never know.

He won't ask that of her.

She's got more on her plate than just a man who didn't return her feelings.

So he gently shuts the door behind him and pads over to the couch, lying in wake for the rest of the night.

[goticapomposa]

Casual Chappell Roan

Vi x Reader

English is not my first language and i haven't written in a while, I welcome suggestions and ideas🩷

I already made the longer version because I couldn't take it

MEN NOT ALLOWED⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️

Is It Casual?

Zaun never sleeps, but Vi wonders if she’s the only one who can’t sleep a wink that night.

She walks through the damp streets, her heavy boots echoing in the silence of the early morning. The streetlights flicker dimly, casting shadows that lengthen and disappear into the alleys. But the only shadow that truly haunts her is reader.

It shouldn’t be like this. It shouldn’t hurt like this.

But the problem is that, for the reader, this has always been casual.

For Vi, never.

Ela a encontra no mesmo bar de sempre, sentada no bar, distraidamente mexendo um copo meio cheio. Seu cabelo está solto, os fios caindo abaixo da cintura, alguns fios presos atrás da orelha, revelando os brincos de prata que Vi já viu mil vezes. O delineador escuro destaca seus big eyes, que parecem absorver tudo ao redor.

Vi hesitates at the entrance.

She could just leave.

She could pretend she didn't see her, that she doesn't care, that she doesn't feel a tightness in her chest every time Reader leans back laughing, every time their fingers accidentally touch, every time Reader rests her head on her shoulder after a long night.

The memories of the feel of Reader's skin beneath her lips, how her body feels warm in Vi's hands, how her eyes follow hers as she eats her out, the sound of her sweet voice in Vi's ears, the sound of her laughter, teasing, moaning... and the sound of her voice saying Vi's name, that sparkle in her eyes when she sees Vi, is that really casual after all?

Mas Vi nunca foi boa em fugir, pelo menos de Reader...

So she goes over there.

Reader notices her presence before Vi even says anything. A smile spreads across her lips, natural, easy.

"Vi." She calls her by name as if it were something precious. As if the taste of it in her mouth was sweet. Vi hates the way this weakens her.

“What are you doing here alone, doll?” Vi asks, pulling up a stool next to her.

She shrugs, spinning her glass on the counter.

“Waiting for someone, maybe.” She answers, and Vi feels her stomach sink.

Because Reader waits for many people. There’s always someone interested in her. There’s always someone wanting her attention. And Reader, with her charming smile and mischievous gaze, always gets anyone.

Vi swallows hard.

“And who’s the lucky one this time?”

She turns her head, looking at Vi with those eyes that seem to see deeper than they should.

“Does it matter?

It shouldn’t.

But it does. It matters a lot.

She remembers that summer when you took her to visit your mother's house on the beach, just the two of you on top of the pier on the empty beach, feeling the waves of the ocean on your feet, Vi remembers the feeling of the wind on her face when she looked at you, watching the wind blow her hair while the sound of your laughter danced in the air, was it casual when you introduced me to your mother? Was it casual when you called me to complain about your sister? Was it casual when your favorite bra was on the dresser in Vi's room? Shit, was it casual?

Vi forces a smile.

— Just curious.

The reader laughs, and Vi hates the sound because it's so beautiful.

— You always act tough. — The reader comments, playing with the rim of her glass. — But I know you care.

Vi's heart stops for a second. but she laughs without joy.

— What are you talking about, doll?

She doesn't answer right away. Instead, she leans a little closer. The sweet and familiar scent invades Vi's senses, messing with her thoughts.

— If I told you that the person I'm waiting for is you... what would you do?

Vi blinks, surprised.

She doesn't know what to say. She doesn't know if this is just another game. If she wants to tease her, if she's just joking.

Because Reader never wanted anything serious.

Reader never wanted anything beyond what they already had.

Vi always pretended that this was enough.

But it's not.

Not anymore.

— Doll... — Vi begins, but her voice falters.

Reader smiles. But this time, there's something in her eyes. Something that Vi can't decipher.

— You need to tell me, Vi. — Her voice is almost a whisper. — Because if you don't, I'll keep pretending I don't know.

Vi swallows hard, her heart hammering in her chest.

And then she realizes she can't run away anymore.

Because, for her, it was never casual.

It was never just a game.

She was a reader. She had always been casual.

But did the reader want Vi the same way?

Vi didn't know the answer.

And that was what scared her the most.

The bar seems too small to contain everything Vi feels. The air is heavy, stuffy, as if time had stopped the moment Reader asked that question.

Reader doesn't look away. She never looks away. It's always been like this — she stares, she challenges, she waits. But Vi... Vi never knew how to deal with this. She never knew how to deal with Reader. She always had control of herself, but with Reader it seemed like she was no longer rational.

The silence between them stretches, heavy. The noise around her no longer matters. Vi feels her heart hammering against her ribs, feels her palms sweaty, feels everything spinning around her as if the world were about to collapse.

But Reader remains there, motionless, waiting.

Vi has two options: tell the truth or run away.

Ela sempre muda de assunto. Sempre se esconde. Sempre faz piadas, finge que não sente nada. Mas se Reader realmente sabe — se ela sempre soube — então qual o sentido de continuar fingindo?

She takes a deep breath.

— I… — Vi’s voice comes out hoarse, low. She licks her lips, looks anywhere but into the reader’s eyes. But it’s no use. She feels her gaze burning against her skin. — Are you kidding me?

reader sighs.

— Vi…

Vi clenches her fists on the counter, her knuckles turning white.

— You always do this, reader. — She finally looks at her. There’s something painful in her gaze, something she can’t hide. — Always keeps me waiting. Always flirts, always pulls me closer… But it’s never real.

leitora pisca, surpresa. Vi não chama sua leitora, ela é sempre boneca, cara de boneca, anjo, querida, querida, linda… mas não leitora.

— You think I’m not real?

— I don’t think you want anything real. — Vi lets out a dry laugh, shaking her head. — You like the game. You like the attention. But tomorrow, you’ll be with someone else, and I’ll be here feeling like an idiot for ever thinking you were different.

Reader is silent for a moment. Vi sees her expression change—her confidence wavering, something vulnerable flashing in her wide eyes.

“What if I told you you’re different?” Reader asks, her voice lower now, as if she’s afraid to speak.

Vi clenches her jaw.

“Don’t say that. Don’t play with me, doll.”

“I’m not playing.” Reader slides her hand across the counter and touches Vi’s fingertips, softly, hesitantly. Vi feels a shiver run up her arm. “I never knew how to tell you this. But… I always knew.”

Vi swallows hard.

“Then why didn’t you ever do anything?”

Reader smiles, but it’s a sad smile.

“Because I thought if I kept things casual, I… I couldn’t lose you.”

Vi feels the air rush out of her lungs.

She doesn’t know what to say. Because right there, in that moment, she realizes that Reader was also afraid. Afraid of ruining everything. Afraid that if she made one wrong move, she would lose Vi forever.

And maybe Vi understands that fear better than anyone.

They stand there, staring at each other, their fingers still touching, as if something invisible was holding them in that moment.

So, for the first time, Vi decides not to run away from Reader.

She intertwines her fingers with Reader's, squeezing gently.

"Then let's not keep this casual."

Reader holds her breath. Vi sees the surprise on her face, but she also sees something else. Something she's wanted to see for so long.

Reader smiles. A genuine smile, her eyes shining in the low light of the bar.

This time, there's nothing casual about it.

I hope you liked it!!!

I was thinking about making a Vi x Reader collection inspired by Chappell Roan's songs, and other songs too, what do you think? Do you have any suggestions for a next song?

[tarta-de-limon]

HEY YOU GOT MY FAVORITE GAYS EVER AS YOUR BANNER- me fr

anyways do you have any ocs perchance I would like to draw em

LMAAAO, THEY'RE ADORABLE, I HAD TO HAVE THEM IN MY BANNER

And omg, I do but... they're kinda cringey.

...

Anyway here they are!!!!

It's a quick drawing of all of them, they don't belong to the same storyline tho, I created them to entertain myself, and it's a sketch like this because I actually draw them traditionally, not digitally. I draw them in my classes.

They're more like... introduced characters into DC universe??? As you can see second Luan on the right is WonderGirl, so...yeah, cringey.

But I want to share their stories because I love them!!!

If you don't care, you can skip, I already gave their designs right here, so knowing their stories is kind of unnecessary??? I put some photos ahead, so you can skip the text and go to the photos if you want to draw any of them and need references!

So, Natalya is actually just a normal teenager, daughter of Bruce Wayne, didn't really cared about her mother so... she's dead, I guess. Maybe a one night stand. I created her because I thought it would be cute for Damian to have a gentle, kind big sister figure? In that moment I wasn't into DC in general, so I didn't know about Cass and Steph, I only watched the movies.

But then I read the comics, and well, here's her lore:

So, she's very fragile, she gets tired easily, she gets sick easily, but as a kid, she really, really wanted to be a to do sports and all that to prove Bruce and others she wasn't weak. She knew Jason and was super close to him. Then Jason died haha. She felt alone, Bruce was grieving, Dick was grieving, she gets angry, she hates everyone, then Tim takes the mantle of Robin, Natalya hates him.

Like, really, really hates him.

Uhh... Idk if this is canon or not, because as I've said before, I'm not a Tim fan...

So, in this au Tim's parents die, Natalya feels bad, kinda tries to fix things, doesn't really work.

So she's been always trying to be loud and annoying to call others attention, but after this, she kinda quiets down??? And realizes that, well, sometimes listening is nice too, yk? I remember I had this scene where she's complaining to Alfred, like; why won't he forgive me!? I already said sorry! (She's a kid)

And Alfred tells her to, well, to kinda listen to others? Because all she's listening is herself; I already apologized, I already said I'm sorry, I'm right, you're wrong.

And well, ever since then Natalya kinda calms down and learns that, well, sometimes life is life, and that she never really had a passion for sports, she didn't even liked them she just wanted to be noticed.

She realizes that what she does like is playing chess with Alfred, and well, she joins the chess club of her school, once she's calmer and nicer Tim forgives her, they become close. Everything's going just fine...

And then Damian arrives.

But Natalya is super happy, she had a little brother! And she was going to be the best sister and give him all the attention and affection she didn't have when she was a kid.

At first Damian doesn't like it. Then he kinda does. Is nice to have someone caring for you, and Natalya is just...nice. she's the type of girl that likes to take care of others, and that really likes to do little gestures like baking sweets for you when you're feeling sick.

... then she dies. Yeah. Idk why I decided she would die. She just does.

Damian revives her with the Lazarus pit, because he feels it was his fault (something, something happened, Natalya covered him with her body, she dies). I really wanna go into detail but it'll be too long.

And when she revives she's kinda traumatized! But she's adapting. Besides, her body isn't as weak as it used to. I have this scene where she's running and she realizes; Wait, I'm running. I'm not tired. I'm not having trouble breathing. I'm running!!!!

So Natalya's kinda happy, I guess.

(she ends up with a bunch of scars and her left eye is grey now. She can't see with that one. She was shot. Multiple times. I like to think her scar have like this 💥 form.

Uh... second one is Luan(19)! I actually created her, again, while I was watching the movies; wouldn't it be funny if Damian had a twin sister? So that's where the design came from. Damian in the movies doesn't look like o picture him now tho 😭😭✋✋✋ anyway, her lore? Well, as Damian twin sister: she was trained, killed, revived, killed, revived, then she was poisoned with Joker Venom, but it kind of made her crazy, she tries to blow up the whole city, she realizes last moment what she's doing, she develops like...personality problems??? (Her real self and the venom self, kind of), she runs away.

She spends time trying to find who she is, then she returns to Gotham to end a criminal organization she created while she was a villain. She refuses to talk with the batfam because she feels to guilty, because well, she kinda tried to kill them all.

That's as Damian's twin tho. As a new Oc? Idk... she's a villain... that's it. I didn't really thought about her new lore. I just really like her design. I created a boyfriend for her, when I was redesigning her to be older and just a different person. She met him when she was fighting batman and Robin, and he kinda "saved" her ("saved' because she knew he was spying on her and pretended to be loosing to see what he would do). His name is Kairos. It means: a propitious moment for decision or action. I think it's pretty accurate.

Kate is my favorite. She's such a tiny little devil I love her so much.

Her real name is Lydia, actually, she lived with her mother, a drug addict, in crime alley. When she was three or so, one day she kinda got mad at her mom, a temper tantrum, and well, she had the bad habit of hiding while she was angry.

Well she hid under the bed and just then some bad guys appeared because, surprise, her drug addict mother owed them money.

They killed her...uhhh, warning, I guess:

⚠️ They kinda... strangled her. And I have this scene where the just put her against the floor, the woman is dying, and Kate is there, under the bed, and she can't do shit because, she's a damn toddler and is scared? ⚠️

She stayed there, hidden under the bed for a whole day, just in shock, before she ran away from her apartment and just... Idk, she just wanted to leave. She was panicking, alright?

The point is, Selina finds her.

Kate is in a state of shock and doesn't really react, so Selina takes her in and gives her a new name. Kate! Like kitten, get it?

So...

She's kind of a prodigy??? She's a smart ass, she knows how to build all type of machines and is pretty smart.

So she fixes Selina's little gadgets if needed, and Selina will buy her materials so she can build her machines.

There's more lore to her but, well, let's just say this is too long already.

She kinda gets traumatized. She's fighting for her life, she cuts her hair. She heals. She becomes a better person.

I REALLY WANT TO GIVE DETAILS BUT UHG, I FEEL LIKE IT'LL BE TOO MUCH.

Anyway here's the other Luan's lore:

She's WonderGirl, she was supposed to train with Diana but Diana decides she's not ready. She's too... brutal. She fights like boxing? You see those bracelets? They extent to her hands so they turn into big gauntlets she uses to fight. So yeah, violent. The thing is like she actually has fun while fighting. She'll be jumping and giggling, and well, that's not very...sane thing to do?

She grew up in Themyscira, by a secluded group of Amazons that just taught her how to fight, and how to be 'a good warrior'.

When Damian forms his Teen Titans team he kinda kidnapped her too (because let's be honest, he kidnapped everyone, lmao). Damian feels kinda related to her??? Because Luan is always sayin: a good warrior does this, a good warrior does that. And she's willing to die for 'her honor.' it kinda reminds him to how he used to be in the League.

I honestly created her because Jon and Damian were missing a wonder to be like, Batman, superman and Wonder woman. And then I kinda liked to think Damian and Luan would have something. Honestly? This is all Djinni's fault. God, did I hate her.

But uh, then I had this idea where she kinda gets lost in time and she kinda looses her memories and...

Yeah, I won't give details. You already know why. Too long.

Oh yeah, and she used to kill. Damian taught her not to!

Anyway, that's all, I'm so sorry for my rambling, I just had to share them because I love them so much. 😭😭😭

[knockondoor]

i'm not sure if it's just me but i'm so furious at the fact that the writers got "bored" of vi.

vi has so much potential and she's also gone through a lot. yes, she was one of the reasons powder turned into jinx but people dismiss the fact that vi is also a kid? she's seen as the leader. vander even states in season 1, episodes 1, "those kids look up to you." and "if you say run, they run. you say swim, they dive in. you say light a fire, they show up with oil." just the amount of pressure these sentences bro.

she had so much responsibility at such a young age. "whatever happens, it's on you." ???????hello?? she's also a kid too??????

and the fact that vi joined the enforcers? i know that she joined the wrong thing for the right reasons but they didn't go into depth about those other reasons. the reason vi hated the enforcers so much because they were the main reason her parents are dead. leaving her with just her little sister, powder, at such a young age.

throughout season 1 ( and maybe 2. when i'm typing this, i kinda forgot some details ) she never gives up on her baby sister. she cares so much for her powder. vi did not abandon powder. that's something i'll stand by forever. when we see vi "abandoning" her, it's in powder's perspective. she doesn't see marcus take vi.

vi lost her whole family. jinx/powder, vander, claggor, mylo. she lost everything. and people hate her because she didn't care enough??

honestly, i'm not saying that vi is the best character in arcane. she does have flaws like the others but hating her to the point that you say "she's the real jinx" makes me wanna choke. i understand if you dislike her and i respect your opinion. saying

( i'm sorry if this doesn't make sense... i'm not really good with my words but i hope you understand like a bit of it. just wanted to rant lol :p )

[yashley]

the way matt creates these emotionally** flat??? characters who have family attachments to the main pcs and yet there's just something.... off about the way they display intimacy that it equally angers me, makes my skin crawl, and makes me just want to write extensively on what a master storyteller matt is. the way he presents just in this campaign alone, parental figures that on paper can easily be defended and rallied behind somehow especially if their choices played out more negatively than they intended*, and yet actually experiencing people who you, individually, care so much about in your life and who, you would just naturally believe, would also care so much about you, but there's a blip on the monitor and a disconnect that at first is so infinitesimal. until it's not. until you get bruised deeper and they look at you the same. and it's like there's no true empathetic connection. from your "loved one". it's not malice, it's not heartless or calloused, it's just.... it's surface-level and it's crossed t's and dotted i's and you know that they do not mean it to hurt you. but they also don't really mean it when they tell you they love you. and it aches so incredibly well done that matt will have these figures look into the eyes of their own and say the words and have a softness in their face, and yet have no genuine fierceness to the love they claim for someone who has so much love for them. and it's not a criticism, it's just so well done because it's such a nuanced relationship in the world and it sucks but matt always delivers it so perfectly

[sincerely-sofie]

*silently slides Twig/Ark content onto your dash* *scurries away into the night*

(Read the rest under the cut!)

[actual-corpse]

Just got a rude reminder about how great it is to never have children/ be an only child.

There's too much drama involved with dying, apparently.

[caterpillarinacave]

I absolutely cannot fathom how any man with a daughter could vote from trump