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kaynothanks · 2 months

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Behind The Sun

Pairing: Finnick Odair x fem!Reader

Warnings: murder, a true killing spree really, angst, dark thoughts, it's dark in general (I need to call my therapist), Finnick is taller than reader, reader has hair, and a brother, this is my attempt at fulfilling my need for a good Finnick fic after the clips of the new movie have been haunting me everywhere (let’s ignore that this is basically a dead fandom)

Word-Count: 20k (it's worth it, trust me)

You found getting your hair cut loathsome. It was unbearable any day but this day it seemed especially gruesome; sitting still and pretending for just a few moments longer that the day was like any other. Usually, you would think about how your mother kept pulling at your hair too harshly or that her hands were shaking far too much for you to even let her get close to your hair. Though on this day, all you could think about was the pair of scissors in her hands. Inconspicuous some might think, yet in your district you knew better.

Your hands shook at the thought of what the tributes from districts like One or Two could do with something as simple as a pair of scissors. You hissed in shock as your mother twirled your hair into a tight bun at the back of your head, frowning at hair through the mirror. She didn’t look at you, she didn’t look up at all.

Her shaking hands she placed on your shoulders, hesitating to face your reflection. The smile she forced was painful to witness. "It's going to be fine, after today, it's only one more year." Her smile faltered, realizing that your brother had to endure his first Reaping today and many more would follow.

She looked into the mirror, watching your brother who sat on the floor trying to get his light stick to work again. Some of the boys had built them themselves out of old parts the factories rendered useless. They would often sneak outside in the evenings to draw patterns into the air by swinging their light sticks—though your mother hadn’t allowed your brother to go recently, since his light stick blew up last time. Faulty wiring.

To redirect her attention, you laid your hand atop hers and smiled a forced smile, too. "It's going to be okay. His name is in there only once." Yours was in there over twenty times. You had signed up for Tesserae and claimed it multiple times throughout the last few years for yourself, your mother, your father, and your brother. "We should head out," you said and stood, grabbing your brother's attention. "The Reaping's going to start soon."

Your brother whined in protest. "I don’t wanna go. They're gonna hurt my finger."

You snorted and held your hand out for him to take. "It's just a prick, you'll barely even feel." Bidding his light stick goodbye, he grabbed your hand, letting himself be pulled up from the floor.

"You look funny," he commented, making you narrow your eyes at him.

"Yeah?" You questioned and tugged at his shirt, neatly stuffed into his pants. It was such a difference from his usual attire, consisting of dirt-stained trousers and ripped shirts. "So do you."

Walking beside your mother and brother, you could spot the red banners with the golden sigil hanging from the Justice Building from afar. A way for the government to proudly display Panem's power; forcing every citizen of District Five to attend—with the exemption of those too ill to make their way here. Dozens of cameras were set up around the premises.

Entering the square, you stood in line, waiting for registration with government officials. Giving a drop of blood was a strict requirement, a method used to identify the people of District Five. Your brother stood beside you, clearly fidgety. He hated needles and the sight of blood, too.

"Atlas," you whispered and your brother turned his anxious eyes to you. "Want me to slap you when the needle hits? You won't even notice the pinch." Laughing at him frowning at you, you gave his shoulder a shove. "My offer stands, just so you know."

You and he stepped up to the tables at the same time and you grinned brightly when he looked back at you, as though he was actually considering taking you up on your offer. Paying no mind to the man in white, you looked around. Many children stood already in their dedicated section, though none of them wore even just a hint of a smile. Understandably so, you thought. It was the first day of a fight for life and death and with just a little too much bad luck, it was one of their lives on the line. Your mother was already out of sight and when you were about to walk toward the front, where the oldest children gathered, a hand wrapped around yours.

You looked down at your brother—he was catching up to you rather quickly in height, you noticed.

"I don’t want to go alone."

Once more you forced a smile. "It's only for a little while, okay? And after this is over, I'll help you make a killer light stick, how's that sound?"

"With flickering lights and all?"

"With flickering light and everything else you can think of," you agreed and saw his face lighten up immediately. He nodded excitedly and bounced off to the far back of the male section. You walked close to the front and stood beside a girl from your classes. On the stage in front of the Justice Building stood Mayor Ward Smith and beside him the district escort, Twila Hearst. Behind them remained two of the previous District Five victors. Ivette Li-Sanchez, victor of the 50th Hunger Games, and James Logan, victor of the 43rd. James Logan by now was almost completely bald and had a limp in his step. You remembered everyone telling you about how much that man was admired back in the day.

Ivette had won her games at fifteen, making her now thirty. Although she looked far younger. Perhaps the Capitol was treating her fairly well, after all.

Mayor Smith stepped towards the microphone and smiled, spreading his arms in welcome. He thanked everyone for their attendance as if anyone had a say in the matter and started reciting the founding history of Panem not a second later. He covered everything as though he himself was a history teacher before moving on to the beginning of the Hunger Games and its rules. Warden Smith spoke of it as if there was nothing more graceful than becoming a tribute, sprouting off his mouth what spoils and riches come with victory. His eyes shifted down to a piece of paper as he read off the names of your district's previous Hunger Games victors.

It was good to know he cared enough to remember them by heart.

Introducing Twila Hearst he waited for some kind of applause, although quickly stepped aside upon noticing none was to come. Twila, too, appraised all the potential tributes and made some idle comments to not seem too excited about what was to follow. "Whom should we start this year with?" She questioned happily, putting her hands by her ears to signal she wanted the crowd to decide. A few female voices called out men as if the few seconds they gained by the male tribute being picked first made any difference.

"The men this year?" She gasped and opened her orange-painted lips in shock, not being able to hide her smirk. "Whatever happened to ladies first?" Stepping over to the Reaping Bowl filled with solely male names, she clapped. "But I'll give what the people demand!" Sticking her hand in the bowl, she fumbled around for far too long; a meaningless and cruel try to build up any more suspense as though the hope to walk away alive wasn’t channeling enough tension as it was.

She pulled a slip from deep within the bowl and opened it, reading the name first for herself before leaning towards the microphone. "Atlas Thornbury!" She called out and peered out into the crowd of gathered males, trying to make out if anybody had started walking towards the stage. "Atlas Thornbury, come up here my boy!"

You hadn’t registered at first. Hadn’t even paid attention, really. That flicker of hope you had held within your chest kept assuring you that once again you would walk away. When your mind caught up, you felt as though you could breathe. Your heart thundered against your ribcage as your head whipped from side to side, trying to catch a glimpse of your brother. The girl from your class put a hand on your shoulder, trying to offer some kind of reassurance that all would be okay, though you knew it would not. He was barely a twelve-year-old boy, so thin he almost looked sickly. Atlas wouldn’t stand a chance. He wouldn’t survive. He would die. Die alone in a cage made for punishment and entertainment of the rich folk.

Peacekeepers were on the move the second your brother stepped out of line and escorted him to the front of the stage. You heard crying, you thought, or perhaps it was only your mind playing tricks, offering you a reaction of what you could do instead of staring panic-stricken. In your haze, you had missed Twila introducing Atlas to the rest of Panem and moving on to picking the female tribute.

She cleared her throat, the slip with the name already grasped loosely between her fingers. You swallowed and watched your brother in a state of paralysis. Even though you saw her lips move; you heard nothing. Nothing but your own blood rushing through your system, as you forcefully pushed the pitying hand off your shoulder and stepped out of line.

"I volunteer as Tribute!"

All heads snapped toward you as some Peacekeepers sprinted forward, keeping you from walking any further. You shoved them off, trying to get to the stage—to your brother, who was shaking so much you were sure he would break at any moment. Twila continued her blabbering but you ignored all. Ignored the whispers around you and pitiful glances and your mother's screams from all the way at the back, crying about both her children being taken from her in a split second.

You had barely stepped onto the stage when your brother's arms wrapped themselves around your waist. His cries shook his body weakly as you put your hands around his head. A tear fell from your eye before you could stop it.

Nothing was going to be okay.

When the ceremony was over, both of you were taken into custody and led into the Justice Building to a room that held more riches than perhaps the whole of District Five. Your mother was brought into the room by some Peacekeepers and you tried your hardest to soothe her wails and ceaseless cries. Though it was hard, when all you were left to feel was a shattering numbness. It didn’t matter anymore. You were going to die. And with that realization, you swore you would fight for your brother to your last breath and beyond.

---

You had never been on a train. Not that you had ever had the chance or permission to. Only those of the Capitol and those reaped had the chance. You didn’t know if you liked the feeling of not having still ground beneath your feet. The thought of moving so quickly without actually noticing the speed made you itch uncomfortably.

"Aren't you going to eat?" Twila asked, cutting herself a tiny piece of meat before bringing it to her mouth.

You looked to her, to your brother—who was stuffing his face with pastries—and to the two previous victors. "No."

"Well, then," Logan clapped and stood. He was the only one who, too, had refused to eat. "We should talk strategies." He walked over to a small table where different bottles of very expensive alcohol were arranged and poured himself half a glass of scotch. "Any skills or special talents we should be aware of?"

Atlas lifted his hand the same way he would in school and waited to be called on. "I make killer light sticks."

Logan looked confused. "What?"

"Toys," you responded in a hiss with half a mind to toss the table. "He makes toys."

"What about you?" Logan questioned. "Any talents?"

"No."

"I think I'm getting a tummy ache," Atlas complained and put down the pastry he was holding. You told him to go to his room and lie down a bit since it wouldn’t be too long before your arrival at the Capitol.

When he was gone you fixed the adults with a stern gaze. "We can all go on and pretend that you actually believe we stand a chance or drop the act and acknowledge the fact that we are as good as dead already."

Ivette snorted and your head whipped to the other side of the table. "Oh, angry girl, if there is anyone I believe will win, it's you."

You ignored the nickname and scoffed. "I think we already established that I don’t have any skills or talents or even a chance. If I were you, I'd lower my expectations."

She put down the cutlery and leaned forward. "You have anger, and trust me, that's enough." Ivette didn’t give you a chance to respond as she stood and turned on a big screen hanging from the wall. "Why don’t we see who you'll be competing against, hm?"

Clips of other Reapings played; the Career Districts first, showing how they fought over who got to volunteer this year. "Many volunteers this year," Ivette commented as the next clip started to play. District Four. A young boy stepped out of line, and you thought he resembled your brother quite a bit, when another male stepped out of line, volunteering for the boy. When you stayed silent, Ivette sighed. "I didn’t have any skills upon entering, either. But I learned because I had to. And you will, too. We both know you have something to fight for."

You stared at her and she stared right back. Leaning back in your chair, you gripped the plush armrest tightly. "Tell me what to do to keep him alive and I'll do it."

---

Upon arriving at the Capitol, you and your brother were brought to the City Circle, the center of the Capitol, where the Remake Center was located.

A group of extravagantly dressed personas stood with broad grins on their faces, waiting for your arrival. You and your brother were handed a blue rope each and were hurried inside to change. They separated you then, bringing you to a room with a metal surface to lie on. You were hesitant but the prep team gave you no room to argue, tutting you as though you were no more than a mindless child. Laying there, you let them do your nails, wax your brows, and remove every inch of body hair you had before they stuck you in a tub with cold water. When you shivered, they laughed, tutting you again, telling you if you had hurried it would have been warmer.

Afterward, they did your hair and added make-up and then told you to wait for the head stylist to arrive. You had the prep team repeatedly tell you why they were dressing you up, and each time they replied with sponsors. According to them, getting sponsors was crucial to the survival of the Games.

You shook with anger at being presented to the Capitol like a piece of meat, dolled up ridiculously in order to meet their beauty standards.

When the head stylist arrived the other members of the prep team brought in a laughably big gown that was completely transparent. "I'm not wearing that," you argued but the head stylist only raised his brow. "I'll be naked."

"It hurts my feelings that you'd think my execution of the power district would be done so poorly." He clapped and walked away. "Help her get dressed."

The prep team sprung into action, pulling you along with them before they stood on stools to let the dress down onto your body from higher above. You frowned at yourself. Not because you looked like a cloud of translucent puffiness, but because you had never worn anything feeling as comfortable as this gown. The material was indescribably soft on your skin and so light you could barely tell it was there in the first place.

You moved the tiniest bit and suddenly the dress turned a solid silver color. The head stylist came back with a headpiece in hand that was a mix between a crown and a halo. Your mouth fell open in hesitation. "Isn't this a little too—"

"Provocative?" He grinned and picked up a spray bottle of silver body paint. "Good."

Everything on your body was doctored to perfection; your eyelashes now had the length of half your pinky finger, your lips were drawn to look fuller with a vibrant metal shimmer, and your body to your neck up was covered in silver paint, sparkling notoriously when the sunlight hit you directly. When you looked up into the sky, it was a clear blue with no hint of darkness and you wondered if District Five was as dark as it was because the Capitol had stolen the sun. When the prep team was finally done with you and your brother, it was the late afternoon and you were immediately led along to the center of the City Circle. The other Tributes were gathered there already, standing beside black chariots drawn by night-shaded horses.

Hundreds of Capitol citizens had gathered along the Avenue of Tributes, chanting their favorite districts or just simply the word Hunger. The shouts echoed in your ear as whatever your brother was telling you faded into the background. Your eyes fell from Tribute to Tribute as blood rushed through your ears. Whom of them would you kill? Who would kill you? The pace of your breathing picked up as your hand fell to your stomach; you felt like your lungs were granting no more air to enter and the dress now appeared to be nothing but a cage.

A loud laughter snapped you out of your trance and your head whipped to where the roaring sound came from. A tall blonde male stood beside an old woman, who playfully slapped him on the arm while gifting him with a stern look that held no anger whatsoever. You tried recalling the names of the Tributes, which Logan and Ivette had spent over an hour teaching you, yet you were not sure when it came to him.

The girl beside him, the other tribute of District Four, was Adella. Both Tributes appeared mature enough to be over sixteen at last, perhaps eighteen even. As though he could feel your eyes glaring into his back, he shifted his gaze toward where you stood. Curiosity taking over the slight feeling of shame, you continued mustering him, wondering if he volunteered because he wanted to partake in the games as a Career or because he had felt true compassion for the little boy who had been chosen.

A sharp pain coursed through your arm as your head flew to look at the spot. Your brother's fingers were lingering close by to the piece of skin he had just pinched. You scowled at him, but he only nodded toward the head stylist standing in front of you. Redness arose at the back of your neck as you noticed he had been talking to you all along. He held his hand extended toward you, a small device in it. You took it without asking and waited for any kind of instruction.

"Press it when you're about halfway along."

"Why?"

He blinked at you and took it back in a flash, grimacing at the fact that you had questioned him once again. "I'll do it myself." He hurried you onto the chariot designated for District Five and patted both your shoulders. "Don’t forget to smile." Your brother nodded in agreement, though you stayed still.

Rhythmic pounding of drums joined the echoing chants and suddenly it seemed your pulse thrummed only after their beat. Chariot after chariot got to moving. Your district was almost in the middle, not too far behind and not too close to the front, and yet it wasn’t enough time to prepare you for the sight of thousands of people surrounding you.

When you had barely made it three feet onto the Avenue, you gripped your brother's hand. "Don’t smile," you told him, not taking your eyes off the spectacle before you.

"But he said—"

"I know what he said. I just don’t care." You did care. You cared that you didn’t want to give anybody the satisfaction of seeing even a flash of happiness about what they were doing to you. You refused to play into sick games, refused to just accept a punishment you didn’t deserve since it was for a rebellion that happened decades ago. It had not been your fight and the districts losing it and being brought close to extinction, for you, seemed to be punishment enough. The districts did not have anything else to give anymore and still, the Capitol took and took, and you knew they would never stop. Not without being stopped.

You would not play along. You would fight, but not for their entertainment or promised riches, but for your survival, your brother's survival, and the slim chance to bring him back to your mother safely.

Something happened then. You hadn’t noticed it at first, too caught up in the stream of your furious thoughts when gasps sounded and the applause went raging. Looking around, you tried spotting the cause, when your brother looked you up and down with big eyes. You peeked downward, spotting the previously silver dress had turned into a stream of bright, flowing electricity. It wasn’t a mere dress anymore; it was pulsing with life—with power. The long hemline of the dress, which was so long, it was close to dragging on the floor, was sprouting sparks of electricity, just like the back of your brother's suit. You could see other tributes in front of you looking up at the screens, wanting to know what all the hype was about.

The chariots gathered at the end of the avenue, standing in perfect rows and you wondered how often these horses had gone through this process. President Snow stood, walked forward, and bathed in the attention he was getting from the citizens of the Capitol. He stood high above the Tributes and for a second you found yourself thinking about how long he would fall, if someone were to shove him.

"Welcome," he spoke, his voice sounding through all the avenue. "Tributes, we welcome you. We salute your courage and your sacrifice, and we wish you happy Hunger Games. May the odds be ever in your favor!" Not a moment after he had finished his little speech, the chariots were on the move again, drawing you back to where you had come from.

Stepping off the chariot, your dress was back to plain silver, though you had no time to ponder it when you were approached by Logan, Ivette, and Twila.

"Well, that was something," Logan commented and Ivette grimaced. "I thought the strategy was to—" He halted when he noticed other Tributes eyeing you curiously, and certainly not in friendly spirits. "Let's get you two to your apartments, we'll talk more when you don’t look like aluminum foil."

You were brought to the training center, where you would be staying in apartments for the week of your training. All the riches that were kept from the district were perhaps gathered in the Tributes' apartments—or at least whatever the parsimonious Capitol could bear to spare.

You had barely washed off the silver paint and slipped into some linen pants when there was a small, careful knock on your door. Opening it, you found your brother standing there donning clothes just as comfortable as your own. Smeared streaks of silver paint were still covering his face. He hesitated, towel in hand. "Can you help me?"

"Well, I'll need something in return."

He huffed annoyed. "What do you want?"

"You see, there is this buffet down in the cafeteria, and I'd really hate to go alone."

"There is more free food?" Atlas squeaked as if it was the best news he had ever gotten to hear. Which for him it might have been. Back home there wasn’t a lot of food to go around. "I hope they have more pastries. You have to try those!"

"We'll see." You still weren't hungry and the thought of eating any meal they served made you feel as if you were having an executioner's meal.

---

A lot of Tributes seemingly chose to avoid the chance to socialize with the enemy. A few empty metal tables stood spread around the room—you chose the one at the far back, not wanting to draw any more attention to you after what had happened at the Tribute Parade. Atlas was off before you had even sat down, going straight to the pastry table.

You rolled your eyes, wanting to mother him and tell him he should eat real food, but you didn’t want to take any specks of happiness he had left.

He came back with one or two pastries on his plate, saying he had found they had many kinds of meats to choose from and he wanted to try them all. You nodded along to everything he said, offering a smile here and there so you wouldn’t seem too disconnected from the conversation. With other tributes in the room, you just couldn’t focus on anything but the warning flashes in your mind, reminding you that danger was imminent.

Atlas pulled at your hand then, dragging you to the buffet, lecturing you on not eating all day. You snorted. Who was mothering whom now? Only because of his demands did you fill your plate with some of the many dishes to choose from. Atlas appeared content enough with the action and went on to load his own plate.

At the table, you pushed the food on your plate around aimlessly, poking some vegetables and cutting some meat without actually bringing it to your tongue. You felt sick to your stomach.

"You know," a voice said from behind you, amusement weirdly prominent in his tone. "There is a funny fact about food."

Peeking over your shoulder, you came face to face with the District Four male. And, seemingly, the arrogant smile was sewn onto his face. Not one moment you had seen him without it. A mask well crafted, you thought. You should perhaps hone your own; letting the Capitol know you loathed them wasn’t the smartest of moves to pull when you required their help. Sponsorships and all that.

"Interesting, truly," you said and turned back around, yet somehow you had the feeling you wouldn’t be able to shake him off so easily.

He sat across from you; plate loaded to the brim with maybe every kind of dish they offered. "It's supposed to be consumed with your mouth, not the eyes." Grinning, he shoved a piece of steak into his mouth. He groaned in exaggerated delight, making you raise your brow. "I've had fish for almost every meal for the past eighteen years, I'm going to spend the rest of it bathing in ribeye."

However long that may be, you thought, your eyes moving to find your brother still waiting in line. "You volunteered," you spoke then before you could think about it.

"Well, I guess I'm not the only one, am I?"

"Do you consider yourself a Career?"

The blonde snorted. "Does it matter?"

"Yes."

He eyed someone over your shoulder and leaned in. "Not yet." Leaning back, he brought another cut piece of red meat to his lips. The District Four male nodded to your untouched plate. "Why aren't you eating?"

"They are serving us our last meals day in and day out as if it's gonna change anything about the fact that they want to see us slaughter each other. I can happily do without their insincere gestures of atonement."

"You really do not like the Capitol, do you, Spark?"

"And you do?"

He didn’t answer, forking himself another piece of food before pointing at your plate. "Are you going to eat that?" Understanding his inquiry, you shoved the plate across the table just as Atlas reappeared.

"Hello," your brother greeted and surprisingly set his plate right next to the man. "I'm Atlas."

The male nodded as if he didn’t already know and extended his hand. "Finnick."

"I know!" Your brother exclaimed. "You volunteered for the other boy. That was nice."

Finnick smiled and yet, you could clearly spot the pity in his eyes. Perhaps his mask wasn’t so perfectly crafted after all. Atlas' eyes found your plate across the table, no item of food missing. He frowned at you and deeply so. "Mom would be so mad at you right now." You wanted to tell him that he could tell on you all he wanted when you got him home. But with Finnick sitting across from you, you didn’t dare speak the words and let him see the doubt written across your face. "Can you at least eat the vegetables?" Atlas whined. "You always make me."

"Fine, but you're getting yourself a serving of them, too."

"Deal!" He jumped off the bench, grabbing himself another plate, and stepped into the short line again.

"I'm sorry," Finnick said out of the blue, drawing your attention back to him.

You swallowed, the corners of your mouth dropping low as you gave a slight nod, eyes finding your brother's form. "Me too."

---

The gymnasium was huge. The diversity of stations ranged from simple survival training with plants and berries to camouflage and all kinds of weaponry you had never known existed. All Tributes had gotten an orientation by the Head Trainer, with a rundown of all available stations and rules.

You were allowed to move freely in the gymnasium, socialize or spend the time however you pleased, though, under no circumstances, were you allowed to fight any other Tributes while training. Strictly forbidden was partaking in any combat exercises with each other. Experts were available to partner up with if anyone fancied a session.

Surrounding the whole of the gymnasium was one balcony, from where the Gamemakers observed closely the skills and talents of each tribute.

You had been training for a few days now, though while the other Tributes actively used their time in the gymnasium, Ivette had been giving you private sessions. She and Logan thought it best to go with the strategy of deception—to make everyone think you were harmless, useless. You had learned the basics with every other Tribute; what the weapons were called, how they were used, and so on.

Though mostly while others trained, you stayed close by your brother, observing him when in training with the head trainer and when he was aimlessly throwing knives and other weapons around, too. Once or twice, you spared a glance toward the balcony, finding the Gamemakers eyeing the action of your brother in amusement. For them, his life truly was nothing more than a plaything.

On the last day of training, you stood by your brother once more, trying to help him with throwing knives, although you found you weren't the best teacher. Another knife clunked to the floor without sticking in the target and you huffed. Ivette made teaching look so easy. You had picked the movements up in seconds but now trying to explain them seemed futile. With the other Tributes close by, you couldn’t even show Atlas the correct way of doing it or you would be on the brink of blowing Logan and Ivette's whole strategy.

"You need more force," you said, causing Atlas to stick his tongue out toward you, clearly annoyed and tired.

"You keep saying that, but it's not working! Just admit you don’t know what you're doing!"

"Spark's right," a—by now—familiar voice commented and you lit up in appreciation for Finnick's affirmation. "If you draw your hand back further, you're gonna get it." Atlas positioned himself the way Finnick told him to, looking at the older male for approval. The blonde nodded with a wink, showing your brother the hand movement again, just in case. Without waiting for Finnick to give the go, Atlas hurled the knife straight forward, and to your surprise—and your brother's, too—it bored itself into the target. It was far off from the point where it optimally should have hit, but a win was a win.

Finnick and you stepped away, letting your brother try by himself. The District Four male frowned down at you. "Why haven't you been training?"

"I… I did train," you protested, pointing to the countless survival stations. "I finished all of those."

He seemed truly worked up over it. "Those won't help when anybody comes after you."

"Are you planning to?" You joked, yet you weren't sure you were joking at all. When no reply followed you huffed and flared your arms. "I had never held a weapon before the beginning of the week. There is no way I could learn how to handle any of them, so I just… don't." You shrugged, trying to ignore the furious disbelief in his sea-green eyes.

"I thought you would do everything to protect your brother."

Again, your shoulders raised and fell. "Reality triumphed hope."

He shook his head and stormed off, leaving you to stare after him speechlessly. You still hadn’t gotten your answer. Would he come after you? He had conversed with you every day at every evening meal since the beginning of the week. Though ignored you most of the time when other Tributes were in proximity. Under any other circumstances, you were sure he would have been a friend. Not a fiend out for blood. You shook off your dense thoughts. Of course, he would come after you. It was the game, after all.

---

You felt like a dog, waiting to dance and show off whatever training you had received, hoping to get some kind of acknowledgment—a treat, expressed in a score number, which wouldn’t completely tank your chances at getting more sponsors. Apparently, you had a good amount of them already, so much so, that Logan felt confident that you would at least survive a few days in the arena.

His explanation of the statement was, that if the other tributes didn’t want to lose sponsors at the very beginning of the game, they would have to let you live since all of Panem seemed taken by you from the moment your dress lit up. He and Ivette had decided to tweak their strategy for you after getting word of the number of sponsors eagerly awaiting your test scores. They had told you not to hold back.

Your brother went before you. Atlas was gone for about ten minutes, before coming out with a bright grin, whispering a quick assurance that each throwing knife had hit the target. When you went in, you were met with nothing but playful chattering. Looking up at the balcony, you found that not a single person was paying attention to you. You frowned. Yes, in the training sessions, you had barely taken part in, but they could at least show some goddamned respect. They were going to kill you for their pure amusement.

Your nostrils flared as you walked to the table holding the weapons. Picking up a spear, you turned the perfectly balanced stick of metal over in your hand and took place across from the human-shaped target. For the week, Ivette had trained you hour upon hour, making sure you knew every movement, every stance, every impression there was to take in. Drawing your arm back, you focused your eyes, found the middle of the target, and hurled the spear forward. It hit the target with such force a good part of it went all the way through and was now poking out at the back of the thick target. And yet, none of them even spared you a glance.

You scoffed in disbelief, looking around for anything else that would get their attention until your eyes landed on a silver box on the wall. Peeking at the Gamemakers once more, you checked if they had at least acknowledged your existence by now, but no. Gripping a small knife from the table, you went over to the box and broke it open. Fuses, wires—a lot of wires. It was all you had been schooled in back in District Five.

You ripped out the see-through plastic wall that the wires were tugged away behind and pulled a handful of them out. Sorting them, you lined them up, lifted the knife, and cut straight through them. Everything went black. Panicked shouts followed as all of them struggled to see. Hard thing to do with the cables cut not only from the main source of power but the backup generators, too. The fuses you turned off, as you pulled at the two cables you had memorized and connected them. Turning the right fuse back on, a single source of light, focused only on one spot in the gymnasium, turned back on.

Their eyes were on you now, as you stood illuminated in a pool of darkness and threw the knife you were holding straight at the target's head. Angered and interested their attention fell from the twice perfectly penetrated target to you as you bowed with an annoyed grimace and left the room. Peacekeepers pushed past you, probably thinking you had ambushed and killed all the Gamemakers and there was a part in you—not small, not unconscious, not obscure—that wished you had. The men in white suits eyed you suspiciously, but you paid them no mind, more focused on the red flickering lights in the hallway. You hummed. There were more generators. The rest of the Tributes still waiting to be called in for their evaluations mustered you as you went past with your head held high, not giving away if you were the reason for the power failure. You went back to the apartment which for the day remained yours, only to find Atlas already waiting patiently in front of the TV.

You weren't sure if your brother had spent even just a single day at his apartment. It was right across the hall and yet it seemed to be too far for him. "You know they will be announced in the evening, right?"

He huffed. "I just wanna know what they thought. I handle the knives so well—just like Finnick showed me! They have to give me an okay score." Atlas only then appeared to remember that you had had your evaluation, too. "Do you think yours went well? What did you show them?"

You hesitated, not sure if your action had ruined your chances at a remotely fine training score. "I threw a knife, too." You shrugged. "We'll see what they thought about my performance in a few hours."

Taking a look at the clock, you grabbed a jacket and signed for your brother to follow. You were to spend the day with Ivette and Logan for them to prepare you for your interviews with Caesar Flickerman. Both of your mentors thought you were in dire need of training when it came to proper etiquette. Logan and Ivette had schooled you for hours, trying to get you to show a somewhat flirty, yet mysterious persona, which Caesar Flickerman and the rest of the Capitol would eat up. Twila then busied herself with scorning and arguing with you over the ways of proper etiquette. Deeming you readied enough, they put their attention on Atlas, letting you off the leash that you were on—you weren't more than a lapdog by now, after all.

You couldn’t sleep that night. Atlas was peacefully sleeping beside you and every time your eyes remotely closed, you jolted awake, scared you would wake in the arena, where harm lured, waiting to take your brother. You knew, of course, the arena was yet another day away, you wouldn’t just wake there, but telling yourself it over and over again didn’t help one bit. Too anxious, you stood and slipped on a rope. Downstairs they had food, you thought. Perhaps after days of barely eating anything, you needed some sugar to calm your nerves. Peacekeepers were stationed in and around the building; the only reason why they allowed the Tributes to move freely within. Although they were a little weary now, since on day four, a District Seven male had tried to escape. They had caught him, naturally, and made an example out of him, too. He had been whipped. Cruelly and gruesomely, with no hint of mercy, only swings filled with content.

The Peacekeepers had no interest in peace, you thought. They were sadists to some degree, jumping at every chance to punish, and even to kill. Their title and position in the Capitol's food chain gave them no limitations. In the name of the Capitol, in the name of President Snow, they had said, and chained the poor male up—as if he wouldn’t be fighting for his life soon enough—and hurled thinly threaded metal cord across his back. They had left him to bleed there, unconscious and shivering.

The cafeteria stood empty, not even a Peacekeeper was bothered to keep watch. You hesitated as you gripped a plate from the high stack and went over to the different dishes. Some of them were stored away in coolers, while others still shimmered over low heat, keeping them warm and prepared, in case any Tribute experienced nightly cravings. You did exactly what Atlas had done the past few days, and went straight for the pastries.

"So, this is how you do it, huh?" An amused voice hummed. "You have tricked us all, pretending to starve yourself, when in reality, you sneak down here at night."

"Yes, Finnick," you played along. "You have finally uncovered my deepest, darkest secret." Cocking your head, you stalked to a table and set the plate down before turning to look at him. "What are you going to do with it?" Finnick's broad form was leaning against the doorway. His blonde locks were a clear mess, giving away that you hadn't been the only one tossing and turning.

He only grinned, turning his head downward, before pushing himself off the doorway. Finnick made his way over to the table, halting close to you. Closer than you had ever been, you noticed. Perhaps the nightly distress had made him unhinged, his impulses winning over the schooled restraint, which usually kept him so well in check.

Seeing Finnick's agents not totally in balance was a true rarity. There was only one other time he had let his guard down. An accident, you guessed, when he had slipped up and his frustration had gotten the better of him.

"I have always been curious about secrets, you know?" He went on, studying your face for any sign of discomfort at his nighness.

"Isn't that just a fancy way of saying you are nosy?"

Finnick chuckled. "I know a lot of them, too. The other Tributes'. They are quite open after some sweet-talking."

"Of course, if anyone were to get anything out of them, it would be you."

"Do you want a little pre-view?" In his grin you found true excitement, something you hadn’t seen too often from him. Finnick wearing anything true on his face was reserved more moments like this; moments of intimacy. Goosebumps arose on your arm, thinking that in the span of mere hours, all of it was gone. He wouldn’t be helping your brother perfect his fighting skills, wouldn’t help you righten your stance with gentle, cheeky touches, wouldn’t come at you with a grin, but a raised weapon, ready to tint it with your blood.

You wanted everything to be different. You wanted it so badly, it hurt deep within your chest. A stinging sensation you hadn’t felt since the day Atlas' name had been called by Twila on the day of the Reaping. It seemed like so long ago, though it had only been one week.

You shook your head. "Best to keep secrets to yourself. You don’t want them to lose their worth."

"Why do I feel like sweet talking won't get me any of yours?"

You shrugged. "Maybe I just don’t have any."

Finnick took another step closer and you turned your head up a bit, to be able to look him in the eyes. "I don’t believe that for a second."

"Then I guess you'll just have to live without mine."

"How gruesome of you, Spark," he said, leaning forward, putting his hand flat on the metal table behind you. It might just have been the first cage you did not mind being in. "To tease me so."

You swallowed; your throat suddenly dried of any words. A shaky breath of air flowed from your lips as your back pressed into the metal table. Out of reflex, you put your hand in front of yourself, landing it directly on his hard chest. You averted your gaze, turning your head downward. Squeezing your eyes shut, you tried to compose yourself, though it proved challenging with his chest heaving beneath your touch just as quickly as your own. Rough fingers, prone by the hard labor of District Four, gripped your chin, turning it back upward. There was no way of escaping him now; no way of escaping yourself.

You caved then, with a defeated breath and he saw right through you. He kissed you, mouth hungry and tinged with the desperation of escaping the leering reality that none of you could change. With his strong arm, he helped you atop the table, his body slotting against your own perfectly. Finnick groaned against your mouth, as your thighs tightened around him, pulling his body closer to you. His arm wrapped around your hip and you gasped against his lips as you felt him pressing his crotch into yours. It was messy and heated and overwhelming until it all stopped. Both of you pulled away in order to catch your breath and Finnick let his forehead fall against yours.

Suddenly a tear dropped onto your cheek and a sob forced its way from your mouth. "I can’t let him die," you cried and shook your head so forcefully you were getting dizzy. Everything you had been holding back from the moment Atlas' name had echoed through District Five broke loose. "He's only twelve years old. He is a child. He can't—" You stuttered along as Finnick pulled you into him. The embrace wasn’t solely for your comfort, you knew, you felt it. Felt all the fear he kept so well hidden. You wrapped your arms around his neck, locking him in just as tight as his arms engulfed you so desperately you felt it seeping into your skin. For a second, you felt safe then, with his arms giving you just enough space to hide away in.

Finnick placed his hand on either side of your face, wiping your tears with his thumb. Opening his mouth, he was about to say something, when steps sounded outside of the cafeteria. Startled, he distanced himself from you, making it look like he hadn’t acknowledged your presence, as you hopped off the table. A Peacekeeper entered, followed by the District Eight male Tribute.

You left the cafeteria then, throwing a quick look over your shoulder only to find that Finnick was paying you no mind. Wiping whatever was left of your tears yourself, you hurried back to your apartment. Atlas was still sleeping peacefully as you sat at the edge of the bed, facing him. In this state, he looked so much like his younger self. It was all you saw in him now, too aware that his life might be cut short. Instead of seeing his future, you only saw his past. Remembered the first day your mother had put a fussy baby in your arms that you were so deadly jealous of. It was a weird feeling. Feeling such a surge of love for someone you had barely known half a day and yet, you had felt discontent when seeing your mother and father with him. Loving him the way they had previously held reserved only for you.

And then a few years later, your father had died. Your mother was so devastated she hadn’t been able to get out of bed for months. You were to one to take care of Atlas, you were the one to hold him while he was crying and your arms were the ones, he fell asleep in. Not able to help yourself, you extended your hand and brushed a strand of hair off his forehead.

You were ready, had been since the first day you had laid eyes on him. You were ready to die for him.

---

The next day, your prep team once again spent the whole day forcing a make-over on you, plucking hairs and eradicating blackheads, all the while shushing your complaints. It was only when they were done that the head stylist, Lazarus, made an appearance. In his hand, he was holding the dress specifically created for you. Top till mid-thigh it was black, with blue shimmering mesh fabric running down to the floor.

He held it out for you to take, knowing you wouldn’t argue this time—you wouldn’t have won the argument anyway. After the prep team had helped you get into the garment, they tugged long gloves onto your arms, made out of the same mesh blue fabric as the bottom of the dress.

Lazarus signed for them to leave you then and you frowned. Your eyes followed him intensely as he checked around to see if anyone was close by. Silver hair glimmering in the fluorescent lighting, he made his way back.

"A source informed me Caesar is dropping some big news tonight during your interview," he spoke lowly. "They didn’t say exactly what it was, but I didn’t want you to be too surprised."

"Is it about back home?" You asked, swallowing. Was your mother all right?

"No," Lazarus assured and tugged at the waistline of the dress to pull it into place. "Something about the Games." When he was done, he stepped away and stared at the piece of art he had created. "I was surprised by your score." At the sudden change of topic, the thoughts of your mother vanished.

"Why? Thought it would be low?"

"Yes, actually," he admitted. "District Five usually doesn’t score above a five. Let alone a ten." He looked almost proud, you thought. "A lot of people will be furious for betting against you."

"Did you?"

"Let's just say, if you die, I'm going to be a homeless man." Lazarus wore a small grin on his face, ruffling his silver locks until suddenly he turned serious once more. "You need to be careful with what you say or do from here on out."

Your forehead wrinkled in confusion. "Why?"

"Things have been different in the Districts since your Reaping." His voice got even quieter. "There is scattered talk that the Capitol is scared your death or your brother's might start another revolution."

"A revolution?" You asked shocked and shook your head. "That doesn’t make any sense. A lot of children have been reaped before and no one seemed to care. Why would anything change now?"

"It is already changing," he said. "Since the day of the Reaping the whippings in the Districts have more than doubled. A platoon of Peacekeepers has been sent to every District because they couldn’t keep the people down anymore." He took your hand and gave it a tight squeeze. "The Capitol has a target on your back already, only they can't allow themselves the shot. You can’t step out of line, not yet at least."

A voice shouted, letting you know a car was waiting to bring you to your interview. The car ride was silent, not even your brother or Twila were babbling along this time. At the studio, Peacekeepers were waiting to take you inside but before they could sweep you away, Logan stopped them. "Remember what we talked about?"

You huffed. "Yes."

"What did we talk about?"

"No swearing."

"And?"

"I really love the Capitol."

"Good girl," he grinned and stepped away to catch up with Ivette and Twila. "Go!" He called over his shoulder. "But don’t be yourself!"

Against your expectations, everywhere in the studio—except for the stage—was a cloud of grimness lingering. Not even the people working on the show carried the Capitol's flashy personas. The Tributes stood in a lean line by the wall, waiting to be called up and by the looks of it, you were the last to arrive. You cleared your throat as you made your way towards the front, halting awkwardly before Finnick and the District Six female Tribute. All the Tributes moved back to make space for you and your brother.

The Careers went first, talking about how grateful they were to have this opportunity to fulfill their dream. They raved about how great the Capitol was to come up with these Games and how excited they felt about the following day. You wanted to slap every one of them for even thinking such things. They were delusional, honed into this way of thinking by their Districts. The Career Districts had forced away the fear when it came to the Games and manipulated the children from a young age to have the same views. It was downright disgusting.

You watched every single interview pass by until it was Finnick's turn to take over the stage. It was like seeing a switch flipped inside of him the moment there were cameras on him. He was grinning from ear to ear, dimples on full display. The words he was speaking were not his own, but then again, yours wouldn’t be your own either. He, too, appraised the Capitol for its greatness and all the nice things they had done for him from the moment he had volunteered.

Caesar Flickerman called out for you and a surge of applause went through the audience. Walking out you tried focusing on the purple-haired male, but instead, the audience caught your attention. They were standing up—well, most of them anyway—with their hands cupped at their mouths, cheering your name. You swallowed at their crudeness. If they loved their Tributes so much, how could they watch them die, gamble with their lives, and hope for a few more coins in their pockets?

You wanted to watch them burn, all of them, for the things that they were doing to you. It should be their screams and cries reverberating through the arena, not those of children. It was them deserving of punishment for they hosted in their minds sickness far worse than any criminal.

Climbing the steps up to where Caesar stood, you were careful not to trip since Lazarus had forced heeled torture devices onto your feet. Bright lights from spotlights blinded you, making it impossible for you to make out anything beyond the stage and yet, you could not avert your eyes.

An excited voice called out your name as a hand plucked yours and pulled you down to your seat. You blinked at Caesar's white grin as the male patted your hand as if he were a close friend offering reassurance. He was not and you weren't quite sure if anybody housed by the Capitol could even be considered friendly, let alone tolerable. Caesar was a star amongst the Capitol's citizens, looked up to as though he was a rare gold coin in a sea of copper. People adored the man more than they adored Snow; you were sure of it.

"Now, I've got to admit, you certainly sparked the Capitol's interest with your entrance at the parade, isn't that right, folks?" Another round of applause and cheers followed his words and you forced a smile of gratitude. "And not only that, but you also had our hearts zapped from the moment the cameras caught you for the first time." Caesar turned serious. You wanted to laugh then; his sincereness was falser than the smile currently resting on your lips. "Would you care to share the reason for your volunteering?"

Your jaw clenched as you had to keep yourself from flaring your nostrils. Never in your life had you heard a question more unnecessary. What did he want to hear? That you volunteered solely for the purpose of killing everyone who had it out for your brother? That you thought Atlas wasn't strong enough? That you did not want him to be alone in his last moments? You swallowed, biting down on your tongue as your gaze went out to the audience. Thinking back, you should have paid more attention when Logan and Ivette tried to school you in self-control.

"I didn’t want my brother to be alone."

"All for your brother, I see." The crowd cooed with compassion none of them truly had. "And you love your brother?"

You stared. "Of course."

"You would do anything for him?"

"Yes."

"Kill for him?"

Blinking at Caesar, you suddenly couldn’t imagine anything but jumping over the table separating you two to strangle the man. Digging your nails into the palms of your hands, you pushed yourself to grin. "Well, Caesar, we will just have to wait and see what I'll do."

"You certainly are capable if your score proves right!" He roared enthusiastically, bestowing eagerness onto the audience. "Let me tell you, it came as a big surprise to us all when your score was published! For almost three decades, District Five scored below four, and there you go, easily bagging a ten. Quite the impressive lady, you are, dare I say." He leaned forward then. "Very impressive indeed. So impressive the Capitol just couldn’t help themselves." Caesar stood in one swift motion, microphone in hand, wearing a glowing smile. "For the first time ever, the Capitol has bestowed upon me to honor of announcing that this year there will not be one—" He stalled, lifting one finger to back his words. "But two… victors!" Your head snapped to him and back to where the other Tributes stood waiting for their interview.

Soon after—after Caesar had gone on about how your family could be reunited as if that hadn’t been your first thought— you were ushered along and off the stage to where the other Tributes sat, who had already completed their interviews. All you wanted was to get to your brother, to pull him close and assure him that both of you would see your mother again. Your body was pumping with adrenalin as you thought of what the future could be like if you got him out—and you, too. Faltering, you took your place beside Finnick. It was harder now, you realized. Way harder now that you had not only your brother to get out, but yourself, too. In all your time here, you had never even allowed yourself to consider it. Atlas and you surviving this hell. It had been futile until now. For the first time since the Reaping, you allowed yourself to feel hope.

You stared straight ahead, thoughts churning messily as you waited for Atlas to get off the stage, ignoring the way Finnick's eyes kept flicking over to you. Caesar treated him for what he was; a child. Asked him his favorite games, if he had many friends, and if he was sad about his score of three. And with every word slipping off Atlas' tongue, the audience laughed and cooed and awed as if he was no more than a circus monkey they could gawk at. They didn’t care that his life was on the line, neither did they care about any of you, only the money they had bet.

The Tributes beside you were celebrating the news they had just received with hugs and laughter. You couldn’t even muster to move a single muscle until you saw Atlas getting off the stage and heading towards you. He talked to you, you saw, but no word reached your ears as you stood and took him in; the little crease between his brows as he complained about his interview, the spattered freckles adorning the top of his cheeks and the glitter that had been put there by his style team, long mahogany lashes, a straight, crunched up nose, and ears just a tad bit too big for his head.

As he waited for your answer you suddenly wrapped your arms around him and pulled him close. Atlas huffed, arms hanging by his sides. "You are so weird. Logan told you not to be yourself."

"I wasn’t myself," you defended and smiled—a true smile. "I was being nice."

Following the interviews, you and all other Tributes were to return to your apartments. It was the end, you thought. The end to all the formalities and niceties. Now, all were going to show their real faces, real agendas. That night you were in your bed in a state of restlessness, Atlas sleeping beside you. But you could tell he wasn’t at peace. His usually wrinkleless face was contorted with concern, led by whatever dream he was currently having.

Morning came sooner than you had expected, leaving you with tremors in your limbs. Instead of spending hours in a chair getting your make-up and hair done, while the styling team chattered along, today a grave silence had taken over. Your hair was pulled out of your face, fixated by the stylist so it wouldn’t bother you and you were given the same clothes every Tribute would wear. By these, you could ponder what terrain you would be facing. Having grown up watching each and every game since your birth, you could guess the arena would offer a great variety of terrains. The boots were sturdy as though they were meant to ease the hardship of trekking or climbing but the fabric of the shirt and pants were thin—thin enough not to be a bother when engulfed in water or heat.

When you were done, Lazarus came, checking the work the style team had done and when he deemed it presentable, he nodded for you to follow him. Outside the building, a hovercraft was waiting for you with Peacekeepers surrounding the building in case you or your brother were planning on making a run for it. One of them held a device you had never seen. Though before you were allowed on the hovercraft, the device was lifted to your arm, followed by a sharp pain. You didn’t react to it, knowing there was far worse to come. The spot where the tracker was implanted was itchy and with every movement, you thought you could feel the foreign object in your arm.

The Tributes from Districts One to Four and their head stylists were already on the hovercraft when you boarded. The Careers—as always—looked ready for their first kills. Their chins were directed upward, apparently too good to look at everybody else, chests puffed and proud. The hovercraft filled steadily till it was ready to depart the Training Center for the arena. The one place without the simple rules set for humanity and where killing was (besides surviving) the one true goal.

Time seemed deceiving now, too. Or perhaps they were delaying on purpose, to boost the quivers of nerves and everyone's anticipation. It felt like decades until you finally arrived. Of course, in truth, the trip had only taken a mere hour.

Your eyes couldn’t find a single bare spot after arriving at the arena. Before entering, you and all other Tributes and their stylists were surrounded by Peacekeepers, who led you underground the arena; into the arena catacombs. Your brother gripped your hand tightly as he spotted the weapons they carried. In the Districts, the Peacekeepers kept them hidden. You knew it was solely for reassuring the citizens of Panem, to keep them down, to make them feel like the Capitol cared. Still, they were packed with weaponry on every trip they took outside the Capitol, ready to punish any stepping out of line.

Snow would have your head if he were able to catch a single thought that was rumbling around in your head. Treacherous, they would call them. When in truth it was the Capitol committing treachery on the people, they—as often stated by Snow himself—couldn’t function without. And it was true, of course. Panem wouldn’t be able to function without the grubby work forced on each District. But the people of Panem—the Capitol's citizens excluded—were no more than cattle in Snow's eyes. Everyone knew it. They were just too afraid to lose their heads admitting it.

You squeezed your brother's hand, jaw set in a tight line. By now you couldn’t even force a smile. No muscle in your face was willing to defy what you were truly feeling. Dread. Anger. Fear. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but whatever it was, it was enough to make you nauseous.

You halted when your brother stopped walking alongside you, hand still in yours. His stylist had his other hand in her grip, giving you a pitiful smile. "His Launch Room is through here. This is where you have to part." Both, you and Atlas, looked toward the dark corridor. You swallowed and nodded, noting that Atlas was resisting letting go of your hand.

"Can we… Could we have a moment?" You looked toward Lazarus and back to Atlas' stylist. Taking your brother's shoulders tightly into your hands, you pulled him closer—somehow feeling like the walls had grown ears. Other Tributes passed you and you kneeled on one leg, pulling your brother with you. "You listen to me now, okay? When we are up there, you run."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"When the signal comes, you turn around and run. You get away from the Cornucopia. That is the only way I can make sure you're safe."

"But I can help you! It's way more dangerous for you to go alone! And—"

"Atlas!" You gripped his shoulders tighter, forcing him to stop talking. "I'm not asking you, I'm telling you: you run."

"But I heard the others talking about the Cornucopia. They all call it the Bloodbath. What if you don't make it back?"

"I will. I will grab us supplies and come find you immediately."

"But what if… what if you don’t?"

Again, you forced down the lump of fear that had gathered in your throat. "You survive, okay? You…" Hesitating, you wagered whether or not the feeling in your gut was indeed a trustable one. It had brought you so far, might as well go with it now. "You find Finnick."

"You told me not to trust him!"

"I know, it's just… I know he won't hurt you."

"How would you know that? You don’t know him."

"Just… trust me, all right?" You did know him, in some way. By the look in his eyes and his seemingly stone-carved features, mastered to perfection, you knew him. You knew Finnick for what he was. The things you had been trying so hard to be, too. You related because, on some level, you two were unerringly the same. Only, somehow, Finnick had mastered everything far better than you ever would. For that, you admired him.

Atlas and you were separated then. Peacekeepers told you to keep moving, and, intimidated by the firearms they carried, you followed their demands without dispute. Brought to your own Launch Room, Lazarus' eyes followed you with hidden sorrow.

"You look like someone's about to die," you joked, suddenly close to heaving.

"I truly believe you won't," he assured. "But you aren't going to come back whole, either. The Games take far more than just lives. They take souls, too."

"Good to know you aren’t in a grim mood."

Something behind you moved and he stilled. "It's time." He signed for you to enter the launch tube, hugging you before stepping aside for you to be sealed in. No sound penetrated in thick glass of the tube, obliging you into utter awareness of yourself; your wildly pounding heart, the uneven puffs of air fleeing your lungs, and the uncontrollable quiver of your hands.

Without warning the platform beneath you shifted, slowly raising you upward, exposing you to the pressing air filling the arena. The lights were blinding for a few moments, a swift contrast to the dark catacombs. A countdown began, and after your eyes had adjusted, your eyes rapidly skimmed the tributes, searching for your brother. He was almost across from you, so far there would have been no way for you to protect him if he ran toward the Cornucopia. Looking to your right you found a dense forest; tropical, as far as you could tell. Turning your head back to the Cornucopia, you could make out a blue glistening behind it, far behind the other Tributes. A river or lake, you guessed.

Your chance of observing ended the second a shot reverberated through the arena. In sync, you and all the other Tributes jumped from the platforms. Almost all sprinted toward the Cornucopia, except for a handful deciding to take their chances without any supplies at all. You hadn’t seen if Atlas had followed your orders, all that was left to do now was hoping he was trusting you enough.

The Tribute beside you fell and in a second a Career was atop her slashing her throat. You stumbled shocked by how easily it seemed to come to them. No thought, no hesitation, no remorse. Close to the weapon stand, you were tackled, a dark head of hair entering your vision. You kicked her away with a grunt, still on your knees, trying to crawl forward to get your hands on one of the knives spread across the moist grass. Fingers wrapped around your ankle, pulling you back, just as your hand grazed the handle of a silver dagger. You turned then, sharp and quick, only to lock eyes with the girl from District One.

Her forehead was wrinkled, hand raised with a blade, ready to strike you down. You couldn’t help it, couldn’t help the word entering your mind, couldn’t help feeling it; cattle. Breeding cattle, you were no more than. Her blade sliced your collarbone and you hissed, all hesitancy giving way to the will to survive. The silver dagger jutted from the side of her throat. She sputtered, shaky hand reaching to the blade protruding from her body. Your eyes went wide, moving to stare at the hand you still held outstretched. You weren’t really thinking as it wrapped back around the dagger's handle to pull it free, allowing her blood to flow freely.

Gasping for air, she fell to her side, withering as the last seed of life within her ceased. Canons echoed. One, two—it didn’t stop. You scrambled to your feet, reaching for the bigger weapons within the Cornucopia, only to find the District Seven Tribute hiding behind the crates containing survival kits. The one who had tried to escape. You could only imagine how weakened he must have still been from his whipping. He stared up at you in shock, a small knife cradled tightly in his unstable hand.

"Run," you said, giving a look over your shoulder at the Careers fighting their way forward. They were packed with different types of weaponry already. And, unlike most Tributes, they knew exactly how to use them. Getting the spear and backpack you came for; you took a second one for Atlas the dagger, too, and ran behind the Cornucopia and toward the body of water. It was smarter than running back into the bloodbath. Running into trees surrounding the river, you made sure to keep looking over your shoulder once in a while. There had to have been at least one Career who had seen you run in this direction; who had seen you kill one of their own.

A twig snapped behind you. You faltered, breathing heavily. Turning around, you reached for the dagger sticking out of the backpack in your hands. A knife sailed past you and you dropped the second backpack in shock as you whirled around to search for the culprit. Not a second later a big hand wrapped around your mouth, caging your body. Spurred by adrenaline, you kicked the male in the shin, elbowing him and shoving him off, causing you both to tumble into the red soil. You scrambled forward, gripping the dagger you had dropped, only to throw yourself atop the muscular body, blade raised.

The sea-green eyes stopped you in your movement. Your lungs burned in exhaustion, fingers clenching anticipatingly around the dagger's hilt. Finnick eyed the blade then, tinted with remnants of blood. Instead of trying to wrangle the weapon from you, his hands rested gently on your thighs spread to fit his body.

Another twig snapped.

Finnick jumped into action, seizing the weapons from your hand, overturning you. Your back landed against the contents of the backpack strapped to you, leaving you flailing, trying to reach the spear fastened to your backpack. His hand found your throat then, shaking and you knew he was attempting to force himself to lock it tightly—yet, he couldn’t. Your hand found the red soil, clutching it in your fist before you threw it in Finnick's eyes. When he stumbled, you kicked him onto his back. Using your chance, you collected the things you had dropped and ran.

Picking up voices behind you, you kept moving until Finnick's joined in, telling them the exact way you had gone. Cursing, you threw the second backpack into some bushes and continued forward, till you reached the edge of the water. It was a weird river, you thought, with massive stones protruding not only from its midst but all around it, too.

Thinking back to the survival station in the training center, you recalled the numerous pages of information you had studied—still, you praised the seemingly uninteresting information as it would now perhaps save your behind. Caves. Underwater Caves, one page had said. It had—in shocking detail—explained what to look for when there were many various stones nigh or in water. Checking each stone for the right markers, your gaze settled on a rock close to the other side of the river. Naturally, it had to be far from you.

Growling you pulled the backpack from your form, waging whether or not the supplies it brought were worth being caught. No. Definitely not. Hurling the backpack into the water, hoping it would drown soon enough to not give the Careers an idea of where you had gone. You seized your spear and dove headfirst into the river, showing not an ounce of vacillation. Bubbles of air escaped your mouth, making you fear that the Careers would spot you eventually. Hurrying along, you swam toward what you had identified to be a possible sanctuary.

The air in your lungs was getting scarce all the while the beating of your heart found no ceasing. Underwater, you were close to blind. In foreign territories, it was only a matter of seconds before you were to hit your head and drown.

Rolling your eyes at yourself, you noticed Atlas' voice piping up at the back of your head, shaming you for your negativity. The wasted time brought no favor, as you noticed there was no more supply of air. Dread crept into the fibers of your figure, that perhaps you had indeed made an error when picking the rock.

Tightening the bite of your jaw, the wrinkles between your brows grew in depth as you provided a ferocious push of your legs. At present, there was no circumstance for uncertainty. Frankly, there was no space for it. No space for it, when the last remnants of air vanished from your lungs, and no space when you could still make out the bustling of rancorous boots. Atlas was out there, stranded in the woods, with no rations of food or weaponry for protection at hand.

Your brother required your aid, your support; you. He needed you by his side if only to give him strength, give him hope. You had sworn an oath to yourself that you would not in this life, see broken. Unsighted by the darkness of the depth the water bore, you had only just reached the rock when wooziness overtook you. Skimming along the rough exterior, you shoved yourself further into the shadows beneath.

Were you any less filled with panic, you might have commenced speculation of what truly lurked blow, but now, wholly engulfed with fright, you came to the comprehension that there was no opening.

No opening, no cave, no sanctuary, no safety.

You had been mistaken. Tremendously so. Pulse spiraling, you couldn’t quell your wants any longer. You needed air. At the rock's backside, you dashed upward to where you perceived the sun piercing the dark, breaking through the surface, gasping for oxygen. When a cough inched its way up your throat, you pressed your arm tightly to your lips to quieten yourself. You hoisted yourself onto one of the rocks barely peeking from the water and cowered in a crouch, hoping—begging to whatever might was left to watch over you—that none of them would locate you.

Spying at them from your position, you obtained a glimpse of them walking in the opposing direction. About to run, your eyes caught on a package being carried by the river's fast flow. Making certain that the group of Careers was entertained by their hunt for another Tribute, you snuck further out of your hiding spot, on your hands and knees, extending the spear you held into the water.

When the backpack floated by, you caught it with your weapon, lifting it out of the river and toward you. You grinned; one out of two wasn’t a bad accomplishment. Looking around you tried to settle for a direction to go; you were left guessing Atlas' location. Bypassing the Cornucopia would have been imprudent. The Careers had secured it, meaning watchful eyes all over its proximity.

There was little to no prospect of making the correct decision. He could have fled into the tropical forest behind him, although someone or something could have gotten in his way, which would have caused him to differ on his way.

Your fingers dug into the roots of your hair as you cursed the Gamemakers with every bad word you held in your vocabulary. The arena was extensively large this year as though they had known of your plans all along, as though they had wanted to see you struggle in your quest of protection. They did, of course, yet the arena's extent added to the woeful cruelty of it all.

Keeping low, you eyed the tropical forest. To get there you would have to run across a vacant field. It offered no shelter, no safety, no way to take cover. A death trap, intent on segregating those reckless enough to risk their lives. You had never believed yourself to be one of them; how vastly the mind deceives.

Ensuring that the Careers were still on the other side of the river, you strapped the backpack tight and hurried forward. Running while being close to a crouch proved to be immensely uncomfortable and strenuous, the muscles in your legs protesting painfully. You had barely reached the edge of the forest when a sharp pain cut across your cheek. Hissing, you clutched the bleeding wound, taking note of the knife that had hit the tree inches from your head. A young girl stood roughly hidden by the giant trees forming the rainforest.

The girl you recalled was only two years older than Atlas. You had pitied her, too, had felt a familiar stinging in your heart rewatching the clips from the Reaping. She had cried upon her name being called, refusing to step toward the stage. Peacekeepers had to drag her there, while she wailed and struggled and begged for them to end her life then and there.

You pulled the knife from the tree as you ignored the hidden girl, refusing to kill a child. Continuing on into the forest, you picked up the shuffling of footsteps at your back. You dodged the attack, causing her sword to hit nothing but air. She grunted as she took her next swing, the weapon lying unfamiliar in her hands. She had probably gripped whatever she could get her hands on before fleeing the bloodbath.

Before the girl could strike once more, you took hold of her arm, shoving her away. "Stop this!" You hissed. "I don’t want to hurt you."

She scoffed, finding her footing once more, ready to kill. "Then hold still and I'll make this quick," she grinned, throwing herself forward. Using your staff, you blocked the attack. Without warning she pulled out a dagger, slicing along the length of your arm with one quick swipe of her hand.

Kicking her off you watched as she tumbled to the ground, teeth on display as she growled in contempt. You pointed the sharp end of your spear at her in warning. "Stay down."

You moved past her, hoping she would stop and see the madness in it all, when all of a sudden, a weight on your back made you stagger. Caught off guard you grabbed at the arm tightening around your throat, catching the glinting of a blade out of the corner of your eye. Stopping the knife before it could slice your throat, you tried prying her off you. Throwing yourself back against a tree, the girl wailed in pain, letting go for just a second, before her sword found its mark in the back of your leg. You cried out, falling forward, causing her to tumble off you.

Scrambling to stand up, you were ripped from your feet and onto your back, as she launched herself onto you. Barely blocking her first strike, you couldn’t help but notice your wounded arm growing weaker with each moment you spent struggling. Her knife drew closer to your head, as the strength of your arm faded consistently. With your other hand, you searched for any object able to provide you with help, fingers landing on the cold handle of the blade you had dropped before.

"I'm sorry," you said, tears gathering in your eyes. She looked at you questioningly for a moment, until you urged your hand forward, piercing her chest. The pressure she had put against your arm ceased as she wrapped her fingers around the handle protruding from her body before yanking it out in one swift motion. Blood poured from her wound instantly, tainting the fabric of her clothes and yours. Her bloodied hands shook as she stared at the knife that seconds ago, had been in her chest.

Blood spluttered from her mouth. Small specks of warm liquid landed on your face as you watched the life slowly draining from her eyes. She fell, eyes wide though so terribly lifeless you could have wailed from the sight. You barely registered the sound of a canon, declaring yet another child’s death. The never-ending apologies forcing themselves from your lips soon turned into sobs muffled by nothing but your fist urgently pressing against your mouth. There wasn’t anything you could do but stare down at the child whose life had ended at your hand.

Footsteps sounded not too far off. You jumped in fright, snapping out of the state of shock you had lingered in. Looking for an easy way out, you wiped the tears from your face and eyed the trees. Taking the risk of trying to climb a tree probably would have caused you to fall to your death, since you had never once in your life attempted to climb a tree. Shuffling to stand, you pulled tightly on the strap of the backpack and took off running.

You did it for Atlas, you reminded yourself. Everything you did was so your brother could live. You ran until your lungs stung in discomfort and your legs throbbed, sure to be sore for the next couple of days. The next few days you spent hiding in the woods, all the while listening to the canon going off in an unrhythmic reminder that the Careers were close to wiping the arena clean.

The sun bore down mercilessly, its heat as relentless as you navigating through the treacherous landscape of the arena. Your heart was heavy with the thought of hearing another canon—and seeing Atlas’ face flash on the horizon, paying him tribute for the great sacrifice he made. Pushing through the dense underbrush, your mind racing, you felt a sudden sharp pain lancing through your leg. You gasped, shock coursing in your bones before stumbling back and falling. Mere meters away, you spotted a snake slithering back into the brush, its bite burning in your veins as though it had been laced with fire. Panic surged within you, the pounding in your chest instantly the only thing you could hear. Sweat gathered above your brows as you bushed yourself to stand, when suddenly, in your gaze state, you heard the childish laughter of your brother. Whirling around, a figure hushed past the trees, and you called out, changing the small shadowy form. Stumbling you caught up to the shadow, though upon touching his shoulder, wanting to turn Atlas to face you, he vanished.

White dots danced in your sight, a ringing in your head overtaking your senses, writhing in stark agony. In the midst of your haze, the sound of a parachute broke through, landing silently a few yards away. With every bit of strength left n within you, you dragged yourself towards it, unscrewing the metal cap of the item that had been dropped. Upon opening the cap, the sight of an antivenom greeted you, sent by your sponsor. The relief was instant but left you weakened and exposed. Knowing the dangers of the Game—the people within—had no consideration, no compassion, merely a drive to kill, you forced yourself to move.

In the far distance, foreign sounds drifted through the air and you stilled. Growls, you noted. You had never heard such a thing before, violent and vicious and terribly hungry for blood that you felt your lips begin to quiver. The growls of the mutts carrying through the dense brush hastened your escape towards the mountains, but vast expanse of no-man’s-land lay before you—nothing to shield you, nothing to hide you. You ran out of the brush and onto the orange soil, the ground crumbling behind you. A flitting gaze over your shoulder left you gaping, each spot that you had stepped on was caved in, leading into a dark abyss below. The look had cost you, you noted as a rip appeared in the soil before you. Mere meters in front of you lay the mountain range, so, so close but the ground gave away.

With the last efforts of survival, you leaped. Your fingers graced the solid ground at the beginning of the mountain range, gripping tightly as your body collided with a wall of hard rocks. Arms straining and teeth clenching, your feet pushed against the wall, trying to help you pull yourself over the edge. A gasp of relief fled your lungs as your eyes met the familiar glimmer in your brother’s wide gaze. He held a hand out for you to take, helping you heave yourself to safety. The feeling coursing through you was of overwhelming gravity, and in that moment, all fear and tension melted from your chest.

You pulled Atlas to you, arms engulfing the younger boy, lip quivering and eyes stinging. “I thought I’d lost you,” you whispered, holding him close. It was merely a second later that you recalled the situation you both were in—the hell they had forced you into. “We gotta climb up, find a cave or something,” you insisted, starting forward as Atlas nodded, his trust in you unshaken, even after the horror he must have witnessed. “We’ll just wait it out, okay? They’ll end up killing each other sooner or later.”

Luck had been on your side this once as you came up on a cave, its entrance no bigger than Atlas. It was a good place to hole up in—and you did for as long as possible until the grumble in both of your stomachs could no longer be ignored. The necessity for food driving you back down the mountain should have been something to anticipate, though after barely making it to the mountains, the thought of nutrition had fled your mind. A few days you had lived off of berries, though the bushes grew empty after a while. Telling Atlas to stay in the cave—scared you would encounter the remaining ranks of the Careers or whatever mutts had chased you. The cannon had sounded often in recent days and you guessed the mutts had done their jobs fairly well, taking out the majority of the Careers.

Wandering along the mountains, you kept your eyes trailing for any possible danger, they spotted the close rain forest instead. You had to be at the far east side of the mountains with how close the trees seemed to be. Turning back to the task at hand, you eyed the bushes for any edible berries, though ended up growing rigid at the sight before you. His figure stood broad as it always had, hair disheveled and perhaps just a little wet with sweat.

Within seconds, your hands found your spear and you charged. His betrayal had scorched a deep wound into your being, even when you would die rather than admit to it. The stark clash of your spear against his trident echoed loudly through the mountains, though his body moved with scarce efforts to keep you at bay. The ease with which he held himself, the ease with which he pushed you back, the ease with which he had stabbed you in the back on the first day in the arena caused you to burn from within. Fury in your eyes, you grunted, bringing the spear down once more. His hand went out, catching the spear and attempting to rip it from your grasp but you held on for dear life. Finnick pulled at it again and you stumbled forward, fingers still tightly wrapped around the perfectly balanced metal.

“Stop it,” he hissed, his warm breath flaring across your face and you flinched.

“So you can try and kill me again?” You shot back, staring up at the towering male, teeth clenching. “I won’t make it that easy for you, Finnick.” You, fueled by your burning rage, gave up on retrieving your spear, arm lunging forward and punching the male across his face. The impact made Finnick stagger and your hand spasm, but he still refused to release his ironclad hold on the spear. You stood, locked in the standoff, when a dark cloud began to form over the mountain range. Within moments, rain hailed down upon you and contentment filled you, knowing you had been running low on water. Though when the first drops, of what you had thought would be a salvation, hit your skin, you recoiled. Blisters appeared on your skin, each impact leaving behind a painful sizzling as you screeched in pain.

Finnick grabbed your wrist, pulling you along as he dashed across a tiny scrap of dried grass and into the nearby rainforest, seeking refuge from the corrosive downpour. Stumbling and feet sliding unsteadily against the wet floor, you tumbled into a small pond, about to righten yourself and run further, when you noticed the sudden grace the water proved to be. Finnick, after realizing it too, fell into the pond, hands splashing water onto his face and limbs in a desperate attempt to cease the searing ache. His hand came up, spilling water over your shoulder and back, washing away the blisters you hadn’t yet reached. The tenderness he was using to handle you was such a crass contrast to the earlier confrontation that it made your head spin.

“I’m sorry.”

Your head snapped toward him at the words that had fallen from his lips, though his eyes didn’t dare to meet yours. You hissed in pain, accidentally touching a part of sore skin. “Sorry won’t fix what you did, Finnick,” you stated coldly, feeling a suggesting tingle in the tips of your fingers to try and push him under the water, try and drown him. “You tried to kill me—"

At that, he snapped. “Don’t you think if I wanted you dead, you would be?” The frustration in his eyes was palpable, though something else lingered within them—a flicker of pain. Tension arose so vastly, charged with anger, hurt, and the unspoken truths of your situation, you could have sliced it with a knife. You were enemies thrown together by circumstance, yet bound by a thread of mutual survival and the remnants of what could have been.

The fleeting moment of uneasy peace was shattered by a scream that pierced the air, slicing through the heavy silence of the rainforest. It was a sound you knew all too well, one that ignited a primal fear deep within your chest. Atlas. Your heart froze, the confusion and turmoil that had clouded your thoughts moments ago swept away by a tide of sheer panic.

Without a second thought, you were on your feet, the pain from your burns momentarily forgotten. You didn't look back at Finnick, didn't see if he followed. Nothing mattered except reaching Atlas. The acid rain had stopped, leaving the world eerily silent in its wake, a silence now broken by the echoes of your brother's distress.

You sprinted with a speed you didn't know you possessed, your legs carrying you back toward the mountain range where you had left Atlas, where you had told him to stay hidden in the cave. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat a thunderous echo of Atlas's scream. Why hadn't he stayed? Fear and guilt twisted inside you, coiling around your heart like the snake that had bitten you.

As you broke through the treeline, the scene that unfolded before you was one of your worst nightmares, you realized. Atlas was there, at the bottom of the mountain range, not in the safety of your cave but out in the open, struggling against one of the tributes No, not just any tribute—a killer, poised to end your brother's life. A Career.

You were still too far to reach him in time, your desperate cries for Atlas to run, to fight, to do anything, lost in the distance that separated you. Time seemed to slow, each of Atlas's desperate struggles etched into your memory with painful clarity.

And then, it time seemed to still. The Career tribute overpowered Atlas, and with a swift, brutal motion, plunged a knife into the chest of the person you had sworn to protect, the person for whom you had volunteered to face this horror. A scream, raw and filled with anguish, tore from your throat as you witnessed your younger brother's life being snuffed out like a candle in the wind.

The world narrowed to a pinpoint of rage, grief, and an overwhelming sense of failure. Your vision blurred, not with tears but with a fury so intense it threatened to consume you. Atlas, your kind, brave, and gentle brother, was gone, taken by the merciless game you had been forced into.

Every moment spent worrying about Finnick, about your fractured alliance and the betrayal that had seemed so significant, paled in comparison to this loss. In the face of Atlas's death, everything else was trivial, inconsequential. A deep, seething hatred for the Capitol and its cruel games took root in your heart, a vow forming from the depths of your grief; you would make them pay. Every tribute, every sponsor, every viewer who took pleasure in this barbarity would feel the weight of your wrath.

But first, you had a Career to kill.

As the cannon echoed through the arena, a solemn confirmation of your brother's death, the world seemed to stand still. Grief and rage battled within you, propelling your body forward with a singular focus—vengeance. The Career who had taken Atlas from you barely had time to register your approach before you were upon him, your weapon driven by a force fueled by loss and fury. He fell quickly, a testament to the skills you had honed for this moment, for this purpose.

But there was no time to mourn, no time to celebrate your swift revenge, as the rustle of leaves signaled another approaching. The last Career, drawn by the sound of combat or perhaps the cannon's call. Your heart pounded, not just with the exertion of battle, but with the realization of what was to come. You were ready to fight, to kill again if necessary, your resolve steeling within you.

Finnick's footsteps were close behind you, a rapid drumbeat on the forest floor. You half-expected him to call out, to try and stop you or to take the lead, but he remained silent, his presence a steady pressure at your back. The last Career appeared, sword raised, eyes wide with a mix of determination and desperation. He hesitated, his gaze flickering between you and Finnick, the confusion clear upon his face. He had expected to find Finnick chasing you, perhaps even fighting you, but not this—this silent alliance in the face of shared loss.

Without a word, Finnick moved past you, his trident gleaming in the dim light. The Career barely had time to lower his weapon before Finnick was upon him, the trident finding its mark with deadly precision. The man crumpled, and silence fell once more, broken only by the sound of two cannons firing in quick succession.

You and Finnick stood side by side, the realization that you had won, that it was over, sinking in slowly. There was no joy in it, no triumphant cheer; just a heavy weight of survival and the cost it had exacted from both of you.

The journey from the arena to the Capitol was a blur, a series of motions and procedures that felt detached from the reality of your victory. You were taken to separate rooms, the opulence of the Capitol a stark contrast to the brutality you had just endured. It was in this surreal state of limbo that Finnick came to find you, his own room abandoned in favor of seeking out the only other person who could possibly understand what he was feeling.

The moment you saw Finnick enter your room in the Capitol, the pent-up rage and grief you'd been carrying since the arena found a target. He moved with a cautious grace, a stark contrast to the turmoil churning within you. His first words were meant to be a comfort, but they ignited something fierce and painful inside you.

"We did it," he said softly, his eyes searching yours for something you weren't ready to give.

"We did it?" you spat out, your voice sharp, laced with anger and disbelief. "You think we did this together? You abandoned us, Finnick. You left my brother to die!"

Finnick's expression tightened, the sorrow in his eyes deepening. "I thought I was making the right choice—"

"The right choice?" you interrupted, your voice rising, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. "You thought abandoning us was the right choice?"

Without thinking, you stepped forward, your hand balled into a fist, striking his chest. It was a futile gesture, driven more by your need to express your anguish than to cause him any real harm. Finnick didn't stop you, nor did he try to defend himself. He simply stood there, taking your blows, his face a mask of regret and pain.

"You could have saved him!" Each word was punctuated by another hit, your anger flowing through you like a river bursting its banks. "You were supposed to be our ally!"

"I know, and I'm sorry," Finnick's voice was barely above a whisper, his arms tentatively coming up to hold you, not to restrain, but to offer solace.

Your strength faltered, the anger giving way to the profound sorrow you'd been trying to keep at bay. The punches slowed, then stopped altogether as the reality of your loss, of Atlas's death, truly hit you. Your hands fell to your sides, and you felt your knees weaken as the weight of your grief became too much to bear.

Finnick was there in an instant, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close to his chest. You wanted to push him away, to scream at him for his betrayal, but the energy, the anger, had drained from you, leaving nothing but exhaustion and heartache.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N," Finnick murmured into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. "I would give anything to change what happened."

And there, in the opulent room that felt miles away from the horror of the arena, you allowed yourself to break. Tears streamed down your face, sobs wracking your body as you clung to Finnick. He held you, his own body shaking with silent cries, as you mourned not just for Atlas, but for all that had been lost in the games.

The anger had burned bright and fast, but what remained in its ashes was a deep, unyielding sadness. Finnick's embrace didn't fix the gaping wound in your heart, but it offered a momentary reprieve from the loneliness of your grief. In the aftermath of your rage, wrapped in the arms of the one person who could come close to understanding your pain, you found a fragile sense of comfort.

The games had ended, but the scars they left behind were fresh, painful reminders of the cost of survival. And as you cried into Finnick's chest, a part of you understood that this shared sorrow was the first step towards healing, towards forgiving, not just Finnick, but yourself as well.

After the tempest of your grief and anger in Finnick's arms, a precarious calm settled over both of you. The initial intensity of your emotions gave way to a weary, shared silence. As you pulled away, wiping the remnants of tears from your cheeks, you caught a glimpse of something in Finnick's eyes—a reflection of your own pain, the understanding that the games had taken something irreplaceable from both of you.

In the days that followed, the Capitol was abuzz with the aftermath of the Hunger Games. You and Finnick were paraded as victors, symbols of triumph and resilience, yet beneath the surface, you both bore the invisible wounds of survivors. The forced smiles for cameras, the scripted interviews where you recounted the horrors of the arena with a veneer of gratitude for the Capitol's 'generosity,' felt like another layer of betrayal, this time self-inflicted.

----

A few months after the Hunger Games, amidst another extravagant Capitol party celebrating the unity of the districts, the weight of your experiences in the arena became too much to bear. As the party's laughter and music echoed hollowly in your ears, you found yourself seeking refuge away from the crowd. Slipping unnoticed through a side door, you ventured into a secluded garden, a hidden oasis under the night sky.

The garden, illuminated by the gentle glow of fairy lights woven through the foliage, felt like stepping into another world. You moved aimlessly along the winding paths until you found yourself in front of a grand statue, an intricate marble piece that towered above the garden's natural beauty. Here, in the shadow of the statue, you leaned against the cool stone, allowing the tears that you had fought to keep at bay to finally escape.

As the facade you'd been forced to maintain since your victory crumbled away, the garden's tranquility contrasted sharply with the turmoil within you. The tears were for everything—the loss, the pain, and the irrevocable changes the games had wrought upon your life and Finnick's.

The sound of footsteps broke through your reverie, and you hastily tried to compose yourself, wiping away the tears with the back of your hand. When you looked up, it was Finnick who emerged from the shadows, his eyes immediately finding yours in the dim light.

He stopped just in front of you, concern etching his features. "There you are," he said softly, his voice carrying a weight of understanding and shared sorrow.

"I just needed a moment," you managed to say, though your voice betrayed the depth of your distress. You attempted a smile, but it faltered, betraying the turmoil inside. Finnick reached out, his thumb gently catching a tear that had escaped down your cheek, his touch tender. “I hate this,” you confessed, the words barely above a whisper, “pretending to be something we’re not, celebrating when all I feel is loss.”

Finnick stepped closer, eliminating the distance between you. He didn’t dare step away; instead, he lingered before you, offering his presence as a silent source of comfort. "I know," he responded, his tone gentle. "But remember, you’re not alone in this. I’m here, with you. Always."

You nodded, struggling to find words that could encompass the breadth of what you were feeling. Before you could speak again, Finnick reached out, carefully wiping away a tear that had lingered on your cheek. His touch was tender, filled with an empathy that spoke volumes of his own battles with the ghosts of the arena.

In a gesture that felt as natural as breathing, Finnick drew you closer, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. The warmth of his body against yours was a stark contrast to the cool marble at your back. He kissed your forehead with such care and affection that it felt like a balm to your wounded spirit. Then, his lips brushed softly against your nose, a touch so light and comforting that it drew a half-hearted smile from you, despite the sadness.

Finally, his lips met yours in a kiss that was both a salve and a promise—a promise of shared strength, of mutual support, and of a bond forged in the crucible of unimaginable trials. It was a kiss that spoke of hope amidst despair, of finding light in the darkness, and of the unspoken vow to navigate the uncertain path ahead, together.

Leaning against the cool marble, under the canopy of the night sky, you found a moment of peace in Finnick's embrace, a reminder that, despite everything, you were not alone. You had each other, and together, you would find a way to heal, to rebuild, and to carve out a space for yourselves in a world that had forever changed you.

In the quiet of the garden, with the distant sounds of the party reduced to a mere whisper, you and Finnick shared a moment of profound connection, a brief respite from the chaos that had become your lives. The kiss ended, but you remained close, leaning into each other for support, finding solace in the presence of someone who understood the depth of your pain and loss.

Finnick's eyes met yours in the dim light, a silent conversation passing between you. There was an understanding that the path ahead would be fraught with challenges, both seen and unforeseen, but there was also a shared resolve to face them together. The world outside the garden was a maelstrom of expectations, responsibilities, and the ever-present gaze of the Capitol, but here, in this moment, none of that mattered.

"You know we can't stay here forever," Finnick finally said, his voice low, breaking the silence that had settled between you. It wasn't just an observation about the garden but about the bubble of peace you'd momentarily created. The real world, with all its complexities and demands, waited just beyond the garden's confines.

You nodded, taking a deep breath, bolstered by the strength you found in Finnick's presence. "I know. But for a moment, it's nice to pretend we can."

Finnick smiled, a genuine, warm expression that reached his eyes. "We'll have more moments like this, I promise. Away from the cameras, the parties, the Capitol. Moments just for us."

The thought was comforting, a lifeline amid the turbulent seas of your new reality. You straightened, steeling yourself for the return to the party, to the roles you were forced to play. Finnick sensed your resolve and offered his hand, a silent pledge of solidarity. You took it, and together, you stepped back into the light, leaving the sanctuary of the garden behind.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur, the two of you navigating the party as a united front, your earlier moment of vulnerability transforming into a source of strength. The Capitol's guests saw only the victorious tributes, the heroes of the games, but beneath the surface, you and Finnick shared a bond forged in the crucible of shared suffering and mutual understanding.

After the party, the journey back to your separate rooms in the Capitol's luxurious accommodation felt like transitioning from one world to another. The grandeur and opulence of the Capitol surrounded you, a stark reminder of the divide between the lives you once knew and the lives you were forced into now. The echoes of laughter and music from the party faded as you walked through the silent, opulent hallways, each step taking you further away from the façade you had to maintain in public.

Finnick walked you to your door, his presence a source of comfort in the overwhelming world of the Capitol. Despite the late hour, neither of you seemed eager to say goodnight, lingering in the hallway, caught in the bubble of tranquility you had created for yourselves. The intensity of the day, from the forced smiles at the party to the genuine moments of connection in the garden, had drawn you closer, a silent acknowledgment of the shared experiences that bound you together.

Standing before your door, Finnick turned to face you, his expression serious yet gentle. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice low. It was a simple question, yet loaded with the depth of understanding and concern that had grown between you.

You offered a small, tired smile, appreciating the sincerity of his question. "I will be," you replied, knowing that the road to feeling truly okay was long and fraught with challenges. "Thanks to you."

Finnick's expression softened, and he stepped closer, his hand reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. The gesture was intimate, comforting, and you found yourself leaning into his touch, craving the connection and solace it offered.

"I'm always here for you," he said, his voice firm with promise. "We've been through too much to let the Capitol's games tear us apart. We're survivors, and we'll keep surviving, together." The weight of his words hung in the air between you, a vow of mutual support and resilience. It was a commitment not just to each other but to the future, whatever it may hold. Finnick leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, a silent echo of the affection and care he had shown in the garden. "Goodnight," he whispered, reluctantly stepping back.

"Goodnight, Finnick," you replied, your voice a soft murmur. As Finnick turned to leave, a sudden wave of vulnerability washed over you, the stark loneliness of the Capitol's luxurious rooms looming in your mind like a shadow. The thought of spending another night alone, surrounded by the echoes of your thoughts and the weight of your brother's absence, was unbearable. "Finnick, wait," you found yourself saying, the words slipping out almost without thought. He stopped immediately, turning back towards you with a look of concern. The hallway, with its grand decorations and the soft glow of the artificial lights, felt like a world away from the raw reality of your emotions. "Would you... stay with me tonight? I don't think I can be alone right now," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The vulnerability in your request was palpable, a stark contrast to the strength you had always tried to project.

Finnick's expression softened, his earlier resolve giving way to a deep, unmistakable empathy. He understood all too well the demons that haunted you in the quiet, the memories and fears that the Capitol's walls could not keep at bay. "Of course, I'll stay," he said without hesitation, his voice carrying a warmth that wrapped around you like a comforting embrace. There was no judgment in his eyes, only an unwavering support that seemed to bridge the distance between you.

He followed you into your room, the door closing quietly behind him, sealing off the world outside. The room, with its grandeur and excess, suddenly felt less imposing with Finnick there, as if his presence could somehow make the space more bearable, more like a sanctuary than a cage.

You didn't bother with the lights, the city's glow casting a soft illumination through the windows. The silence of the room enveloped you both, a stark reminder of the world you had left behind for this moment of solace.

Finnick's presence was a steady comfort as you prepared for bed, the routines of the evening taking on a new, less lonely aspect. When you both lay down, the bed large enough to maintain a respectful distance yet close enough to feel the reassuring presence of each other, the tension began to ebb away, replaced by a sense of peace.

Neither of you spoke much, the silence a comfortable blanket woven from mutual understanding and shared experiences. The sound of Finnick's breathing, steady and calm, became a lighthouse in the night, guiding you away from the shoals of your own turbulent thoughts. And for the first time since entering the Capitol, the night didn't seem quite so long, nor the shadows quite so deep. With Finnick by your side, even in the silence, you were no longer alone.

#finnick odair x y/n #finnick odair x you #finnick odair smut #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair #finnick x reader #the hunger games #a ballad of songbirds and snakes

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zhongrin · 10 months

Text

| ◆ ch. vago mundo ⑊ zhongli

--⟢ ii. little dragon, big dragon | teyvat continues to change, and nobody can stop it. but morax hopes that some things stay unchanged.

𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

◇ tags ◇ fluff, rex lapis in the olden days is a (lovable) menace

◇ a/n ◇ everyone shush and hear me out!!!!!!! smol dragon!zhongli draped around your neck and purring like a cat. that's it that's the post.

"is that…"

"that improper animal… this new generation of disciples are just too full of themselves."

"the divine one is just far too lenient… i fear the young ones will continuously abuse their kindness."

rex lapis squints his eyes towards the whispers of the less fortunate souls, inwardly scoffing at the open jealousy in their words. it's your gentle touch that pulls him out of his musings, and he lightly cranes his eyes up to stare at your visage.

"this is quite a commendable feat, rex. to have such precise control over your physique… keep this up and you might even become an archon one day," you chuckle, fingers lightly tracing the small horns on the sides of his compact-sized dragon form.

he's unable to stop the instinctive purrs which are reverberating from the back of his throat, amber eyes closing in bliss as you let him curl even closer around your neck, though he takes extra care so his scales won't hurt you in the process.

"you know, a friend of yours came to find me the other day. guizhong, i think was her name? she told me about your… excursions."

the low purring immediately stops, and you hold back a laugh when you feel the little dragon shift uneasily around you.

"were those glaze lilies you gave me the other day from guizhong's little garden after all, hmm?"

".... maybe."

"oh, rex… you know how much she adores them."

"but you said you liked them the last time she showed you…"

"i do, but that doesn't mean you can filch them off guizhong's garden."

"but- she stole my treasures to give you those earrings last time, so now we're even!"

you had to laugh at that. the petty little squabbles from the younger acolytes are always one of your constant sources of entertainment, and this one is no different. you find the dynamics of this particular group amusing, and you can't deny that you might be a little biased when it comes to them. especially to the little dragon. he's witty and a little cheeky, just like all the hatchlings, but something tells you that he'll grow into an individual to be feared if he gains enough wisdom over the few hundred - or thousand, years.

you can only hope you'll be there to witness it when the time comes.

"i suppose, little wyrmling."

rex huffs, tail flopping back to your shoulder, snuggling closer around your neck.

"you didn't have to do all that, you know. i think they deserve to be angry."

morax shakes his head stubbornly as he closes the door of your bedroom behind the two of you. his hand lands on the small of your back and he leads you further into the room.

"while i have seen you making many mistakes throughout the olden times, i know you will always strive to do what you can to make up for it. i would never wish for dominion, but as long as i walk upon teyvat, there shall be no being who gets away with besmirching your name. and especially not in the nation i've cultivated to honor your very being."

you sigh at his tenacity and turn to face him instead, resting your hands on his chest and giving him your best patient smile. the hard lines on his expression smooth out, and you can feel him relax under your touch. soon enough his own hands fall back onto your waist, this time softly palming the sides of your hips, like a kitten making biscuits.

"though i'm honored, i think it's rather petty of you to go to such lengths when all they did was gossip… people have been working hard to rebuild the houses, right? an earthquake is just going to render their efforts useless…"

"ahem…. i'll admit that it wasn't my intention to react in such an… overly dramatic manner. it is my mistake. i realize now that i should have controlled myself better."

"oh, morax… this childish side of yours truly amuses me sometimes," you giggle when you sighted the reddened tips of his ears and the way he's lightly chewing his bottom lip in guilt.

sometimes you still can't believe that the rex lapis himself could be so… adorable.

"okay, enough of that! creator worship time is over! i want my dearest zhongli now, please?"

he perks up at your wish and you step back to watch him shift into his mortal form. it takes him a short few seconds, but it always fascinates you, the way he manages to do it so elegantly and the magical way his body transforms into a familiar appearance.

slender fingers absent of talons reach out towards you, and you meet him halfway, fingers interlacing as you nuzzle into his chest with a satisfied hum. zhongli's deep chuckle caresses your ears and he maneuvers the both of you towards the nearby armchair. but before he can sit down and pull you on top of him, an idea hits you and you pull away slightly to tug on his clothes.

"can i play with your hair?"

"it would be my pleasure, dear."

with a pleased grin, you grab the various cushions and blankets from the couches nearby, making a small nest-like surface on the floor instead. zhongli sits cross-legged on it as soon as you plop onto the higher chair right behind the small area you've made for him, and your fingers automatically tug off the hairpin that holds his hair down his back. you unconsciously hum a tune of ancient lullabies as you continue on to play with his long strands of brown-gold hair, and the god of contracts lets himself melt onto your hold with a contented sigh.

thousands of years may have passed, and you might have lost the memories of your olden days with him forever.

yet, as you continue to spoil him with your sweet words and comforting presence, he realizes that your love for teyvat, for him, no matter which forms and the identity he takes, has stayed true and strong even without those memories.

and zhongli realizes that it's all he could ever ask for.

#astronetwrk #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #rin writes #zhongli #zhongli x reader #universe abound

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kurorama · 1 year

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All Of My Love ( IV. )

(Series Masterlist)

Neteyam x Avatar!reader

IN WHICH Neteyam’s mother and clan disapproves of your relationship, because you’re a dreamwalker. When you both advance in your relationship, the clan cannot help but attempt to ruin things for the both of you.

WC: 7.2k

Warnings: unrequited love, heartache, breakups, ANGST, this will not end up as a human!reader x Neteyam dw 😟

“Let go of me, you scum!” the said man yelled, thrashing in the Olo’eyktan’s eldest son’s grip. Neteyam was holding the boy tightly by the back of his neck, applying painful pressure with the side of his fingers. The boy’s disrespectful words didn’t go unnoticed by Neteyam, but he would be dealt with soon.

“Tell them what she told me,” Neteyam urged the man as he released him from his deathly grip. They now stood before Jake and Neytiri as they looked at both men with peculiar looks. Neteyam pushed the boy forward once he realised that he wasn’t about to talk, and the boy stumbled on his feet.

“Tell them what you did to my sister!” Neteyam growled. He sounded so much like his mother when he was furious that it was terrifying. “Tell them where you brought her.”

Neytiri’s gaze darkened at the mention of her youngest daughter, and by the sound of it, it was not about to be happy news. The boy cowards under the fierceful Sully gazes, almost making him weak in the knees.

When you had broken the news of what had really happened to Tuk on that day, he was quick to race off. He would pardon himself later on for his sudden resignation, but he knew that you’d understand. Maybe.

The man was taken by such fear that his sound box had seemed to fail on him, rendering him as an idiot to the sully’s gaze. He opened his mouth as no words came out of it, like a fish out of water. Neteyam had gotten sick of the waiting after a while, grabbing the boy by the back of his necklace as he pulled him back closer to him.

“He was the one that had brought Tuk outside of the village, and he abandoned her there!” At the revelation, Neytiri couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her throat. Oh she was sure that she was going to murder the boy if it wasn’t for her children being here.

She lunged forward, grabbing the boy by the shoulders as she had done with you. Her slim fingers dug into his collarbone as she stared deep into his shaky yellow eyes. It hurt so much but the boy refused to flinch upon her aggression, trying to seem tough under the eyes of the Olo'eyktan and his mate.

Neytiri wanted to do so many bad things to this boy. Pull his hair until he feels every single strand leave his fragile scalp. Maybe she’d cut his braids out one by one, so close to his head that it'll bleed upon contact with her dagger. Maybe she’d even take it upon herself to gouge his eyes out, cutting his fingers for her to collect.

Though she just couldn’t and it took her every single nerve in her body to retain herself from killing the na’vi man. Even if this boy had endangered her youngest daughter, then abandoning her amongst the trees of the forest.

From inside of the tent, Lo’ak and Kiri were in the front seat to the argument that was happening outside. Kiri brought it upon herself to grab her little sister, bringing her scared form outside in her arms. Tuk squirmed in her sister’s arms upon the sight of the accused man, and it was more obvious than anything else that he was guilty.

Jake rubbed a hand up and down his face at the complications. Neytiri looked back at her daughter, trying not to let her own anger scare away her youngest child. She reached a hand towards Tuk, softly caressing her cheek as she smiled warmly at her.

“Why have you never said anything Tuk?” Neytiri tried to get her to answer, as the man before them would deny any accusations. Tuk faltered before her, feeling her heart stop at her mothers words. How did they know? What was going to happen to her now?

“He threatened my brother, said he’ll do something about his five fingers if I said anything!” Tuk cried and the whole sully family’s heart softened upon the sight of the innocent youngest sibling. Lo’ak wasn’t as fond of Tuk as Kiri and Neteyam were, but he still loved his sister anyways. The thought that she had done all of this just to protect him made him feel the need to protect his sister even more than he already did.

Lo’ak raised his eyebrows comically as he heard what Tuk was saying. That boy was really threatening him, through his youngest sister. What a weakling. Though he knew better than to say anything in front of his already angry parents, he just stayed quiet as he watched the scene unfold.

“I’m sorry mom, I didn’t mean to lie to you!” she sobbed, trying to leave the embrace of her eldest sister. Neytiri frowned at her crying daughter, taking her into her own arms and reassuring her that everything was okay, and that she was not the one that was about to be in trouble.

Coming back to their senses after their little Tuk frenzy, Lo’ak glared daggers into the na’vi’s head and Jake was mentally preparing himself to have to physically remove his own son from the victim of his glare. He approached the boy, standing all tall and intimidating before him.

“What’s your name son?” he questioned, half-lidded eyes staring straight into his. The boy cowards once more before the olo’eyktan as he introduces himself.

“Murife,” he murmured, already knowing that he was doomed as he had gotten exposed by the 8 year old child. He should’ve been disappointed in himself for threatening a child for the sake of his own entertainment, and now he was about to face the repercussions of his very own actions.

Jake raised an eyebrow at the sudden behaviour of the boy, and he was sure to inflict the toughest punishment upon the boy that had dared to threaten his family.

You felt so refreshed as you stepped out of the shower, now that your avatar was back in her pod again. Your hair had been freshly washed and the sweet aroma of your apple shampoo felt like heaven. The towel that was draped over your shoulder prevented your back from getting soaked as your hair air dried. Your stomach rumbled as it begged you to feed it, since you had not yet eaten after waking back up in your human body.

You snatched a packet of chips from Norm's secret stash, fumbling with the plastic packaging as loud as you could only to mess with the older man. You wanted him to know that his hiding spot was utterly shit and that it took you no time to find it. You wondered how he still had them, because it had been so many years since they’d move to Pandora from Earth. In all scenarios, the chips would’ve gone bad, since the trip from Earth to Pandora was no 6-hour trip to New York. Maybe they were made in some secret factory that they had here?

The moist towel was starting to feel uncomfortable on your naked shoulders, clad in a tight white tank top that you had found in your tiny closet. To say that Norm was pleased with your sudden re-arrival in your avatar was a lie. He knew that Neteyam had hurt you the first time that you had come back, all teary and snappy.

He knew because it had been more than obvious. Your visible affiliation with the boy could be seen with the naked eye, for you had never been that secretive. Having you in the lab 24/7 had already been hard because of your sulking, and the fact that you kept on eating his snacks.

Now that you were back, he feared that it was definitive.

The packet of chips crinkled in your hand as you moved towards your monitor. You rolled your desk chair back and the chair heaved upon your weight.

“Stealing my snacks again?” your ears picked up from behind you, though you failed to respond to the man as you were too busy typing in your computer’s password. Your tongue stuck out the side of your mouth as you tried to remember the pass, racking through your brain thought by thought as you searched for it.

Your hand reached for the plastic bag again, but when you thrashed your hand down to meet the chips, your fingers made harsh contact with the hard material of the table. You screeched dramatically at the pain, feeling like you had just smashed your fingers against concrete.

You quickly turned around on the wheels of your chair, glaring at the cause of your pain. Norm could only shrug at your fierce look, dragging on his pettiness by eating the chips before you.

“Woodland,” Norm said as you gave him the most incredulous look. Had the man really lost his head?

“Woodland,” he said again, this time with more affirmation. “That’s your password, Woodland.” Norm said, approaching you from behind with the piece of plastic still in his hand. He stood besides you now, looking down at your monitor as you typed in what he said hesitantly.

“Who would be stupid enough to put their password as Woodland?” you mumbled to yourself but it failed to escape the keen hearing of the man beside you. He snickered at you as your computer unlocked before your very own eyes, confirming that he was indeed right.

“You.” he teased as you threw him another look.

“I wasn’t talking to you. Plus give me that,” you told him before abruptly ripping the chips from his grip. Norm furrowed his eyebrows as he attempted to retake the packet from you, but you were just as childish as the man, so you refused to give in.

“It’s not good for you, you must keep healthy!” Norm rolled his eyes at your comment, abandoning his mission of reconquering his snack as he knew it was going to be fruitless.

“You talk as though it will not affect you either!” Norm tried to reason, but you simply ignored him as you scrolled through your files. He stopped trying to argue with you as he took notice of all of your recent research and discoveries. To say that you were really entranced with the na’vi lifestyle would be an understatement.

A sudden file had caught onto your attention, despite scrolling at the speed that you were, you had managed to catch it between thousands of others. For it didn’t look like any other file that you had. You looked back at Norm for some kind of assurance, despite stupidly knowing that there was no way that he’d know what it was either.

You dragged your pointer towards the file, reluctantly clicking on the file as a video popped up. By visual, it seemed to be a screen recording from your ipad. You told yourself that it must’ve been an accidental recording, that your fingers must’ve accidently clicked on the button and that it ended up here because it had been shared through Icloud.

Though you had a deep feeling that told you it was more than that, so you proceeded to press play. Both you and Norm leaned closer to the monitor as you heard voices coming from the recording. deep, male voices. For sure they did not belong to you, added to the fact that there were many voices.

You were so confused at first as you watched the screen switch from apps to apps, even opening your notes for a split second. Norm had caught on to some of the words on your note as he quickly skimmed through it, and he nudged you playfully. You would have normally been dying of embarrassment if it wasn’t for your brain being so muddled at the moment.

The voices were distinct at first, due to your computer’s volume being on low. Though the next screen was not what you would’ve expected at all. Your eyes were crowded with realization as you stared at the screen incredulously. And there had it all clicked.

You watched as the iPad switched to the camera app for a quick second, flashing the faces of a few young na’vi men. Na’vis that you could recognize because they had been with you on the day of the hunt. The day of the accident. You didn’t need to raise your volume to know what they were doing, and it didn’t take a genius to understand that you had been framed for the unfortunate accident that they had caused.

You got up from your chair so fast that it startled Norm, nearly knocking him off his feet. You were quick to grab an exopack, given that you were not in your avatar any more. Norm simply watched as you left in a hurry, too stressed off by you to even ask what was wrong. He could’ve sworn that you were making his hair whiten faster than it should be with your antics.

“Here catch this!” You yelled at him before leaving, tossing him the crushed up packaging that you had pressed into a ball. Norm rolled his eyes at you, first you stole his chips, and now he was in disposal duty for your own garbage?

He rubbed a hand down his face as he watched you exit the lab doors. He knew that asking you not to go wherever you were headed was useless, so he could only wish for your safety. “Eywa, how fun it is to take care of a teenager,”

To say that Zuko felt surprised when you had shown up to your spot in your human form was an understatement. She eyed the weird device that invaded your face, preventing you from the death that awaited you if you even dared to inhale the air on Pandora. She was silent as ever, though her emotions were on blast upon her face.

She felt stupid when the thought of you looking so much like your avatar had crossed her mind, because of course you did. It was your avatar after all, made with your DNA. After her mental embarrassment died down, she couldn’t help but now admire that same fact. Your nose was slightly different than the ones of the na’vi, your skin colour of a totally different palette than theirs. She would not even dare to talk about the size difference, because you nearly had to crane your neck all the way just to meet her eyes - so she opted to kneel down for your comfort.

You still brought that feeling of warmth deep inside of her, in your avatar form or not. Her heart still raced at the view of you approaching the spot you both had in a secluded part of the forest, and the same exact smile still made its way onto her face at the sound of your voice. Avatar or not, you still managed to scramble those unfamiliar feelings into Zuko’s stomach.

She loved the way you made her ears hike up whenever you would whisper something stupid in her ears. She loved the way that she would race out of her family’s tent everyday at the same time, ignoring the yells of complaint from her mother that watched her scurry off. She was silent, but loud with her love.

You were the one that made her feel what love was like for the first time, and you were the one she would carry a torch for.

“You look weird.” she teased, smiling as you shot her a dirty look.

“In my scenario, you’re the one that looks weird,” you shot back at her, signing your insult to the tall, dark blue na’vi. You knew that Zuko was simply mute and not deaf, that signing back to her when you had the privilege of speaking was useless when she could hear you. Though you liked to do it because you felt as though she felt less desolated. “You just bash me because you know I'm beautiful!” you joked, now affirming your sentence in full voice.

Zuko turned her head towards the river flow, pretending like she’d rather observe the neon fish than answer your retaliation. You could not see her face from your position, and even less from your height. She was glad of your current barrier, because she would’ve hated knowing that you had caught onto the indigo colour that adorned her face at the moment. She felt pathetic for being so flustered at your stupid comment, one that was definitely not supposed to affect her as it had done.

“Are the fish really that interesting?” you broke the silence, shaking Zuko out of her trance. Her ears twitched at the sound of your voice suddenly booming, and soon she turned around to meet you once more. The size difference was truly something that had irked you when you had decided to ditch your na’vi body for the second time. The first time that you had chosen to never enter your avatar ever again, a failed promise to yourself, the size difference had not really bothered you. You hadn’t lived in your avatar for long enough amongst the omatikaya for it to truly bother you, but now was a whole different story.

You had gotten used to reaching for the sweet fruits in the tall palm trees, ones that you could easily reach as of before. You hated that you had to rely mostly on norm or the other avatars now that you could not find food for yourself. Hunting was way off the chart for you because if the creatures were fierce enough when you were 7 feet tall, then imagine yourself now at your human height. Your muscles were as well weaker than the ones that your avatar harboured.

Zuko had known of your troubles, of what was bothering you. She could not eat with you in the forest anymore, because of that stupid mask on your face and it made her sad that she now had to eat dinner at home. Boring old home.

“Very much,” she rolled her eyes, answering your previous question.

You moved to sit on the floor as she still refused to look at you, even though she was facing you now. The soft grass tickled your skin but you would take this over sitting on some concrete floor anyday. You pat the hard soil beneath the grass in a call for the na’vi woman. “Come sit next to me,”

She complied this time, her unsettlement having left. You smiled a toothy grin as she sat in front of you, legs crossed before her. You hesitated before telling her what you had to say, staring into her eyes for a moment because you feared her reaction.

“I must meet with Neteyam again tonight.” you shrunk under her unresponsive form, unable to tell what her reaction was to be. Would she be angry at you? Would she believe that you were returning to him just to give him another chance?

She tilted her head to the side at your visible distress. She noticed how you were fiddling with your fingers, intertwining your fingers and unlatching them.

“Why must you go back to him? after he has hurt you so many times?” she signed, a frown snaking up onto her once joyful face.

“I'm not going back because I love him. I have something important to show him, something that concerns the day of the accident…” you said mumbling the last part, feeling your humiliation rising back up at the thought of the day where you had been literally manhandled in front of the whole village.

Zuko’s ears flattened at your attempt in convincing her, still feeling like she was missing something.

“So you still do love him then?”

You found yourself hesitating at her questing, despite knowing what your heart was urging you to say. Your hesitance sent hope into Zuko’s own heart, but her brain told her to wait for confirmation before she got over herself.

“It’s hard to rid yourself of those feelings, no matter how I am at him or how much of a skxawng he is,” the both of you laughed. “It doesn’t mean that I forgive him for lying to me, and for….well everything else.” you breathed out, feeling your throat tighten out at the thought of your lover’s betrayal.

“You may know what it feels like, have you ever loved anybody before?” you asked, and she looked at you solemnly.

‘Yes, I have loved you.’ she wishes to say, but not words could leave her throat. They made their way from her heart, racing through the vessels of her veins before getting stuck in her throat. She hated her disability at the moment for her lack of expression. She wished she could sign it to him, before you decide to leave to meet with the boy that had stolen your heart.

Her hands shook with nerves as she failed to bring them between the both of them. As much as she tried, the fear of your rejection blocked her from telling you those few words, and oh how much she wished for you to know.

At the end of the day, Zuko knew that it was worthless anyways. Your heart soared for Neteyam only. It would always be him, never her. She can't blame you for loving the Sully boy, for he is everything that she was not. Loving someone means letting them be happy, and if you were happy loving Neteyam, then she had no right to try and ruin things for you.

She shook her head from side to side, signing a quiet no with her head. She looked so crestfallen that it sent a pang to your heart, she was your best friend after all and seeing her so sad affected your mood as well. You tried to smile warmly at her, being her pillar of comfort .

“You will find the one for you, I am sure of it,” you said, and soon Zuko was forced to watch you walk away. She couldn’t refuse when you had asked so sweetly if she could bring you to the village. The words that she failed to tell you would always be stuck at the back of her throat as though a punishment for her cowardice.

You had almost wanted to punch yourself as you found yourself standing before the Sully’s tent door.

With much hesitation, you stepped foot into the tent and to your bad luck, Neytiri had been the first to spot your frame. She abruptly stood up from where she was previously sitting, disturbing Tuk from her peace. Every single eye from the tent turnt towards the scene, especially unwanted one’s. Neteyam was quick to stand up after his mother, desperation obvious on his face.

She felt a little bit more hostile given that you had shown yourself here in your human body, but she couldn’t help and wondered how you had made it here. You had no Kuru as a human, so how did you make the bond with your Ikran to reach the High camp?

Neytiri felt the urge to say something to you, but what? She didn’t know if she should’ve scolded you for being here after she explicitly told you to stay out of the village, or to thank you for exposing that scum earlier this morning. The man that had endangered her daughter.

She was lost in her own confusion and feelings towards you. In a way, she wanted to apologise for being the way she was to you, but she feared the act of forgiving your people. She feared that if she accepted you like she had with Jake, it would turn out to be a whole undercover story like it had been with the ex-marine.

She feared that you would hurt her son like Jake had once hurt her, though they were far from that now. He had proven himself amongst the clan and he had redeemed himself, so why couldn’t you? Though she didn’t like and trust you enough to forgive you for now, she would simply stay quiet until you showed your potential real colours.

Neteyam grazed a hand on his mothers shoulders, gently pushing her out of the way as he went to walk towards you. She couldn’t say anything this time, she just wouldn’t allow herself to. It wasn’t for you, it was for her son. If he was happy with you then so be it, she just wishes that he doesn’t come crying to her afterwards.

Oh and how much of the story had she missed…

“You must take a look at this,” you said, tone cold and urgent as you showed him the iPad. Eywa, how many of these did you sky people have. You pushed the iPad towards him, the device making straight contact with his toned stomach due to your height difference. He was slim and fit, lacking fat in his stomach area, so it was useless to say that it hurt like a bitch when the device made contact with his body.

Neteyam thought about it, before passing the iPad to his mother. He outstretched his arm towards her, holding the small device between careful fingers. Neytiri hesitated before the demon device, eventually accepting to keep it for now at her son’s furrowed eyebrow bones.

“What are you doing? I told you to look at it.” you rolled your eyes as he delayed your leave. The exopack on your face was really starting to bother you and you wished for nothing more than to go back home and unto the comfort of your warm bed.

“Come on, come with me. There are things we must talk about.” you gave him an uninterested look, before he tried again.

“And I will walk you home after, I promise. Just join me in this walk.” he says, asif reading your mind.

“Make sure to actually walk her home, brother!” Lo’ak yelled from inside of the tent, causing Neytiri and Jake to throw him a deterrent glare. Kiri hit him upside the head, a clear sibling habit that she had adopted. “OW, OH YOU'RE GONNA GET IT!”

Lo’ak turned around to face her, forehead creased as he hissed at his sister.

Jake sighed as he knew that tonight was going to be a long night for him.

Eclipse had already settled upon the lands of Pandora, and the exhaustion was really starting to take a toll on you. You were walking beside Neteyam in the forest as you awaited for him to make the first move.

The fan lizards seemed to have been staring into your soul, anticipating your chaos as they rested comfortably camouflaged on the branches. Though you had no interest in the lizards, or the Yerik that played near your feet, or the bioluminescent beauty that surrounded the both of you. You simply wanted to get this over with, listen to what Neteyam had to urgently tell you and dip back home.

Noting that you were walking as a human in the humongous forest now, you were getting tired two times faster than before and Neteyam was taking you rather far away from the prying ears of the omatikaya.

“So….?” you started, looking forward at the trail before you instead of at Neteyam. He breathed in audibly as you broke the silence, stopping in front of you as he looked at his feet. Neither of you were staring at each other, and you both were glad at that.

“I wanted to say I'm sorry, for…..for everything really.” He apologised with a genuine tone. You scoffed a little too loudly at him, and he turned to look at you oddly. You still weren’t concentrating on him, and he shrunk under your lack of attention.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, worried at your scornful laugh.

“You thinking that apologising is enough,” you mumbled loud enough for him to hear. The forest went silent at your argument, as though the nature besides you was listening to your lovers quarrel. You felt as though the leaves were people that watched you, and you soon grew yourself a whole audience of trees and wild beasts.

Neteyam’s eyebrow bones furrowed at your scornful comment once more, and he was starting to get irritated by your lack of understanding.

“Because clearly it isn’t?” he sassed, rolling his eyes as he averted them from you.

“Eywa, Neteyam you lied to me!’ You yelled at him, feeling your throat tightening on you as you fought the urge to cry. Not in front of him, not again. It was your time to stare at your unresponsive partner now.

“And I’m sorry! I didnt know how to tell y-“

“You’re sorry? You were bethrothed to my best friend the entire time and all you can find to say is that you’re sorry?” You sniffled, betrayal written all over your face. You wanted to stop the deep feeling of hurt that you felt at the fact, but there was nothing that could ease it. Neteyam groaned as you spoke back, nevertheless softening at your soft sniffles. He lifted a hand up to brush against the back of his neck that hid behind his long braids. His beads clinked together as he moved them.

“I didn't know how to tell you, one minute you were just somebody that I was forced to teach and the next you became so much more than that!” He yelled back. Frustration was running thick in his veins as he couldn’t find a way to properly express himself to you. “I do not love Zepii and I never did, it was always you,” his strong voice faltered as he spoke softly to you.

“When were you supposed to be mated to her”

you asked, and Neteyam’s face contorted to confusion. He had just told you that he held nothing more than amiability for the girl, what more was there to say?

You repeated your question once more, this time more sternly as Neteyam got lost in his own thoughts.

“In two months or so…” he trailed off.

“And then what, you were just going to wake up on that day and decide to throw me to the side and go tend to your new mate.” You hollered. You sounded like a hysterical woman asking her husband where he had been all night. But as selfish as you sounded for asking the future Olo’eyktan if he would choose between you and a woman that he was bound to be mated to for his duties, you just needed to know.

“Listen, I…” he trailed off again, unable to find the right words to tell you in your moment of distress. The mask that was on your face stopped him from reading the emotions that were displayed on your face properly, but he knew that it was nothing joyful.

“I can't go any further than this, Neteyam”

The na’vi man looked at you through desperate half-lidded eyes, partly understanding what you had said although wishing for you to not mean what he thought you did.

“I'm trying to say that we should just end this here, Neteyam.” you were finally able to say. You eyed the na’vi boy nervously as he stayed silent. Eywa, there was so much tension in the air that you could probably slice through it with a dagger and it was starting to feel more and more awkward as the seconds passed by. Neteyam felt as though his whole universe had just fallen, as though Pandora had just stopped rotating and had deprived him of any air.

You, the love of his life, was breaking up with him because you claimed that he loved you no more. You were wrong, he wanted to scream and beg for you to take him back even though you had just left him. Because he loved you more than he could say.

His yearning for you was stronger than his need for water, and he’d sworn that you crossed his mind every second that you were not next to him. You invaded his mind when he didn't want you to, and you stayed there until he had to force himself to think of something else.

Now he watched as the one person he has ever loved so much walks away from his life because of his mistakes. Oh how much he wishes that you were born as one of them, so that he could love you without the burden of being downcasted upon his clan, his friends, his mother. He wishes that Neytiri would understand you, would see you as he saw you. Then maybe things would been easier for the both of you.

“What?” Neteyam asked in a hushed tone, as though he would break if he spoke any louder. He questioned you as asif he had not heard you the first time, as though you had not just broken his heart.

“I’m sorry neteyam, I fear that you do not love me like you had once done. And i fear that you never will.” You spoke, voice equally as hushed as his. He moved towards you in fast paced steps, grabbing both of your hands in his tight grip when he reached you. It was slightly an awkward position due to your height difference, but he was really starting to get desperate here. He was desperate to not let you go, because he knew that if he let go of your hands right now, you’d disappear from his life forever.

“I can change for you Y/N, i see you,” he said, but nothing was enough to convince you anymore. “I love you more than I can express, I beg of you to let me prove that to you. I will force my mother to see you if I have to, she will have no other choice,”

“We can run away together, once we become mates they will have no choice but to accept us!” He begged, so close to falling to his knees just for you to understand his pleas. A deep frown settled on your face as you watched him express his despair and your heart soared as a single tear made its way down his delicate cheeks.

He didn't bother to wipe it, and soon many more were to follow through. You felt your throat tighten up even more at the pitiful sight of the person you once called your lover. You turned your head to look at anything but Neteyam. You could not stand to look him in the face anymore, afraid that if you continued, you would break just like him and accept his promises.

His empty promises.

You knew that there was no way that you could be with Neteyam without some sort of repercussion. If you ran away today with him, were you sure that another clan would take you in? If you mated with him on this fateful night, you were sure that the both of you would never live down the shame that was to be casted upon the both of you from the clan’s judgmental voices. You cannot do this to someone that you love, and you would not.

No matter how much neteyam’s words and actions have affected you, or how much his absence pained you, you knew that a part of you would always yearn for him. That’s why you had to let him go, lie to him about his own lack of love. Perhaps you could manipulate him into believing that he actually did not feel for you anymore, then it would hurt less for him.

You’d tell him lies in the eyes of love.

Because you never wished for adversity upon Neteyam just because of your selfish love, but if that was all that you could bring upon him, then the best solution was to let him go.

You cupped his face into one of your hands, four fingers laying across his jawline as your thumb ran comfortingly on his cheek. You used the backside of your index on your free hand to wipe his tears away, and he melted in your touch. He was relishing in what could be your last touch, and he forced himself to accept that.

'I'm sorry,’ you whispered to him, as though that would soothe the both of your breaking hearts. You could not shake off the frown that was imposed on your face and you wished that the Tashik had some kind of herbal medicine for the throb that you felt deep inside your chest.

Breakups are not always all one sided evilness and derisive threats. Sometimes, breakups are for the better, and you hopped that this is what you could bring in Neteyam’s life even if it meant leaving him.

When neteyam got home that night, he was inconsolable. Oh what love does to you. He was still in denial, refusing to believe that you had left him for good, that you had abandoned your na’vi body once more. His brother wanted to make fun of him so bad for crying, like a brother does to another. Though he saw through Neteyam’s pain, he understood that what he was going through was real.

Neteyam’s heart hurt so bad he could physically feel it, the spot in his chest that churned with remorse and twists in regret. Kiri wishes she could take her brother suffering away, but in other light, she felt more for you. She knew what it felt like to be an outcast just like you and her brother Lo’ak. Being teased endlessly because of her five fingers and weird eyebrows.

Though she was spared because she had been adopted by the olo’eyktan and the Tsahik of the omatikaya. She could not even start to imagine what this whole thing felt like from your side. If neteyam felt twisting in his chest than you felt your whole heart being worn out.

He knew that he had to be strong, not to appear like a heavy-hearted person before his family. Though he just couldn’t anymore, he couldn’t keep the act up. He couldn’t go back home pretending like everything was okay, because it was not.

Neytiri was so worried for her son. Her son that was usually the family’s sunshine, behind Tuk of course. He was so uncharacteristically quiet that it troubled her mind. His tears brought some of her own to her eyes, but she brushed them away because it was not her moment to cry.

Her son was clearly going through something and she had to be there for him. So she did so, she sat beside Neteyam, bringing her knees to her chest just as he had done. She had tried everything to get Neteyam to talk to her ever since he had stepped foot back in the tent, but to no avail.

He was giving her the silent treatment, and Neytiri hated the fact that she knew she probably deserved it. If she hadn’t been so harsh on you, maybe the both of you would still be happy right now. She knew that deep down you were just as much of a kid as her son, human or not. You had feelings like her son, and your feelings could get hurt just like his.

Even with the knowledge, she still treated you as though you were undeserving of everything. You were someone else’s daughter just as much as Kiri and Tuk were her daughters, and she would hate for someone else to treat them like she had treated you. She hated when those young boys would make fun of Kiri and Lo’ak for their 5 fingers, so why must she have been so rude towards you?

Neytiri had tried everything. She had tried sitting and talking to him during dinner time. She tried to encourage him to come hunting with her when the sun would show again. She had tried to comfort him, but he wanted none of it coming from her. Eventually Jake got her to lay off his back until he was ready to talk about it to them, so they both left and drowned into a deep pool of slumber.

His younger brother snored loudly in his spot, informing Neteyam that he was well asleep. He checked on his other sisters too, who seemed to be sleeping as well. He couldn’t sleep because he couldn’t get you off his mind, he couldn’t get anything that had happened off of his mind.

He thought back at the iPad that you had given him so urgently earlier, telling him how much he had to look at its content. Though he felt a pang in his heart at the thought that it was your device. You had given it to him.

With a huff, he pushed all of those feelings away. He turned on the weird gadget with much difficulty due to his large fingers. The ipad that you had chosen to pass him was generally large, though still no match for the na’vi build. He was afraid to mess with it too much, scared of what it could and would do if he pressed the wrong thing.

Thankfully for him, upon unlocking the device the video had already been there. Ready for him to play. Perhaps you had known of his lack of knowledge towards those types of things and that’s why you had prepared it for him beforehand? Neteyam shook his head, of course you did.

You knew him like the back of your hand. You knew of his dislike towards the other sky people and their traditions and basically their whole existence. You knew what kind of flowers he loved, the type that smells so strong that he creases his nose after inhaling its sweet aroma for too long. You knew so much about him.

His fingers moved to press on the obvious play button in the middle on the screen and he jumped as a loud audio began playing from the video. His ears flared up at the familiar voices of those boys, and he watched the rest of the video with genuine curiosity.

The soft light of the iPad enveloped his sharp features in the sheer darkness of the night. It hurt his eyes slightly, but he just couldn’t care much about that. He couldn’t help the way his ears then tensed upon recognition of what was happening, and he just knew at the moment that he had to do everything in his ability to make things right with you once more.

The night was pressing on, and his exhaustion after everything that had happened today was really starting to act on him. His eyelids were beginning to close upon themselves and the ipad nearly slipped out of his once tight grip as he felt himself lose consciousness.

He gave up for today, deciding to enjoy the solace of his warm bed for the night. Tomorrow, he’d promise himself that he’d start working harder for you, that he’d soon confront his mother and end things with Zepii publicly. He promised himself that this time, he would not serve you anymore empty promises.

tags @uwu-i-purple-you @love13tter @melsunshine @bratsukisworld @jyoungmom @ihonestlydontknowwhattonamethis @fanboyluvr @erenjaegerwifee @laylasbunbunny @gabithefanwriter @alwaysandforever22 @jjkclub @koalalafications @doggyteam2028 @navs-bhat @miawastakens @innersuitcasehairdoscissors @peachinsomniac @hlhl99 @loakloverr @chucklefuvk @idktbhloley @saltedcoffeescotch @kikookii @anxietydrogz @inluvwithneteyam @arminsgfloll @doulcha @dreamergirljen @parrotpeggy @onetwo123three @neteyams-wifee @jdbxws @wheeeelys @lovedbychoi @neteyamsmate4life

#neteyam x reader #atwow #avatar #neteyam sully #avatar 2 #neteyam #neteyam x y/n #atwow x reader #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam oneshot #neteyam angst #angst #Neteyam #atwow angst

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eksvaized · 5 months

Text

Simon ’Ghost’ Riley x fem!reader render by: @661ave

part FOUR

[ Previous 〡 Next ]

You squeeze the phone in your hand until your knuckles turn white. You want to break it, shatter the screen and watch as it turns black, and the message disappears. However, no matter how tight your grip gets, your phone stays intact. You consider hurling it against the wall or making it tumble to the ground before slamming your heel onto the screen, but you know you can’t give in to your impulses. It wouldn’t solve your problem, it wouldn’t make the unknown number vanish from your address book, and in the end, you’d be forced to buy a new phone, which you can’t afford to do.

Your back crashes against the wall, and you close your eyes, taking a big breath in and then holding the air in your lungs until it hurts, and you are forced to exhale. Your mood is ruined, and the warm, ecstatic feeling that had spread throughout your body after talking with Price was now gone, replaced by coldness and darkness, which made your body freeze and muscles tighten.

You should go home, take a shower and sleep it all off. In the morning, when your head is clear and you’re not drunk any more, you can think about what you want to do, and maybe finally figure out a way to end this because you can’t go on like this any longer.

You believed that the threats, the messages, the orders, and the harassment were over… You thought that the game had ended, but of course, you were mistaken. It would have been too easy, and that's not how things work with you - there's always a challenge, a hurdle for you to overcome.

However, ultimately, all sensible ideas of going home get wiped from your head, and you choose to stay instead of leaving.

After bouncing the corner of the phone lightly against your brow, you straighten your back and click your tongue, drawing your bottom lip in between your teeth. The message told you to stay away from Price and avoid him unless you wish the video to be sent to him, but it said nothing about not being allowed to stay.

You decide to spend the rest of the evening indulging in drinks, hoping that the alcohol will sooner or later aid in silencing your thoughts; you yearn for a temporary escape from all your troubles, even if only for one night.

Vanessa is overjoyed to see you and begins babbling about how she feared you got lost or fell asleep somewhere in the hallway, leaning against the wall because you had been gone for quite some time.

“I was about to send someone to look for you.” She giggles and drapes her arm over you, her fingers curling around your shoulder, giving it a light squeeze.

Vanessa pulls you close and scans your face. Her green eyes hunt for something as she tries to read your mind; she can sense the shift in your mood. Fortunately, she doesn’t comment on it.

“How thoughtful of you.” You smile, but the corners of your lips droop, and you can’t hide your sour face. “But if you wanna make yourself useful, I would love it if you could mix me one more cocktail. Preferably extra strong this time.”

“I thought you were cutting yourself off.” She raises her eyebrows, but nonetheless, leaves you for a moment to fetch a bottle.

“I changed my mind.”

You drink, drink and drink. At first, you stick with cocktails concocted from whatever is left lying around. Then you drink straight from the half-empty bottles when you run out of the sweet juices and bubbly sodas. Eventually, even the biggest and fullest bottles run dry, so you scavenge around for cups that have been strewn, untouched, and forgotten by others.

Sober, you’d think it’s repulsive to slurp someone else’s drink, but intoxicated, you couldn’t care less and are just concerned with making sure your head stays empty, and no pesky thoughts try to creep into your mind.

When people cluster in small groups and you get left behind because Vanessa is gone, and Charles seems to have begun purposely avoiding you - you hate it despite knowing you gave him the cold shoulder first - you wander to the corner of the room.

You fall on your ass and rest your back against the concrete wall, pulling out your phone. It takes you three attempts to unlock it because every time you try to type in your password, your finger slips and you press the wrong letter.

Your head is spinning, causing your neck to strain as you struggle to keep it aligned. Even though you've consumed a significant amount of liquids in the past few hours, your throat still feels dry and begs for a refreshing drink, which you’re too lazy to go and get.

You run your tongue across your lips, trying to wet them, hating how chapped they feel, and wishing you hadn’t misplaced your strawberry chapstick.

You start typing and sending messages to the phone number that has been haunting and threatening you for almost three weeks now. Somewhere deep down, you know it’s a stupid thing to do. There’s a nagging voice in the back of your head demanding that you lock the phone. Disregarding it, you divert your attention to the motion of your fingers and attempt to sharpen your blurry vision by blinking as you pull the screen closer to your face so you can see better.

Your rage-filled outburst is cut short. Your phone buzzes and for a moment your head clears, but of course, shortly after, your thoughts get clouded again.

Every bone in your body wants to rebel. You refuse to entertain any more of the threats, and the alcohol makes you feel stupidly brave. However, when you stand up and blood rushes to your head, your vision becomes hazy and dim, and a wave of nausea washes over you. You know, as much as you hesitate to admit it, that the party is over for you, and you need to go home.

Your eyes scan the room, trying to locate Vanessa because you want to say goodbye, but when you see her making out with someone, you decide not to bother her and slip away telling no one.

You know where the exit is, but as you roam the deserted hallways, you get disoriented and lost, and don’t pay attention to where you’re going. It takes you thirty minutes, but you finally step outside. As the wind blows, you can feel its refreshing coolness, which makes your body freeze briefly before relaxing completely.

However, you can’t savour the moment for long since your head starts spinning again as your mouth fills with saliva. Your wide eyes dart around, trying to make sense of your surroundings before you retreat into the shadows. Your stomach churns and you vomit while trying to keep your hair out of your face.

You feel gross. After you wipe your mouth with your sleeve, you condemn yourself for drinking too much.

"Classy." The voice sneers with a heavy dose of sarcasm, mocking you.

Your head jerks to the side. Your gaze lands on the man standing behind you. Before approaching you, he clicks his teeth and shakes his head, rolling his dark eyes.

“I thought you were unwavering in your intention to pretend like I didn’t exist.” You blurt out. The words spill out of your mouth faster than you can think about what you are saying.

“I’m not.” Ghost replies.

“You are. Ever since… then… you haven’t said a single word to me. Until now.” You tighten your muscles as you strive to maintain your back straight and avoid stumbling.

You want to project confidence and indifference, but your flushed cheeks, drowsy eyes, dilated pupils, and loose tongue betray you.

“I didn’t think we had much to talk about.”

“Considering we slept together, I imagine we do.”

“It’s best to forget about that night. I know it, and you do too. Regardless of whether we... you want it or not.” Ghost takes a deep breath, and you can practically feel the waves of frustration emanating from him.

You want to keep arguing with him, tell him that the way he acts is rude and that you don’t expect him to take you out on a date or suddenly exhibit a strong interest in you, but you wish he wouldn’t act as if you didn’t exist at least.

You bite your tongue and your eyes fall to the ground as you grow mute. Your first instinct is to say no because you don’t want to get into a truck with him, and spend the next fifteen minutes in an awkward silence. But you can’t call the cab since you are not sure if you have enough cash to cover the fare. You also don’t feel like walking in this freezing weather, so you nod your head and go with him, letting him lead you to the truck.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #writing #simon riley x reader #cod #call of duty #ghost x reader #ghost x y/n #ghost x you #blackmailghost

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dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night · 1 year

Text

Eden

TW: kidnapping, captivity, creepy/intimate whumper, pet whumpee, referenced drugging, referenced stalking, emotional manipulation, referenced depression

As he roused from a deep sleep, Ezra found himself curled up on the sofa in his living room.

He racked his brain as his senses slowly reaserted themselves, but found no recollection of where he had been the previous night, or how he had gotten home.

The cloying smell of lavender perfume overwhelmed him. Ezra didn't wear perfume.

As more sensations flooded his body, he realized his head way laying on someone's lap.

Someone who was running their fingers through his hair.

None of his friends were this affectionate. They all knew him to be severely touch averse. They wouldn't try something like this.

Trying to sit up, he found his arms to be bound behind him with soft, but tight strips of fabric.

This finally spiraled Ezra into panic. He thrashed, struggling to get away from whoever was with him, putting his full strength into breaking his bindings.

Despite his best efforts, his sluggish body couldn't move enough to fall off the stranger's lap, let alone escape.

The stranger had no problem pushing Ezra down by the shoulders and holding him in place.

"No," they said in a deep voice, firm but gentle. "Stay still."

Ezra scanned the room. The clean beige carpet, new looking brown sofa, and sea scape paintings certainly weren't his.

"Where am I?"

Ezra's heart raced, fuelled with fear and andrenaline, pounding against his ribcage in a mockery of a ceremonial drum.

"I didn't give you permission to speak," his captor said.

Ezra stayed silent. The humiliation of being treated like a lap dog wasn't enough to render him stupid.

His captor could have a gun or some other sort of weapon. Fighting back simply wasn't worth the risk.

Ezra needed answers before he could decide what to do. There wasn't any point in getting himself killed.

Music played softly in the backround, the melody much too pleasant for such an occasion. A woman sang softly from the spinning record, but was not loudly enough for Ezra to make out her words.

Turning his head slightly, Ezra got a look at his captor. He looked to be in his thirties, fair skinned with mousy brown hair, wearing wire framed glasses and a small smile.

He tucked a lock of hair behind his captive's ear, before leaning down to kiss him on the cheek.

Ezra flinched and tried to pull away.

"Tsk tsk," his captor said. "That is no way to treat your master. I'm just being friendly."

Ezra opened his mouth to retort, but swallowed his complaint before it could escape his lips.

"You're being such a good pet," his captor continued, petting Ezra's curly hair. "Now, if you had something you wanted to ask me, you may. So long as you're respectful about it."

"Where am I?"

"Call me sir."

"No way in-" he broke off, remembering his position. "Yes, sir."

He tried his best to sound vaguely ticked off, but still compliant. Judging by the look on his supposed master's face, he succeeded in only the second part.

"You may ask that again."

"Where am I, sir?"

"My home. You are still in the United States, but I took you over state lines."

None of this was helpful in the slightest, but Ezra figured it was the best he was going to get.

He lived near enough to the borders of Idaho, Oregon, and even Montana that he could have easily been taken to any of them.

"Why am I here, sir?"

"Because I thought you would make a good pet."

Ezra's stomach dropped.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. It isn't anything horrid. I'm not going to hurt you, unless you harm me or attempt escape. You should be grateful, really. I'm a lot kinder than most of the masters you could have gotten stuck with."

The term human trafficking sprung to Ezra's mind. He had never thought to worry about such a thing happening to him. It always seemed so removed from his normal suburban life.

"Can you tell me what happened, sir?"

Sir. How he loathed that word. It was meant to refer to a person he respected, and his captor sure as hell didn't qualify.

But he needed information. And he needed a plan. Faked respect was his best bet, and he would use it to its fullest extent.

"Well, let me see..." His captor considered for a moment how best to explain. "I saw you at that shopping mall. Do you remember?"

Of course he remembered. Ezra hung out in that concrete, capitalistic place of congregation every week.

It had always seemed so...pleasant.

Graphic t-shirts, warm pretzels, loose change jangling in pockets, luke warm carbonated drinks, bad hair dye, and casual socialization.

Sure, it was only a way to cope with the dreaded outside world. Spend five bucks on a drink to pretend you aren't in credit card debt, buy a fun piece of clothing to make yourself feel better, avoid becoming an alcoholic by gorging on salty pretzels that only ever seemed to make you hungrier.

The mall was routine. It seemed safe.

What he didn't remember was being kidnapped.

"I don't remember you," he said. "I mean sir," he hastily added. "The last thing I remember was feeling ill from a bit of food poisoning in the food court and walking out to the parking lot."

"It wasn't food poisoning. I drugged you. It was so easy too. You kept leaving your drink unattended. I noticed that habit in you for weeks."

This remark set off a phantom cascade of crushed ice falling under Ezra's shirt collar and sliding down his back.

"You always seemed like such a sweet thing. Tipping cashiers and complimenting every other person. Such a sunny disposition too. I am very surprised that I was the first person to sink my teeth into you, so to speak."

Was that it then? He had seemed "sweet," so some stranger decided to drug and kidnap him? Had every good deed only brought him closer to this insane fate?

No. This was not going to be his fate. He was going to cooperate, and then, when his captor finally trusted him enough to let his gaurd down, he would make his escape.

There was no point in rushing, not if his captor wasn't going to hurt him. He just had to bide his time.

"And you're so pretty too," his captor continued. "I know a few men who would wear your face as a mask sooner than saying hello. No, no, you're much better off with me. I'll take care of that pretty face of yours."

He trailed his fingers down his captive's cheek.

"I've admired your smile from afar for much too long. Waiting for my golden opportunity was simply torturous."

Ezra wasn't smiling.

"I was so paranoid that someone else would find you. I considered taking you from your bed, of course. But I didn't want to leave any evidence. So many people go to the mall, a few of my stray hairs won't mean anything to an investigation. And I didn't take you until you were already in the parking lot. No security footage. I checked."

Hot tears pricked the corners of Ezra's eyes. Despite all his pragmatic reasoning, he still found himself overwhelmed by the enormity of his situation.

He didn't know where he was. There wasn't any evidence of kidnapping. He had ghosted his friends all too often, mostly out of depression. They wouldn't be concerned by him not responding to their messages.

In short, he was completely screwed over by a demented stalker and his own poor social skills.

"Oh, don't cry." His kidnapper pulled Ezra's head up, so that it was resting on his chest.

Despite Ezra's best efforts, hot tears continued to roll down his cheeks. He hated not being able to move his hands and wipe them away.

"Angel," his captor whispered. "I should have realized that this would be too much for you. Oh, I tried so very hard to be kind. To make waking up as easy for you as I could. These first few days are going to be rough. I know that. But you'll learn to be happy with me, just give it time."

Ezra sobbed and melted into his captor's warm embrace, allowing his lavender perfume to smother him.

Despite its obvious falseness, the comfort was pure bliss. He wanted to ignore his troubles for a few hours and cry himself asleep in his captor's arms.

His captor began undoing the knot holding Ezra's arms behind him, pull the strips of fabric off, and drop them on the living room floor.

To his relief, Ezra's sore muscles were finally allowed to move. He fought the urge to run, knowing that it would only cause him more suffering.

Instead, he hugged his captor, still an uncontrollable sobbing mess.

A familar, detached sense of pain overcame him. This all was a dream. It had to be.

But still he wept, unable to bring himself to do anything else.

His captor held him close.

"I love you," he whispered soothingly. "I want you to know that. You will be happy here. I'll keep you clothed, clean, and fed. You won't have to worry about anything. No twenty-four hour news cycle. No war, famine, and disease. No abuse and neglect. I will treat you with all the kindness, affection, and care you have always deserved. And I'm only sorry that I didn't give you the chance to come willingly. I was so afraid of scaring you off."

That sounded like hell and heaven all rolled into one. It reminded Ezra of the best promises weaved by fascism, while it went about ignoring its bloody history.

His captor didn't love him. He couldn't delude himself on that point. All his captor had was obsession and mental health problems. What he needed was serious help, not a human pet.

But it was tempting to stay like this forever. Warm and comfortable. Letting his captor keep his promises. Not having debt and the constant risk of homelessness. Living somewhere his toxic friendships and familial connections could never bother him again.

Ezra felt truly pathetic. Had his depression and anxiety really gotten bad enough that he was considering becoming a pet to his kidnapper? And for what, cuddling and empty promises?

He took control of his breathing and was, at long last, able to wipe the tears from his face with his long sleeve.

"Please," he whispered, his voice breaking.

"Please what?" his captor asked, his voice drenched with sympathy.

"Please let me go...sir. I know that you mean well. But I can't stay here. I have to leave."

Another sob choked him, and sent him collapsing into his captor's open arms. The act betrayed a nonexistant lie.

"Oh, darling. I'm afraid not." He squeezed his new pet in another suffocating embrace. "I can't lose you. Not after everything I've been through to get this far. You're far too perfect to be damaged and discarded by the outside world. I'm not doing this out of cruelty. I'm doing this because I love you. Just give me time. That's all I want."

"Well, I want to go home."

Ezra's body didn't match his words, clinging desperately to his captor, seeking any semblance of comfort from this torment.

God, maybe he would make a good pet, needy and compliant. Sitting on his master's lap, cradled in his arms.

No. He wasn't going to give up. It would be absolute insanity. He had to stay strong internally, even if he showed his captor every sign of weakness.

"I'll give you everything you need," his captor promised. "Our own little Eden."

Ezra's mind felt like it was stuffed with barbed wire, every wicked point concealed by a cotton ball.

His friends would report him missing eventually, even if it took them a few months to realize he wasn't intentionally ghosting them.

Patience, he simply needed patience.

@elim-flower @thedarkmongoose @devourerofcheesecake

If you want to be added to or removed from the taglist, ask me.

#Whump #Whumpee #Whumper #Creative writing #Pet whump #Pet whumpee #Intimate whumper #Creepy whumper #Kidnapping whump #Captivity whump #Stalking whump #Modern whump #Pathetic whumpee #Compliant whumpee #Fearful whumpee #Manipulative whumper

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delicatenightfury · 1 year

Text

Such A Gentleman

2022 Month of Writing: Day 15

Pairing: Killian Jones x reader

Prompt: I'll walk you home & Take my jacket, it's cold outside

Word Count: 2,967

Author's Note: please don't steal my work! you can choose to respond to the prompt as well, but don't steal my work

y/n huffed as she rolled her eyes. She had been traveling all day and had stopped for a break at a local bar and inn. She was hoping to get a room to rest for the night but those hopes were shot down. Not because there was no room or because the place was unbearable, but because of the men. Ever since she entered the bar, eyes had been trained on her. The feeling was making her uncomfortable.

y/n finished her drink and paid the bartender, thanking her with a nod and small smile. The woman rose from her seat and started toward the door. She slipped into the cold night, shivering slightly before walking away from the bar. y/n walked down the road, ignoring the few people she saw.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed her arm, pulling her into an alley. y/n grunted a little when she was pushed against a wall. She looked up to find herself looking at a tall blonde man. He smirked down at her. Glancing behind him, y/n could see nearly half a dozen other men grinning at her, causing her to roll her eyes slightly.

"Nice of you to join us," the blonde in front of her said. "It's been awhile since we've had visitors." He moved closer to y/n, pushing her closer to the wall. "You know, you were quite a distraction in the bar earlier this evening."

"Is that so?" y/n responded.

"Oh, you have no idea."

"Would it help if I said I wasn't meaning to?" y/n hated talking like this but she wanted to get out of this situation as soon as she could, which sadly meant playing along.

The blond smirked as he leaned closer.

"You want an honest answer?" he said against her ear. y/n held her breath, smelling the alcohol radiating off of him. "That just makes you much more attractive."

Okay, I'm done with this, y/n thought before headbutting the blonde.

The man cried out in shock and stumbled back, giving y/n room to breathe again. She smirked when the man grabbed his head, groaning in pain.

"Oh, I'm sorry," y/n said with a fake voice. "Did I hurt you?"

"You're going to pay for that," the blond growled. "Get her!"

y/n rolled her eyes and ducked when a man swung his fist at her. She grabbed his arm and used him momentum against him, slamming him into the wall. As he dropped to the ground, another man lunged for her. y/n spun out of the way, avoiding a third man in the process. She stepped back from them to face the six of men. They had all pulled out swords or knives.

"Is that how we're playing?" y/n asked, putting a hand on her hip. "And I thought you all were gentlemen."

The man closest to her lunged, swinging his sword at her head. y/n moved out of the way, twisting his arm so his grip loosened on his sword. As soon as the sword was in her grasp, y/n punched the man in the face, knocking him to the ground.

y/n brought her sword up to block another blow that was aimed for her side. She spun quickly and kicked him in the head, rendering him unconscious. y/n turned to face off another man, avoiding blows that were coming from other men as well.

Suddenly, one of the men grabbed her arm, twisting it behind her back. The man's other hand grabbed her other wrist, keeping it from moving. She struggled when she was pulled against the man's body. Glancing behind her as much as she could, she could see it was the blonde man.

"Drop your sword and we'll make this quick," he told her. The hand holding her extended arm slowly began moving up her arm. y/n's eyes darkened when his hand reached her shoulder, his fingers ghosting over her collarbone and neck. "Then again, I kinda like it when a woman fights back."

y/n growled when she heard a sudden cry. She looked in front of her to see that a man in a black trench coat was now fighting one of the men off. With the new distraction, y/n slipped out the blonde's grip. She quickly took out the man closest to her before leaping off of a crate and kicking the blonde in the head. She watched as he collapsed limply to the ground.

"And what happens if that woman wins the fight?" she asked before throwing the last man into a stack of crates.

y/n glanced at the man in black, seeing that he was finished with the man he had been fighting. y/n threw her weapon to the ground, stepping over the unconscious men as the mystery man put his own sword away.

"I could have handled him," she stated as she approached him.

"Based on what I saw, I'm sure you could have," he said. "You alright, luv?"

"I walked out of there in one piece, didn't I?" she replied, stepping out of the alley with the man. "Thank you, by the way."

"It's not a problem, luv." He gave her a smile. "Killian Jones," he introduced.

"y/n," she replied.

"A pleasure, milady."

He gently took her hand and placed a kiss on top of it. As he straightened himself, y/n glanced over him. He had dark hair, along with some stubble on his face. His eyes looked like the sea, filled with adventures and wild tales, but there was also pain hidden under their waves. He wore dark pants and boots with a red vest covering his black shirt. A silver necklace hung around his neck and his right ear was pierced. There were several rings on his right hand while his left was replaced with a metal hook, though she didn't question it.

"How did you manage to know where I was?" y/n asked, curious as to how he knew she needed help.

"I will admit that I followed you out of the bar," Killian replied with a small smile. "But, I did so after I saw those pinheads walk out. I noticed they had been looking at you for most of the evening and I could tell you were uncomfortable."

"So you were watching me." He shrugged. "Well, I must say, I'm almost glad you were, or else it might have taken me longer to take those men out."

The two chuckled.

"I'm going to take a guess," Killian said after a minute, "that you wouldn't be interested in going back there and having a drink?"

"Probably not," y/n replied.

"Then can I interest you in some rum back at my ship?"

"Thank you for the offer, but I don't drink rum."

"We might have to change that at some point."

"At some point, maybe. But not today."

Killian laughed, making y/n smile a little. The pirate looked at y/n, noticing the way her body shook slightly. He shrugged off his long black trench coat and held it out to her. y/n raised an eyebrow at him, confused.

"Take it," he said. "You need it more than I do right now."

y/n slowly took it from him, waiting for him to change his mind. When he didn't, she slipped the coat on, sighing slightly at the warmth it provided. She had only worn pants, boots, a blouse, and a light vest. She hadn't expected it to grow so cold as the night drew on.

"Thank you," she said, causing him to nod. "Are you sure you don't need this?"

"Keep it," he told her. "I can always get another one."

y/n nodded. The two spent the next hour simply talking and walking around the town. Killian brought her to a different inn and bought her a room, even though she told him not to several times. Killian walked her to the room she would be staying in, saying goodnight and leaving a kiss on her hand. y/n said goodnight to him, going into her room.

She waited until she heard Killian leave to go to the window. She looked outside, watching Killian leave the inn. She couldn't help but smile and wave slightly when he glanced up at her window. He saw her and waved back before heading down to the docks.

When Killian awoke, he was greeted to the sounds of arguing on the upper deck. The man quickly got dressed and, grabbing his sword, stepped outside.

"What is going on here?" he asked in annoyance. He looked at his crew, noticing a few men that stood out. "Who are you and what do you want?"

"They've asked to speak with you, captain," one of the crew members stated.

"Oh? And why is that?"

A familiar blonde man stepped forward. Killian knew he knew the man from somewhere but couldn't quite remember where from.

"Where is she?" the blonde asked.

"Where is who?"

"Don't play dumb, pirate. You know who I speak of. You helped her last night."

Killian smirked, nodding when he recognized the men. They were the ones from the bar that had followed y/n.

"Ah, yes. I know exactly who you're talking about. What of her?"

"Where is she?" he asked again.

"And now why would I tell you that, mate?"

"We have some unfinished business we need to take care of."

"Is that so?" Killian stepped forward so he was only a few feet away from the blonde. "Well, if you want to get to her, I'm afraid you're going to have to go through me."

The blonde glared at him for several moments before pulling out a blade and slashing at Killian. The pirate ducked out of the way, his crew springing into action as the blonde man's friends started to fight as well. Killian pulled out his sword and blocked another attack from the blonde. The sound of metal clashing against metal rang through the air.

The blonde blocked one of Killian's attacks and managed to punch the pirate in the gut. Killian stumbled back, his left hand going to his stomach. He looked up as the blonde approached, smirking.

"Payback time," he said, raising his sword.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed his arm, spinning him around. y/n smirked at his shocked expression.

"Nice to see you again," she said before punching him in the face.

The blonde fell to the ground with a thud, releasing his weapon. y/n stepped over him and offered her hand to Killian. The pirate smiled and let her pull him to his feet.

"I could have handled him," Killian said.

"Based on what I saw, I'm sure you could have." Killian chuckled, recognizing the line he had used the night before. "So what did these creeps want?"

"Information."

"About?"

"Where you were."

y/n rolled her eyes and glared down at the unconscious blonde.

"Some men are just plain disgusting." She glanced at Killian. "And yet some are gentlemen who decide to help someone they barely know. Thank you for that."

"My pleasure. Although it does help that you are an attractive young woman who happened to catch my eye."

"Don't push your luck, Jones," she told him with a smile.

"Worth a shot." y/n rolled her eyes. "What brings you down to the docks, luv? Have you decided to take me up on that rum offer?"

"Not this time. I'm here because of this." She held up a familiar black coat. "I came to return it and thank you for lending it to me."

"Not a problem, luv."

He took the coat from her. y/n gave him another smile before turning and walking off the boat. Killian walked to the rail of his ship, watching as she walked back toward the town.

Just like every other night, the bar was full of people. y/n sat at a small table off to the side, not wanting to draw attention to herself again. Every now and then she would glance up and look around the bar, rolling her eyes at the half drunk people before turning back to what she was doing. She held a piece of wood in her hand while she held a small knife in the other, using it to carve the wood.

y/n brushed a small shaving of wood to the ground, letting it join the other wood chips. Handling the knife carefully, she began to carve small details into the side of her creation. As she worked, she noticed someone walking toward her table.

"Anyone sittin' here, luv?"

y/n looked up to find Killian standing in front of her, a smile on his face.

"You've got eyes, Jones," she replied. "You tell me."

The pirate chuckled as he sat down. He glanced at the glass that was on the table, raising an eyebrow when he saw it was full of rum. Killian looked at y/n in amusement.

"I thought you said you don't drink rum," he said.

"I don't."

"Then what's this?" He motioned to the glass. y/n smirked and pushed it towards him. Killian laughed. "You got this for me?"

"Like I said before, you've got eyes. Take it as an extra thank you for what you've done for me."

Killian nodded, taking a sip from the glass as he watched y/n, who had gone back to her carving.

"You know, it's kinda funny how we keep running in to one another," he commented. He smirked at her. "Are you following me around, luv?"

"For the record, I was here first. I'm not sure how that makes me a stalker."

"What are you making?" he asked, motioning to the wood in her hand.

y/n held out the wood to him. Killian took it from her hand, looking over the raven she was making.

"I tend to carve during my free time or when I'm bored."

"It's very well done," he complimented, handing the bird back to her.

"Thank you." y/n slipped the figure into her small bag while she put the knife into her sleeve. "So from what I've heard, pirates don't normally stick around in one place for too long, yet you've been in town for two or three days. What's made you stick around, Captain?"

Killian shrugged.

"Let's just say that something here caught my eye and I wanted to learn more about it. Besides, I thought the crew could use a little time on shore."

"And how has your research been coming along?"

"Well that remains to be seen."

y/n smiled slightly. After a few moments, she stood up from her seat.

"I should get going," she said. "It's getting late and I could use the extra sleep."

"Why don't I walk you, luv," Killian offered, rising as well.

"Such a gentleman."

"I do try."

The two chuckled before heading toward the door. But before they were able to make it outside, a hand grabbed y/n's arm, turning her around.

"Where do you think you're going?" the man holding her asked.

"I'm leaving," she stated simply, glaring at him.

The man glanced at Killian before looking back at her.

"You could do so much better than a pirate, sweetheart. How about we get a drink and I can show you that I'm far better company."

"How about you let go of me and we pretend this never happened?"

"What makes you think that'll happen?"

y/n quickly ripped her arm away from him, punching the man square in the face. He cried out in shock and pain, falling to the ground.

"Never touch me again," y/n growled.

Without another word to anyone, she stormed out of the bar. She could faintly hear Killian calling for her to wait but she refused to listen as she ran for the inn. She dashed inside and up to her room, shutting the door behind her. y/n's hands went up to her hair, pulling at it slightly in frustration. Not even a minute later, a knock sounded at her door, causing her to jump.

"You alright in there, luv?" she heard Killian call from the hallway.

y/n opened the door so she could see Killian. The man offered her a small smile as he stepped into her room, shutting the door behind him.

"You ran out there in quite a hurry, luv," he said. "Plus I'm pretty sure you broke that man's nose."

"He deserved it," y/n muttered.

"That he did." He slowly stepped forward and reached toward her face. y/n closed her eyes when his hand touched her cheek, wiping away the tears that had unknowingly escaped from her eyes. "You alright?" he asked quietly.

"Not really," she admitted. "It seems like every guy in this town is trying to get me to go home and sleep with them." y/n sighed heavily, trying to hold back more tears. "It's frustrating. For once, I’d like to have someone want me for me.”

"Not every man." The woman looked up at Killian, who offered her a small smile. "I have an idea, luv," Killian said. "Why don't you come with me? My crew and I leave in the morning. Not exactly sure where we'll go or where we'll end up, but you are more than welcome to join us. And if you do, I'll make sure that no man shall ever lay a hand on you again."

y/n smiled, fresh tears spilling from her eyes as she laughed a little.

"I'd like that," she replied. "I would like that a lot."

"Well then, welcome to the crew of the Jolly Roger, luv."

#month of writing #writing prompt #killian jones #Killian Jones x reader #killian x reader #ouat killian #ouat #once upon a time #enchanted forest #captain hook

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silver-ink-iron-words · 2 years

Note

Could you do another part of Dinner Guest? I love it so much!

Thanks for reading my work. I hope you like this one too :)

-------------

Part 1

Part 2

Dinner Guest, Part 3

“These are going to scar, if you’re not careful,” LaChasse said, tracing their fingers along the cuts circling Julian’s arm.

Julian ducked away, glaring.

He’d gained more burns in the last few weeks, as well as bruises and slashes and scrapes. He was starting to build quite the little collection.

On some days, it felt as though LaChasse was finally wearing him down. But on others, his resolve actually strengthened. He had learned new strategies to cope with pain, and he was dogged by the knowledge that giving up would render all his suffering meaningless.

Plus, with his friends gone, with his home stolen away, he really had nothing left but this one last mission seeped into his bones – resist.

“How many are there?” LaChasse asked, sounding bored.

“You could have any one of your underlings do this,” Julian said, eyes roving over the details of the holding cell. “Or do you just not have anything better to do with your time?”

LaChasse snapped their fingers at a henchman, who walked over and backhanded Julian across the face.

“Going low-tech today,” Julian observed, rubbing at his jaw. “What’s the matter? Break your fancy little gadgets?”

LaChasse sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn’t have left you behind in that restaurant.”

“Feel free to take me back there anytime you’d like. I’ll buy you dumplings as a parting gift.”

LaChasse signalled, and the henchman raised his fist.

Julian flinched.

“That’s what I thought,” LaChasse said. “Now, second chance. How many are there, who are they, and what are their powers?”

Julian glanced over to the prisoners. There were more than usual today – at least fifty. A total of seven were powered. He spotted some familiar faces in the crowd, but most of them were new. A hundred eyes with a hundred different emotions stared back at him. Fear, anger, sympathy, guilt.

“I’m not saying.”

The henchman hit him again.

His face throbbed, and he tasted blood.

He shook his head. And was hit.

He looked over to the henchman. “Please tell me this is hurting your hand at least a little bit.”

The henchman raised his arm, and Julian braced himself. But then, LaChasse held up their hand as a signal to stop.

“You think you’re cute, don’t you?” they said.

“Maybe on a good day.”

“If I didn’t know better, I would have said that you’ve forgotten that I won. Forgotten that you’re mine.”

“I told you on day one, pal,” Julian replied. “I'm not surrendering.”

LaChasse’s eyes were unreadable.

They pulled their gun, and leveled it at Julian’s head.

Julian paused for a moment, and then forced out a laugh. “Ha, nice try, Collector. But I know you don’t trash your own prized possessions.”

He said that, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the gun’s hollow dark barrel.

LaChasse studied him for a moment, their gaze piercing. Then, something on their face darkened. Julian’s pulse quickened.

“Rick, grab a prisoner and bring them here.”

A second henchman peeled off the far wall and headed towards the cell.

Julian froze. “What are you doing?”

He took a step forward, but a large hand gripped his shoulder. It was the henchman that had been hitting him just moments ago.

Rick came forward, dragging a pretty young woman with dark curls. He threw her at LaChasse’s feet.

“What’s your name dear?” they said, crouching down to her level.

“Angie.” Her voice was a strangled whisper.

“Charmed to make your acquaintance, Angie.” They pulled a pristine embroidered cloth from their pocket, and used it as a gag. “Now, shake or nod your head, please. Are you powered?”

She rapidly shook her head “no.”

LaChasse turned their attention to Julian. “Well, my little detector, is she lying?”

Julian swallowed, his eyes racing between the two of them. “You got your answer. She’s unpowered.”

LaChasse rose up, and pointed their gun at her forehead. “Well then, it seems I have no need for you.”

Angie thrashed, but Rick held firm. Julian tried to lurch forward.

“What the fuck?!” he shouted, struggling against the henchman’s grip. “LaChasse, stop!”

“Is she powered, Julian?”

“You always let the unpowered ones go!”

“Are you going to give me what I want, or are you going to let an innocent woman die?”

They clicked off the safety, and aimed.

“She can fly!” Julian yelled. Then, he went limp. “Please. Don’t shoot. She can fly.”

Angie’s eyes flew to him. Were they full of terror, or betrayal? He wasn’t sure.

“There, now was that so hard?” LaChasse beamed over at him.

Julian tore his gaze from Angie’s, and took in a shuddering breath.

“Not only can she fly,” he said. “She’s supersonic. Fast enough that if she hits Rick’s trick knee and grabs the prisoner in the orange hoodie, she can – ”

LaChasse’s eyes burst wide in realization. “Shut him up!”

The henchman tried to grab at his face, but he dodged.

“He’s got heat vision!” Julian called to Angie. “Carry him up to the ceiling and – mmph.”

The henchman finally got a big meaty hand over Julian’s mouth. But it was too late.

Angie really could move fast, and within seconds she had gotten free and was fighting her way back into the cell. LaChasse shouted orders, and the henchmen swarmed, but they couldn’t get there before she blasted upwards with orange-hoodie-guy in tow.

Bright red lasers shot from hoodie-guy’s eyes, cracking the ceiling tiles, sending a cascade of white dust and rubble over the people below. But, more importantly, he destroyed the wires running just above.

The electromagnetic field that had been suppressing all powers inside the holding cell switched off.

And that’s when all hell really broke loose.

LaChasse’s henchmen tried to fight back, but they were outnumbered. The little old lady with super strength ripped through the cell bars. The businessman transformed into a swarm of bees and launched at a henchman that had been shooting fire balls everywhere. The teenager with acid spit unleashed their ability with a zealous glee.

LaChasse lifted their gun, but someone chucked a remnant of cell bar at their face, sending them to the floor.

The henchman holding Julian pulled him backwards. Julian writhed, but he only had half the henchman’s strength.

Then, something collided with the both of them. Julian hit the ground hard.

Before he knew what was happening, Angie was there, holding out her hand. “Come with us.”

“I – ”

“Men!” LaChasse shouted. They heaved up, bleeding from their head. “Forget the other prisoners! Don’t let the detector escape!”

A fireball flew right past Julian’s face, and hit Angie square in the stomach. Her head slammed against the concrete when she fell.

Julian cried out, patting out the flames.

Then, a prisoner shoved him away and scooped Angie in their arms. Julian snapped his gaze up in confusion.

“I’m sorry man,” the prisoner said. And they really did look sorry. “But it’s too dangerous to be around you.”

With that, they sprinted towards the hole that the old lady had punched in the wall.

Julian started to scramble after them, but a weight landed on his back. Arms wrapped around his chest. Tugged him backwards into some strange facsimile of a hug.

He felt a cold whisper inside his ear.

“Where do you think you’re flying off to, little bird?”

Soon, the henchmen had surrounded him. But before they fully closed in, Julian was able to glimpse the last of the prisoners escape.

“You are going to regret this,” LaChasse said, still holding him.

“Probably.”

Julian hoped that the crime lord interpreted his trembling as adrenaline from the fight, and not as a reaction to the fact that his heart rotted like a carcass inside his chest.

Because, he’d only noticed the potential escape strategy a handful of seconds after revealing Angie’s power.

For a few brief moments there, LaChasse had successfully broken him.

Part 4

#villain #hero #villains and heroes #heroes and villains #hero x villain #villain x hero #writing snippet #snippet #writeblr #writing #whump #whump writing #not a prompt

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justjozzyjitters · 10 months

Text

Short Story #6

To Be Alive

“Officer Grimson,” Ellie addresses, reaching out to tap him on the shoulder. “I have some information that might help, I mean it was my car, well, my dad’s car or whatever.”

His shoulders stir slightly at her touch, but he makes no move to address her. His focus remains on the tablet in his hands, one flat against its back, as he uses his pointer finger to slowly type information on a new document. “Officer Grimson,” she tries again, more desperately this time.

The scene before them is devastating in appearance, and she can hardly even stand to look at it. Her Jeep– lime green, fitted to match the new surge of warm, summer weather– pulled recklessly up to a telephone pole, slightly tilted with the weight of her car. The air bag on her side is still wholly blown up. At the same time, that of her passenger was purposefully popped when they were still trying to pull her free before walking her over to be checked by the paramedics, giving her a shock blanket, and finally sat beside her on her neighbor’s garden wall.

Lilith must be angry, somehow blaming her for the crash they had just gotten into. She won’t even look at her. By appearance alone, Lilith was completely alright, but her brains must be scrambled, leaving her to blame someone for her inability to cope with their sudden trauma. She was more hurt, after all. The officers that got on the scene first, the paramedics, fire fighters– none of them had even addressed her past a single glance. Other than dull cramping in her neck and a voice rendered only to little croaks, Ellie feels fine. Despite this, you would think someone would pay a bit more attention to her. She is a victim too.

“Officer Grimson!” Her shriek blends with the calm voice of Lilith as she joins Ellie in her attempt to speak to the man. Finally, he turns around.

“I have her purse, if that helps,” Lilith motions awkwardly, attempting to keep the heavy blanket around her shoulders and hand him at the same time. He takes it from her, tucks it beneath his armpit, and readjusts it for her. “I was, um, holding it for her while she was driving. She usually tosses it onto the floor board but our backpacks were there and she didn’t want to risk it falling off the back seat or something being that there are no doors. I guess when we crashed I sorta just clung to it.”

Finally, Grimson flips it open. There is a single pocket design, the front of it made into a flat wallet. Left to right, it goes from a collection of varied library cards, an emergency credit card, a debit card, and finally, her license, on display through the little plastic window. “Name,” he says aloud, pausing momentarily as he hands off the tablet to his assistant, “Elenor Lynn Patterson.”

“It’s Ellie!” she interjects, taking advantage of the attention now on them. Lilith repeats her, like a translator, for her inability to speak.

When they had met, Lilith had surprised her by already knowing her name. “I’m Ellie,” she had introduced herself, standing idly at her desk as the class ended for the day.

“I know who you are,” Lilith bites back. “We’ve been in the same psych class for the last year and a half. Of course, I know who you are."

Ellie recoils, pulling back from an unrequited handshake. She moves to play with the brass buttons of her jacket, then at the base of her bleached hair. “Fine then, be that way, but I will tell you right now, I am not doing this assignment alone. I have done too many that way to let just another person push me around. I expect your respect and I won’t put up with anything less than that.”

From her position above Lilith, Ellie’s declaration is almost threatening. But nothing is when met by laughter. “Learn that from one of those self-help books you are always reading?” she teases.

Ellie smiles a little. “I did, yes. I’ve always had a bit of issues socially, but being that I

am going to university soon, I figured I’d better study up on how to make some friends. There

was this really swell chapter, including one of the revised diary entries of the author when she

was in high school about how she would rather be alone than disrespected. I can’t say I agree

with her assessment of the situation, but….”

“For some with ‘social issues,’ you sure talk a lot.”

Ellie quickly apologizes, once again retreating behind a trench of hair. “I was just mentioning that because I sort of figured we could save ourselves some work because I’ve already read it. The book feels like far more of a biography– and autobiography than a self-help book. There are plenty of things to analyze.”

“So, you were just trying to speed up the process?”

She nods while curling in her lips and releasing them with a slobbery pop. “Yeah, I’ve-- I’ve already read it, but I’m not expecting you to do more than me because of that. I figured we could split up the rest of the work evenly? I mean, I read it for fun– and it was fun– so it would only be proper for me to put some actual work into it.”

Lilith glances up at her, an understanding glimmering behind a rough, protective exterior. “So, where are we doing this?” she asks, “My house is a little rowdy, so I’d rather not do it there.”

“Mine too,” Ellie interrupts excitedly, “I’ve got like four dogs and they’re really nice but they’re yappy so we’d never get any work done. We could meet at the library on Fifth?”

Lilith nods hesitantly. “That’ll work, but I’m gonna need a ride. I don’t get to take my test again for a couple more months.”

“Oh, okay!” Spastically, Ellie dumps her purse onto the desk, grabs a pen, and flips her journal to a random new page. “Just, like, put down your number and address– and maybe your name.”

Lilith freezes up. “Don’t you know my name?”

“Oh, um, I’m sorry. I don’t know your name. I was gonna asked but then you knew mine and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable when I didn’t know your’s in return,” Ellie explains frantically.

“It’s Lilith– not Lily,” she clarifies, “just Lilith.”

“Okay,” Ellie idles, “Lilith.”

When offered, Lilith takes the notebook and quickly jots down her information. She holds it out again, “I didn’t know your name either; I lied. Elanor Lynn Patterson, as I am now reading it off your ID.”

“Oh,” Ellie chuckles slightly, flipping the purse shut and tossing the strap over her shoulder. She waves her hand briefly and strides out of the classroom.

“How much do you know about this girl, Miss. Benisson?” asks Officer Grimson, “Perhaps a parent’s name? A phone number?”

Lilith tends to observe people, as she did with Ellie and her many self-help books. The names of the people around her never quite come up.

“I don’t know a lot. We’ve had classes together and recently started this one project together, but outside of that I know zilch. She has four yappy dogs?” she laughs bitterly.

“She had come and got me a couple hours ago ’cause I don’t drive. We were at the library and had just finished up, so she was taking me home. Then this little bird flew into the front of the car, and she swerved to miss it. She must of hit some sort of pothole cause next thing I knew, we were battered up against a pole.

“Then I looked over at her, and her eyes were gray. We had just hit, and we were still in

our seats, and I looked at her, and she was just sorta staring at me.

“In movies and shit, they also have the life draining out of people’s eyes and shit, but I had thought it was just to up the drama, but her eyes were just so dull. Her neck was snapped to the side, so she was just staring at me.

“When she talks, she looks anywhere but at yah, but she kept looking at me. There was just something wrong, and I just knew she was dead. Her eyes are supposed to be brown."

Reaching her hand hesitant around the bulge of the airbag, Lilith works to push Ellie away from her. Looser than that of a doll, it swings on its base, and her chin clacks loudly against her breast bone before coming full circle to land back on Lilith. At least this time, Ellie just sorta stared into Lilith’s lap.

Then, Lilith, just sort of sat there. At that moment in time, she could have been thinking about anything in the world, but it was just blank and black as TV static, the volume turned to mute. Her head felt heavy, and no words could come to mind for the hours that seemed to pass while they waited for someone to find them and then for them to get help.

Once Lilith had gotten to know Ellie, she didn’t seem to shut up. But now she is the one, utterly soundless, an unmoving thing in a world so uppity and lively around her she can hardly stand it.

“I can’t decide what would have been worse. I so badly wanted to be Ellie instead, just dead rather than sitting there waiting for something to happen. Anything to happen, really, for her to go off again. She never shuts up. I swore so many times while sitting there that she was still droning on, jabbering from the backseat about those fucking dogs. Then I’d look around, and she’d still be sitting there.

“God, even now I’d give anything to hear her freaking jabbers. If she had just shut up for one damn minuet and watched the fucking road, maybe we’d both be alive right now.”

Ellie shifts uncomfortably in the second seat of the interrogation room. They hadn’t asked her questions or even addressed her as they entered. Now, the reasons behind it were starting to make sense. In horror movies, the ghosts never know they’re dead, and when they do, they disappear, but she just sits here. Moving as everything sits around her, undisturbed.

About 2022, age 18.

#short story #creative writing course #scary story #dead girl

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chocoenvy · 3 years

Text

Such a Kind God, Such a Cruel God

-Mega inspiration from @nicebonescomrade and @i-put-the-yan-in-polyandry -I've had this concept in my head for a bit and nobody else seemed to have explored it much so I just decided to do it myself lol

Warnings: Cult behavior, slight yandere themes, self-harm, suicide, a curse word

Of course, there was always more than one side to a god. When you descended upon Teyvat the world sang its praises for you and it was no dispute that you were the one this world was made for. This world was in the palm of your hands to do with and play with however you pleased.

Nobody would’ve been surprised or bothered if you had crushed those that worshipped you under your heel. Take your anger out on them, spit on them, yell at them. Immortal beings get bored quick and the inhabitants of Teyvat were all too prepared to become your punching bag and your stress relief.

But you didn’t.

You treated them with nothing but respect and love. Granted, you did have your off-days as everyone did, but it was nothing that they expected of a god. When the Raiden Shogun was upset, storms littered Inazuma. The wind whipped harsher when Venti, the weakest god, was upset. Even when the incognito Rex Lapis, Zhongli, was upset, the Earth rumbled even if just a bit at his feet.

But when you were upset, you merely excused yourself from those in your vicinity, saying that you were not in a good mood. Like a normal human.

You were human, so human it almost leaked doubts into their minds.

But nothing could dispute your holiness. Not when the whole of Teyvat, the birds, trees, animals, hilichurls, hypostasis, dragons and abyss alike sang your praise. Who else could calm Beth, the raging anemo hypostasis? Who else could render Dvalin and Azdaha unmoving puppies, begging for your touch.

Which is exactly why your behavior is so odd to them. Your loyal acolytes would never dare to question you, but they were a tad worried. You had so much power to do whatever you wished with both the people and the whole land of Teyvat, so why weren’t you doing anything with it?

“A lovely and merciful god,” Venti always sang in the tavern. For even he had his bouts of rage but you never seemed to even consider laying a finger on any of them that wasn’t full of kindness.

However, the same couldn’t be said about yourself.

“Your grace,” Ningguang gently grabbed your wrist, frowning at the scars littering the skin, “May I ask what happened?” She gently traced them with her other gloved hand.

She waved off the seamstress that was measuring you. Every one of your followers agreed that you needed to have more suitable clothes for a higher being such as yourself. (Although you had denied this and called it unnecessary, Ningguang and many others deemed it very necessary. Especially considering that your current clothes - while making you stand out and were very comfortable - they did not command the respect that you deserve.)

You merely smiled at her question and shrugged, “It’s nothing. They’re old.”

Ningguang frowned. You were a terribly awful liar and from her years of working in the trade of Liyue she could tell someone was lying from a singular slip up.

It hurt her, truly, to have you deem it necessary to lie to her. “Your grace, these look fairly new...” Her eyebrows drew together in worry as an abnormal golden hue shone in the semi-healed cuts, “Surely it wasn’t an animal, all of the animals here adore you. These are too fresh to be from your old home.” Ningguang’s voice was almost a whine, praying it wasn’t anything she needed to worry about.

“Cooking accident?” You winced at your own voice, it was phrased more a question than an answer.

“Dear,” Ningguang forwent the formalities and your heartstrings were plucked, knowing you had upset her. “Please tell me the truth,” She gently cupped your cheek with her gloved hand, giving you the option to pull away if you so wished. “I can’t stand seeing you lie to me.”

Now you were whining. Just the thought of hurting all of your beloved followers, those you’d been loving and caring for since you first entered the city of Mondstat all that time ago. It pained you in your heart, more than a knife to your skin ever could.

“I...” You gulped, “I did it on purpose...”

Something in her eyes snapped. Her lovely red eyes seemed to melt and all at once the ice she had built her barriers with melted and fresh tears glittered her lashes.

“I’m-! I’m sorry!” You frantically waved your hands around before wrapping them around her, “I didn’t wanna upset you!”

“Your grace,” Ningguang’s voice was strong, but there were cracks littering the fine stone in which her voice was cultivated out of, “That’s not- please don’t worry about me. I just- I merely wished you hadn’t harmed yourself. When was-” She took a breath to calm herself, “When was the last time you did something like this?”

You paused and held onto her tighter, “...last night.”

Her grip on you increased tenfold and you felt her crystalline tears drip onto your shoulder. She sighed shakily, “I’m going to have to inform the others about this.”

You nodded.

“You’ll be watched to make sure you don’t hurt yourself.”

You nodded.

“It’s because we care about you, more than anything.”

You stayed quiet.

She pulled away from the hug, the only indication of her crying was a slight redness around her eyes.

“If you’re hurt, Teyvat is too.” She wiped away small tears forming in your eyes, “Please, do not ever hurt yourself again. If not for your sake then for the world and people that you own. Do it for us and Teyvat.”

You tried, you really did. But eventually, in a moment nobody else was around, you found yourself with golden blood flowing down your upper thigh and a knife in your hand.

“Your grace!” You flinched and swiveled your head around to Venti at the door, “Shit!” He hissed, immediately knocking the knife out of your hand with a flick of his hand. He kneeled beside you, cradling your thigh in his hands. With his limited godly powers, he healed what he could of the wound.

You winced at the cold wind hitting your open cuts, “Venti, it’s- it’s fine really-”

“It’s not.” His voice cracked, and you could see shining tears in his eyes, “If you’re hurt, so are we. Especially if you’re hurting yourself-!”

“I wouldn’t even be here if I didn’t hate myself.” You frowned and your eyebrows were drawn together in a scowl.

It was the first time Venti had seen you angry and it was directed at yourself. Strangely, that sparked a flicker of anger in him. No matter how blasphemous it was, he felt it towards you. You could do anything you wished in this world. Abuse whoever you wished. Kill someone with the flick of your wrists. They’d listen to your every command. But all they asked was for you to not hurt yourself. Merely love yourself or at least tolerate yourself. You were so loving to everyone else, so why was it so hard to show yourself the same love? You were most deserving of it after all.

“What do you mean?” Venti whimpered, gently hovering his fingertips above your wounds.

You frowned, “Back in my world, where I was before Teyvat, I had killed myself. I woke up here thinking I was dead. That’s why I was so hysterical that night.”

That night. You were referring to your first night in Teyvat. You were transported into Albedo’s lab in Dragonspine, with three archons and the alchemist there to welcome you into the world created for you.

“That’s why...” Venti couldn’t finish his thoughts. But at seeing tears fall down your cheeks, like stars falling out of the sky, he cried harder. “So what brought you to me, to us, to Teyvat, was your own self-loathing? Your own desire to harm yourself is what brought you to Teyvat?” He hiccuped. Tentatively, through his staggered breathing, he asked, “Did it hurt?”

You breathed in harshly, your hand coming up to cradle your neck. “Yes.” You whimpered.

A strangled sound escaped Venti’s throat. “I’m sorry.” He said, “I sang songs praising Albedo and whatever other forces that brought you here I’m- I’m so sorry! I was praising your own death!”

He blubbered his half coherent thoughts into your shoulder. You stroked his hair and muttered, “It’s okay, you didn’t know. It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m sorry.”

Venti wanted to say it wasn’t your fault. But truly, it was. To love everyone and everything in Teyvat with such a gentle hand. To hate and hurt yourself with such fervent anger. You were such a kind god but so so cruel.

#sagau #self aware genshin #genshin self aware #genshin cult au #cult genshin impact #sagau brainrot #i can't get out of the sagau rabit hole #this is a cry for help/j

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danny-chase · 2 years

Text

Incomplete List of Raven’s Powers from reading NTT (1980)

Dimension shifting - not teleportation

Learned from Azar: "I learned how to flow between dimensions and how to control the myriad pathways to my destination"

Cannot go through diamond

Appears soundlessly and silently, just with smoke

Can use this to create a smoke screen

Soul self - Raven is able to separate her soul from her body

Her soul self was imbued with Trigon's essence in Tales of the New Teen Titans #2

This power originally had a five minute limit, which she conquered by having the will to defend herself

She can encapsulate people with her soul self and give them a taste of hell (or just store them in there, though it isn't pleasant)

The soul self can be shattered - described as causing pure agony

Soul self can render people unconscious

Soul self can carry/transport inanimate objects and living things

Soul self can talk

Soul self can counteract external control to some extent by enveloping the controlled hero

Cannot go through diamond

Soul self can fly

Can take damage from laser blasts but not guns, what hurts the soul self is up in the air - possibly light based attacks, magic, and special substances

Can absorb physical objects, store them, and take them back out, she can let things pass through if necessary

The soul self can still be controlled separately when Raven's physical form is unconscious

Can survive in space for short periods of time

Can envelop people in it to help them seek out information (maybe related to precognition powers?) - source The New Teen Titans #36

Is susceptible to being controlled by aliens - The New Teen Titans #36

Empathetic healing - has limitations but is also OP af

"Disease is beyond my power to disperse" - Tales of the New Teen Titans #2

"Those pains, those agonies, become my own and they can tear my soul asunder." - Tales of the New Teen Titans #2

"Oh, they stay… in all too many ways they remain with me forever." - Tales of the New Teen Titans #2

Cuts disappear from the target of healing, reappear on Raven, then disappear completely

She can heal people from near drowning (somehow yeets the water out of lungs?)

This power drains Raven, making her pass out at times

Power is also corrupted by Trigon's possession, he blocks her ability to expel the pain completely

Empathy - ability to sense and take away the emotions of other

"Raven is an empath, a conduit for emotions she is not allowed to experience for herself" - Legends of the DC Universe #18

"A healer of souls… she can dig into your deepest sub-conscious. She can take your most terrible pains… and make them her own. She can reach into your mind and imperceptibly alter it. She can sense your deepest fears, and exploit them. She can learn of your truest love… and…" - The New Teen Titans #14

Is able to sense evil and power level

Possibly came from Arella - it's stated that Arella's emphatic powers were increased on Azarath, may be her mother's side of the family (The New Teen Titans #6)

Can sense who pain/emotions are coming from if she already knows the person

Can sense when someone's dying/is dead/is alive

Can reach out to Gar and sooth his emotions while he's in beast form - does this extend to animals?

Can sense "mental blockage"

Can draw out someone's inner strength

Strength sapping - can draw the power from people

Used in The New Teen Titans #6 on Trigon in coordination with Arella

Precognition - limited

She sometimes gets flashes of the future, they are uncontrolled

Language absorption - Annual #5 of The New Titans

Two fingered touch to the forehead lets Raven learn the language of the person she touches

Immunity - is unable to get disease

Is also unable to cure disease, could there be a connection?

Dreams/Nightmares - has the ability to influence others' dreams

Used on Dick Grayson once in the first issue and then never brought up again

Unconsciousness - The New Teen Titans #19

Is able to previous render people unconscious with a touch

Lasts long enough for her to slip away

Hallucinations - has the ability to make others hallucinate

Used on Grant Wilson to show him the Titans defeated

Enthrallment - is able to make others love her

Used on Wally West, breaks when her “true nature” is revealed (similar to Trigon and Arella, it takes seeing the evil part of her soul for the feelings to leave completely)

Can't undo it

Knowledge extraction - The New Teen Titans #21

Can force information out of people with a touch

Sometimes happens unintentionally and subconsciously when someone steps through her soul self

Works even when person is "mentally blocked" (comatose/unconscious)

Technology manipulation - ???

Picked up a phone and makes it call someone without dialing or knowing the number

Blasts - she can blast people away from her

Generally only happens in demon form

Death Stare - her death can become deadly

Only used in nearly possessed form - Tales of the Teen Titans #46

Fabric manipulation

While Trigon has nearly possessed her soul, she's able to grab someone using her cloak - Tales of the Teen Titans #56

Also happens while possessed in The New Teen Titans #31

Empathetic Rebound - can make people feel the pains she's previously absorbed

Only used in nearly possessed form - Tales of the Teen Titans #56

Turning into a giant Raven

Once she got contact high on PCP in a drug PSA and it made this happen

Okay to be fair this one’s not technically in NTT but I’m including it

Edit: Ty @momo-whore for the help!

#raven #teen titans #titans #ntt

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enyearns · 2 years

Text

Xiao: Peace In The Little Things

The world is still when I'm with you.

✧ genre(s): fluff ✧ warnings: none :) ✧ wc: 900 words

a/n: hello again! it's been a while since i posted. in truth, i've been feeling a bit shy to post anything. but anyways... if this reaches anyone, i hope you enjoy this little thing i wrote <3

“It’s completely unfair! Surely there is a way to quell it?”

Xiao inwardly smiles seeing the little frown on your face. You two have stopped sparring a bit ago, and now you are lying face up to the clear sky while trying to brainstorm ways to ease the pain Xiao has to endure during his more severe karmic debt episodes. He can see it on your face that you are genuinely trying your damned hardest to help him. And… Seeing the concentrated look on your face unconsciously brings a small smile to his face.

“There is no way around it.”

You hum, ignoring Xiao’s statement. Then you sit upright abruptly, a bright smile popping up on your face. You readjust yourself and move to sit on your knees, before promptly patting your thighs eagerly. “Come, come.”

Xiao tilts his head in confusion, unclear on what she wants him to do. You click your tongue, and without warning pulls him towards you so that his head is resting on your lap. “What are you doing!” He exclaims, the tip of his ears burning red. But he does not move himself away from you.

You giggle, timidly weaving your fingers in his dark hair. “My mother would always make me sit like this when I’m feeling upset,” you begin softly as you weave your fingers through his locks. You inwardly note that his rich emerald hair is surprisingly soft. “She would run her hand through my hair, like I am now, and it would always, always make me feel better.” You pause, then add: “My petty feelings of being upset doesn’t compare to the hurt you have to endure though. Not one bit. I can’t imagine what you have to suffer. But I do hope this eases your burden, even if it’s just by a bit.”

Xiao scoffs a little, but his body is relaxed under your touch. “You really have the audacity to treat an adeptus like this.”

Again, you ignore him and continue your little ramble, voice light as you recount the old tale.

Xiao finds that there is something comforting about this gesture of yours; everything about this moment brought a sense of calmness to him. Everything about you, from the inviting warmth of your body heat radiating against his skin, to the feeling of your fingers caressing his head, and to the sound of your pleasant voice filling his ears; all of these things brought a foreign stillness to his mental realm. He can’t help but close his eyes and immerse himself in this new feeling that you’re inadvertently allowing him to experience.

“You are lucky to have such a caring family.” The words he quietly says slip out of his mouth unconsciously. Almost like it is just a passing thought that he lets out without deliberation. The boy on your lap sounds so lonely, yet inured to what he’s had to live out for the past thousands of years.

And the realisation of this twists your heart.

“I… I consider you to be family, too,” you reply shyly, your voice low so that only those words reach his ears, and only his, even if there was not another person in sight or within a 5 mile radius of you two. “At least… you’re someone I care about a lot. You don’t stand alone, Xiao. As long as I walk on these grounds, I will always be there for you.”

Your words of commitment full of conviction causes his entire body to erupt with heat, his usually calm exterior breaking to expose a very embarrassed Xiao. It’s extremely uncharacteristic of him, but he finds that he’s always rendered to this state because of you, whether it’s intentional from your part or not.

He looks away from you to hide his flushed cheeks, covering the bottom half of his face with his hand.

After a brief silence, you quickly spoke. “I-I’m sorry. That was a bit weird.”

He grasps your wrist when he feels your hand lifting from his head, pulling it back down to its previous spot. “I appreciate th– you. I appreciate you. Thank you.” He only remained quiet before because he needed time to recompose himself. He feared that he would stutter if he spoke. And, as it turns out, I’ll stutter anyway. He feels his face heat up again thinking about it. In a mumble, he adds, “And you know to call my name any time you need me.”

You chuckle and nod. “Of course. If I ever wake to a knife at my throat, or it–”

“No. Any time you need me, be it just to see me or if you are in danger, just call out my name and I will be there before you even realise it.”

Your eyes widened slightly, and you stare at him in bewilderment. This time, it’s your turn to sport the crimson cheeks. And you look cute with it. Xiao’s lips slightly turned upward in a smile, and the red on your cheeks only deepened. “What’s with that reaction? I’m just extending my services.”

A laugh tumbles out of you, and you smile back at him, eyes closing in genuine glee. “Thank you, Adeptus Xiao.”

Xiao finds himself smiling along with you. A rush of joy fills him just seeing how happy you are. He would do anything, absolutely anything, to protect that cute smile of yours.

“Anytime.”

#xiao x reader #xiao x you #xiao x y/n #xiao fluff #xiao oneshot #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin x y/n #genshin fluff

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starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

Note

Can you do one where the reader is Bonnie’s twin sister and is dating Stefan ?

Salvatore - Stefan Salvatore x Bennet!reader

Masterlist Link

Summary; based on the request

Warnings; making out, slight smut, fingering, swearing, threats, mentions of torture, Bonnie being an adorable protective sister, implied smut

“Shhh.” It surpassed your mouth as a rumble onto your lover’s lips, as yours stretched out into a hushed smile. He too showed an expression of happiness, as he pecked your lips, his hands sliding beneath the material of your top, soothing your back with his calloused and wise hands.

There was a problem rendering you with the necessity of being quiet, it would be a terrible travesty if anyone within the household were to hear you, giggling like a teenage girl (which you were), their Bennet curiosity swiping off their nose and leaping into action as they would surely, and most definitely, take aid to discover what it was that had you amused so.

Their opinion on the immortal men of time, that were transformed into a whole new species by one transfusion of exchanged blood, and a sentence of completed death, was not an optimal nor within preferred context. Vampires had taken so much from the Bennet witches throughout the years, that there was a stifling resentment wedged between the two.

You and Stefan were the exception, the two star crossed lovers entailed in a forbidden romance. He wasn't the enemy, but that did not mean that your sister Bonnie would be pleased with the current partner that you were adjoined by in your relationship. She'd watched Elena fawn over the green eyed charmer, it would be an utter nightmare for her to discover that you were now coiled beneath him on the rectangle of your bed, as he pressed tentative kisses along the length of your neck, smothering you with affection.

It was inevitable that your secret rendezvous would one day be revealed to all, including your sibling, however that wasn't something that you wanted to think about as Stefan's hand crept down, and over your skirt, sliding beneath the flowing material, and up the skin of your thigh. His action extracted a wisp of a gasp out from your mouth, as you pawed at his chest, distinctively staring through silence that you were keen in removing the shirt from his body.

The message was delivered as he reeled it up over his head, exposing his lean and fit body to your eyes. He continued to feather your skin with amorous touches, as he removed your panties by sliding them down your legs, shoving your skirt up so that your intimate skin was bare to his touch. “Stefan....” you whispered his name, as he slowly slid a finger into you. Your eyes fluttered peacefully shut, as his thumb coiled in a circle around your clit, for a moment it was silent, until the door opened.

“Stefan?!” Your sister repeated your words, making you instantly cover up your barren flesh, and your boyfriend to roll off you. There was digress in Bonnie’s eyes, she was severely judging you in your choice of partner, you were well aware of how her mind worked. Her arms became crossed as she rigidly shook her head, Stefan tossed his shirt back over his head, trying to make the predicament that little bit more bearable.

“Bonnie, I can explain...” it was rather obvious what was going on. An explanation wasn’t wanted nor was it needed, everything that was necessary to know was right before her face. The two of you had been caught in the midst prior to sex, which was as awkward as expected, however more so considering your sister remained glaring back and forth between you and the vampire.

“If you’re going to tell me that it’s not what it looks like, I’m calling bull on that.” She stated in an unimpressed manner. “This also means that you invited him in.” Her and Stefan didn’t hate each other, their kinds had simply been used as pawns against one another for far too long, and she hated to see you, her twin, in a cycle with a vampire, especially a Salvatore.

She had a feeling you were seeing someone, call it a fraternal thing. Though out of the entire town, it had to be one of those brothers, the brooding and dangerous siblings that survived by drinking blood and often compelled people close to them to admin their whims. “You have too much trust in people y/n.” She sighed, and she wasn’t entirely incorrect with all things considered.

“But he’s the right person to trust.” You tried to reason with her, but after all the pain that he had put the Bennet family through, it was difficult, and logically so, to believe your words. “Come on Bon.”

“No. I can hardly believe you, you went behind my back to see him, out of all people.” She spoke angrily, her tone wavering with hurt. Stefan took that as the moment that he was meant to intrude, he stood, walking towards your sister, a small and kind smile upon his face.

He appreciated her instinct to protect you, but you weren’t as naive as she thought you to be. It had taken him multiple accounts to even sway you into even agreeing going on a date with him, though he realised that all those rejections had been worth the price of pain, because he had grown significantly upon you.

“I love your sister.” The vampire informed the witch, glancing over at you with a newfound smile on his frozen in age face. Your eyes widened, the two of you had yet to exchange such words, though rather than interrupting by saying them back, you allowed him to continue speaking, despite Bonnie’s light scoff. “I know you don’t like it, but can’t you accept that she’s happy, don’t you want your sister to be happy? That’s why I’m fine my brother is with my ex, I care about his happiness above all.”

“I’m not giving you my blessing.” Her chest heaved at her statement, she was far too protective to give anyone the pass of go ahead at you. “If you hurt her, I will pierce a stake straight through your heart, though I’ll make sure you suffer first. This is not a forgiveness Stefan, as you said, every sibling wants theirs own to be happy, but if I see one tear that you are responsible for, you’ll be praying to god.”

“That is understandable.” Stefan nodded his head, Bonnie sent him one last furrow of her brows before leaving and closing the door, slipping in a few words about keeping the volume down whilst doing so. “Now where we?” He licked his lips after his enquiry, as he crawled onto the bed, and cupped your face, leaning his own down closer to your own.

“In the midst of me saying that I love you back, and that I would take not doubt my sister in the slightest Salvatore, she’ll kick your ass if you hurt me; and so will I.” He kissed you, bringing your hand up to his heart, as he stared his emerald pools into your y/e/c galaxies.

“That’s not a part of my plan.” He promised, only to suffocate your attempted response with his lips once more. You were vastly aware that you had to tone down your noise, to keep Bonnie calm. You could practically feel her stare at the wall in the living room, although you were clearly in your own room. “I plan to spend forever with you.”

“That is a complicated subject, let’s not get to that conversation just yet. I’d rather spend time with your cold body than your even paler and motionless one, Bonnie will kill you if she hears whispers of that possibility.” To sway away from the idea of being like him, you pushed the duvet away from your bottom half. “How about you spend forever between my legs, and then we’ll get back to that.”

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iliveiloveiwrite · 3 years

Text

Pain in My Heart // Benedict Bridgerton

Request: Could I please request a Bridgerton imagine where Eloise or Daphne are trying to matchmake Reader with one of their brothers (you can pick which one) but Reader actually hits it off with another brother who's in love at first sight (again, your choice!!). - @libraryoffandomsuniverse

A/N: I am so sorry for how long this has taken!! I hope I have done your request justice. I had a lot of fun writing this, I’m pretty proud of what I’ve come up so I hope you like!! Thank you for requesting! Title: Pain in My Heart - Otis Redding

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader (Platonic), Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!Reader (Romantic)

Warnings: pining, mutual pining, awful flirting (I can't write it for the life in me), unrequited love (?), a pride and prejudice moment, love confessions, fluff, very very light angst.

Word count: 4.7k

There wasn’t a lot that Daphne and Eloise Bridgerton had in common. It was thought by their mother that due to their closeness in age, they would get along swimmingly. However, by the time that Eloise could speak for herself, it became increasingly clear that there were to be no two people different than that of Eloise and Daphne.

However, whilst the two did not share the same tastes in music or literature, they were united in the hope that they would see their elder brothers happily in love.

It is on a Wednesday in the middle of February when Daphne decides that it is time for her eldest brother, Anthony, to find a wife.

Her decision is made when Anthony stalks into the family drawing room. The only sign of his anger being the blazing of his eyes. Dramatically, he throws himself onto the closest couch, his legs stretching across the pale blue fabric as he laments the meddling of mothers.

Daphne barely represses the urge to roll her eyes. She could tell that Eloise was having a hard time not telling her brother how easy he had it in comparison to rights of women and marriage.

Thankfully, however, Anthony is saved from such a lecture by the announcement of a beloved friend. (Y/N) (Y/L/N) had known the Bridgerton family for as long as she had been alive. The same age as Daphne, the two had fallen into an easy friendship that grew more cherished the more time passed.

Upon her announcement, Anthony sits up with keen interest. An action not missed by both Daphne and Eloise – they share a look, one only understood by sisters with masses of brothers.

“Dear (Y/N),” Daphne greets, standing from her chair to greet her lifelong friend, “How have you been?”

“I’ve been very well though it has only been a couple of days since you saw me last.”

Daphne laughs; a light and airy sound. “I can still miss you in that time. Come, sit by me and we can catch up.”

The two women are soon joined by Eloise who places her book down on the table, spine up so she does not lose her page. From where they sit, neither Anthony nor Benedict can hear what the women seem to be whispering about though it seems to be of a serious issue with grave looks on their faces.

Benedict decides that he doesn’t like the look of frustration on her face; the furrow of her brows. If it wouldn’t raise questions of his sanity, he would press his thumb to the furrow, smoothing out her brow so not a trace of the worry remained.

“(Y/N),” Anthony calls, interrupting the conversation currently taking place between the three women, “Would you be attending Lord and Lady Hopton’s ball later on this week? Lord Hopton has done nothing but discuss the expense being put into the event.”

(Y/N) swallows her small sip of tea, placing the cup and saucer down on the table before answering the eldest Bridgerton. “I do plan on attending,” She smiles, fiddling with her gloved fingers.

A pleased smile breaks out across Anthony’s face as he nods. Turning away from her, Anthony walks back to the pale blue couch that only mere moments ago he had thrown himself across in vexation at his dear mother. Now, he sits down gently, making sure every ounce of his nobility is on show.

Benedict cannot help but roll his eyes at the antics of his elder brother. As if on a covert mission for the crown, Benedict’s gaze slides back to her – runs over her figure, taking in the way her dress sits on her form and the way her smile lights up her whole face. He’s a fool in love, he realises, but he would rather be a fool in love with her than a fool in love with anyone else.

It’s as if he finally understands what the poets write about; how the artists never paint more than their muse. As Benedict peers down at the sketchbook in his hands, he comes to realise that he has been drawing her for months. He has found his muse and it’s close to breaking him when he sees the plotting glance shared between Daphne and Eloise.

(Y/N) sits at the table, utterly unaware of the plan being concocted between his sisters. He has the urge to scream, to yell but he keeps quiet. Benedict becomes the very definition of decorum; smiling politely at her when their eyes meet from across the room. The very moment sends his heart skipping a beat before picking up a rhythm he isn’t certain is compatible with life. He has to stop himself from reaching up to grab his chest to ensure his heart doesn’t beat right out of it.

All too soon the moment is over, and she returns to laughing with his younger sisters, but even she knows that something has changed between them. (Y/N) wasn’t one to believe in love at first sight; the very notion belonging only to fairytales, but she, herself, could not deny the thrill that overtook her body when she met the blue eyes of Benedict Bridgerton.

-----------

Lord and Lady Hopton owned one of the last remaining Tudor residences in London. Many had fallen during the reformation, but in some strange stroke of luck, the Hopton’s home had remained largely undamaged. From there, it passed down the male line as all properties and titles were wont to do in such a society.

The current Lord and Lady prided themselves on the tracking of their lineage, dedicating themselves to the conservation of their home. It was rare for them to throw a ball such as this one, but with the favourable weather, Lady Hopton was able to convince her husband it would be well enough for the courtyard to be used to entertain their nearest and dearest.

There was no set theme; an idea many were grateful for. As much as (Y/N) loved the dress up, the competitive nature between eligible ladies wasn’t something she was in the mood for.

The atmosphere is much more relaxed as (Y/N) takes a turn about the room, smiling politely at the women she has grown up with in London society. They would be civil towards each other, but there was no real friendships forged. (Y/N) was quite content with the Bridgerton brood.

Though they had arrived together, (Y/N) found herself wandering from the comforting presence of the family. She could feel Anthony’s eyes on her, and she thinks of Daphne’s suggestion from the other day; the eldest Bridgerton girl had all but suggested that (Y/N) marry Anthony.

Whilst the suggestion was flattering, (Y/N) hadn’t stopped thinking of the moment she shared with Benedict. She thinks of the moment often; remembers the way his stare felt, as if he was staring into her very soul and he liked what he found. She thinks of the way her body responded; the shiver sent through her and how she realised that she liked the way he looked at her. As if she hung the moon and stars in the sky for him, and him alone.

(Y/N) loses herself in the crowd. She wanders and wanders, watching new love form and old love strengthen as she catches sight of couples beginning their night. (Y/N) continues her ruminating until she bumps into something hard. Another body.

(Y/N) cringes when she finds herself face to face with the chest of Benedict Bridgerton. “Benedict!” She gasps, “I’m sorry.”

He steadies her with a gentle hand to her elbow. “You have nothing to apologise for. You looked to be deep in thought, I’m only sorry for interrupting you.”

(Y/N) feels her skin begin to flush. I was thinking of you, she wants to cry at the man, but she only just manages to refrain herself.

Benedict laughs before he can stop himself. “If you’re reacting like that, I have to know what you were thinking of.”

“Nothing for nosies,” She responds, a coy smile crossing her painted lips.

Benedict gasps, pressing a hand to his chest in mock hurt. “You wound me, (Y/N).”

“I’m sure you’ll recover,” (Y/N) laughs, patting Benedict’s arm in mock pity.

“I don’t know,” Benedict expresses, his eyes running over her face and outfit. “I think I’m going to need someone to nurse me back to health.”

(Y/N) feels her skin once again begin to heat at the insinuation in his words. She had encountered banter before with the Bridgerton brothers, but she had never encountered such overt flirting. Benedict’s eyes glittered with mirth; his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes – this was him. This was Benedict in his element; he was an artist, a gentleman, and a man that could render her speechless with a simple line of speech.

She finds it hard to respond for a moment; finds it hard to string two thoughts together in his intoxicating presence. She flounders for a second, watching Benedict continue to smile widely as if he had nothing better to do than waste time with her.

Eventually, she collects herself enough. She peers up at the man from under her lashes, fluttering them to the best of her ability as she whispers, “Such requests may make the recovery period a lot longer and a lot harder.”

Leaving the man speechless, (Y/N) pats his arm once more before taking her leave. Feeling hot and bothered by her encounter with Benedict, (Y/N) ambles over to drinks table. Daphne and Eloise stand there nursing their own drinks; they smile widely at their friend as she approaches the table.

“Have you given thought to what I suggested the other day?” Daphne asks; watching her best friend over the rim of her lemonade glass.

“Courting Anthony?” (Y/N) clarifies, reaching for her glass of the tepid drink. She frowns absentmindedly; it was one of the main issues with balls, they never could keep the drinks cold enough to be refreshing throughout the night. They almost always turned sour.

“The very suggestion,” (Y/N)’s dearest friend states with a smile.

“It wouldn’t work,” (Y/N) protests, urging her friends to see the truth. “We aren’t suited for each other.”

“Anthony disagrees,” Daphne chimes, looking and feeling all to superior in the conversation. “He confided to me only yesterday that he wants to court you.”

The ground is close to swallowing her whole; the walls becoming far too close for her liking. Her mouth is dry when she tries to swallow around the lump in her throat. “That wouldn’t be fair to him,” She croaks, feeling all too close to tears.

“Why not?” Daphne demands, making her vexation known by placing her hands on her hips.

“Daphne,” Eloise interrupts, glancing warily between the two women. “(Y/N) isn’t in love with Anthony. She’s in love with someone else.”

The fight leaves her beloved friend in an instant; she brings a hand to her mouth to cover the shock of Eloise’s words. “I didn’t know,” She whispers, “I wouldn’t have pushed so hard.”

“I know you wouldn’t have,” (Y/N) appeases, “I’m rather new to this.”

“Do we know who it is?” Daphne asks, unable to keep the excitement off her face as she thinks of the handful of men worthy enough to love her dear friend.

(Y/N) sighs, deciding whether to come clean and tell her longest friend that she has found herself hopelessly in love with her brother. She hadn’t even expected it. “It’s Benedict,” She eventually confesses, feeling pressured by the investigative gaze of Daphne Bridgerton.

“Benedict?” Daphne asks, confused, “As in my other brother?”

“The very same,” (Y/N) comments lightly… too lightly as if ready to be on the defence for her feelings for Benedict.

Daphne blinks once, twice before her face breaks with the most beautiful smile. “Oh (Y/N)!” She cries, “This is wonderful!”

“He might not love me back,” (Y/N) whispers, doing her best to keep a light spin on the situation but the idea that Benedict may not return her feelings hurts far more than it should.

“And Anthony still wants to court you,” Eloise reminds her, her voice close to pity.

“Speaking of the devil,” Daphne murmurs with a smile on her face, “Anthony is heading this way.”

“He is?” (Y/N) asks, pivoting on the spot to the find the eldest Bridgerton making his way through the crowd. He smiles at his sisters, briefly checking their glasses to ensure they were sticking strictly to the lemonade offered. When he is suited with what he finds, he turns to (Y/N) and holds out his hand. “Would you care to dance?” He asks her with a confident smile.

She nods her consent, taking his offered hand and allowing herself to be led to the floor. Anthony leads her expertly across the floor; lessons as a child and years in the London society forging him to be an impressive dancer. He makes her laugh as they continue dance, and whilst (Y/N) has a good time with the eldest Bridgerton, she cannot see herself falling for the man like she can see her entire future with Benedict.

------------

The ball had wound down naturally; families and lovers beginning to make their way home through the early morning London streets. (Y/N) travels with the Bridgertons, having arrived with them in the first place. Daphne focuses on the streets of London, doing her best not to fall asleep before getting home to her bed.

“How are you getting home?” Daphne asks, not removing her gaze from the darkened streets of the capital city.

“I’m not sure, I don’t want to have to wait for another carriage,” (Y/N) complains, holding a hand to her mouth to cover a yawn that had slipped out. The tiredness was clinging to her bones now; she wanted nothing more to crawl into her own bed, sink into the pillows and fall into a dreamworld where Benedict climbs into the other side of the bed.

“Stay with us,” Eloise invites, meeting Anthony’s eyes.

“I wouldn’t be an imposition?” (Y/N) asks smally; the last thing she wanted was to be burden on her friends.

“You never could be,” Anthony smiles, “You’re always welcome to stay the night.”

“Thank you, Anthony,” She whispers, reaching for his hand in the dark and squeezing.

Silence falls for the rest of the ride; the weariness of each of them punctuating the air, creating a warmer atmosphere that leaves (Y/N) blinking away sleep. Eloise does her best to remain awake, but her head soon winds up on Anthony’s shoulder to which the man looks the surprised. He recovers quickly, adjusting his younger sister to make her more comfortable.

The Bridgerton siblings and (Y/N) all sigh in blessed relief when the carriage rolls to a stop outside Bridgerton House. The door opening lets in a cold blast of air, making her shiver as she reaches for the handle to help herself down.

“Here,” Benedict’s voice sounds in the dark light of night, “Let me help you.”

His hand reaches for hers; it clasps hers gently as he helps her down from the carriage. All too soon, his hand falls from hers and (Y/N) is left feeling bereft from the absence of his touch. “Thank you,” She whispers, taking a risk and glancing up at the blue eyes already fixed steadily on her.

“You’re welcome,” He murmurs. Benedict glances back to the carriage to find the rest of his family descending on them. “Goodnight,” He whispers, ducking his head in a bow and leaving her on the steps of Bridgerton House.

(Y/N) watches the man depart in somewhat of a daze. If she focused hard enough, she could still feel his hand in hers. She could feel every fingerprint, every crease, every line in his palm. She could feel it all; she wanted to feel more. She wanted everything with that man; would happily offer up her everything for a single glimpse at what it could be like to wake up in his arms and be happy.

Sighing heavily, she touches a hand to her forehead, pausing in the grand entryway of the Bridgerton family home. She felt so keenly for the man that she knew she would suffer the worst fate to man should he not return her feelings: heartbreak.

“(Y/N)?” Anthony calls from the door, his arm around Eloise’s waist. “Would you meet me in my study? I need to talk to you.”

“Of course,” She allows, smiling at the sight before her. Anthony whispers something to his sister to which Eloise offers her goodnights and begins to climb the stairs to her room, Anthony following behind her with a worried look on his face that only a beloved brother could master.

Anthony’s study smelled of wood polish; the mahogany desk sitting by the windows being the main feature of the room. It’s dark wood providing the much of the fragrance in the room; it’s a comforting scent. (Y/N) smiles when she realises that it’s comforting as it reminds her of the Viscount; the scent of his spicy cologne intermingled with the wood, becoming one and the same.

“Thank you for waiting,” Anthony whispers, closing the door behind him, “I know how tired you are, but I really wanted to speak to you.”

“Whatever’s the matter?”

Suddenly, Anthony no longer holds the prowess of a Viscount but rather, looks like the eighteen year old boy handed a peerage all too soon. He runs a hand through his hair out of nerves, pacing back and forth behind his desk. Eventually, he comes to a slow stop, resting his hands on the back of his father’s ageing chair. “Have you given any thought to your future?”

“It’s been on my mind more and more these days,” She answers honestly. It’s all she has thought of since her eyes met Benedict’s across the room and she got a glimpse into what her mornings, afternoons, evenings with the man could be like.

“I think we could be good together,” Anthony argues, offering up a slice of his heart for the taking, “I think we work well together.”

“Anthony, may I be honest with you for a moment?”

“I’d hope for nothing more.”

She takes a deep breath; steeling her nerves before smiling at the Viscount. “With all due respect, I don’t think you do love me.”

Anthony moves to interrupt her; a flash of anger and upset in his eyes. He quietens when she holds up a single hand; begging him to let her continue. “Anthony, I think you were looking for someone to stop your mother from pestering you about marriage. I just happened to walk into the room at the right moment.”

Anthony frowns; he takes in (Y/N)’s words, letting them roll around his mind as he thinks back to the first day when he realised he could truly love the woman sitting in front of him. Violet Bridgerton had been on him from the moment he walked through the front door; producing yet another list of eligible women in London that he could find a potential match in. He had taken the list from his beloved mother and in the privacy of his study, he had ripped the list to tiny pieces making sure that none of the names were legible.

On some level, he has always loved her. (Y/N) had been in his life from the very day she was born; mother being friends, Violet able to offer (Y/N)’s advice as she was her firstborn. At this point, Violet was a seasoned expert on motherhood. Anthony had always known of the girl that was best friends with Daphne; he had watched her grow up. On some level, he has always had some feeling for her.

He knows know, though, that those feelings could never broach romance. There was too deep an affection between them.

“You’re right,” Anthony states, “It wouldn’t be a love match.”

“It wouldn’t,” She affirms, taking a seat in front of the large, wooden desk. Silhouettes of his parents and siblings decorate the space; it brings a fond smile to her face. Anthony presented a strong front, but in private, he was as much the adoring son and brother.

“But you think you have found your love match,” Anthony declares, wanting to clear the air.

“I’m not sure,” She laughs mirthlessly. “I have no clue as to whether he feels the same.”

“He’d be an idiot, not to,” Anthony compliments, “Do I know the lucky man?”

(Y/N) looks sheepish as she stares at the Viscount. She had already confessed to Daphne and Eloise – what harm could one more person do?

“It’s Benedict.”

“You love him,” Anthony whispers; not an accusation, not an ounce of anger in his voice. A simple fact stated for the room.

(Y/N) nods. “I do. I love him with all that I am and all that I know I could be.”

A sad, bittersweet smile crosses Anthony’s face; he won’t speak of how the words hurt him. He reaches for her hand and clasps it tightly between both of his.

“Go to him,” He whispers, “You have my blessing.”

(Y/N) stands. Her intention is to leave the room and find the Bridgerton who had so readily taken root within her heart, but first she crosses to where Anthony stands behind his desk. He watches her with curious eyes as the silk of her glove brushes his cheek; his eye flutter closed when he feels the featherlight press of her lips and the whisper of her gratitude.

Anthony keeps his eyes closed when she pulls away from him; he keeps them closed until he hears the tell-tale click of the door. It is only then that Anthony allows himself to open his eyes and peer into the heartbreak now cracking open his chest. Not for the love he though he felt, but for the utter want racing through his body. He wants a love like that; he was going to find a love like that.

They would be happy together; he thinks to himself as he breathes in the floral scent of her perfume. They would be happy together, perfectly suited to the point that Anthony craves such intimacy. One day; he promises, one day he would hold such a treasure within his hands.

-------------

Bridgerton House remained warm and inviting even after the family had long retired for bed. The sconces lining the walls still lit; their warm light easy on anyone’s eyes should they need to traverse the hallways for whatever reason.

The path to Benedict’s room isn’t one she has taken often. Thinking on it, (Y/N) realises that save for being shown the door on her first ever visit to the London home, she has not stepped foot close to the room since. Until tonight, that is.

Her skirts swish delicately underfoot as (Y/N) makes her way to his room. She doesn’t dare utter a single breath for the fear of being caught; all around her slumber her closest friends. If she were caught by a member of staff, her reputation balanced on being ruined.

Her hand trembles as she clenches it into a fist, raises it to the plain white door and knocks twice. She waits on the threshold, twisting her fingers into her skirts – a nervous habit she’s had since she was a child. She was thankful that she no longer bit her nails down to the bed.

“Come in,” calls his quiet voice and her nerves only heighten. Taking a deep breath, she pushes open the door that could reveal her future.

“(Y/N),” Benedict gasps, the deep v of his shirt falling open, revealing far more of his bare chest than (Y/N) had expected to see tonight.

“I wanted to talk to you,” She whispers, hovering between the doorway and his room. She does her best to not stare at the defined muscles on display but loses the battle. Her eyes run over the parts of his muscular torso and the strong forearms shown with the sleeves of white shirt rolled up. She didn’t think it was possible to be attracted to the forearms of a person, but here was Benedict proving her wrong.

“What if you get caught?” He whisper-asks, worry lacing his tone as he glances at something behind her. She turns on instinct only to find an empty hallway and three lit sconces.

“Anthony knows where I am,” She retorts, stepping further into Benedict’s room.

“Anthony?”

“He gave me his blessing.”

“To enter my room… unattended… late at night?”

“Essentially, yes,” She smiles, thinking back to her conversation with the Viscount.

“Why were you talking to Anthony?” Benedict asks before he can stop himself. He doesn’t like the simmering jealousy he feels that the picture of (Y/N) alone with Anthony in his study. He clears his throat to chase away the hollow ache of envy; he doesn’t want to picture the conversation. He doesn’t think he could handle it.

“He asked me to court him.”

“Oh,” Benedict responds, feeling his heart begin to crack in his chest. “What did you say?”

“I told him I couldn’t. We wouldn’t suit each other and one other thing.”

“What other thing?”

“I don’t love him. I love someone else.”

“You do? Do I know them?”

(Y/N) laughs, stretching her arms out as she gestures to Benedict’s bedroom. “I’m stood in your room in the middle of the night, Benedict, with full knowledge that if I were to be caught by any of the staff, I would be ruined. What does that tell you?”

Benedict frowns, refusing to let himself fall into the hope growing in his chest. He feels like Icarus; too close to the sun, too close to thing he wants most in this world.

“Stop this pain in my heart,” She commands weakly. “Stop this pain and tell me if you feel the same. If you don’t, I understand but I’d ask you not to tell anyone of this midnight visit.”

His mouth runs dry, and he finds it hard to answer. He’s falling, falling, falling for the woman stood across from him and he cannot find the words to accurately describe the depth of his feelings for her. That day in the drawing room – he’s known her for years, always been aware of her, but that day, it was as if he was finally seeing her for the pure beauty that she inhabits. She could rival Aphrodite herself.

Upset shutters across (Y/N)’s face as she nods twice, trying her best to keep the burn of tears at bay. “It’s okay, Benedict,” She whispers, turning for the door, “Thank you for listening.”

At the last moment, Benedict reaches out and snatches her wrist. “Don’t go,” He pleads, “Don’t leave me. I don’t think I could live with myself if you left me.”

“I don’t understand,” She whispers; confusion lacing her voice. Her eyebrows furrow as she stares at the man before her, “You didn’t say anything. You stayed silent; I took that as my cue to leave.”

Benedict shakes his head. “Don’t go,” He whispers, bringing a hand up to card through the loose strands of hair framing her face. He almost preens as she leans into his touch. “I feel the same, I love you just the same,” Benedict confesses; feeling the weight leave his chest.

“You do?” She asks; her voice small but hopeful.

“I do,” Benedict smiles, brushing her cheek with his finger, “I think I always have, but I didn’t realise until recently.”

(Y/N) sniffles as tears threaten to make an appearance. She laughs wetly, unable to stop the giggle from leaving her mouth as Benedict wipes away the tears. “I hope those are happy tears,” He murmurs wryly.

“They are,” She answers, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him down to her level. “They definitely are.”

“Good,” He answers.

Their faces are so close now it would only take a fraction of a movement to press their lips together; to seal the promise of their union. “Kiss me, Benedict,” She whispers; need lacing her voice as she stares into his famously blue eyes.

Benedict doesn’t need to be told twice; it isn’t often he gets to kiss a goddess.

********

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