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#and a gift card of unknown amount

yandere-daydreams · 8 months

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tw - unhealthy relationships, financial abuse, reader is implied to be a sugar-baby/sex worker, unbalanced power dynamics.

Mei is a woman who can put a price on anything.

You've seen her talents first-hand. Hell, you'd only gotten together in the first place because she decided you were a commodity worth the expense, or in her words, because 'you'd be more valuable with me than anywhere else'. Some of her earliest gifts were little more to foder to prove that she had enough wealth stowed away to not only afford you, but make you hers exclusively - skin-tight diamond chokers, ornate harnesses strung with crystals and pearls, rings studded with pale sapphires that were nearly too heavy to lift. You'd kept the pricetags from everything she gave you in a drawer in your shoebox of an apartment, and as a show of kinship, she decided to keep you.

Really, you could only be thankful you fell into the hands of someone so appreciative. As someone so easy to buy, you can't think of a customer more suited to you than Mei.

Your relationship's too far along for her to be so blatant with her intentions, now, carrying a pretense of affection that means she can't slip you a stack of bills and tell you, in no uncertain terms, that you'll be spending the night with her, but she still finds ways to mark you, to make sure she's always going to be the majority shareholder of your time. All your clothes are tailor-made, her initials embroidered into everything she has designed for you, and you can't remember the last time you wore a scent that she hadn't personally selected. She's careful with what she owns, but not so careful that she isn't willing to offer you tens of thousands of yen to wear the lipstick stain she left on the side of your throat like a designer product. She has a jealous streak, despite how indifferent she tries to act. That, or she just doesn't like it when other people tamper with her investments.

It's become an ongoing joke between the two of you - her possessive habits and your attempts to provoke them. You'll straddle her thigh and slot your chest against hers and pout as you ask how much she thinks the white-haired man across the room would offer for an hour with you, and she'll purse her lips and assure you that none of her 'coworkers' could afford such a gem. Once or twice, you've managed to pester a real answer out of her, always something in the millions and delivered in a clipped tone that meant it was time to stop asking, but more often, she'll take you by the hips and ask you if you plan on replacing her so callously. It's a fair reaction. You can't say she's ever made you think you might be up for sale.

When you can't bite back your curiosity, you drape yourself across her and ask how much she would give up to have you permanently, to keep you at her beck and call without having to stifle herself with allowances and borrowed platinum cards. She likes that question, practically purrs as she promises that, to her, you're priceless. It should be more comforting than it is, but somehow, you can't shake the implication that it's something she's considered, that if there was an amount she could forward to some unknown account, she would've done it long before you'd ever made the offer. You're glad she came to the conclusion she did. You're glad that, no matter how entitled she acts to every fiber of your being, every second of your time, she knows she'll never actually own you.

You're glad that, if she changed her mind, if she ever put a price on your head and decided it was worth the loss, she's kind enough not to tell you that you've already been paid for.

#woman loving wednesday #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk imagines #jjk x reader #yandere jjk #jujustsu kaisen x reader #yandere mei mei #mei mei x reader #mei x reader #yandere mei #yanderecore #yancore

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acesw · 4 months

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UTTU Part 1: The Magazine

Welcome back to A.D. doing mega lore posting because good god this will never get old. But anyways, this post will be about UTTU and not only about their magazine, but also about their Flash Gathering. (This also counts as my birthday gift for Sonetto since she likes being info-dumped, probably. Happy Birthday Sonetto!)

“Standing in the shadow, we tell all the stories which were once unknown, like a weaver in silence, or a moth light trap in the dark night.” - Pandora Wilson, UTTU Journalist

First, who even is UTTU?

UTTU Magazine is an arcanist magazine organization that releases stories about notable arcanists. According to Blonney, they are "the greatest fashion and arcanist information magazine." They operate globally as well as privately, going so far as to hide the physical identities of their reporters and their main headquarters.

There’s not a lot of things known about how UTTU works, but what we do have is information about their magazine and their Flash Gathering event, which we can start off from there. But first, what does the name mean?

The name ‘Uttu’ comes from the Mesopotamian goddess of the same name, one of Sumerian origin. She was associated with weaving (and spiders but the claim of Uttu being envisioned as a spider is limited).

They sell their magazines in the form of seasonal subscriptions, advising to only purchase the subscription and not much else. From there, they create the articles and send out monthly updates.

UTTU also hosts “Flash Gatherings” for the game’s events as a reading club, where the arcanists are invited to see the UTTU market situated in the area of where the in-game event takes place; they can read the Flash Journal and FLASH:FAME, obtain FAME cards from retails, and get rewards. I’ll get into this in Part 2.

First, we'll explore the magazine since there's so much questions surrounding them.

UTTU Magazine

Of course, the magazine is the main brand of the organization. The magazine has properties in which only arcanists are able to read it (speculation), and it has a scheduled self-update to release new articles/artworks.

The reason why we are able to see such a large amount of information is because from what can be told, Vertin is an avid collector of this media, even being titled “Top Collector” in the introduction of the Green Lake Flash Gathering.

Anyway, the magazine has a very interesting way of how it works, and they even have their own reading guide, including instructions of how to manage the magazine and activate the self-update.

Reader’s Guide and Self-Updating system

Welcome to UTTU. This is a magazine.

Don’t skip this page. Unlike those useless prefaces filled with boring platitudes, this one is important.

1. Don't doubt the truth of UTTU. We only tell true stories that happened to real arcanists.

2. You only need one copy of UTTU. After you make the seasonal subscription, the copy will update itself on 15th every month.

3. Whenever the copy updates itself, please place it below a cupboard or the firewood in a fireplace, but do not leave any fire or light. Then step back to 8.8 feet away and wait for 10-15 minutes. It is normal to hear the sounds of sewing and crawling during the update.

4. Don't be confused about the interviews of the artworks. Please note that anything can be an artwork: they can be alive, or dead. Whoever has a story to tell can be deemed an artwork.

5. You might smell a fine aroma from the pages while reading an interview. This is normal.

6. Do not be shocked by live photographs, and do not let any of them come in contact with dark coffee or matches.

8. Keep UTTU away from fire. This is an arcanum magazine and is definitely not fireproof.

9. Although it's not fireproof, UTTU is waterproof, but please do not soak it in water for too long. If you do so by mistake, please prepare enough insect repellent.

10. Don't ask where article 7 is. (lmao)

11. If you see any ads about nightmare recycle on the attached pages, do not call the number on it or make any attempt to catch those monsters. If your children report strange goings-on to you, comfort them with one extra milk candy before bedtime.

12. Try to enjoy reading UTTU.

The way one could get the magazine is buying a seasonal subscription, and upon receiving it you’d have to take care of it regularly since it is delicate. When updating, you put it in a place where you’d most commonly find spiders. That way, these arcane weavers can multiply and add to the tapestry. Additionally, this magazine seems to be a live and interactive type of media, which does explain the “live photographs” and the spiders.

Magazine Contents

Now, what are the contents of the UTTU Magazine?

First, we look at our Role Atlas. Yes, the Role Atlas is involved in this too.

There are categories of our roster that classify them by what they are: Beyond, awakened, arcanist, mixed, and infected. Now, what are each of these?

Beyond: an Arcanist with unexplainable origins not found within Arcanum (Ex: Voyager and aliEn T are aliens born of supernatural causes rather than arcanum. Jessica is a hybrid species of a deer woman (a spirit in Native American myth) and a changeling (a supernatural creature in European folklore) )

Awakened: an Arcanist who was once an object and has been given sentience one way or another (Ex: Sputnik was a regular space probe as the real Sputnik 1 who gained sentience when entering orbit).

Arcanist: A general term for those who are born with a different physiology that makes them able to sense and use arcanum, this is not limited only to human arcanists. (Ex: Door was born of arcanum on Earth and was always sentient thus is not a Beyond nor Awakened arcanist)

Mixed: People who both have the genetics or blood of a Human and an Arcanist. (Ex: Pavia and Satsuki were implied to be born of a human and an arcanist)

Infected: Currently unknown, no arcanists within this category.

They also have a “Bound Volume”, which serves as a gallery collection of arcanists that Vertin has and has not met. Those she (and we) haven't met will be obscured.

The “Artwork”

Artworks in this game are basically the arcanists that UTTU chooses to write about. As long as there is one to tell, they will conduct an interview and report on it. For each artwork they contain: Exhibition details, Item Collection, and Story/Interview.

First, the cover. Made by my friend and fellow lore chat dweller Rabies En., this is what can be made out of what each part of the exhibition details mean:

And of course, the “Completion” date is their birthday.

When it comes to describing their inspiration, it tends to be left on a vague note and left for speculation. While concluding that the first half is the title of the arcanist’s afflatus, the second half has left most people confused. My speculation is that this latter half is something that is related to their job, hobby, skill, or interest.

For example, Balloon Party’s inspiration is quite straightforward: “Remains of a Rock Formation [Mineral] Bones Balloon.” It directly showcases her afflatus and what she is inspired by, which also goes hand in hand as to what her arcane skill is. Meanwhile, Sonetto’s is more vague and unique: “Trained Loyal Dogs [Mineral] Foreign Affairs.” These reflect her upbringing and main interest respectively. With this theory, I concluded that the afflatus and inspiration boost one’s arcanist’s medium, which in turn helps fuel their arcane skill.

Second, the items. All arcanists have a section that lists personal items that closely pertain to their character, usually, these things would be visible on their person. The author analyzes them and relates them to their story and character. And depending on the item, they are priced by clear drops.

Additionally, if a character has a garment that isn't their I2 (e.g. event garments), they will have a special section for a new set of items. (Ex. Sonetto's Parade Anthem garment isn't exactly her I2 outfit, thus she has another set of items that relate to the uniform.)

Lastly, the Story and Interview; Each and every arcanist is interviewed by Pandora Wilson, another fellow arcanist and one whose face is obscured to the world other than a pair of lips.

The first story is a retelling of their background and upbringing, the second is a story about their daily life or lifestyle, and the third is a transcripted segment of their interview. The interview segments usually starts with Pandora greeting and/or asking a few questions towards the interviewee, but occasionally they also include the end of these interviews.

They highlight parts that make the interviewee unique; It exhibits their distinction, their personality, and most importantly, their overall character and the life they lead. These help us learn about the arcanists in a more deeper level the more we bond with them, as well as learning about the world they live in considering how all of them come from different times.

Now, our magazine analysis ends here. Feel free to ask questions and Part 2 is linked below!

Part 2: The Flash Gathering

#reverse 1999 #uttu #lore analysis #say thank you to rabies en for the exhibition guide #heavy sonetto mentioning cause we love her

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3d-wifey · 3 months

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And They'd Find Us in A Week - Chapter 13

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 9.9k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! Tag list: - @melancholicmelanin, @yvy1s, @glomp-me, @honethatty12, @swftlore, @hashcakes, @antoheartit, @finnickodaddy, @lilifl0wer, @antoheartit, @kermitcrimess, @persophonekarter, @aawdrea, @obaewankenobis, @xyxlyn, @meandurdaughtergotaspecialthing, @innercreationflower, @kisskittenn, @xngelsau, @coriolanussnowswife Chapter Summary: I've moved the arena around a bit, but nothing major; nothing starts until day 2 1: Blood rain 2: Giant poisonous bugs 3: Toxic Fog 4: Monkies 5: Jabberjays 6: Beast 7: Unknown 8: Unknown 9: Fire 10: Flood 11: Unknown 12: Lightening A/N: this bad boy is 10k, one more chapter b4 we go into mockingjay!!!!!!

Present (XII)

THE ARENA; SECTION 5 (12:23 pm-12:59 pm)

The smell of freshly rained earth lingers around them as they traverse the jungle, and Finnick thinks of you.

During the countdown, he saw you. He locked eyes with you, and, stupidly, he thought that would be enough to tide him over. Just one last moment between the two of you before performing for the cameras. But if that were true, he wouldn’t have looked for you as soon as he reached the Cornucopia—before that, even. When he surfaced from the water, over Katniss’s shoulder as he grabbed a weapon, out of the corner of his eye when he was looking for Peeta; desperate for a glimpse of you.

And when he finally found you—no, when you found him—your voice carried his name to his ears like a gift. He didn’t need to think; his body was automatically attuned to you like a compass. He had his trident poised and ready to defend you from whatever he considered a threat—a knee-jerk reaction. But when he turned, there was only you.

You looked at him as though there was a taut rubber band between your bodies, and you had to use all of your strength to resist giving in to that pressure. The desire to run to you was instinctive.

What would that have accomplished other than showing Snow their hand early? It’s not like he could have swept you up in his arms like he wanted to. He couldn't hold you close and make you promise that you'd come back to him, whole, healthy, and his. Being that bold this soon in the Games would benefit no one. Not when you still had to be separated.

He had almost stopped to watch and make sure you made it out with Johanna, but, as you subtly reminded him, he had to stick to the plan. Plus, seeing you drive your sickle through the head of a man at least two times your size definitely reassured him that you could handle your own.

Not that he didn’t know you could bring a man to his knees. He’s had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of your firm hand enough to—he shakes his head, scolding himself like a misbehaving dog.

Not the time, Odair.

Later, he tells himself, there’ll be time for that later.

Even now, he’s thinking about how it felt to sleep next to you for the first time in eons—head against your chest, listening to your steady heartbeat as you hold him in your embrace. If he closes his eyes, he can feel sure fingers carding through his hair and dull nails scratching softly along his scalp.

But he can’t close his eyes. No, he needs them open to dart between Katniss’s sprinting form and over his shoulder as they run for their lives through this fucking jungle.

They’ve covered a good chunk of land in a relatively short amount of time. He’d say it’s taken them about ten minutes to cross a mile, maybe more. He’d be more confident in his estimate if they weren’t traveling up such a steep incline.

Around this point, Finnick decides they’ve put enough space between them and the Career pack that it should be okay to take a short break. He can feel Mags’s heart pounding against his back. Not ideal for a woman this close to ninety.

“Okay, hold up. Hold up.” He calls out, and they all come to a stop. He bends at the knee to help Mags down. “Okay. You alright now?”

He lowers himself to the ground, holding her hand as they sit down. “Okay?” He asks, and she nods, frail fingers gripping his tight as her other hand pats his bicep. Adrenaline makes her shake a little, but she waves off his concern. The four of them sit for a second, gathering themselves.

“God , it’s hot.” Peeta pants and Finnick senses that the oppressive heat might be more to blame than the hike. It’s like he’s choking on it; the air is so heavy that his nostrils don’t feel big enough to inhale it. He breathes in through his mouth and it’s only marginally better. He’s soaked. Something stings as it drips into his eyes and he genuinely can’t tell if it’s saltwater or sweat. “We gotta find fresh water.”

Water. Finnick looks around for any indication of nearby drinking water, listening in for a river or stream. He’d even take a pond. Water would be amazing, preferably without a high salt concentration.

Unknown insects chirp around them in unison; it sort of sounds like a snake. It’s so loud that he’s almost able to ignore the weight of Katniss’s stare. It’s not even like she’s glaring. It’s nearly bird-like how she appraises him—waiting for him to act like the predator she thinks he is.

Three cannons fire in quick succession. The others look to the sky, but he stares at the tree over Katniss’s shoulder. Any one of those cannons could be you. He holds back a flinch at the thought. You’re not dead. No. No, you wouldn’t do that to him. He's only just gotten you back. And even after two years apart, the two of you are so deeply intertwined that Finnick’s sure his own heart would give out when yours stopped.

With a derisive snort and a shake of his head, Finnick says, perhaps a bit manically, “Well, I guess we’re not holding hands anymore.” His chuckle is met with disapproving silence. Too soon?

Katniss regards him with a look of contempt. Definitely too soon then. “You think that’s funny?"

No, not particularly. He thinks. But what else is there to do but laugh at the absurdity of it all?

“Every time that cannon goes off, it’s music to my ears. I don’t care about any of them.” He lies. Sometimes, it feels like that’s all he’s capable of. Even now, in the midst of this death sentence, he still can’t be honest about you. He can’t afford to be. Not until he knows you’re safe.

“Good to hear.” With a sly grin, Finnick observes Katniss taking a machete out of her quiver, seemingly more as a threat than a precaution. It’s promptly wiped from his face when she says your name. “Does she know that? If that’s the case, you should have killed her back at the Cornucopia. She didn't even have a weapon. It would have been easy for you.”

“She’s our ally, Katniss." Peeta attempts to caution her or maybe admonish her; Finnick doesn’t know. And he doesn’t really care, honestly. Not with how focused he and Katniss are on each other. He can’t even acknowledge Peeta defending you, as odd as it is.

Unbidden and without provocation, the mental picture of him killing you takes shape. If he wasn’t already so lightheaded from the moist air, he’d be nauseous at the idea. Is she trying to get a rise out of him by bringing you up? Is that what this is? Or is she—is she threatening you? Whatever the hell her angle is, whatever tactic she’s trying to maneuver, he won’t let a threat against you stand—empty or not.

“You know, Katniss. You really shouldn’t speak on things you know nothing about.” He shakes his head as he ignores Mags’s warning grunt, mouth curling in that frosty way of his that entices those who are stupid enough to mistake a predator baring its teeth for a smile. But Katniss isn’t stupid. This is a language she’ll understand—the language of hunting animals. Her back straightens. His remains deceptively lax. “I mean, can't say that’s ever ended well for you, can we?”

“Are you threatening me, Odair?”

“Threat—” He can’t help but laugh because, honestly.

This is the girl they’re laying down their lives for? The girl you’re laying down your life for? Emphasis on ‘the girl’, because she’s too naïve to be an adult.

People like her—they're too busy fighting shadows to figure out what’s casting them. Too focused on watching their backs that they don't bother wondering why they have to watch it in the first place—and she’s supposed to lead them to salvation?

He wants to laugh. Instead, Finnick bites his cheek. Maybe he’s bitten into another pipe dream.

“No,” he scoffs. “I’m saving you.”

“Saving? Please , you don’t care about anyone but yourself—”

“Let’s keep moving.” Peeta rises to stand in between them, stopping to give Katniss a long look that she doesn't return, before marching forward and taking the machete with him. The two of them size each other up. For someone so emotionally stunted, her thoughts are broadcast clearly on her face.

He can see her weighing her odds against him in a fight, whether her speed with the bow is any match for him and his trident, and Finnick’s weighing how much longer she can stand being a team player. He’s not cocky enough to not consider her a threat; she’s a fighter—but, then again, so is he. That’s not what’s staying his hand. Her survival is their only way out of here—not to mention how disappointed you’d be in him if you found out. He won’t be the one to snatch this chance away from you. Not unless she throws the first punch.

He subtly shifts his grip on his weapon into something more defensive, and she gives him one last withering look, or her version of it, before following Peeta.

He wishes you were here with him. For several reasons, but in this particular moment, to show Katniss how wrong she is. Show her how much he does care about you and how much you care about him in turn. Is it childish that he feels the need to prove anything to a teenager? Maybe. Probably. Most likely.

He bends down to help Mags onto his back, scowling at Katniss’s retreating back.

It’s definitely childish, but still. He sighs. You’d understand. All the more reason to wish you were here. He knows things were touch and go—more go than touch, really—between the two of you at the time, but would it have killed Haymitch to pair the two of you together? Johanna and Blight are more than capable of playing escort for those two brainiacs.

To be fair to the other man, Haymitch had no way of knowing if Finnick would succeed in reconnecting with you.

He takes a moment to really think about it. Namely, how much anger you’ve been harboring over the past two years and the way you drove your sickle through that man’s skull. He tilts his head, squinting. What’s that saying about a woman scorned?

Pairing you together may not have killed Haymitch, but it certainly could have killed Finnick.

His train of thought is violently cut off by Peeta crashing head-first into the force field.

SECTION 11 (12:49 pm-1:12 pm)

“We’re almost at the edge of the arena,” Johanna calls down to your group, climbing halfway down the tree before jumping the rest of the way.

“What does the arena look like?” Beetee asks, pushing his glasses up for what must be the tenth time since you all decided to stop and get your bearings. The sweat on his face provided no traction to hold them in place.

“One big ass circle and we’re almost at the edge. Other than the beach, there’s nothing but jungle.” She sighs, stomping over to where you sit on the ground. Beetee gives a clinical nod.

“How close is ‘almost’?” You ask, handing her axe back.

“I’d say at most a quarter of a mile. We’re closer to the edge than we are to the Cornucopia.”

“What do’ya suppose’ll happen if we hit the edge?” Says Blight in his heavy district brogue, so different than any you’ve heard before. You had asked Johanna about it at some point—the contrasts of their voices. She explained that Blight was born further north than she was, practically on the border of Seven.

It’s not like everyone in Eleven speaks the same, but there’s at least some level of similarity that can be distinctly found in Eleven—in the southernmost districts in general. It shares a likeness with Eight and Ten. The same notes that you can sometimes hear in Katniss and Haymitch’s voices, but not in Peeta’s.

“Most likely? I’d imagine some sort of boundary or force field.” Beetee informs you all.

“Regardless. We won’t know until…” Wiress starts, trailing off as something you aren’t privy to catches her attention.

“—Until we’re upon it.” Beetee finishes for her.

You clear your throat. “I’d say it’s best we don’t find out ‘less we have to.” You drawl, dropping the Capitol accent you’ve been forced to assimilate for what you realize will be the last time. You replace the over-enunciation and grating lilt with slanted vowels and a melodic tempo.

“We can probably head in a little more and then cut to the left or right,” Johanna suggests and you realize she’s talking to you. Not just you in the sense of the whole group, but you specifically. You glance around. They’re all looking at you. It seems you’re the de facto leader.

When the hell was that decided?!

“Right. Well,” you clap your hands, picking your sickles up as you rise, “let’s get a move on. We need to go further while there’s still daylight. Then, we'll find a place to set up camp."

Hopefully.

Blight takes the lead, getting a headstart at cutting through the tightly packed vegetation with his machete.

“C’mon.” You smile down at Wiress as you help her up. She returns it gratefully and Beetee offers her his arm before they trail behind Blight. As you and Johanna carry the flank, you eye the long gash along his shoulder blade that’s steadily bleeding. Your main objective is to get these two to the pickup point, but you’d prefer if you got them there in one piece.

Chaff had said he’d be teaming up with Woof and Cecelia. As well as the morphlings, if they can find them. Unlikely, since they’re masters of stealth. You remember how they didn’t stray far from the camouflage section. You had asked Peeta about the swirls of color on his arm while you were training and he told you it was supposed to be a sunrise that the female morphling painted. She’s apparently fond of them. With skills like that, you know they’ll only be found if they want to be.

The morphlings. That’s like if you only referred to Haymitch as ‘The Alcoholic’. You scold yourself mentally for using such a needlessly cruel nickname for them just because everyone else did. Either one of your parents would’ve pinched the skin off of you if they knew that.

I can’t keep calling them that. It's probably an odd time to do so, but you decide it’s high time you learned their actual names. Before now, you had very little reason to since you rarely interacted with them. Yet, even if they hadn’t been rebels, they still deserve the basic respect of being acknowledged as people, not just in conjecture with their addictions. You don’t expect to be BFFs after you make it out of the arena, but you’d like to, at least, be someone who knows and uses their real names.

“Thanks. For what you did back there.” Johanna takes you out of your musings, swinging her axe to and fro on her other side. “Taking that guy down for me. You didn’t have to.”

You scowl at the reminder, pretending to be focused on navigating your steps along the tricky jungle floor instead of looking at her. You didn’t want to think about that. How killing him was the first solution that came to mind. It’s not that you’re naive enough to think that talking him down was even an option. He wasn’t on your side. He wasn’t one of you. He had made his own bed of flowers by turning down Haymitch’s offer. But why couldn’t it have been Gloss or Enobaria that killed him? Why did it have to be you? Why not you? “I know I didn’t.”

“But you did, and,” she sighs, jutting her jaw to the side as if it’s taking a lot out of her to say this, “and I’d probably be so minced that the hovercraft would have to make multiple trips to get all the pieces if you hadn’t stepped in, so...thank you."

You smile at her awkward discomfort, ignoring the glances she shoots you out of the corner of her eye and acting oblivious to her increasing agitation.

“Are you gonna say ‘you’re welcome’, or what, asshole?” She scoffs.

“You’re welcome, Your Highness.” You knock your shoulder into hers and she knocks yours right back.

“I owe you one.”

You laugh. “God, I hope not.”

SECTION 5 (1 pm-1:34 pm)

The force of the blow is enough to send Peeta flying backward, knocking them over so fast that Finnick can barely register that he’s not still standing.

“Peeta’s not breathing!” Katniss cries and it’s a blur of motion as he moves into action, his body acting on autopilot. “Peeta’s not breathing!”

Prop Mags up against a tree. Check for a pulse that isn’t there. CPR. Tilt his head at an angle. Pinch his nose—a stiff hand to Katniss’s sternum—pinch his nose, blow air into his deflated lungs. Ignore the arrow pointed at his head. Put his body weight behind each pump. Push his will into the unresponsive body. From his shoulders, down his biceps, and into the heels of his hands, to where Peeta’s still heart lies.

C’mon, Peeta. C’mon, c’mon.

“C’mon, Peeta!” He can feel the anticipation of the viewers boiling in on them from all angles, his hair standing on end as he tries to pump Peeta’s heart for him. If they lose Peeta, they lose Katniss. If they lose Katniss, they lose the revolution. If they lose the revolution, they’ll lose, they’ll lose, they’ll lose—“Come on! Come on!”

He’s got no idea why they haven’t called it yet, why they haven’t blown the cannon, despite his heart stopping before he even hit the floor. Maybe they’re hoping, like he’s hoping, that Peeta will come. The fuck. On.

A small gasp, a cough and—

Finnick falls back on his haunches, hands on his hips and panting as the muscles in his arms buzz. He’s lightheaded again from supplying so much of his air to Peeta. And the heat isn’t doing anyone any favors.

“Be careful. There’s a force field up there.” Peeta huffs and Katniss chuckles, half-hysterical, before dipping down to kiss him. Finnick pauses in the middle of a much-needed inhale, watching the two with narrowed eyes.

“Oh, my God. You were dead. You were dead. Your heart stopped.” Katniss sobs as she drapes over Peeta, shrill and so resoundingly real that Finnick blanches for a second. He’s never seen her hands waver when drawing her bow, but they tremble now as they hold Peeta close.

Huh.

“It’s okay.” He assures her, still smoldering and smoking a little. “It’s working now.” She helps him up, still sobbing. Or maybe choking? Choking on her sobs. Peeta looks upon her with concern.

“Katniss?” Peeta prompts, starting to look increasingly panicked and Finnick can’t handle them both freaking out.

“It’s okay. It’s just her hormones.” Finnick is slow to stand, looking them over quizzically. “From the baby.”

“No. It’s not—” She cuts herself off with more choke-sobs. There’s something here—something he couldn’t see before. Something he hadn’t considered concerning these two, concerning Katniss. That something is familiar. What does it remind him of? It’s nagging at the back of his skull. That staunch fear, the protectiveness followed by the open gasping relief. He recognizes it. Where, where, where—

“She can't possibly care about him that much."

"Yeah, well, you'd be surprised.”

Oh. Oh, shit.

Of course, he recognizes it—that familiar, desperate love. He’s felt it.

Katniss glares at him, snotty and defensive, and he stares, mystified. He shakes his head, pulling himself from his revelation-induced stupor. The two lovebirds hug each other like they’re the only things holding each other up. And with their current states, they might as well be. To give them some privacy, he walks over to check on Mags and finds her knowing gaze. He can’t have been the last one to know this love story isn’t much of a story at all, right?

SECTION 3 (6:50 pm-10:20 pm)

Finnick rolls his trident back and forth between his hands as they all wait for Katniss to come back from scouting in the trees. Mags cracks open and eats another one of the nuts Katniss has been using and substantially cooking by bouncing them off of the force field to show the rest of them where it is, considering she can hear it. He has no reason to believe otherwise; there’s no evidence to indicate she’s lying, but Finnick doesn’t buy that she can hear it just because of her hearing aid. If that’s the case, why hasn’t she mentioned it before now? He has no reason to call her out on it, so he won’t. Any advantage they have in the arena, the better.

He can feel the water evaporating out of his body like a sponge being wrung dry. He feels like a beached whale. They can’t have been in the arena for that long, but the heat—it’s not the kind he’s used to. The sun in Four has nothing on this. He’s never been so thirsty before, not even in his previous Games. They all perk up when she comes back down, hoping beyond hope that she’s seen drinkable water. That hope is crushed when she shakes her head.

“The force field…it’s a dome. We’re at the edge of the arena.” She wipes her sweat-slick hair out of her face. "I couldn't find any signs of fresh water.”

They all sit in dehydrated silence. The human body can only go on for so long with no water. Food, while an amazing plus, won’t be a real problem for weeks. And between the nuts and all the fish they could catch, it’s a problem with a simple solution. Without water, however, they will almost certainly die in five days, with their organs starting to shut down in three. He's seen it back in Four. Dead men brought back from sea shriveled and arid. He always imagined it must be torture to be surrounded by all that water and unable to drink any of it.

Now, it looks like he might find out.

And with that depressing thought, Finnick moves forward. “It’s getting dark soon. We’ll be safe with our backs protected.” Knowing the consequences of touching the force field, they’ll be able to use the arena itself as a weapon. “We should set up camp. Take turns sleeping. I can take first watch.”

“Not a chance.” Katniss scoffs.

He tilts his head.

He knows the heat is just making everything worse, only fueling his irritability. But he is so over her and this teenage snippiness. Peeta’s so easygoing that he honestly doesn’t mind his company; he can see how the two of you became such quick friends. But Katniss? She is a remarkably hard person to like.

How much longer will she treat him like a criminal? As far as he’s concerned, the only thing he’s guilty of is giving her the impression that she has authority over him in any way, shape, or form.

Burying the blunt end of his trident into the ground, he uses it to leverage himself up.

“Honey,” he mocks, his voice long-suffering and chiding, like he’s explaining something that really should be common sense to a child who's a little behind the curve. Which, honestly, doesn't seem too far off. “That thing I did back there for Peeta? That was called ‘saving his life’. If I wanted to kill either of you, I would have done it by now."

He holds her eye before he rips his weapon out of the ground. He’s too tired to have a stupid argument over this, so he nimbly picks his way over to Mags so they can start making camp.

When the Capitol anthem blares throughout the arena and the insignia projects across the sky, Finnick watches with rapt attention. He inhales sharply, watches, and waits.

Portraits of the dead flash beside the full moon. The man from Five that he killed, the man from Six, both from Eight, both from Nine, the woman from Ten and then…it stops. There’s the Capitol seal again and then nothing. No more portraits light up the sky; your portrait doesn’t light up the sky.

You’re still alive.

You’re alive. He knew that. He did. He did. He would have known, he would have felt, otherwise. After all, you had promised him, hadn’t you? In those scant few hours in the early morning before the Games, you both promised to do everything in your power to get back to each other. Promised to see this through, knowing what future waited on the other side—a future together.

He knew you were alive, but the confirmation is—

He lets out the breath he’s been holding, tension easing from his shoulders.

“Seven,” Katniss says.

“Mhm.” He acknowledges.

Seven victors. His brows furrow. The two from Eight, Woof and Cecelia. The male morphling. All dead.

But he’s still alive. And so are you.

SECTION 1 (12:55 am–3:26 am)

In the white, spectral fog of the jungle, Johanna smacks something big and hairy off the back of her hand. Are the bugs even real?

She wouldn’t put it past the Capitol to mutate them—control the mutts to crawl all over them and kill them in their sleep. But that’s too boring a death, too kind. Plus, it doesn’t make for good television. And eating bugs would probably make the audience more squeamish than child murder.

Thanks to you, they at least had something to eat. Berries, mushrooms, and, oddly enough, leaves. Not much, but it was something. But there was still the water issue—meaning there was none. They hadn't stumbled upon anything they could drink. No ponds, no rivers. Not even a fucking puddle.

She and you both agreed that there had to be water in the trees; it was too humid for there not to be. But with no way to collect it, they were all shit out of luck. Luckily, depending on how long it takes to get here, they’re expecting a rain cloud. It was the only logical assumption after they heard lightning strikes not too far off. Makes sense. Short of a sponsor gift or the magical ability to make salt water drinkable, there’s little for the victors to do in terms of battling dehydration.

If this rain doesn’t pull through, she’ll be tempted to tell you to bite the bullet and request a spile or something. Though she understands why you haven’t done so yet. Just the thought of begging those simpering morons to empty their pockets to help keep her alive makes Johanna shiver and she doesn’t even have the same history with them that you do. Knowing your fans, they’d probably get off on you debasing yourself.

Johanna knocks her head against the tree she's leaning on. She offered to take the first watch because she needed time to think. It was smart of Katniss to want you as an ally. It's easier on Johanna's part too, because at least you can take care of yourself.

And, had the rebellion not been afoot, it would've guaranteed Finnick as an ally too. Maybe Peeta is the one who picked you because Johanna doubts the girl on fire is sharp enough to think that far ahead. Or mature enough to pull her big girl pants on and notice anything around her that didn't actually revolve around her.

Johanna is woman enough to admit that she's jealous. Jealousy is nothing to be ashamed of when it's entirely warranted. Katniss doesn't have to worry about losing her family, not really. Because the Capitol just adores them. Katniss doesn't have to worry about losing her self-autonomy, her dignity, her innocence while in bed with a stranger. Katniss hasn't lived with the grief of what she's experienced long enough for it to turn her bitter or make her find an escape through substances.

And yet, here they are, protecting her even if it kills them. No, Johanna reminds herself. They're protecting the rebellion. Katniss just happens to be the face of it.

It’s almost pitch black. Without the sun to shine through the dense tops of the trees, the moon could hardly pull its weight. But it’s been dark for so long that her eyes have adapted a bit. They slept closer to the force field than she would have liked, but she understood your logic. No one can sneak up on them from behind with the force field at their back.

She digs the sharp metal part of her axe into the dense ground, pulling it out, and hacking away again.

She looks over to where the others are sleeping, Nuts and Volts guarded on either side by your and Blight's sleeping bodies. At least they aren't completely useless.

Even if Katniss hadn't wanted them as allies, they would've had to guard them anyway. Haymitch made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that they're the brains of this operation. Or at least Volts is. She zeros in on the spool of wire he clings to in his sleep.

She isn't one hundred percent sure how they plan on busting them out of the arena, but it probably has something to do with that. Or at least, it better. He nearly lost his life trying to get it. And she nearly lost her head trying to get him.

They need to meet up with Finnick, but she has no idea where his group is. It's not like they can just bury their heads in the sand and wait for them to show up. The plan rides on them all being together at the pickup point.

A drop of water wets her scalp and then another. It, like everything else in this place, is uncomfortably warm��bordering on hot. But beggars can’t be choosers. The drops of water feel heavier, but that could just be her imagination.

Rain? Finally.

She’ll wake the others up once her vocal cords stop feeling like she’s starting a fire every time she talks. It slowly but steadily picks up—drops landing on her forehead and dripping down her nape. She tilts her head back and opens her mouth and the dry, cracking chasm that she used to call her throat trembles in anticipation of the oncoming relief.

When it touches her tongue, she recoils. Thick, bitter, and metallic. It's only then that Johanna realizes the warm liquid isn't water. She holds out her hand to catch a drop and it stains red.

Blood.

And, as if the Gamemakers were waiting for her reaction, the sprinkling of rain turns into a downpour.

“Get up!” She screams, scrambling to her feet. “Get up! Get the fuck up!”

You wake up, alert, with your weapons in hand. Springing to attention like you were never asleep to begin with. When you see no enemy you can fight, your vigilance gives way to confusion. The other three are slower to rise until the blood starts pelting them like coins.

They stumble up, much like she did, but they don’t know. They don’t understand what’s falling from the sky.

“Don’t drink it—!” She tries to warn them and gets a mouthful of tacky, festering blood for her troubles. It’s thick and greasy and viscous and slippery, so the remnants of it stay behind when she tries to spit it out. It coats the back of her throat, creeping its way up her nose and slicking in between her molars.

“Blood!” The last thing Johanna can see before her vision goes red is your blurry face going from stark relief to abject terror as her words fully sink in. “It’s–it’s blood!”

From then on, there’s no room for coherent thought. Instead, Johanna gets stuck in a cycle of gagging on blood, spitting it out, and heaving in the fucked up, muggy, contaminated air, only to start it all over.

She tries to shield her eyes, but the blood creeps underneath her hands like its goal is to take out as many senses as possible. The sound of it sliding off the top of the canopies and hitting the ground is deafening; it almost drowns out your attempts to call out to Johanna. But calls for each other are only answered with blood.

They all flounder about, tottering around on unsure feet. Johanna wipes her eyes and tries to squint around it. But it’s no use. Even if her eyes weren’t compromised, the blood falls so thickly that it curtains everything around her.

Maybe that’s why she doesn’t realize she’s only seeing three red silhouettes instead of four.

She gives up on her eyes and works to save her lungs instead. She cups her mouth and nose, coughing and hacking so hard that it feels like her chest is on fire. She breathes through her nose and immediately stops when it burns her nostrils. She breathes through her mouth and it’s somehow worse to taste the sickeningly sweet iron-rich mist. She gags and breathes and gags again.

She still can’t see, but she crouches down low, hesitant as she pats the ground. Trembling hands feel around for her axe, but, apparently, everything feels like an axe handle if your eyes are closed. She can’t afford to let another victor catch her in such a vulnerable position. She may be blind, but she refuses to be defenseless.

She doesn’t find it.

They must stay there, stumbling around fully blind and half-mad for hours before a masculine shout accompanies the sound of a heavy body hitting the ground. So loud it overtakes the sound of blood that isn’t hers rushing in her ears, the sound of the rain. They must have flown before they crashed, must have been thrown back to be that loud— the force field.

“Blight!”

A cannon fires. And then. It stops. All of it. The rain, the yelling, the torture. The heat and the smell remain, if not made worse by each other. Johanna can’t figure out which one is making her stomach roll more.

“Everyone—” she gathers the blood in her mouth, along her cheeks and tongue, and spits it on the ground with disdain. She can feel the frothing, light pink saliva and drool dripping down her chin from doing the same thing three dozen times already. “Everyone alright?”

Surprisingly, the voice that calls back first is Beetee’s.

“I–I managed to hold on to Wiress. Blight, however…”

She knows not to expect Blight’s voice and that’s a pain too tender to prod at yet. You, however, don’t respond. And, unlike Blight, there’s no reasonable explanation for your sudden silence. She calls your name, but there’s no reply. There is, however, a spark of panic in her chest right next to her heaving lungs, but Johanna only heard one cannon.

She doesn’t know if the heat encourages it or keeps it at bay, but, just that fast, the blood is starting to congeal. Johanna pries her eyes open and it’s almost like they’re still closed. Now impossibly darker, the jungle is a nightmare. Made even worse by the fact that you aren’t here. She lurches up to spin in circles, shouting after you as Wiress keeps mumbling something. She staggers around, cutting herself off by coughing up the blood that’s managed to get into her chest. There’s nothing, no sign of you or where you could have gone. You are not here.

It’s like you disappeared.

A spotlight shines down on them—No, on Blight. On his cooling body. The hovercraft claw descends open-mouthed, dipping down to pick him up. Beetee pulls Wiress away before she can wander closer. Johanna watches as they take him away.

Blight is thirty, she thinks. Blight is a burly man with a big beard to match. Blight has a wife, a son. Blight’s from Zone Q, the same zone kids used to make fun of for the funny way they talked. Blight had always been kind to her. Blight now hangs limp, covered in blood. Skin singed and smelling of burnt hair. This is the last thing he will ever be.

He’ll never see the culmination of the rebellion he was willing to give his life for. He wasn’t the sharpest axe in the, well, anywhere. But…it would have been nice to give him the District Seven sendoff he deserved.

She gives herself a shake. They need to find you.

“Come on, get up.” She waves the remaining two up with her axe. “Let’s go."

“Tick, tock.”

“Where?” Beetee attempts to look at her from under his blood-smeared glasses.

“Tick, tock.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but our group has been dramatically cut from five to three—”

“Tick, tock. Tick, tock!”

“—And what the fuck is her problem?!”

“I think she might be in shock.”

“Right. Of course. That’s just fan-fucking-tastic.”

There’s an odd clicking coming from the right and some hindbrain prey instinct warns Johanna away from it. She practically drags her damsels in distress behind her as she scours as much of the jungle as she possibly can in the dark in her search for you. Down to where the sand starts, back to the edge, and then off to the left—away from the clicking. They can’t be as quiet as she would like to be, considering Beetee’s heavy steps and Wiress’s insufferable mumbling. Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, fucking tock.

How the hell did she get stuck with Nuts and Volts, of all people? You and Blight have left her alone and now, Nuts is even nuttier than before, and Volts—

“I can’t—I can’t go on. I must, I need to rest.” Beetee gasps. She glowers over her shoulder at his weak form. He raises a hand before falling on his ass. She groans, stomping back to stand over him. Even in the low lighting, he’s a sorry sight. Alarmingly pale, even for someone from Three, he looks like he might faint at any moment now.

“And what the hell is wrong with you?”

“My wound—I believe I’ve lost a fair bit of blood.” He gestures minutely behind him, and she squints at his back. He grunts as she positions him a bit better in the moonlight and his entire left flank is warm with his blood. The wound hadn’t seemed that serious earlier, long but superficial. What does she do if he’s losing more blood than any of them realize? She isn’t trained in medicine and it’s not like they can just request some kind of aid. If you were here, maybe. They’d have much better luck getting a sponsored gift if you were the one asking for it.

“Great. That’s just lovely. You know, this is exactly what we need right now.” She paces. Kicks a rock. hurts her toe. “Fuck. Fuck!” Johanna drives her axe into a nearby tree, yanking it out to only hack at it again. They’ve been searching for you for over an hour and there’s no telling where the hell you’ve wandered off to.

“What do we do now?”

“I don’t know! I don’t—!” She throws her hands up, not even bothering with rebuffing Wiress when she sways into her with her ‘tick, tock’ shit again. She groans, head hanging low. The plan has been monstrously derailed already and it hasn’t even been two full days yet. “I don’t know.”

Hopefully, you’re closer to finding Finnick than they are.

SECTION 2 ( 1:40 am-2:26 am)

You finally come to a stop, feet tripping over gnarled roots and fallen logs. You cough, blowing blood from your nose like snot. You’ve gotten far enough away from the rain that you can almost start breathing normally again. You look around you, turning in rough half-circles as you try to get your bearings. You’re careful to keep in mind the direction you’ve come from because the jungle looks the same as it has for the last mile and a half.

You want to rub at the stitch developing in your side, but you’re too afraid to take your hands off your weapons, even for a second.

That blood rain was unexpected, to say the least. Not to mention cruel. You’d never seen anything like it. The Gamemakers must have gotten a real kick out of that, knowing how readily y’all were waiting for rainwater, knowing how thirsty you were.

The blood doesn’t behave like it should. It’s made your hair dense and heavy, almost oil-slick somehow, despite the frizz from all the humidity. It dries on your skin in thick, itchy patches. Not unlike the aloe vera paste used in Eleven to heal burns and the like.

There’s no telling if the blood shower is heading in your direction or not. Can you handle that again? That suffocating force clawing its way past your esophagus, into your stomach, into your lungs—hot and thick? The taste is still on your tongue and for a moment, you’re in the eye of the storm once more. Fighting to see, to breathe, to live.

You gag and you push it down, but the longer the taste of iron soaks on your tongue, the harder it is to stop it. You gag again, hard enough that your belly cramps up. Eyes watering, you rock forward, nails digging into the wood of the handles as scorching stomach acid claws its way up your throat. You throw up what little you’ve eaten, and you despair, because it may not have been much but it was something.

You stay that way, hunched over, panting open-mouthed as more spit forms rapidly in your mouth just to drip down into the puddle of sick you’ve already left. You’ll be even more dehydrated than before. Your chest burns with acid reflux, your nose runs, and your mouth pools with drool you can’t afford to lose. You want to cry. But you don’t have that luxury. You want someone to rub your back, but you don’t have that either.

I wish Finnick was here.

You allow yourself that small moment of pity. You pull in a surprisingly cool breath before straightening up. You push your shoulders back, determined to march forward through whatever may be waiting for you because you know that on the other side, Johanna and the others need you. You walk forward, even though the idea of willingly entering that blood-filled hellscape makes your stomach lurch like a threat.

The blood still proves to be an issue without the Capitol’s input. Some of it drips down your face and neck like sweat, damn near blinding you all over again. You can only wipe it away with the back of your hand so many times. You're still trying to find a way to keep the blood out of your eyes when you hear it.

It's like when a bug flies too close to your ear but louder. Buzzing and clicking that makes the hair on your neck stand, foreboding.

You’ve never had much of a problem with insects, you weren’t allowed to. You can’t exactly claim ‘fear of bugs’ as a reason for not doing your job, even if you are six years old. After working around tracker jackers to pick various fruits, spiders climbing over you as you wade around the flooded cranberry fields, overzealous slugs as you pull carrots, to name a few, that fear dissipated. That’s not to say you love them, only that you’ve learned to work in proximity to them and ignore them if all else fails. You turn around, spinning in circles as the noise gets louder. You can’t ignore this so easily. You’re six again, trembling in fear as a peacekeeper directs you to a giant tree with an equally giant tracker jacker nest. That old fear makes a reappearance. It takes root, maturing from childish panic to fresh, genuine terror because something is coming toward you.

You hear flapping, wings. Your vision is still blurred from the blood and you're in a particularly dark part of the forest with barely any moonlight, but you can see it. Some kind of bug hurtling towards you faster than you can run. It’s massive—mutated, most likely—close to the size of a wolf. You duck as it dives at you, bulky mandibles snapping.

You’d rather fight the wolf.

It flies a few feet away before turning around and you curse the fact that you didn't pick up any long-range weapons. Where the hell is Katniss when you need her?

You’ve trained for months. Your stamina, your dexterity, your core and upper body strength. But especially your hand-to-hand combat. Woefully, you consider how well that translates into fighting a giant mutt.

For a split second, you get the urge to hide. That animalistic impulse to find a small space to burrow into that the much bigger animal can’t get you and to find it fast. You’ve felt this before in Eleven and in the Capitol. It’s only fitting that you’d feel it here in the arena too.

It hovers in the air for a moment. It's almost as if it’s thinking. As you both regard each other, it begins to feel like it really might be thinking. Just how intelligent is this thing?

It’s a beetle; you can tell that much, which means an exoskeleton. You’ll have to go for the head, the eyes. There’s no indication that it’s about to happen, it just charges you. And you realize far too late that it'll be impossible to get a clear hit at its head. You lunge to the side, but you aren't fast enough. You yell when its pincer strikes you in the side. You pitch over, rolling along the ground. You barely manage the precarious balance of covering your head and keeping your blades away from your body.

It's not done with you. But down here, you have a better chance of avoiding its bite.

The blood makes your grip on the handles slippery. You flip the one in your dominant hand upwards and keep the other one face down as it gets ready to charge you again. You roll under it, slicing upward along its stomach as it flies over you. You're quick to stand up as it wavers in the air, wings stuttering the longer it bleeds.

You’ve both weakened each other, but neither of you is dead yet.

Your mind is quiet. Only one thought echoes in the abyss back to you.

The head. The head. The head. Go for the head. Go for the head. Take the fucking head!

It swoops down at you, wobbling in the air, but still clicking. You kneel down with your sickles turned outward and cross your arms in front of your face. You wait for it to get closer until you can see its head peeking over the gap your weapons leave and straighten your elbows, decapitating it. You close your eyes as black blood rains down on you and its head and body hit the ground with two distinct thumps.

Its body convulses on the ground and its head stays still, but you don't have time to check if it's really dead. Like the man from Nine. More buzzes and clicks come from your right and you're running before you even register that your feet are moving.

You don't look behind you, you don't need to. You can hear them, closing in on you. You just keep sprinting, lungs burning in exhaustion as you push yourself faster. You don't know where you're running to, but you know you have no way of fighting off more than one.

There's a hill a few feet ahead of you, and you prepare yourself to roll down. You throw your weapons to the bottom and cover your head as you tumble down, scraping yourself on stray twigs and rocks.

You scramble to stand up at the bottom of the hill and look up in time to see the bugs hovering at the top. They're stopped by what looks like a force field. But that doesn’t make any sense. You—you just came from there. Suddenly, they lose interest in you like you were never there to begin with and they turn around. They bump into each other as they fly away, probably on their way to swarm someone else.

A piercing scream comes from the direction the mutated insects flew off to. Better you than me, you think and regret it immediately. That could be someone you care about. Chaff, Johanna, Katniss, Peeta.

Finnick, your brain supplies. You shake away the thought. You don't have to worry about that because he promised you.

"He promised me. He promised me." You repeat to yourself in a whisper.

You stumble back into a tree, chest heaving.

Once the adrenaline rush passes, another problem presents itself. The blood on your body has grown cold, so it's surprising to feel a warm rush of liquid on your side.

You look at where your jumpsuit is torn above your right hip. You stretch the fabric and see two holes about six inches away from each other. Twice the size of a bottle cap, one's a little above your hip bone and the other rests a little before where your back starts, both wider and deeper than you would like—but you don’t see muscle, which counts for something. They're rough, not perfect circles. Skin hangs haphazardly from them both, peeling away at the edges with jagged incisions going towards the middle. As if being punctured like a piece of paper wasn’t enough, they've been torn from the pincers still being buried in you and then violently ripped out after you fell.

Now that you're aware of them, they throb in sharp waves.

"Shit," you curse, breathing around the tears that bubble up from the pain. Your breaths are shuttered, halting. You're bleeding at a pretty steady pace and you won't last long with the wound out in the open. Especially if there's a creature out here that can smell blood. “Shit, shit, shit.” You whimper.

You scream as cramps rocket through your abdomen and the ability to be quiet is beyond your pain-addled mind, you can’t stop it. Luckily, it comes out of your dry throat more of a raspy croak than a real scream. You press a shaking, blood-soaked hand to your mouth anyway. You don’t know what other killer insects may be out here with you and you can’t afford to grab their unwanted attention just because you can’t control yourself.

Your medical knowledge isn’t extensive. Honestly, it’s a little below average for what’s expected in Eleven, but probably far more than what an ordinary citizen in the other districts would know. Not everyone can afford the services of doctors, especially if they live in the Shacks, so you were all taught how to help each other. You don’t know any of the fancy shit they probably teach in the academies, but you were taught how to heal with the land—old methods and practices passed down from before the Dark Days.

Your first thought is to clean it, but with what? You don’t even have clean water to drink. Your second thought is to pack it, if not with cotton then with aloe vera—it’ll ward off infection for a while, right? You have no way of disinfecting it, not by yourself and not with what’s available to you, so stopping the bleeding is the next best thing.

This may not be your environment, may not be your plants, but you learned a thing or two while training Peeta in the Edible Plant section. This is the perfect environment for natural, as natural as the arena will permit, aloe to grow. But it’s still dark. You can’t go looking for it, not by yourself. And you aren’t desperate enough to start begging your sponsors for help.

You sigh. You’ll have to settle for the bare minimum.

You pull both of your sleeves down where they detach at the shoulder and even that little movement makes your stomach cramp again. You flinch as the muscles underneath the wounds spasm, pumping out more blood.

You tie one end of both sleeves together, working past the hurt, and, God, does it hurt. But the hurt is unavoidable. That’s what you tell yourself. That’s what you’ve always told yourself. You let your mind drift, taking you somewhere else.

The hurt is unavoidable. The hurt is unavoidable. The hurt is unavoidable.

Sweat drips down your back, or maybe it’s blood, as you move the makeshift tourniquet around your waist. You lay a flat piece of the fabric on the wound and nearly black out as you tie the two loose ends in the back. You tie it again just for good measure, biting around a scream as you pull it tight enough to staunch the bleeding.

Your vision swims as you gasp in big gulps of air. Your hands shake from the pain and yet another adrenaline drop. Your legs feel weak, barely holding you up as you lean most of your weight against the tree.

You need a game plan.

Another canon fires.

You don’t know how long you sit there, eyes closed, head tilted back, pitying yourself. But by the time you decide to get moving, you notice something. Something’s…wrong.

Everything sways when you move your head up. You blink nearly twenty times before your eyes can focus again. You feel warm. Not warmth from the humidity. Not warmth from exercise. But warmth from a fever, a sickness. Nausea creeps upon you and, fuck, please, you can’t throw up again—you can’t . An injury this nasty will certainly come with symptoms, but you shouldn't have this kind of reaction. You try to remember what kind of bug it was. You remember it was a beetle, but you rack your brain for what it looked like. Your muscles spasm around your wound, reminding you how open and exposed they are even when covered with fabric.

You’ve got two plugs taken out of your side, you’re covered in blood, both real and synthetic, you’ve been poisoned, and you’re alone.

Alone. There is no sound other than your labored breathing because you’re alone. That’s the worst part somehow.

You’re slow as you lean down, wincing at the slightest movement, and snatch up your sickles. If just that is enough to sap you of your energy, then—

You can’t stay out here in the open where you’re vulnerable, no one to watch your back, no one to protect you. You’re an easy target, no help to the revolution like this. You take a few quick breaths to psych yourself up. You push off the tree, grunting as the smallest use of your abdomen aggravates the wounds. You hobble along, heading in the opposite direction of where you left Johanna and the others.

Hopefully, Finnick’s group is having better luck.

SECTION 3 (3:17 am-3:28 am)

Finnick is sure that there are certain moments that he’ll remember for the rest of his life. His reaping, the first person he killed, meeting you. These moments, these entries penned into the book of his life, define him. They’re all weaved into a tapestry, sewn into a quilt that illustrates his past and blankets his future. Who he is today, and who he will be tomorrow, is shaped by these moments. He’ll remain irrevocably changed by these events.

He’s sure this moment will be one of them.

The fog creeps behind them and he’s suddenly so glad you aren’t a part of their group. A spectral wall of wispy gas that observes their suffering with the same indifference as the Capitol does. Peeta is a solid weight on Finnick’s shoulder and he’s thankful for it. It’s a reminder, the weight of what he’s defending. He clenches his teeth against the fog's stray tendrils and their poisonous grasp, increasing his speed even as pain licks at his heels.

“Fhinnic’, Fhinnic’!” He skids to a stop, looking behind him at Peeta’s slurred insistence. He turns in time to see Katniss and Mags crash to the ground. He rushes over to them. Mags sits concerned next to Katniss who’s beginning to blister.

“It’s no use,” Katniss says. He kneels beside them and he can see she’s feeling the effects of the fog. Her left leg is getting stiffer and her face has begun to droop. “Can you take them both? Go on ahead, I’ll catch up.” The confidence in her voice is interrupted by the grimace on her sagging face.

Mags has been touched by the fog less than the rest of them, if at all. Probably for the opposite reason that Finnick seems to have the most damage, she’s small. By this logic, it should be easy for Finnick to carry her along with Peeta. It should be easy.

“My arms aren’t working. My arms, they aren’t—” From his shoulder blades down to his fingertips, the muscles in his arms are ruined. They spasm sporadically, jerking uncontrollably as they hang limp at his sides. He’s even relying on Peeta to hold onto his trident for him. “I’m sorry, Mags. I can’t, I can’t do it. I’m sorry.” He apologies. He keeps apologizing to her and he can’t see why, too focused on the wave of white threatening to seize them.

It’s all so quick. Mags has realized what Finnick himself is too stubborn to acknowledge. There’s a heaviness in his chest that he tries to swallow around but it only spreads to his throat. His throat gets tight. His senses feel heightened, his heart beating faster, lungs heaving harder, but he’s still trying to find a way out of this. His mind is moving at the speed of light, determined to fix it, determined to row this impossible boat upstream—thinking about everything but the only realistic outcome here.

They never talked about this. Never discussed the possibility. A situation where he would ever have to—it just never, never came to mind. He never thought to imagine it. And yet, she’s taking off the bracelet she’s wearing—his bracelet that she wore as a token for him. The same bracelet he made under her roof, under her knowing gaze. She slides it up his wrist, tightening it before grabbing his face between her weathered hands. She places a gentle peck on his lips and that’s when he realizes she’ll be leaving, whether he’s ready to say goodbye or not.

“Mags? Mags? Mags!” Tears blur his vision as she dodders uphill into the fog. Katniss grabs his wrist, stopping him from going after her. “Mags! Mags!”

“Finnick!” He can see her silhouette just past the veil of mist, convulsing violently before—a cannon fires. He sits there, desolate. He can’t tell if the numbness spreading through him is organic or from the nerve damage.

“Finnick, we have to go. We have to get outta here.” He’s slow to turn around and look at Katniss. “We have to go.”

Finnick climbs to his feet, accounting for Peeta’s weight, as Katniss drags herself behind him. He sniffs once, twice, three times.

Later, he tells himself, there’ll be time for that later.

A/N: 1.) Blight's accent is the Canadian accent - specifically Letterman Kenny 2.) reckon the covey (Lucy Gray's group) traveled to the north from 11 to 12 during the 1st rebellion and got trapped in 12 after they lost. the Seam now has a distinct accent that sounds vaguely southern. 3.) i headcanon there's no singular southern accent in 11, using this map:https://fineartamerica.com/featured/vintage-map-of-panem-from-the-hunger-games-design-turnpike.html?product=art-print you can see just how much southern land it covers. So that's a mix of Creole, Irish, Mexican, and deep south roots. I'd imagine the mix of Creole, southern aave, and Spanish makes for a very particular accent. but if I had to pick one, it's closer to the southern drawl than the southern twang. 4.) the capitol accent basically the transatlantic accent 5.) You and Finnick think the same, since it was his idea to sleep next to the forcefield and use it as a weapon. yall literally think the same. also finnick wakes up the same way you do in the book when katniss screams about the fog. 6.) in the book, Lucy Gray is quiet but cunning. She doesn't have the "girl bossified quirky" demeanor she does in the movie and I blame Disney for that. As such, she doesn't have the "loud and proud/nothing affects me/cocky without a cause" attitude in my canon. What attracted Snow to her was that survivor instinct he saw in her that he felt he had. Everything that made Lucy Gray interesting to him can be found in Star (and Peeta.) I think Katniss's personality wise is so much like Sejanus's that it pissed him off. close enough to District 12, but not exactly. district eleven has the exact background that Snow wishes he had with 12. He has more control over Eleven, they're easier to control/oppress as opposed to the free-spirited District 12. With Star, he strives to fix what mistakes he made with Lucy Gray. my beta reader said "i agree honestly like i think thats also why people are misreading snow in the movie bc they don't actually understand lucy gray and therefore misunderstand why snow even liked her" 7.) eleven is mainly a black and indigenous North American (Canada, US, and Mexico) population

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thedivineart · 1 year

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PICK A CARD: ADMIRING YOU FROM AFAR; THE UNKNOWN ONE [ self related series #01 ]

in this pac reading were going to take a look/ know who is secretly admiring you, images that used are not mine and i'm only saved this images from pinterest so credits to the rightful owner.

♡︎ M A S T E R L I S T ♡︎

ᵒⁿᵉ ᵗʷᵒ ᵗʰʳᵉᵉ

𓇽 P A I D S E R V I C E S 𓇽

PILE ONE

i see that mostly who pick this pile, their secret admirer are 18 to 32 of ages and this individual is someone who is mature than you or simply just older than you. a very calm, well expeirenced and wise individual they are, they are serious person who is ambitious in life and quiet powerful person they are maybe somewhat popular in school, work, or in your surroundings-someone who have quiet influencial around others. I see here that there will be something might happen in this winter time. Also this person is a sexual appetite but is a cold person, who doesn't seems to know how to show their emotion and they have dark haired -doesnt matter if dye or not or this person have sexual fantasies about you. I think some people here who pick this pile already know who is this individual or you have hint who are they. Yeah, this individual is somewhat famous too in where society they belong, i feel they been admiring you for a very long time but may fear of acceptance, they also have romantic feelings for you. They has a hobby of writing maybe a book or jounals or fixing their schedule or something related to those things, a creative person with soft features or round face and admiring you brings small amount of joy inside of them. They might be your friend or friends of your friend or they are friendly person or someone who you familiar with like heard their name before but don't actually see who are they. They are a private or typically lonely person like they like to be lonely most of the time, they are also tall or can be taller than you as well being intellegent and well diciplined individual. They may also came from high status family or in their surroundings their alot of influencial people.

PICK A CARD READINGS

PILE TWO

this pile got the happiest energy, i do feel that this person loves to laugh or smile often, they may also loves to joke around or make others smile. they might be also popular maybe in school, or work, or in neighborhood since this individual is too friendly in others, they may have dark hair- dye or not and very good looking/pretty people. I'm also sensing that this person may laugh out of nowhere cause s/he remember something funny in his/her mind, they also good at cheering and uplifting people- a naturally gift from them, they may also love attention but in a good way like i said joking around, making others comfortable. If you knew this person, you never see them having a sad face cause it's like they always have smile on their faces. They seems always in public eye, they know alot of people and people know them too and there is also people who envy and called this person a 'attention seeker' which probably far from it's truth. This pile got all positive cards, so this person is always positive in their life as well caring/generous to their time or anything that they can give, mostly who choose this pile this is your 'soulmate', they may came from quiet well-off family and water is very significant to them maybe its their zodiac sign or simply just loves water like the beaches or fountain etc. Even though they are good looking people or not, still people who surround them find them really attractive and idk what makes them nervous sometimes maybe when you are near? and they naturally experience ups and downs in life like a normal human being or they are well balance individual.

PICK A CARD READINGS

PILE THREE

it seems this person loves to write letter or they are one of the people who you chat online or irl, they are type of people who is always curious to anything or everything, naturally an active individual who maybe join in some activities in daily life such as sport etc. also they good at communication and knows how to balance every conversation or they give light and open aura for any communication they been through. Though they experience some difficulties in life that turns to a real life lesson to them, they still manage to stand up for the sake of their supreme goals and also you can feel the sadness around this individual maybe the reason why is that they suffer alot from so much burdens into their life. They are also someone who quick temper, aggressive or an authoritive person, mostly prone to vindictiveness or lies or they are someone who suffer in mental illnesses. Okay, i know there's alot of negative energy for this person-well that's their energy as of now, this pile is so opposite of pile two but i do sense that this person they are good person, they care for their family or friends, they also responsible and actibe individual. They also have the characteristics of be able to adapt things easily or to any situation occur in their present time, they may probably taller than you or naturally taller or have long legs, they also someone who value their reputation, hobbies and their everyday affairs.

PICK A CARD READINGS

A R T E M I S

2 0 2 2

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leafsvflowers · 1 month

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Can you please do a reading on Anton’s (riize) ideal type? Thank you

Anton's ideal type and ideal romance scenario

Date: 17.02.2024

Decks: The Rider-Waite Tarot, Symbolon, Romantic Angels Oracle Cards

Did he allow me to publish? - ideal type (8 of cups) - yes, ideal romance scenario (ace of swords) - yes

The person Anton's feels attracted to at the moment and sees them as his ideal style is someone younger or his age - with great ambitions, daring attitude, but without much experience. Someone who's going through transition or just still looking for their way.

Just remember about this: link and the fact that Anton still is in age if exploration of his wants and needs, so his ideal type is more prone to change.

Ideal type:

Because of that there is visible ongoing duality in the character. They could even be a bit poser. This person likes to appear braver, more charismatic and successful than they are. On the inside they are more anxious and fearful about their future and life in general. They're not sure what they want to do in life and it's showing both in physical restlessness and in emotional turmoil. They fear the unknown and lack clear direction.

In the end, they have a tendency to pessimism. They lack the confidence that they like so much showing to others, so they are escaping into a dream world to look for their direction, imagining they're more perfect future, but not doing much irl.

Intuitively, from the reading I was getting that he would like someone who prefers wearing darker clothing or more alternative style.

Ideal romance scenario:

What Anton wants is a plan. He would spend time wondering about the ways to get to know his chosen person better. Anton would be the one approaching them on his own terms. He doesn't want to compromise or change himself, his way for a partner. So everything had to be planned ahead of time.

According to the plan that will guarantee him a success he was craving for, his ideal person put their guard down in the moment of lack of focus. Their impenetrable image showed him their emotional dissatisfaction and indecisiveness of direction in their life. They would be defensive and distrustful of others, not wanting others to see their fears.

And there came Anton. He appeared as a knight in shiny armor that would actively pamper and shower his partner with an unreasonable amount of gifts. He would want to be their pillar in life; someone they can rely on; someone stable. With this type of image they would submit and that's the moment Anton's plan has succeeded in making them codependent on him. Only then, he will be able to start opening up emotionally more and allow himself to be reckless, young and in love. Not as perfect as his image he showed at first, but well...they would still stay with him, wouldn't they?

#kpop tarot #riize tarot #riize anton tarot #lee chanyoung tarot

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igotanidea · 6 months

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Ren Fair: Dick Grayson x reader

summary/request: dick x reader going to a renaissance fair.

Warnigns: some innuendo (but funny ones I hope), some injuries (obviously), fluff.

***

She definitely didn't expect this.

It was just a regular Friday, and that usually meant counting down the hours until the weekend and dreaming of spending the entire two days in your apartment, in a comfy sweatshirt and sweatpants, doing nothing except maybe cuddling with your boyfriend.

With her beloved boyfriend Dick, who always knew how to take care of her, even if she wasn't aware of it.

And whom she loved because of it.

So when she came home from work, dropped her bag on the floor next to the door, kicked off her shoes, and fell face first onto the couch with a loud groan of relief, she was more than pleased to see a box wrapped in blue paper with her name tag on it. Apparently Dick's handwriting.

Her energy felt like it immediately surged again as she stood up, reaching for the gift, almost falling to the floor in the process. She was just too lazy to get up, so she took the classic "let's see how far I can stretch before I fall backwards" approach.

With the greatest delicacy and care, she untied the ribbons and took out the paper, looking inside.

She loved surprises from him.

Or at least until then.

What a pity she couldn't see her own face as she reached in and pulled out what looked like a dress but wasn't.

– Is that a damn corset? Y/N muttered, the frown on her face growing by the second. What the hell!? She never wore things like that! Did Dick get the gifts wrong? Maybe he wanted to give it to another girl? Was he cheating on her? But if so, shouldn't it be...sexier? Even though she was pained by the possibility of Dick's infidelity, she would eventually come to terms with him having a kink for a women in lingerie. But the clothes she held looked more like a habit than a seductive underwear. Did he like the nun cosplay for foreplay now!?

Cholera…

Her own thoughts disgusted her and she threw the outfit away with a groan.

Apparently she didn't know her own boyfriend.

“Hey, Y/n!”

She almost jumped on the couch when he entered the room (of course, he moved like a 100% vigilante even in his civilian version, so she didn't hear a sound. Knocking was overrated in this relationship).

"DICK!"

"Hey Baby." his eyes landed on the dress on the floor and his smile immediately disappeared. Didn't like your gift?

"I..." she began, stopping mid-sentence as her eyes landed on his figure, widening in pure shock. "What-? What are you wearing?!"

“Amazing, right? I know, I love it too. And you better not ask how long it took to find it and how much I charged Bruce's credit card. Dick chuckled, squirming around, flexing his muscles.

What the hell was going on!?

Her beloved boyfriend stood in front of the mirror and looked at himself with a huge and completely unjustified amount of self-love, while looking like...

"Clown". He smiled as if that explained everything.

“Mhm. Yes, of course. She made a confused face, barely keeping herself from palming her face. "The only thing you're missing is a hat with bells."

“You know what, that's a really great idea! Maybe I should-"

“Wow! Hold back, Grayson. Hold back! Do you want to explain this?

"But what?" he tilted his head with a confused expression, thus resembling the character whose costume he was wearing.

“Why are you wearing puffy pants and a diamond-patterned vest? Why is there a weird looking dress in the box with my name on it? Dick - "

"Wait. Wait, wait..." he pinched the bridge of his nose, turning to her. "Didn't you look in the box?"

"Yes but…"

"No? No. Inside inside." - he emphasized, and for some unknown reason a shiver ran down her spine. Should she be worried? Was there a themed toy there too?

Damn it!

She wanted to scream when, at his watchful, expectant look, she turned the box upside down and watched in amazement as a piece of paper fell out of it, which turned out to be an invitation.

What a relief

She clearly had that feeling written all over her face, because Dick's initial concern turned into a fit of laughter, which only made him look even more as a jester as he continued to shake his head.

“Y/N-” he almost choked. “What were you thinking?”

“Shut up…” she muttered, blushing

“Oh, no, please tell me. I insist!"

"Shut up you idiot!" she threw a pillow at him, which of course didn't hurt him, and focused on the list to keep her trembling hands occupied. “Renaissance fair?”

"Ta dah! Surprise!" - he smiled, throwing his hands in the air

“Since when have you been a fan of history?” Y/N frowned. “I mean, I know you're an 80s fan because Discowing….”

"Shut up!" he ran up to her and put his hand over her mouth before she even said a word. “It was comfortable and airy!”

“Can't argue with that!” She giggled, but it was actually liberating to know that he wasn't into the type of cosplay she had initially thought of.

"come on, let's go. It'll be fun, I promise. You'll be the lady-in-waiting, and I'll be your devoted clown, always ready to cheer you up."

“You don’t need that outfit to do that.”

“But it’s working, isn’t it?” he smirked, enjoying the smile forming on her face, which he didn’t see for a while now. “Pretty please?” he pouted his lips, giving her a begging puppy look.

“can’t say no to those eyes, can I?” she ruffled his hair playfully.

“But we definitely are getting me that hat!”

***

Given all that, on Saturday forenoon Dick and Y/N dressed up (obviously not without her complaining about lack of ability to breathe because of the corset ties) and drove to the renaissance fair Dick was so excited about.

And apparently not only he had such feelings, cause the crowd of people coming from all directions was in fact overwhelming. Who would have thought that so many women would choose to spend their weekend dressed up in sixteenth-century robes, listening to the sounds of lute music. Who would have thought that so many men would rather discuss the aspects of the works of the brightest minds of the era than lay on the couch mindlessly flipping through their phones or switching TV channels.

In a spacious field, here and there, were colourful tents, in which women showed Renaissance activities such as weaving and embroidery. In the very centre, at located there stage, at high noon, a typical scene from the life of people at that time was to be performed. There were costumed event participants everywhere, and the tables set under canopies were brimming under the weight of delicacies and drinks, the sight of which made your mouth water. The smells, sounds and the lazy atmosphere of sunny weekend day were creating an otherworldly and timeless impression. It was almost like a time travel few centuries back, and despite her initial inhibitions and fear that it would all turn out to be a flop and a laughing stock it seemed like everything was buttoned to the last detail.

“are you ready m’lady?” Dick bowed slightly in front of Y/N reaching for her hand, the bells on his hat jingling at the motion.

“Grammercy (thank you)” she mirrored his motion „although I am not sure whether a Good Madam (lady of the court) shall be seen in such familiarity with a jokester.” Y/N turned her head away slightly, feigning the woman’s shyness.

“Grammercy? Oh, you little minx, you came prepared!” Dick laughed happily, trying to tickle her.

“Yeah, well, I did some research, but you have no idea how hard it was to find something more than please and thank you on the Internet on such short notice!“

“Mhm, sure…” he muttered absentmindedly, too excited by the fact that she was already starting to enjoy the day.. “You’re doing amazing one way or another. Now come on, love, I want to see everything.”

***

“Told you it was not a good idea to try and outdo the professionals!”

“I am a professional!”

“Not is this outfit, Dick!”

It was such a nice day, full of laughter, joy, tasting food and trying out new activities. No worries or stress or the pressure of time (pun intended). Just spending time together.

Well-

Until it was time for the acrobats to perform.

Obviously, after literal five minutes Dick crossed his arms and started sulking and muttering under his nose. Something about him being better and more skilled and if only he could get on that stage, he would let everyone know what a real SHOW was all about. Unfortunately, one of the performers heard his gabble, and unaware of the potential consequences and Dick’s attention-seeker attitude, invited him to join, before Y/N managed to stop them.

It wasn’t surprising to her that her boyfriend was in fact good, he was raised in the circus after all, but doing acrobatics, somersaults and pirouettes in the air, in a very specific suit and footwear was far from trying to do so on a slippery stage in a jester’s pompon shoes.

So, in result, she was now sitting with him in the shade of a tree, with his leg stretched out on the grass using some ice to minimize the swelling on his ankle, laughing internally at the whole situation.

“But Y/N!”

“hush, Grayson. I swear I’m gonna put you on house arrest for bringing shame to me.” She chuckled, making sure the whole ankle was evenly cooled.

“HEY! That’s mean! And not true! That’s a slander!” he started to fidget, equally hurt and annoyed by those words. But the second her joy-filled eyes landed on his face and she gave him her prettiest smile he had to let go of the feigned resentment.

“You were so much better than those acrobats there, Dick. Truly. Thanks for bringing me here, I did have fun.” She pecked his nose briefly. “Regardless, you got to warn me next time you come up with such a crazy idea.”

“Where’s the surprise in- Wait, did you say next time?!”

“hush, jokester! It is not proper to address a lady this way.”

“God, Y/N, I love you” he grabbed her waist and not caring about correct reflection of the era’s customs pulled her close to his chest kissing her deeply. He adored that woman with her endless acceptance of his jokes and humour and staying with him despite his (sometimes childish) attitude and his openness and crazy ideas. And maybe he was keeping a little something in those puffy pants pocket, waiting for a proper time.

Which he was sure was going to come sooner than later.

honorary mention to @gone-batty-fics as a thanks for making me pay more attention to punctuation :D

#dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #dick grayson x you #nightwing x you #dick grayson fluff #nightwing fluff

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wri0thesley · 2 months

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Dottore trying to court the handmaiden but it just absolutely horrorifies them that his little “valentines” card came with a actual human heart.

He’s got negative rizz aside from voice and good looks :(

dfgjnkbkngjf honestly poor handmaiden is almost certainly used to it. whispers abound between all of those who served the tsaritsa about the harbingers and their . . . strange and eclectic ways of being. they were all exceedingly glad to think of their own position.

and perhaps there was a certain amount of . . . looking down upon the harbingers. the handmaidens are ceremonial, after all; chosen by the tsaritsa for reasons unknown. they certainly did not have to fight and kill and claw for their position! so to fall from grace the way handmaiden darling has . . .

perhaps they ought to be glad this human heart was supposed to be a gift of courtship and not a warning.

. . . it is a gift of courtship. is it now?

#nat.txt #genshin impact posting #yandere for ts

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rainbowmoonstonestories · 9 months

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Let Your Dreams Be Your Wings | Chapter 8

Chapters: 8/? Fandom: The Sandman (Netflix 2022, minor content from the Comics) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x F!Reader Characters: Dream of the Endless/Morpheus, Lucienne, Matthew the Raven, Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Hob Gadling, Death, Rose Walker, The Corinthian, other minor Sandman characters, Original Characters. Warnings: 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching, very long chapters to read. Summary: You always dreamed of becoming a successful Fashion Designer, sharing your creations with the world and making your father proud. But with him being very ill and so many costs solely weighting on your shoulders, things didn’t go as planned and you had to take a different path instead. An interesting offer led you to the elder Alex Burgess and you were hired as a new housemaid for a very good pay. However, your kindness and outstanding empathy convinced the man to give you an additional task for a doubled compensation; gaining the trust of Dream Of the Endless, held captive into the basement for over a century. Despite the shock of finding such an ethereal entity stripped of all his clothes and contained into a confined space, you had to accept for the sake of your father. But the more you got to speak to the mysterious anthropomorphic personification who didn’t utter a single word, the more you were lost into his eyes that, conversely, seemed to contain the entire universe. A deep connection formed between the two of you, separated only by a thick layer of glass.

Little did you know, what started like a simple housemaid job was about to change your life forever.

Credits: The moon dividers were made by firefly-graphics

Warning: This chapter includes smut! Minors please dni.

For this update, I did some writing research to make my text better and richer, in order to avoid most repetition. Hopefully you will see me improve more and more with the future chapters.

Tagging: @number-0-iz. If anyone else wants to be tagged in the next updates, let me know! I noticed that Tumblr sometimes won't let me tag everyone for some unknown reason, so if it comes to that I can at least send you a message to notify you.

Ko-Fi (If you ever wish to support my work)

And just like that, you found out that your best friend was immortal.

Chapter 8

After your first full night in the Dreaming, instead of meeting Morpheus on the beach again, you discovered places from your childhood memories you had entirely forgotten about and hadn’t even crossed your mind while you were awake. Moreover, you experienced peculiar events that either reminded you of your teenage years, or conveyed something too abstract for you to comprehend. You assumed this is how dreams normally operate, given that everything transpired beyond your control.

Seven whole days passed and you had not seen him once. You were aware that restoring his realm posed many complications, and that with the substantial number of humans who were falling asleep all over the globe, you weren't expecting any exclusive treatment from the otherwordly ruler of the Dream realm. Nonetheless, Morpheus had promised to see you again ‘soon’, and you didn’t quite understand what this implied for an immortal being with an eternity to spare. You needed to stop dwelling on it as it was making you anxious and sick.

In order to divert your attention, you proceeded in browsing new job vacancies on the internet, applying to corporations with an appropriate visual profile that matched your style. You were constantly checking your phone (which was fortunate enough to remain pristine after that tumble on the sidewalk), refreshing your email inbox. At the end of the day, you felt demoralized, albeit slightly amused, observing the amount of irritating spam populating your account.

You couldn't have won the lottery since you never bought a single ticket for it, and you weren't interested in claiming fake Amazon gift cards or accepting a one million bitcoin donation on your non-existent digital bank. You also couldn’t care less about the man who seemed to be enjoying a yellow banana up his butt, Nancy Pelosi being absolutely disgusted with whatever you might have done, and a certain Kim Smitherd offering millions of dollars to make you as rich as 'Bull Gates' while your aunt was dying.

You had to give these scammers credit for their entertaining content, at least.

On the bright side, your father was appearing to be progressively recuperating, gaining weight at a rapid pace and finally spending a lot more time outside of the house. He had struggled with his health for two years straight, simultaneously as Morpheus had endured a century of seclusion, solitude and mental affliction without ever turning his back on humanity. They both inspired you to relentlessly chase after your ambitions, even if it meant reaching out to each and every company in town that could provide you an opportunity.

Even though your heart sank every time you awakened devoid of sighting the King of Dreams, you carried on with all you wanted to complete, working hard from day to late evening to create some momentum in your stagnant routine.

Ten days after that sensual night with the Endless, your nerves were about to get the best of you. It was an emotion that you recalled all too well from your previous romances, and you truly hoped to not go through all that again. Since Morpheus didn't have a phone, you couldn't text nor call the Endless to invite him out for a drink. Matthew had paid you brief visits throughout that period, but the only information he disclosed was regarding how hectic Morpheus was with the reconstructions of his domain.

Feeling mentally fatigued and in need of some respite, you endevoavored to recuparate at Regent's Park, which occured to be your favorite area in London. In your childhood, your father frequently had you visit that place almost every weekend to relax and partake in a long walk amidst the captivating greenery and view the diverse species of birds that resided there. It was one of those locations that never changed, providing you with a pleasant sensation of nostalgia whenever you stopped by.

Arriving at the curved bridge over the lake, you set your arms upon the wooden railing and peacefully gazed at the ducks floating in the water, carried along by the calm flow. The discrepancy between the sounds of the natural world and the buoyant pulse of the streets was precisely what you needed, ideal for any mood you might be in.

In that particular instant, the rustling of leaves in the mild wind was consoling and harmonious. You were so lost in it that you failed to notice the woman proping herself on the guardrail beside you, observing you with a kind smile and waiting for you to acknowledge her presence. When you didn't, engrossed in your thoughts and fixated on the rippling patterns od the water underneath, she decided to initiate a conversation with a polite greeting.

“Hello.”

With a tilt of your head, you came face-to-face with a pair of dark, incredibly gentle eyes. The brown-skinned woman at your side left you struck with her voluminous black curls, so soft-looking that it almost made you want to touch them. The positivity that she exuded was immediately infectious - a rare quality in people that you couldn’t find often.

"Uhm… hello…?”

As she moved closer to where you were standing, her upper arm brushed against yours. Though the stranger's touch was in some way pleasant, it left you at a loss for words and with a bewildered look on your face. You searched your mind for any memories of her but couldn't find any.

Your brow wrinkled. "I apologize, but... have we met?"

The woman let out a brief chuckle, shaking her head. "No, but you definitely know my brother.”

You stared in confusion. "Who might he be?"

She didn't reply but kept gazing at you with the same friendly smile. Your eyes discended to the necklace she was wearing, an Ankh pendant attached to a long chain that sat comfortably on her chest.

You had read about the Ankh and what it meant in symbolism and in Egyptian culture; also known as "the key of life", it was generally used by ancient deities to represent their power and reviving human souls in the afterlife.

A symbol of life and death.

"There is Death, my sister. She is the one who greets the souls of the departed and guides them on their journey to The Sunless Lands.”

And then it hit you.

"You... you are her. Dream’s sister. You are Death."

Her smile broadened even more at your realization. “It’s a pleasure to meet you in person, Y/N.”

Aftr the initial astonishment, you began to sweat profusely. What was the reason that Death herself had come to a random spot in London in order to meet a human who was lost in thought?

You were unable to contain it and said, "Please tell me you're not here to take my soul.”

She laughed. "Of course not. I just want to talk.”

Although her response relieved you, you recognized that Death was one of the Endless, a being of tremendous power and responsibility. What sort of communication was she intending to have with a mere mortal like yourself?

Unless…

The question came naturally, and the dread attached to it was quite weighty. "Did something happen to Morpheus? Is he okay??”

Seeing your concern, Death clasped your hand on the edge of the railing in a reassuring way. "He’s fine, this is not why I came here.”

You tried to make sense of it but nothing came to light. Death took both of your hands in hers, her eyes glistened as her bright expression shifted into something hollow. Her touch was gentle, but you could feel the strength in her fingers and the safety they transmitted.

Finally, she continued. "Thank you. For taking care of my little brother when I wasn't there,” she said, her voice low and slightly hoarse.

Your throat became dry, and you were unable to respond appropriately. Instead of addressing what she told you, you questioned her.

"Did you know that he was captured?"

Somehow, you quickly became accustomed to her touch, and when she removed her hands, you mentally protested at the sudden chill that enveloped your skin for the loss of contact, despite the warm temperatures outside.

She closed her eyes, confirming with a nod of her head.

“Why didn’t you help him?”

Death let out a deep sigh, turning her melancholic gaze towards the lake in front of the bridge. "The Endless are bound to certain rules that prohibit them from interfering with each other's domains. We exist in service to the universe and the living things within it, with our own tasks and realms to oversee.”

You were aware that you should have clamped your tongue and refrained from speaking so animatedly in the presence of a formidable entity, but the immense disappointment felt within your body urged you to give it expression.

"So, you couldn't step away from your duties even for five minutes? Maybe he was hoping that you or your siblings would come to his aid, to show that you cared and let him know he wasn't alone and forgotten by his own family. What's the point of rules when someone you care about is suffering like that?”

You were filled with regret almost instantly after speaking so fervently, despite the fact that you might not have fully grasped the situation. Nevertheless, her next statement only amplified your displeasure.

"Dream’s pride would have been damaged in ways that none of us would be able to repair."

"His well-being is more important than his pride."

The atmosphere became dense and solemn. You were so fervently protective of Morpheus that it clouded your judgment. Your knowledge of their existence in the universe was restricted, so how could you presume to teach them a lesson on what ought to be done based on your assesment?

You let out a frustrated sigh. "I apologize. I understand that it's not my place to judge. As an Endless, you certainly know better than I ever will from my humble human perspective. I just can’t see how leaving Dream to his fate and ego would make up for what he went through.”

Her smile once again beamed with warmth and joy, illuminating her entire face. "My brother means a great deal to you," she said.

Your cheeks immediately turned red at her statement, and she seemed to find your reaction amusing as she giggled under her breath. Without asking further about your feelings towards her brother, she nodded her head, gesturing for you to follow her. "Come on, let's take a walk.”

She slipped her hands into the pockets of her black jeans. Her equally dark tank top showcased her perfectly toned arms, with visible muscles lining them. Although she was generally slim, she was fit and a bit taller than you. Everything she did appeared human and ordinary, but the strength you sensed in her was enough to make anyone cower in fear.

Still, she had such a sweet approach that you could hardly believe she was the literal embodiment of a Reaper. Humanity had often portrayed these figures in inaccurate ways, prioritizing creativity over accuracy.

As you walked alongside her, the sound of children's laughter filled the park. Your feet moved in perfect sync with hers, while her imposing and confident strides in leather boots made your own sneakers seem small and insecure in comparison.

"You see," she explained, "my brother needed to learn a lesson about the consequences of his actions and how they affect others. He had to confront his captors and overcome the situation on his own to grow into a better ruler of the Dreaming.”

You swallowed your bitterness. "So you're saying that this was supposed to happen? That he brought it upon himself and therefore deserved a century of emotional torment?”

A gust of wind blew through her hair, but she didn't even flinch when a curly lock fell in front of her eye. She continued to look ahead as she spoke. "Dream could have summoned me. He was given a choice, and he didn't take it.”

This made you think. If Morpheus truly had the chance to be released early, why did he choose to stay in captivity for all those years? He remained trapped in that cage without a word of complaint, despite the pain consuming him inside, all because of that one missed opportunity.

Was it really just pride that kept him there?

However, you understood all too well what it meant to feel helpless and always afraid of burdening those you cared about. As a mere mortal, you struggled to accept that you could hardly succeed on your own, so you couldn't blame Morpheus for holding onto his ego. Being powerless and unable to escape his predicament must have been unbearable for a creature like him. All Dream wanted was a straightforward offer from Death, which explained the disappointment you had seen plastered onto his face.

Sometimes, all we need is a caring gesture from someone we love, even when our answer is no.

"Would you have set him free if he had asked?”

She seemed to consider your question carefully, but ultimately chose not to answer. "You didn't know him before. You only see him for who he has become as a result of that incident.”

You gradually decreased the pace of your strides, and when you came to a standstilll, she turned and regarded you with a questioning expression.

"They killed his raven and stripped him of everything he had. The ruby, the helm, even his clothes were taken and thrown away. I don't know who Dream of the Endless was a century ago, but how is any of this justified?" you asked.

Her smile grew even wider at your passionate response, and it seemed as though the sun itself had become brighter because of it.

How ironic.

"If he hadn't taken my place that day, we wouldn't be having this conversation. If you could change the course of events, would you rather not have met Dream?”

You stood in silence, fighting to gather the correct response to give and conceding that she was in fact correct. If those particular conditions had not led you to cross paths with Morpheus, you probably wouldn’t have met the person who was bringing so much love to your existence. It pained you to realize that you would willingly choose to stay in the present reality, regardless of the implications, even if you were given the choice to shift to a separate timeline where he was not a component of your existence.

“This is so messed up,” you muttered.

Death softly squeezed your shoulders in a gesture of comfort, her eyes glistening in the sunlight. She already knew what her brother’s answer would be, and so she left him behind when he needed her the most. Their family was more complicated than you could imagine, with regulations and dynamics that were foreign to you and the world you inhabited. It was unfair to criticize their lack of intervention when you didn’t really know the depths of their connection. The only thing you could do was adjust to their nature based on what it was.

You took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be indiscreet."

Her expression softened. "You were not. You're sweet."

Instead of harboring resentment for something that nobody could control, you realized that there was a very important reason for you to appreciate her.

"You didn't take my father when I thought I was about to lose him. I should be thanking you, not cast judgement," you said.

You could see the kindness and empathy in her eyes, with no resentment present. "It wasn't his time. It won't be for a while," she reassured you.

Hearing those words from her put your heart at ease, as you still had that nagging worry lingering in the back of your mind.

Guided by your emotions yet again, you were unable to resist the impulse and surprised the Endless in front of you with a shy and hesitant embrace. But as soon as your hands pressed against her back, you no longer had a single afterthought.

Death's scent was distinct from Dream's but equally pleasant and grounding. Her hair and skin emanated a mix of jasmine flowers, smoldering swathes of woody incense, pink lotus, and saffron. She surrounded you with her enigmatic veil of mystery, but at the same time, her sweet and caring nature was warm and fulfilling.

The woman hummed in appreciation against your hair, combing through it as a caring older sister would.

"Am I signing my death sentence with this?" You asked her.

She laughed heartily at your question. "It doesn't work that way. And this actually feels nice.”

She didn't even attempt to extricate herself from your arms. She allowed you to keep her close, as if she required that form of affection more than you did.

You reckoned that Dream's role was tremendously difficult, being entrusted with preserving the delicate balance between humanity and his realm. Death's job was undoubtedly arduous too, guiding human souls to what Morpheus called The Sunless Lands. What would have occured if she was imprisoned instead? What would a world without people able to die be like?

There was something in the way she stroked your hair and rubbed your back. Everyone assumed that the Grim Reaper was a merciless being, marching through existense with a fearsome scythe and a black shroud covering its head. They didn’t know how elegant, uplifting, affectionate and empathetic the real entity was.

When you let go of her, the expression on her face was gracious and accomplished. As the pair of you resumed your stroll under the trees, Death draped her arm around your shoulder like an old friend.

You were uncertain whether she wanted to meet the woman who showed great interest in her brother or merely intended to confirm that you were trustworthy. Regardless of her reasoning, you discerned that your unexpected encounter with her was having a beneficial effect on you, despite its rough beginning.

You continued walking side by side as if it were the most normal thing in the world, until a sudden scream made you both freeze in your tracks. It reverberated throughout the park like a strangled cry, gathering a multitude of people in the vicinity. A girl was calling out a name, pleading and choking in desperation.

Death's face became somber as she looked at the scene. She assessed it in silence, but somehow, she didn't require any explanation for what was going on.

"I have to go. I can't miss this one.”

The wind gusted once more, enveloping you in a rotation of leaves that rose from the ground. She turned towards you for the last time, and with a tender caress of your elbow that was equally affectionate and apologetic, she bid you farewell.

"I'm glad I could meet you, Y/N."

You remained still, nodding, and feeling your heart pump more forcefully. "I’m glad too. Can you tell me your name?"

In spite of anticipating denial of your request, she sent off another smile and moved backward a few paces without taking her eyes off you. “You can call me Teleute, it you desire.”

Teleute. The name which had been used to portray Grandmother Death in the ancient Greek culture. Everything made sense in the framework of history and mythology.

She turned on her heels, walking away with her hands in her pockets. Within a brief moment of diversion to pay attention to the crowd that continued to increase in size, you completely lost sight of Teleute. She had disappeared in the blink of an eye, as if she was never there. Ethereal like the swiftest of avians, the most graceful angel.

You were spurred by a combination of curiosity and uneasiness to move forward. The girl was still crying and calling out for someone who was lying motionless in her lap. As you approached, you worked through the crowd of people who were standing there in shock. You spotted an unmoving man with his eyes half-open, his body stiff like a lifeless dummy, and his complexion gradually becoming ash-grey. His partner shook him repeatedly, searching for a vital sign.

"Robert! Please wake up, please!”

The pain in her tone was excruciating. causing your stomach to tighten and shudder with each utterance of the man’s name. A friend was trying to take her away, pulling her by the arms in a futile attempt to let her leave the body behind.

The man she loved was gone forever.

“No, no! He can’t! We were supposed to get married next week!”

“Linda, please… get away from him, there’s nothing you can do...”

“No!!!”

The ambulance arrived with a loud siren, and three paramedics ran to the body with a stretcher and defibrillator ready in their hands. You heard the sound of fluttering wings at your side, but when you pivoted to look at the origin, nothing was there. All you could see was the group of onlookers surrounding the pair and the expanse of green behind them.

The defibrillator wasn't working. The man's chest lifted and expanded with each electric impulse, but you didn't need to stay to see the outcome because you already knew it; Death had just taken him and he couldn’t come back.

Fighting to overcome the lump caught in your throat, you left the crowd and walked as far away as you could from that tragedy. Watery drops emerged at the corners of your eyes and dripped down, one hand pressed against your mouth to contain the sobs that erupted within you.

Two days later, you had agreed to spend some time with Hob, sharing the occurences that took place in your lives while working on your separate undertakings. The sun’s rays were shining gloriously in the azure sky, showering the idyllic views with a gentle beam. You could feel the breeze tousling your hair as you made your way to the modern tavern, the overgrown grass tickling the skin of your legs. The summer dress and half-sleeved viscose shirt that you selected for the occasion were soft and comfortable on you.

Upon entering the New Inn, your eyes quickly searched for Hob's usual spot. You saw your friend already seated at the table, clad in a stylish brown jacket over a white t-shirt. After greeting the enthusiastic waitress, you walked over to join him.

As you made your way past the other customers, you didn't initially notice that Hob wasn't alone. Someone was sitting across from him, and they appeared to be having an engaging conversation that caused him to display a genuine smile. Seeing Hob in such a relaxed and carefree state was a rare sight; he was frequently on edge, eager to reconcile with that old friend of his.

You immediatly wondered if the individual in front of Hob was actually him.

The man was wearing a knee-length black coat better suited for winter, and had dark hair that looked eerily familiar even from behind. The similarity was so striking that you decelerated as you moved closer to the table with your heart racing faster, incapable of making a sound and announce your arrival.

You could recognize those short, adorable, untended strands anywhere. You tried to get a better look at his face, but he remained turned away from you until you reached a distance that allowed you to be spotted.

Seeing you, Hob's expression immediately brightened. "Y/N!" he exclaimed. "Do you remember that old friend I've been telling you about? Let me introduce him to you.”

Hearing your name, the other man instantly swivelled towards you, meeting your gaze with his beautiful blue eyes. A flood of feelings engulfed you and it couldn’t be kept at bay as you looked at Morpheus’ features, struck by his exceptional appearence. He radiated an aura that could have made anyone fall to their knees in admiration.

Your face flared red with the notion that you had looked at him for too long. "It's you," you said, your tone coming off as more relieved than you intended.

Hearing your words, Hob looked back and forth between the two of you in disbelief. "Wait, do you two know each other?”

You finally diverted your attention back to your friend, giving him an affermative nod. "We do, actually."

"Bloody hell, what a small world!"

When the calmness returned to you, a strong epiphany surfaced. Morpheus was imprisoned in 1916, and according to Hob, they eventually experienced an abrupt separation, whereupon the Endless didn’t show up to their designated meetings any longer. This meant that Hob was substantially older than he had previously claimed, owing to the fact that Morpheus remained locked in that cage for more than a hundred years.

How many more astonishing truths were you about to discover? Hob had several explainations to give, but you decided to leave them for another time if you wished to keep the atmosphere untouched.

You weren't the only one making discoveries that day. Hob didn’t fail to perceive the way you looked at Morpheus, and he smugly raised an eyebrow with a devilish grin that held a lot of secret promises for later.

Afterward, Hob gestured for you to join them, pointing at an empty chair nearby.

While you were strongly enticed to snuggle with Morpheus, you chose to give them some required space to have a heart-to-heart talk on their own without your interference.

A little disappointed, but still compassionate and pleased for their reconciliation, you kindly declined his invitation with a smile. "It's all right, you two must have a lot to talk about. I’ll just sit over there and work."

You gestured towards an empty table next to the window, but Hob's expression quickly changed to one of guilt for the unforeseen change of plans.

"Are you sure? I invited you out, it's not fair to make you sit on your own, is it," he said, looking at you with concern.

You gave yet another nod. "Positive."

You looked at Moprheus who didn’t utter a single sentence, but you detected his subtle smile while he gazed at you from his seat. You gave his shoulder a light squeeze as a demonstration of affection, though maintaining secrecy. Your fingertips gently glided along his sleeve as you stepped back.

You got settled in, requested a cup of tea and retrieved your tools to initiate your work alone. Your attendance was not necessary during that time as Hob and Morpheus had a lot of things to catch up on. However, being close to the one you adored and had been waiting for, yet remaining temporarily out of reach, made it challenging for you to keep your focus.

You inhaled deeply, plugged in your laptop and let your hand drift unrestricted across the pages of your sketchbook.

A few minutes later, you were completely immersed in your own realm of creativity.

"I saw that," Hob spoke, his countenance exuding approval as he regarded Morpheus.

The Endless decided to feign ignorance. "What did you see?" he asked.

"The glim in your eyes. The way you looked at her says it all, my friend. You like her!"

Morpheus became rigid, reclining back in his seat and directing his eyes downward, maintaining silence.

"Who would have thought that after all this time I've known you, I would finally see you in love?"

In the past, Dream of The Endless would have denied Hob's assertion with unruffled temper yet seething rage, storming out of the inn to digest his private humiliation. This time, Morpheus involuntarily shifted his gaze towards you, silently admitting to the truth. The radiance of the sun illuminated your profile, and he couldn't refrain from taking note of it due to its ethereal appearance.

Hob's smile was kind. "She's a great woman, you know. Seriously, the most incredible human being I have encountered in this century. She works tirelessly to achieve her goals, and she's both intelligent and compassionate. You won't easily find someone like her in the next era.”

Although he was still in the process of comprehending your nature, to Morpheus, that wasn't difficult to believe

"Don't break her heart," Hob suddenly warned, catching him off guard and immediately drawing his attention back to his serious face.

"I know you're not a bad guy, and surely you don't need me to tell you what to do. But I care about that girl over there like family, and she's been through enough hardship to deal with more complications.”

While Morpheus was aware that Hob could decipher him with ease, he continued to keep the same calm demeanor in order to conceal his sentiments. He was not inclined to let them be made obvious or to exhibit his softer side, even to his friend.

Hob’s voice was filled with determination. "I would go to hell and back just to ensure she can be happy."

With a minor lift of his eyebrow and the edge of his lips, Morpheus replied, "That is quite admirable.”

Hob took another sip of his beer, his shoulders raising and lowering in a quick shrug. "Judging by what she told me about this 'mysterious guy she's been seeing lately,' it's clear that she really cares about you. Honestly, I believe I've never seen her care so much about any other lad before. They were all a bunch of idiots, but still.”

His eyes remained nonchalant and blank, but the usual slight bob of Morpheus's Adam’s apple definitely gave his feelings away. "So she did talk about me, then?" he asked, sounding flat but curious.

"Aye, but she was very reserved about it. I didn't get any clue that it was you, of all people, " Hob straightened from the comfortable wall sofa and directed his look towards you. He showed a smile of great pride at the sight of your hand gliding effortlessly across the page of your sketchbook without a single interruption.

Morpheus felt the urge to watch you from a distance, examining your actions and admiring the absolutely adorable way with which you seemed to bite your lower lip while tracing your pencil along the page.

The Endless was eagerly looking forward to meeting you in your dreams that night, yearning for the occasion after his extended absence to fully restore his kingdom. Morpheus wasn't expecting to meet you in the Waking World before the scheduled time, let alone find out that you and his old friend would share a special bond as well.

Eventually, the conversation with Hob took a different turn, yet Morpheus found his mind constantly drifting back to you.

You lost track of time again as you drew. It could have been an hour - maybe even two.

You observed that Morpheus was still deep in conversation with your best friend, seemingly frozen in the same position as when you first spotted him. Despite his composed and dignified demeanor, his discomfort around humans was evident from the way he watched people warily out of the corner of his eye and stiffened his shoulders when others came too close.

It was understandable, given that those who were supposed to admire him had instead ensnared him and exploited his possessions.

You closed your sketchbook and began scrolling through your emails, deleting any messages that didn't seem important without even opening them. Doing so, you almost missed an email from the CEO of a company you had reached out to in hopes of finding a job. Despite them not currently accepting new applicants, the man took the time to send you a polite response, wishing you good fortune for the future. Though it wasn't exactly what you were hoping to see, the kind and encouraging words still managed to brighten your mood.

Hob rose from the couch, stretching his neck before turning to say a few last words to Morpheus. As he approached you, a beaming smile lit up his face, though he was clearly remorseful about not being able to spend more time with you. Nevertheless, he seemed content and at ease, a state you hadn't seen him in for some time. With everything now resolved between him and his friend, the last thing you wanted was for him to apologize for something that you didn’t perceive as a lack of attention at all.

You knew there was a long conversation and explanation waiting for the two of you, but for the moment, you simply watched as he strode out of the pub and vanished into the trees beyond. You couldn't help but wonder which century he had originally come from, but given his extensive knowledge of history, it was impossible to pinpoint his specific era of birth.

Reflecting on it, you were feeling a bit daunted by the sheer number of changes and developments he had witnessed in the world, as well as deeply saddened by the loved ones he had lost and left behind. It now made sense why he had always been reticent to discuss his family history, clearly it was a delicate topic for him.

You shut down your laptop and put away your belongings. When you looked up, you noticed that Morpheus was silently and intently watching you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. When he came closer to your table, you realized that his attire was reminiscent of what he wore in the Dreaming - all black and enigmatic - but tailored to fit the style of the Waking World. The fabric was structured and gave him a modern look, while still retaining his signature mysterious edge.

“Hello.”

His low voice was like a vibration, a resonant melody deliciously flowing through your bloodstream. When you stood up and got inches away from his face, you had to keep yourself grounded and resist the urge to kiss him on the lips in front of the other customers (and the waitress, who was already glancing at you with piqued curiosity).

The immediate attraction was undeniable, stirring something in you that was definitely not appropriate for public display.

Hey you," you replied with a smile. "It's good to see you." "I've missed you," you were tempted to say, but the words caught in your throat and you couldn't bring yourself to say them.

"Are you busy at the moment? Do you need to leave?”

He shook his head almost imperceptibly. "I can stay, for now," he replied.

Your heart fluttered with excitement, producing a series of backflips in your chest. "Would you like to take a walk with me then?” You asked, trying to sound casual.

Your request may have been simple, but it seemed to work in your favor.

"With pleasure.”

The sensation you felt was spine-chilling, causing your skin to prickle and making your hair stand on end. The genuine and happy smile that you gave him caused the corners of your mouth to pull up painfully, but you allowed your emotions to show without restraint. Walking on air, you paid for your tea and bounced out of the inn.

You sensed Morpheus following silently behind you, his cryptic expression giving him an air of caution. He stood tall and firm, his eyes narrowing occasionally as he observed his surroundings. The warmth of the sun and the gentle breeze enveloped you, while the distant sound of car horns and the chatter of passersby filled the air.

As you stepped away from the entrance to let a few more people inside, his hand lightly brushed against your upper back for support. The contact left a tingling sensation across your covered skin the moment he withdrew it. Clearing your throat, you tried to shift your focus to a new topic, hoping to distract yourself from how much you longed for more of his touch.

Thankfully, you had just the right thing to break the tension. "So, Hob Gadling? I had no idea that you were the old friend he was waiting for,” you remarked.

Morpheus looked at you, raising an eyebrow. “Nor did I know that the two of you were close.”

"He's like a brother to me, really," you explained. "But I never would have guessed that he was, like, super bicentenarian or something.”

"We first met in 1389," Morpheus revealed.

And so you stopped in your tracks, unable to wrap your head around what he just told you. "Wait what? You're kidding, right?"

"I assure you, I am not.”

Your mind boggle at the thought. "But that was over 600 years ago!"

Morpheus seemed amused by your astonishment. "You look quite shocked,” he observed.

"I'm practically a baby compared to him," you admitted. "I can't even imagine what it would be like to live for so long.”

Morpheus studied you thoughtfully as you walked together, considering what he was allowed to reveal. "I must admit, Hob Gadling has proven to be remarkably persistent.”

“Persistent? You mean he actually had a choice?”

Morpheus nodded. “He did. And, he still does.”

When you turned the corner of the street, Morpheus slowed his already leisurely pace and glanced at the building to your right. It was a large complex that had been standing for centuries, refurbished into a more modern-looking bar around 1989. Throughout all the changes it went through, its original name, White Horse, and location remained perfectly intact.

The tavern had been visited by many notable figures, including William Shakespeare himself. It was one of those timeless landmarks steeped in history and wonder that had been passed down through the generations until it was eventually sold. Now, it looked more like a disquieting construction site, with all the windows covered in scribbles and the old, decaying roof under repair for an indefinite amount of time.

According to Hob, the New Inn had been founded as a replacement for those who had fought to keep the old tavern running.

"It all started here," Morpheus said.

You looked at the dilapidated structure, trying to imagine what it may have looked like in medieval times, but found it difficult to picture Hob in anything other than his usual fashionable attire (or Dream with a different hairstyle).

"How?" you asked curiously.

"I was intrigued by his...experience," Morpheus replied. "I wanted to know how long a mortal creature could crave such a long life, convinced that he would beg for death within a century.”

You were captivated, a grin spreading across your face. "And?”

"Even after 300 years, when I found him in misery and starving for food, he still claimed to have much to live for."

You burst into a loud, genuine, joyful laugh that echoed throughout the area. Holding onto his coat, you doubled over, unable to contain your exuberant reaction. Your belly was hurting and you could barely breathe as your laughter didn't cease.

"What?" He asked you, furrowing his brows in confusion.

As you tried to recover from your guffaw, you literally convulsed with tears forming at the corner of your eyes. When you finally calmed down, you pressed your forehead against his chest, subconsciously clinging to him.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help it," you said, wiping a tear from your eye. "That just sounds like him. It's hilarious!”

You continued to shake like a bowlful of jelly, breathing in and out a few times to regain your composure.

"If you find it amusing, you shall ask him to share more of his adventurous tales with you,” he suggested.

You let out a contented sigh. "I think I will.”

Your eyes met again, and the intensity of his gaze immediately captured your attention. Despite his outward stoicism, his expression seemed more relaxed than it had been at the inn. The mischievous, subtle smile you were becoming accustomed to only confirmed that he was enjoying your spontaneous hilarity.

You looked down at the metallic barricades, where someone had sprayed the words "The New Inn" in red with a long arrow pointing in its direction.

“Hob did it, didn’t he? For you. So that you could find him,” you concluded.

“He did.”

Despite the fact that 133 years had passed since that renowned argument, their connection had survived unscathed, filling you with a sense of comfort and warmth.

"I don't know what your fight was about, but he's been remorseful about it for a long time.”

Morpheus continued to pierce you with his stare, pouting slightly at the recalled memory.

"He cares deeply for you,” you added.

His gaze returned to the building, and his eyes narrowed with an inscrutable, impassive look. He didn't respond right away, simply staring off ahead as a few seconds went by.

"He is a good man, despite what he may or may not say. One who speaks very highly of you."

You were stupefied, tilting your head quizzically. “You… talked about me…? After more than a century apart?”

"I suppose you had a certain influence on him," He answered cryptically.

You offered Morpheus a kind smile. "I doubt that I had any influence on him. You, however, have undoubtedly made him a better person, according to his own words.”

Their friendship had begun as a challenge - a game, if you may - devised to test Hob's endurance as an immortal among humans. A mere curiosity that gradually deepened into something more meaningful. Over time, Morpheus came to regard Hob not just as a subject of study, but as a true friend that he valued despite his usual aloofness.

You found yourself adjusting the collar of his coat, feeling the stout, yet very yielding and plush fabric against your fingers. Once satisfied, you gave the front of his shoulders a gentle pat and wrapped your arm around his, holding him loosely but tenderly.

Morpheus was unruffled, but his unwavering gaze on you made you feel somewhat self-conscious. At one point, he even seemed to anticipate something as he moved his eyes downward until they rested on your lips momentarily.

Although you were in close proximity and a small push from you would have been enough, you decided to respect his reservedness when people started passing by on the street. Therefore, you resumed your trek, leaving the antique tavern behind and reaching the park in the distance.

A great number of individuals of diverse ages were appreciating the weather that day. Elders were stationed on the benches with their eyes shut, couples relaxing on a large sheet for their impromptu picnic, adolescents engaging in football on the grass and children running about in circles.

“Do you see these people? Have you ever appeared in their dreams or interacted with them?” You inquired.

“I do not always interact with dreamers. When they rest, my realm mirrors their waking lives, their wishes or their fears. Only when they seek guidance or require advice, I might grant them my aid,” Morpheus said.

And there you were, walking alongside the King of Dreams, whether it be in the Waking World or the land of dreams. Maybe you did possess a unique consideration from him, after all.

You looked at all the carefree activities in the vastness of the park. "It's strange. I never thought about it, but I now realize that what you Endless do is essential for this world. It seems like nobody is aware of that, or if they are, they don't show you the gratitude that you deserve.”

Morpheus halted along the way, fixating on your eyes anew. When you turned in his direction, your countenance was overflowing with sadness and compassion. "Every person we see right now has a dream that propels them through life. They receive inspiration, ideas, and realizations from you, but they don’t even know that the source of it all is standing right here in front of them.”

“Humans forget in waking hours,” he noted. “It is not my purpose to make them remember me.”

You disagreed, shaking your head. "Even so, this world wouldn't even function without you and the rest of your family. It's incredible how nobody acknowledges what's truly happening behind the scenes.”

Morpheus appeared to give your statement a moment of contemplation. “I am the personification of ideas and concepts that are tied to life. I do not wish for mortals to acknowledge me.”

You pondered his utterances, and the only thing you were capable of doing was to accept his reasoning. You smiled, caressing his chin with the pad of your thumb and forefinger. "Then I hope you at least accept my praise, Dream of the Endless.”

As you pulled back, Morpheus tracked your hand’s movement to understand your actions. He portrayed a grin with a certain trace of self-satisfaction on his face. “Very well.”

You examined him with utter amazement, feeling as if you were standing before a lifelong hero. In a sense, that was indeed the truth.

A group of teenagers assembled in the vicinity, talking and chortling noisily as they advanced. When a young girl walked past Morpheus, you quickly noticed his awkwardness and out-of-placeness amidst such a jolly atmosphere. The girl promptly retreated when she noticed his darkened face, dragging her friend along and whispering to her in concern. Observing her troubled response, Morpheus turned away and stared at the ground.

You proceeded to move forward, slowly bringing your lips to his cheek and delivering a brief, tender, and affectionate peck on it. He exhibited a look of surprise and confusion the moment you broke the kiss, but you maintained your sweet smile in his direction.

“Look,” you gestured, turning your head slightly to check on the two girls.

As if by magic, the pair of youngsters were now grinning at the two of you, giggling with delight and hurrying along with the rest of the bunch. They went from terrified to appreciative in an instant, relishing your sudden display of affection and forgetting the momentary tension they felt.

You clasped his hand and tugged upon it. "It’s interesting how easily our perception can change, isn’t it?”

And thus, Morpheus understood that you had done it exclusively for his sake, in order for him to cease feeling like he would not fit in, like no matter what he did, the humans would consistently be alarmed by his presence.

You felt a sense of contentment and fulfillment, repositioning yourself at his side and walking forward with your hand firmly clasped in his grip, which Morpheus didn’t object to. He permitted you to retain your fingers around his, accompanying you to whichever place you wanted to go.

On the path leading to your apartment building, you disclosed about your interaction with Teleute. You presumed that he was aware of it, but it turned out that his sister had not informed him about that matter in any way. Fortunately, Morpheus didn’t express any sign of dissatisfaction or annoyance in relation to that revelation. Since he had lived close to his family for a span of billions of years, he obviously knew Death well enough to understand her inclinations and motivations.

You definitely had nothing to hide, and he listened to you extolling her mildness and empathetic gestures.

It became obvious to you that she was the one he cherished the most amongst his other siblings. It seemed like they held a particularly strong bond that, regardless of the unfavorable occurences resulting from Roderick Burgess, caused them to continue believing in one another’s loyalty.

Nevertheless, Morpheus was still reluctant to reveal any significant information about his family, so you decided to stop pressing upon the topic and continued walking along the sidewalk.

Eventually, you arrived at your building with an immense sadness growing inside you, knowing that you had to part ways with Morpheus. Your fingers slowly unfastened from his hand, and a chasm formed in the pit of your stomach.

You smiled at him, trying to conceal your increasing disappointment. He didn’t speak, continuing to cast his sharp gaze upon you. He put his hands back into his pockets and awaited for you to say anything.

As you thought to yourself, "Don't go" and "Please stay with me", you desperately wished to spend more time in his company. But given your past mistakes that led your previous partners to consider you overly clingy, you ultimately let those sentiments go.

“Thank you for indulging me,” you said. “I hope I didn’t keep you from your responsibilies for too long.”

“No,” he replied, his voce low and deep. “I owed you as much.”

You frowned. “You don’t owe me anything, Morpheus.”

He attempted to reply, opening his mouth, but quickly closed it, unable to vocalize whatever thought he wanted to share.

When he remained silent, you adjusted the bag on your shoulder and firmly wrapped your hand around the strap. Your mind was in chaos, torn between your emotions and reason, leaving you uncertain about what action to take next. A single kiss couldn’t be the end the world, and it’s not like you’d never done it before. You continued to persuade yourself that it wouldn't be harmful in any conceivable way, but the more you tried to convince yourself, the less you wanted to take the risk.

And so, you permitted yourself to only touch his elbow, giving it a light squeeze. "See you in my dreams?" you asked him.

Morpheus assented with his head. "I will see you in the Dreaming."

You stepped back, turning on your heels and retrieving the keys from your bag. As you flipped open the lock of the main entrance, you glanced back to where he had been standing, but in the blink of an eye, he had vanished, nowhere to be seen in the alleyway before you.

As you made your way from the lobby to the elevator and your dwelling, you scolded yourself repeatedly for missing the opportunity and allowing your past to hinder you once again, despite having declared that it was long gone. You were not supposed to feel afraid of sharing a kiss with the one you loved, especially after spending a night together engaging in deep and passionate lovemaking. In the Dreaming, he was the one who initiated the contact, capturing your lips in that sweet, electrifying kiss that you didn't openly ask for.

Things were different for him in the Waking World, however, whether it was due to the traumatic ordeal he endured or because it was a place in which he felt like he didn’t belong. Morpheus was not a human being; rather, he was an entity of extraordinary might and prominence. Was it really feasible to be yourself beside him without holding back your feelings?

As you shut the door, a heartbroken sigh slipped out of you. You tossed the keys on the tabletop, let your bag slide to the couch, kicked off your high heeled sandals, and stripped off your shirt, only remaining with your sleeveless dress on.

You almost made it to your bedroom in a nervous stride, but suddenly halted. Your mouth fell open, and your eyes widened as soon as you noticed Morpheus standing in the parlor area, watching you with a pair of eager and yearning eyes.

In that fleeting moment, your determination to subdue your fondness for him disintegrated from your consciousness. That glimpse in his eyes was irrefutable; he desired you as ardently as you needed to feel him against you.

No words or spoken affirmations were necessary. He kept looking at you with his hands tucked away in the pockets of his coat, barely blinking as he stood still, waiting for your move with anticipation.

That was the indicator you were looking for. Throwing away all your reservations, you dashed towards him without thinking it over, seizing his face with your hands. You pressed your lips onto his and kissed him, feasting on the taste of his mouth with an intensity that surprised even you. It felt like the only thing that mattered, as if you needed those lips to breathe.

Morpheus instantly moved his hands out of his jacket and took hold of your midriff, pushing his palms against the small of your back as he kissed you with equal passion. His tongue shot forward and encountered yours whilst you lifted your feet to deepen the kiss, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

You pulled away to catch your breath, panting and quivering, but still clinging to him tightly. “You came back,” you whispered.

“I never left.”

You chuckled in delight, once more locking your lips with his.

“You did not ask me to stay,” he noted. “Why? Is it not what you wished?”

Of course he would notice.

Your lower lip sank under the light pressure of your teeth. “It is. I just… I didn’t know how to ask.”

He smiled. “Have no fear, my love. I will not leave your wishes unattended.”

My love…?

Those words caused your heart to leap in your chest, as it was a lovely way of addressing you that nobody had ever used before.

"I don't want you to fulfill my needs at the expense of your own, though,” you stated.

“Do you truly believe that I do not want this just as much?”

“Well no, but-”

“Then allow me to prove it to you.”

You became soft and pliable in his embrace as he kissed you again, enveloping you in a hazy and semi-bewitched state with his delicious fragrance.

Unlike the cologne that your previous partners favored, his scent was a subtle aroma that didn't fill your lungs to the brim, but was just enough to make you feel like you were surrounded by a welcoming oasis.

As you continued your make-out session, you gradually pushed him towards your bedroom. Morpheus silently followed your lead, kissing your neck and moving to your collarbones. Once you arrived at the bed, you sat down in front of him, causing the edge of your dress to slide up and reveal a peek of your thighs. It didn't take long for him to climb onto the mattress and press against you, positioning himself between your legs. His cold fingertips caressed the line of your leg, starting from the area around the knee and ending at the upper region of your thigh. It wriggled under the cotton material of the skirt to hoist it higher, gripping your skin and making you jolt.

Normally, you would take your time, letting your sensations grow with his touches, kisses, and pleasurable foreplay. But this time, your desire for him was so strong that you couldn't wait any longer. You immediately brought your hands to the button of his pants, eager to get to the point.

But before you could undo it, Morpheus caught your wrist and pulled both of your hands up beside your head. His grip was firm as he held you down on the mattress. Your faces were very close, and you could feel his breath tickling your mouth as he gazed down at you with a fiery look.

You made a small effort to keep your breathing in control.

“What is it that you want?” He uttered softly, his tongue just barely touching your lips. “Speak clearly, and I shall satisfy your needs.”

Your heart pounded rapidly, and your mind grew clouded with a steadily escalating craving.

“Morpheus… please….I beg of you…” you entreated with a quavering voice, your request filled with an air of desperation and longing.

“No.”

“I-”

“You must say it out loud.”

You let out a small mewl when you felt his hips push forward, the hardness in his pants already evident and wanting.

"Morpheus…" you pleaded.

"Say it," he demanded.

“You!”

“Oh?”

You gasped hard, your chest rising and falling rapidly beneath him as he held you in place, pressing himself against your body.

“I want you. I need you, please.”

A faint smirk appeared at the corners of his lips, conveying a small amount of triumph. “You need me? How?”

What a mischievous, teasing, and absolutely gorgeous creature.

‘Two can play at this game’.

You smiled, raising one of your legs and looping it around his waist. You pulled him even closer against your core, much like a python coiling around its prey.

You were pleased to hear the low, throaty groan that escaped him.

"Do you seriously need me to spell it out?" you teased. “You know what I want, Dream Lord.”

His sister had described him as the most prideful member of their family. According to Teleute, he was so proud that he wouldn't have even accepted her help if she had offered it at the right time. And yet, your challenging attitude was clearly amusing him to a noticeable extent.

"I will give you that, and more," he promised, his voice filled with lust and eagerness.

He removed his hands from your wrists, trailing them along your arms and closing around your breasts. Even through the fabric of your bra and dress, you could feel the way he squeezed them, causing your back to arch.

It was so little and yet too much, your inner walls clenching irrepressibly. You couldn't stop looking at the clear protuberance in his trousers, urging you to be set free. So you tried again, rapidly reaching for the button to unfasten and the zipper to pull down. A moment later, he was grasping your buttocks from under the dress and angling you exactly how he wanted, pulling his erection out and hooking his index finger under your panties. Slowly, as if he was unwrapping the most awaited gift of time, he moved your damp undergarment aside and revealed your glistening entrance. He swallowed hard at the sight.

He pushed himself inside of you in one swift motion. The entry was rough, but he managed to slide in without any resistance, making you gasp and moan as his tip hit the perfect spot inside you. You wrapped your limbs around him as he delivered strong thrusts with his impetuous pelvis, moving in and out and increasing his tempo. He fixated his hungry eyes on your face, driven by his growing need to make you come undone.

Even though the both of you were practically fully clothed, you found the scene absurdly arousing. That coat looked absolutely wonderful on him, and you loved the way his shirt rubbed against your clit, creating the perfect friction you needed to let loose. Morpheus emitted deep, rich grunts as your walls tightly enveloped his length, providing a heightened sensation of suction and pressure. Your room was filled with the sounds of sex, as skin met skin and your bodies moved together.

Just like the first time, you latched onto the back of his hair with your hands, grasping a sizeable portion of his strands without pulling, but maintaining a stable position. You continued to whine and sigh, matching his rhythm and responding to the kisses he delivered.

"The sounds you make are marvelous," he expressed, a small grin emerging at the corners of his lips.

“What can I say?” you replied with labored breaths, still reeling from the impact of the intimate and heated encounter. “You are just that good.”

With so many centuries of experience, he must have had countless lovers in the past. This made you feel a bit envious and possessive.

Morpheus was relentless, sliding in and out of you with incredible stamina. You could feel your orgasm approaching, ready to ignite a powerful firework. As he felt you tightening around him, he slowed his pace. His fingers left your thigh and moved directly to your clit, brushing it with gentle and light strokes.

You gasped at the pleasure it caused, throwing your head back as he continued to circle the small tip with his index and middle fingers. He wasn't even applying that much pressure, but the sweet stimulation combined with his girth meeting your G-spot was absolute heaven, even if it was torturous.

You were so close now. A part of you wanted the experience to carry on for hours, but the urge to feel that exquisite sensation was becoming impossible to control and withstand.

"Please, harder," you muttered.

Morpheus complied with your request, delivering precisely what you were asking him to provide. His hips pushed forward, then almost fully out, and in again to the base. As you adjusted to his thrusts, you felt your muscles tensing from the effort involved, but you didn't plan to stop. You consistently met him halfway, tightly gripping his hair with one hand and his back with the other.

His fingers maintained their position on your clit, pinching and massaging it deliciously. Your moans grew louder, and you chanted his name like a prayer.

You came with a convulsing jerk of your hips, pulsing around him as his erratic movements urged him to reach completion and follow you to your high. Your orgasm was earth-shattering, draining you all of your strenght as it coursed throughout your entire body like a massive explosion. Your legs were trembling and tingling, while your chest and cheeks turned into a scarlet and blazing mess from the waves of heat.

It only took a couple more thrusts for him to reach his peak, groaning and stiffening as he released his essence into your depths.

It was hot, grounding, and fulfilling. It was something significant that went beyond the mere physical satisfaction. To you, it was a way to fortify the connection you had established with Morpheus, the outcome of the deep affection that was continuously expanding inside your being.

You took shallow and short breaths, taking a moment to appreciate his expression above you through your hazy state. He was throughly satisfied, gently pressing his lips against yours to prolong the moment of bliss.

As your nails scratched the back of his head, gently intertwining with his short strands, you let out a contented sigh. Your legs weakened at his sides as he pulled out, and your underwear snapped back into place.

“I must return to the Dreaming,” he voiced softly, barely above a whisper.

You signaled your acknowledgment with a slight nod of your head. “Sorry for keeping you here.”

“I was not kept here, my love. I chose to stay,” he clarified, carrying an affectionate tone towards you and an air of assurance.

You genuinely beamed, grasping his head with your hands once more and delivering a quick yet vehement peck on his mouth.

"Thank you for staying, then. And for healing my scars. Oh, and for the shell too,” you told him, emphasizing your words with a look of gentleness and gratitude.

Morpheus’ expression depicted complacency. “The Dreaming will always be there to welcome you, just as I will.”

You breathed out in a relaxed fashion. “Why are you so good to me?”

“Why should I not?”

When you attempted to steer clear from falling too deep into your usual overthinking, your smile slowly started to diminish.

“For a number of reasons,” you stated, the self-depreciating words falling out of your lips with an air of bitterness and pessimism. “Maybe one day you’ll get tired of me and leave me. I’m not deserving of having you in my life.”

In an instant, his face also changed, brows knitting together as he looked down at you. “Y/N, what-”

"Don’t mind me," you interjected. "My emotions tend to get all over the place. I didn't mean to ruin the mood.”

“You did not.”

You felt uncertain concerning the underlying cause for your sudden outburst. Perhaps it was the fear of not being enough for any committed kind of relationship. Or maybe you were scared of the notion of seeing your happiness destroyed again, despite your intuition telling you to proceed forth without hesitation.

Unlike before.

A faint chuckle escaped your throat as you tilted your head upward and kissed him one more time, maintaining an innocent and reserved touch. Your eyes were gleaming with a mixture of sorrow and joy, but you refused to be overtaken by your negative thoughts.

With a playful tap, you pushed his chest lightly. "You should go now, or I won't be able to keep my hands off of you.”

Morpheus grasped your arm and hauled you up with him, moving both of you away from the mattress and bringing you close.

The moment you stood on your feet, you could feel a few drops of his essence dripping down between your legs.

"That does sound quite tempting," he said. "But I cannot stay longer.”

“It’s all right,” you vocalized, a touch of sweetness creeping up in your voice. “See you soon?”

“Yes.”

He sealed that promise by applying a delicate and loving peck to your forehead. His hand slid off of yours and brushed against your skin, lingering on your fingertips before drawing away. You stepped back slightly, watching him carefully as he retrieved the pouch of sand from his coat. You waited patiently, your eyes fixed on his every move.

“Please say hi to Matthew for me.”

He nodded to your words, the golden powder immediatly encasing him, embracing and providing him the much needed comfort and warmth that he was accustomed to.

You stared at the sand slowly fading away, vanishing from your sight and leaving only some particles that sparkled around the room.

The sun had set below the horizon, and night had fallen over London. Ella Corbyn tapped her fingernails in an anxious manner on the top of her desk as she re-read the message on her phone, her eyes staring at the screen as she tried to process the unwelcome development.

She walked through the halls of her workplace, passing by the empty offices and stopping in front of the CEO's door. She knocked softly and entered, greeting her husband with a tired expression and a sense of exhaustion.

Oliver Corbyn remained at his workstation, taking a quick glance away from his monitor to check on his wife.

“Darling, are you okay?”

Ella sighed deeply, shook her head, and looked at him with concern all over her face. 'We have a problem.”

Oliver took off his spectacles and placed them carefully on the table. He then moved his chair back and said, 'I don't like the sound of that.”

As she considered the best way to reveal such disappointing news, Ella decided to simply reveal the truth as it was.

“It’s about Isaac. He left.”

Oliver reflected on his wife's words, blinking a couple of times. “What do you mean he left? I thought he was sick.”

Ella started scratching the back of her hand and a red patch began to emerge from the rough contact with her nails.

"Yes, well. It turns out that was just an excuse. He actually sent his resignation to my email an hour ago.”

Oliver's face turned ashen, and he quickly leaned against the edge of his desk for support. “And the reason?”

“Apparently, he decided to move abroad and live with his family in the US.”

He cursed under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose in disbelief and frustration. “I can’t believe this.”

Ella crossed her arms in front of her chest, adopting a firm stance to refrain from scratching her skin even more. 'What do we do now? We are officially without a fashion designer. We need to find a new one, and soon.'”

“I know.”

“The show is in three months. How are we supposed to make it?”

“We’ll figure it out.”

Ella started to walk back and forth around the office, moving her legs in a repetitive motion. "Gosh, I can't stand this! Isaac was so good. Will we ever be able to replace him?”

Oliver was quiet, spacing out and absentmindly scratching his chin.

“Oliver?”

The man’s gaze widened abruptly. The sudden insight that struck upon him appeared to have a significant impact on his overall perspective.

“Hang on, hang on, hang on,” he muttered, lifting his index finger into the air as he expressed a sense of urgency.

Ella looked puzzled. “What?”

Oliver promptly ran back to his computer, rapidly typing some words on the keyboard and clicking around with the mouse. “Look.”

Ella stepped closer to his position, standing beside her spouse and shifting her emerald eyes down to the monitor.

"A few days ago, we received an application from this woman. Her portfolio was quite impressive, but with Isaac on our team, I thought we were covered. So I politely rejected her this morning.”

As Ella observed the numerous illustrations on the display, her eyes settled on the exceptional detail, accuracy and artistry that was put into every single piece, a style that was rather unique and captivating.

No one else was capable of producing such clean and mesmerizing drawings except one particular person.

“What’s her name?”

Oliver closed the PDF document and went back to the email he retrieved from the archive, going to the bottom where your signature was.

“Y/N Y/LN…? My goodness!”

Oliver was taken aback by the transition of his wife’s demeanor, somewhat amused by the way in which she started to jump up and down and laugh out loud.

“Love? Do you know her?”

Ella raised her hands to the top of her head and gazed at the ceiling while breathing out a sigh of relief, her feelings of worry slowly evaporating as a sense of calmness descended over her.

“We were literally best friends in high school!”

Notes:

• I didn't come up with the full description of Death's scent. Full credits to this site.

• In case you're wondering if the Reader will meet the Corinthian again, the answer is yes. All in due time.

• I was planning to add the revelation about Nada and Morpheus' son in this chapter, but in the end, I just couldn't fit those parts in. The Nada segment will definitely be added in the next update though, while I came up with something interesting regarding the truth about Calliope and Orpheus. There will be some drama and angst because of that, but this is all I can say without making spoilers.

• How many times do we sense something, but our brain and/or heart gets in the way? Sometimes we are confused and emotional, to the point we cannot make sense of what we truly feel anymore. I wanted to portray this aspect with Reader's state of mind.

• The timeframe I set at the start of this chapter is most likely inaccurate. I tried to find some proper information about the amount of days or weeks that pass between the end of episode 5 and the beginning of episode 6, but I couldn't find any. If someone knows, please correct me and I will edit the chapter!

• In my mind, even if Death never told her brother that she met the Reader in person, she most likely mentioned something about their relationship. Initially, I wanted to include that in the chapter as well, but I decided to cut it out to reduce the amount of text. Maybe I'll add a bit of it as a written memory.

• Yep, time to add some original characters into the story! :D Ella will play a very important role in Reader's life.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 (currently reading) Go to Chapter 9 ->

Read on AO3!

#the sandman #the sandman morpheus #dream of the endless #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x reader #smut #the sandman fanfic #story: let your dreams be your wings

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slashhinginghasher · 7 days

Note

Since she's with Jesse for the long term, how does Marena feel about all these luxuries that are part of her new life? Gains a appreciation for jewelry and designer clothes?

The thing she appreciates most is having a solid roof over her head, a comfortable bed to sleep in, and multiple meals every day. She is a "comfort before style" girl through and through so the only appreciation she really has for designer vs. mass retail clothing is that the fabric is often higher quality and the tailoring is better, and therefore the clothes are softer and smoother and don't pinch or rub. There are definitely designer clothes out there that are uncomfortable as hell to wear because they're designed for optics rather than wearability, and whenever Jesse buys those for her she straight-up refuses to touch them.

Things Jesse has figured out in his efforts to make Marena a Material Gorl:

Marena isn't a foodie by any stretch of the imagination, but she will try anything, so Jesse takes her out to expensive restaurants. He gets to feel like hot shit flashing his black card at Guy Savoy, and she's just happy she gets to eat. Win-win.

She'd much rather have something that is unusual or interesting to look at rather than something that's just expensive. Since Jesse still insists on spending absurd amounts of money on her, this has led him to a lot of relatively unknown, artisanal-type designers. $10,000 Cartier bracelet? ❌ Elaborate iron necklace hand-forged by some dude in Norway? ✅ Ironically, his mission to impress his girlfriend with flashy gifts has actually refined Jesse's own tastes; his attempts to find things Marena will actually like have given him a greater appreciation for Things No One Else Has rather than Things People Can Immediately Tell Are Expensive.

Weapons: ✅ Opportunities to use weapons on annoying people: ✅✅✅

#asks #midnight star

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bread--quest · 10 months

Text

[ID: Two photographs of text in a book, with some words blacked out digitally.

The first reads "(blacked out) will accept with gratitude whatever pecuniary aid shall be offered. She needs it. For the second time within eight years, a terrible conflagration has smitten her. She asked no assistance then: now she is compelled to do so. The amount of insurance is only one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars, and but a small part of this will go to the poor and destitute sufferers. (blank), Mayor. Contributions at home and from abroad were promptly made, and afforded much needed relief. Among them was a donation of four hundred bushels of corn, forwarded free, by rail, from Council Bluffs, Iowa, through the efforts of (blank), a former resident of (blank)."

The second reads "By order of the city government, the following public acknowledgment of assistance was made: CARD. With feelings of deepest gratitude for the great aid rendered during the terrible conflagration of August 24, and for the generous contributions since, with sensibilities profoundly touched by the expressions of sympathy towards her in this time of her calamity, the City of (blank) returns her heartfelt thanks to the fire-engine company and citizens of (blank), the engine company and citizens of (blank), the Mayor, Chief Engineer, and firemen of (blank), who responded so quickly and rendered such valuable assistance upon that day; to her sister cities, Bangor, Rockland, Portland, and Augusta, who have shown their kinship by their generous contributions since; to her sons, who, though afar off, have remembered her, as also to the strangers, heretofore unknown, but henceforth to be remembered, who have so freely and promptly sent forward their gifts; and, in short, to all, each and every one, who at home or abroad, at the fire or since, have rendered aid or manifested sympathy." End ID.]

don't mind me i am just over here in shambles about this snippet of my town's extremely long history book

#even with all the redactions im still irrationally afraid that somehow this will lead to me getting doxxed #but it was just too sweet and i had to share it #bangor rockland portland augusta have not been redacted because its fine if you guys know i live in maine. its okay.#< trying to convince myself this will not somehow lead to my house getting laser targeted immediately #anyway 🥺🥺🥺🥺#wow look something original!!

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ripeteeth · 1 year

Text

10 lines tagging game

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway!

Thanks for the tag, @likelightinglass!!! Like yourself, I'm doing first paragraphs instead. I've been struggling with writers' block over the last couple of years, so many of these are short or are wips (as noted).

zoetrope (mdzs, songxuexiao, 10k)

This is how it goes. I’ve been trying to tell you something. I’ve been trying to tell you something for a very long time.

blood, bones, and butter (mdzs, songxuexiao, 12k)

The day he meets them is a red-sky day. Of course, everyone knows the old saying: red sky at morning, sailors take warning, but Xue Yang isn’t a fucking sailor, so why would he fucking care?

Revachol Calling (disco elysium, harrykim, 35k wip)

Spring is pale in Revachol. The May bells bloom first, then the daffodils, then the tulips, then the cherry blossoms. But the May bells always bloom first, promising warmth again. Spring is coming, they seem to say. Spring will be here soon, in showers of white and gold. It is nearly May. The winds blow thick with petals, like a late snow.

long slow love song (tgcf, fengqing, 3k wip)

The walk home is lonely. He locks his office door, and the halls are already empty, save for the sound of a vacuum somewhere and the effervescent buzz of industrial fluorescent lighting. His shoulder has a perpetual sag in it from the weight of his bag, and there are lines beneath his eyes that no amount of sleep ever seems to touch.

impact (beyond evil, jwds, 2k)

He wonders how he’ll die. Some people can open a car door and buckle up without giving any thought to the way the chassis around them would twist on impact, the way the gear shaft might puncture through skin and sinew, and leave safety glass in a shattered constellation on asphalt. Juwon is not one of those people. He never enters a car without thinking about how he might exit from it, just as he always touches the outside of an airplane, just in case.

shotgunning (kinnporsche, vegas/kinn/porsche, 1.2k wip)

When Kinn had been a boy, he’d had an old tomcat that liked to sleep in his bed. The cat had the run of things, coming and going as he pleased, crawling in through an open window as the desire struck him. Missing a part of his left ear and a patch of fur on his neck, he’d taken to Kinn for some unknown reason, coming to curl up at his feet, or on his pillow. He brought gifts to Kinn: dead birds and dead mice, dropped between his sheets. One morning, Kinn woke to pawprints in red, like a greeting card scrawled across his face. Hello, the red smear on his cheek seemed to say. I missed you.

june hymn (ofmd, gentlebeard, 3k)

The room is large. A fine bed in the center, raised upon a dais, and windows on each side like attendants. Gentle air spills through the window sashes, bringing summer and birdsong. The dusk half-light casts long arms over the room, draping itself across the duvet like an impatient lover might. The birds sing evensong; Edward has forgotten how to listen.

Asterius (greek myth, theseus/asterius, 25k wip)

They say I am my mother’s fault. Pah. What do they know? (They’re right.)

A beetle skitters in the dark. I stamp my foot on it, feeling the carapace crunch between my toes and spit on my hand to wipe it off. My stomach growls and I look at the thing, thinking about eating it, but a beetle against an ocean of hunger seems pointless. I scrape it off and throw it in the corner. The rest run.

bellyache (ofmd, steddyhands, 3k)

His mother had told him that he should keep his softness safe. The vulnerable underbelly of himself, kept safe for those he loves. She had kissed him on his red right cheek, just as she did every night when she tucked him into bed.

hapax legomenon (2ha, ranwan, 2k)

It begins on a sunny day, in the wide middle of a broad street. A crowded street is so busy as to be meaningless, and he is not paying attention. The heavy sack of groceries cuts into the meat of his shoulder, bruising his skin as surely as the plums in the bottom of the bag. He has not forgotten the milk. He has not forgotten the bread. Chu Wanning has gotten everything on his list, and he crosses each line item off with a black pen, feeling the bone-deep satisfaction of a completed task. A woman lifts her child onto her left hip. A man buys a bun from a streetcart. A train comes, and it goes.

Tagging: @mia-ugly, @soft-october-night, @iodhadh, @itsevidentvery, @jouissants, @wildcard47, @reserve, @et-in-arkadia, @areyougonnabe, @perverse-idyll, @danpuff-ao3, @flanneryoconnorfanfiction, @weatheredlaw, @racketghost, @robotmango, @rcmclachlan, @pearwaldorf, @longstoryshortikilledhim, @veganthranduil, and anyone else who wishes!

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insurrection-if · 1 year

Note

so when i read the factions section of your story, HAWKS has the same vibes (kinda) like the game “Sigma Theory” , if you have played it or know of it, you’d understand hehe (´∀`)

also, ocean bases?!?!! please elaborate more on that (* 0 *)

im also curious regarding the inmates that WINGS have, hmm how powerful or dangerous are their powers…

and uh hehe, if it isnot spoiler, who is the leader of WINGS ? (^^ゞ

Ah, this prompted me to look up Sigma Theory and, whoa, it looks beautiful! ( ✧Д✧) Strategy-based games run the risk of overwhelming / stressing me out (and my skill at them is . . . questionable), but I'm somewhat tempted to use up the last of my Christmas Steam gift cards on this game, haha! （　´ ∀｀）Plus, it's absolutely suited to my brother's tastes!

All in all, I'm very flattered by the vibe comparison and can see some of it myself, haha! (・ω・)♡

This may or may not breach a bit into "spoiler" territory, and I'm unsure if I've stated this outright before, but Akil's elder brother used to serve within those particular bases. (´･∀･`;) Hm, well, they're certainly unpleasant places to be. The MC might experience their environment firsthand as a visitor, and from there can form their own opinions on the existence of these institutions. But, as for the bases themselves, their existence remains unknown to the general public, and their locations are undisclosed to those within WINGS who are not necessitated to have such knowledge. For the bases themselves, containment is an ever-essential feature. Within their walls lies the deep impression of hatred and despair, old reminders of violence and retribution staining its surface in the forms of breakage and blood. The sounds of screams, curses, and cries may never reach past their impenetrable walls - and neither do the soft whispers of hope and longing seep out to their intended ears. No precautions are spared in the company of its captured inhabitants, and their guards find themselves nearly as confined as their wards to this never-ending nightmare that is their regiment.

Access is limited, possible ways of entrance are heavily surveilled, and escorts of their respective RAVENS and CROWS into missions requires a significant amount of hands on-deck to authorize and execute. Only one soul has ever escaped the chains of their maximum-security, and none may ever think to do so again.

The most potent danger with the Inmates, generally speaking, lies within their psychology more so than their gifts themselves. That is not to say their gifts are anything to sneeze at, but it’s more so how they wield their powers which makes them so deadly. Those that hold little value towards any life other than their own, others with barely any control over the manifestations of their Gift, or perhaps those with inherently violent, aggressive temperaments . . . these are the sorts of individuals you'll find within these bases.

Like, for example, if the CARDINALS were ever to be captured by WINGS, then their categorization into HAWKS vs. CROWS / RAVENS would likely be broken down as such:

HAWKS: Retriever, Curadora, Kalyna, Scales, Hopscotch, Lempo

CROWS: Boar, Bones, Dearil

RAVENS: Uriel, Fyodor

That is not to say that some would have, and might be, confined among the RAVENS and CROWS simply because of the devastating potential their gift holds. Truly, Gifted like Dearil will always be predisposed to assignment in these bases rather than the comparative "liberty / luxury" of the HAWKS regardless of their behavior / psychology. It's hard to justify absolute freedom of movement for someone who may kill anyone around them with a mere touch alone, or who wield the potential for serious harm with little more than a graze or their fingertips.

Fyodor, too, would be a RAVEN both in consideration of his past history (especially in relation to the usage of his Gift) and his lack of control over its unprecedented potential . . . and some unique factors would qualify him for the slightly more protected status as a RAVEN due to what he suspectedly might know about the Gifted community. Boar would be a CROW on temperament alone, likely to attack with the intent to kill anyone who would dare to confine her as though she were some tool or animal. (Additionally, she cares little for the loss of life that might occur in consequence to how she utilizes her Gift, which makes her ineffective for the HAWKS.) Bones would be a mixture of both, harboring deadly sentiments against his captors while possessing a Gift capable of inciting extensive (lethal) casualties upon those around him.

Yet, on the other hand, those such as Kalyna, Curadora, and Retriever would be willing to comply with the order and command of the HAWKS for the sake of either / both the protection of their loved ones and / or for the sake of at least contributing some sense of good (by their definition) while in captivity. Scales, Lempo, and Hopscotch, on the other hand, would simply choose compliance for the sake of their own personal comforts, not wishing to bear the torment of the RAVENS and CROWS . . . or, perhaps, betting in escape being easier as a HAWK than anything otherwise. ╮(╯ω╰)╭

Gifted such as Mutya, Sigmund, Elouan, and Jae could easily find themselves in the RAVENS and CROWS due to the lethal risk they could pose to those around them if they so choose. And yet, they have proven capable of compliance and self-control due to the threat WINGS possesses against the safety and livelihoods of their loved ones (as well as the personal, internal motivations of these particular Agents). Try to blackmail / force someone like Dearil into obedience while still offering certain liberties and comforts, however . . . ah, he still won't be so inclined to still play friendly and nice. Thus, more forceful and questionable methods are employed against Gifted such as him to keep them contained, harmless (against those WINGS doesn't want harmed), and controlled - methods used within these bases of the RAVENS and CROWS operatives.

I'll keep the central leader of WINGS unnamed to readers at the moment, but I can disclose some details about him. Born into prominent wealth and influence, he’s well-known as an affable man, good-humored and considerate to those around him. Humility is more so a courtesy rather than a natural trait in him, and he would not think to ever compromise his position of authority for the sake of another’s appeasement. Few feel close to him, and fewer are considered close to him in his mind, and he lives by his desire to keep his enemies closer than his friends. Thus, to most, his thoughts may come across like those of an enigma as only a select number of his acquaintances can guess as to why his actions, his words, and his philosophy don't always seem to so neatly or consistently align.

Outside of his official position, he likes to think of himself as a family man (in recent years, at least) and subtle romantic, but rarely does he have time to visit his loved ones . . . and so the ‘void of his absence’ is replaced with generous allowances and liberty. He, himself, prefers to live modestly, not wishing to draw unnecessary attention to himself in public or professional environments— an attitude perhaps encouraged by the handful of super humans who would gladly wish him dead. （◔ᴗ◔；）

In his mind, the Gifted cannot be trusted with their own free will. Their potential for destruction and, equally important, for good can never be safe in their hands as a sole individual— an individual who might come to develop their gift, and moral sense towards when and how to use it, as a mere child in the guardianship, in an environment, or under circumstance less than ideal to that development (like, say, a violent upbringing or taught perception of ‘godliness’ above all the rest of mankind throughout their upbringing which warps their conventional moral thought). Yet, reformed and cultivated within an environment both controlled and supervised with the proper elements for a healthy and proper mind, heart, and body . . . he has faith that the Gifted can be akin to a blessing for humanity as a whole.

He believes the Gifted have the potential to be heroes but will not concede to the possibility of them as heroes without a leash . . . and, yet, he also does not wish for that leash to ever be a single nation, identity, or cause. WINGS, unbound to one sole worldly faction as an independent and international organization with a broad spread of responsibility and oversight over select Gifted, is the best modernly conceived and implemented model for the Gifted, or so he believes.

And, most importantly but unknowingly to him, he cherishes the personal relationship he holds with one of the main cast of Gifted characters.

Thank you for the ask! ( ˙ ω˙)ノ

#factions

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bemuseing · 1 year

Text

Just Akutagawa Mayoi Card Things

I enjoy the mayoi cards text/dialogue a normal amount... (Help, there ended up being a lot more that I collected than I expected to...)

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke - Kimono (New Year's)

What a worthless holiday… What? I got more gifts than Dazai-san…? Well… No, never mind…

… Does anyone have a smaller brush…?

Where is my coat…?

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke - Winter (Christmas)

I am not fond of places with bright lights.

A gift? Pursuing the goodwill of others is an absolutely absurd concept.

What exactly is this thing…?

This is of no use to me. It's yours now.

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke - Tanabata

Despite picking up a piece of paper, he seems to be averse to the act of wishing upon a star.

It's hot...

I do not have anything to wish upon the stars for.

I removed my coat due to the heat, but… I am somewhat uncomfortable.

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke - New Year's Banquet

I don't need fancy clothes like this, but Boss prepared them… I can't refuse. I can't relax like this, either… I'll put a cloak on, that should be fine.

Higuchi gave me this, but I don't see the point. Write your wish here and it comes true? Ridiculous. I don't need to rely on some unknown god to fulfill my duties.

Staying around here means I'll get invited to eat by the others… And eating more than what's absolutely necessary would slow me down.

Relying on a wish? Utter foolishness.

... I didn't ask for this.

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke - Swimwear (or not)

He keeps sight of the beachside creatures that occasionally cross his path. Although it is hard to tell at a glance, it would appear that he doesn't find this trip boring.

What a boisterous place.

This sunlight is too radiant for me...

Hermit crabs have been crossing my path for some time now… This is the third or fourth time.

… I will not go in the ocean.

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke - Summer Vacation

Avoiding the noisy swimming area, he finds a part of the beach overgrown with the local plants and wild flowers. He spends his break surrounded by the sounds and sights of the ocean, from the undulating waves to the colorful fish and birds.

It's too noisy over there… I'm perfectly fine here.

It's so quiet… All I can hear is the waves and the birds.

… When I was younger, if I saw a fish, all I would think about is whether or not I could eat it.

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke - Looking Sharp

Looking to avoid all the commotion of the party, he spends quiet time in a room filled with luxurious furniture.

An unnecessary display, but I didn't dress up for nothing.

Water will do.

I don't think this is a place I belong.

I detest crowded places. What am I doing here…?

… The mirror's reflecting the night sky? I don't find evening scenery to be particularly compelling, but…

No ensemble of clothing would make me forget my responsibilities as a member of the Port Mafia.

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke - Masquerade

In his own way, he seems to be enjoying the mysterious atmosphere of the event where darkness and silence coexist. However, no one can tell what he is thinking.

A masquerade ball… What an awfully strange event. But alas, this costume and mask are not bad in that they make it easier to disappear into the night.

Gin, I know you are not used to such a costume, but watch your step… What? You are accustomed to the dark…? Well… I suppose you are.

I am not fond of loud places… However, I do not mind the occasional party like this… Darkness and silence are just right for me.

A prank...? I shall pass.

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke - Radiant Banquet

Though one may never catch the man smiling, it seems nevertheless he is enjoying himself.

These clothes have a ridiculous amount of ornamentation on them… Is that standard for events like this?

I don't understand why this banquet is happening, but I can't refuse an invitation from the boss.

What is it, Higuchi? No, I'm not that thirsty, but…

... Let's not get too excited.

Sweets? I don't need any.

I'm not used to this sort of atmosphere... but it's not unpleasant.

BONUS...

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke - Kindergarten

He's always on his guard and doesn't say much. He never lets go of Rashoumon, his precious, black stuffed animal.

Don't you dare come close to me.

You need something from me?

… You can't play with Rashoumon…

#akutagawa mayoi cards b like #this is a pointless tradition. why am i here. it's too bright. it's too noisy. why am i wearing these clothes. i want my coat #hcs & meta. | akutagawa.

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decapodparty · 2 years

Text

been unleashed in a books a million w a gift card of an unknown amount god wishes he had this kind of power

#personal

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chibitantei · 2 years

Text

@tres-fidelis sends:

No sweets. No birthday cake.

Even without knowing much in terms of Naoto's tastes in food, Rin didn’t want to fall back on a safety guess. She worked diligently throughout the weeks leading up to the detective’s special day. Yosuke gave her a heads up just when the time came around, to which a lack of sleep for the past 2 nights resulted in Naoto's birthday gifts.

“Hey squirt!” She caught sight of blue passing by the open garage of her aunt's mechanic shop. Just in time! “Hold up! ‘Fore ya go anywhere, I got somethin’ fer yah. C’mon inside.” Without waiting for an answer, the burly brunette took the smaller-framed detective into her home. “Don’t mind th’ oil stentch. Jus’ had ta fix some guys engine ‘n brakin’ system.” Even with splashes of stained oil and darker colorations on her shirt, Rin kept her hands quite clean. These gifts were important after all.

The older girl handed Naoto a metallic badge crafted out of aluminum metal. “I’s got yer initials engraved in ‘dere. Took a lil’ longah than usual. S’s are tricky when i’s somethin’ dat small. Plus it won’t rust!” The second looked rather abstract. A makeshift piece of metal scrap art, crafted using stainless steel and copper piping. “ ‘N dis is a uh...statue of yer own Persona. Th’ wings were th’ hardest part.” Amateurish at best, but still identifiable. “Ya can put it on yer desk or...somewhere in yer room if ya want.”

Or throw it out if it didn’t appease her.

“I hope ya like it...” They’re weird gifts, that’s for certain, but Rin always thought gifts made by hand were better than store bought.

Noot Birth | Closed

Of all things, ‘squirt’ and not Shirogane, or even Naoto. Squirt. Fighting back an exasperated shake of her head, Naoto enters the shop, mindful of any stray scraps of metal and various objects ready to stain her coat. The same couldn’t be said about her nose, but the stench is not an unfamiliar one, having done some vehicle maintenance herself, though it is limited to two wheels rather than four.

An aluminum badge is pressed into her palm and Naoto closely inspects it, eyes following the lines and curves of the initials. There is no mechanism which would allow her to pin it on her clothes and display it proudly, but she has always kept the more sentimental objects out of public eye. They stay in her room to picked up and held whenever some unknown force compels her to.

The next object is a little... less clear cut, steel plating and copper wiring twisting and joining together to create... her Persona. Between Sukuna-Hikona and Yamato Takeru, her initial would have been the easier option, but she isn’t well versed in scrap metal art to offer a confident opinion. The appearance does not appear intricate at first, but there’s a surprising amount of care and delicate touch involved, many things one would not expect from Rin.

She is like Kanji in many aspects. They would be a good match for a future collaboration of some kind.

“I didn’t think you’d remember.” Naoto never expected anyone to remember. At best, only Grampa and Yakushiji would send a card, a small present and that would be it. “I am unaccustomed to... receiving numerous gifts. Regardless, thank you, Senpai. I do like them.”

Looking up at the ceiling, she wonders if she should even offer. “If you need someone to watch for... disturbances during your racing sessions or just some company, I wouldn’t mind joining.” There is no taking it back now. “As long as I am in the area.”

#Ask Status: Answered #tresfidelis #tresfidelis ; rin #v: Seeker of Truth #Event: Naoto's Birthday

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