#the one who suffers is maze

[teecupangel]

Just binge watched Lucifer on Netflix and now I present to you:

Desmond Miles survives 2012 (Desmond Miles Lives truthers, where ya at?), gets the hell outta dodge from the temple with new POE powers, and gets hired to work at Lux in LA. Meets his new boss and both of them are like, "!"

Lucifer instantly knows this boy is hella special because, damn does his soul reek of Isu Bullfuckery. (Headcanoned God and his Angels are sort of a rival interdimensional species to Isu, and God is the one who supposedly gave humans free will... idk I never paid attention to bible study anyway.)

Does the whole, "what do you desire?" schtick and Desmond, due to POE powers and Isu Bullshittery, wonders 'why the fuck is actual Satan here in LA?'

I imagine a platonic bromance relationship between these two. Y'know? 'Cause on the one hand we have the Reluctant Ruler of Hell and on the other hand the Reluctant Savior/Sacrificial Lamb of Humankind.

Lucifer could offer safety and protection from whoever Desmond is hiding from, while Des can be his bartender/bouncer/very much-needed BFF. And come on, I betcha good ole Lucy boy (and Maze) would absolutely enjoy dragging a couple a lot of Abstergo people Vidic down to Hell for multiple crimes against humanity(i.e. kidnapping and unethical human experimentation which results in mental instability.)

I’m all in for this idea. Desmond and Lucifer being bash brothers, yes please. Just imagine the chaos these two would get to because they're both morally dubious? XD

Also, just imagine how much faster Chloe would be finishing her cases with Desmond’s Eagle Vision? She would have two cheat codes with her this time.

Anyway, I’m going to focus on how we can integrate Lucifer into AC more in this one.

Before anything, just a sorta fun trivia: Lucifer has a little cameo in Crisis on Infinite Earths and he talks to John Constantine, implying they have some sort of history together. John Constantine is played by Matt Ryan who voiced and mocap’ed Edward Kenway XD

We will be keeping this contained to Lucifer though but you can totally add a John Constantine cameo and set it during the time Desmond is working in Lux (and you can totally add Desmond feeling some sort of longing and sorrow because John Constantine sounds and looks familiar to his Bleed of Haytham Kenway)

Alright, with that little trivia out of my system, let’s talk about how we can push Lucifer into AC canon.

(You might not have paid attention to bible study but my religion teacher was so boring he had to implement a rule that there should be no other notebook/books related to other subjects on our table during class because we kept doing other subjects when he’s lecturing us soooooo I was bored enough to read the bible he made us bring every class. I'm sure he'll be proud I'm using what I learned in his class for fic related things XD)

Let’s talk about God in Lucifer’s show. He’s obviously based on the Judeo-Christian God. Now, we have no confirmation if that said God does exist as an Isu in Assassin’s Creed BUT we do have a leeway we can use to make it easier to integrate the characters from Lucifer into Assassin’s Creed.

The Templar Order uses the phrase “May the Father of Understanding guide you”. Now, this is based on the Isu triad that pops up a bit.

The one we’re more familiar with is the Capitoline Triad where Tinia is known as the “Father of Understanding”.

However, there is an earlier iteration of this triad.

The Isus who created humans.

And the one to hold the title of ‘Father of Understanding’ during that time is Yaldabaoth.

From Wikipedia

Gnosticism presents a distinction between the highest, unknowable God, and the Demiurge, "creator" of the material universe.

Gnostic Christians considered the Hebrew God of the Old Testament as the evil, false god and creator of the material universe, and the Unknown God of the Gospel, the father of Jesus Christ and creator of the spiritual world, as the true, good God.

If we use the statements above and the fact that Yaldabaoth is considered one of the creators of mankind, we can set up God as another Isu scientist who had an alternate idea of a workforce but his idea was pushed aside and Yaldabaoth’s project with the other two Isu scientists moved forward.

God, in anger, created his ‘children’ together with the Goddess. And, to complete the triad, we’ll add Lilith as an Isu as well instead of Adam’s first wife. The three of them (although Lilith has a more advisory role to this entire thing and is actually working on her own workforce idea) created the ‘Angels’, trying to one-up all the data they could get from Yaldabaoth’s project to make them better than humans.

They are. Unfortunately, that meant they were also… shall we say… ‘freer’ than humans as well. God knew that the Isus would see them as defective and, not only that, many would find what they have done as some form of betrayal and being stripped of their rank and status would be the lightest sentence the Isu would give them. So God and Goddess kept the Angels a secret, and passed them off as human slaves while Lilith went her merry way and continued to work on her personal workforce.

And now we come to the whole ‘gave mankind freewill’.

So many like to point at Lucifer as being the serpent that gave Eve the forbidden fruit. Let’s use it. Lucifer, being one of God’s first children, takes an Apple of Eden and presented it to Eve who used it to start the Human-Isu war. Lucifer takes up arms to join the humans.

Things get super messy when they find out about the impending Solar Flare and God and Goddess decided to add their consciousness to a device called ‘Heaven’. (In this setup, Goddess!Charlotte would be like a more ‘questionable’ setup of an Isu consciousness overwriting a human’s consciousness). Their children (who did have the kind of body that would survive a solar flare and were more or less immortal) were tasked with guarding ‘Heaven’.

Except Lucifer who, as punishment for starting the whole Human-Isu war, was tasked to guard a device called ‘Hell’. He guarded it together with Lilith’s ‘children’, the demons.

What these two devices do will be a mystery but they are connected to the Gray in some way and to the Calculations. Perhaps it’s even the actual database of all the Calculations and, by that very definition, it housed all the knowledge, memories and emotions of every living thing in the world.

What defines them as a person.

What defines their soul.

And, from there, we can just integrate all Celestial things in the show as this entirely more advanced workforce’s ‘code words’. (And the devices are connected and that’s why God could boot the Goddess into hell)

By the time 2013 rolls around, Lucifer already owned Lux for a few years now and Desmond applies as a bartender as he’s had enough of all these Assassin-Templar BS to last him a lifetime. He saved the world, this is his damn retirement plan.

Lucifer sees him and goes ‘how interesting, an actual human-POE hybrid.’ while Desmond sees him and goes ‘why does he feel… familiar?’ because his Isu genes and POE-hybridness is giving him signals that Lucifer is definitely not human BUT he ain’t an Isu too.

He’s… Isu-adjacent.

Like Maze.

So Desmond continues to work there and Lucifer finds the perfect time to do the whole “what do you desire?” and Desmond’s POE-hybridness just kicked in.

We’ll make it in this fic that all the Apples are connected to one another and they have a ‘shared memory space’ so Desmond ‘remembers’ that this is the smug bastard who gave the Apple to Eve.

And, because of his limited knowledge of religion, he goes “Why the fuck is actual Satan here in LA?!”

(side note: some count Satan and Lucifer as two different beings but, in this case, we’ll just make Satan another name for Lucifer)

So now they both showed their hands. Lucifer just blatantly showed he wasn’t human and Desmond just showed he has Isu-related knowledge.

Cue an entire night of trying to get drunk while talking about what the fuck happened to them (with special mention to their daddy issues and the whole reluctant ruler of hell and the ‘more-or-less pushed into it’ savior/sacrifice)

At the end of their heart-to-heart, Desmond becomes Lucifer’s main confidant and slowly becomes his BFF. Lucifer uses his mojos to keep Desmond hidden from both Assassins and Templars.

Also… it’s not just Abstergo’s that in his shitlist. William Miles is there as well, that’s for damn sure.

Another subplot we can add is that Lucifer ‘asking’ Chloe to look into Abstergo just so he can, you know… ask them… what they desire?

Other unorganized notes:

What do we do with Juno? I set it to 2013 so Desmond dealt with Juno before peacing out to be a random bartender. Hey, if Ubisoft can do it in the comics, we can take out Juno with one paragraph… maybe even one sentence.

Desmond could see through Maze’s shapeshifting. Whenever he uses Eagle Vision, he sees Maze’s true form.

Actually, Desmond’s Eagle Vision has been powered up by his POE-hybridness that he sees EVERYONE’s true form. His only description of Lucifer’s form? “Bright as fuck.” (this also means Desmond knows Michael by 'sight')

Also, Amenadiel? He looovvveess Desmond’s Shirley Templars.

Lucifer’s deals? He has a connection to Hell and, because of that connection, he’s connected to the Calculations as well. In this case, any deal he makes impacts the Calculations slightly so the person making the deal would get what they want.

Also, this:

#desmond being bff with the devil #lucifer having an actually uncomplicated honest (platonic) relationship for once #the one who suffers is maze #a lot #assassin's creed #desmond miles #lucifer #lucifer netflix #lucifer morningstar #teecup writes/has a plot #fic idea: assassin's creed #ask and answer #i am still sad constantine didn’t get a 2nd season #liked matt ryan since criminal minds

[quodekash]

so shorter was in unmeasurable amounts of pain and begged ash to kill him, and ash obliged

it reminds me of something

page 250 babeyyyy

#if I had to suffer in this thought so do you #im almost certain there’s like no one who is also in both of these fandoms but maybe there is #i may have to suffer alone #but ive tried #(also sorry tommy but ash’s situation was objectively worse) #banana fish #banana fish anime #asheiji #banana fish shorter #shorter wong #maze runner #the maze runner #page 250 #newtmas #tmr #tmr newt #ash lynx #aslan jade callenreese

[littledreamling]

Sorry I couldn’t do my homework professor, I was languishing under the crushing weight of knowing that Destiny is burdened with the knowledge of everything that will happen until the end of Time, every decision, every birth, every death, and yet he cannot do anything to change it; he must wait and watch and live in the sweet agony of his own wretched foretelling coming to fruition

#in my emo destiny hours #listen death and dream can argue all they want about who has it worse but let’s not even bring destiny into this because he’d win hands down #i can’t even imagine the anguish he must suffer through having so much knowledge yet beingg unable to do anything with it #it is predetermined #it is inescapable #as much as he wishes to do so; he cannot alter that which is destined #in fact he’s the only Endless with absolutely no control over his function #he is simply destiny’s keeper and interpreter #he cannot change anything of which he has information #oftentimes he is the only one with enough information to be able to change anything and that’s exactly why he can’t #he is as bound to destiny as everyone else #his labyrinth always leads to the same place #everyone is trapped in the maze #and he is no exception #the sandman #the sandman comics #destiny of the endless #neil gaiman #sandman neil gaiman

[ojirocardigansniper]

ouguhhh just read the summary and article from this post about alexandre baril's work on suicidism (oppression of the suicidal) and the opening paragraph of the conclusion in the full article. thoughts. rotating

i was thinking about the. thick white gloves. while reading. remembered that one post about how csa being horrifically taboo to talk about compounds survivors' trauma and shame and went Maybe something similar re: suicidality and suicide... the suffering multiplied by the silence, the risk of dismissal or instant change in perception in anyone you tell... and even in 'mental health' spaces the perception that suicide as a topic is dangerous to talk about- that it could be triggering instantly and automatically- is like. i think there's some paternalism there and there's some shamefear and there's some oversimplification and there's the fact that it plays well into the existing well-taught impulse to avoid the discomforting. but like. this post also about how getting through suicidality is maybe only possible by considering the option thoroughly. i am just thinking. idk. yall know me yall know i think about this topic a lot

#chat #as someone who HAS mostly recovered from passive suicidality- mostly recognizes its suicidal intrusive thoughts as demands for life change- #im def one of the people who can be susceptible to recovery-only mindsets when like assisting or relating to suicidal people. so i need thi #me and one of our stranger sysmates (maze-body) were reading the article together and it kept standing against my reflexive questions + #discomforts because it understands suicidality as both an experiencer (in a weird way) and an already-dead thing; it could confidently- #dismiss my concerns as both fixable and less relevant than the experience and autonomy of the suicidal party. #its whole thing is being- not anti-recovery but like. unrecovered and incurable. which is a perspective we need to remember and have spoken #no matter how much harm reduction + barrier lowering + healing we go through. it as a frank eternality will still remain+need recognition. #its a weirdass way of coping with the inevitability of pain and suffering while not giving up on our locus of control but we're doing it ig #and i think theres a lot there you can relate 2 chronic/passive suicidality- just a companion no matter how much you make life worth living #whatever. anyway #suicide / #in case anyone has. tag blocking but not content blocking fsr

[blood-teeth]

E N T E R T H E L A B Y R I N T H

In the Labyrinth, they talk of gods.

They whisper between their fingers and sweeten their breath with the tales of titans of old who once stood so tall that a single breath would cause earth-tremors, their steps reshaping the ground trod beneath them. Their fingers were the tools that smoothed the mountains into points, shaped and carved the ridges and valleys in between. If you hike far enough, one woman claims, if you travel to a point where the oxygen is thin and your vision blacks, you can make out a partial print against the mountainside. You can run your own fingers along its length and still feel the titan’s warmth as if his palm were pressed right against yours.

The woman says, It is a thing of worship. It is a thing of devotion.

In the Labyrinth, they ask you to make you make your body anew before the King of the High Hills. They say that you are alive because you must suffer for the life and love of the Lord, that you must open your body and let him lick along your flesh so that he may taste the endlessness of his perpetual reign.

In the Labyrinth, there is no escape from his touch.

“You have a heavy burden upon you,” the headmaster was saying, teeth and eyes all a glitter under the amber cast candles. “I am not unsympathetic to the arduous path ahead of you—but please understand that this suffering must be experienced for the longevity of the king, for the beautiful life ahead of him. Only he is the one who can shed mortality and raise to the gods, because he is the only one strong enough, courageous enough, to count the cost of living forever. You must succeed where others have failed. You, this class, this is our last chance to mend what has been made broken. You must. You must.”

The Mouths of Elysium is a dark-academia fantasy created with Twine where your choices matter to the story. You live inside the Labyrinth, a maze that hates to become known with walls and paths that change every hour. The center of the Labyrinth sits a university that has been there since the beginning of time; its only purpose is to recruit students who can solve the puzzle of life, who can create an elixir that would allow the King of the High Hills to live past the length of forever. Failure means a fate worse than death.

You are one of those students.

Althea Callaghan - You know her in death. She has been the taste of rot against your tongue, the anger and hurt in your palms. You see the nice, beautiful lines of her teeth and become a creature of grief unfolding unto yourself. Debase yourself with the fervent want of her. Bend at your waist and beg for forgiveness.

You hate her. You want to watch her bleed. She feels the exact same about you, but what she doesn't know is that every waking moment of your life is dedicated to her.

The Princess/Prince - The forgotten child of the throne. The 405th child of His glorious reign. Divinity runs through their veins, the heir to so much power, but they will never see themselves rule the unforgiving landscape of the Labyrinth. Their fate is to die and be buried amongst the endless graves of their dead brothers and sisters. They must do this so the King may live forever.

A fully customizable MC including gender, appearance, and sexuality

A landscape of horror. A landscape that hates you and everyone who might try to understand it. Go beyond the walls and be witness to a reality worse than death

Key choices that will influence your game and experience. Will you succeed or fail?

Learn what it means to be forgiven. Learn what it means to suffer. Become devotion. Become loyalty. Make your body anew before the King of the High Hills

DEMO : TBA (coming soon)

#Interactive fiction #IF #the mouths of elysium #tmoe #if wip #wip #cyoa #works in progress #if intro #interactive fiction intro #twine #twine intro #twine wip #dark academia #fantasy #labyrinth #enter the labyrinth #intro #writeblr intro #writing community #itch.io #indie games #jesus i think i have enough tags

[inkskinned]

i know some of the poets outside of their books, like cameron awkward-rich; who was my seminar teacher for a semester in grad school. you know him, he wrote about keeping his hand on the walls of his stupid heart. he gave us a journal without lines in it, so the pages were all blank and naked. we had to write down 3 words every day, ruminations on our own lives.

in pink glitter pen, i watched my handwriting cramp and spill from pristine and well-meaning to the slant of someone deeply suffering. the words stopped being lyrical over the course of february. bad, it said. bad and bad and bad. each day carving out a little bit of marrow, the sparrow of my heart acting as roadkill. that winter i was only allowed to eat apples, like a horse. my ocd had decided i could only touch food if it was red. i was sleeping on the floor and a spider bit me.

i wanted him to be my thesis advisor, but it was covid the next year, and we never spoke again, and i'm worried that i embarrassed myself by asking him repeatedly. for my final project in his class, i wrote about my disability. i called myself a rat, fondly.

his most famous poem is titled Meditations in an Emergency. i didn't know it until three weeks after i had graduated from that university.

at one point, he sat me down after class just to discuss some of my work. it was a night class, and we were all a little drowsy. he blinked up at me. i think sometimes the way you see the world is a little bit alarming. i wonder about that, in hindsight. i wonder if all of us who are walking on thumbtacks always recognize when someone else's spine is the undulating form of a siren. i could see it in him and you can see it in me, if you're looking.

yesterday nat said some of this is worrying.

i told cameron i was fine and i told nat i was fine, but i think maybe all of us had learned a long time ago how to be fine the way a poem is fine - because it happens outside of you. it can be honest, the confession, but it cannot be spelled out across your ribs. we make our art so that the sorrow can hang, limbless, trembling on the fetid walls beside us.

you learn to turn the ugliness into some kind of work, because you must smash the entire human experience of your stupid bones and teeth and tongue into something, so that you have anything to show for it. otherwise, what is the fucking point. why were you suffering, if not to polish the runoff and say - the melancholy is the signature of my art. i took the splinters out of my gums and filed them down into a thesis. the thesis has been turned into a book which is getting published.

cameron, to my knowledge, still has not read it.

i hope he has found his way out of the maze. i hope you and i one day write our own lanterns. i hope we are able to find some kind of peace without viscera. without having to fight for it. i hope we are able to stumble without falling. i hope one day the sky is empty of vultures and we can cross the desert of our memories without starving.

in the meantime we get up and leave the circled shadow in the writing.

#writeblr #warm up #idk what this is

[pathsofoak]

Teresa "drowning in guilt" Agnes:

She saved lives anyway. She still owed the world some.

#I'm going to be working with her childhood here #it's a bit compatible with the Fever Code but I took some liberties to make it fit with the movies and also the arc I want to write #but the point is she thinks the 'lives' she speaks of are the ones lost on the Scorch and to a degree also in the Maze because #she feels really guilty about it #but really that idea is much older and goes all the way back to WCKD #who kind of gave her this mentality of 'you're immune so you have to share that even if it means you suffer greatly' sort of #like a little more subtle in the sense that she STILL hasn't noticed that one #so there is this bit of more deserved guilt she feels on one side but she punishes herself WAY out of proportion especially since #the Gladers have already figured that bit out and it's nothing like giving herself up to WCKD (sort of) #but she misreads this sort of survivor's guilt as guilt over her betrayal so she's just merciless to herself #I promise I'll start being nice to these characters soon

[vague-humanoid]

A few months after arriving, she said, she was raped by the man who wrote the letter of invitation that had gotten her out of the war zone.

“She was sleeping and he woke her up and roughly dragged her into his room,” says Olga Udovichenko, whom Svetlana later approached for help at the Volunteer Help Center for Refugees from Ukraine in Haifa. “She suffered deeply from both the war and the rape — but here she could barely get any assistance from the authorities. Instead of help she encountered a maze of bureaucracy and lost any motivation she had to hold the man to account and seek justice.”

The Russian invasion of Ukraine in February 2022 is estimated to have killed more than 40,000 civilians and displaced up to 30 million more. As the war surpasses 300 days, 17.7 million Ukrainians around the world need humanitarian help and protection, according to the United Nations.

Svetlana is one of over 47,000 Ukrainians — the vast majority of them women — who traveled to Israel since the start of the invasion but who are not eligible for citizenship under Israel’s Law of Return, according to Israel’s Welfare Ministry. Of these, only approximately 15,000 currently remain in Israel, with the rest having chosen to leave. Not a single Ukrainian fleeing the war has been accorded refugee status by Israel.

A Times of Israel investigation has documented cases of rape, sexual harassment, workplace exploitation and other abuses faced in Israel by these women, many of whom have had their homes destroyed and lost their livelihoods. At least one of the women’s lives ended in death by suicide.

Many of these abuses remain at best under the radar of the authorities or at worst willfully ignored, leaving the victims in a cycle of violence and poverty that only deepens the trauma they have endured to date. The perpetrators remain free to commit further crimes.

#rape cw #state sanctioned abuse #Israel

[irisintheafterglow]

One-Shots

Gojo Satoru

You Are In Love - "you're my best friend," and you knew what it was

...Ready For It? - knew he was a killer first time that I saw him

Hits Different - it hits different 'cause it's you (or, struggling in a situationship with gojo satoru)

Never Grow Up - meeting megumi for the first time

The Archer - all of my enemies started out friends, can he hold on to you?

invisible string - the first time megumi uses ten shadows

even in my worst times, you see the best in me - being the strongest has its downsides, but at least you're suffering with him

life's no fun without a good scare - you have the brilliant idea of playing hide and seek in a corn maze against the most powerful sorcerer in the world. should be fun, right?

it's all me, just don't go (meet me in the afterglow) - satoru is jealous but refuses to admit it.

every dead end street led you straight to me - former fuckboy gojo has some things to say at the top of a mountain

i hate accidents, except when we went from friends to this! - coworkers to lovers with a healthy amount of teenage eavesdropping

Geto Suguru

The Great War - somewhere in the haze, got a sense I'd been betrayed

Back to December - you gave him all your love and all he gave you was goodbye

say you'll remember me - you were destined to fail from the start, so why does it hurt so badly when he's gone?

dazzling haze, mysterious way about you, dear - need some fluff after reading all the angst above?

tell me that you love me, love me 'til my lips turn blue - being partnered with suguru on a mission takes an unexpected turn

what if all i need is you? - after failed attempts to find a date to a relative's birthday party, your best friend acts as your fake boyfriend.

Blurbs/Drabbles

the stakes are high, the water's rough, but this love is ours - holding satoru and letting him rest, even if it's only for a little bit

it took so long to know someone like you - he doesn't know who he is with you and it scares both of you

bad days and blanket burritos - good ol' satoru bf fluff

Imagines/HCs

And the touch of a hand lit the fuse

how gojo and geto react to their partner being obsessed with them (fluffy !!!)

Gojo Satoru

What, like it's hard? -> law student!gojo

general hcs

when he buys a motorcycle

I'm with the band -> rockstar!gojo

rockstar!gojo meet sexyy

the valentine's day show

quiet moments and teaching you guitar

Falling for you, on and off the ice -> hockey player!gojo

someone steals your usual rink slot

watching a game

living in winter, i am your summer - he's terrible at figure skating

Kachow -> professional racer!gojo

on the radio

smoke his ass! - pro racer!gojo needs some motivation after a newcomer to the track pisses him off

Geto Suguru

oops? - satoru finds out that you've been seeing his best friend

a quiet moment in the aquarium

napping with you :)

scare actor!suguru

Save a horse, ride a cowboy -> gunslinger!suguru

gunslinger!geto au

Theta Phi Fuckhead -> enemy frat!suguru

ancient grudge, new mutiny

move fast, keep quiet

half the things that haven't happened yet

Series Masterlists

End Game (volleyball captain!gojo x you) COMPLETED

Co-Parenting Megumi with Satoru COMPLETED

I Don't Wanna Live Forever (gojo x you during shibuya) COMPLETED

#irisintheafterglow masterlist

[asexualannoyance]

“[...] Like other movements within political Islam, the movement [Hamas] reflected a complex local reaction to the harsh realities of occupation, and a response to the disorientated paths offered by secular and socialist Palestinian forces in the past. Those with a more engaged analysis of this situation were well prepared for the Hamas triumph in the 2006 elections, unlike the Israeli, American, and European governments. It is ironic that it was the pundits and orientalists, not to mention Israeli politicians and chiefs of intelligence, who were taken by surprise by the election results more than anyone else. What particularly dumbfounded the great experts on Islam in Israel was the democratic nature of the victory. In their collective reading, fanatical Muslims were meant to be neither democratic nor popular. These same experts displayed a similar misunderstanding of the past. Ever since the rise of political Islam in Iran and in the Arab world, the community of experts in Israel had behaved as if the impossible was unfolding in front of their eyes. [...]

In 2009, Avner Cohen, who served in the Gaza Strip around the time Hamas began to gain power in the late 1980s, and was responsible for religious affairs in the occupied territories, told the Wall Street Journal, “the Hamas, to my great regret, is Israel’s creation.” Cohen explains how Israel helped the charity al-Mujama al-Islamiya (the “Islamic Society”), founded by Sheikh Ahmed Yassin in 1979, to become a powerful political movement, out of which the Hamas movement emerged in 1987. Sheikh Yassin, a crippled, semi-blind Islamic cleric, founded Hamas and was its spiritual leader until his assassination in 2004. He was originally approached by Israel with an offer of help and the promise of a license to expand. The Israelis hoped that, through his charity and educational work, this charismatic leader would counterbalance the power of the secular Fatah in the Gaza Strip and beyond. [...]

In 1993, Hamas became the main opposition to the Oslo Accord. While there was still support for Oslo, it saw a drop in its popularity; however, as Israel began to renege on almost all the pledges it had made during the negotiations, support for Hamas once again received a boost. Particularly important was Israel’s settlement policy and its excessive use of force against the civilian population in the territories. [...]

It also captured the hearts and minds of many Muslims (who make up the majority in the occupied territories) due [to] the failure of secular modernity to find solutions to the daily hardships of life under occupation. [...]

The new Israeli methods of oppression introduced during the Second Intifada—particularly the building of the wall, the roadblocks, and the targeted assassinations—further diminished the support for the Palestinian Authority and increased the popularity and prestige of Hamas. It would be fair to conclude, then, that successive Israeli governments did all they could to leave the Palestinians with no option but to trust, and vote for, the one group prepared to resist an occupation described by the renowned American author Michael Chabon as “the most grievous injustice I have seen in my life.” [...]

The obvious failure of the Palestinian groups and individuals who had come to prominence on the promise of negotiations with Israel clearly made it seem as if there were very few alternatives. In this situation the apparent success of the Islamic militant groups in driving the Israelis out of the Gaza Strip offered some hope. However, there is more to it than this. Hamas is now deeply embedded in Palestinian society thanks to its genuine attempts to alleviate the suffering of ordinary people by providing schooling, medicine, and welfare. No less important, Hamas’s position on the 1948 refugees’ right of return, unlike the PA’s stance, was clear and unambiguous. Hamas openly endorsed this right, while the PA sent out ambiguous messages, including a speech by Abu Mazen in which he rescinded his own right to return to his hometown of Safad. [...]”

—Ten Myths About Israel by Ilan Pappé, Chapter 9: “The Gaza Mythologies”, the section titled “Hamas Is a Terrorist Organization”

#palestine #free palestine #gaza #hamas #quotes #this book is very good

[manicpixiefelix]

a long way down to the bottom of the river

{ One-Shot AU for head, heart, hand. }

Summary: In which Felix can't be talked around to forgiving Oliver, and you become one of Elspeth's last remnants of her children. (Or; in an alternate universe, canon happens and the reader is there to suffer through it with the rest of the Catton family.)

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: SALTBURN-CANON ENDING; death, grief, murder, implied/referenced suicide, funerals, drinking, implied overdose, Oliver Quick being a bastard behind the scenes. You die at the end (heavily implied, not graphic). Angst without a happy ending.

A/N: 3604 words. had to write this to get it out of my head, im so emotional about the catton family i love them all very much. THIS IS NOT CANON TO head, heart, hand.

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

Its Elspeth who finds him, who screams bloody murder in the mid-morning sun. The others are quick to join them, Venetia and Farleigh still sopping from searching the lake. Venetia collapses and Farleigh alongside her, and Sir James is quick to attend his son, denial on his strained voice. Oliver is next, slow moving as if in a haze, and finally, footsteps and shouts -

"What is it, is he -?" Your voice rings out, but Elspeth cuts you off sharply.

"Stop right there, pet." Voice surprisingly authoritative, you're still amongst the high walls of the maze, but can see the clearing open up ahead. However, you still obligingly stop.

"What's wrong, Elspeth, what's happened to-?"

But Elspeth is approaching you, the faintest glimmer of tears in her eyes. Something is terribly wrong, you note, as she wraps you up in the tightest hug you can remember.

"I don't," her voice trembles, barely audible, "want you to see this."

"No," you whisper as it begins to hit you.

"Darling-"

"No," you struggle, already feeling panic and dread well up inside of you. Elspeth tries to hold you tighter, quietly sobbing as she tries to keep you in her embrace, but you break free, running for the centre of the maze.

"Let me see my Felix!"

There are no words in the English language that will ever come close to describing the noise of absolute, distraught anguish that claws its way from your throat at the sight of Felix on the grass, unmoving.

Venetia sobs louder.

The minute you start to crumble, to fall, Oliver is by your side, holding you tight, holding you close. He's wearing Felix's robe, but it's a comfort in this moment. The sobs that escape you make your whole body ache, but you just don't understand how this could happen, how it all went so fucking wrong, how he looks so peaceful in the morning light.

Elspeth calls everyone away for lunch, voice forcibly level, but immediately you disagree.

"Don't make me leave him," you hear yourself say in a rush. For a long moment, Elspeth frowns at you, not angry, just concerned.

"Let his pet stay with him," Sir James says with a strained kind of fondness, "I think letting him have company is a good idea."

After a moment, Elspeth approaches you, takes you out of Oliver's arms, holds your face steady, and you try to repress your tears for the moment.

"Come right back when, well," she falters, just for a moment, "I'll have Duncan call the police -"

"I'll be good, I'll be good," bubbles from your lips as tears continue to trail down your cheeks. Softly, weakly, Elspeth smiles.

"I know you will be, pet, then you come right back inside for lunch with us, okay?"

"Yes," and you, desperate for this connection in this moment, call her something usually only ever used by Felix and Venetia, "mum." Elspeth's gaze softens, eyes suddenly glossy with new tears, and she quickly kisses your forehead.

"Good pet," and she lets you go, leading the way from the maze, and leaving you to finally, tragically approach the body of your best friend.

Like a distraught lover, a dog desperately waiting for a master who will never wake up, you take your place by Felix's side. He is perfect, looking like an angel, looking like he was sleeping; Sir James' reaction still breaks your heart when you think about it, if only because it makes too much sense for a parent in denial.

Everything is a blur, all pain and love and a childish desperation for this all to be a bad dream. When you talk to him, amid sniffles and hiccupping sobs, you don't even register what you're saying; for the first time in your life, Felix is cold to the touch. He's always run warm, this isn't right, this can't be real - when reality hits you again, it hits you hard, laying, curled up by his side, head on his chest. There's no steady rise and fall of his breathing, no warmth, no heartbeat that you know better than your own. Felix, perfect, angelic Felix, is not sleeping.

When the paramedics and police find you, gardener in tow to help them through the maze, you've lost your words. All you can do is sob, wracked with grief, by his side.

It's the gardener who manages to pull you away, a kindly, greying gentleman who's been working for the family for many years. He speaks softly and kindly when he tells you that Elspeth is waiting for you, that lunch is served.

Unlike the others, you've had no time to change, no time to clean yourself up. You are a mess, looking the way every single one of them feels.

There's a chair pulled up right next to Elspeth, way out of formation from the others, an plate of food sat there too. Somehow you know it's for you. When you sit, she gives you a tight, sad smile, and reaches out.

"Eat up, pet," she insists, giving your hand a squeeze when you take hers, "we've all got to keep up our strength." The mince and pie on the plate in front of you is cold. All you can do is cast a helpless gaze around the table to the others. Farleigh sits across from you, unable to look up, unable to touch his food, unable to move. Venetia is at the other end of the table, hand shaking on the wine bottle as she appears to contemplate pouring herself another glass; she looks distraught, looks a mess, god you wish you could go hug her. Oliver is observing you all, as he always does, desperately trying to cling to a sense of normalcy despite the way the air all around you seems to be rotting as you sat there.

And there's a gaping hole in the family, at the table, Felix's chair empty, and your regular one beside it. It means something. Means everything. Beneath the table, Elspeth has lowered your joined hands but hasn't let go. You can feel her trembling. With one hand she tries to eat her lunch with a fork, but Duncan interrupts with a request to close the curtains, to shield the family from witnessing Felix's body being taken away.

Still, everything goes to hell as those curtain bathe the room in red light. Despair is the sound of Farleigh sobbing and screaming and Venetia drinking wine until she's all but drowning in it, and Sir James casting Farleigh out after Oliver rats him out for the cocaine at last night's party. It's all set to the squeak of the gurney just outside, heavy with the weight of your best friend's body. Elspeth tries to act like she can't hear it, but her hand in yours is painfully tight, and she can't keep her food down in that moment.

The curtains open, the world is light again, and you still haven't touched your food.

"May I be excused?" You voice is weak as you turn to a still riled up Sir James. There's a tick in his jaw.

"No."

"Please, he's family."

"He's not coming back here, not now, not ever," there was no room for argument in his voice, but you persisted.

"Please let me say goodbye."

Sir James seems to soften, just for a moment, and he casts his gaze to his wife beside you. When you look to Elspeth, she does hesitate, her grip on your hand still tight, but she finally lets go with a dejected nod.

Immediately you're scrambling away, standing so fast from the table that your chair clatters to the ground in your haste, bolting from the room to find Farleigh.

In the foyer, waiting, Duncan standing guard over him a few feet away, Farleigh is sobbing into his hands. When you pull him into a hug, he crumples against you. There are no words in this moment, just a harmony of anguish and despair, the two of you on the pristine marble floor, holding each other for dear life.

There is no coming back from this. Your world has been irrevocably changed, has gotten a little smaller.

That night you curl up in Felix's bed, like you always do. Your world will never be the same.

"Can I come in?" Venetia sounds like she's been crying, and all you can do is nod. Curling up next to you, Venetia is the little spoon, whole body shaking with silent sobs as you hold her tightly. You join her, until your cries become audible, clinging together in your misery.

"Oh, my darlings," from the doorway you hear Elspeth, and immediately Venetia's crying becomes louder, gesturing like a child for her mother to join your all. Shuffling over, you let Elspeth settle herself in the middle, under the duvet, tears in her eyes as you both curl into the only show of genuine connection she's offered all day. Venetia begs her mother to make it stop, to tell her it isn't real, and all Elspeth can do is apologise.

"He's gone, mummy he's gone, how the fuck could this happen to us?!"

Elspeth has no answer.

All three of you sleep uneasily.

During the days that follow, lead up to Felix's funeral, Elspeth requests your company more and more, whilst Sir James seems to have decided that your input, as Felix's closest friend, was necessary for the funeral arrangements. It's taxing to accommodate them all and not break down. Thankfully, during the nights, Venetia doesn't seem to mind if you cry. The two of you take to sharing Felix's bed, like children having a sleep over, holding each other close for comfort, trying to talk when the pain of his absence isn't unbearable.

In between it all you try and make time for Oliver. He watches the way you're stretching yourself thin, always asks how you are, if you need a break or time to yourself. Time to yourself is the last thing you need, you tell him, and he can see the sadness in your smile.

On the day of the funeral, it is you and Sir James who give speeches. When the idea was suggested, you immediately tried to refute it, insisting that Elspeth or Venetia should be the ones to go up, but Venetia gives a sad smile and points out that you knew him better than she did. Elspeth knows she could never make it through even a sentence.

Still, Venetia comes up with you for support, her arm tucked in yours as you read through the carefully prepared documents. Farleigh's in the crowd with red-rimmed eyes; at least Sir James had the good grace to invite him, even if he wasn't allowed to attend the actual burial or wake.

Halfway through your speech, the paper gets blurry and tears cloud your vision and your voice gets stuck in your throat for a moment.

"It's okay," Venetia whispers, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, though she's crying too, "it's okay."

"Felix Catton," you decided to fold up your carefully prepared script, looking out at all attending, all who'd loved him, "was an irreplaceable bright light. Everything about him made the world want to bask in his warmth; I know everyone here knows what I'm talking about," taking a deep breath, looking around to see more than a few nodding heads in the crowd, "Fi was love, and joy, and spontaneity, and he refused to compromise himself for others," and you looked down, squeezing your eyes shut tightly as the ache in your chest began to overwhelm you, "he was unapologetically himself," another shaky breath in before admitting, "he was my whole world," trying to get past the lump in your throat, "and I'm going to miss him for the rest of my life."

It's Venetia who throws Felix's rock into the river, and your turn to support her, holding her tightly as she flinches away from the sound of the rock hitting the water. She cries in your arms until you all make your way back to Saltburn.

"Felix's darling," is what Elspeth has taken to calling you in the past few days. It's clunky to hear, and would be a mouthful to say, but you're not going to protest.

"Yes, mum?" It's what you've taken to calling Elspeth; she hasn't protested that either.

"Of course you're free to say no, but I-" desperately trying to keep up a brave face, it falters slightly when her voice catches, "I'd be very grateful for your company in one of our spare bedrooms. Nothing untoward -" she's quick to clarify, "like a sleepover, when you children were small. I'll get Duncan to bring some kind of snacks, perhaps a charcuterie board? And wine?" She gives a hopeful smile. Never in your life had you heard a request quite like this from Elspeth. But these aren't exactly usual circumstances; who were you to deny a grieving mother?

Elspeth tells you stories from Felix and Venetia's childhood from before you knew them, often with a hint of guilt that it was relayed to her by one of the maid, or footmen, or chefs, or gardeners. Still, it's comforting to you both to hear these stories on such a tragic night. The wine is immaculate and the cheese is, of course, award winning, and if Elspeth is crying quietly while she tries to sleep, holding you close like you're a child again, you don't say anything. There's tears in your eyes too.

But you can't get to sleep. When you see the sky turning pale behind the curtains you ease yourself out of her grip, exhausted in every way possible, as you head to the other side of the estate, back to a more familiar bed.

When you finally get back to Felix's room, you're hit by the overwhelming smell of blood. Dread and nausea wells up in your stomach, the scent growing stronger with each step you take towards the bathroom.

Blonde hair and a blood-filled bathtub. Razor blades and Venetia's blood on the tiles. You think you're going to be sick.

"Ven- Ven!" You're screaming at the top of your lungs, it's barely even dawn. You don't care if you wake Oliver in the next room, god there's horror in the idea that he'd slept just feet away without even knowing.

"Venetia!" You climb in the deep tub, bloody water splashing, overflowing as you pull the plug and try and sit her up higher, sit her mouth and nose out of the water. It's too late, logically you know this, but you're panicking - this can't be happening again. Oliver stumbles in, horror on his face, in his eyes, as he takes in the scene, and you beg him to fetch Duncan, to call and ambulance, sobbing through your adrenaline and fear.

You won't let her be seen in this state, you realise, so you pull her from the bath, wrap her up in a spare robe from her brother's closet, and you sit with her. Your back against the wall you sit her in between your legs, back firm against your chest, propped up, even as her head lolls to the side. All you can do is cry, whispering apologies into the damp ends of her hair, begging her forgiveness. Your pyjamas are soaked with her blood from the bathtub, but you can't even begin to care.

Elspeth becomes reluctant to let you go.

"Tell me about your adventures with them," she'd ask softly, sitting neatly and cross-legged in the spare bedroom next to the master bedroom where Sir James still spends his nights. Like her daughter before her, she's started requesting that you braid her hair after she's showered for the night. You always oblige her request.

She becomes anxious, it seems, without you around, as if afraid that you'll do something similar to Venetia. You are not yourself around her, you are a remnant of her children, but for the time being she gives you purpose, so you cave to her requests every time. All your clothes are moved into the spare bedroom, and in the quiet of night, Elspeth sounds so sad when she recounts that she stopped Felix and Venetia from crawling into her bed after a nightmare far earlier in their lives than she wishes she had. She always wakes up before you, and never talks about it during the day, but there's something in it for you too. Every night she kisses your forehead, and something aches in your chest at her quiet, loving words;

"I love you, my darling, I'm so proud of you." And you know you're not the child she so desperately wishes she was talking to. But you realise you needed to hear them anyways.

Oliver is still around, quiet, skulking, not quite sure what to do with himself. A lot of the time he joins yourself and Elspeth in whatever activity she had chosen; reading, art, strolling the grounds.

"Isn't he wonderful," Elspeth would say, fondness in her voice, "of course you and our darling Felix love him so, how beautiful he is." Elspeth held fast to you and Oliver, all she had left of her children, though in time it grew almost to the point of suffocation.

"It's because she's worried you'll do something drastic," Oliver tells you softly, the two of you sitting on Felix's balcony, looking out over the lake. Sir James and Elspeth are attending a gala, and Elspeth had been wringing her hands about not having you by her side for the night, but her husband had reminded her that this was the one gala you really couldn't attend, and ordered Duncan to always have you in line of sight.

"Like Venetia?" You'd asked, wine drunk and indulging in your night of freedom. Oliver is very quiet, but you know he's thinking the same thing. When you look over your shoulder, you see Duncan, stoic as ever, behind the glass doors, giving your conversation privacy but still always watching. You implore him to get another bottle of wine, and promise you won't make any rash or sudden moves. Oliver snorts into his own bottle, but Duncan seems less than impressed. Still, he obliges, and for a few moments you and Oliver are entirely alone.

"Is it like Farleigh?" Oliver finally asks, before shaking his head with a frown, back tracking, "no, forget I said -"

"Is what like Farleigh?" Intrigued and feeling indulgent, you lean your head against him, the two of you on the wicker sofa. For another few beats, Oliver is still quiet.

"Are they paying for you?" He murmurs, "is that why you stay?" You make a noncommittal noise in the back of your throat, shifting a little.

"Is that what you think of me, Ollie?"

"I don't know," he admits, "no-one really talks about why you're here."

"I don't think anyone thought it mattered; I'm here because Felix is my best friend and the others don't mind me being here," you sit up, gesturing broadly out to the grounds with a wide smile and open hand, "I could be anything I want, anywhere I want, and I chose Saltburn." Sitting back down, you settle against him, and thank Duncan as he slithers back into your view with a fresh bottle of wine.

"Is that what you tell yourself?" Oliver sounds almost a little rueful as he says it, but all you can do is snort with laughter, unsurprised that he doesn't believe you.

"Do you think I wasn't allowed at this gala tonight because I was, what, too poor?" He doesn't exactly have an answer for you, so you continue on anyways, "Ollie, my parents were hosting it; they just hate being reminded that they have a kid." It's the way you have nothing, nothing, nothing that loves you other than these memories, these two broken parents, that makes you bark a humourless laugh, "funny, isn't it?" Your eyes start misting over, and you can't look at Oliver for your thoughts and the grief as it wells up inside of you, "how I got the family I always wanted," a wide, ugly smile stretches across your face as the tears begin to pour, as it really, truly hits you, "all it cost me was fucking everything else."

("You should have let them go to the gala," years later he will tell a comatose Elspeth, barely clinging to life as he watches over her and the machines keeping her breathing, "you should have known they'd do something drastic." He takes an inhale, faint smile quirking at the edge of his mouth as he considers, but can't bring himself to look at Elspeth during these moments of his confessional.

"You had everything you needed in them; the ghost of your selfish children calling their best friend home, haunting us all even when they were gone. I admit, I was selfish, you didn't need me. No," he reconsiders, shaking his head with a frown, "they were selfish; they could have had the world and yet they chose to haunt you, haunt us."

"They were cute with Felix though, weren't they? Best friend. Soulmate. Dog. Says he was their everything, and I think Felix thought that about them too. Always tangled up in each other, weren't they? Something very Romeo and Juliet about them; romantic," he tried not to give a wicked grin at the thought, "that they'd kill themselves the same way he'd died."

"You never did ask why I was so sure Farleigh still had cocaine in his room after the party.")

#saltburn x reader #felix catton x reader x oliver quick #felix catton x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #oliver quick x reader #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick x you #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick x y/n #felix catton x you x oliver quick #head heart hand fic #manic writer

[wingedblooms]

Elain Archeron, member of The Tortured Poets Department

i’m hearing voices like a madman - so high school

i’m seeing visions / am I bad or mad or wise? - guilty as sin?

you can mark my words that I said it first / in a mourning warning, no one heard - cassandra

and for a fortnight there, we were forever - fortnight

leaving me bereft and reeling / my beloved ghost and me / sitting in a tree / d-y-i-n-g - how did it end?

i saw in my mind fairy lights through the mist - so long, london

i cry a lot, but I am so productive, it's an art - i can do it with a broken heart

but my bare hands paved their paths / you don't get to tell me about "sad" - who’s afraid of little old me?

so I leap from the gallows and I levitate down your street / crash the party like a record scratch as I scream / "who's afraid of little old me?" / you should be - who’s afraid of little old me?

i hate it here so I will go to secret gardens in my mind - i hate it here

one slip and fallin' back into the hedge maze […] i keep recalling things we never did - guilty as sin?

these fatal fantasies / giving way to labored breath, takin' all of me / we’ve already done it in my head / if it's make-believe / why does it feel like a vow we'll both uphold somehow? - guilty as sin?

wise men once said / "one bad seed kills the garden" / "one less temptress, one less dagger to sharpen" / locked me up in towers / but I'd visit in your dreams / and they tried to warn you about me - the albatross

a rose by any other name is a scandal / cautions issued, he stood - the albatross

i spied the catch in your breath - i look in people’s windows

what if I roll the stone away? / they’re gonna crucify me anyway / what if the way you hold me is actually what's holy? - guilty as sin?

"stay away from her" / the saboteurs protested too much - but daddy i love him

crashin' into him tonight, he's a paradox - guilty as sin?

it’s happenin' again / how did it end? / i can't pretend like I understand - how did it end?

this cage was once just fine / am I allowed to cry? / i dream of crackin' locks - guilty as sin?

thought I caught lightning in a bottle / oh, but it's gone again […] please / i’ve been on my knees / change the prophecy / don't want money / just someone who wants my company / let it once be me - the prophecy

cards on thе table / mine play out like fools in a fablе […] poison blood from the wound of the pricked hand / oh, still I dream of him - the prophecy

lilac short skirt, the one that fits me like skin […] and I'll tell you one thing, honey / i can tell when somebody still wants me, come clean - imgonnagetyouback

i, i hear thе whispers in your eyes / i’ll make you wanna think twice / you'll find that you were never not mine / (you’re mine) - imgonnagetyouback

'cause the sign on your heart / said it's still reserved for me / honestly, who are we to fight thе alchemy? - the alchemy

i'll tell you something right now / i’d rather burn my whole life down […] i'll tell you something 'bout my good name / it’s mine alone to disgrace / i don't cater to all these vipers dressed in empath's clothing - but daddy i love him

if long-suffering propriety is what they want from me / they don't know how you've haunted me so stunningly / i choose you and me religiously - guilty as sin?

#elain archeron #member of the tortured poets department #elriel #ttpd lyrics #elain 🤝 taylor swift #the tortured poets department

[eddiemunsons80sbaby]

Never Say Never

Chapter 2

Pairing: SingleDad!StevexReader

Summary: You are a 32 year old single mother, raising your seven year old son on your own. After being widowed at 30 and going out on awful dates with disgusting men for the past month, you have decided that you're giving up. You already had your great love. One person can't possibly get lucky enough to have two in their lifetime. But then your son starts playing baseball and the coach might just change your mind about that.

No posting schedule.

18+ only for eventual smut

Word Count: 7.3K

1

“It seems to be just a case of the common cold,” you told the worried mother. “Dr. Wilson said she just needs rest and to make sure she drinks lots of fluids. She should be back to herself within a few days.”

“Thanks. I know I’m probably being silly rushing her in here but she kept waking up last night, crying, and I’m all alone. I’ve just been exhausted having to do everything on my own. It’s been so hard. And with her not feeling well, neither of us have gotten much sleep the last few days. My husband’s in the Air Force and he’s currently deployed and we don’t know when he’s going to get to come back home and my parents live three hundred miles away.”

Deep breath in, deep breath out. Let the feeling come. Acknowledge the feeling and then move forward. You closed your eyes for a moment, centering yourself, not letting this one burrow too far in before you forced it back. Maybe you weren't supposed to push them away but sometimes it was necessary. Like now. You couldn’t be the nurse who assured the nervous mother if you were busy trying to find three things to look at, smell, and move. It wasn’t reassuring to have your medical professional falling apart in front of you.

Pressing your index finger to your thumb, you allowed yourself to feel the sensation, to know you were here. You weren't back there. No one was waiting on the other side of the door to give you the news that would send a wrecking ball through the middle of your life, destroying and altering it forever. You were strong. You were handling it. You were moving forward. Opening your eyes, you put on your best smile. 

“Of course. I can’t imagine how challenging that must be for you.” Actually, you could, but this was not the time or place to share your own story. This was the time to be an empathetic ear, to listen to your patient. It was not the time to unpack your own trauma or make this about yourself. “Please, no need to apologize. You call us whenever you need to. It’s always better to be safe than sorry.”

The mother thanked you, lifting her three year old into her arms. You directed her which way to go. Parents often got a bit turned around in this place, the hallways like a maze to the various exam rooms, like a figure eight. This practice was a thriving one, one that kept you very busy, your days packed with back-to-back appointments. But you preferred it that way. It made your days go faster. 

After you finished college with your Bachelor’s of Science in nursing, you had immediately gotten a job at the local hospital. You'd loved it. The hours were long and you were exhausted all the time but it had been fast-paced and so rewarding. However, it had also been heartbreaking as some children who came into the hospital were there to stay and would never again leave. They would never get tucked into their own bed again, never run through their own backyard again, never sit on the floor of their living room on a Saturday morning eating cereal while watching cartoons again. The job had not just been physically exhausting but mentally and emotionally exhausting as well. 

After you'd found out you were expecting Eli, Justin had suggested that maybe you needed something a bit more predictable. It would be hard for you to work twelve hour shifts with a baby at home. It would be even harder to watch children suffer, watch parents in the darkest moments of their lives, when you had a little one at home. You weren't sure how you could face that kind of heartbreak and then go home to your own child, hoping it never happened to you.

Still, you wouldn’t have given it up if it weren’t for Justin being in the military. With his job, he would often be gone for months at a time, leaving you alone. It hadn’t been a problem before but with your parents living across the country and his parents more than three hours away, you were limited when it came to help. So, you'd applied to the new local pediatrician's office, delighted when you got a call that same week, inviting you in for an interview. 

You'd been there ever since, watching as Dr. Wilson’s practice grew. He was young, just a bit older than you, and new to the job but his warm demeanor and empathetic ear quickly had every mom in town bringing their child to him. It probably didn’t hurt that he was pretty damn good looking too. 

“Hey Rita, I’m going to take my lunch if I don’t have any more patients for a bit,” you told your receptionist as you placed the child’s file into the cabinet. 

“That’s fine. Your next appointment isn’t for an hour so you’re good. I’ll have Sarah handle anything that pops up while you’re out.”

“Thanks.”

You grabbed your lunch bag from the fridge and made your way out of the office, heading for the pond. When it was nice out, you always chose to eat your lunch out here, a little escape from the fluorescent lights and germs of the office. Finding a bench, you sat down, pulling out your bologna sandwich. It wasn’t your usual choice but it had simply felt easier to make two this morning instead of trying to come up with something else for yourself. 

You pulled out your phone, dialing the number of the one person you'd been desperate to talk to after the events of yesterday. Janice was a photographer. She did great business and had multiple clients who came back to her again and again for family portraits, baby pictures, and senior photos. She worked from home, which also meant her hours were flexible and she was almost always available to take your calls. Sure enough, your best friend picked up after two rings. 

“Are you sitting under your tree?”

You laughed, “How did you know?”

“Because it’s your lunchtime and that’s what you always do when the sun is shining. Are the geese around?”

“Yep. The five little babies are swimming with mom and dad. They’re so cute. Little brown fluffballs that look so soft and sweet. I just want to cuddle them.”

“I wouldn’t try it. Geese can be nasty.”

“You don’t have to tell me. Remember when Eli was two and he wanted to feed them and those two geese hissed and opened their wings wide when he got too close. We didn’t know they had a nest right there. I know they were just protecting their babies but that scared the shit out of me.”

“Well, Eli’s your baby. Of course you were scared,” Janice laughed. “Oh my god. That poor kid. He won’t go anywhere near them now. It cemented itself into his brain and gave him a complex. He’ll probably hate those feathered fiends for the rest of his life. So, how was his first baseball practice? Did he love it? Matt can’t wait to talk to him about it.”

“He did. He talked my ear off the whole way home. His best friend is on his team and his coach is the kid’s dad. He loves him and said he was so nice and fun. He’s really patient with the kids. When Eli missed the ball for the third time, he was so upset with himself. The coach was so sweet, giving him some pointers, and assuring him he could do it.”

“Oh…okay, hold on. Wait a minute. Why do you sound like that when you’re talking about his coach?”

“Like what?” you demanded. 

“Like you did in high school when you used to talk about Josh.”

“What? No I don’t.”

“Yeah you do! You’re all gushy. You sound like a Disney princess about to break into song among the forest animals who are going to help you clean your home about the guy you just met in the woods.”

You snorted, “Oh please. No I don’t. I’m just glad that his coach is so kind since Eli is new at this.”

“Uh-huh…so, this coach isn’t cute?”

“I mean, yeah, he is…objectively speaking, most women would say he was very attractive.”

“Most women, huh? And what about you?”

“Yes, okay? Yes, I think he’s very attractive. Anyone with eyes would see that he is good-looking. You should have heard the moms at practice going on about his ass. Married moms basically saying they would cheat on their husbands for this guy. I swear, the housewives club is scary. But it’s just…he’s just Eli’s coach. His son is coming over to our house later today to play with Eli.”

Steve was attractive. Hell, he was possibly the most attractive man you'd ever laid eyes on and that made the guilt just twist in your stomach even harder. Justin had been the love of your life. How could you be so turned around by some guy you barely even knew? You'd spoken for all of three minutes. You didn’t know anything about him besides the fact that he coached kids baseball. 

“Oh, is he now?”

“Janice, stop. Eli and Jeremiah have become best friends this year and Eli asked forever ago if he could come over and I completely forgot about it and it never happened. He asked again yesterday so I promised him I would set it up. That’s all it is.”

“And is his dad coming over to play too?”

You groaned, your hand coming to y our forehead, “Do you have to say it like that? And no he’s not. He has a work meeting. So, I’m kind of helping him out, I guess, but not really because I was going to invite the kid over anyway.”

“So, he’s just dropping him off and picking him up?”

“Well, he may have offered to grab a pizza on his way back to thank me for watching his kid. Which is completely unnecessary because I asked for him to come over before he ever told me about his meeting. I wouldn’t even have known I was babysitting for him if he wouldn’t have told me about it. I never would have expected him to hang around while our kids hung out.”

“Hmm, so you’re going to be having dinner with him, then?”

“And our kids,” you reminded her. 

Janice had this all wrong. Of course she did. He was just being friendly. Your kids were friends and they wanted to spend time together. He’d said it himself, you were helping him out of a bind with childcare issues. That was all. He was just being nice and buying everybody dinner. Your sons were going to be there. It wasn’t like it was a date. 

“Still. You know, I said maybe you could find a hot, single dad at practice and look at you, finding one on the first go! He is single, right?”

“I think so. He said his best friend was busy and he had no one else to watch Jeremiah. That would make me think the mom isn’t in the picture but I honestly have no idea. We barely talked because he had to start the practice.”

“Well, you should have plenty of time to talk tonight and get clarification on his status.”

“I don’t need clarification on his status. I told you, I’m done with all of that. I had Justin. There is no way I will ever find anything that can begin to compare with what we had.”

“You definitely won’t if you just throw in the towel. Come on, Aly. Would it really be so bad to just talk to him a bit? I’m not saying you have to jump his bones tonight. I mean, probably wouldn’t hurt. You haven’t been laid in two years, my friend. Your vagina could use some airing out. Clear all the cobwebs that have settled, you know?”

“Jesus, you are so foul,” you sighed, catching sight of a young family heading into the office. The dad had a little boy on his shoulders. He said something to the mom and she grinned, leaning up onto her toes to kiss him. The sight sent familiar pangs of the loss of what could have been, what should have been, through you. 

“Maybe but you know I’m right. Anyway, if you’re going to be such a prude, then just talk to him. Be his friend. If your kids like each other that much, chances are this won’t be the only time you’re around each other. And then who knows?”

“Yeah…who knows…” you sighed, thinking you did know. The universe was never going to let you get that lucky twice. Something had to be wrong with this guy.

___________________________________________________________

You folded the towel from the dryer as you watched Jeremiah and Eli race around the backyard, dressed up in Eli’s superhero costumes. Your son had an entire bin of them. He was obsessed. Comic books and action figures covered the shelves in his bedroom. Eli had always loved superheroes but Matt, who was a self-proclaimed, very proud nerd, had gotten him into comics. Most of the items Eli now had came from Matt himself, stuff he’d kept since he was a kid.

You'd survived the drop-off, being cordial and friendly without giving off any signals that you were interested in anything more. At least, you thought you were. It was hard to concentrate when that man looked so damn good, standing there in gray slacks and a yellow sweater. When his cologne hit your olfactory nerves, a woodsy scent of sandalwood and pine, you had gripped the door frame, fighting back the swoon that was quickly coming on. But no, you were sure you kept things professional, just two parents in the midst of an exchange for a playdate. 

Besides, you weren't even sure you were interested in anything more. You didn’t even know how to do more at this point. It had been so long since you'd spent real time with any man that wasn’t Justin or Matt. And even if Janice kept pushing you to move on, even if it had been two years, you weren't sure you were ready. 

And you weren't sure if Eli would be ready. His therapist said he was doing well. He had adjusted as best as you could expect a child who’d lost his father to adjust. But did that mean he was ready to see his mom with a new guy? Was it fair to bring someone new into his life that could just disappear? What if you started something with someone and it ended badly and he lost another male figure and his best friend at the same time? Would he be so well adjusted then? He had settled into their routine, him and you against the world. You weren't sure you could change that on him. 

He’d only been five when it happened but you had made sure that he’d never forgotten his daddy. A picture of him and Justin sat on his nightstand by his bed. It was one of your favorites, taken at the pumpkin farm when Eli was four. He held a giant pumpkin, looking so proud, when really Justin was holding the bottom of it for him, both of them beaming their matching smiles. 

The two of you talked about him often, you sharing stories with him of you and Justin and him and Justin. Reminded him how much his daddy had loved him. You couldn’t allow him to forget. You couldn’t do that to Justin whose smile could have lit up the entire planet the first time he laid eyes on his son. 

“Mommy! We’re hungry!” Eli yelled as he and Jeremiah came racing in the back door. 

You glanced over at the clock, “Well, Jeremiah’s dad is bringing pizza and he should be here any minute. Do you think Superman and Batman can wait just a few minutes to eat?”

Eli groaned, dramatically tumbling down to the floor, “But fighting crime and saving the world is hard work. It makes us so hungry, mommy.”

“Okay…how about you two have some strawberries?” you offered, thinking it wouldn’t be too filling and it would get something good in their system before they loaded up on carbs and cheese. 

“Strawberries!” Jeremiah’s eyes lit up. “They’re my favorite fruit. Daddy takes me strawberry picking every single year and we get a ton. My daddy makes strawberry jam and it’s so good on my toast.” His eyes went wide, shooting over to Eli. “Hey! I’ll ask my dad if you guys can come this year! It’s super fun. They have goats, cows, chickens, and ponies that you can ride!”

“Can we mommy?” Eli asked, turning those sweet blue eyes up at you. 

“I…uh…I mean, strawberry picking around here isn’t for another month or so. But, maybe, I guess? I mean, if Eli’s daddy wants to take you too, that would be fine.”

“You can come too!” Jeremiah told you. “They have other stuff there like fancy soaps and stuff that they make. My mommy used to like those.”

“Oh, well, maybe…” you muttered as you busied yourself with getting out the strawberries. You ran them under water before working at slicing them onto a plate for the boys to share. 

His mommy used to like those? So, she’d been around during his life, obviously. Enough for him to remember going strawberry picking with them. Unless, like Eli, he was repeating stories his dad had shared with him.  Where was she now? Had she left? Had she died? You couldn’t very well ask a little boy. What if she had passed? You couldn’t bring up that pain for him. 

“Did we ever go strawberry picking with daddy?” asked Eli as the boys sat down at the table, the plate of strawberries between them.

You swallowed, “No. We didn’t go strawberry picking but we used to go to the apple orchard every fall and daddy would put you up on his shoulders so you could get the apples. And we always went to the pumpkin farm too.”

“We still do that!”

“Yes we do,” you smiled as you washed your hands. You worked so hard to keep the traditions that you and Justin started alive. It was another way for you to remind your son how incredible the five short years he had with his dad was. You looked up when there was a knock at the door, drying your hands on a kitchen towel. “I bet that’s Jeremiah’s daddy with the pizza.”

Smoothing your hands over your hair, you inhaled deeply, reminding yourself that this was just two parents whose kids had become best friends getting to know each other. No pressure. No reason to be nervous. You were simply trying to be good parents. 

Grabbing onto the door, you swung it open, only to feel like the entire world had turned upside down at the sight of Steve. There he stood in those slacks and that yellow sweater that looked so damn good on him. Not many people could pull off yellow but boy, he could. His right arm was raised, two pizza boxes balancing on his hand and a smile that could have outshone the sun on his face. 

“Pizza, as promised,” he announced. 

Gathering yourself, you returned his smile, “The boys will be very relieved. Superman and Batman have been battling the forces of evil all afternoon and they are wasting away to nothing.”

Steve’s cheeks hollowed out as he released a long, audible breath, “Can’t have that. How will they ever keep the city safe if we don’t recharge them with greasy pizza? But seriously, I hope he was good for you.”

“He was great,” you assured him. “Seriously.”

“Good. Thanks again. You were a real lifesaver.”

“No problem. I…”

“Daddy! Where’s the pizza!?” came Jeremiah’s whine from the kitchen, loud and impatient. 

“Sorry. It’s right here.” Steve grinned, tossing you a wink that had you dazed, before making his way into the kitchen, plopping the boxes down in the middle of the table. “We can’t have Superman and Batman losing their strength. Have to keep them fed so they can keep the city safe. Are we currently in Gotham or Metropolis?”

“Daddy,” Jeremiah sighed, looking exasperated with his father. “Everyone knows both of those places are based on New York City. Then we can be there together.”

“Oh, sorry,” snorted Steve, sharing an amused look with you. “I am not as well versed in superhero lore as you.”

“I know. Uncle Dusty knows way more than you.”

“Of course he does because Uncle Dusty is so much cooler than your boring, old dad.” Steve rolled his eyes, pulling out the chair next to Jeremiah and having a seat. 

“You have a brother?” you asked as you stretched your arm up to retrieve the plastic paper plate holders from the top shelf. Turning, your breath caught in your throat. Steve’s eyes were watching you, focused on your midsection, right where your sweater had ridden up when you'd reached for the plates. He quickly looked down at his son as you cleared your throat and set the holders and plates on the table. 

“Uhh…no. I mean, not really,” he laughed. “Dustin isn’t actually my brother. I used to babysit him actually. I helped him out one day. There were some older kids picking on him and his friends at the park and I stepped in. Anyway, he went home and told his mom about this cool teenager and she tracked me down and asked if I’d be interested in babysitting. I think she really just wanted him to have a guy in his life. His dad died when he was young and he was an only child. Anyway, he was ten and I was sixteen and he just latched on like a leech and stuck. So…” He balanced his elbows on the table, hands facing up. “I guess he’s mine now. Him and Jere, here, are really close. Jere is into all the nerdy stuff that Dustin likes so Dustin is like his hero.”

“Uncle Dusty is amazing! He taught me how to make a homemade rocket,” Jeremiah told you, his smile so like his dad’s. 

But his eyes were different, a beautiful blue like the color of the ocean on a sunny day. And his nose was rounded, a cute little button, the complete opposite of Steve’s which was longer and pointed, almost Romanesque. He must have gotten those features from his mom, which left you wondering where she was again. 

“Yeah, and you almost burned the garage down. That thing singed the walls. I had to pull out the fire extinguisher,” Steve reminded his son, grabbing plates and placing them into the holders. 

Eli’s eyes went wide, “You almost started a fire?”

“Only a little one but you should have seen the rocket. It zoomed around the garage and then flew out and went bang! It was so cool.”

“Yeah, real cool,” Steve rolled his eyes. 

“Daddy, did you get just cheese?” asked Jeremiah as Steve moved to open one of the boxes.

“Of course, kid. Do you think I’m new here?” He reached over, ruffling his son’s hair, causing Jeremiah to giggle and that familiar pain, the pain that reminded you of everything your son was missing out on, tightened around you once again. Steve looked up at you. “I got one cheese and one pepperoni. I figured those were safe bets since I don’t know what either of you like. Hope that’s okay?”

“I love cheese too!” Eli told him eagerly, grinning over at Steve. “And mommy usually gets bacon and pineapple for herself but she likes all pizza. Pizza is our favorite food. We have it every Friday and watch a movie.”

“Pineapple on pizza?” Steve questioned skeptically, that beautiful nose crinkling. 

“Hey, don’t knock it until you try it,” you teased with a laugh, pouring milk for the kids. “My husb…” You paused, swallowing hard before taking the seat between Steve and Eli. But why shouldn’t you talk about Justin? Steve had to know Eli didn’t arrive by immaculate conception. “My husband thought I was crazy too. He was more of a pepperoni and green onions kind of guy. But my roommate in college is the one who got me into it. She ordered it one night and I was skeptical too but the combination of sweet and savory is delicious.”

“I think I’ll just have to take your word on that one,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Fruit on pizza.” He looked over at the boys, one of those long, thick fingers swirling around by his ear. “Can you believe that? She’s nuts.”

Eli giggled as Steve plopped a piece of cheese on his plate, “My mommy can be crazy. Sometimes we do backward dinner.”

Steve’s lips pursed, head tilted, “Backward dinner? What’s that?”

“It’s where we have dessert first. So, we’ll have hot fudge sundaes and then we’ll have chicken nuggets and vegetables. It’s my favorite kind of dinner because I don’t have to eat all my vegetables before I get my dessert.”

“Oh, that does sound like a good deal because dessert is the best part of the meal,” Steve agreed with a nod. 

“I mean, it’s only done sometimes as a special treat.” You didn’t know why you felt the need to justify yourself but you did. “I do make sure he eats healthy.”

Steve laughed, “I’m sure you do. Sometimes Jere Bear and I like to have ice cream for dinner, don’t we?”

“Yeah! My daddy used to work at Scoops Ahoy and they have the best ice cream! I always get a banana split and daddy gets the U.S.S. Butterscotch.”

“Mmm, the U.S.S. Butterscotch is my favorite,” you grinned. “Eli always gets the hot fudge sundae.”

“With extra fudge!” he added. 

“Obviously,” Steve scoffed. “You can never have too much fudge.”

“So, how long ago was this when you worked at Scoops Ahoy?” you asked, picturing him in their little sailor outfit. You couldn’t deny that it gave you a little thrill of pleasure.

“Oh god, it’s been years now. I worked there right out of high school. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life and when I couldn’t even get into community college, my father forced me to get a job. Said I needed to know what it was like to earn a working man’s wage.” He snorted harshly, leaving you with the impression that his relationship with his father wasn’t a particularly good one. “Anyway, I worked there for a couple years. That’s actually how I met my best friend, Robin.”

“And I assume you did figure out what you wanted to do with your life since you had a work meeting tonight?”

Steve took a large bite of his pizza, the slice folded up in his hand, “I’m a project manager for a construction company.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that job. What exactly do you do?”

“I oversee the building process, make sure everything is completed on time and within budget. I work with the architects and the engineers to develop plans, establish timelines for different phases to be complete, and calculate what labor and materials are going to cost. That’s what my meeting was about tonight actually. We just got a contract for a new subdivision they’re putting in off of Cherry. It’s a big job. We’re thinking it’s going to take about two years.”

“Wow, that’s a long time.”

“Not really when you consider we’re building around sixty new houses. It’s a good thing really, means my team will have plenty of work to do for a while. Steady income, you know? Nothing’s worse than having to lay someone off, knowing you’re possibly making their life impossible.”

“What’s laying off?” asked Eli. 

“Well, when we don’t have enough work to do, then we don’t have the money to pay people. So, I have to tell them that we’re letting them go for a while. It’s not really getting fired because you hope you can call them back when there’s more work. They can apply to get money from the government but it’s not nearly as much as they make when they’re working. That can make it hard for them to feed their families and pay their bills.”

“That seems mean,” Eli commented. “Why do you do it?”

“I don’t want to do it. But when the money’s not there, we have no way to pay them. It happens a lot in the wintertime because there’s not as much building when the weather’s bad. That’s why this job is such a good thing because it will be steady work for the next two winters. I won’t have to worry and neither will my guys.”

“Well, that’s good. Did you have to go to school for that or like a trade school?” you inquired. 

“No college. I don’t think I was ever made for college. I struggled through high school. Of course, that could have been because I was interested in everything else but high school. That’s why I’m so glad my kiddo here got his mom’s brains. She was an overachiever, still is. I actually started just like my guys, doing the construction part. I got interested in how the job runs and wound up getting my certification. And about four years ago, they promoted me to project manager.”

So Mom definitely wasn’t gone but then why did he need a babysitter? Maybe she was busy too? Or maybe she lived out of town and they shared custody? And this was none of your business. Why were you so interested in what the situation was with mom? 

“Wow, that’s amazing. You must have really impressed them then. Going to college isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, anyway. I’ve told Eli, it all depends on what you want to do with your life. Some jobs don’t require college and they’re just as important. I mean, you build homes. You provide a space for families to start their lives and make memories. I think that’s pretty important work.”

A flush rose up along his neck, bright red against the yellow of his sweater. A small smile curved his lips as he tapped the table before looking up at you. The boys had long given up on your conversation, deeply entrenched in one of their own about the latest episode of X-men: Evolution. 

“I mean, you work in a pediatrician’s office, right? You help sick kids. I think that might be just a bit more important than what I do. But thanks. What do you do in the office, anyway? Are you the doctor?”

You laughed, “No. That was far more schooling than I was interested in doing. I’m a nurse but honestly, we know just as much as they do. Experience is way more educational than sitting in some class, listening to someone talk about stuff. Sometimes, I think we might know more than the doctors do. But Dr. Wilson is great to work with. He’s not one of those guys that talks down to his nurses or acts like he’s superior because he’s got that M.D. after his name. I worked with plenty of misogynist ego-driven jerks when I worked at the hospital. They act like they’re royalty or something. Dr. Wilson actually trusts us and values our input. He makes us feel like a part of a team instead of a dictatorship.”

The conversation flowed easily, the boys jumping in here and there, all four of you laughing and smiling as you enjoyed your pizza. You could not deny the feeling of rightness in this moment, this moment that was everything you had ever wanted for your son. It was a picture perfect moment in time, this little dinner at your kitchen table full of warmth and laughter. 

And no, you weren't insane. It wasn’t that you were looking at this as a family or that you were jumping ten steps ahead of just this pleasant evening. It was just nice to have a full table, to have it not be just you and Eli, to watch your son enjoying himself. He loved when Matt and Janice came for dinner but this was different. He had his best friend with him, the two boys sending each other into hysterics every thirty seconds.

For just this moment, this little slice of time, the weight had been lifted from your shoulders. The constant guilt that you weren't enough, that you could never be enough for your son. You could never be all of the things that he needed you to be. For just this moment, you thought maybe you didn’t have to be if you could surround him with people who provided everything he needed. 

“Alright, kiddo, we should probably get heading home so you can take a shower before bed,” Steve announced around seven thirty, pushing back from the table and standing up. He gathered the paper plates, tossing them in the trash. “Did you want help cleaning up before we head out?”

You waved your hand dismissively, “Oh no. That’s not necessary. Just a quick wipe down of the holders and popping the cups in the dishwasher. It will only take a couple minutes.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, seriously. No big deal. Besides, you bought the dinner so the least I can do is the clean up.”

“Yes, but I brought the dinner to thank you for watching my kid.”

 “Please. I offered to take him and having Jeremiah here saved me from having to wear the Superman cape and run around with Eli all evening. It was nice to just be an average human instead of a superhero tonight.”

“You’re a nurse,” Steve said with a soft smile, leaning into you, causing your heart to skip a beat. “Pretty sure you’re a superhero all the time.”

“Daddy, can Eli come to our house this weekend? Please? He really wants to meet Miles.”

“Miles?” you asked.

“It’s his dog!” Eli told you excitedly. “He wears capes too! Jeremiah said he can be my sidekick, Robin.”

"Which is silly because that's my Aunt Robin's name," Jeremiah added, "but the cape doesn't fit her so good so she's usually Catwoman because it's a mask and a tail."

Steve laughed, “Sure kid. He can come over. If it’s okay with his mom.”

“Fine with me,” you shrugged. Seeing the joy on your son’s face to get to spend time with his friend was all the reason you needed to readily agree. It definitely did not have to do with having the chance to see his dad again. No. That didn’t factor in at all.

“Okay, well, how about this?” Steve knelt down to his son’s level. “We’ve got baseball practice on Saturday until two. Why don’t we all go get ice cream afterward and then Jeremiah and his mom can come meet Miles afterward?”

“All of us?” you questioned, wondering if you'd heard him correctly.

He rose, head tilting forward, those eyes as warm as a chocolate chip cookie coming right out of the oven, and just as delicious. “Why not? I mean, if you have something else to do…”

“No. No, I don’t. I mean, that would be nice. We haven’t gotten ice cream yet since they opened. And I love dogs. Who doesn’t love dogs? Crazy people, right? So obviously meeting your dog would be fun. I just…I mean…yeah, okay.”

He appeared amused with you once again and you wished you could just pull the foot out of your mouth. It appeared to be permanently wedged there whenever he was around. 

“Good. Maybe we can even have a sleepover.” Your breath caught as his mouth dropped open, eyes going wide, one of those hands running nervously through his hair, sweeping it to the side. “I mean the boys. The boys could have a sleepover. At my house. If you’re okay with that?”

Had he meant what you thought he meant? Had that just been an innocent mistake or was he as attracted to you as you were to him? Trying to let your son hang out with his friend was proving to be far more complicated than you thought it would be when you'd approached him on the baseball field. 

“Yeah.” You weren't sure why. You hadn’t even let Eli stay the night anywhere before but there was just something about Steve that you trusted. “Eli would love that, honestly.”

“You’re gonna sleep at my house!” Jeremiah yelled, grabbing Eli’s hands, the two boys jumping around the kitchen. 

“Obviously, they’re both okay with it,” Steve chuckled, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “So, we’ll see you Saturday at practice?”

“Yeah. Saturday.”

You said your goodbyes, the boys both still screeching, talking about how it was only two more sleeps until their sleepover. Steve gave you one last smile and a little finger wave before turning and taking his son’s hand, leading him to his Ford Explorer that was parked just behind your Prius. 

“Mommy, are you and Jeremiah’s dad friends now too?”

“Kind of, I guess,” you shrugged.

“Cool because if you’re friends and want to play with each other all the time then me and Eli can play with each other all the time too!”

You gripped the door, closing it slowly behind you. Your son had no idea the implications of what he’d just said but you definitely did. Your entire body was vibrating with the implications of what he’d just said.

___________________________________________________________

“Daddy, when Eli spends the night can we make a fort like the one we made that one time where it was the whole living room? Remember? And we put up the Christmas lights inside and we put in our sleeping bags and pillows.”

Steve blinked, glancing up at his son in the rearview mirror. He’d completely missed everything that his kid had just said. The boy had been rambling from the moment they’d gotten in the car and he was having trouble focusing, his thoughts completely focused on the last hour of his day. 

You had been consuming all of his brain space since you'd approached him yesterday on the baseball field. Yeah, you were gorgeous. He’d noticed that instantly. Who wouldn’t? But there was something else about you, something that wouldn’t let his brain rest, something that kept poking at him, telling him to do something about these feelings you were stirring up inside him. 

And it had been so long since he’d had anything stirring inside of him. After him and Nancy had split four years ago, Steve had jumped right into another relationship. He struggled with being alone. According to Robin, it was his dysfunctional childhood. The little boy inside of him who never got the love he needed from his parents, constantly seeking it out in someone else. 

According to Robin, that was why he’d married Nancy even though the two of them had been all wrong for each other. He clung to the first solid thing that had come along and refused to see any of the millions of little signs that it wasn’t working. Of course, that was according to Robin, his best friend who thought she knew more about the internal workings of his mind than he did.

He’d dated Stacy for a year, convinced himself that she was the one, told Robin he was thinking of proposing and his obnoxious friend had slapped him upside the head. To be fair, he probably needed a good jarring, something to knock some sense into him. Marrying Stacy would have led to him being twice divorced. She had been even worse for him than Nancy. 

Not that there was anything wrong with Nance. No, she was amazing. She was smart, beautiful, kind, and an absolutely wonderful mother. Neither of them had ever cheated or hurt the other. They simply just weren’t a good fit. It seemed so obvious now when he could see how well her and Jonathan slid together, like two puzzle pieces locking into place perfectly. 

He’d dated a few other women after Stacy, most recently Janet, a single mother that he met at the park last summer. They’d made it about four months before he saw it was going nowhere. She was clingy, pushing for them to move in together, and it was in that moment that he realized he could not see a future with her. The idea of waking up next to her every day was exhausting. He’d ended it and she had not taken it well, calling him every name in the book, very loudly, in the middle of the restaurant he’d taken her to to try to soften the blow.

Steve didn’t lack for options. It felt like the moms of this town were throwing themselves at him constantly, some of them not even single. But none of them fit. None of them made him feel that thing, that thing that Robin said was like the Big Bang, everything exploding and then rearranging into this perfect arrangement. She kept telling him it was called falling in love, not forcing in love. He needed to stop trying to make it happen and just let it come to him. Yeah, well, that was easy for her to see, the girl who’d found the right person in high school.

Was that what he was doing right now? Was he just trying to force something to be what he wanted? Your kids were friends. You'd approached him because you wanted to set up a time for your sons to be able to play. It could be that simple. You might not even be interested in him or in anything. 

He knew your husband had died. Jere had told him that Eli’s dad was in heaven. But he didn’t know how and he didn’t know how long ago. Maybe you were still freshly grieving. You'd definitely struggled when you were talking about him tonight. If you were still in the midst of your grief, the last thing you needed was some guy trying to push you to go out with him sometime. 

No, he probably needed to just take a step back. Cool it off. Yeah, you were beautiful and you seemed far more real than most of the women in this town who were interested in him. But if he tried to force something that wasn’t there, he wouldn’t be the only one to suffer. Jere would too because he would inevitably lose his best friend when things went south. He couldn’t do that to him. 

“Daddy, are you even listening to me?” Jeremiah huffed from the backseat, breaking through Steve’s thoughts. 

“I’m sorry buddy. What did you say?”

“I said can we make a big fort when Eli comes with the lights and our sleeping bags and stuff?”

“Oh yeah. Of course, bud. We can definitely do that. You want to make some s’mores too?”

“Yeah! And can we have popcorn and watch the new Scooby Doo movie too?”

“Absolutely!” Steve replied, grinning in the mirror. “And I can grill some hamburgers and hot dogs. We’ll make it the best sleepover ever, kid.”

His son’s smile stretched from ear to ear, reminding Steve why he very much needed to focus on his son’s happiness instead of his loneliness. No, he didn’t need to jump into another relationship with some woman he’d just met. He was just seeing things he wanted to see, trying to rearrange the pieces into the image he was so desperate for.

“Is Eli's mommy gonna sleepover too? Our fort will be big enough.”

“Uh, no buddy,” Steve answered. “She’s gonna come over and see Miles but she’s not staying.”

“Why not? Don’t you want a friend, daddy?”

Yeah, he did. More than his son could possibly know.

Chapter 3

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[beiiibeii]

Kafka Angst, delicious, thankyou for the food. Okay this was from 11:49-12:21 jeez im tired.

Anyways, here’s thing for you!

“…I remember one morning it was just like any other, you brought coffee and I brought sweets. I remember, you spilled a little of my coffee on the table and made a surprised sound, but despite that, you looked up at me and you laughed. Your eyes were shining in the morning light— In hindsight really.. They’d always done that. A little bit brighter, with the golden sun. That’s the moment I realized I was really truly hopelessly in love with you. I told myself it was a longer mission than usual. That’s all, and yet I couldn’t stop liking you past our little meetings in the morning. I couldn’t help but want to ask more and more about yourself, the silly, little details unrelated to Elio’s script.”

At least, that’s what Kafka would like to say to you. Instead she watched through your window as you cried. Illuminated only by moonlight. It looked as though a meteor shower might be streaking across your face— quick and bright slashes. A sky full of grief, guilt, longing. Kafka couldn’t help but vaguely wondering if you must mirror her own feelings so well. Kafka was a formidable woman, that wasn’t a secret to anyone. What she wanted, she would eventually obtain. However everything else she had taken now seemed so.. Little in comparison to you. So worthless. The one thing Kafka wanted, craved— No. The one thing she needed, she couldn’t have. You. A little bit of water splashes her face. Unsurprising, there’s thunderclouds rolling overhead. Rain was bound to come sooner or later. The water rolls down her cheek, to the corner of her mouth. It takes a moment to register in her brain it’s salty, and the rain has not yet begun to fall.

She looks down at her hands, those hands that have felled many. Her tongue, which has been used to manipulate peoples minds into showing them horrors to last a lifetime, that tongue that has spit thousands of lies. Her eyes, which have watched on as an opponent met a slow, agonizing end. The eyes that showed a frenzied glee at the suffering. How could she ever be worthy of you? The shining bright light in the universe who could never be dimmed. One so pure and precious. She felt her chest tighten in shame. She could never wash the blood from her hands, it stained her entire being. Deep in her mind, a maze to all (even herself) she knew that if given the chance to cleanse her sins, she probably would not take it.

So the Stellaron Hunter turns, quickly scaling her way down to the bustling streets before you might see that familiar shape crouching across the way. Your eyes make their way to the window as you see quick movement, but as fast as it appeared it disappears just as well. And a drop of water hits the glass. And another. Until your window is pelted with the sky’s tears, and the sidewalks are a black mass of umbrellas.

I hope this was this much 🤏 entertaining to you

WHAJHSGD ANONIE?? THIS IS SO AMAZING WAAA IDEK IF I CAN ADD TO IT BC ITS ALREADY PERFECTT!! IM GETTING FED SO WELLL SHJSSJ SOBBING KAFKA ANGST HITTING TOO HARD RN AJSJSJS SHES SO BABYYY I WANNA HUG HERR 😕💗

kafka wears gloves to try to hide the blood that has stained her hands to try to make herself feel better :(

kafka probably has you as a live wallpaper on her phone. she would press down on her phone and the short video of you on that flower field would play. your smiling brightly as the rays of the sunset glowed so beautifully on you. lighting up your smile even more. she looks at it with a bittersweet memories as she reminds herself as to why she joined the stellaron hunters - to understand herself to be a better person and see that beautiful smile on your face everyday. :(

she listens to voice messages or watches videos she has saved of you whenever shes stressed. hearing your voice and the way you smile at her clears her head. calming her down. she can't help but grow a little tired of hearing the same videos and voice recordings. shes determined to get some new ones soon. <3

whenever you post on your snapchat stories, instagram, tiktok, any social media platform, kafka is always on an anonymous account. she constantly comments sweet things under your posts.

"hope you had fun <3"

"so beautiful, like always dear 💗"

"such a pretty smile you have :)"

kafka doesnt even try to change the way she writes to make you not catch on. she likes your posts and is usually the first one to see them too. You can't help but sense the familiarity of the way the commenter writes their comments. its ever so awfully familiar as to how kafka types. you want to believe it but you know its not her :(

kafka secretly hopes you recognise that its her. she knows it won't happen, but she will still keep believing that you will <3

#bei randoms #bei replys #hsr kafka #kafka x reader #kafka honkai star rail

[djarinsbeskar]

HERE, THERE BE MONSTERS: THE MINOTAUR PART 3

A/N: Me? Updating within a week? Surely we're in the wrong timeline, but believe it! This update is indeed a canon event, as is our poor nymph's first encounter with the brutality of the Minotaur. Once again, special thanks to @astroboots for the beta and cosntant hype! Artwork by machiavellicro on deviantart!

Pairing: Minotaur!Din Djarin x Nymph!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ NO Minors)

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: gross misuse of mythology, gore, horror, suggestive themes. Reminder that this is a MONSTER FUCKING fic, so be warned for future chapters.

NOTICE: If you want to keep updated on when I post fic turn on notifications for @djarinsbeskar-writes c:

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Day 4

Something was out there.

Maybe you were naïve to assume the size of the labyrinth would ensure you wouldn’t cross paths with the monster who made his home here, and for several days, you didn’t. 

A gust of wind made you whimper and curl into the pocket of space between raised, gnarled roots of the tree you’d taken shelter in. Burying your face in your knees to wait out the gale, you berated yourself for the nth time for thinking the forest would be a better bet than the maze.

It was so, so much worse.

At least in the maze, there was only four directions, and it was easier to tell when things changed. In the forest, it was next to impossible.

Half the time, you suspected you were the one being altered, not the labyrinth. As though, by some divine power, the wind was sweeping you off to a different part of the prison to disorient you anew. But nothing was crueller than the moments the wind changed nothing.

You knew you should be grateful in those moments, but it had the opposite effect.

It plagued your mind with paranoia, leaving you doubtful of the route you planned to take, your vision tunnelled on trying to find every little difference with frantic eyes and a pounding heart.

Was that tree always there?

Had the next left turn always been that far away? Was it even left? Maybe it was right…

Does the ground feel more uphill than before?

It was hell, and a few days within its snare made you feel aged beyond your cosmic eternity.

But that wasn’t the worst of it… because like all prisons, there was always a gatekeeper.

Something was out there…

Instinct had sent you hiding as you scavenged for fallen walnuts and bramble berries to fill your empty stomach. Like one of Artemis’ deer, your head had snapped up when a sudden hush fell over the land. An unnatural disquiet that was imperceptible at first until you looked up at the organic awning of leaves and branches, none of which were making a sound as they rustled against each other.

A warning breeze disturbed the litter of leaves around you silently, causing goosebumps to erupt with molten adrenaline all over your body.

You hid in the first place you could find, slight enough to fit into such a cramped space entirely, the only perk to a disadvantageous physique that was continuously punished by the unrelenting environment.

Cold water drenched your spine now, locking your bones in place and refused to let you move even as your muscles complained from how small you made yourself huddled between the roots.

And then… whispering.

Humans?

“I’m tellin’ ya,” the voices were faint, far away but still too loud in the oppressive silence, “this dust is comin’ from somewhere.”

In the air, a heavy oppressive presence poisoned the air. Your eyes widened, trepidation coating your tongue in fluff.

Whatever was out there, whatever you sensed, was not them. Your stomach sank at the realization; they were doomed. Walking passengers of Charon… their sacrificial coins blinding them to the death they were walking into.

How did they not feel the atmosphere shift? The potency of malice thickening to a point it felt like even the blood in your veins was congealing, so tight you just knew the tension would have to burst eventually. But too skittish to give your position away lest you suffer another humiliating encounter as you had in the village, you were forced to wait them out and listen.

“We need food, not dust.” The other human grizzled. 

Dread draped over you as your eyes dropped to your muddied feet where your toes curled into the dirt. A faint glimmer of stardust surrounded where you sat and doubtlessly littered anywhere you spent any prolonged amount of time in.

“Are ya kiddin’?” The footsteps stopped, your heartbeat following. “Look at how this shit glows. It could help us navigate this hellhole.  Outside’a havin’ the strength and sword to kill the beast, tha’s the most valuable thing we could have in this place.”

Oh, merciful gods… you lamented, burying your face in your hands.

Your fear and anxiety were so heightened here that, unbeknownst to yourself, a fissure had formed that allowed your essence to escape. Your astral soul was instinctively reacting to the burden of stress placed on your physical body and expelling stardust tracks in a bid to guide you home.

But here, in this netherworld, even it didn’t know what direction to lead you and ended up falling in a flurry of cosmic snow that did the opposite of help. Indeed, it led everyone in the labyrinth to you.

If those people found you…

If he found you.

The thought surfaced just as you realize the voices had halted.

They finally noticed, the atmosphere a tightly drawn back bow and their hurried steps the trigger to finally release it. Suddenly, the vacuum of silence was dispelled, the rustle in the canopy a battle cry of nature and the thick foliage a shield of leaves that continued to separate you from the light of the stars.

The hairs on your arms stood on ends, a drag of fingers up the back of your neck that resulted in a violent shiver when you glanced behind you, paranoid. You inhaled shallowly; lungs suddenly starved of oxygen as though you’d been holding your breath since you first hid.

Maybe the land wasn’t the only thing affected by whatever caused that silence to fall.

And then, as if to prove its iniquitous presence, the silence was finally filled with a dreadful sound.

Crunch… crunch… crunch…

Your stomach dropped into a pool of freezing water, blood pounding in your ears as your heart hammered wildly. The weight behind those footsteps… it wasn’t human. It wasn’t divine. Not even Hephaestus with his mighty hammer and full belly carried the power of this new presence. Every footstep sank into the detritus littered forest floor, telling you in no uncertain terms that whatever was out there… was huge.

Monster…

A tumult of noises, animals fleeing as they were possessed by their instincts, resonated through the air.

Crunch… crunch… sniff… crunch… crunch… crunch… sniff.

Tears welled in your eyes.

You knew, on an instinctive level, what was up there. The very thing that gods and mortals alike spoke about in whispers, a warning tale to scare naughty children into obedience lest they find themselves where you were now.

The Minotaur.

Fear like you’d never known before – not when you’d first been thrown into the labyrinth or even when you were dragged before the Queen of Gods herself – overcame your senses as it consumed you. It eradicated your identity in an icy riptide of terror, dragging you under until only your fear floated and became your entire existence.

A horned silhouette stretched across the treetops in front of you, a shadow among shadows. Darker than the blackest hole and just as hungry to destroy anything that came close to it.

He was close…

You covered your mouth to silence the sob that sought to escape you, unable to blink as you witnessed the shadow of the bull-headed monster hunting you grow as he moved.

He turned his head, a wide muzzle exaggerated in his profile and distorted by the disorderly wall of trees that created a mismatched canvas for his shadow. You watched the silhouette lift his head towards the sky, intentional, measured… followed by another series of sniff sniff sniff.

You didn’t even realize the tears were falling before they pooled in the crevice where your hands were folded over your mouth, tracking down your cheeks in a constant stream as a bugle blared in your mind, resisting the existence of such a nightmarish creature even as you saw his shadow with your waking eyes.

Closer he walked, crunch crunch crunch, his shadow growing from the bovine head to the body of a man—strong, broad shoulders large enough to carry those horns and the defined curve of his muscles evident even through the flatness of his silhouette.

You were trapped.

Bark dug into your back as you pressed as far back into the roots as you could, silent and wishing you possessed the wood nymphs’ ability to sink into the trees themselves for protection. But your salvation was out of reach, far above the trees and cloud cover that the twinkling light of stars couldn’t pierce.

A bellow—bullish and remarkably, with tones of a human voice undercutting it, echoed throughout the forest. The wind carried it farther than it ought to have travelled, in service to him and reminding all who dwelled within this prison, just who the jailor was.

Did he know?

You tucked your knees and feet tighter against your body, eyeing the treacherous trail of stardust in front of you. He only needed to catch sight of the gleam and it would lead him directly to where you hid, cornered against the roots.

You could risk it and run. Either into the maze or up one of the trees, but you had little faith in your speed given your only experience with running was in pleasure. In coy chases through the trees that ended with you sprawled in some meadow with your hunter’s cock buried inside you, claiming the prize you presented.

That train of thought led you somewhere taboo in your mind, somewhere sinful… somewhere you shouldn’t linger as the image of a bovine beastman doing just that flashed across your mind.  

You shied away from it, confused by the sudden rush of adrenaline that banished the cold on your skin. There was a harsh exhale above you, he smelled something.

Get a grip, you scolded yourself harshly. This wasn’t some flirty chase of your own design… where your pursuer even seeing you, let alone catching you was at your will. This was different.

Here, with him… you would be running for your life. And if he ran you down…

What prize did a Minotaur want? Was it the spilling of blood like legend would tell? Was it something more carnal… like all those of flesh and bone desired?

No.

The only other option you had was to remain still and pray he moved on, so you never had to find out. Every step closer he took to the precipice of the roots you were under, however, diminished that hope and when you could practically smell the musk on his skin and fur, hear his exhales, and see the billowing clouds of condensation from his breath, you tried to make peace with the fact that you’d been caught.

But it was not to be your end.

Another bellow proved to be your salvation as the noise broke the courage of the other poor souls hiding close by, those who had followed your stardust and who you initially thought long gone.

Your heart seized at the sound of them scrambling out of hiding and running, their ragged breaths overshadowed by a ferocious snarl as the Minotaur’s shadow whirled around. Instinct overtook him, or luck was on your side, his heavy footfalls charging – too fast – after their fleeing forms and away from you.

There was no relief though, not when the sudden scream some distance away warned of you meeting the same fate if you didn’t move now. The screams were cut off as suddenly as the drop at the hangman’s gallows, that same cruel wind carrying the wet gurgle of flooded windpipes to you.

It chased you as you pulled yourself out of your hiding spot, fleeing the carnage and praying you could put enough distance between you and the carnage. At least until the wind picked up again and dropped you somewhere else in this maze of madness.   

For surely you were going mad… because no matter how fast and far you ran, there could be no other reason that anything other than fear or revulsion should fill you at the thought of that murderous brute.

You hoped you were going mad… to justify the inkling of attraction that continued to simmer low in your navel hours later.

#djarinsbeskarwrites #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin smut #din djarin au #din djarin fanfic #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian smut #mando smut #minotaur!din #minotaur au #the minotaur #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #mando x reader #mando x you #here there be monsters collection #taurus #star wars #star wars au #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic

[helloalycia]

𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 — 𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐍

masterlist / wattpad

summary: you think you're doing a good job at hiding your nightmares from your girlfriend, until one starts to feel awfully realistic.

warning/s: mentions of death, PTSD, murder, bombs and everything else that comes with writing a hunger games one-shot.

author's note: someone requested a comfort fic where reader experiences nightmares, so after a while, this was born! it’s only a short one but who doesn’t love some katniss 🥺

It was still difficult to adjust to my new life in District 13. I suppose I should've been grateful I had it – I was, but a massive part of me would always miss my true home in District 13.

Things weren't the same anymore, and though I was lucky to count myself as one of the minority who escaped the bombings, thanks to Gale and some miners who rescued all they could and led us to the forest, I still missed what I had.

My family weren't so lucky and the survivor's guilt was eating away at me. They were in town the day it happened, the day the bombs dropped from the sky in an instant, showering the whole district in a firework of horror. I didn't see them burn, but my brain still liked to conjure images of them all stuck in town, helpless, as they were engulfed in flames.

It was a lot, especially when it overwhelmed me, but I knew I had to push on. Though my family were gone, I still had Katniss and, in a way, she was my family too.

She hated District 13 as much as I did, but she made more of a point about it. After everything she endured in both Hunger Games, particularly the second one which was a whirlwind for her, she wasn't the same and I didn't expect her to be. But it meant I only worried for her more, no matter if it was something simple like her straying from the hyper-strict District 13 schedule we all received, or something heart wrenching like her suffering a panic attack, no doubt induced by her PTSD.

As the face of the rebellion, she had a lot on her plate and the last thing I wanted to worry her about were my own problems. Sometimes though, it got the better of me.

It was like any other nightmare I'd had about them, but this felt so much more real. I was stuck, as if my feet were cemented into the ground, and forced to watch the bombs rain down on District 12. My family were there – my parents and younger sister – but no matter how much I screamed at them to leave, they couldn't hear me. I wasn't sure whether my voice was stuck in my throat or being drowned out by the falling of bombs, but it was as if I were invisible to them.

The smoke was thick, swallowing up my screams and leaving my eyes watery. I couldn't see them, but I knew. They'd been stolen from me and the pain in my heart was immeasurable. Just like all my other nightmares of them, I couldn't save them here either.

I was usually quite good at hiding my sleepless nights, but this one felt so horribly realistic that it had me waking up with a start. My heart was racing so fast I thought it would jump from my chest, and as I blinked away the tears in my eyes, I realised it was only a dream.

"Y/N."

Katniss was hovering above me, her blue-grey eyes bright in the dimly lit room we shared, and it helped settle me slightly, the familiarity of her presence. She pulled me up gently before engulfing me in a hug, and I realised it was because I was trembling so much my bones were hurting, the aftermath of how tense I'd been. Even as she held me, it took me a moment to understand where I was, what my reality was.

We were in our shared room in the bowels of District 13's underground maze. It must've been the middle of the night or something, the two of us in bed. 

"It was just a dream," she murmured into my neck as her hand stroked my hair. "You're here. It's not real."

I swallowed thickly, fresh tears welling in my eyes as scenes of fire and death filled my mind once more. "It is. It happened. They're– they're gone."

She didn't know what I meant, not at first, but I saw it all perfectly clear, and my heart was crumbling as I accepted, over and over, that my family were truly gone. I'd never see them again.

My eyes screwed shut as I tried to regulate my breathing, following the steady rhythm of Katniss' as she held me close. Her hand rubbed soothing circles on my back, grounding me, and I eventually got to a point where I was no longer in fight or flight mode.

"I'm sorry," I breathed out, too quietly to be heard. I pulled back slightly, trying again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you."

Her hand cupped my cheek as she met my eyes. "Don't apologise."

All I could think was how exhausted she looked. Her own sleep wasn't great lately and events like this weren't helping with the million and one things she had to worry about. The guilt deepened as I looked away with uncertainty.

"Come here," she encouraged, lying back down and spreading out her arms.

I wasted no time in crawling back to my pillow, though this time straight into her arms. She held me close and I focused on the warmth she radiated, the steady beat of her heart, the feeling of her fingertips pressed to my back.

"Do you dream of them often?" she asked softly, lips brushing my hair.

I swallowed hard, hoping she'd let it go.

"Y/N...," she coaxed disapprovingly.

"It doesn't matter," I spoke, unwilling to escape the safe space between her neck and collarbone.

"It does," she insisted, sternly, before sighing when she realised how strong she was coming on. She fell quiet, and I hoped she would leave it be, but then she said, "I know what it's like. Seeing people you care about haunting you."

She'd lost so many – before the Games, during them and now. How she was still standing was beyond me.

"Sorry, I don't mean to bring up bad memories," I said with a frown, but she shook her head and pulled back slightly, facing me.

"Stop, don't say that," she said with glassy eyes. "Stop minimising your problems."

I gave her a knowing look, one that would usually work when I wasn't still shaken from a nightmare. "Katniss, I'll get over it."

She frowned. "You should've told me."

I scoffed quietly. "And then what? You can't do anything about it. It's just another thing to worry about and–"

"Shut up," she cut me off suddenly.

I sighed. "Katniss..."

"No," she said decisively. "What's the point in all of this? Any of it? If I can't be there for those I love?"

I didn't know what to say, but the way she was looking at me made my insides blossom with appreciation.

"It's all for you," she said with certainty, taking my hand and intertwining her fingers between us. "For my family. For everyone who's ever suffered at the Capitol's hand."

"I know," I said softly. "But–"

"But what?" she said, voice rising now, eyes darting between mine. When I didn't speak, she continued, "Fine, forget all that. But even if I wasn't the Mockingjay, even if this rebellion wasn't happening, Y/N, I'd want to be there for you as your girlfriend. I love you. I just want to help. So, you have to let me."

I hated that she was right. If the roles were reversed, I would have wanted the same. The way Katniss loved wasn't like anyone I'd ever met, but I wouldn't have traded it for anything else.

I nodded in response, unsure how to articulate what I was feeling as she watched me with adoration. She moved forward to hug me, so tightly that I should have complained, but I couldn't get enough.

We soon settled into one another, the covers pulled to our shoulders as I slotted myself back into the safe space in the crook of her neck. A quiet fell upon us, one I hated to break, but we were finally sharing and I was afraid that if I didn't say everything I felt, I'd go back to hiding it again.

"I can't lose you," I admitted.

"You won't."

I shook my head slightly. "You don't know that."

She knew I was right. With all the uncertainties of our predicament, and everything that came with being the face of the rebellion, it wasn't her choice. As capable as I knew she was, there was still the what ifs. Those were what haunted me.

"I sometimes dream about you," I whispered, too afraid to say it any louder because it felt so stupid to admit. "I dream you win. That this war against the Capitol is over. Snow is dead. They're not in control anymore. But you... you're not here. You're gone. You win, but the price is your life."

She didn't speak, patiently allowing me to finish, but her arms tightened around me comfortingly.

"It's selfish, I know," I admitted, hoping my tears weren't soaking her shirt, "but I'm not sure it would be worth it. Not if it meant losing you."

She didn't say anything at first, my words left lingering in the dark between us. But then: "I'm not planning on dying."

I closed my eyes, a helpless sigh escaping my lips. She wouldn't understand. I didn't expect her to.

"It would be worth it," she said considerately, fingers tangling in my hair. "It's hard to see that now, but it would be."

"I disagree," I said stubbornly.

"Well, you never agree with me anyway, do you?"

I sighed again, though a ghost of a smile was on my lips. She kissed the top of my head, her own smile present.

"It's my thing to work on, I know," I said after a pause.

"You're not alone," she reminded me.

"Neither are you," I retorted.

She exhaled gently. "I know."

We both fell quiet and I stayed in that position as she played with my hair, the silence stretching into a comfortable peace. It was easy to start drifting off once more, the sound of her heart acting as a lullaby.

"I love you," she whispered.

I mumbled it back, half asleep, and felt her lips press to my head again before she shuffled slightly to get more comfortable. My eyes were already closed, and I fell asleep soon enough, grateful for her presence.

#katniss everdeen x you #katniss everdeen #katniss everdeen x reader #the hunger games imagine #the hunger games #thg #thg imagine #jennifer lawrence