#Red Alert Concert

[choicegotit]

DJ SCRATCH LIVE ON STAGE IN GUN SMOKE NEW YORK

[em1i2a3]

I’m On Fire

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!

Summary: The heating unit in the compound breaks during the peak of winter, leaving everyone in the tower freezing cold and grumpy, except for Bob–who’s a walking furnace. So you decide to get a taste of the warmth.

Warnings: No explicit warnings, just fluff! Bob and you are friends…With feelings…Friends with feelings I say.

Author’s Note: I really enjoyed writing this request anon, but I kept laughing when writing this because all I was picturing was this Tik Tok. Anyways, I absolutely loved writing this one! Very fun fluff for a Saturday, and thank you @receedingdawn for the cute ass banner.

Word Count: 4,034

The cold came in like a wave. It didn’t crash through the windows or blow in through the doors. It seeped through the cracks, and invaded.

It started sometime before dawn–quiet and unnoticed–at the base of the Tower, where a blinking red light pulsed steadily on the diagnostics board in the lower mechanical level. It was just a minor system alert. One line of code trying to tell someone to check the heating core. A low-priority flag. The kind of warning that gets buried under a dozen other maintenance requests, and a digital blanket.

Nobody noticed it, or bothered to check, so the cold just continued to climb. It crept floor by floor, rising like tidewater. Slow. Patient, and semi-forgiving it the alert got caught–which didn’t happen.

By midday, the lower levels had cooled to a mild chill–noticeable, but nothing out of the ordinary for winter in New York City. It was the kind that made you rub your hands together and blow against your palms to give you a little relief from the cold, before moving on with your day. But by the time the sun dipped below the skyline, the eightieth floor–the Thunderbolts living quarters–was freezing.

High above the city, the wind screamed against the glass walls like it was a living thing. The steel bones of the Tower groaned softly in response to each gust, and you could’ve sworn you could feel the floors shaking at some point. The vents blew nothing but a mechanical sighº–like it had risen a white flag in surrender to the harsh winter–and the lights that lined the ceilings flickered every so often as if they were shivering with you. The floor tiles had the bitter feel of ice cold concerte, mugs of hot coffee and tea went lukewarm within minutes of being poured, and your breath had turned visible even within the confines of the living quarters–puffing out in little clouds that hovered and curled like ghosts before fading into the stillness.

The air had a sharpness that bit at fingertips, slid down collarbones, and made people quiet, and frustrated all at the same time.

”I’m telling you,” Yelena muttered, pacing in thick socks, and two layers of sweatpants, “We are one bad power surge away from an ice age in this damn place.” She fixed her gloves on her hands, as she huddled into the collar of her sweater.

”Pretty sure my blood is trying to congeal in itself…I think I’m on the brink of death.” Walker added, hunched over on the common room couch with a blanket draped over his shoulders like a funeral shroud.

Across the room, Ava was bundled in a military-grade parka she must’ve pulled from storage. Only the sharp glint of her eyes were visible above the thick wool scarf that she had wrapped around her head. She hadn’t said a word in fifteen minutes, she just stared into her mug, watching as little frost specks floated on top of her coffee.

Nobody was handling the cold well.

Except Bob.

He looked like he had wandered in from a completely different climate–like he had gone on a beach vacation in the tropics and brought the heat with him.

Perched at the far end of the sectional, he sat cross-legged with a worn paperback in his lap, a bowl of salt and vinegar chips balanced on the armrest beside him, and a cold Coke Zero sweating quietly on the coffee table in front of him from the warmth of his hand touching it every so often.

He didn’t have a blanket or socks, just a pair of soft grey sweatpants and an old, slightly threadbare long sleeve shirt that clung gently to the shape of his chest and shoulders–damp in spots where the heat radiating off him had started to collect.

In comparison to the rest of the team–who looked like they were preparing to trek across the Arctic–Bob looked like he was five minutes away from cracking open a window. It also wasn’t just the fact he looked comfortable–it was that he was radiating heat.

It was rising from his skin in slow steady waves if you paid close attention to him. The faint shimmer was lifting off his forearms, and a soft flush clung to the tops of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, like he had just come in from a run rather than being sat unmoving in the meat locker common room for the last forty minutes. There was even a sheen of sweat glistening at his temples, catching the light every time he turned a page and tilted his head.

Yelena froze mid-pace and squinted at him.

”Bob…” Her voice was flat, bordering on accusatory, “Are you–are you sweating right now?!” Bob blinked up from his book, pushing his light brown hair out of his face.

”Uhm…” He lifted a hand to wipe at his forehead, as if he was surprised to find it damp, “Y-Yeah? A little. I–I mean, I told you guys I run warm…A-And I’ve got the Sentry in me, so–uh–of course I’m kind of…Y’know…Hot.” There was a beat of silence, then Yelena turned to the others.

”And he has the audacity to joke about it.” Walker let out a dramatic groan from beneath his blanket.

”He‘s not joking, he is hot. Like tropical-level hot. Bob…You’re a walking space heater.” Bob went pink immediately. Not just his face–his ears, too. He ducked his head with a bashful shrug and tried to laugh it off, but it came out awkward, then he reached out for his Coke Zero and took a long sip.

From the kitchenette, where a bottle of whiskey was being passed like emergency rations, Alexei glanced up from his glass.

”We should wrap Bob in blanket burrito, then take turns crawling in like it’s sauna.” He stated, and Bucky, who had been silent until now, raised his glass slightly, unbothered by the cold.

”I’d pay to watch that happen.” Bob choked on his drink. Not a little, polite cough–a real sputter. He turned his head and pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, trying to keep it quiet, but he could feel the heat continuing to rise beneath his skin. Alexei, of course, was completely unbothered.

”Just saying,” He shrugged, pouring himself another half-glass, “You get three people in there with you, rotate every thirty minutes…Efficient heat source I say.” Walker snorted.

”We could even install a zipper on the blanket, then call it the Bob Bag.”

“Worst part is I would definitely be the first person to try it…It’s freezing.” Bob hunched slightly where he sat, trying to disappear into the cushions. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the idea of someone cuddling up next to him–it was the idea of the entire team looking at him like he was the last functioning radiator in New York City that was making his skin prickle.

”G-Guys, “ He stammered, lifting his palms in surrender, “I’ll probably end up combusting if you all t-try to–if anyone–I–I mean…” He fumbled for a save.

”H-How about we just–uh–call m-maintenance again, yeah? I’m sure they’ll help…R-Right?” No one responded. Instead, they all turned toward him slowly. Creeping forward. Ava didn’t even stand–just started sliding across the armchair like a sleep-deprived slug with one goal: heat. Yelena grinned.

”You’ve been outvoted, human furnace.” Walker stood.

”Don’t resist Bob…Embrace your destiny.” Bob’s shoulders hit the back cushion as the group began to close in.

“G-Guys, I’m being serious–”

His voice cracked at the end–not from fear, but from that thing under his skin, the one that didn’t like being crowded. Not when he didn’t want it. Not when he wasn’t ready. Then his eyes glowed. Just a soft, flickering glint beneath his lashes. It was enough to make everyone freeze. Walker stepped back instinctively. Ava’s mug lowered a fraction. Even Yelena lifted her brows and let out a soft scoff as she retreated a step.

“Ugh…The sunshine god always has to ruin the fun and scare us off,” She commented, letting out a long sigh, “I guess I’ll call maintenance again and see what the hell they’re doing. Probably still trying to figure out how to reset a server without breaking a nail.” She grabbed her phone from the coffee table and turned her back on the couch. Bob exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“S-Sorry guys…Didn’t mean to uh–to flare.” He hated that part. That undercurrent of otherness. The way people joked until something flickered in his eyes, and then everything stopped being funny. How he went from Bob to the Sentry in a heartbeat without meaning to. Even here, in this mismatched pile of sarcasm and trauma and second chances–they still backed off when the light showed.

Bob was still hunched over, fingers pinched at the bridge of his nose, trying to will the faint glow in his eyes away when the sound of teeth chattering echoed down the hallway.

Everyone turned toward it.

The sound grew louder–soft footsteps over the cold floor, the rustle of layered blankets, the stifled clatter of a mug being carried between violently trembling hands. And then you appeared in the doorway, wrapped in two fleece throws like a cocoon, shoulders hunched, cheeks flushed with windburn, and face pulled into a miserable grimace.

You looked like you were on the verge of dying. Or committing murder. Possibly both.

“The hell…” You croaked through your chattering teeth, breath curling in front of your lips, “How did this happen without anyone catching it on time?”

Your voice wavered on the last word–not just from frustration, but from the way your whole body was trembling. You were shaking, jaw clenched, knees knocking together slightly under the blankets as you shuffled forward like someone trying to survive a blizzard in a hoodie.

Bob’s heart slammed in his chest. Not from panic, or from Sentry wanting to see you, but just from pure instinct. He felt it burn inside him–this pull toward you, this immediate, deep, animalistic need to wrap you up and make you warm. Not just because you were cold. But because you were you–someone that had connected and tethered to him on more than just a baseline friendship level. Though it was hard for Bob to really contain himself, and the desire to take care of you in general because he knew you probably didn’t see him in the manner he saw you in.

“They probably missed it. That’s the only reason this could’ve happened. Nobody flagged it in time.” Ava responded first, her voice muffled behind her scarf. You exhaled hard through your nose, steam huffing from your lips. Your eyes flicked to the sectional–to the wide, open space beside Bob. You took one step toward it, then paused.

Your eyes landed on him.

You blinked slowly, your gaze dragging from his flushed face to the damp edge of his collar to the Coke can on the table still sweating with heat.

Then it clicked.

“Oh, right,” You rasped, eyebrows lifting. “I forgot about you running hot, you’re gonna be my life saver!”

Before Bob could respond–before he could stammer out anything–you moved.

You dropped onto the couch beside him with the exhausted weight of someone who had given up on survival. You let your blankets slide open just enough to let the heat in, curled your toes beneath you, and leaned into his side with a soft, contented groan.

Bob stopped breathing.

He felt you. Every inch of you. Your icy fingers brushing his thigh. The chilled edge of your arm nudging his ribs. Your cheek settling lightly into the curve of his shoulder. And then–God help him–the tiny, blissful sound that slipped from your lips when the warmth of his body hit you full-force.

It was quiet. Barely audible. Just a hum of deep, unconscious relief.

“Mmm…”

But to Bob, it was devastating.

His entire body tensed like he was preparing for impact. His breath caught in his throat. His hands twitched on his thighs, and the heat under his skin flared so suddenly he had to will it back down before his shirt started to steam.

You didn’t even notice.

You were too cold. Too relieved. Too focused on not crying from the sheer comfort of finally, finally finding warmth after what felt like an hour and a half of your limbs feeling like they were going to shatter.

“Oh my god,” You whispered, pressing your face against the side of his arm like you were trying to melt into him. “You’re boiling. This is perfect.” You breathed in deeply, smelling the cool mint scent of his body wash, letting it invade your lungs, as you nuzzled even closer to him.

Bob swallowed hard. “I-I…Uh…”

You sighed again. And this one was worse. Better. More dangerous. It wasn’t just relief–it was pleasure. The kind that only came from thawing out after a deep freeze. A sound that vibrated low in your chest and hummed right against his ribs.

He couldn’t look at you.

If he did, he’d die. Spontaneously combust on the spot. Sentry and all.

You tugged the top blanket around the both of you, like it was natural–like sharing heat was second nature. Like you weren’t undoing him with every breath that ghosted across his neck.

A long silence settled over the room.

Not awkward. Not exactly. But heavy with something unspoken.

You didn’t notice the way everyone else had gone quiet. You didn’t see the way Yelena lowered her phone without pressing call, or how Walker and Ava slowly exchanged looks, eyebrows raised. You didn’t catch Bucky’s subtle nod from the kitchen, or Alexei’s low whistle as he leaned back in his chair like he was watching the beginning of a very good movie.

Because you were too busy melting.

Literally and figuratively.

Your arm moved slowly. Almost imperceptibly. It slipped from beneath your blanket, slid across Bob’s damp shirt, and curled around his torso–fingers splaying wide across his side. Not in a flirtatious way. Not in a way that begged attention. Just an unconscious, instinctual kind of closeness.

A gesture that said: you’re warm, and I need all of it.

Bob’s heart skipped.

He didn’t move. Couldn’t. His spine had gone rigid, and his breath had stalled somewhere between his throat and lungs. You were touching him. Really touching him. Not in passing, not in jest, not in the familiar bump of shoulders during a mission or a sarcastic pat on the back.

But this. A full-body lean. An arm around his waist. Your chilled hand flattening over his ribs, tugging him–gently–closer to you.

And he let you.

Because he would’ve let you do anything.

Your fingers brushed a damp spot on his shirt. He was sweating. Badly. But you didn’t flinch. Didn’t comment. You just let out another of those sighs–low, content, sinful in its softness–and nestled closer until your forehead touched the curve of his neck.

“God…” You mumbled into his skin, breath curling warm under his jaw, “You’re saving my life right now.” Bob let out a shaky laugh that sounded more like a whimper.

His hands were still on his thighs, white-knuckled, as if he were holding himself down. As if one move would tip this entire fragile balance into something he couldn’t pull back from. Because it wasn’t just warmth he was giving you–it was everything.

Every part of him was screaming for more.

More of your voice. More of your weight leaning into him. More of your fingers splayed against his side and the way your leg was now casually draped over his calf under the blanket.

And yet–somehow–you still didn’t seem to notice what you were doing to him.

From across the room, Yelena’s voice broke the silence.

Soft. Distant. A whisper clearly not meant to be heard.

“Oh no…She’s gonna kill him.”

Walker coughed into his sleeve. “He’s not gonna survive the next ten minutes.”

“I give him five.”

“Three, if she sighs again.”

Ava hummed in agreement. “He’s gonna short-circuit.”

Bob could hear them. He could hear everything–every shifting blanket, every laugh being swallowed behind a cup, every knowing glance being passed around like popcorn.

But all he could feel was you.

The weight of your body against his.

The cold that finally eased from your limbs.

The way your breathing slowed, softened.

And the way you whispered–barely audible, but so close he could feel the words against his skin:

“…Think I could stay here all night.” The words left your lips like a sigh—half asleep, half joking—but Bob felt them hit.

They lodged somewhere between his ribs, soft and brutal, and echoed in his chest long after the sound had faded into the blanket-wrapped stillness.

He didn’t respond right away.

Couldn’t.

His mouth opened slightly, but no words came. His throat was dry. His breath was shaky. The heat he’d been radiating all evening was nothing compared to what flared through him now–less like warmth and more like a furnace igniting from the inside out.

You shifted again. Just a little. Your fingers flexed slightly against his ribs. You were settling in deeper.

Bob’s voice, when it finally broke free, was small and trembling.

“Y-You can. I-I mean–if you…If you want. I-I wouldn’t–I wouldn’t mind.”

You didn’t say anything at first.

But after a beat, you tilted your head and looked up at him.

And that was it.

The end of him.

Because you weren’t even trying to do anything. You just looked up–sleepy and flushed, lips parted, eyes soft–and you saw him.

The way his jaw was clenched. The way his shoulders were locked up. The way his fingers curled into his thighs like they were holding on for dear life. The way his shirt was soaked from heat and nervous sweat and yet he hadn’t dared move.

And then your eyes met his.

And you saw it.

The wreckage.

His face was flushed–burned red at the ears, his lips slightly parted like he was afraid to exhale too hard. His eyes were wide, glassy, stunned. Not from embarrassment. Not from discomfort.

From everything.

From being touched, and wanted, and needed.

From your breath on his skin, your arm around his waist, your words curling like ribbons into his ear and tying knots he didn’t know how to undo.

You blinked once, slowly.

“…Bob?”

His breath hitched.

“I-I’m f-fine,” He stammered, the lie so thin you could hear the tremble beneath it. “J-just…Y-You’re really close, and I-I’m trying not to–uh–I mean, I d-don’t wanna–”

He stopped himself.

But the damage was done.

You stared up at him for another long moment, blinking against the golden flush of his cheeks and the sweat dotting his brow, and the way he couldn’t quite meet your eyes now.

And something shifted in your chest.

You loosened your grip around his waist–but not to move away. Just enough to smooth your hand against the curve of his side. Gentle. Careful. Tender in a way that quieted everything else.

“…Am I making you uncomfortable?”

Bob shook his head before you’d even finished the question.

“N-No. G-God, no,” He said quickly, too quickly. “Y-You’re not. I-I like it. I–”

He swallowed hard.

His eyes finally flicked toward you, just briefly.

“I-I just…Don’t k-know how I’m doing this w-without Sentry going o-off the rails…” Your lips curved into a quiet smile against his skin.

“Maybe he’s used to me pestering you by now,” You murmured, voice low and teasing, “Maybe he knows not to get in the way of things.”

Bob blinked.

His chest lifted with a deep breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, and the glow in his eyes flickered briefly behind his lashes.

“Y-Yeah,” he said softly, with a quiet sort of wonder. “M-Maybe.”

He didn’t add that Sentry was right there. Listening. Not pushing forward, not flaring to the surface like he so often did when Bob felt overwhelmed.

He was just…Calm.

Not silent, exactly. But watching through Bob’s eyes with something that felt like reverence. A kind of awestruck stillness that made Bob feel like his ribs were filled with golden thread instead of bone.

You were still watching him. Still close enough that every breath he took shifted you slightly. And even in the dim light of the living room, he could see the soft twitch of your lips and the calm around your eyes–like your nervous system had finally unclenched for the first time all day.

“Sorry I’m so clingy,” You added after a moment, eyes fluttering shut, “I know this probably feels like being tackled by a human-shaped block of ice.”

Bob’s voice cracked again.

“Y-You could tackle me any time.”

Your eyes opened slowly.

“What?”

His ears turned bright pink. “N-Nothing. N-Never mind.”

You snorted–this breathy, fond little sound–and let your hand trail lightly across the shape of his ribs, fingers drawing lazy circles through the soft fabric of his shirt.

“I think I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that,” You said, lips curving into a slow smile. “For your dignity’s sake.”

Bob swallowed hard. You shifted a little closer until your forehead was tucked under his jaw and your fingers were curled in the hem of his shirt like you didn’t want to let go.

He could feel your eyelashes brushing against his skin.

Your voice dropped to a whisper.

“Give me a few more minutes with you…And then I’ll untangle and let you recover.”

That almost made him laugh.

But it caught in his throat because something about the way you said it–something about the gentleness behind the tease–made it feel bigger than just cuddling on a cold night.

It felt like you knew.

Maybe not everything.

Maybe not how often he thought about you. Or how many times he caught himself daydreaming about a moment like this–exactly like this. The weight of you against him. Your breath slowing. Your body folding into his like it belonged there.

Maybe you didn’t know how much he ached when you brushed against him on missions or leaned on him when you were too tired to stand. Or how long he’d been pretending it was nothing when every second of contact burned through him like a star being born.

Maybe you didn’t know that every part of him had been waiting for you.

But maybe you felt it. Just a little.

Because you didn’t pull away. You didn’t tease too much. You just settled in, calm and warm and real, and gave him the one thing no one had offered in a while.

Time and gentle touch.

A few more minutes. A few more inches of closeness. A few more breaths shared between them. Bob turned his face slightly toward your hair, just enough to breathe you in. Your scent was cold, but there was a depth of warmth beneath it, something fruity–like jammy blueberries and blackberries, maybe a field that had ripening strawberries. It was like you were bathing yourself in something that was tropical to emote the sense that you were someplace warm instead of a cold compound.

Finally Bob lifted his hand, and let it rest over your back. It was tentative at first, then more solid, like a soft protective weight. His thumb stroked gently across your spine, and he whispered:

”Take as long as you want.” You didn’t respond, you just let out a slow, steady breath that warmed his neck and a soft hum of contentment as you curled into his chest and closed your eyes again.

[yiichan]

KYII'ᔕ TᕼOᑌGᕼTᔕ Oᖴ TᕼE ᗪᗩY 🌷💌 — NSFW IMAGINE — yandere!poly!bandmates!svt x gn!14thmember!you. WARNINGS — yandere/obsessive elements, dub-con/non-con elements, emotional manipulation/gaslighting, petnames, poly relationship elements, smut elements inclusive of: breeding kink, praise kink, size kink, power play, impact play, auralism (dirty talk, audio erotica), exhibitionist, voyeurism, somnophilia, katoptronophilia (mirror play), dacryphillia, cockwarming, bondage, orgasm control, oral sex (giving and receiving), implied threesomes/group sex. slight fluff and crack if you squint. WRITER'S NOTES — hey all! 'kyii's thoughts of the day' is a new series i launched in celebration that i have almost reached 100 followers! (YAY!! (: ) i will update random drabbles from time to time (results of my very rich imagination during 2am to 3am). i should have written a kinktober fic with all those warnings up there.

speical mention — @sousydive

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✿ yandere!seungcheol whose favourite member is actually you, not mingyu. ✿ yandere!seungcheol whose mood will turn sour if you called him by his full name. ✿ yandere!seungcheol who would always wrap his arm around your waist possessively when you stand beside him.

✿ yandere!seungcheol who punishes you by shoving his cock down your throat if he catches you interacting too long with another idol outside of the group, man or woman. ✿ yandere!seungcheol who takes his fustration out on you when he lost a game, grabbing you while you were just passing by and bullying his cock into you. ✿ yandere!seungcheol who watches his members fuck you into oblivion, but he's just there as a safety measure (that's what he told himself as he pumped his length up and down).

✿ yandere!jeonghan who is always alert and aware about your emotion, noticing even the smallest discomfort you were feeling. ✿ yandere!jeonghan who teases you about almost everytime, making you choose between him and the other members (to stir up drama, just for fun). ✿ yandere!jeonghan who would grab you and rest on you during concerts if he got too tired. ✿ yandere!jeonghan who knows the power his face holds, and would guilt trip you into staying with him, isolating you from your own friends and even family. ✿ yandere!jeonghan who would make you wear a vibrator and forces you to go out while he toys with the controls in his pocket. ✿ yandere!jeonghan who enjoys hearing your broken voice begging him for release as he edges you repeatedly for a long, long time.

✿ yandere!joshua who would smirk knowingly when he saw you wearing that bracelet he made for you, because he had inserted a tracker in it. ✿ yandere!joshua who was always soft-spoken to you, calling you petnames like 'darling' and 'sweetheart'. ✿ yandere!joshua who would invite you on 'dates' with him, whether it be candlelight dinners, a walk in the park or just drinking some red wine at the dorm. ✿ yandere!joshua who would make you practice guitar playing with him on his cock, thrusting upwards into you if you ever strum the wrong string. ✿ yandere!joshua who smiles ever sweetly as he pounded into you, kissing your tears away while whispering sweet-nothings. ✿ yandere!joshua who would often share you with the other 95 liners, his sadistic fantasies coming true when the three of them ravishes you.

✿ yandere!jun whose gaze would float to you subconciously whenever you enter the room. ✿ yandere!jun who would call you chinese petnames like 宝贝 baobei，宝宝 baobao and 亲爱的 qinaide. ✿ yandere!jun who misses you like crazy whenever he's back in china for his acting career, and he would expect you to answer every one of his calls. ✿ yandere!jun who would cling on to you the most when he's drunk, talking about how much he loves the members and mostly, how in love he is with you. ✿ yandere!jun who would groan and whine as he masterbates himself to the videos of you getting fucked by the other members in the secret groupchat the thirteen of them shares. ✿ yandere!jun who would send lingeries as his souvenirs for you when he's back in korea, making you wear them and then fucking you in it (he destroys them in the end, but he could always buy some more).

✿ yandere!hoshi who makes enjoys making your favourite kimchi. ✿ yandere!hoshi who would climb into your bed while you were asleep, spooning you or making you spoon him. ✿ yandere!hoshi whose face turns red with blush when you rubbed his hair and called him a 'fierce tiger' after his stage performances. ✿ yandere!hoshi who abuses his power as the leader of the performance team by having 'one-to-one' practice sessions with you alone in the practice room. ✿ yandere!hoshi who would fuck you during those practice session, mauling your neck like a real tiger would as he make you look into the mirror in front of the two of you. ✿ yandere!hoshi who has a huge breeding kink and would plug you up after he cums in you (regardless of your gender), he did want a football team of kids after all.

✿ yandere!wonwoo who likes taking a short nap with his head in your lap. ✿ yandere!wonwoo who would discreetly hold your hand when you are outside. ✿ yandere!wonwoo who would purposely tease you in games and gose just to rile you up, because you are cute when you're angry. ✿ yandere!wonwoo who have albums of you in his phone, which captured moments that you know and you don't. ✿ yandere!wonwoo who couldn't help but record your face when you're choking on his cock, or taking a picture of your drooling face while he fucks you into his sheets. ✿ yandere!wonwoo who would request for you to cockwarm him while he games, and if you fell asleep, he would gently wake you up by rocking into you.

✿ yandere!woozi who has a thumbdrive full of love songs for you. ✿ yandere!woozi who would be the one initiating skin-to-skin contact with you, even on cameras. ✿ yandere!woozi who would unabashedly stare at you while the two of you worked out in the gym. ✿ yandere!woozi who secretly loves it when you nag at him because he had spent too much time in Universe Factory. ✿ yandere!woozi who had a whole other thumbdrive that holds recordings of your moans and whimpers, along with the things you said (whether you had recollections of it or not) during sex with him or the others. ✿ yandere!woozi who would test you on your concept of beats by snapping his hips rhythmically. If you guessed wrongly, well, be ready for the consequences.

✿ yandere!dk would just be more posessive and expressive around you. he just can't stop yapping about his day, his thoughts, everything. ✿ yandere!dk who would constantly seek your attention and affection, trying to make you laugh with jokes and stunts. ✿ yandere!dk who would go up to you during concerts and fansigns and interact with you, making sure that CARATs could get that couple shot. ✿ yandere!dk who changes completely in bed, the sweet and lovable lee dokyeom replaced by a lee seokmin who had endless stamania and greed for more. ✿ yandere!dk would moan into your ears (the vocalist he is) as he tells you how much more he wants while rutting his hips against yours. ✿ yandere!dk who would turn all whiney and pouty if he has to share you with his other members, but would gladly fuck you all the same.

✿ yandere!mingyu who is ready to be a fulltime househusband for you. he'll do the cooking, cleaning, fucking, anything for you. ✿ yandere!mingyu who is willing to share his food with you and would even offer you a bite, unlike his other members. ✿ yandere!mingyu who would pout and seek comfort from you like a puppy despite his tall structure. ✿ yandere!mingyu who struggles with the tent in his pants during gym sessions with you. ✿ yandere!mingyu who easily manhandles you into all kinds of position, even helping his hyungs to tie you up. he enjoys how helpless you are during your cute little attempts to escape him. ✿ yandere!mingyu who can't decide his favourite position - fucking you from the back or making you ride him. well, why not go for two rounds - or more - instead?

✿ yandere!minghao who gave up on meditation a long time ago, because no matter how much he tries to clear his mind, it's filled with nothing but you. ✿ yandere!minghao who would take time to bring you outside to shop for clothes, dressing you up and then paying for them, much to your protests. ✿ yandere!minghao who would have a smile on his face to whatever you are doing (he genuinely finds you cute), unlike the side eyes and judgemental looks he gives to his other members. ✿ yandere!minghao would take time to brew you your favourite tea and invite you to solo tea sessions with him. ✿ yandere!minghao who has a sketchbook full of you, or more precisely, your expressions when you are fucked and cockdrunk. ✿ yandere!minghao who likes to see you come undone on his long and talented fingers, embracing his scorpio side as he watch you scream his name, begging and crying and looking like a mess.

✿ yandere!seungkwan who would, like dk, yap non-stop in front of you. he would also constantly cue you in front of the cameras, making sure that you have enough exposure. ✿ yandere!seungkwan who would go through his connections in the entertainment industry whenever the company announces you are going on a variety show. he would make sure that you are well taken care of. ✿ yandere!seungkwan who would lean into you whenever you stood near him. ✿ yandere!seungkwan who would press his erection against you and ask for permission to fuck you, pressing light kisses on your neck as he do so. ✿ yandere!seungkwan who would repeat 'i love you's as he gently make love to you. ✿ yandere!seungkwan who is great with after care, wiping your tired and sore body and coaxing you as he dig his cum out of your body.

✿ yandere!vernon is just vernon. don't expect him to get hyper and posessive and all 'YOU'RE MINE UGH WOOF WOOF BARK BARK' on you (not throwing shade at mingyu or dk, nope). ✿ yandere!vernon would be more clingy than usual, though. like holding onto you when you tried to leave the couch or hugging you from the back if he sees you at the kitchen in the morning. ✿ yandere!vernon who would be less vernon-like on certain situations. if someone is looking at you? vernon stands in between them and you. if some other idol is talking to you, vernon is right beside you, staring at them. if someone held or shake your hand (even CARATs)? vernon is ready with the bottles of hand sanitizers in the pockets of his tracksuit. ✿ yandere!vernon who likes to eat with you. it just somehow improves his appetite by a lot. besides, you never give him leftovers. ✿ yandere!vernon also loves it when he gets to 'eat' you. His cock just strains against his jeans as his tongue enters you, licking and flicking, causing you to arch your back and moan wantonly. ✿ yandere!vernon might be wearing earphones, but you might never know whether he was listening to his music playlist - or the recordings of your moans.

✿ yandere!dino who loves it the most when you baby him. he's the maknae of the group, after all. ✿ yandere!dino who always comes to you for comfort when his hyungs teased him too much. ✿ yandere!dino who sulks when his hyungs steal you away from him (the main culprit and repeated offender is yoon jeonghan, of course). he just wants you for himself! ✿ yandere!dino who likes to hold your hand and link his arms with yours when the two of you walks side by side. ✿ yandere!dino who watches you like a hawk when you dance, willing his erection to go down (it's practice time, he can fuck you back at the dorm later, anyway). ✿ yandere!dino who loves it when you compliment him on how good he's fucking you, well, if you are capable of speaking, that is.

© yiichan, 2024 origin of divider

[f1-mcmuffin]

Can i request where y/n and lando was watching jennie’s ruby experience concert in paris together and fans spotted them and maybe them meeting with jennie backstage too🙂🙂🙂

RUBY

(Requested) Lando Norris x Reader (5th Member of BLACKPINK AU)

| Lando Norris Masterlist| Main Masterlist | Spotlight & Slipstream Masterlist |

a/n: y'all I apologize, on my knees, for the wait. Not really proud of this because of how short it is but not much I can do. I've started so many stories from this series and my other. Which I might post throughout the week or all at once on a random day. Anyway enjoy!!

The air outside Le Zenith in Paris shimmered with anticipation,the kind that lived in the bones more than the skin. Paris was cool, the springdusk hanging heavy in the air like a held breath.

 Even hours before doors opened, a sea of fans wrapped around the venue,  a mass of glitter and red lace, velvet ribbons and smudged eyeliner, lightsticks held tight like devotion.The Ruby Experience wasn’t just a concert — it was a statement. And tonight was one of the most anticipated stops.

She could hear the hum before she saw the crowd — the murmur of voices like bees in a hive, punctuated by the occasional scream when a van rolled by or a staffer passed too close to the tinted entrance.

She hadn’t planned on going.

She’d watched Jennie’s solo journey unfold from afar — proud, in quiet ways. Texts exchanged across time zones, likes and reposts on instagram, the occasional voice note that said more than words ever could. A thumbs-up on a clip of her dancing to ‘Like Jennie’.

They had known each other long enough to not need presence to prove care. They moved through different spheres now — both orbiting spotlight, both shaped by stage and scrutiny, but never needing to outshine each other.

But still.

When Jennie texted her that week — short and sure — it landed in her chest like a stone dropped in a lake.

 Come to my show in Paris. Bring him. I want you to see this one. A single heart emoji. The only punctuation it needed.

Lando was uncharacteristically quiet as they walked through the staff entrance. Not stiff — just observant. He had on a black button-up, the first 2 buttons undone, and dark jeans that somehow made him look both underdressed and overdressed but still perfect. There was a subtle curve to his shoulders, that posture he got when he wasn’t in control of the space — alert, but not uncomfortable.

She walked beside him in tailored leather pants and a clean, off-the-shoulder jacket that cut sharp against her collarbones. Her hair was twisted up, two strands framing her face just enough to soften her jawline. She looked like she belonged here — not because she was dressed for it, but because she didn’t seem to care if she did.

They were led down a long, echoing hallway — past dancers stretching in half-splits, stylists carrying garment bags with handwritten name tags, lighting crew members running final checks on timing sheets.

She offered quiet nods and bows, a few murmured greetings in Korean and English. Lando mostly kept his head down and stayed close. It wasn’t nerves. It was respect. The same way he stood on the edge of a pit lane before a red flag cleared, letting the moment unfold before inserting himself.

They were led to a small lounge space off the side of the backstage corridor — not luxurious, but dimly lit and quiet. A wall of mirrors glowed with round bulbs, and the low sound of the stage monitor leaked in from the floor above.

A staffer handed them each a pair of in-ear protection sleeves.

“Gets loud,” the woman said with a grin, “but you’ll want to hear all of it.”

She had just adjusted hers, one tucked neatly in and the other still in her hand, when a voice cut clean through the sound and static of pre-show bustle.

“Finally.”

She quickly thanked the staff member then looked up, already smiling.

Jennie stood in the doorway in an oversized robe that trailed just slightly on the carpet, her makeup only half-finished — one eye smoky and the other still bare, her lips stained red at the center and fading out. Her hair was half up half down. 

Jennie looked like a painting. 

Jennie crossed the room in two steps, arms already open. She met her halfway, burying her face in Jennie’s shoulder. The hug wasn’t performative — it wasn’t for anyone else. Just full. Real. The kind of hug that told years of stories in a second.

Lando watched from a polite distance, leaning slightly against the wall. He hadn’t met Jennie properly before — maybe a polite nod backstage at an event, a wave in a VIP box. But he knew enough to know this was a different version of her than the internet ever saw. Warmer. Looser. Human version.

“You look like you own the building,” She murmured.

Jennie pulled back with a smirk. “I do tonight.”

Jennie turned to Lando, wiping the corner of her eye with her sleeve and sticking out a hand. “Thanks for keeping her out of the studio.”

Lando took it, nodding. “It’s a pretty easy job.”

Jennie raised an eyebrow. “I believe it,” Jennie then gave her a once-over. “Leather? At my show?”

“Came to be respectful,” she deadpanned. “Didn’t want to outshine the headliner.”

Jennie rolled her eyes but smiled. “You couldn’t if you tried.” 

She reached out and plucked an unused beauty blender off the vanity, tossing it lightly at her. “Don’t drag me when I’ve barely sat down.”

The show assistant called Jennie’s name from the hallway. Jennie glanced back at her and Lando once more. “Enjoy the show.” Then she disappeared — like a storm receding just long enough to gather strength again.

A low rumble moved through the arena — the kind that made the floors vibrate before the sound even reached the chest. The lightsticks snapped on in waves of red and pink, a constellation blooming from the ground up. Every person in the venue seemed to lean forward at once, breath held. By the time the house lights dimmed, the crowd was already on edge.

A single spotlight. A silhouette in the haze. And the first notes of “Intro: JANE with FKJ” cut through the air like a knife dipped in honey.

From the VIP platform just off stage left, her and Lando stood in the open, fully visible. Not hidden but not trying to take away from the show.

She gripped the front rail with one hand, her other brushing her jacket sleeve up her arm. She was standing still, but the energy coming off her was electric — like something in her recognized the beat, the voice, the weight of the moment in her bones.

Lando stood just beside her, his hand resting casually on the barrier, shoulders relaxed but gaze sharp. He wasn’t just there to support Jennie — he was watching her watch the show.

When Jennie took the stage, the scream that tore through the arena felt physical. She didn’t flinch. Her fingers curled tighter around the rail. She clapped a couple times and pulled out her phone to take a quick video.

Lando leaned toward her slightly, voice low so only she could hear. “Does she always open like this?”

She nodded, eyes locked on the stage. “She doesn’t want to ease them in. She wants to own them from the start.”

“Jesus,” he murmured, almost in awe.

She smiled, just a little.

They didn’t move much through the first few songs. The stage did enough for all of them.

Every setpiece felt sculpted. Every beat is precise. It wasn’t flashy for the sake of it — it was designed. Red lasers split the air during "Zen," while strobes stuttered behind Jennie’s silhouette, making her look like she was made of electricity. 

“Nobody gon’ move my soul, gon’ move my aura, my matter”

“Nobody gon’ move my light, gon’ touch my glow, my matter”

“Nobody gon’, all this power make them scatter”

“No, nobody gon’ touch my soul, gon’ match my glow, like, i dare you (HEY)”

Lando didn’t know every song, but he could tell which ones meant something by the way her shoulders would shift. The way her grip on the rail would soften. She was mouthing every lyric, but when Like Jennie started, he caught her singing the chorus under her breath.

“No, I’m not thinking ‘bout no exes, know they miss me,” She lipsung to Lando, which he laughed and shook his head.  

“i got the whole room spinning like its tipy” Lando laughing made her start laughing before locking in for the chorus.

(Don’t bore us, take you to the chorus)

“Who wanna rock with JENNIE”

“Keep your hair done, nails done like JENNIE. Who else got ‘em obsessed like JENNIE”

“Like, like, like. I think I really like (JENNIE) Haters, they don’t really like (JENNIE) Cause they could never, ever be (JENNIE) but have you ever met” 

She marked the whole dance, not going full out but just enough. All while Lando watched, smiled and laughed softly. Not mockingly. Just admiring

He leaned closer again. “Is that one your favorite?”

“Not mine,” she said. “Hers.”

And when Jennie pointed toward their section mid-song — quick, subtle, but unmistakable — She used two hands to blow Jennie a kiss and laughed, ducking behind Lando’s shoulder for a moment like she’d been caught off guard. Jennie’s smile grew wider, but she didn’t linger for a moment. She kept dancing.

But the fans saw, quickly moving their phone cameras from the stage to them. Snapping quick videos of them and posting it everywhere.

@/rubygirldreams Y/N AND LANDO ARE AT THE PARIS SHOW I’M ACTUALLY UNWELL @/Mcmuffin Jr. Not her mouthing every word like a real one and Lando looking at her instead of the stage 😭 boy is down so bad @/sweetbutlap3 They were literally just… there. No security. Just vibes. We love a non-attention-seeking couple @/jenniedotmp4 The way Jennie POINTED at them during Like Jennie and she actually panicked like a fan 😭 she’s so real @/lapthreelegend Lando looked genuinely overwhelmed when the lights hit the smoke during “Filter” lol like sir you drive cars for a living, get it together @/Lando.edits4 Also can we talk about how she had her hand either resting near his or holding his hand the whole show?? Softest thing I’ve ever seen.

Halfway through the show, she finally shifted.

She stepped back from the rail and turned to face Lando fully, lifting her hair to adjust the back of her top. He instinctively reached out to help, pulling the collar straight and smoothing the fabric down her back with one palm.

“You good?” Lando asked, leaning in just a little.

She nodded. “Yeah. I’m just taking it in.”

Onstage, Jennie was in full control — sharp, focused, every move deliberate. The lighting had shifted red again, shadows cut across the stage in hard angles. The bass kicked low and heavy.

“This one feels different,” Lando said.

“It is,” she replied. “She’s proving a point.”

Lando glanced at her. “To who?”

“Whoever doubts her abilties.”

Her voice was even, matter-of-fact. No edge, just certainty. She watched the stage with a quiet understanding — like she’d seen this version of Jennie before, just never under lights.

“You’ve done that,” Lando said, more observation than question.

She shrugged. “Not really. But I know the feeling.”

Lando didn’t push. Just let her words sit there, watching as the crowd roared and Jennie moved through the verse like she owned the room.

“You really respect her, huh?” he asked.

“Of course I do,” Sophia said. “She’s doing exactly what she wants. That’s the goal.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Lando nodded, eyes still on her. “Yeah. Makes sense.”

The lights dimmed again —slow. Like an exhale. The  last song of the night. 

The intro to “Twin” began, the guitar playing softly. Jennie’s voice, raw and unlayered, echoed through the arena like a memory.

“It’s like im writing a letter, and i put in a 12 ounce bottle of Heineken”

She went still. Lando felt it before he saw it — the way her hand eased off the rail, her body slightly untensing. 

She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Her eyes stayed fixed on the stage, but something in her posture changed. Like she’d suddenly remembered every version of herself that had watched Jennie perform over the years — from trainee, to duo, to friend, to sister. Always tethered together.

Onstage, Jennie was alone now.

No dancers. No production tricks. Just her, sitting under a single spotlight, microphone held in both hands like a secret. 

“Can you just bear with me? We were ten years in and young and dumb and innocent, my friend, but I knew all along that we were both wrong”

Lando glanced over at her. Her expression was unreadable — a perfectly built wall, honed over years in front of cameras and crowds. But her eyes were wet.

He reached for her hand. He didn’t speak and he moved half a step closer.

And still, Jennie sang.

“I didn’t leave ya, I still see ya. When I'm bumping Ashanti, yeah, on a beach, yeah. I didn’t hold ya, but I still know ya,”

“We will make up, make things right when we get older, Friend”

“Twin, Twin Twin, You and I we drifted apart”

It wasn’t a song for the stage. It felt too raw for that. It was the kind of song written at 2 a.m., in a studio with the lights off, with only truth left in the room.

A song about being mirrored. Compared. Made into halves of someone else's story.

She finally spoke — barely a whisper. “This one’s my favorite.”

Lando nodded. “Yeah?”

“She hasn’t done it live before. It’s… it’s too personal.”

He didn’t say it out loud, but he knew. This wasn’t just a song Jennie had written. It was a song she’d bled everything into.

The crowd didn’t scream through this one. They swayed, quiet. Some cried. One lightstick flickered out and was relit by a friend. It was the rare kind of arena silence that felt sacred.

And when the last note dissolved into reverb, Jennie didn’t bow. She just sat there, chin slightly tilted down, letting the weight of it settle, as the light dimmed to black. She exhaled.

She looked over at Lando, the edge of her smile a little wobbly now.

“That one got me,” she said simply. Lando didn’t try to make it a moment. He didn’t press it open or try to soften it.

Instead, he leaned in and said, “She meant for it to.”

She looked back at the stage, blinked a few times, then wiped the corner of her eye with her knuckle. “I hope she knows it landed.”

“She knows,” he said, without looking away. “She saw you.”

By the time they made it backstage, the energy had shifted — not gone, just loosened. The kind of high that settled into grins and sweats and someone kicking off their heels in the hallway with a dramatic groan.

She and Lando were led down the familiar corridor, their passes swinging on their lanyards. Crew members passed them, still buzzing, high-fiving, laughing in short, breathless bursts. Someone sprinted by holding a single broken heel like it was a trophy.

Jennie’s dressing room door was propped open with a speaker, faint music still playing from inside — not the concert playlist anymore, but something soft and lazy, like the after-hours version of everything they’d just seen.

She was stretched across a velvet couch in post-show sweats and a tank top, hair piled in a messy top knot, face still glowing with residual stage makeup and exactly zero energy left to pretend. There was a half-eaten energy bar next to her phone and one sock barely hanging on.

When she spotted them, she grinned. “There you are,” Jennie said, pointing at her like she was mildly offended. “You didn’t cry. Rude.”

She kicked off her heels and dropped down beside her, all too familiar. “I teared up during Twin. You just couldn’t see it because your spotlight kept flash banging me.”

“That’s not my problem,” Jennie said, stealing her water bottle from her hand. “Next time, bring tissues.”

“You did amazing though,” she said, swiping the bottle back. “Singing live and keeping up, has your stamina gotten better?.”

Jennie beamed and nodded, then looked at Lando. “You. Be honest. Was I too much?”

Lando grinned. “Hm, yeah .”

Jennie clutched her chest. “Thank you.” she said breathlessly.

She rolled her eyes. “You’re the only person I know who treats being called ‘too much’ as a compliment.”

Jennie sat up, grabbing the champagne bottle off the table and popping it with a loud pop. “It is. I am. And I earned it after all the shit ive been through.”

Lando laughed as she poured into paper cups, handing one to each of them like she was hosting a very low-budget award ceremony. 

“To the greatest audience in Paris,” Jennie declared.

She raised her cup. “You mean the 8,000 people who screamed your name or us two in the VIP platform?”

“You,” Jennie said without hesitation. “Everyone else screamed. You guys watched. That’s rarer.”

They clinked cups. It fizzed. It wasn’t the best champagne — Jennie admitted she picked it based on the bottle — but it tasted like something worth remembering.

“You know what the highlight was?” Jennie said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Seeing Lando’s face during with the IE”

Lando blinked. “What about it?”

“You blinked,” she said, pointing. “I saw you. You flinched.”

“I didn’t flinch—”

Jennie nodded solemnly. “He flinched. Meanwhile I was breathing in fog and dancing in heels the height of my standards”

“The same standards that are…nonexistent?” she offered.

Jennie raised her cup. “Correct.”

They all laughed — the good kind, the kind that echoes in your ribs. The adrenaline was still there, but now it felt lighter. Celebratory. Like the part of the night

----------

Taglist: @verogonewild @freyathehuntress @yawn-zi

[eufezco]

HEART TO HEART — FINNICK ODAIR x FEM!READER

Synopsis — It's hard to get your life back on track when the Capitol has gotten inside your head but Finnick is there to help you. You were enjoying a party in District 13 when you discovered something that triggered you.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ And I break down, then he's pulling me in. In a world of boys, he's a gentleman ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Finnick looked at Katniss and considered himself a lucky man.

Although both of them had managed to get back the loves of their lives, their situations now were quite different from what they were used to. Finnick now looked at Peeta and realized how the Capitol had completely destroyed the friend he made in the games, making him incapable of telling the difference between what was real and what the Capitol put in his head. Finnick saw the sadness grow in Katniss' eyes as she and Peeta couldn't spend more than five minutes together without him wanting to jump on her neck.

You, on the other hand, had your moments of lucidity.

Finnick considered himself lucky for being able to enjoy the person you were before the Capitol took you, but the longer those moments lasted, the worse your breakdowns were.

Even though he considered himself luckier than Katniss, it wasn't being easy for him either. He hated to see you fighting the medical team from District 13 while they were trying to inject you with a sedative and the way he had to hold you so they could do it. He hated to see you with your hands and legs tied to the bed as you tried to free yourself from the straps that held you to the mattress. He hated to see your eyes red with rage, the way you flinched when someone made an unexpected move next to you, and how you could not help but be alert to everything that was going on around you.

But Finnick also appreciated when he saw you smile, or talking to someone who wasn't him, or seeing that you had changed your clothes that day or enjoying your meal in the dining room. The way your eyelashes fluttered when he spoke to you like he was the most magnificent thing you had ever seen, how you were always looking to have some sort of physical contact with him whether it was sitting too close at the table or something more subtle like seeking for his hand in the crowd as you listened to the words that Alma Coin pronounced.

The Capitol caused irreparable damage but they had not been able to take everything from you.

―Let's give a huge round of applause to Sarah and Mike from District 11!

The two siblings had been singing since dinner was over along with their band. The lights in the dining room were dimmer, not the cold white ones that gave you a headache every time you went inside. They had set up a small stage and some decorations on the ceiling. Alma Coin knew that Christmas was close and wanted to do something special to raise people's spirits, and it seemed to be working because after dinner, people had stayed to listen to the siblings sing, and some had even encouraged to go out and dance.

―We still have time for a couple more songs, any requests? ―The boy spoke into the microphone, looking at the audience.

It was your hand that rose.

Finnick and Katniss who were sitting at the table with you looked at each other. You got up from the table and walked to the stage, well, you didn't feel your feet moving on the floor, it was more like you were floating. You were enjoying the little concert so much that you had managed to remember all the lyrics of the songs that they had performed when just a few days ago you couldn't even remember your name, your feet moved under the table following the rhythm of the instruments and you even hummed some of the words.

Both siblings approached the edge of the stage and bent down to listen to the title of the song you were asking for. They looked at each other, satisfied, and more than approving your request. You went back to your seat at the table, happy, and before Katniss and Finnick could ask about the song, the little girl called your name through the microphone.

―Why don't you come and sing with us? ―She asked you in her sweet voice. All the people in the dining room were waiting for your answer, some you knew were encouraging you to come up like Haymitch and Effie, and others you knew were judging you just by the way their eyes were on you like Gale, but you didn't care because since your return you had never wanted anything so much as to get on that stage with those two kids.

Finnick held your hand, his eyebrows drawn together. ―Are you sure?

You nodded and showed him a little smile, reassuring him.

They welcomed you with smiles and sweet gestures to show you where to stand. They had placed a microphone in the middle of the two siblings for you.

―May I? ―You asked for the guitar the young girl was holding. She showed you a smile and gave it to you. The guitar felt out of place in your hands, as if it was a stranger and it was the first time you were meeting each other. That was not the truth, the truth was that you had been playing the guitar for as long as you could remember. You liked to play it for the children at District 4 while they sat around the campfire in the sand accompanied by Finnick and they sang with you. But now it all seemed so far away and the instrument felt odd in between your fingers.

You coughed to clear your throat without realizing that you did it right into the microphone. Finnick smiled at how innocent that had been and you smiled embarrassed. ―Sorry.

The two siblings from District 11 were looking at you with their big eyes and with smiles of comfort on their faces, waiting for you to start singing but all those people staring at you was all you could think about. You couldn't remember how the lyrics started.

Finnick nodded at you from the audience.

Can't take my past Can't take my history

The little girl sang for you. There was a friendly expression on her face. Her eyebrows were raised as she was singing the beginning of the song and she nodded as she looked at you, trusting that you knew the words and helping you with her kind gesture to find them.

You could take my pa But his name's a mystery

Her brother continued singing. A similar expression was on his face. Apart from your friends and Finnick, you had trouble finding people who trusted you in District 13. You didn't blame them because even you found it hard to trust yourself.

Nothing you can take from me Was ever worth keeping Nothing you can take Was ever worth keeping

Your voice didn't sound as you expected, it was still the same sweet voice as always. You expected to have completely destroyed it after all the screaming you did at the Capitol, but no, your voice was still there, just as Finnick remembered it. He was trying very hard not to burst into tears because he knew you were watching him.

The band played the song perfectly on their instruments while you tried to follow them on the guitar and more people listening to the lively rhythm of the song came out and danced in the center of the dining room.

Can't take my charm Can't take my humor You can't take my wealth 'Cause it's just a rumor Nothing you can take from me was ever worth keeping

Those lines you were singing meant so much, it was like pulling the middle finger to the Capitol. He had never seen you so happy since before the Quarter Quell. There was a smile on your lips while you sang, your body moved to the rhythm of the son, your hands moved skilfully on the guitar, and the boy and the girl from District 11 danced on the stage around you.

―Come on. ―Katniss stood and Finnick looked up at her with his green eyes glassy thanks to the tears.

―Come on where? ―Finnick asked.

―We're gonna dance.

Katniss took his hands and dragged him to the dance floor.

Thinking you're so fine, thinking you can have mine Thinking you're in control Thinking you'll change me, maybe rearrange me Think again, if that's your goal

You laughed into the microphone watching them and you handed the little girl her guitar back. You came down from the stage to join them. Katniss stepped back when she saw you coming and you followed Finnick's movements. He had always been a very good dancer so you let him lead you. You twirled around, laughing, until you were so dizzy that you had to wrap your arms around Finnick's neck, your fingers digging into his hair while his arms went around your waist.

―You were amazing. ―He told you, speaking a little louder so that you could hear him over the music. You hugged him again.

―I love you so much.

Finnick cupped both of your cheeks and kissed you. ―I love you too. ―He said before the group of little girls pulled you by the arm so you'd dance with them.

He kept dancing or something like that with Katniss but with his eyes fixed on you. The girls were being so nice; two of them held your hands while the other two were dancing on their own. Their hairs were tied up in braids and they even asked you if they could braid yours later.

But all of a sudden, you let go of their hands and took a few steps backward, bumping into the people dancing. The girls looked at you worried, had they done something wrong? ―No, no, no. ―You mumbled to yourself.

Finnick stopped and approached you quickly, pushing people out of his way when he saw the change in your mood. He took your face in between his hands, looking for your eyes but they were focused on something that wasn't him. You pushed him once his hands cupped your cheeks, only making eye contact with him for a few seconds and then going back to focus on something else.

When Finnick decided to follow your gaze, he felt a wave of heat form in his lower body and rise to his head. Cressida was behind Castor, directing how the shots of you dancing with the girls should look like. By that time you already left the room.

You tried to record a propo a few days after your arrival in District 13. Heavensbee, but especially Coin, were very insistent that you should do it. They said that your rescue and your dedication to the revolution would bring hope to the people resisting in the districts. You weren't too sure about it, much less Finnick and Katniss, who could see how bad was your state to be exposed to something like that.

You were still in a daze, confused with everything that was going on, and very weak physically when you stood in front of the camera in the ruins of District 13 covered with white roses. The smell of the flowers made you fall to your knees in the debris before Finnick could catch you and throw up everything you had eaten since you were taken out of the Capitol.

―I'm okay, I can do this. ―You said, wiping your mouth with the cuff of your uniform, but it was not true and you found out that when you got in front of the camera. Castor pointed the lens at you while Cressida repeated behind him what you were supposed to say. The spotlights were on you and also were the eyes of the president herself, who had come to the surface to see you film the propo, and suddenly you were back at the Capitol, sitting in front of Caesar Flickerman, drugged to the point where you could not remember your name just the words they'd been repeating for you to say during the interview. Your outfit was tight, your face was covered with powder and make-up so that the bruises would not be visible.

―Don't make me regret rescuing you. ―Alma Coin said to you with a smile on her face before the propo. Something similar to what he told you when the Capitol took you out of the arena.

―Don't make me regret not killing you.

After that day, only one type of images of you was broadcast for the rest of the districts to see and they were of you living your life in District 13, recording you when you didn't notice and taking advantage of the moments when you were doing well to show it to the rest of the nation and obviously, without your consent.

Finnick was not happy with that decision and he made sure to make it clear at the meeting at which it was discussed, shouting, running his hands over his face, offering himself to do all the propos they wanted. He was desperate to get them to let you recover in peace.

Katniss agreed with Finnick. She did not like the idea of turning you into a product to fool people into thinking that everything was fine, much less without having your approval. Haymitch and Effie were silent but neither did they agree with what Alma Coin wanted to do with you and Beetee suggested other options but nothing was as valuable to Alma as your image.

The only ones who openly agreed with Heavensbee and Coin were Cressida and Gale. She said that it would be good for the spirit of rebellion and that they would do it so discreetly that you would never know. On the other hand, it seemed like Gale had a lot to say even though he didn't know you at all, and because of that, he ended up in the infirmary that afternoon after he replied to Finnick's complaints by saying:

―There are times when we have to do things we don't want to do, you should know that better than anyone else.

And Finnick couldn't help himself and get up from his seat and before Gale could finish speaking Finnick's fist was already against his cheekbone. That same hand with which Finnick hit Katniss' friend was now smacking Castor's camera into the floor, a gasp could be heard from the people who had stopped dancing to see what was happening. Finnick pointed at Cressida with his index finger, threateningly.

―I warned you to keep that shit away from her.

Katniss was fast to intervene, stepping in between Finnick and the woman. She looked at Cressida with pure rage but knew she couldn't do anything with all those people watching ―Go find her.

Finnick approached the girls you had been dancing with. He knelt by their side. ―Did you see where she went? ―He asked kindly to them, perfectly hiding his nervousness. One of them pointed at one of the doors and he immediately knew where you were. He flashed a smiled to her as a thank you.

―Have we done something wrong? ―She played with her hands.

―No, she was having lots of fun with you. ―Finnick caressed the hair at the top of the little girl's head and stood on his feet.

―When you find her, please tell her we still want to braid her hair.

You were sitting on the floor, holding your legs close to your chest. You had already hidden in that place several times before. It was Katniss who found the first time because it was the same place where she would hide right after she was rescued.

You moved back and forth, mumbling words that Finnick could not decipher, and with your head down, your forehead resting on your arms. When you heard Finnick's footsteps getting closer, you tried to escape him, crawling backward and watching as he quickly approached so that you couldn't get too far away. He fell to his knees in front of you, grabbing your cheeks again to make you look at him.

―It's me. It's Finnick.

You analysed his face, your eyes moving fast across his face looking for any friendly features on that face but all you could see was the face of a traitor. Your lips trembled as they continued to mumble I don't think I can forgive him for what he's doing, Caesar. I didn't know Finnick Odair was like that, I didn't know he would join the rebellion. What you do in the games is one thing but what you do outside the arena is what defines you.

―You're safe. We're in District 13, you're not there anymore.

You're right, Caesar. He has tricked me into thinking he was someone he is not. I thank president Snow everyday for helping me realize.

―You're from District 4. We live together. Our house is near to the beach. You won the 72th Hunger Games. We went back to the arena for the Quarter Quell. The Capitol took you. I'm Finnick Odair. I was your mentor along with Max.

If he were watching this I would tell him to think for himself. It's not too late to start doing things right and stop this war, and if he is unrepentant and this has always been his true self, Caesar, I think I may have never lov...

―You're here with us and we will protect you. Katniss is here at District 13 and so are Johanna and Peeta.

...I think I may have never lo...

―You're okay, baby.

...I may have never...

You hugged Finnick tightly against you, your eyes wide open and your hands shaking from the strength you were putting into holding him to be able to feel he was real. ―I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't know what's going on. I feel like I'm losing my mind. ―You cried.

Finnick shook his head while he held you almost as strongly as you held him. He kept whispering sweet words until he felt how your body began to relax. Finnick carefully pulled you away from him so he could use his thumbs to wipe away the tears running down your cheeks. ―It's fine, I'm here with you. It's not your fault, they've done horrible things to you but you're with me now, you're safe. They will have to go over my dead body to get their hands on you again.

He helped you to move so that you were sitting on his lap, with your head resting on his chest and his arms around your body. When some time passed and you calmed down, he could see it in the way your body had stopped shaking and also because you had stopped sobbing a while ago but you didn't want to separate from him, Finnick decided to try to cheer you up.

―Do you know who told me where you went?

You shook your head, really curious.

―Those new friends you made on the dance floor.

You pressed your lips into a smile, you were having so much fun with those little girls...―They were so cute, I must have scared them.

Finnick shook his head and kissed your temple. ―Not at all. They told me they'll wait for you. They said they wanted to braid your hair.

Now you really smiled, snuggling into his chest.

―Do you want me to take you to our room?

You shook your head, making yourself comfortable in Finnick's lap. It was not the most comfortable or welcoming place to be but he didn't want to rush you to leave. He was aware that they would be looking for you two, they would take you away from him and lock you in a room next to Peeta's, thinking that you were a menace and putting you in a place where the screams of the boy next door would drive you crazy.

―We can stay here for as long as you want then.

You hummed in response, closing your eyes and focusing on Finnick holding you in between his arms. Thanks to your head on his chest and the silence, you could hear Finnick's heart and you were relieved because it was the realest thing you had ever experienced. Its beats were peaceful but still managed to quiet all the noise in your head.

You were so immersed in Finnick's heartbeat you would swear yours was beating so hard against your chest because it wanted to escape your body so it could be closer to his.

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - The Stretcher - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

An ugly reckoning...

tw: gore, violence, medical trauma, limb loss

cw: suggestions of inappropriate relationships between mentor and student

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

Silco walks on.

Inside, the odor of stale chemicals seeps through the air. Jinx's containment pod is a plexiglas sphere resembling a transparent hive. Inside, she is laid out on a narrow cot. Her left hand—the two clever fingers so cruelly excised—is strapped to a splint.  The stumps are a little red, but clean and dry. Each one is neatly sutured with black thread.

Black as the sucking hole in her chest.

Through the covers, Silco can see the delineations of the wound, a map of gauze adhering to her torso.  The flesh is still flayed. But it is no longer a disaster-site of hideous spillage. The raw tendons are scored with tiny stitches. Each one, a testament to Singed’s ruthlessly meticulous handiwork.

The rest of Jinx is bone pale as if the scant pigment on her skin has been sucked dry. Her freckles stand out in stark pinpricks.

Two bags of fluid hang on a metal pole, drip-drip-dripping down a tube into a needle jammed into her arm. The steady flow of antibiotics, morphine, and synthesized Shimmer will bolster her vitals and keep her under.  Her breathing—a tarred constriction of bubbles caught in her perforated lungs—has smoothed over the course of the night.  But it remains an effortful jag: deep, dragging, discordant.

Silco's guts churn. The instinctive grind of rage is offset by guilt.

Then: shock.

Jinx is not alone.

A longer body's curved around Jinx's small one. One arm, the sleeve rolled to the elbow, is flung over her hip. Fingertips splay against her thigh: an anchor. The other arm, metallic, makes a protective arc over Jinx's skull. The cybernetic fingers, tipped with steel, are threaded in her blue hair. The head, half-obscured in lank brown curls, is tipped to Jinx's own.

Their temples mirror. Their eyelashes kiss.  The cadence of their chests rises and falls in concert.

The Hexcore, with hypnotic rotations, bathes Jinx and Viktor in a violet glow.  

From his own extremities, Silco feels pure rage blast open as the Monster unlocks.

"What the hell—?"

Singed looms from the corner of the medbay: tall and fleshlessy thin as a mantis. He's clad in a white smock resembling a butcher's apron. The barest smear of blood is caught in the weave. He glances up at Silco's snarl.

Apart from an expression of insectile alertness, he shows no other signs of concern.

"Ah," he says. "You've returned."

"Open the pod." 

"I beg your pardon?"

"Viktor. What in the frozen hell is he—?"

"He's aiding her retrieval."

"What?"

"Her retrieval," Singed says, in the same imperturbable tone. "From what I understand, a plunge into the Void is not unlike falling into arctic waters. It takes a strong grip to pull oneself out. J17 is a skilled swimmer. But she remains partially submerged. She'll need a guide to drag her to the shore."   

"He has no right to—"

"To what? Hold his companion's hand?"  

"Companion?"

Singed nods.

Silco's jaw locks as the Doctor's meaning sinks in.

Guardians and Mages. He'd known, in his bones, that the bond between Viktor and Jinx held a strange, unearthly resonance. A tie that binds, like gravity does a comet: two celestial forces, inexorably pulled together by the galvanic charge of their shared potential. 

He'd assumed the nature of the bond was intellectual. That their kinship was a matter of mathematics: two minds, one wavelength.  Then Jinx's spells of strangeness and self-enforced secrecy began. He thinks of the audio recordings in the Aerie: the susurrations and whispers. The ungodly silence.

It wasn't sex—no matter the wildness of his paranoia, he knew Jinx was still too innocent, and that her tastes lay elsewhere. But the overtones—of communion, and a deeper, almost otherworldly intimacy—were terrifying.

Now, seeing them together—a tangle of arms, a knotting of fingers—his worst fears have been made manifest.

It's plain, from the ease between their bodies, that Jinx has slept in Viktor's arms before. Plain, too, that it's happened enough times for this closeness to take on overtones of trust.  A trust Silco had invited: to his doorstep, past his threshold, and straight to his daughter’s bed. 

A trust that’s been repaid with disaster.

Reflexively, Silco's fists ball.

"Open the pod," he says. 

"What?"

"Open it."

"With all due respect, that is not the wisest course of action." Singed remains maddeningly equable. He could be discussing a minor surgical procedure: the pros and cons of local versus general anesthetic. "The Hexcore—from what I gather—is acting as a buffer. It is protecting both J17 and Viktor as they work to draw her out. To separate them at this juncture would risk a backlash."

"Backlash?"

"I'm speaking in metaphysical rather than medical terms. From what I have gleaned, the Hexcore is a living organism. It has its own will and wants. I am not privy to the nature of the bargain it has struck with Viktor. But I hazard that it is his key to the Void. And that, in exchange for entry, it protects his and Jinx’s corporeal forms. To rip them apart would be... traumatic. For all parties present."

In Viktor's embrace, Jinx expels a sigh.  There's a subtle alteration in her breathing. The Void creeping across her brainwaves, perhaps. Viktor's arm flexes around her. His own breathing—that half-mechanical, half-organic rasp—deepens. His lips touch her temple. 

The Hexcore sings. The pitch is nearly ethereal.

Two spirits: locked in orbit.

Silco's jaw grinds. A vein ticks in his temple. Whatever's happening, it is not something he comprehends. Not something, he suspects, meant to be comprehended.  But that doesn't stymie the rage. Nor the dread.

The former, he can dissect with a cool eye, peel it down to the viscera of what it is: a primal need to keep his child safe. 

The latter, though...

That's a formless shadow stretching over his psyche. The sense of something very, very huge: a force the size of a godhead eclipsing the horizon. And the stormfront, lightning-laced, is rolling across the sea straight towards his ship of destiny.

It's not often Silco feels his smallness. But he does now, and the fallout is brutal.

"You knew," he says, deathly soft.

"Hm?"

"You knew. About Viktor. Compromising my child."

Singed is not a shrugger. Hedging is not his strong suit. But his silence speaks for itself.

"I would not call such a bond a compromise," he says at length. "In some ways, it was inevitable.  Viktor is extraordinarily gifted. J17, a creature of pure potential. They are both seekers in the dark. It makes sense that they'd find each other." A slight cant to his head: a gesture of self-reproach. "I will admit: I should have informed you. But there was no reason to believe the entanglement was of a carnal nature."

"No reason to believe they weren't fucking?"

The vulgarism stirs Singed out of scholarly calm. He doesn't smile. But his lipless mouth shows a glint of teeth. It's the same expression he'd wear when Silco would return to the Cannery after prowling the dank cloaca of the Lanes.

Always: with a plaything on his arm and ill-gotten gains in his pocket.  

He'd often likened Silco's gravitation toward vice as a form of self-medicating. The sex, the drugs, the power-plays: all symptoms of a man whose eye could not close, and needed other means to unwind. Other ways to blot out the light. 

It was a diagnosis Silco only partially agreed with. It was not autonomic impediment that kept his bad eye from closing. Simply the refusal to look away from the world as it was.

Now, his bad eye smolders in its socket. It's a marvel the Doctor doesn't wilt in its heat. Then again, Singed's always been a hard man to burn.

It's what he and Silco have in common.

"No," he says. "That, I do not believe."

"Is that so?"

"Given Viktor's... condition... it's unlikely."

"I'm not sure if you're aware, Doctor—" Silco's tone, beneath the frigid civility, is honed to cut jugulars, "—but there are ways around that."

The glint of teeth deepens. A grin, however cold. "Oh, I am aware.  But I'm also aware of Viktor's nature. I've known him since he was a boy. Frailty's always been his cross to bear. But that has not diminished his drives. Only... redirected them, as it were." 

"Sublimation."

"You sound dubious."

Silco's good eye slits. Singed's grin fades.

"I understand. We're men of pragmatic bent. There will always be a selfish component to our pursuits. A willingness to see the big picture, even if it means putting our better selves on the backburner."  He turns to the pod. "Viktor is different. His nature has a singular trajectory: up. He wants to ascend. To break free of limitations: both inborn and self-imposed. Sex, in comparison, is a dead-end. Love, though? That's something else. Something that can take him to the stars." 

Silco follows his stare. The pair, entwined, are haloed in violet. Their breathing is slow and steady.

A duet.

"The boy's always longed for a taste of the transcendent," Singed muses. "I imagine, in J17, he's found it. A force of pure creation. Pure entropy. It is only in chaos that order can thrive. The sense of a divine plan is what gives meaning to the world. And a multivalent, fractal reality is what allows a scientific theory to evolve into law."

Silco's knuckles pop. He says nothing. 

"If it helps," the Doctor adds, "I doubt the boy's done worse than hold her hand. The way he speaks of her, one would think her a... psychopomp. Someone to guide him to a higher plane of knowledge. Someone whose existence is to be worshiped. Not possessed."

"Worship and possession," Silco replies, in the voice of cold prescience, "often end the same way."

"Oh?"

"With someone on their knees."

Singed doesn't laugh, exactly. The sound's too measured. But his mangled lips stretch to show the full set of teeth. They hold the implacable sheen of scalpels. Each one slitting its careful way through the tissue of Silco's self-control.

"A cynic's view," he says. "And one I disagree with."

"Do you, now?"

"I'll grant there is a physical element to their closeness. But, I suspect, the physical is merely a conduit to that higher plane. A literal touchstone to guide them through the dark. The true roadmap, as it were, is the end each of them seeks."

"That end being?"

"Balance," Singed says. "If my theory is correct, they each serve as a counterpoise to the other. J17, in her unbound potential: a spirit of half flesh, half catalyst. A force in constant flux. Viktor, in his rigid catechism: a being forged in metal and magic. The very dictum of death. Each is, in their own way, an anomaly. Together, they are a paradox. One that introduces a new paradigm."

"Paradigm."

"Cause and effect." The grin's gone. Only Singed's eyes shine: a cold, methodical zeal. "Or, in your language: cost and reward."

A chill steals through Silco.

It's not the first time Singed's dissections of the metaphysical have taken a macabre turn. For the Doctor, the two are indistinguishable: the duality of life and death reduced to quantifiable variables of mess and mass. In his laboratory, Silco's witnessed the results firsthand.

The Doctor's a man who understands that knowledge only goes as deep as the knife cuts.  And Silco, a man who has cut to the marrow of humanity's ugliness, knows there's no limit to the incision when the rest's been pared clean. 

"If your intention was to disarm me," he says flatly, "you've failed."

"Disarm." Singed's chuckle is dry as bone dust. "Old friend, you are not the weapon. Only the steel that whets its edge."

"Flattery?"

"Fact." The corners of Singed's eyes crinkle. "We are, both of us, mere tools for a greater design."

Jinx cries out.

In the pod, the Hexcore spins rapidly. The rotations, faster and faster, become a multicolored blur. The fluctuating glow—sometimes blue, sometimes red—is phantasmagoric. Silco has the sense of something primordial unspooling into existence. The birth of a star, on a spiritual scale: chemical fusion gone mystic.

A subsonic hum fills the air. Jinx's cry spikes.

Her whole body begins shaking: a subtle network of pain radiating, it seems, from the epicenter of her wound. Viktor's embrace holds. But beads of sweat pop on his temples. His breathing goes choppy.  The pod's plexiglas walls turn milky as if with steam.

No—frost.

Silco can see the lattice of ice spreading. The cracks, fanning in jagged starbursts, resemble spiderweb.

Meanwhile, Viktor and Jinx may as well be under a full rig of stage lights: both of them are simmering in their skins.

Jinx's pallor is engulfed by a bright pink flush. Her breath comes in rapid drags. Her good right hand, fluttering, finds Viktor's good left. Their palms align, fingers twining. The twin rows of knuckles, flesh and bone, are deathly white.

The Hexcore's singing deepens. Jinx's own cry climbs to a keen.

Silco races forward. "Jinx!"

Before he can touch the pod, Singed seizes his arm. The grip is cold, cadaverous, yet somehow comforting.

"Not yet," he urges, as Jinx's wails echo and re-echo. "It's not done yet."

"Let go! She needs me—"

"No." Singed's grip is as unyielding as his gaze. "She needs to finish this. As does Viktor. Let them see it through."

Silco stares. Blood beats in his temples. He understands, remotely, that he is terrified. Paralysis, its predictable residue, clings like a second skin. It's a heaviness he despises. It's why he is so quick to reassert self-dominion with a dose of violence. To defend himself, monster and man, from threats that would otherwise devour him.

But what if the threat's taken root in the tenderest parts?

What if it can never be excised?

(Is that fatherhood?)

Tossing her head, Jinx screams. Viktor, gasping, shudders.

The Hexcore's pulsations go critical.

Then—with a flash of brilliant blue—the humming ebbs. The pod's opalescent frost, in icy bloom, evaporates. Within, Jinx and Viktor subside into stillness. Their hands are still twined, their foreheads together. Both breathe in unison. 

But there's a dissonance in the rhythm. A harmony, that, while still in tandem, is their own.

Viktor is the first to wake.

His arm loosens its cradle around Jinx. His head stirs, the dark crown dislodging against its blue perch of her skull. The gold eyes—with their black-rimmed core—flicker. They are glazed in shock.  Then he blinks, and they regain focus. The lineaments of his expression—grim-lipped and hollow-cheeked—are ones Silco knows well.

The sense of a spirit coming to the limits of its endurance, and shattering the barrier.

Now he's unsure what awaits on the other side.

Slowly, the golden eyes swivel. They find Singed. They find Silco. Then they fall on his and Jinx's still-linked hands. Something flickers across his wan face. Not a smile, exactly. But a certain softness around the hard brackets of his mouth.

As if he'd held on to a fear for dear life. And now, finding it unfounded, can let it go.

With a gentle tug, he unthreads their fingers.

Jinx doesn't stir. But she lets off a long slow exhalation that could be sadness, or a deep release of tension. Viktor disentangles their bodies. He does so with a delicate, deliberate care, keeping a light contact of fingertips all the way down her torso. Silco follows their path to Jinx's ribcage.

Under the gauze, the wound is closed. The meat is seared like a brand. But there's no trace of torn skin. Even the stitches—each raw suture point—have shrunk into a smooth pink furrow.

Jinx breathes. Each rise and fall—seamless—is a small miracle.

Silco is not a devout man. Contemptuous of all matters devotional, he treats prayer like a poor business transaction: an unstable currency of sacrifice, with no guarantee of success.

Now, the gratitude that floods his lungs is nearly a baptism. He hates every iota: the helplessness, the loss of agency.

But loves, gut-wrenchingly, what it's restored.

With effort, Viktor straightens. His bare feet, touching the tiles, let off a metallic clink. One hand grips the bedframe. The other reaches for his cane. Every muscle delineates the difficulty of keeping his balance.

The sheer exertion of willpower in holding his mind and body together.

As with all impossible endeavors, he does not falter.

"It is done," he says, hoarse but steady.  "She is back."

"Back?"

"Within herself. The Void... has touched her heart. She has seen its own. But she is intact."

"Intact?"

"She will recover." He swallows with a liquid click. "In time."

Silco nods.

On the rumpled sheets, Jinx sleeps. Her breaths hold a deep-sea serenity. Her delicate features are preciously girlish and lost-looking. The sight suffuses Silco with a tenderness that yet calls up the horror of it all.

He takes himself to a place of stillness, and allows himself to feel it. Not just last night's ordeal. Everything leading up to it. Strategy after strategy, error after error, so the outcome is the same as when Zaun first emerged from its ravaged shell.

His child in a sickbed. His paternal devotion in a deathmatch with politics. His and Vi's blood game no more than a war against specters.

A war they've both lost.

Badly.

Silco's eyes pass from his sleeping beauty to the man who'd saved her life.

"Doctor," Silco says. "Open the pod."

Singed does not argue. With a deft touch, he flips the controls. 

The plexiglas shell retracts. The air, trapped, is instantly sucked out. It is unseasonably warm from Jinx's and Viktor's body-heat. The smell holds a sterile bite of disinfectant. Underneath, a faint trace of musk lingers.

The unforgettable odor has been imprinted on Silco's olfactory landscape since Jinx began working with the Hex-gem. The permeating ozone-stink of night sweats and lightning strikes.

The afterglow of the Void.

Now Silco detects the component he'd not dared to put a name to: that singular, almost sexual tang. Two spirits, intertwined, coupling in a realm without flesh. 

Right under his roof.

His eyes lock on Viktor's. The younger man's ambivalent features, caught between exhaustion and relief, shift. Wariness creeps in. It's not the fear of reckoning. More the full awareness of a gamble gone sour.

Now the ruin, no matter how cataclysmic, must be accounted for.

The gold eyes—infinitely patient, infinitely reckless—do not waver.

"I believe," Viktor says, "you have questions."

"I do," Silco says. Then: "Doctor. Fetch the stretcher."

Singed's head takes on an insectile slant. As if he's caught the taste of blood in his mandibles, and is trying to parse its source.

"Stretcher?" he repeats. "Whatever for?"

"Viktor."

"The boy seems perfectly—"

Crossing the distance, Silco lays a hand on Viktor's shoulder. A steadying, almost paternal clasp.

The Monster, unsheathing its claws, rakes down.

His fist slams into Viktor's gut. The young man staggers with a strangled cry. His cane clatters. The rest of him slumps, jelly-legged, as Silco follows with a snapping right hook, smoking it straight through the boy's frail defense and connecting with his jaw.

There is a satisfying snap of bone on bone. The sound, visceral and rich, kickstarts a tidal wave of blackness that seethes from the balls of Silco's feet and climbs all the way to his hairline.

The Monster is awake, and it is hungry.

"Doctor," Silco says, as Viktor crumples to the floor. "The stretcher."

Wisely, Singed obeys.

[spidermartini]

For Tuesday:

PLAN TO WAIT It will feel good when you check the Democrat boxes. Just think of each one as the slap you always wanted to give Trump. Even if the wait is long...wait. You would wait for tickets to a concert....wait for your rights to your body and protection of your friends.

DON'T WEAR POLITICAL CLOTHING You aren't allowed to campaign at the polls and shirts buttons etc. count as campaigning.

WEAR COMFORTABLE SHOES & CLOTHING Because of the waiting

EARBUDS Stay out of political discussions. Catch up on your audio books Maybe just wear one earbud so you can...

STAY ALERT Shit is crazy right now. Be alert and safe.

PLAN FOR...Weather, hunger, bathroom etc.

STAY CALM TUESDAY NIGHT

I have another post talking about the Red Mirage and Blue Shift that happens every election. It has a video. Watch it. Don't get upset if it looks like he is initially winning. It always looks like the Republican is initially winning Here are screen caps from my previous post explaining why:

[child0feden]

LOVE IN MY DARK HEART

bård “ faust ” eithun x reader

- general dating headcanons for bård!

my favourite drummer boy! reader is slightly referenced to be shorter than bård because i think a majority of people are but if you are not, i am super sorry! this is kind of a bit throuple-y with vegard but not really <3

- view my metal masterlist here

reading music recommendations: the moors of death by urgehal - death to planet earth by craft

- bård really gives me the vibe of someone who would just be absolutely obsessed with his partner, no one else matters to him except you!

✩ like he is just so obsessed with you and quite literally everything you do…

- applying your lipstick? or chapstick? he is watching you like a hawk with such obvious love and admiration swirling around in his big brown eyes

✩ your freshly applied lip cosmetic does not last very long before he is making a complete mess out of it with his own lips pressed against yours, most of the pigmented lipstick transfers from your lips onto his own which makes you chuckle quietly before quickly grabbing a makeup wipe to help him clean it off

“ get this shit off of me, please… love you ” ( he swears he hates your lipstick but whenever he has been making out with you in helvete and someone points out the residue on his lips, he smirks so big, wearing it almost like a mark of pride )

- painting your nails? he is giving you his own slightly shy but honest opinion on what colour to do them and spoiler alert: it is almost always black or crimson red

✩ he just loves his partner so much… he loves everything about you, everything you do and everything you say…

- some of his friends might give him flack for being so obviously smitten with you but he takes one look over at you and it is like, how could he not be smitten with you?

✩ so he really never lets those comments get to him, he knows you are worth being smitten for, knows you are worth obsessing over

- bård absolutely loves when you come to his band practices for emperor with him, he always gently pulls you by your hands to make you sit on his lap and hold his can of coke whilst he plays the drums, his hands drifting up your thighs between short breaks and lips pressing soft kisses on your shoulder

✩ you probably become very close with vegard and tomas! the four of you almost always going out to grab take out together after a concert, you wearing your boyfriends leather jacket, their corpse paint smudged beyond belief as you offer to fix it up for them whilst waiting on your food

- dare i say you and bård have even had a couple half drunk threesomes with vegard? vegard is kind of the only other person bård would trust to treat you right in bed, to treat you as well as he himself does

✩ but anyways… let us just move on from that for now…

- whenever you are anywhere with bård, you are almost guaranteed to be sitting comfortably on his lap with one of his hands drawing an assortment of patterns on your back whilst the other rests on your thigh as he talks to your shared group of friends about upcoming concerts

✩ bård is not super into really crazy pda but when in helvete, he will gladly make out with you! he feels comfortable in helvete, feels comfortable with how quiet the store usually is, quiet when it comes to people anyways! bård is a little more reserved when out and about on the streets of oslo but he will always have at least one hand somewhere on your body wether it be his hand holding yours tightly or an arm wrapped around you with his hand holding your shoulder or hip

- because bård is so much taller than you, you likely have to stand up on your tippy toes and he has to bend down quite a bit just to be able to kiss properly which becomes just a little bit annoying for the both of you at times

✩ this is why he prefers to make out with you in helvete because there, he can just help you up to sit atop the counter, making it much less of a stretch for both you and him

- whenever øystein sees this happening, he is always overly peeved, feeling like he has to beat you both away with a broom because you will “ scare off his customers ” as if worse things do not happen in the grimy basement…

✩ bård always just throws a small yet almost sly smirk in his direction before simply helping you down and motioning you over to his slightly more secluded little corner

- bård is certainly very possessive of you! whenever you are at a concert together and he sees someone eyeing you a little too much for his liking, he is quick to make it known to them that you are all his, albeit a little nervously

✩ usually he does this by getting very grabby with you or just tilting your face up to him by your chin and shoving his tongue into your mouth, sloppy open mouth making out right in their line of sight, bård gets a major boost of confidence when jealous and possessive…

- by the time you are done and he looks up, he finds that the person is long gone, much to his relief!

✩ you guys have so many pictures together that were taken in photo booths! they almost completely cover the fridge door in your shared apartment

- most of them are very sweet, sharing soft kisses, lips pressed together with your hand gently holding his blushing cheek and some of them are slightly risqué, his hands pulling your shirt up to reveal your lacey bra to the camera just as it flashes with a cheeky grin on his face whilst you laugh up a storm… you briefly forget that the pictures are printed on the outside, where anyone walking by could see them… it is only then that you smack him on the shoulder and quickly leave the booth to grab the strip of pictures

✩ more often than not, you are the one who paints his face for him!

- you will straddle his lap, forcing him to keep his hands on your hips because you do not want to mess it up over him grabbing your ass or squeezing your hips…

✩ bård is always impressed by how much better his corpse paint turns out when you do it and soon enough, vegard is asking you if you’d be able to do his before emperor concerts too

- bård is not an insanely romantic person but for you, he really tries his best!

✩ he takes you on a date whenever he can afford it with the small pay checks he receives, usually just taking you shopping for whatever you want to buy and then walking around a local cemetery, hand in hand as you talk quietly about music and movies, before sitting down on one of the wood benches as you smother him in kisses as a thank you

- he really pretends to just be so irritated but anyone with working eyes can see he is so obviously actually loving the affection from you

“ okay… yes, baby, i know, you’re welcome… your lipstick is all over my face, i know it… ” ( it is indeed all over his face )

✩ whenever you get really drunk at a party or concert, bård will gladly carry you home on his back whilst pausing every now and again to let you off and hold your hair back as you vomit…

- you love watching horror movies together! wether it be cuddled up in his little corner in helvete or curled up in bed at your shared apartment

✩ bård is really eerily quiet whilst watching them but his hand is usually playing with your hair, gently twirling it around his fingers which usually lulls you to sleep in his arms

- i just know bård is so loud in bed, he is not at all afraid to make his pleasure known… when you two first got together, he was definitely way more on the shy and insecure side about it but after a while, after he fully realised that you like it when he moans, he does not hold back anymore…

✩ your neighbours hate the two of you so much and have absolutely filed a noise complaint due to the near constant blaring black metal music and loud moaning ringing out through their walls whenever you’re home

- bård claims they are obviously jealous and hey, he is probably right! he just thinks they are jealous that he has such a beautiful partner who he gets to bone all night <3

[nouvellevqgue]

✦ OH DAMN NEVER SEEN THAT COLOR BLUE, C. LECLERC

red is indeed his color, but what if he switched to blue?

₊˚⊹౨ৎ ⋆｡✦

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, sza, shakira, and 459,725 more

yourusername trip-trippin' on you 👜

view all 56,208 comments...

username where are you goinnn???👀👀

⤷ yourusername nyc!!

⤷ username she's going to nyc to... watch taylor's concert?

username spill your hair secret bestie

⤷ yourusername hair oiling, conditioner and shampoo by pantene

maxverstappen1 blue suits you better

⤷ charles_leclerc she looks good with both red and blue

⤷ pierregasly but to be honest she looks better with blue though

⤷ charles_leclerc shut up

username she's literally so prettyyy

username how can i have her hair

ellamai glad you love the soonggg🎶 😚

⤷ yourusername i love it everytime!!

username YESSS Y/N PHOTOGRAPHED BY CHARLES IS BACK ‼️‼️‼️

⤷ username bless him for taking this view of her😇

damianodavid you suits all the color it's amazing

yourusername thank you so much 🫶🏻 damianodavid

sza that wind and your back view is truly a blessing

⤷ username i mean does she lie tho

honeymoon 💝💝

username she's literally so cool omg

username but do y'all realize when she wore blue, and so does he...

charles_leclerc added a photo to their story!

yourusername

liked by carlossainz55, charles_leclerc, danielricciardo, and 740,129 more

yourusername new shirt alert.

👤: charles_leclerc

view all 89,570 comments...

username the second slide is so him

username he has a questionable sense of fashion for those graphic t-shirt

danielricciardo 👀😁

charles_leclerc i can't believe you took the picture

⤷ username so it's a secret picture kinda thing until she spoil it

⤷ yourusername well i mean it's matched with what's inside

⤷ danielricciardo let's do this conversation in a whole different place shall we

landonorris easy with that shirt

⤷ username LANDO😭😭

username his fashion is matched with max smh

⤷ username typical dad graphic tee and skinnny jeans????

⤷ username 😭😭😭😭

username it's all fun and game until when she posted charles doing the same thing she did yesterday

username she knows what she did to humanity when she posted this

username wait... he wore blue?

⤷ username OMG YEAH I DIDN'T REALIZE IT💀💀

username oh. rb charles is coming?

⤷ redbullracing 👀👀

⤷ scuderiaferrari don't you dare

⤷ username ferrari is scared to lose him but still giving him that junk ass car is making me WHEEZING SO HARD

ˑ⭒ʚ ִtwitter ݁.٭

charles_leclerc

liked by landonorris, yourusername, pierregasly, and 948,201 more

charles_leclerc my favorite one to hold, forever to keep

view all 259,170 comments...

username oh no since when he became poetic😦

username idk but i had either bad or good feeling or nah about this

username blue charles spotted online👀👀

yourusername GUYS WHAT'S WRONG WITH HIM IN BLUE???

username y/n honey look, he works in ferrari. FERRARI IS RED (but yk rb is blue)

⤷ redbullracing 👀👀

⤷ username rb admin wdym by that

username her fit is always been the best

carmenmmundt loving your fit match. so much.

lilymhe charles really hit your good angle there

⤷ yourusername i don't have a bad angle😎

⤷ lilymhe oh yeah? wait until i found your year book

carlossainz55 yourusername what did you to him until he get like this

⤷ yourusername promise to you i didn't say anything to him

danielricciardo i've never seen blue looks ever so matched with him

⤷ yourusername so all those dark blue jeans for nothing????

scuderiaferrari our romeo🌹

username he progressively getting more and more blue as i look into his page

sebastianvettel Charles, what kind of book are you reading to be this romantic?

⤷ username oh even seb ask you this because like WHAT THE HELL'S GOING ON

⤷ landonorris wait it's all came from a book he's reading?

⤷ charles_leclerc no, not really 😁

⤷ carlossainz55 you're not good with secrets, charles.

⤷ charles_leclerc i know.

yourusername

liked by brielarson, isahernaez, charles_leclerc, and 729,566 more

yourusername i swear it's blue irl

view all 62,420 comments...

username ASUEHDHEJSJJWSJSJSNSJD

username THE ROMANCE IS BACK

username it's more greenish though

⤷ yourusername but believe me, at some point it's blue. like light blue.

username once again charles with blue accent spotted: plaster

⤷ username i love the plaster tho, it suit his eye color

username WHY ARE YOU GUYS SO DAMN CUTEEE

camilamendes four pairs of pretty eyes

username literally mother and father

nicolezefanya aww you guys are so cute

ellefanning i miss you so much much much

⤷ yourusername miss you too like forever🥺

username isa liked this🥹❤️

⤷ username y/n is her closest friends, thank god they didn't lost any contact

landonorris JUST LET BE SINGLE IN PEACE PLEEEASEE

⤷ username lando is me, truly the man of the year

maxverstappen1 it's green actually, not blue

⤷ yourusername you know it's blue under the sunlight

⤷ catluvr444 yeah max just admit it

⤷ maxverstappen1 catluvr444 i can't believe you choosing to be on her side

⤷ catluvr444 sometimes a girl should make her choice 🤷‍♀️

username couple goals fr

username missing her on the paddock

⤷ username are they breaking up?

⤷ username no, she's busy on her movie project so she can't be with him

alex_albon i see max is already going to do his usual maxplaining in front of me now. help me

⤷ lilymhe omw to the rescue

⤷ username is it because of the blue ore green thing?

⤷ alex_albon apparently yes.

yourusername added to their story!

caption: gotcha

[krobus-void-monster]

Where the farmer proposed and how each bachelor reacted

Please comment what you think about my writing or if there’s anything you want me too write

Elliott : The farmer proposes at one of his book signing events the farmer passes Elliott one of his books with a note saying “will you marry me?” He hugs the farmer excepting the proposal.

Shane : The farmer proposes at a grind ball game. Shane almost thought the farmer was joking but he knows the farmer wouldn’t do something like that. He now knows that the farmer truly loves him flaws and all .

Harvey : The farmer takes Harvey to an air show we’re they propose . Despite the loud noise of planes at that moment it’s like the outside world doesn’t exist it’s just Harvey and the farmer .

Sebastian : The farmer proposes while Sebastian , Sam , Abigail ,and the farmer are all playing Solarion Chronicles ( the stardew Valley equivalent to DND) Sebastian for a second thought it’s was a part of the role playing . But when it finally clicks his face turns bright red he says “yes” and Abigail and Sam ( mainly sam ) squeal with excitement which in turn alerts Robin who also squeals with excitement when Abigail tells robin what’s going on.

Sam : The farmer proposes backstage after his band’s concert . When the farmer proposed Sam was tripping over his words and crying with joy. Before Sam was slightly bummed it was supposed to be full house but it was 2/3 empty but after he thought it was the best day ever.

Alex : The farmer proposes at their house the farmer invited Alex over to watch the game. After around the second inning is when the farmer drops the question. Alex responds by immediately hugging and kissing the farmer , his team ended up losing but he couldn’t care less.

[theworldoffostering]

What a long week! As parents, what do we get for surviving the month of May?

Monday my elementary school kids had an event, and then we had family therapy. Tuesday was an orchestra concert for H and E, and my mom returned from her winter in Florida (hooray). Wednesday was senior awards and scholarship night which ran 6-10. Soooo long. I left at 8pm with the four littles, but DS won TWO scholarships. I have a lot to say about it but will save it for another post after I have done more processing. Thursday was supposed to be the final track meet and a 4H meeting, but they were postponed until next week due to weather.

Friday E had eye surgery. It was such a long day! She didn��t have to be at the hospital until noon, but it’s an hour drive for us, so we left at 11am. She went to school in the morning for two classes because she felt like that would help her keep her mind off of things. DH and I dropped H at my mom’s, and then took E into the city.

They make everyone age 11 and older do a pregnancy test. The nurse had prepped me for that over the phone when she called with pre-op instructions earlier in the week. I get it, but it was certainly a reality check to hear them say it was standard procedure. E is still so much a little girl; it makes me sad to realize there are so many other kids that have already had to leave that piece of them behind.

DH also had esketamine so he took a Lyft to that once E was settled into her pre-op room. They took her back and everything went smoothly. They did eye surgery on both eyes to correct them from crossing. One eye was more severe than the other. She had some blood tinged “leaking” from her eyes yesterday which freaked me out, but is totally normal given the surgery. Poor baby.

DH took a Lyft back to us when he was done with esketamine around 4pm, which is when E started feeling more alert and awake. We were able to leave around 5, and got home at 6. It was a fairly easy night getting everyone to bed all things considered. To be surprise, E slept through the night which means I mostly did too. She’s only on OTC Tylenol and Advil, so it’s not a lot to manage. Her eyes are super red and a little scary looking, but that’s normal. Additionally, she has stitches in her eyes, and they itch. Also normal. We have eye ointment we have to put in twice a day and we got some eye wetting drops but haven’t used them yet. She can’t swim for two weeks, which is one of the reasons we wanted to get this done now—she needs to be able to enjoy her summer.

Planning a lot of downtime for her this weekend and then we have a follow up visit on Tuesday.

DH moved up to a higher dose of esketamine, and he thinks maybe it’s working. He just had his third dose of it yesterday. Hoping to have some more in-depth conversation about it with him today since yesterday was so nuts.

[sunniedesi]

All Future Diary Merch (Part 2)

~~A comprehensive list

More obscure Future Diary merch below the cut!

~ Animate Products

Animate is the largest retailer of anime, manga and video games in Japan, so it’s only natural that it has created some Future Diary merch over the years.

A Yuno tote bag from the Animate Book Fair, 2008

An A4 clear file with original Future Diary artwork, from their 2011 Anime Adaptation fair.

An A3 clear poster, also with original Future Diary artwork, from the same 2011 fair.

~ SOFT Products

SOFT is another retail company, though unfortunately I can’t seem to find any information about the company itself. Either way, they released a plethora of Future Diary merch back in the day:

Future Diary compact mirrors (released on March 31st, 2012). There were two versions: a “12th” and a “DEAD END” design.

Future Diary iPhone 4/4s phone cases (released on March 3rd, 2012). There were two versions: a “DEAD END” and an “Oyasumi, Yukki” design.

Future Diary t-shirts (also released on March 3rd, 2012). There were two versions: a red/ “DEAD END” and a black/ “Oyasumi, Yukki” design. (source).

~ Victorinox Collaboration

Random collaboration alert! Back in 2012, Victorinox worked together with Kadokawa to release two versions of their Classic SD styled army knife: a “DEAD END” model and a “Yuno (Eye)” model. (source).

(Fun fact: the name of the latter coincidentally confirms that the eye we see at the beginning of Future Diary’s OP is, in fact, Yuno’s).

~ Great Eastern Entertainment

Great Eastern Entertainment is a famous manufacturer and retailer for officially licensed products here in the west. They’re actually responsible for creating the largest catalog of Future Diary merch from any company in this list. In fact, if you’ve ever seen officially licensed FD products at any western store (such as Hot Topic), it is more than likely from this brand. Sadly though, most of it is currently unavailable. Given how large and varied their catalog is, I’ll provide photos from their product listings instead of naming them one by one. You can browse through all their listings here.

~ Yuno Gasai Figurines

There are currently three Yuno Gasai action figures:

The elusive RAH figure, released by Medicom Toys

The Yuno Nendoroid, released by Good Smile

The POP UP PARADE figure + limited edition version, also by Good Smile

~ PSP Game

This game is an entire rabbit hole of its own, but I’ll try keeping it brief. The PSP game “Future Diary: the 13th Diary Owner” had its original release back in 2010, as well as its re-release titled “Re:Write” in 2012.

Each release of the game was accompanied by a series of related merchandise, such as telephone and library cards and a Yuno maid poster.

Re:Write also had its own limited edition bundle, which included:

A double-sided pillow case.

The Oyasumi CDs.

A double sided disk sleeve.

A CD with 13 themed PSP wallpapers.

There were two other PSP wallpapers: one which you could download from the official game’s website, and another that you could buy from a company called Happinet.

~ The Live World

This was a Future-Diary-themed concert, which featured music and voice actors from the show. I’ve made in-depth posts about it in the past, so check those out for more information. In terms of products related to this concert, we have:

The Blu-Ray disk recordings of the concert (released back in 2013), which included an additional 9-minute recording of the making of the event, as well as an eight-page booklet. 

A pamphlet, neck strap and clear file, which all featured the same image from the event poster.

Three t-shirts produced by the company MARS SIXTEEN

An event bundle, which included a t-shirt, waterproof phone pouch and drawstring bag, all with the same graphic.

A pink sign light

A pink towel scarf

A neck cooler

I tried compiling everything as best as I could in one image (curse you, Tumblr's photo limit).

Alas, this part has come to an end. Tune in for part 3!

[kararisa]

darling, starling

— 16. wine-stained lips — ✦ (wc: 0.9k)

Dandelion wine is a delicacy in the heart of Mondstadt, renowned as not only the best-seller of the region’s finest Dawn Winery but also as Venti’s favorite wine. The golden-colored drink has a flavor similar to mead, adorned with a subtle undertone of honeyed sweetness. While you’ve had the pleasure of sharing a glass or two with friends, you’ve never downed a full bottle.

Though that notion certainly changed today.

It’s a scene you're familiar with: dimmed lights, faint music, you and Scaramouche on the couch, sipping on glass after glass of wine. You were talking to him about... something. Was it the wine or the concert? It was something stupid, you know that much, because Scaramouche simply sneered at your comment and drank more of his wine.

The first night Scaramouche graced Inazuma with his presence after years away was spent here in this very living room. You and your friends had downed glass after glass, catching up after an eventful dinner.

Now, nine months have passed since he came back. It’s just you and him here. All alone.

Not that it’s a bad thing, at least in your book. The conversation isn’t boring, being able to flow much more smoothly with the help of the wine. And the skinship isn’t half-bad either. His hand has been resting on your knee for a bit, and your side has been pressed close to his for however long the two of you have been seated on this sofa.

It’s just the two of you here. There isn’t a need to keep up appearances.

"So, Scaramouche," you make your hand into a fist like you're holding a microphone. "How does it feel to be dating the Zenith?" 

"No comment."

You pout, "The crowd's not gonna like that; you're not giving them anything to latch on to." 

"Then I say that it's none of their business."

After a moment, you shrug, "Better than nothing I guess."

The two of you were bound to be hounded by reporters eventually, so you've taken to shooting him question after question in the guise of a journalist looking for some juicy gossip. 

His answers could use some work, you could say that much. 

"Our sources say you were at Windborne's concert tonight. What can you say about their music?" you hold out your invisible mic.

"It was alright."

You're getting annoyed at his clipped responses. "Don't lie, you enjoyed their concert," you swirl your glass before taking a sip. "I saw you smiling when I was on stage." 

"Again, I was only there because of you," he retorts. "You perform really well when you're in front of a crowd. Like you belong there." 

You likely would have blushed even more if the wine hadn't run its course, "Stop trying to butter me up. You're already dating me."

“We’re not even dating. And I’m only telling the truth — you were born for the stage,” he murmurs the next part so softly that you almost miss it. ”I like seeing you perform.”

You choose not to acknowledge the fact that you heard that last sentence, opting instead to drain the remnants of your glass. Its nectarine sweetness gives you comfort, a fleeting refuge from the tension in the air. With your glass now empty, you slowly swiveled to face Scaramouche, your heart racing, and your senses on high alert.

He was already looking right at you, seemingly closer than he was just a moment ago. HIs usually neat hair was now disheveled, a subtle blush graced his cheeks, and gods were his eyes always this pretty?

You lean closer to him, purely to take a closer look at his pretty face and most definitely not for any other reasons. The red eyeliner he usually wears is smudged at the wing, his hand that was once on your knee is now resting on your arm. You're still holding your empty wine glass, spinning it in your fingers while Scaramouche inches impossibly closer. Is the warmth spreading across your body coming from where he's touching you or have you had just one glass too many?

Honesty, you can't bring yourself to care with the way he looks at you. Maybe that's the real source of the heat.

“It’s just you and me here,” you drag your fingertips across his collarbone, a teasing trail that lingers on his shoulder. “No need to get so close.”

“Give it a rest,” he mumbles, voice slurring slightly. “Like you said, it’s just us. So shut up.”

“Make me.”

He leans in closer, ever closer, and presses his wine-stained lips onto yours. Time still as your hand, which was once wrapped around your wine glass, lets it slip from your fingers. You hear a soft thud as it finds its place on your carpet, but your attention is somewhere else entirely.

His hands, soft and warm, find their way to your waist and pull you closer. The taste of wine and the scent of his cologne threaten to intoxicate you further.

You tilt your head, deepening the kiss. A soft, breathless sigh escapes you, and you feel one of his hands moving to the small of your back, sending shivers down your spine. You grip his shoulder tighter in an attempt to anchor yourself while the rapid beating of your own heart echoes in your ears.

Scaramouche breaks away from the kiss for a moment to catch his breath. And you see nothing but want and need and desire in his eyes. He kisses you over and over again, each one more desperate than the last.

It’s just the two of you here — you let the world fall away as you start to run your fingers through his hair, a soft groan escaping him as you do this. Nothing else could matter in this moment.

And you’d kiss him all night if he’d let you.

✧— previous — masterlist — next —✧

summary: nothing more than a mistake made in the heat of the moment. that's all it is, and that's how it should be. but perhaps there's more than meets the eye

taglist — currently CLOSED:

@aestherin @unsterblich-prinz @yourstrulykore @krnzysh @syriiina @yumiaur @featuredtofu @kodzusmiles @meigalaxy @fangygf @motherscrustytoenailclippings @samyayaya @hiimera @beriiov @e0nssadrift @dazaisboner @nillajhayne @chluuvr @nillajhayne @deffenferofjustice @romyoia @xiaomainlmao @hotgirlshit5 @potabletable @letthewindlead @esuz @toriiee @kclremin @angelkazusstuff @phoenix-eclipses @sakiimeo @mayuumine @lilybythevalley @only-cherry-blossom @keiiqq @what-just-happened-huh @n3r0-1417 @haunts-gh0st @layla240 @mamafly @duckyyyx @certified-shrimp @kgogoma @xtobefreex @mechanicalbeat1 @meidnightrain @nordicbananas @feiherp @erzarq @nnasv

[arealtrashact]

That last photo set of Sting just made me realize that the homelander actor would be really good to play him in a biopic

It's the bad dye job and cold little eyes

Coincidentally, I was watching concert footage a few weeks ago and had a bit of a déjà vu moment seeing Sting's reaction to a 'fan' throwing mud at him. I half expected red laser beams to start shooting out of his eyes.

There's something familiar about his ability to track down the offender in a massive crowd, threaten to tear his arms off + kill him and alert his security all while continuing to sing and hold down a steady bassline.

Tfw you want to drop the act and maim someone but the show must go on.

[harryisourlover]

The Second Assistant

Inspired by the tongue guitar playing in Spain

Smut alert 🚨

Harry was in the midst of a whirlwind tour when a recent breakup left him emotionally drained. Determined to avoid entanglements with fans, he found solace in his work. Amidst the chaos, he couldn't help but notice his new second assistant, (Y/N), whose beauty and grace captivated him.

(Y/N) was a beacon of joy and laughter among her colleagues, but around Harry, she turned shy and reserved. Since day one she acted like that. But one fateful night after a particularly electrifying concert where Harry had pushed the boundaries of his attire, revealed A LOT, also was a night extremely hot in Spain and (Y/N) fainted backstage! She was overwhelmed by the intensity of the performance plus hot night and the last thing that Harry did on stage definitely was the final cause of her faint.

Concerned, Harry rushed to her hotel room after his concert, still in his revealing outfit because all that matters was to see of she was really ok!

He knocked on the door, she just got out of the shower and she was expecting her meal, not Harry…

“Oh my god, it’s you!”

“I’m sorry, are you expecting someone else?”

“Just my dinner..” she said moving her eyes from his eyes going down to his torso and abs

He noticed and explained “I’m sorry again, i just got out stage and didn’t saw you there in the corner, they told me… Are you ok?”

“I don’t understand… You barely say Hi and Bye every day, any order of what to do to you i get from Mary because she’s the first assistant and i’m the second… Why do you bother coming here?”

“Excuse me are you implying that i’m a incentive boss-monster? That i don’t care? Only once that i tried to spoke to you, you didn’t looked back at me in the eyes and everytime i see you nice and goofy around the crew but always with a bad face at me, how did you expect me to act?”

“I… i was trying to act professional with you”

“I honestly thought you hated me since day one for some reason i quit trying to find out…”

“What??? I don’t hate you! Never! I’m a fan! Actually since 1D to be honest”

“Ok, now i’m the one confused here”

“When Mary interviewed me for the job she said: 1- never mention you are a fan; 2- don’t talk to him looking in his eyes because his girlfriend is nuts jealous; 3- don’t be you the cool girl i know around him, just strict professional”

“OMG i had no idea!”

“Mary says hahahah i’m your type, she’s so wrong! Look at me! But anyway she said if i want a career i can’t cause trouble in my first job ever in this industry!”

“I totally understand She was trying to help you… and avoid drama with my ex��� She’s right about you being extremely attractive to me… She’s with me for 10 years she knows me very well!”

(Y/N)’s face is red and she thinks she’s about to faint again. Harry run to her holding her and asking “Are you ok? For sure?”

“I’m fine! Not going down again! It’s.. it’s just too much going on.. i need to sleep!”

“What about your food?”

“I will cancel… can you help me walking me to the bed?”

“I will help but you will eat! And i will go to my room shower and after that i will come back to see you! Where is your extra key?”

“Don’t need to do that Harry…”

“I will! Please let me do this!”

So exactly like he said, after he was back in her room. She had fallen asleep, so he took the tray away, returned to his room but kept her spare key.

Next day, like always when don’t need to travel to do a performance, Harry wake up when he wanted, brushed his teeth and looking at himself in the mirror started to think about (Y/N) and decided to go back to her room.

He wasn’t sure if she was awake yet, was 10 something AM, so he knocked softly. With no answer he did it again… and worried decided to use the key…

She was with her AirPod, laid down on the floor, legs wide open up on the bed, rubbing her covered pussy with one hand and on the other hand watching Harry’s video a fan did of him obscenely flipping his tongue on the guitar…

Harry didn’t want to scare her but she’s couldn’t her him there! And honestly he was hard ASF!!! He decided to remove his clothes and already touching himself he walked to her bed and seat close to one of her legs, he did wile she briefly close her eyes, and when she opened…

“Ohh omg!” And removed Airpod looking at him, iPhone already on the floor and her eyes big in shock looking to Harry’s Big fat cock.

“Don’t need to say anything love, if you just let me finish here looking at you rubbing that pussy for me i will be very happy, and if you want he can pretend never happened… or…. You can get out of that floor and come here to this bed and let me taste that pussy just like you’re dreaming watching that video on repeat”

She was speechless and frozen. Harry smirked at her and that was enough to release her from the frozen state. (Y/N) started to move and stopped standing in front of him.

They connected eyes and he used one hand to hold her t-shirt up and the other hand to grab the elastic of her panties, she nodded and he started to slowly remove her panties…

“All of this mess for me darling?”

“…Y..yes!”

“May i ask you to remove your t-shirt and lay next to me?”

She nodded and did as he asked… slowly Harry moved to the top of her using his knees and hands to spread her legs saying: “Darling I don’t dare to go up there and kiss you like i want, because it’s dangerous… we can fall in love and ruin business! But if you don’t mind i will bury my head in your perfect soaked cunt… and after this anytime you or me need some relief we can count on each other secretly ok?”

“Ok Harry”

“Call me Daddy!” And with that he started to eat her like the hungriest man in the world, stroking his penis at the same time. (Y/N) came like never before and was fighting to close her legs involuntarily.

“Just another one sweetheart, one more of your sweet orgasm juice and i will let go” He said and immediately sucked her clit wile inserted his finger, she cried loud in despair and he was just so impressed by how tight her pussy was, he said “Girl, you can barely take my finger, if i try to put my cock on you I don’t know if will fit…”

(Y/N) moaned and squirted with that dirty talk, Harry drank all and released his orgasm in his hand and belly. “I don’t know if i can keep my mouth out of this pretty pussy anymore girl!”

He started to put his clothes on with the devilish smile saying “I’m getting out of here before someone sees me wile looking for me.. Angel, i will always have your room’s door keys now! This will be our secret!”

And he left…. Not knowing that the biggest secret (Y/N) carries… She’s 22 but she’s virgin…

And now all she can think about is how to tell him! And when…

[inthiseverymoment]

silhouettes emerging: chapter iii

“Ever-Soaring Melodies on Unstable Chords”

having theatre-kid-ed her way into this mess, isabelle realizes she needs to theatre-kid her way out. or, as the case may be, theatre-kid her way in even deeper.

iwtv oc x armand, this chapter ~2.8k

this one takes place entirely in flashback and prose for Melodramatic Anne Rice Reasons. don't worry, we'll get daniel's thoughts (spoiler alert: our boy is Less Than Convinced) and some good good analysis in the next chapter

...currently realizing that, if last chapter was "y/n gets noticed at a concert", this chapter is the fight song by rachel platten moment. but, again, IT'S IWTV SO IT'S DEEPER THAN THAT

ok it is three forty eight am enjoy

chapter ii fic masterlist chapter iv

“I’m not sure why he insisted on keeping her in here. It’s not like she’s different from any other once-fresh meat.”

“Did you hear what they were saying before we caught her? She wanted a job.”

“A job! Here! Mon Dieu, the humans are getting bolder and bolder these days.”

Liquid voices were beginning to work their way into Isabelle’s consciousness as she awoke, her eyes eventually opening to reveal a few members of the last night’s cast and crew.

Last night?

Last week?

Last hour?

She didn’t know.

Suddenly feeling as if she hadn’t breathed in too long, she gasped in a lungful of air and was overwhelmed by a tantalizing smell combining rust, hair gel, potpourri, and…night itself, if that could even be said to have a smell.

Backstage.

Despite being in grave danger, just knowing she was in a dressing room environment sent a shiver of comfort through her that she tried to ignore.

Isabelle’s breath alerted the others to her presence, and as her vision gained focus, she began to recognize them one by one as they looked over her. Given her condition, all she could do was string the occasional tired word together.

“So. I take it…you are…real.”

A moment’s silence, and the vampires burst into debatably-natured laughter.

“That’s a new one,” tittered a slim woman with dark, perfectly rolled curls.

“And I realized that, and now you’re going to kill me? That’s how it is?”

“She’s a quick young thing,” a woman with hair like her own said between drags of her cigarette. “Almost wish we didn’t have to drain her.”

“I mean, you really don’t-”

“I’m afraid we do,” came a familiar drawl, and Santiago seemed to dramatically part his Red Sea of castmates. “Our Great Laws state that no vampire can allow a mortal to live who has had the vampire’s true nature revealed to them. Being that you now know the true nature of the entire Théâtre des Vampires…ah, well. The Laws must be followed. Too bad, my sweet, really. It’s what they say: so full of artless jealousy is guilt-”

“It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.”

However much terror was running through her veins at the thought of imminent death, the second half of her favorite Hamlet quote had come through her lips low, calm, and controlled. She breathed in something like relief; here was one thing to hold onto. Santiago, who’d clearly been expecting to continue grandstanding, regarded her with something like a challenge flashing through his cold eyes.

“Stars, hide your fires-”

“Let not light see my black and deep desires.”

“Anger’s my meat: I sup upon myself-”

“And so shall starve with feeding.”

Her adrenaline turning from fear to the high of competition, she would have stood to face Santiago if it were not for her realization that she was tied to her chair. He was advancing on her, an attempt at intimidation, but she matched him play for play and quote for quote; these words were her comfort, her lifeline, her blood.

“Run when you will. The story shall be changed:”

“Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase.”

“Or if I live, is it not very like-”

“-the horrible conceit of death and night-”

“-together with the terror of the place,” they finished in unison before Santiago started up again-

“No, sure, my lord-”

“My mother cried,” they said together, reaching the crest of their increase in volume to the point where they were both shouting-

“But then there was a star danced,” she concluded on her own,  more conviction in her voice than she had ever felt before, “and under that was I born.”

A long, long, long silence seemed to pass as the other cast members stared at them both with endless amusement. Eventually, Santiago allowed himself the smallest of chuckles.

“Yes, we’ll have to fog this one’s mind quite a bit for the next performance. Otherwise, she’ll get the audience on her side, and we can’t have that.”

…What?

No.

Nononononononono-

Eventually, she realized she was saying this repetition out loud-

“Someone get Armand,” she cried out. “You can’t do that to me. He wouldn’t allow it-at least I thought-what happened to the sympathy you had for me? That speech, to that girl? She was always entirely an act-I didn’t know all of you were-I-Armand!-please, please don’t-merde, I’m begging now-I’m saying-”

“Do not take her mind,” a measured yet half-flippant voice came from the staircase, and she turned to see him there.

Was he watching this whole exchange?

An ember of shame threatened to burn within her for wielding power through words that weren’t truly hers and then, at the threat of losing what she valued most, crumbling and calling out desperately to someone she’d met only hours ago; but it was soon swallowed up by more pressing matters-namely, the fate of her agency and life.

“People come to the Théâtre to be entertained,” Armand was saying as he descended the staircase. “It is not often that one of our victims puts up a true intellectual fight, and our audience will appreciate the chance to see it.”

“Maître, it won’t work otherwise, she wouldn’t fall for the-”

“Not too fast, Santiago,” came the interruption, and the maître in question silenced his leading man with only the lift of a hand. “We don’t want to spoil the surprise for her.”

“I-”

A blush painting her wearied face, she had to search for words for a moment as the vampires turned their piercing eyes to her. It took quite a bit of willpower to regain her composure, but regain it she did.

“I was there for the last performance. It will not be a surprise. You-you read their minds, I suppose, point out their flaws, and make them wish for the death you provide. Is that it?”

A beat, and then an outburst-

“Fog! Her! Mind!” Santiago said in the verbal equivalent of an exasperated eyeroll.

“I will not,” Armand held firm, “and neither shall any of you.”

He stepped behind Isabelle’s chair and touched two fingers to her temple, and an odd wave of something seemed to wash over her as the rest of the cast dispersed to their coffins, whispering all the way.

“That is a protection,” came Armand’s whisper to her. “I’ve stopped them from getting into your thoughts-”

“What, so that you can turn around and do it yourself?”

She ripped herself away from him as much as she could in her current position, her breath finally falling into tears, and he somehow seemed genuinely wounded.

“You do not trust me, then.”

“Why on earth,” she choked out a laugh, “would I trust you? It was your voice in my head last night, you who took me where I could see the bloodstain, you with so much power-apparently both hierarchical and supernatural-over everyone else here.”

“My promise regarding the audience was simply so that they would spare you. I have a plan, Isabelle-”

“And, whether that’s true or not, I suppose you could make me believe it somehow? How-”

Isabelle broke off, trying to keep from heaving a sob. The sudden longing for her tiny apartment with dripping ceilings and creaking tables overwhelmed her, if only for a return to when she was hers, when she was safe.

“How can I trust anything about you?”

After a moment, he swallowed hard but silently, then looked her in the eye for the first time since their last night’s conversation.

How she ever could have seen those eyes for even a moment and not realized that this man was something more than human was quite a mystery now. The deciphering of him that Isabelle had delighted in as an audience member with a crush had turned into a full-throated attempt to read his every flicker of the eyebrow, with her life now on the line. And all this time, the man in question had been silent.

“I’ll prove it,” he said simply.

Finding nothing more that he could do, Armand turned and retreated, going back up the staircase with every quiet footstep ringing.

He’d saved her last night. He’d claimed to have saved her now. And he was apparently planning to save her tomorrow from the death that his cast-his coven-hoped to carry out.

She was left alone with many questions, above them all being:

Why?

~

Isabelle’s day on the chair as the vampires slept had been spent half in silent contemplation, half in fruitless attempts to escape from her surely-supernaturally-assisted bonds. There was, needless to say, a lot to grapple with, but one thought nearly as alarming as losing her memories was the knowledge that-

If these people-people?-weren’t trying to kill or otherwise disarm me, I’d…

I’d adore them.

She’d never felt anything like this before. Immersive theatre that delved into grief and every facet of humanity, both beautifully artistic and unapologetically messy, was an idea she could only dream of for most of her life. The thrill of finding herself a little bit infatuated with half the cast throughout each play, then seeing all of those same bright eyes turned towards her; the offbeat adrenaline rush of a Shakespeare-off; the fact that she was no longer the most dramatic one in the room, not by a mile; so much about this group was intoxicating.

And the short conversation she’d had with Armand before everything fell open, as well as the restless dreams she’d had of him that she was sure he’d somehow placed there, still took the forefront of her musings.

Why is it that the first time I have genuine reason to feel wanted, it’s under…

Her leftover makeup had started to flake, and the rope was near biting into her wrists after the hours it had spent there.

…these circumstances?

Last night, she’d thought that a performance gig here would be her last chance, and this now seemed to be true in a whole new fashion. It took quite a lot of figuring, hoping, and crying to come to terms with the extremely high likelihood that there were only two ways that this night would finish:

Either Isabelle de la Rue, once Bella Ditell, would be killed…

…or she would be embraced.

It was clear that, for a few fleeting moments, in even the slightest way, these vampires respected her a little bit. They clearly thought she was dangerous enough to necessitate intervention, that she had enough presence of mind and will to live to stop her from falling for Santiago’s beckon to death. They now knew, too, that she was clearly a performer by trade and by passion. Armand had mentioned her possibly being of entertainment value, and that had sparked something of an idea; as little as she wanted to be valued only for that, if this was the only way to survive, she would show them that they wanted to keep her around.

The audition of a lifetime.

~

Hours later, she was behind the very same curtain that she’d been on the other side of only a day before. In any other circumstance, this would be a dream-to see a show at a theatre company one night and be part of said company the next.

Apparently, manifestations need to be more specific.

The redheaded woman who’d expressed not wanting to kill her held one of Isabelle’s arms, and the other was taken by a pretty-boy type who had played a woodcutter in an earlier skit. They both seemed surprised at her silence, but didn’t address it.

Probably makes it easier for them. It’s simpler not to see their victims as people, and all that.

But when they dragged her onstage after a very long monologue for Santiago-as-Death, Isabelle did not stay silent, and she also did not scream.

She sang.

It was an aria of a mythical queen awaiting her death, one that she’d known for years. She felt an odd sensation of multiple telepathic attempts to shut her mouth being ricocheted away by whatever spell Armand had placed, and with the knowledge that this might be the last aria of her life, she poured her entire being into it. Santiago played along in character, partly amused and partly furious, and the sound of his half-chaotic French made her head spin even further, and everything whirled around at once-

All of a sudden, Isabelle was a capella no longer.

She glanced into the wings and made eye contact with the pianist, who grinned at her.

I won’t let myself imagine that anything comes out of real sympathy, that’s too dangerous-they’re playing with their food, is all.

Still…

What a moment!

Roughly half the audience was laughing in disbelief, but the other half seemed genuinely tuned in to what she was doing. She reached out to them, to her fellow humans, every trace of desperation and brazen hope sparking up in her eyes. She even managed to find and share a moment with the girl she’d met the previous night, who had seemed greatly worried upon recognizing her but now smiled at her and leaned forward to take her hands-

-until Santiago grabbed hold of her waist from behind and dragged her upstage.

A few audience members gasped, but Isabelle continued singing, looking between them and her reaper with more fire than she had ever trusted herself to possess.

Unable to stop her voice by supernatural means, Santiago skipped to the end of his usual blocking, straight to the part where he held the victim by the throat. This nearly choked her, and the tears that had started during her frenzied aria threatened to break loose.

A cold shiver ran through her every bone.

This is it.

It didn’t work.

She tried to turn her head, intending for her friend in the front row-her first friend-to be the last face she’d see.

If I go out, I’ll go out singing.

Santiago’s grip tightened, and-

“Arrêt!”

Out of pure surprise, the bony grip around her neck released, and she looked over Santiago’s shoulder to find the source of the voice she already knew.

Armand, now in full makeshift costume, was holding a very real prop sword to his leading man’s throat.

He began to speak in French, with every dramatic inflection of the rest of his coven, but broadcasted a more earnestly spoken translation to her as he did so:

You will not harm her.

Apparently greatly enjoying the improvisatory nature of how tonight was shaping up, the offstage orchestra struck up a soaring, string-soaked theme.

As Orpheus meant to save Eurydice, I mean to claim my love from the hands of Death. Only I, I will not falter. I will not doubt.

He now lowered his sword and looked straight to her, directly, intently.

I will give her reason to trust.

Whether it was the torrent of Purcell-assisted emotion and the promise of certain death that preceded this, her go-with-the-moment theatrical training, the single curl falling in front of Armand’s face, or some overwhelming combination of all three, Isabelle slowly moved to take his hand, deeply affected by the way he seemed to have genuinely expected her not to.

He kissed her birthmark again, and she started to cry.

Never one to miss a chance at upstaging a scene, Santiago swooped in once more, but was repelled. By the way each vampire looked at the other, she knew this was a battle being fought with eyes and telepathy alone, one which the maître would undoubtedly win.

Mighty Reaper, Armand’s speech and translation continued, cliché as it may seem, my love-my lark-is too strong in her soul and in her love to fall to you this early. With the two of us fighting against you, life will…

These words seemed almost to stick in his throat; understandable, she thought, after years-possibly centuries-of existing by the opposite mantra.

This time, life will prevail.

She shook her head, looking to Armand in total bewilderment. Why was he doing this? Why was he saying all of this?

Why me?

This he heard, and this he answered.

She of the ever-winding, ever-sparking mind, she of the soaring and unafraid voice-both of which you, Death, wish to silence-is the only one I ever wish to hear.

What followed was a kiss so tentative, then so tender, then so deep, that the sound of the violins seemed to be circling around the pair in swooping whirls that caught in each contour of their breath.

For the first time in her life, Bella Ditell allowed her guard to fall.

The audience, caught off guard by something resembling a ‘happy ending’ and having quite a lot of fun with the dramatics of it all, roared their appreciation. Above every sound was the delighted, encouraging wolf whistle of the young woman in the front row.

Perhaps it was wrong. Perhaps it was horrid. Perhaps it was everything she’d feared wrapped up in everything she’d hoped, or perhaps it was the opposite.

But now, at least, at last, Isabelle had the chance to find that out for herself.