#the profound sadness has returned...

[fisheito]

before mirage of scales: I NEED YAKUYA EVENT

after mirage of scales: ah. um. i . i don't need yakuya event so much, anymo.re... hah..a...

[nastybuckybarnes]

Homemade Lunch

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley X Reader

Warnings: Angst, Language, Arguments, sad feelings, fluff,

Word Count: idk but she aint too too long

A/n: based on a tiktok i saw but cannot for the life of me find to link. enjoy! <3

~*~

You huff out a sigh when the door closes behind you.

Shucking off your coat, you hang it up and tug off your mitts and hat next, putting them all away while you listen for your boyfriend.

He's quiet on a good day. On a day like today? When the two of you have been fighting more than you haven't been?

You begin to wonder if he's even home.

Carefully, you venture upstairs to confirm your boyfriend is, in fact, still in the house, sleeping in the bed the two of you share.

Silently, you close the door and head back downstairs, wiping your hands over your face a few times before pinching the bridge of your nose.

Heaving a heavy sigh, you head into the kitchen and grab Simon's lunch bag off of the counter, pausing when you feel the weight of it.

Brows drawing together, you open it up slowly, your heart dropping when you see he's packed himself a lunch.

A pack of instant noodles and a few protein bars are shoved carelessly in the bag, and it breaks your heart to see.

It's become a ritual now, you making his lunch for him every night so that he can head to work and not have to worry.

When he's actively deployed it saddens you to see the lunch bag sitting on the counter, awaiting his return.

But that sadness pales in comparison to what you feel when realization dawns on you.

He packed his own lunch.

Your argument from earlier seems pointless now, you can't even remember what you were fighting about. Not when your man, the man you love with your whole heart, truly thought you'd be too mad to pack his lunch.

Washing your hands, you get to work on making him lunch, your anger disappearing as you focus instead on putting together all of his favourite foods and snacks.

You work as quietly as you can, packaging everything with love and care.

Once his lunch is made, you give the kitchen a quick clean then get everything ready to make sure his morning is as smooth as possible.

Does he piss you off beyond comprehension? Yes, absolutely. In ways you didn't know a person could piss you off.

Do you love him more than you've ever loved anyone before in your life? Without question.

As you settle into bed facing his back, you can't help but lean forward and give him a gentle kiss.

Ever the light sleeper, he peels his eyes open at the feeling of your soft lips against his skin, his anger settling a bit at the tiny yet profound action.

~*~

Simon wakes up the next morning in a sour mood.

With his eyes opening not five minutes before his alarm is set to ring, things aren't off to a good start.

His mood only worsens when he realizes that all he's got to eat today for lunch is a pack of instant noodles, a few protein bars, and the stale crackers you like to leave in the bottom of the box.

It's nothing but willpower and discipline that gets him out of bed, into the shower, and dressed.

His gloomy mood gets worse still when he heads into the kitchen only to not find his lunch bag on the counter where he left it.

The kitchen is clean, by your hand no doubt, and he grinds his teeth together as he begins hunting for his lunch bag.

After almost five minutes, he yanks it out of the fridge, only to pause at the added weight.

Dry noodles aren't this heavy.

He sets the bag down on the counter and slowly opens it, his heart filling with warmth at the contents.

Instead of his bland noodles, there are several containers full of food, along with two of the juice boxes you like to keep hidden in the back of the fridge where you think he won't look.

On top of all of it, though, is a note scribbled in your handwriting with a dried tear drop tainting the paper.

He has to fight the stinging in his eyes as he reads over the words you've written.

He sets the paper down after a moment and squeezes his eyes shut, then carefully folds the paper up and tucks it into one of his many pockets before heading upstairs.

Skillfully silent, he makes no noise as he enters your shared bedroom, even less when he kneels on the bed behind you.

You inhale sharply when his hand dusts over your shoulder, looking over your shoulder only for him to immediately shush you.

"S'alright, love. S'just me. Go back to sleep."

You hum, resting your head on the pillow once more and snuggling into him when he climbs into bed behind you.

He wraps a strong arm around your waist and pulls you tightly against him, kissing the top of your head.

"I love you."

You peel your eyes open once more and glance over at him.

"I love you too."

[wannabespacesmuggler]

L.H. | Like a Moth to a Flame

Masterlist | Buy me a coffee

Summary: Logan Howlett is a dangerous man; at least, that's what he wants you to think when he first meets you during your shift at Lucky's. However, he only seems to prove the opposite as he becomes a more constant presence in your life. After learning his true identity in a dark back alley, he's certain you want nothing to do with him. But against your better judgment, you're drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

Pairing: Lumberjack!Logan Howlett x Bartender!Reader

Warnings: canon typical violence, men being creepy in an alley, canon divergent (because fuck the timelines), mutual pining, miscommunication

Word Count: 3.4K

Author’s Note: I am overwhelmed with the love and support for my first Logan fic. This man has taken over my ever waking thought. I wrote this while picturing lumberjack Logan from X-Men Origins: Wolverine and listening to Hozier (this man is so "Too Sweet" and "NFWMB" coded). Super proud of how this turned out, hope you enjoy it.

You’re used to a rough-and-tumble, rough-around-the-edges kind of crowd — blue-collar workers, committed hunters, down-on-their-luck drifters. Maybe that’s why you don’t think twice when he enters the tiny dive bar. He’s clad in a deep maroon flannel tucked into a tattered pair of jeans. You don’t even look in his direction as he sidles into a seat at the end of the bar. He looks like any other patron you’ve met while bartending at Lucky’s. 

“Hey there, what can I get for you?”

He leans forward, forearms flexing against the counter. A shiver runs down your spine as your eyes linger on the deep scars etched in between his knuckles before traveling up his broad frame. It’s as if your fight or flight response kicks in, and suddenly, a voice in your head tells you to run. But as you finally meet his hazel eyes, you freeze. There’s a hollowness in how he looks at you — a profound sadness that makes your heart ache for the man sitting before you.

“Whiskey, neat.”

You simply nod at his request before turning to pour him a glass. As you place the drink before him, a flash of metal across his chest grabs your attention. The man follows your gaze, and his features harden at the realization of what caught your interest. He quickly shoves the dog tags hanging loosely around his neck under his shirt — out of your line of sight. Your cheeks instantly flush, humiliation washing over your body. You begin to apologize, but the man downs his glass of whiskey and slaps some cash on the table.

“Thanks for the drink.”

With that, he grabs his leather jacket off the back of his chair and stalks out of the bar. You watch him leave in stunned silence. You hadn’t meant to invade his privacy in any way. You’re used to the anonymity that some men around here need to survive — hell, you don’t even know the names of some of your regulars. Before you can get swallowed up by embarrassment, one of your other patrons calls for another drink. Shaking off your previous interaction, you return your attention to your job.

After work, you couldn’t stop thinking about the encounter. With a deep sigh, you pour yourself a drink and collapse into your couch. You don’t know why you’re getting so worked up about it. In reality, you probably won’t ever see the man again, which should relieve you; however, the thought only disappoints you.

To your surprise, he walks back into the bar three days later during your shift. You try to ignore his presence as he moves to sit at the same spot at the end of the bar. To make amends, you pour a glass of whiskey and set it in front of him.

“This one’s on the house.”

The man looks up, giving you a confused expression. He opens his mouth to protest, but you cut him off.

“Don’t. It’s just an apology for the other night.”

He gives you a nod before grabbing the glass and taking a long drink. You turn away from him, but his deep voice cuts through the rowdy Friday night crowd before you can take a step.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. I still expect a tip, though.”

A chuckle reverberates in his chest. The sound of it causes your face to light up. The man’s lips pull up into a small, gentle smile. You force yourself to return to work before you get further drawn into him. Unlike the other night, he sits at the bar for the rest of your shift, ordering several glasses of whiskey and keeping his eyes trained on the television above your head.

“It’s the end of my shift. Ready to close out with me?”

Logan nods, downing the rest of his whiskey and then placing several bills on the counter.

“Keep the change.”

“Wow, thank you…” 

You trail off, realizing you still haven’t learned his name. Looking down at the money he placed before you, you notice he’s tipped you at least fifty percent. You don’t want to invade his privacy again, but a part of you wishes you knew his name so that you could thank him properly.

“Logan.”

“Thank you, Logan.”

He stands up from his seat before clearing his throat awkwardly.

“You working tomorrow?”

You bite your lip at his words, trying to stop yourself from grinning like an idiot. Trying to ground yourself back into reality, you remind yourself that you don’t fraternize with your clientele. While working at Lucky’s, you’ve learned one thing about the men who frequent the establishment — they’re bad news. But then you look back up at him. He’s got to be over six feet tall; his simple white t-shirt accentuates just how broad his body is, and yet this sturdy, well-built man looks almost nervous standing before you. Your body responds before your brain can catch up.

“My shift starts at 6:00.”

Logan slides his leather jacket on, and a slight smirk spreads across his features. He’s a devastatingly handsome man, and you’re no better than a moth to a flame — irresistibly attracted to that which you know will hurt you. 

“See you then.”

And you do see him during your shift the next day, and your shift after that, and the one after that. Logan’s there in his seat at the end of the bar during all of your shifts, ordering whiskeys and making polite conversation until he’s become a constant presence in your life. 

Today is no different. You have a glass of whiskey ready for Logan when he enters the bar. His schedule with the town’s logging company is pretty consistent. Logan accepts the glass graciously as you slide it in front of him. 

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

You ignore how nonchalantly the term of endearment slips past his lips — and how your heart lurches as he says it. Instead, you focus on his features, which somehow look more exhausted than usual today. His work is hard, long, and labor-intensive; however, throughout your conversations with the hardened lumberjack, you’ve also learned that Logan’s sleep schedule is abysmal.  He’s a grown man; he can decide what he wants to do — or doesn’t want to do — but a part of you can’t help but want to care for him.

“You gotta get some sleep, Logan.”

He scoffs in response, looking up at you with tired eyes. You know he isn’t angry at your suggestion, but the pointed look he gives you is a warning. He’s opened up quite a bit throughout his frequent visits to the bar, but there is still an air of mystery about the man sitting before you. You know better than to push him, so you raise your hands defeatedly.

“All I’m saying is that those dark circles do nothing for that handsome face.”

A warm laugh reverberates in Logan’s chest. He takes a long drink from his glass before responding, downing a considerable amount of whiskey with absolutely no reaction.

“You think I’m handsome?”

You roll your eyes at the man, trying to keep your cool. Logan is an enigma to you — simultaneously socially awkward and overly flirtatious. It’s as if he has two personalities — two completely different sides of himself — fighting for dominance at all times. And yet, it works because he’s catastrophically charming. 

“Shut up.”

A smug smirk spreads across Logan’s face, and you decide it’s getting a little too stuffy in the small dive bar. You grab the pack of cigarettes you keep stashed under the bar and turn back to Logan. He already knows what you’re about to ask. It’s become routine for Logan to join you during your fifteen-minute break, sharing cigarettes in the secluded alley behind the bar.

“I’m going for a smoke. You coming?”

“Let me finish my drink. I’ll be right out.”

You nod at him before moving towards the back door. As you step out into the alley, you’re met with a much-appreciated, cool breeze. It causes a shiver to run down your spine as your body adjusts to the sudden difference in temperature. After placing a cigarette between your lips, you pull a small silver lighter out of your back pocket. You slide your thumb over the engraving on the side: L.H. Logan had given you the lighter after yours burnt out about a month ago. You tried to give it back, but he insisted you keep it. You bring the lighter up to your face, but a voice surprises you before you can light your cigarette. 

“Those things’ll kill you, sweetheart.”

A man you’ve never seen before emerges from the darkness and approaches you with an uncomfortable air of familiarity. The way this man says Logan’s term of endearment makes you sick to your stomach. It sounds sweet coming from Logan’s lips — grounded in a deep respect and laced with affection. 

You were simply going to ignore him, knowing Logan’s presence would deter him in a matter of minutes; however, your body bristles as two more figures join him from the darkness of the alley. Your body moves on its own accord, seeking the comfort and safety of the bar — of Logan. But the man closest to you grabs your arm before you can step out of their reach.

“Where you going, sweetheart? The party’s out here.”

His voice is sickly sweet and dripping with venom — a stark contrast to Logan’s low, warm timbre. The two men behind him laugh at his words. Your fight or flight response kicks in, and you struggle against the man’s hold as you’re hit with the gravity of your situation.

“Just let me go.”

Your voice is stern as you rip your arm away from the man’s grip. You rush to get away, but he’s quicker. He places both hands on the brick wall behind you, caging you in. Now you’re panicking. A threatening growl interrupts the encounter before the man in front of you can say anything else, and Logan emerges from the darkness. His features are menacing in the dim light of the alley, but you’re met with a sense of relief rather than fear.

“You heard her. Let her go.”

The tiny hairs on the back of your neck raise at the sound of his voice; however, the stranger in front of you doesn’t seem to find him as frightening. Instead of backing down, the man lets out a dry, unamused laugh at Logan’s words.

“We’re just having some fun here.”

Bile rises in your throat at the insinuation in his tone. Logan seems equally displeased by his response as another animalistic growl rips through his body. He takes an intimidating step forward before speaking.

“You don’t want to do this, bub.”

It’s almost as if he’s pleading with them — begging them to stop so that he doesn’t have to act first. Your eyes find those dog tags hanging around his neck again. Your heart breaks as you realize Logan doesn’t want to fight, but he will — for you. Based on the look in his eyes, he’ll rip these men apart limb from limb if they lay a hand on you. 

“No, buddy, you don’t want to do this. You’re outnumbered — three to one. You don’t stand a chance.”

The man’s tone is amused but impatient. He’s itching for Logan to either leave them be or throw the first punch, but he does neither. Instead, Logan squares his shoulders and extends his arms out at his sides.

“You sure about that?”

Your brow furrows at an unfamiliar sound — a strange, metallic snikt. You’re surprised when the man’s arms fall from either side of your shoulders. You take the opportunity to create distance between yourself and the group of men who are all staring at Logan. Not understanding what caused their sudden hesitation, you also look over at Logan. Your body tenses at the sight of him standing in the middle of the alley with long, metal claws protruding from his fists. He takes another step forward, and the men scatter, running for their lives. 

Logan waits a few moments, ensuring that the men are actually gone. Then he lets out a deep sigh as his metal claws retract back into his hands. Your hands meet the cool brick behind you, grounding you in this incredibly unreal moment. You blink, expecting to wake up from whatever dream you’re having right now — but you’re not dreaming.

Logan finally turns to face you, and his features soften. His eyes scan your body, checking you over for injuries. He takes a step toward you but stops as you take a step toward the bar's back door. You can’t seem to look away from his hands — at those deep, pronounced scars between his knuckles. His eyes follow yours, and you’re met with instant regret as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. You finally look up at his face and are anguished at the sight of his hardened features.

You want to tell him a million things. Your body moved on its own accord. You didn’t mean to stare at his scars. You’re just confused. You’re grateful for his help. You’re not afraid of him.

But you don’t mutter a single word. It’s as if you’re frozen in place. 

“Alright.”

Your heart almost breaks in two at the pained sound of his voice. Logan meets your eyes one last time, disappointment evident in his gaze. Finally, your body shakes out of its paralysis, but it’s too late — the damage has already been done. You watch helplessly as he begins walking away from you. 

“Logan, wait.”

But he doesn’t turn around. He keeps walking until he vanishes into the darkness. Tears begin rolling down your cheeks as you slide down against the brick wall — partly because of what could have happened and partly because of what did happen. And just like the first day you met Logan, you fear you may never see him again. 

But once again, you were wrong. 

Eight unbearably long days later, Logan enters Lucky’s again. You watch his bated breath as he approaches, hoping he’ll sit at his usual spot at the end of the bar. Instead, Logan places a few bills on the counter before meeting your gaze. You draw in a shaky breath as you look into his hazel eyes — the hollowness is back, and our heart aches as you realize you’re now the reason behind that sadness. 

“Didn’t feel right not closing out last time.”

You almost laugh at his words — the free glass of whiskey was the last thing on your mind. He rolls his shoulders back nervously, his muscles flexing under his black t-shirt. You reach out and grab his hand before he can pull it away from the counter. His eyes instantly widen, but the physical contact seems to make him relax ever so slightly.

“Can we talk, please?”

Your hand tightens around his, physically begging him to just stay. Logan nods in silent agreement. You pull your hand away from his and try to push down the sudden disappointment caused by the loss of his touch. You move toward the back door, and Logan follows you into the alley from a safe distance. For a moment, you’re lost in a bout of deja vu as you lean against the brick wall, and Logan stands before you. Your hands nervously find Logan’s lighter in your pocket, looking for something to occupy yourself with. The movement catches Logan’s eyes, and you swear the corners of his lips twitch up into a small smile at the sight of his lighter in your hands. 

“I’m sorry.”

The words tumble out of you clumsily. Logan’s brow furrows, and you watch as his head tilts slightly to the side. 

“What?”

“I’m so sorry, Logan.”

Logan’s lips pull into a small frown as he considers your apology. He takes a cautious step forward, watching you intently. He’s waiting for you to pull away, but you stand your ground.

“Why are you apologizing, sweetheart?” 

You can’t help the small smile that spreads across your face. Hearing him say that name — the word that’s been keeping you up at night — you realize just how much you missed the sound of his voice.

“I made you think I’m afraid of you.”

Logan takes another step forward, testing you. You know what he’s trying to do — he’s giving you an out. Pull away, and he’ll stop, but you lock eyes with the man before you. His movements might be cautious, but his eyes are wild with unspoken emotion.

“Well, are you?”

“No.”

Another step forward. He’s now standing within arm’s length. You could reach out and touch him. God, you want to reach out and touch him. Logan looks down at you with an intensity that makes your breath catch. No man has ever looked at you like this, but then again, Logan certainly isn’t like any other man. 

“You should be.”

That voice from the first day you met him appears yet again, telling you to run. But you stay put. You don’t need to run from him. You don’t need to fear him. He protected you from those men. He was prepared to fight for you. He revealed his true identity to keep you safe. And once again, you’re like a moth to his flame — gravitating towards him.

“I’m not afraid of you, Logan. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He’s a breath away, so close you can feel the warmth radiating off his body. You wonder if he can hear your heart pounding in your chest as his gaze moves from your eyes to your lips. His hand covers yours, stopping your anxious fidgeting with his lighter. You watch in awe as he takes it from your grasp and places it into your jacket pocket. He moves his hand out of your pocket; his fingers leave a scorching sensation behind in their absence as they slide across your skin until they reach your waist. His other hand comes up and tenderly caresses the side of your face.

“Say it again.”

Your breath hitches at his request, but you do what he asks — hell, you’d do anything for him.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Logan shakes his head. His hand moves to take hold of the other side of your waist. The grip he has on you is secure but gentle.

“No, sweetheart. Not that part.”

Oh. Oh.

You could cry at the realization — at his need to feel wanted and appreciated. You move your hands to either side of his face. He melts into your touch before meeting your eyes again. A part of you wonders if anyone has ever touched Logan like this — if he’s ever known what physical contact feels like outside of a fight.

“I’m not afraid of you, Logan. I trust you.”

And suddenly, Logan is pulling you into him. His lips desperately find yours. Your fingers thread through his hair as his body pushes you into the brick wall. His movements are rooted in a deep hunger — not driven by lust, but in a need to be known and loved and touched. So that’s just what you do. Your hands move through his hair, down his neck, across his chest, over his back. You attempt to touch every bit of Logan to prove that you want this — that you want him. 

A low growl reverberates in his chest as he pulls away from your lips. Unlike the night before, this growl isn’t rooted in anger but, instead, the result of a deep desire. His hands move away from your body and find the wall behind you. Your brow furrows at the loss of his touch until you hear a familiar sound on either side of you — a sharp, metallic snikt. He leans down, forehead resting against yours as his short, rapid breaths fan over your face.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I can’t control it sometimes.”

You shake your head at his admission. He did control himself — he purposely removed his hands from your body before his claws extended. He protects you as if it’s just his second nature — something he doesn’t even need to take the time to consider. You run your hands up his chest, feeling the tense muscles under his t-shirt, before gently grabbing his face.

“Hey. Hey.”

You pull away slightly so you can look him in the eye. Your words grab his attention, grounding him.

“You have nothing to apologize for. I trust you.”

His breaths gradually even out, and eventually, you hear his claws retract and feel the familiar warmth of his touch against your skin again. As Logan maintains eye contact, looking at you as if you’re the answer to some unspoken prayer, you begin to think you’ve gotten this all wrong: maybe you’re not the moth, but the flame.

[kaayyyys]

Daryl Dixon X reader

You're his soft spot ❤️

Daryl's world is brutal, and he's built walls to survive. But for you, he'd lower those walls and become your fiercest protector. He'd always be aware of your surroundings, scanning for threats, and positioning himself between you and any danger. He wouldn't just protect you physically; he'd shield your spirit too, deflecting negativity and bolstering your courage.

Daryl isn't one for grand gestures or flowery words. His love is expressed in actions. He'd watch you carefully, learning your habits, your fears, and your secret joys. He'd notice the little things – a shift in your mood, a flicker of sadness in your eyes – and he'd respond accordingly, offering a comforting presence or a silent act of service. His understanding of you would be profound, built on observation and genuine care.

Forget candlelight dinners and romantic getaways. Daryl's romance is found in the everyday. He'd bring you a freshly caught rabbit, not as a provider, but as a gift. He'd share his meager rations of coffee with you in the morning, a silent offering of warmth. He'd sit beside you by the campfire, the crackling flames the only music you need, his presence a solid anchor in a chaotic world.

Trust is hard-earned in the apocalypse, but with you, Daryl would offer it freely. He'd confide in you about his past, his fears, and his hopes – things he'd never share with anyone else. He'd trust your judgment, seek your advice, and rely on you to be his sounding board. In return, he'd be fiercely loyal and unwavering in his support of you.

The world outside is filled with walkers and constant threats, but in Daryl's arms, you'd find a safe haven. His embrace would be strong and protective, a silent promise that he'll always be there for you. He might not say "I love you" often, but you'd feel it in the way he holds you, the way he buries his face in your hair, the way he makes you feel like you're the only person in the world that matters.

Daryl knows what it's like to be broken. He'd approach you with patience and understanding, never pushing you to share more than you're ready to. He'd accept you for who you are, flaws and all, and he'd help you heal from the wounds of the past. He wouldn't try to fix you, but he'd stand beside you as you fix yourself.

While he can be serious, Daryl also has a dry wit. He'd tease you gently, a playful way of showing affection. He might call you "darlin'" or some other simple term of endearment, a sign that you've broken through his tough exterior. These small moments of levity would be precious reminders of the love you share, even amidst the darkness.

You both have scars, both physical and emotional. Daryl wouldn't shy away from them; he'd acknowledge them, understand them, and help you carry them. Together, you'd find strength in your shared experiences, becoming each other's rock in a world that's constantly trying to break you down.

Even though he’s protective, Daryl wouldn't try to control you. He'd respect your independence and your ability to take care of yourself. He knows you're strong, and he wouldn't want to stifle your spirit. He'd simply want to be there to support you, to offer a helping hand when you need it, and to celebrate your victories, big or small.

[lueurjun]

. ˚◞☁️ ✧˖🤍࿐

▍ synopsis╰┈➤ minho had always been clear about his aversion to marriage, and initially, you accepted it. But when your feelings changed, the once-accepted truth shattered, leaving you to confront the fallout head-on.

🖇·˚ ༘┊ lee know x reader — angst. angst. just angst.

˚ ༘💭 ·˚ message from lueurjun . . . my very first skz post on this account ! this was meant to just be a enha and txt acc but i’ve decided to add skz to the list too because i couldn’t resist. anyways i’m sorry for this, i was in a sad mood.

. ˚◞☁️ ✧˖🤍࿐ྂ

Minho is a captivating read, his life an open narrative. Every page reveals a tapestry of his passions and despairs, vividly illustrated with meticulous detail. It's this transparency that drew you to him, each chapter unfolding with refreshing honesty. You find comfort in knowing what to anticipate, yet he never fails to astonish you with unexpected gestures.

One of the chapters in his book is the declaration of his distaste for marriage, and conveniently enough, it’s the only chapter without a carefully crafted explanation. He told you before things progressed that he would never be able to offer you marriage, and he told you it with full intention of letting you walk away unscathed, with your heart intact. But you were fine with it, a young adult starting their twenties with no intention to marry. It didn’t bother you; it wasn’t a significant issue.

Until it was.

Wedding season was approaching in stride with the warm weather. Three beautifully designed invitations adorned the fireplace, unopened. There was a fourth, the first and only one you pried open and then hid away from your sight with a sick feeling lining in your stomach and an ache in your heart — one of longing. You couldn’t open the others.

Guilt laid across the longing, meshing together and in turn forming one complex emotion; resentment. Not even towards Minho, but your past self for being careless enough to not consider the feelings of your future self. The now you, who envisioned a beautiful summer wedding and all its trimmings. The guilt picked at you, because Minho had warned you about this before you got too deep in. He reminded you before he told you that he loved you, that if you wanted to run, if you wanted to marry then he had to let you go, before he got too attached. Before you got too attached.

Minho wasn't oblivious to the turmoil raging within you, nor to the contradictions within your heart. He found the invitation, concealed from sight bearing a telltale water stain. He observed the wistful gazes whenever your friends conversed about walking down the aisle, and married life. They often left you out of those conversations, already knowing Minho’s views. And it killed him—because he knew you wanted the one thing he vowed to never offer.

And he knew there was only one alternative to you getting what you want.

The sun’s shift was over for the day, night just clocking in when he returns home, exhausted with a heavy heart in anticipation for what he was about to do. You’re on the sofa when he walks through the door, three cats surrounding you looking interested in whatever it’s flickering on the tv. His heart clenched at the scene, aching in his chest, nearly breaking when you greeted him with a radiant smile.

He’s not one to beat around the bush. Never has been, but as he walks toward you, he feels the words stalling in his throat. His heart pleads with him, but he sits down across from you and he swallows thickly.

“Let’s break up.”

The once-warm home now feels frigid, as if drained of its vitality—like the scented candles you loved had extinguished, and the tv shut off. A profound stillness settles over everything in an instant. Your expression collapses into sheer devastation, and Minho's eyes squeeze shut.

“Did I do something?” You manage, only just. Your heart feels like it’s ready to give way. Confusion clogs your mind with a million inquiries.

Minho shakes his head. Of course you’d blame yourself. It sickens him to the core. “No. No, you didn’t.”

"Then why?" Your tone sharpens with anger, impatience seeping through. Why was he breaking up with you? Why was he doing this to you? Why now?

Minho tilts his head, eyeing the ceiling in a pathetic attempt to keep his eyes from watering. “I can’t give you what you want. It isn’t fair.”

You’re bewildered. “I don’t understand—”

“Marriage. I can’t offer that to you, and it’s not fair. I don’t want you to cry looking at invitations knowing you’ll never ship ones out of your own. I can’t watch you be left out of conversations because I’m holding you back. It isn’t fair on you.”

“I told you—”

“And you changed your mind. It’s selfish of me to string you along, knowing nothing more will come from this. I can’t let you waste your dream, not on me. So let’s break up, because that way you can find someone who will give you what you want.”

“Do you not love me?”

Minho almost laughs at that, because how is that even a question in your mind? It’s funny because he’s doing this because of how much he loves you.

“I love you enough to know that I have to let you go.”

And just like that, your heart meets your stomach as the barrier collapses. Doongie meows from your lap, reaching up a paw to your cheek as though caressing the skin. Tears chase each other down your cheeks in a rapid game of tag, the trail ending at your neck where Soonie sits, eyeing you in confusion. Dori is behind Minho, a paw coming down to strike him but he doesn’t flinch.

“I don’t have to have marriage—I just want you!” The words rush out of you like a torrential waterfall. “I can be happy without that as long as I have you.”

Minho shakes his head. “I don’t want that for you. I can’t offer you marriage, I can’t do it. That’s not me. But there’s someone else who can, and as much as the thought of you with someone else kills me, it’s what you deserve.”

Minho's longing to comfort you is palpable, yet he remains rooted to his seat, enduring each gentle prod from Dori. With his gaze fixed on the floor, he quietly utters, "I'll stay at Chan's until I figure out where to go."

You shake your head, sobs cutting through your throat as you plead, beg and cry. You don't want him to leave for Chan's, you don't want him to pack his bags; you want him right here, with you. Marriage or not, you just want him by your side.

Though deep down, want isn’t enough. Resentment has begun to accumulate like an impending avalanche, threatening to engulf everything in its path. Perhaps Minho is correct; maybe it's best to end things now. An argument would have inevitably ensued—such clashes do when both parties want different things.

Minho doesn’t cry as he packs his bag, he doesn’t cry as he kisses your forehead and leaves a scratch on Doongie’s forehead, nor when he gets into his car and drives away.

Minho's stoicism holds until two months later, when he finds himself seated in the back of Hyunjin's wedding venue, watching the happy couple share a kiss sealing the deal of forever. It's only then, as his eyes drift to where you sit, that tears finally gloss over his eyes, haunted by visions of himself slipping a ring onto your finger.

Alone in his car, Minho finally allows himself to release the pent-up emotions. Tears stream down his face as he grapples with a mind overwhelmed by countless scenarios and a heart weighed down by regret.

[sweetlyvibe]

PAIRING : Obito Uchiha x Reader

WORD COUNT : 4.6k

GENRE : Angst / Comfort

SUMMARY : After surviving the Fourth War and being pardoned, Obito meets someone who accepts him despite his scars and past. Jealous of another suitor, Obito believes he has no chance, leading to a heartfelt confession.

CONTENT/WARNING : emotional trauma , self-esteem issues , jealousy and insecurity , fear of rejection

REQUEST : yes!!

The whispers of his survival spread like wildfire through the village. Obito Uchiha had returned—scarred, humbled, and deeply regretful. Pardoned by the Hokage after his role in ending the war, he now roamed the village quietly, helping rebuild the destruction he once caused. Despite the acceptance of some, others couldn’t look past his crimes. He didn’t blame them.

And yet, among the faces that stared or turned away, there was you.

You were a fellow Leaf ninja, a few years younger than him but seasoned in your own right, carrying your share of battle scars both seen and unseen. War had left its mark on everyone, but there was a quiet resilience about you, a determination to rebuild in ways that didn’t just apply to structures but to people as well. That was what led you to cross paths with Obito.

The day had been hot, the kind of sweltering summer afternoon that made sweat bead along your brow within minutes. You had been assigned to help at a construction site near the village outskirts, assisting with repairs to buildings damaged during the war. It was grueling work, but you didn’t mind; there was something cathartic about seeing broken things pieced back together.

You hadn’t known Obito would be there. To be honest, his presence had surprised you, even unsettled you at first. There were still hushed conversations about him—people wary of his return, unsure if someone with such a dark past could ever truly change. But when you saw him that day, hammer in hand, hauling heavy beams like it was nothing, he didn’t look like the man the rumors painted.

He looked tired.

It wasn’t the kind of tired that came from physical exhaustion, though the sweat dripping from his brow suggested he was working harder than anyone else. No, it was deeper than that—a bone-deep weariness that settled in his shoulders, weighed down his every movement. His face, marred by scars that told stories you could only imagine, held an expression so neutral it felt unnatural, as though he was trying not to be noticed. But it was his eyes that tugged at your heart: one dark and brooding, the other hidden beneath the curve of his forehead protector. They carried a profound sadness, an aching guilt he seemed to wear as a second skin.

Despite his quiet demeanor, there was something about him that intrigued you. It wasn’t pity that drove you to approach him—far from it. You saw a man who had been to hell and back but was still here, trying. That resilience, that flicker of humanity buried beneath the weight of his past, pulled at something deep inside you.

At first, your interactions were brief. You’d pass him tools or work alongside him in silence, not wanting to intrude. But you noticed how he always went above and beyond, taking on the hardest tasks without complaint, as though punishing himself through sheer effort. So, you started small.

“Hey,” you said one afternoon, holding out a rice ball wrapped in cloth. He had been working for hours without a break, his shoulders taut with tension. “You’ve been at this all day. Take a break.”

Obito hesitated, his gaze flickering between you and the rice ball. “I’m fine,” he muttered, his voice low and rough.

“Maybe,” you replied, refusing to back down, “but even heroes need to eat.”

A flicker of something crossed his face—confusion, perhaps even amusement—but he took the rice ball. That small gesture broke the ice.

From then on, you made it a point to share lunch with him when you could. Sometimes you’d talk about nothing in particular—mundane things like the weather or the progress on the repairs. Other times, you’d catch glimpses of his dry humor, quick-witted remarks that left you blinking in surprise before laughing. You learned to recognize the subtle quirks of his personality: the way his lips twitched when he was holding back a smile, the rare moments when his eye softened, the low chuckle he gave when something genuinely amused him.

Slowly but surely, he began to open up.

Your lunches turned into longer conversations, and those conversations eventually extended beyond the construction site. You found yourselves meeting up after work, whether it was for a walk through the village or quiet moments shared at the training grounds. There was something easy about being around him, even though you could tell he was still guarded. He didn’t speak much about himself, but the way he listened—truly listened—when you talked made you feel seen in a way that few others could.

What stood out the most was how he never treated you as fragile, even when you mentioned your own scars, both physical and emotional. He didn’t offer hollow reassurances or tell you to move on. Instead, he met your words with quiet understanding, as though he knew all too well what it meant to carry that weight.

And yet, you never pressed him about his past or his scars. It wasn’t because you didn’t care—you cared more than you’d ever admit aloud. But you understood that those were wounds he wasn’t ready to revisit, and you didn’t want to risk pushing him away. Instead, you treated him as he was: a man who had faced his demons and was trying, every day, to move forward.

That was what you admired most about him—his determination to rebuild, not just the village but himself. To you, Obito wasn’t a man defined by his mistakes or his scars. He was someone who had been to the brink and chosen to return, and that choice, that strength, was what mattered.

Unbeknownst to you, your unwavering kindness and acceptance were slowly chipping away at the walls Obito had built around his heart. He began to look forward to your time together, though he didn’t fully understand why. All he knew was that when you were near, the crushing weight of his guilt felt a little lighter, and for the first time in a long time, he began to wonder if he might deserve a second chance—not just at life, but at happiness.

But those thoughts terrified him, too.

And then there was Genma.

The kind of man everyone seemed to like, Genma Shiranui was charming, confident, and effortlessly sociable. His laid-back demeanor and sly grin made him a favorite among your peers, and his quick wit ensured he was the center of attention in any conversation. He carried himself with a relaxed ease, a senbon always dangling casually between his teeth, as if nothing in the world could phase him.

It started innocently enough. Genma would join you during breaks or during missions, offering easy banter and teasing remarks that made the others chuckle. He had a way of turning the most mundane topics into something worth laughing about, and it wasn’t long before people began to notice the way he lingered near you.

“I think he likes you,” one of your friends teased after Genma had walked away, flashing you a crooked smile over his shoulder.

You laughed it off at first, brushing the comment aside. But as days turned into weeks, it became clear that your friend had been right. Genma wasn’t just hanging around—he was seeking you out. His teasing turned playful, his compliments grew more personal, and his invitations to spend time together became more frequent.

It wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, Genma’s attention was flattering, and his company was enjoyable in its own way. But your heart was already leaning toward someone else, someone quieter, someone whose laughter was rarer but infinitely more precious.

Obito.

He was the one you looked for at the end of a long day, the one whose presence steadied you even when words weren’t exchanged. Genma might have been the easier choice, but your feelings for Obito had grown roots, deep and steady, and no amount of charm could sway them.

Obito Noticed

How could he not?

Every time Genma leaned toward you with his easy smile, cracking a joke that made you laugh, Obito felt a pang in his chest—a sharp, familiar ache he couldn’t ignore. The way Genma’s hand would linger on your shoulder during conversations or how your laughter came so freely around him made Obito feel small, like a shadow at the edge of a warm, glowing light. He clenched his fists tightly at his sides whenever he witnessed those moments, the tension in his body coiling until his muscles ached.

He noticed everything, no matter how much he told himself not to look. The way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you smiled, the way Genma’s casual charm seemed to draw you in. And though he never saw anything in your gaze that suggested you were interested in Genma, the doubt gnawed at him. After all, why wouldn’t you choose someone like that?

Obito clutched at the edges of his cloak, his knuckles turning white. He hated the way his mind twisted simple interactions into something more. Every laugh you shared with Genma felt like a dagger, and he cursed himself for caring so much.

What could he possibly offer you?

The thought was like poison, spreading through his veins until it consumed him. He couldn’t stop himself from drawing comparisons. Genma was confident, charismatic, and easygoing, while he—Obito—was a man haunted by his past, his sins carved into his very skin. He wasn’t whole—not physically, not emotionally. When he looked at himself in the mirror, all he could see was the broken, scarred reflection of someone who didn’t deserve happiness. How could someone as radiant as you want to be with him?

Genma, simply was everything Obito wasn’t. Unburdened by guilt or regret. People gravitated toward him naturally, drawn to his humor and ease. It didn’t matter that you didn’t seem to reciprocate Genma’s flirtation. In Obito’s mind, it was only a matter of time before you did. Doubt whispered cruelly in his mind, twisting every interaction you had with Genma into evidence that Obito could never measure up.

And then there were the whispers.

“They’d look good together, don’t you think?”

“Genma’s always had good taste.”

“Finally, someone caught their attention!”

The words echoed in his head long after he overheard them, like stones added to the heavy wall he was building around his heart. Each comment reminded him of what he believed was inevitable: that you and Genma would end up together, and Obito would be left standing on the outside, as he always was

It wasn’t just Genma, though. It was also Rin—or rather, the memory of her.

For years, Rin had been a symbol of everything Obito had wanted but could never have. She had been his light in a world that often felt unbearably dark, and her loss had shaped him in ways he still didn’t fully understand.

For so long, he’d clung to her memory, convinced that his feelings for her were eternal, unchanging. But now, looking back, he realized that what he’d felt for Rin had been rooted in who he was as a boy, not the man he had become. She had been kind, gentle, and nurturing, but those were memories of her, not the reality of who she might have grown to be.

It wasn’t that he loved Rin any less—he always would. But somewhere along the way, he’d stopped feeling the sharp, gut-wrenching ache when he thought of her. Her smile no longer haunted him; it comforted him. She had been a part of his journey, but she wasn’t his destination.

That realization had been both freeing and terrifying. It left him vulnerable, his heart open to new emotions he hadn’t dared to explore in years. And it was you who made him feel that way again.

You weren’t like Rin. You were bold and unyielding, a grounding presence in a world that still felt uncertain to him. Where Rin had been a dream of his past, you were real. You saw him—not as a hero, a villain, or a victim, but simply as Obito. And that terrified him even more than the idea of losing Rin had.

Because this time, it felt real.

It started with small excuses. When you invited him to lunch after working together, he’d mutter, “Sorry, I’ve got something to take care of,” brushing past you without meeting your eyes.

Then, his absences became more noticeable. Where once he’d linger near the training grounds or meet you for tea in the evenings, he was nowhere to be found. And when you did manage to catch him, his responses were clipped, his usual dry humor replaced with a cold, distant politeness that felt like a slap in the face.

At night, lying awake in his small, sparsely furnished apartment, Obito stared at the ceiling, the storm of emotions inside him threatening to tear him apart. His fists clenched and unclenched as he replayed every moment he’d spent with you, every laugh and every glance that felt too precious to hold onto now.

“You’re being ridiculous,” he told himself one night, his voice harsh in the quiet. “She doesn’t see you that way. She shouldn’t.”

But no matter how much he tried to bury his feelings, they refused to die. He’d never realized just how deeply he cared for you until he saw Genma step into the picture. The jealousy that burned in his chest was unlike anything he’d felt before, raw and unrelenting. It wasn’t fair to you—or to Rin, for that matter.

Rin.

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply as he thought about her. If she were here, she’d probably scold him for wallowing. She’d tell him to stop running from his feelings, to stop hiding behind his scars. But was he ready for that? Could he truly allow himself to admit how he felt about you when he couldn’t even look in the mirror without feeling ashamed?

His hands trembled as he pressed them to his face, his scars rough against his fingertips. He wanted to believe that he deserved a chance at happiness, but the doubt was suffocating.

He knew he liked you. That much was undeniable now. But confessing? Letting himself hope? That felt like stepping off a cliff with no guarantee of a safety net. It was easier to pull away, to retreat into himself, than to risk rejection—or worse, acceptance.

Because what if you did feel the same way? What if you chose him, only to realize later that he wasn’t enough?

And so, he stayed silent, letting the wall between you grow higher, even as it tore him apart inside.

It had been weeks since you’d last spent more than a few fleeting minutes with Obito, and the growing distance between you was driving you mad. You had replayed every interaction in your head, searching for some mistake, some moment where you might have done something wrong. But nothing stood out. If he needed space, you could respect that—but not without understanding why he suddenly felt the need to shut you out.

At first, it was little things. You’d ask him to join you for lunch, only to be met with muttered excuses.

“Sorry,” he’d say, not quite meeting your eyes. “I’ve got something to take care of.”

He’d leave without elaborating, and you were left staring after him, unsure of what had just happened.

Then his absences became more pronounced. The moments that used to be yours—quiet talks near the training grounds, evening tea, or even casual conversations after missions—were gone. Instead, you were met with clipped responses and fleeting glances. His usual dry humor, something you’d come to treasure, was nowhere to be found.

“Obito,” you’d call out, hoping to catch his attention, only for him to give you a distracted nod and walk away.

And yet, despite his efforts to pull back, there were moments he couldn’t quite hide. You’d catch him watching you when he thought you weren’t looking, his eye clouded with an emotion you couldn’t place. But the second you turned to meet his gaze, his expression would harden, and he’d look away, his jaw tightening as if the sight of you physically hurt him.

It was maddening.

You couldn’t understand what had changed, but you knew you couldn’t let this go on. Whatever was troubling him, you needed to know. You needed to help.

One evening, after yet another day of avoidance, you finally reached your breaking point.

You found him near the edge of the village, sitting on a stone wall overlooking the forest. The setting sun painted the scene in soft, golden hues, but the tension in the air was anything but serene. His shoulders were hunched, and his head was bowed, his hair casting shadows over his face.

“Obito,” you called, your voice firmer than usual.

He flinched at the sound of your voice but didn’t turn to face you. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said quietly.

“Why not?” you countered, taking a step closer. “Because you don’t want to explain why you’ve been avoiding me?”

He sighed, his hands clenching into fists on his lap. “I haven’t been avoiding you.”

“Don’t lie to me, Obito,” you said, crossing your arms. “You’ve barely looked at me for weeks. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were angry with me.”

“I’m not angry,” he said quickly, his voice sharp enough to cut.

“Then what is it?” you demanded, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “What changed? Did I do something wrong?”

He turned his head slightly, just enough for you to see the tension in his jaw. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he muttered, his voice so low you almost missed it.

“Then tell me what’s going on,” you pressed. “Because I can’t keep doing this, Obito. I can’t keep wondering what I did to make you push me away.”

For a moment, he was silent, his fists tightening until his knuckles turned white. Then, finally, he looked up at you, and the pain in his single visible eye took your breath away.

“It’s not about you,” he said, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and something softer, something more vulnerable. “It’s about me.”

“Then explain it to me,” you said, your tone softening. “Because right now, all I know is that you’re shutting me out, and I don’t understand why.”

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t understand,” he said, his voice laced with self-loathing. “How could you?”

“Try me,” you challenged, stepping closer.

He looked away again, his jaw tightening as he struggled to find the words. “Do you know what it’s like to want something you can’t have?” he asked finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

“What are you talking about?” you asked, your brows furrowing in confusion.

“You,” he said, the word escaping him like a confession. He looked up at you, his eye filled with equal parts longing and despair. “I’m talking about you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak.

“Obito…” you began, but he cut you off, shaking his head.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice rough. “Don’t say anything. Just let me finish.”

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I’m not…” He hesitated, swallowing hard. “I’m not the kind of person you deserve. I’m broken, scarred—both inside and out. My past is a mess, and it’s always going to be a part of me. Someone like Genma… he’s better for you. He can give you everything I can’t.”

“Genma?” you repeated, your voice filled with disbelief. “You think this is about Genma?”

“Isn’t it?” he asked, his voice rising with frustration. “I see the way he looks at you, the way he makes you laugh. Everyone else sees it too. They think you two are perfect for each other. And why wouldn’t they? He’s everything I’m not.”

“That’s not true,” you said, stepping closer. “Obito, that’s not true.”

He laughed bitterly, his hands clenching into fists again. “Don’t lie to me,” he said. “I’m not blind. I see the way people look at me. Like I’m a reminder of everything they want to forget. Like I don’t belong.”

“That’s not how I see you,” you said, your voice trembling. “I’ve never seen you that way.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, his eye searching yours for any hint of deceit. What he found instead was something he hadn’t allowed himself to hope for: sincerity.

“I don’t care about your past,” you said, your voice steady despite the emotion in your chest. “I care about you. The person you are now. The person who’s trying to move forward, even when it’s hard. That’s the person I want to be with.”

His breath hitched, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he said finally, his voice shaking.

“I know exactly what I’m saying,” you replied, stepping closer until you were right in front of him. “And I mean every word.”

He looked down at your joined hands, his own trembling slightly. “I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared of losing you. Of ruining this.”

“You won’t,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “We’ll figure it out together. But you have to let me in.”

For a long moment, he didn’t move. Then, slowly, his hands unclenched, and he let out a shaky breath.

“I’ll try,” he said, his voice raw with emotion.

“That’s all I ask,” you said, smiling softly.

And as the tension between you began to ease, And in that moment, Obito realized that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to carry the weight of his past alone anymore. He felt a flicker of hope—a hope he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years.

After that evening by the stone wall, you could feel the tension slowly melting between you and Obito. It wasn’t immediate—trust, especially when it’s been broken, doesn’t come easily—but the small steps you both took toward each other started to matter.

One afternoon, you found Obito sitting at the edge of the village again, this time not as a place to isolate himself, but to think. You approached him slowly, the familiar weight of silence hanging in the air.

“Mind if I join you?” you asked, your voice gentle.

Obito looked up, surprised, but smiled faintly. “It’s… fine.”

You settled next to him, your shoulders brushing for just a second. It wasn’t much, but it felt like something—something warm.

“You’ve been looking out at the sunset a lot lately,” you commented softly, “Is it peaceful?”

He nodded. “It makes me think.”

“About what?”

“Everything,” he said simply, his gaze on the horizon. “About mistakes. Things I’ve done. Things I could have done differently.”

You nodded, unsure of what to say. “I think… no matter how hard we try, we can’t change the past. We can only learn from it.”

He glanced at you, then, his expression softening. “You’re right,” he said quietly. “But sometimes it’s hard to move on when the past doesn’t want to let go.”

You reached out, your hand resting on his. He stiffened for a moment, but then relaxed, his fingers curling around yours. There was a silent understanding between you, a shared comfort.

As the days passed, you and Obito started to spend more time together—simple moments that became significant. One evening, after a quiet dinner in the village, you suggested a walk. You knew he’d been keeping to himself a lot, and you wanted to give him space to talk, if he wanted to.

The path through the village was lit by lanterns, their soft glow making the night feel peaceful, almost magical.

“You know,” you started, “I never really got a chance to ask you about your past. You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”

Obito’s steps faltered, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away. But instead, he stopped walking and turned to face you.

“It’s not a story I like to tell,” he admitted, his voice low. “It’s messy… painful. But I think it’s time you knew.”

You stopped, looking up at him. “I’m not going anywhere, Obito. You can tell me as much or as little as you want. I’m here.”

He let out a shaky breath, his hand gently resting on the back of his neck. “I was once someone different. Before all of this… Before the war. I had dreams, I had friends. But it all fell apart. I became someone I didn’t even recognize.”

You took a step closer, your heart aching for him. “But you’re not that person anymore, Obito. I see you. The real you.”

He met your gaze, and for a moment, his eye softened. “Thank you,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “I’ve never had someone look at me like that before.”

Weeks went by, and your bond with Obito continued to deepen, but there were still moments of hesitation. One night, you noticed that he seemed particularly distant during dinner. You weren’t going to let it go this time, not after everything you’d been through.

Afterward, as the two of you sat outside under the stars, you finally spoke.

“Obito, what’s going on?” you asked softly, your voice sincere. “You’ve been pulling away again.”

He sighed deeply, his gaze fixed on the sky. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this… ready for something like this with you.”

“Something like what?”

“A relationship. You deserve someone who can give you everything… I’m not sure I can be that person.”

You reached over, gently brushing your fingers against his. “I don’t need perfection, Obito. I need you. Just you.”

He looked at you, and for the first time, his eyes were completely open. No walls. No hesitations. “I’m scared of hurting you,” he confessed.

“Then don’t,” you whispered. “I’m not asking for you to be perfect. I’m just asking for you to be here with me.”

He nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders slowly melting. “I’m still learning how to be… better. For you. But I’m trying.”

“I can wait,” you said, your voice unwavering. “As long as you’re trying, that’s all that matters.”

4. Building Trust, One Step at a Time

In the following weeks, your relationship with Obito grew more comfortable. You spent more time in the village together—doing mundane things like walking through the market, sharing small meals, and simply talking. But those moments, those quiet, normal moments, became your favorites.

One afternoon, you found him fixing his cloak by the training grounds. He looked up when he heard you approaching.

“Do you need something?” he asked, his usual guarded expression still there, but with a hint of warmth in his eyes.

“I wanted to thank you,” you said, stepping closer. “For letting me in. For trusting me.”

He blinked in surprise. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” you replied. “But I think it’s important. I’m grateful for you, Obito. And for everything we’re building together.”

He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. It was a small smile, but one that spoke volumes.

It was a quiet evening again, the two of you sitting side by side beneath the trees in the village. It felt different now, like the bond between you had solidified into something deeper, more meaningful.

Obito turned to you, his expression softer than usual. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

You looked at him, curious. “What is it?”

His voice faltered slightly, the nervousness evident. “Would… would you be willing to let me be your boyfriend?” He didn’t look away, his gaze unwavering despite the vulnerability in his words. “I’m not perfect, and I know I’m not always easy to be around, but I want to try. I want to be with you.”

Your heart swelled in your chest, and for a moment, you could hardly believe it. This was the same Obito who had once pushed you away, the same one who had been so afraid of letting anyone in.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice full of certainty. “I want that too.”

And just like that, everything shifted. Obito leaned in, closing the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a soft, lingering kiss—a promise of more to come.

✎ . . . If you liked this please leave a like, comment and reblog to support me and my works! <3

[colleybri]

I’m not passing any final judgement on Bix’s arc until the very end of the series, but it’s worth pointing out that Bix might never be able to return to the person that she was in her first scenes of season 1. Obviously, we have to fill in a lot of gaps between the arcs but remembering that she has survived (and the implication is that she is the only survivor) this particular form of torture makes her trauma more damaging and profound than probably anyone else’s in the series. The most important factor in her relationship with Cassian is the profound and long lasting friendship. They have always had that regardless of their romantic status. They tried repeatedly to be together in early years, but Cassian‘s own trauma at that time prevented this. Timm was a choice on the back of a grudging acceptance that she could not be together with Cassian in this way. The season 1 production briefing explains this background:

It’s absolutely a relationship with bonding through shared trauma, overprotectiveness, and even codependency built into it. That doesn’t make it any less valid, powerful or deserving of happiness. Neither is it badly written; it’s realistic. Cassian overcoming his “fear of being loved” (Diego Luna) allows him to commit at long last. Bix can finally be with the love of her life rather than the love “for” her life, her “plan B” (how Adria Arjona describes the relationship with Timm).

As for Bix in chapter 3… she’s taking a break. Why not? She’s found some peace, the natural world she was so craving, spiritual awareness. Along with all that, the growing sad realisation of what she will need to sacrifice. My prediction is this is all going to pay off in the final episodes.

Full recovery from trauma and addiction is extremely rare. Bix is incredibly strong to have made it this far. She may never again be who she once was, but perhaps that growth is a good thing too, as she clearly wasn’t happy even then.

Edit: another interesting factor is how extremely sexually comfortable they are as a couple. The inclusion of lots of good old-fashioned physical pleasure in their lives and relationship is another aspect I find very convincing about it. “The nights are fun” at least. It’s fascinating to contrast them with Syril and Dedra, for whom physical intimacy seems an intimidating yet alluring challenge to deal with rather than something to just relax and enjoy. 

[trippiexlove]

Blue

Author Note: Part four to Stone Cold Sinner. Read PART 1 , PART 2 , & PART 3 here. Soriya has a surprise for Jey. Based on the song Blue by Beyonce. If you would like to read any of my other works, here is my master list. Leave requests on this linked post.

Warning: Fluff, pet names

Pairing: Jey Uso x Black OC (Ari Fletcher as FC)

Word Count: 2,858

Make it last forever Come on, baby, won't you hold on to me, hold on to me? You and I together Come on, baby, won't you hold on to me, hold on to me? Blue

Weeks blurred into a tapestry of missed morning routines and an unsettling queasiness that shadowed Soriya's days. Important events were marked with a polite decline, and the vibrant energy she usually brought to filming content felt muted, replaced by a persistent fatigue that clung to her like a heavy blanket.

Tiffany and Breanna, her unwavering anchors, noticed the shift. Their usual lighthearted banter during their weekly brunch was punctuated with concerned glances at Soriya's pale complexion and the way she'd pick at her food. 

"You ok, Ri?" Breanna looked over at her friend in concern. 

Soriya, plastering a fake smile across her face, tried her best to look ok "Yeah I'm fine, think I might've caught a little bug," she groan a bit, rubbing a stomach slightly "I've been tired and my stomach been cramping"

It was Tiffany, ever the direct one, who finally voiced their shared worry. "Ri, you gotta get a test, girl. This ain't just a little bug."

Soriya demurred, brushing it off "It's just stress, I'll be fine".

but Breanna's gentle agreement with Tiffany's bluntness chipped away at her resistance, "I agree with Tiff, Ri it may not be just a bug. Why don't you just make an appointment just to be sure". A knot of apprehension tightened in Soriya's stomach as she nodded apprehensively.

They quickly ended brunch, Soriya making her way home. When she laid in bed, phone in hand she had a moment of hesitation. This is just crazy, there's no way I can be pregnant. These thoughts swirled through her mind. She sighed, looking at the screen. Not letting another moment go by, she quickly called her doctor and made an appointment. 

The sterile scent of the doctor's office did little to calm her nerves a few days later. Dr. Lewis, with her reassuring smile, listened patiently to Soriya's vague complaints before suggesting a routine pregnancy test, just to rule things out. The waiting felt like an eternity, each tick of the clock amplifying the quiet hum of the office.

Her phone buzzed, Josh's name illuminating the screen. 

Baby 🩵: "Hey baby, just checking in. How you feeling?" 

This brought a bittersweet pang to her chest as she typed back.  

Princess ❤️: "Hey honey, I'm okay. Just a little stomach bug going around"

A small lie to protect a truth she wasn't yet ready to face.The door creaked open, and Dr. Lewis returned, her expression gentle. "Soriya, the test came back positive. You're pregnant."

The words hung in the air, stark and undeniable. A strange calmness washed over Soriya, a blank canvas of feeling. Not elation, not sadness, just... stillness. Dr. Lewis, sensing her quiet shock, offered a quick ultrasound.

The grainy image flickered on the screen, a tiny, indistinct shape. And then, a faint, rapid pulse. Something shifted within Soriya. A wave of emotion, unexpected and profound, washed over her. Tears welled in her eyes as the reality began to take root. Dr. Lewis smiled softly, scheduling a follow-up appointment before Soriya numbly made her way home.

Soriya laid across her bed, holding onto her pillow as if it could anchor her to the bed. The insistent ring of her phone broke the silence of her room. She reluctantly answered the phone, knowing it was Tiffany and Bre. "Hey" her voice filled with uncertainty.

Breanna's voices, laced with concern, flooded her ears. "You ok Ri?"

The dam finally broke, as she choked out, the words thick with unshed tears, "I'm pregnant."

Their initial shock quickly morphed into exuberant excitement. "Oh my god, Ri! That's amazing!" Tiffany's voice bubbled with enthusiasm. 

Breanna's was softer, laced with genuine care. "Are you okay? How are you feeling?"

Soriya's carefully constructed composure crumbled. Tears streamed down her face as she voiced her fears and uncertainties. "I'm scared as hell. I don't know how he's going to react. We haven't even talked about having kids together."

Her best friends listened patiently, their reassurances a soothing balm. "We're here for you, always," Tiffany declared fiercely. 

"And you know Josh is going to be over the moon." Breanna echoed her sentiment, her voice filled with unwavering support.

Soriya sighed, wiping away stray tears. Her best friends words providing the comfort she needed. "Thanks, I don't know what I would do without y'all" 

"Luckily, you don't have to know" Breanna stated softly. After a few moments they ended the call. Soriya deciding to get some rest. 

Few days later, Soriya found herself at her mother's house. Their usual Sunday dinner that they never missed. The comfort of home Soriya needed right now to calm the storm that was brewing inside her. 

Her mother moved effortlessly around the large kitchen. Her famous pasta being cooked on the stove, homemade rolls baking in the oven filled the house. 

Soriya sat at the large island, aimlessly typing away on her phone. Josh had texted her, saying he got some time off the road in a few weeks and wanted to come visit her instead. She sat quietly, than her usual bubbly personally. Her mom taking notice "You ok Ri?" 

Looking up, Soriya put on her best fake smile "Yeah I'm good mommy"

Her mom gave her a look, letting her know she saw right through her facade. Soriya letting out a sigh of defeat, "You gon' tell me the truth or continue lying?"

Placing her phone down, she ran a hand through her hair. She decided to take a small break from wigs and let her natural curls breathe. "There's this guy I've been dealing with for a while now. We started out just hanging out occasionally when he's in town and I've even visited him a few times. We just recently made things official." 

Her mom nodded as she began cooking the sauce for the pasta. "Ok what's his name?"

"Josh," Soriya smiled at the mention of his name out of habit, "he's really sweet and caring. He comes from a large, supportive family." 

"Ok," cutting down the heat, she turned towards Soriya, seeing the turmoil in her eyes "I feel like there's more you're not telling me." 

Knowing she couldn't keep this from her mom any longer she just blurted it out "I'm pregnant". 

Her mom eyes widen. It took her a few moments to let the words fully sink in when she screamed excitedly, pulling Soriya into a hug. "Oh my baby," she pulled back looking into Soriya's eyes "my baby's having a baby" 

Soriya gave her a small smile, eyes slightly burning with tears. Her mother's smile dropped slowly "Are you not happy?"

"It's not that I'm not happy," Soriya poked out her lips a bit "I'm scared" she stated just above a whisper. 

"Oh honey," her mom pulled her into another hug. Soriya taking in her mother's familiar comforting scent. "if he's just as caring as you say he is, then I just know he's going to be just as happy"

Soriya hoped her mother's words held truth. As she would find out just how Josh would react when she told him the news in a few weeks.

A few of weeks later, the anticipation of Josh's arrival in Miami was a tangled knot of excitement and anxiety in Soriya's chest. She longed to see him, to feel his familiar embrace, but the weight of her secret pressed down on her.

The first few days of his visit were filled with their usual easy intimacy, but Josh, ever attuned to her moods, sensed a subtle shift. The sparkle in her eyes seemed dimmed, her laughter didn't quite reach the same pitch.

Soriya was lounging on the balcony one warm evening, the gentle rhythm of the ocean providing a soft soundtrack. Soriya was curled in a lounge chair, a comfortable silence stretching between them. 

Josh, just finished with a shower, leaned against the balcony doors. His gazed on her strong. He slowly walked over, getting her attention. He slid in behind her, settling beside her and pulling her close. They sat in silence for a moment, until Josh spoke up. "What's goin' on, ma?" he murmured, his voice a low rumble against her hair. "You been kind of quiet since I been here."

Soriya offered a weak smile. "Nothing, baby. Just tired, I guess." But the hesitation in her voice was palpable. 

A wetness bloomed on his shirt, and Josh gently pulled back, his eyes widening with concern as he saw the tears silently tracing paths down her cheeks. "Soriya? What is it? Talk to me."

She took a shaky breath, her gaze fixed on the distant horizon. The words felt heavy, lodged in her throat. Finally, in a rush, she confessed. "I... I'm pregnant, Josh."

The initial shock registered on his face, his expression unreadable for a fleeting moment. Then, he reached out, cupping her face in his hands, his thumbs gently wiping away her tears. He leaned in, his lips finding hers in a long, tender kiss that spoke volumes.

Pulling back, his eyes searched hers. "You okay?"

Soriya nodded, more tears welling up. "I was just... scared. Scared of how you'd react."

A soft smile spread across Josh's face, chasing away the last vestiges of shock. "Scared? Baby girl," he said, his voice thick with emotion, "this is amazing." He kissed her forehead, his gaze filled with a newfound tenderness. "I can't imagine doing this with anyone else but you, Soriya. You and me? We got this."

The tension in Soriya's shoulders eased, replaced by a wave of relief and a burgeoning joy. In the quiet intimacy of the balcony, under the soft glow of the Miami night, they held each other close, the unspoken promise of their future hanging sweetly in the air.

8 months later

Soriya settled onto the plush velvet stool at her vanity, the scent of hairspray and sweet perfume filling the air. Tiffany and Breanna moved around her with practiced ease, their laughter a gentle melody as they worked on her hair and makeup. Today was her baby shower, a celebration that felt both surreal and incredibly real.

"I am so ridiculously excited for my nephew to finally be here," Tiffany exclaimed, her voice bubbling with anticipation as she carefully applied a touch of highlighter to Soriya's cheekbone.

Soriya chuckled softly, a hand instinctively resting on her prominent bump. "Tell me about it. I'm so ready for him to make his grand exit," she sighed contentedly, then playfully groaned. "This little man thinks my uterus is some kind of damn wrestling ring."

"Gotta start him early," Breanna quipped, her tongue peeking out in concentration as she expertly wrapped a section of Soriya's hair around the curling wand. The soft sizzle of the heat filled the brief silence. "You know he's going to be joining the bloodline down the road."

Soriya playfully rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. "Let Josh tell it, he'll have my baby in the ring as soon as I push him out," she joked, causing all three of them to erupt in laughter, the sound echoing in the room. They finished the final touches of Soriya's hair and makeup, their movements becoming more deliberate as they allowed her to get dressed in private.

When Soriya stepped out of the bathroom, the soft white fabric of her dress cascaded over her swollen belly, pooling gently around her bare feet. The sight took the girls' breath away. Tears instantly welled in their eyes.

"You look absolutely breathtaking, Ri," Breanna whispered, pulling her into a tender hug, a single tear escaping and tracing a path down her cheek. Tiffany rushed over, her own tears already falling freely.

Emotion welled up in Soriya's chest, a lump forming in her throat. She returned their embrace, gently dabbing at their tears. "Y'all are going to make me ruin my makeup before we even get to the baby shower," she said, her voice thick with affection.

"Alright, alright," Tiffany sniffled, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. "Let's get you downstairs before we're late f'real." They made their way down the stairs, the murmur of male voices growing louder as they approached the living room, where Josh, his brothers, and their cousin were waiting.

As Soriya reached the last step, the boisterous conversation in the living room abruptly ceased. A hush fell over the room, all eyes drawn to her. Josh stood frozen, his gaze sweeping over Soriya, his breath catching in his throat. The sight of her, radiant and glowing with her pregnancy, was momentarily overwhelming.

He snapped out of his reverie when Jimmy playfully nudged his shoulder, a knowing grin on his face. Josh straightened to his full height, his eyes never leaving Soriya as he made his way towards her. He reached her, taking in every detail of her beautiful form. "You look beautiful, ma," he said, his voice soft with adoration.

Soriya's face lit up with an instant smile. "Thank you, baby," she replied, her eyes lovingly tracing the lines of his crisp button-up shirt, the familiar weight of his Cuban chain resting against his chest. "You look pretty good yourself."

"Ready to go celebrate our little man?" Josh asked, his hand gently finding hers. Soriya nodded, her fingers intertwining with his. "Let's go then."

The drive to the venue was filled with comfortable anticipation. As they pulled into the parking lot, it was already bustling with the cars of their relatives and friends. Josh carefully helped Soriya out of the car, his hand protectively placed on her back as he guided her towards the entrance.

A chorus of warm greetings erupted as they made their grand entrance. A genuine smile eased onto Soriya's face as she greeted each guest, her heart swelling with love and gratitude. When she reached her mother, the carefully held-back emotions began to surface.

She leaned into her mother's embrace, the familiar scent of her perfume a comforting anchor. "Oh, my baby, you look so incredibly beautiful," her mother murmured, her arms wrapped tightly around Soriya. When they pulled apart, her mother gently wiped away the tears that had finally spilled down Soriya's cheeks. "No tears today. We're here to celebrate you and this precious little one, okay?" Soriya nodded, a fresh wave of emotion washing over her as her mother pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

Throughout the party, a joyous atmosphere permeated the air. Guests indulged in the delicious spread of traditional Samoan food, the fragrant aromas mingling with the lively chatter and laughter. The rhythmic beat of music filled the space, and soon Soriya found herself in the center of a spontaneous dance circle, everyone cheering her on with enthusiastic shouts of "Go Riya!" as they moved around her.

Then came the time for the gifts. A mountain of diapers, soft custom blankets, adorable onesies, and an impressive collection of tiny sneakers – a testament to his sneakerhead uncles and his father's influence – were unwrapped with exclamations of delight. Soriya picked up a familiar-looking box from Bianca and Tez, the bold white lettering ELIANTTE unmistakable across the front.

Soriya shot them a playful look, raising an eyebrow. Tez just threw her a goofy grin. "C'mon, open it up, girl!" he urged, causing a ripple of laughter around them.

She carefully lifted the lid, and her breath hitched. Nestled in the tissue paper, a tiny Cuban bracelet gleamed in the soft light. A collective cheer erupted from the guests.

"That's what I'm talkin' 'bout, uce!" Josh exclaimed, giving Tez a high-five.

"Gotta start little man off right," Tez winked. Soriya shook her head playfully, a warm smile gracing her lips as she leaned over to give him a hug.

After all the gifts were opened and admired, Josh and Soriya took over the microphone, their voices filled with heartfelt gratitude as they thanked everyone for their love and support. As the celebration began to wind down, Trin and Jimmy generously offered to help with getting the gifts back to their house.

As the twins carried in the last load of presents, Soriya turned to Trin, offering her a tired but happy smile. "Thank you so much for everything, Trin. I really appreciate it."

"No problem at all, girl," Trin replied warmly, leaning in for a hug. "You know you're going to forever have a village behind you now."

"Don't I know it," Soriya laughed softly, a wave of exhaustion washing over her. Soon, the twins returned, Jimmy giving Soriya a gentle hug. Trin and Jimmy said their goodbyes before heading out into the evening.

When Soriya turned back around, Jey was already watching her, his gaze soft and full of love. He slowly walked over, his arms wrapping around her in a comforting embrace. "You know I love you, right?" he murmured against her hair.

A flutter stirred in her chest. She nodded, her hand reaching up to cup the side of his face. "I do," she whispered. "I love you too."

He leaned in, pressing a slow, tender kiss to her lips before pulling away slightly, his eyes still locked on hers. "Alright, let's get you upstairs. I'm going to give you a foot massage," he said, gently taking her hand and leading her towards the stairs. "I know those dogs are barkin' by now."

Soriya playfully smacked his chest, a tired giggle escaping her lips. "Boy, get on," she said, affectionately rolling her eyes as she began to waddle towards the stairs, Josh walking closely behind, his hand never leaving hers.

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riyaofficial_ My heart is overfilled with so much happiness. Can't wait to meet my baby boy soon. 🩵

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Part 5

How are we feeling about this next stage in Soriya's and Jey's love story? Let me know below! All comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated! ♡

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[kurishiri]

12 ┊ Jude’s main story

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ notice ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

— a legendary, iconic chapter in jude’s main story. trust me, you don’t need to know a lick of what happens before or after to understand this chapter. (yes, it's a filler chapter. iykyk.)

— cw: some angst. but it's mostly fluff! some silly crown antics, heh.

[LIBRARY]

Victor: Have you fallen for Jude?

Kate: Wha— ah…um…

Victor: Ahaha, I find it quite endearing how you’re like an open book in your expressions and actions.

V: Well then, mind if I ask what���s gotten you so motivated to study?

(I guess I really can’t evade someone as sharp as Victor, can I,)

(when I tell him I want to borrow books related to international trade and economics so suddenly.)

I gave up on the notion of hiding it, instead looking directly up at Victor.

Kate: In some cases, knowledge can become a weapon. An art of protection, if you will.

K: So first and foremost, it’s for myself. But also, I was thinking how I wanted to become someone Jude can rely on,

K: and someone he can lean on, whether he is going through happy times or sad. And him liking me would just be an added bonus and all…

That was the answer to the strange way my heart [1] had been acting these past few days.

Kate: That said, I do feel he’d brush me off, saying it’s an unnecessary burden.

Victor: But in some cases, that ‘unnecessary burden’ may be what binds a person to life too, is what I think.

V: For it’s neither knives nor poison that kills a person — it’s solitude.

Albeit just for a moment, I felt those jewel-like eyes cloud over…

Kate: …Victor, have you ever felt loneliness before?

Victor: Hardly. I’ve long forgotten such feelings.

Saying so, Victor flashed me a bright smile, as though to coax me at ease.

—— Neutral POV ——

[DINING ROOM]

Jude: Ha, what’s with this.

Jude had just returned from work, and seeing a sleeping Kate there bent over the table in the dining room, his face scrunched up, when…

Victor: If it isn’t Jude, welcome back. I just brought in a blanket for Kate.

V: She had been studying the entire time, you see, and it seems she’s a bit worn out now——

V: Whoopsie, I fear anything past that’s a secret between Kate and me.

Jude: N’ that’s fine by me. Just take care o’ the costs by the end o’ month.

Victor: Gladly. Then I leave this in your hands.

Jude: The hell?

Victor pushed the blanket at Jude with a smile before leaving,

and Jude looked down at Kate, soundly in the world of dreams…

Jude: …Tch.

Putting the blanket over Kate in a nonchalant gesture, he tried to leave when something caught onto the hem of his clothes then.

Jude: …What are ya, a tot?

He looked on at Kate, who held onto the hem of Jude’s clothes as she slept, a fed-up smile in his eyes.

Then, he saw the mountain of books scattered across the table.

Jude: ………

Kate had been burying her nose in studies… for his own sake.

Jude let out a sigh, and then took a seat next to Kate, whose hands were still grasping the hem of his clothes.

Jude: ………Ya really are a hopeless case, aren’t’cha.

—— Kate’s POV ——

I had started learning about things I hadn’t known before on topics such as international trade and economics.

That said, sometimes the contents written in the books were difficult——

[BASEMENT LABORATORY]

Roger: Since the Navigation Acts [2] were abolished, ships from other countries were permitted entry,

R: and from there, the competition of which ship could arrive at London the quickest became more cutthroat.

Kate: So that’s how tea races came to be, right?

Alfons: How deeply profound it would be, were we to think the tea on this table originated from the victors of those very races, indeed.

Roger was equipped with an abundance of knowledge, so I went to him for help, but…

At some point, that evolved to everyone in the back, enjoying tea.

Alfons: This graceful, mellow fragrance is quite a far cry from the constant smell of gunpowder and blood.

A: I daresay, have we not been wallowing too much in the front of life as of late?

Liam: Ah, I’ve been thinking about that too. We haven’t done a single thing for the season, so it’s a little lonely, maybe.

Roger: Hey guys. Mind quitting with the chit chat?

Just as Roger said this, seemingly annoyed, the door to the research laboratory opened with so much vigor, it could have broken down.

Victor: Did I just hear that my dear boys are not enjoying life? Now what a grave situation we have on our hands!

Roger: Hey, you, don’t just come in outta the blue like that.

Victor: But never to fear, as Victor presents! A very out-of-season fireworks party is in the works, yippee!

V: I consulted with William beforehand about using his private beach already. Goodness me, how capable I must be!

(Fireworks, huh...)

It was indeed a bit out of season, to be sure, but everyone was bored enough to agree to the proposition.

Victor: And so, with that, I have a small favor to ask of you, Kate.

(A favor? What is it, I wonder?)

[RAVEN CO.; JUDE'S OFFICE]

It turned out said ‘favor’ was——

Jude: If ya lot wanna go that bad then just go off on your own.

Kate: But I won’t like it if you’re not coming with!

It was to drag Jude to the fireworks party.

Or, more accurately, it was to ‘drag both Jude and Ellis,’

but Ellis, seeming delighted, affirmed immediately that he would go, which would just leave dragging Jude along.

Ellis: I also won’t like it if you’re not coming.

Jude: How many times are ya gonna say that. It’s hella annoyin’.

(I thought he would say that, so now that it’s come to this——)

Kate: Jude.

Jude: What.

Kate: Lulipia [3] has proposed giving their new product exclusively to Raven Co.

K: But, the condition was that Ellis and I took charge of it.

I had recently learned about the art of negotiation in a book, and when I utilized that, Jude raised a brow in irritation.

Jude: Ha, lookatcha, tryna negotiate with me. Ya got some guts, huh.

J: Fine then.

Kate: Wait— really...?

Jude: When it comes to costs n’ expenses, I got somethin’ to gain outta this. End o’ discussion.

Kate: Then... w-we did it!!

Ellis: You did well, Kate.

(Sure, it was a bit of a low play, but that doesn’t change the fact Jude is coming along!)

[BEACH - NIGHT]

The fireworks launched to the sky lit up the shore.

Kate: Wow...!

Elbert: ...It’s pretty, isn’t it.

It was a bit out of season, but that seemed to become irrelevant with how beautiful the fireworks burst in the night sky.

Victor: Bravooo! The fireworks may fade in an instant, but the memories will stay for an eternity more in my heart.

Cheering as fireworks were launched one after another, we also had colorful fireworks at the shore.

Liam: Kaaate! Over here, over here!

Harrison: Here, this is yours.

Kate: Thanks!

I tried lighting the stick for a firework, when Alfons thought of something, a complacent smile on his face.

Alfons: Ahha, I’ve just thought of something good.

A: The one whose firework lasts the longest will be able to give a single order to the rest of us. Does that sound appealing?

Roger: Oh, sounds interesting.

Kate: But I feel like there’s something fishy too...

Ellis: Come to think of it, Al was looking really carefully at the fireworks just now.

Kate: Wha— don’t tell me you already tampered with the fireworks, Alfons!

Alfons: ...Just what are you going on about?

William: Haha, it seems our little robin has gotten a solid grasp on all the Crown members.

In the end, with Alfons’ schemes ousted, there was no such match, and we lit up the fireworks in order.

(Hm? What about Jude...)

I saw him a little ways away, and I brought Jude’s firework, running to him.

[1] Give him a launcher firework.

[2] Give him a handheld firework. (+4 / +4)

[3] Give him a firecracker.

Kate: Here, Jude, your firework.

I held out the handheld firework I had lit out to him, when...

Jude: .........

Jude took it wordlessly, pointing the crackling flower my way.

Kate: Hey, wai— don’t go pointing that at people with that nonchalant look!

Harrison: Damn... what a brute, that guy.

Roger: But looks like Jude’s having his own fun too.

Everyone’s faces were illuminated by the beautiful fireworks, like an illusion.

And, all of a sudden, the depths of my heart squeezed.

(At some point, I had become a part of their circle.)

To think I had once feared the ones in this very circle, too.

Jude: What’s with ya, grinnin’ ear to ear like that.

Kate: Oh, it’s nothing. I was just thinking about how much fun I’m having...

Jude: What a happy-go-lucky princess ya must be——

As though to interrupt Jude’s words, exceptionally large fireworks were launched to the sky.

The sight of the large flowers that blossomed in the night sky took everyone’s breaths away.

William: It was Victor’s idea.

Victor: A biiig surprise!

Harrison: You guys really don’t hold back, do you. ...Well, it’s pretty, I’ll give it that.

Kate: It really is.

Seeing everyone’s smiles, lit up by the fireworks, my chest started to feel unbearably hot...

Liam: I’ll definitely make this next play a success!!

Liam suddenly shouted.

Roger: Haha, are we declaring our resolutions now? I like that.

R: I will gather data from Cursed ones all around the world!!

Kate: Oh, then me too—

(So that I can stand together with Jude at the same place, and see the same world as him...)

(And so that I can become a person Jude can rely on...)

Kate: I will grow more and more!!

Jude: What’s with that dim resolution?

Ellis: I will grow more and more tall!

Jude: Bloody hell, don’t go growin’ even more.

Kate: Are you not going to shout out your resolution, Jude?

Jude: What are ya, a birdbrain?

With those words, Jude stared up at the fireworks that rose up to the Prussian blue sky before fading away.

And as for me... I discreetly looked at his profile as he did so.

(...Jude’s face looks very colorful.)

It was almost like he himself was a firework.

Fierce and intense, dangerous if I went too close... and yet also, for an unfathomable reason, unable to keep myself from looking away.

But, at the same time, perhaps because I had been looking at him this entire time, I felt a certain sense of unease from within me.

(Just like there is no firework that can light up for eternity, there are times I feel like Jude will up and disappear...)

It was like his very profile would fade out just like that, saying not a word to anyone and leaving not a memento behind...

And, so that he wouldn’t go off anywhere else, I gripped the hem of his clothes.

Kate: Jude, I want ice cream.

Jude: What?

Ellis: Me too.

Alfons: And me three. Well then, someone can be our dear dogsbody——to go and buy some.

Jude: Can’t help it then, I’ll go n’ buy ‘em.

Alfons: Dear me, I do insist, let me be the one.

William: Then I will go.

(Wait, what? Huh? The way this is going... does this mean I have to say it too!?)

Kate: Ah, then I’ll go and buy them!

Jude: Then off ya go.

(Wait, what?)

Seeing the grin play on the corner of his lips, I realized then that I had been completely wheedled.

Kate: ——That was in such bad taste...!

Jude: Hah—

J: Ya really are easy to trick, aren’t’cha, princess.

Kate: ...!

Seeing Jude’s smile, my heart throbbed — to the point it hurt, and to the point it became unbearable — and it wouldn’t stop.

(I probably am not much of anything in Jude’s eyes...)

(But, if I can at least become an occasional source of Jude’s smiles, then that would be fine with me too.)

Beneath the sky where beads of light shimmered and swirled, I made a wish... that this fun time would last, even if it was for a moment longer.

But, alas, such times did not last long.

ko-fi ☕️ ┊ comms 🤍

NOTES:

[1] In Japanese, there are two words for heart: [心] (kokoro) and [心臓] (shinzō), the former referring to a more ‘conceptual’ or intangible version of the heart that  sort of drives emotions or empathy (the pathos, if you will); and the latter being the physical organ. Here, Kate uses [心臓] (shinzō).

[2] The Navigation Acts (1651, 1660) were acts of Parliament, based on earlier precedents, intended to promote the self-sufficiency of the British Empire by restricting colonial trade to England and decreasing dependence on foreign imported goods. The laws also regulated England's fisheries and restricted foreign, including Scottish and Irish, participation in its colonial trade.

[3] To clarify, Lulipia, which could be translated into a different spelling — the original Japanese word they used was [ルリピア] (ruripia), is a company, not a person.

[ama3003]

The President's Daughter

Character: Finnick Odair

Requested: No

Type: Angst/Fluff

Summary: Arianna Flemings-Snow, the adopted daughter of Coriolanus Snow, bravely volunteers for the 75th Annual Hunger Games. Yet, her courage comes at the cost of confronting not only the repercussions of re-entering the deadly arena but also the profound challenge of sharing it with the man she passionately loves.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Finnick Odair, right?” 

Haymitch nods points towards the screen, “ Yes, he won his games at fourteen. Youngest ever. Extremely humble.” 

“You’re kidding right?” He looked like the most narcissistic show off known to man. His stance. His waves. His stupid smirk. He looked as if he were happy to be returning. 

“Yes I’m kidding. He’s a...” Haymitch dramatically flips his hair” …peacock. A total preener but he’s the Capitol darling. They love him here. Charming , smart, and very skilled at combat—especially in water.”

Peta leans forward glancing at the screen, “What about weaknesses?” 

“Well two. First Mags.” A frail looking wrinkly woman pops on the screen. “ She volunteered for Annie. Mags was his mentor and basically raised him. If he’s trying to protect her in any way it exposes him.” 

Katniss stares at the screen seeing the women bravely volunteer for the young girl in hysterics, “A guy like that has to know she’s not going to make it. I bet when it really comes down to it, he won’t protect her. 

Sadness flashes through Haymitch’s eyes, “Well Katniss,  I just hope when she goes…she goes quickly. She’s actually a wonderful lady.” 

The silence fills the room before Peta asks, “And his other weakness?” 

Haymitch lightly smirks before passing  to the next district when a beautiful girl with hair as white as snow comes up. “ District 5. Arianna Flemings. Mostly known as...”

“President Snow’s daughter?” Katniss snaps her head to Haymitch. Eyes widened. 

He tilts his head a bit. “Adopted. She won her games at fifteen. Everyone and I mean everyone fell in love with her. She was the purest of the pure. The cutest of the cute. And the most dangerous of the danger. After one of the tributes killed her district partner all hell broke loose and she murdered the last seven remaining tributes within two hours with one. singular. knife.”

Peta shook his head in disbelief, “If he adopted her then that means he has to have some sort of heart. And he’s letting her go back to the games?” 

Haymitch holds out his hand signaling for the kid to stop talking, “Well, there were rumors about Snow not really adding Arianna’s name into the reaping; however, when her childhood friend was reaped she immediately volunteered. Flabbergasted everyone.” The video shows Arianna immediately protesting and volunteering the moment her friend’s name dropped. The horror on everyone’s face was telling how much the district loved her. 

He cleared his throat and continued, “ I imagined Snow wasn't really happy about that. That’s what he gets for adopting a victor when he’s the leader of these games." He shrugs. "Arianna is very captivating. Even Snow’s heart had to have melt for that young girl. Took her right under his wing. Obviously she was treated like a victor but most importantly she was treated like a Capitol.” 

“If his daughter is that important wouldn’t he know that during the games people will be targeting his daughter. Who wouldn’t if his daughter means that much to him.” 

That’s when Haymtich shook his head, “ Because my dear little Katniss… A) he calls the shots. If you haven’t realized everything in the games are controlled by him and people that love her. He’ll be hovering over you all the entire time. B) She’s a skilled competitor. Again seven tributes dead in two hours by the hands of a 110 pound fifteen year old, hello people keep up. Since then she’s never eased on her training. Obviously she’s bound to have enemies because of her father so she never stopped. Really good using her resources, excellent with knives, basically insanely dangerous. C) Finnick Odair. Both basically spent the last nine years together. Everyone thinks they’re together, but are keeping it hidden because of her father. I’m sure the President feels a lot better having Finnick with her knowing that he would risk his entire life for her. However don’t think it’ll make it easy to kill them. While you two are faking it. They—“ He points to the screen. “Are real. You hurt her and not only will you have Snow on your asses, but a trident in your chest. You hurt him and you’d have knives shoved up every hole in your body. They’re each other’s weaknesses but also strengths. They are who you want to be allies with. I’m serious Katniss don’t mess this up.” 

~~~~~~~

Arianna couldn’t breathe in her dress. It’s not that it’s too tight (which it actually is), but more-so that she’s again back to where she was those many years ago. 

“Breathe. Breathe. Breathe” She lightly whispers under her breath while entering to where all the other Victors were.  She was wearing a beautiful white gown with red lace at the top. Her red make-up contrasting her snow-white features. 

“Isn’t it Snow’s precious girl. Miss Flemings never thought I would have to see you back in the games.” She turns around and sees Gloss from Tribute 1. 

“You and me both. Don’t you look as charming as ever.” She smiles graciously wrapping her arms around her friend. “Where’s Cash?” 

He smiles and points behind him, “Getting the gang back together. Should we be expecting you to join us?” 

Her eyes immediately try to find the one person she truly wanted to ally with. “Gloss I would love to, but I have to check with Finnick. You know wherever he goes I go.”

He nods understanding completely, “And I admire your loyalty. Please try to get him on our side. We really don’t want to have to go against either of you.” 

She nods smiling softly at the man, “Speaking of Finnick do you know where he might be. He wasn’t with Mags.” 

The guy pointed behind her making her turn, “I guess he’s already trying to get the Girl on Fire on his side…without telling you?” 

Arianna lightly hit him, “Glossy I love you, but I hope you weren’t trying to turn me against Finnick. Like you said before I am extremely loyal.” 

He chuckles before backing away, “ Didn’t hurt to try. Now go to lover boy, but please remember what I said.” 

She watches him go back to the Career pack and lightly waves at them before heading towards the duo. 

“Then how do people pay for the pleasure of your company?” If only she knew the truth. 

She sees him lean forward, making the Girl on Fire look uncomfortable  “With secrets” 

Arianna thought it was the perfect time to break the tension especially since she wanted to talk to the golden boy before they had to parade themselves. “Nicky, we went over this so many times, you should never try to get with an engaged woman. Very inappropriate.” She wraps her arm his waist looking up at him. His smirk turned into a genuine smile. 

He immediately looked down at the young girl smirking, “Arianna, you know I’d never try to get with anyone else but you.” 

She lightly smacks his chest before looking over the girl staring curiously at the duo, “ Arianna Flemings.” She sticks her hand out smiling as Katniss took it. “ My niece absolutely loves you. She always wanted to meet you, my father never really introduced us, but you know how he is. You look absolutely beautiful by the way.”  

Katniss couldn’t help but like the girl in front of her. Though the fact that she is someone that Snow cares about keeps nagging at her, the girl alone seems genuine. “I’m Katniss. I saw your games. Very impressive.” Her curt response made Arianna look at Finnick then back at the girl.

“Thank you and your game was also very impressive.” She smiles and then turns her attention to the man next to her. “Nicky, can I talk to you over there please?” 

His gaze went to his angel and then to the girl who’s staring at them, “I’ll be there in a second need to wrap up my introduction to the Girl on Fire.” 

Arianna rolled her eyes playfully before turning to Katniss, “It was really nice to meet you.”

The two stared as Arianna glides away elegantly. Finnick leans towards the girl with a smile, “She is off limits. You hurt her and I’ll gladly pay back the favor with your fiancé while you watch and die an agonizing death. Got that? ” Before she can answer he backs away going to find his girl. 

He finally sees her talking to her district partner and then shoos him away. "Nicky? Did you really had to use that name? "

Her gaze filled with mischief yet care had him wrapped around her finger, "There's Nick, Nickey, Finnley, Finnerson, Fin-"

"Okay we get it, but there's only one name I like hearing you call me." He leans closer.

"Mon amour" She smirks before lightly pushing him back. "That's only reserved when we aren't about to dive head first into our deaths."

His smile drops, " You are not dying. Snow will not allow it and neither will I."

She caresses his face, "Finnick these are how the games are. Though my father cares for me he wants to destroy the girl even more."

He lightly glares at the girl, gripping her waist a bit tighter. " Why did you have to volunteer dammit. Everything was going to be fine, but you just had to volunteer. Why on earth did you even do that?"

She glances around noticing that people are getting on their carriage to start the parade. " I had to, love. But it's okay. I promise you, it will be okay."

The sincerity in her eyes truly made him believe it was all going to be fine even though his heart knew it wasn't.

They finally break eye contact when her partner tells her that the parade is about to start. "Better get on your carriage Snow White looks like Prince Charming needs you."

She kisses him on the cheek, "I'm not into Princes, I prefer fishermen" winking and getting on her carriage.

They both know that no matter what happens in the ring. Capitol be dam. Districts be dam. Both their goal is to protect one another no matter what the cost is.

[tinderbox210]

Spoilers for A Pirate's Fortune:

I love Kay and ND's "break-up" scene even though it breaks my heart to see them go separate ways (temporarily), because it's so multi-layered, filled with so much angst, tension and frustration and feelings hurt, and I think it's such a profound moment about their doubts and fears in hindsight of their talk and confessions at the end of the adventure.

ND is so frustrated, worried and hurt about Kay listening to Hondo over his advice. Beside being worried for Kay's safety, I believe he also fears Kay may start to see him like Jaylen and everyone else had so far - someone to order around and despite calling him partner, not someone to be seen as an equal with a real say in the decicion making of where they go and what jobs they take. The way Kay treats ND, treating him as a person and coming to his rescue against all the odds, is such an anomaly compared to all his other experiences with organics, it seems only natural that a part of him would assume that Kay would start to treat him the same way as everybody else in the end and not respecting his opinion and freedom of choice (because that's just what organics do and how things are for droids in the rest of the galaxy).

On top of this, with ND already starting to doubt their partnership and relationship, Hondo uses what Kay'd told him about their past to drive the wedge deeper. I think that's another big fear of ND unlocked, that a part of Kay blames him for what happened and that she'll never fully forgive him for almost killing her despite those actions having been out of his control. But from working for Jaylen, ND knows very well how long people can hold a grudge in their heart.

Look at the sadness and resignation on both their faces (yes, there's clearly hurt written all over ND's face plating). They both don't want to loose the other but can't keep the gap from cracking wider.

And Kay on the other hand, poor loner Kay always expecting everyone to leave her and trying not to get attached so she won't get hurt, is clearly reading ND's words the wrong way due of her own emotional baggage compromising her judgment and sees her worst fears, generated by life long abandonment issue, confirmed in this very moment, that ND would turn his back on her and abandon her the same way everyone else has so far (with exception of precious Nix, but that's different). She really closes off and her voice gets so flat and emotionless when she tells ND she'll come back because I think a part of her already accepted the pattern was repeating itself and seeing this as most likely their final goodbye, expecting ND to maybe already be gone when she returns from the treasure hunt, because that's what everyone did so far (which is interesting since Kay also abandoned people in the past, like Gedeek).

Other parts that make me so emotional about this scene that deserve to be pointed out:

Kay telling ND that she needs him and ND telling her he would follow her (almost) everywhere! They can't make them say (romantic) stuff like that to each other and make me not get all the feels!

ND staring after Kay and the ship she's leaving on like a lost puppy or the guy in the movie having to watch the love of his life leave on the train! No seriously, they did not have to focus so much on his reaction but they did and bless them for it!

Nix whining because they left ND behind and Kay trying to comfort them both

Funny honorary mention:

Hondo being a little shit the whole time and doing the Thorin awkward slide!

[betweenthescarletmoon]

On Mage!Viktor / the Hexcore's Involvement on the Transformation of Jayce

Incoming loooong post to encompass my massive brainrot about jayce. you've been warned <3

This post, written by @xenorat, made me consider how the Hexcore was the main player behind the whole timelines thing. Of course it explains why the world is an exact replica of what our Jayce's future would become and why Mage!Viktor himself doesn't look like the Machine Herald we know.

The OP also explained how the stone Viktor gave (was it due to the Hexcore or Viktor himself?) could've led Jayce to feel this frenzied, feral rage that goes against his own nature. His natural reaction to violence is usually horror, becoming sick, and profound guilt when he's the cause of it.

However!! Because I'm insane, I've been thinking for months about a theory/headcanon on why Jayce is sometimes violent and sometimes he seems to return to himself, which can work directly with the one that xenorat introduced.

And that theory is:

Mage!Viktor fused alternate versions of Jayce because he knew Jayce couldn't possibly fulfill his promise on his own.

TL;DR: Jayce's transition from feral and violent to calm and compassionate is not clear, but Act II and the scene with him and Mel in Act III show how Jayce may not be in complete control of his actions. Instead, as his physical frame glitches and the visions plague him, or in less visually obvious moments, his demeanor changes and flickers, as if our Jayce is switching with another versions of him. I also shamelessly self-plug about my newly posted oneshot that's gonna be part of my sad bookstreet/jayce-centric series.

Needless to say, I never understood Jayce's act iii arc, especially because he went from this:

to this:

in the span of like, a few weeks at most??

Although the writing and pacing of Act 3 leaves much to be desired for Jayce, Act 2 gives us really exciting clues about what could've been the explanation to Jayce's predicament. Its vagueness is fascinating, because the fandom has such different interpretations to it. Is it PTSD? Is it the self-annihilating nature of the Anomaly? Is it the infection of the world that burrowed into his leg, or the one from the stone that's spreading in his arm? Is it a side effect of witnessing the Cosmic Horrors? Or is it because he's fighting himself? Or rather, alternate versions of himself? Seven, to be exact?

As we can see in the gif above, as well as in most of his conversation with Salo, there seem to be various other versions of Jayce that have just been merged.

It is important to note that, in the novel experience of living in one body, or because of the presence of the Anomaly, Jayce experiences these magnetic-like pulls, in which a part of him seems to either separate or pass through.

I'm sure you've noticed the rest of these instances, especially this one:

But this could also be why he looked like this after killing Salo:

And like this after almost killing the child in the Commune:

(credit to @cruelcomfort-deactivated2024120 on this post, sadly i couldnt find the gif so i uploaded it here)

In every instance, it looks like he wavers in differing levels from whatever violence he has, is, or could've committed. With Salo, the horror almost breaks through the rage, but it fails. With the kid, it's like he slowly snaps out of the haze of fury (visually, the strobing effect and vignette fade away, which tells us that his vision is literally clearing); and all that he is left with is just that same horror. But with Viktor, there is simply chaos. Screaming and weeping and a glimpse of one breaking the vow once again (because he looked at Viktor right before he could kill him. oh i am ill).

Who controlled the body to fulfill the vow, I don't know. I'm willing to believe the act of killing his partner was so traumatizing, it was like we were witnessing an Arcane-ified, violent version of a mind dissociating to the point of an identity split. Y'know, like DID, but not exactly.

I frankly think the writers are kinda cowards for not showing us more of this or giving us more hints as to what is actually afflicting him, unless the mystery IS the point. BUT!! There is one more scene in Act III, where Fortiche left us clues about the alternate Jayces (or at least one of them) one last time.

This scene:

Though Jayce is already triggered and distrustful of Mel from the beginning of this scene, it is here where his entire demeanor slowly changes into that agony and pure rage we've seen before. The vision causes him to jerk in pain and start to shake. His grip on the Mercury Hammer grows tighter. But the most interesting detail is the most surreptitious one: his head warps with one or both eyes, perhaps the gaze of another version of himself.

Interestingly, he does not go to harm Mel as I feared on my first watch. Instead, he pushed her away to shoot, almost as if on instinct. As I looked into this 19 sec clip with Mel, I realized that he was angry but stable right before the first vision. Then a sort of struggle began, as if he is genuinely trying to hold himself back, or to push through the visible pain the arcane is putting him through. But every time he is overwhelmed by this pain, or he is falling deeper into that unnatural, feral rage, we see those eyes.

For context:

(Look above the corner of the left brow and you'll find a subtle eye under his bangs. This happens when he sees his first vision in the scene.)

The eyes become more and more obvious as time goes on. Or interestingly, the longer he closes his eyes, the more we can see these other eyes.

(They look bitter and dark, but also exhausted. How long have they been at this? And why only one pair of eyes? Have the others found rest when they fulfilled their promise of killing Viktor? Honestly, we'll never know.)

But then, when the chromatic aberration (that red, green, purple, and blue distortion of reality to show the Arcane's influence on him) intensifies, we see how our Jayce's eyes and this other gaze seem to merge, exactly when Jayce is on the cusp of violence.

This last one is right when he pushes Mel to shoot at Viktor. It is like they almost become one to attack Viktor again.

We don't see any internal war in Jayce in like the rest of the episode, as well as the finale. Which sucks. It was so cool and it got resolved off-screen ig? Where is that much-needed transition between Jayce "my partner died in this room" Talis and this other Jayce "all i want is my partner back" Talis? Who is ours? Or, even more interesting: did they fuse completely? It would explain their stability surely. And this internal healing could also explain his sudden ability to extend compassion and love towards Viktor in a way he couldn't for Mel.

(And don't tell me it's because he didn't love Mel. My man NEEDED to have a scene that portrayed just how badly that apocalyptic isolation messed him up. If anything, his behavior with Mel is TEN TIMES more realistic than his behavior with Viktor in the astral realm. Maybe the astral realm is the key to his change? But still, Jayce is a man who loves at heart. He was pushed to unimaginable suffering and violence that would make even Silco balk, but you can tell he still cares about Mel and Viktor despite this.)

Anyway!!

If you're a bit crazy and obsessed with trauma like me, then perhaps you might be interested in reading the fic series I've got in the works! I decided to post the prologue to contribute to the small but growing Jayce-centric fics, and more importantly to explore this theory through writing.

[dee-writes-angst]

FORGET ME NOTS (Chapter Two)

FEATURING Eris Vanserra x pregnant!reader

SUMMARY settling into The Autumn Court is scary and intimidating especially when a certain fire-blooded male takes a liking to you.

CONTENT WARNINGS vague descriptions of smut, mentions of abuse, Beron (yeah, yall, he's mentioned), Ianthe (cough, cough), vulnerable convos, flashbacks to calanmai, pregnancy, sad Eris :(

AUTHORS NOTE I know this is much shorter than the first chapter, but when I say I struggled to write this chapter, I mean I STRUGGLED. Anywho, I apologize if you guys feel like the pacing of this chapter is kind of fast, I was trying to get a lot of information in all at once so we could move on to the good stuff. Hope you enjoy ;)

SERIES MASTERLIST

As dawn broke over the Autumn Court, the first rays of sunlight crept through the tall, arched windows of my chamber, casting a warm glow that promised a new day. Despite the beauty it heralded, my heart was heavy with secrets I carried, especially now, facing the prospect of daily walks with Eris—a constant reminder of the brother he did not know he shared with me in such a profound way.

I found Eris waiting in the courtyard, his posture relaxed against the cool morning air that whispered through the turning leaves. His presence was both a comfort and a curse, wrapped in the guise of courtly duty.

“Good morning,” he greeted, his voice carrying that ever-present hint of mischief that seemed less charming today, more a wall I needed to scale or perhaps fortify.

I mustered a smile, tight-lipped and brief. “Eris.”

He seemed to notice my cool demeanor, his eyebrows lifting slightly in amusement—or was it challenge? “Shall we begin?”

The gardens of the Autumn Court were undoubtedly beautiful, but I walked beside Eris with a stiffness in my shoulders, an invisible armor against the potential wounds of getting too close. Every step was a reminder of the line I walked, balancing between necessity and fear.

“It’s beautiful here,” I commented, a safe observation as we passed a sprawling bed of flowers, their vibrant hues a stark contrast to the muted turmoil within me.

“It is,” he responded, his eyes briefly meeting mine before returning to the path ahead. “The court has its ways of ensnaring you with beauty, all the while hiding its thorns.”

I couldn’t help but snort softly at that. “Sounds familiar,” I muttered, more to myself than to him.

Eris caught the words, though, and his smile deepened. “Indeed. But sometimes, we find that even thorns have their purpose.”

We walked in silence for a few moments, the only sounds the rustle of leaves and the distant call of court birds. I felt his gaze on me several times, curious or calculating, I couldn’t tell.

“About last night—” I began, but Eris raised a hand, halting my words.

“Today, let’s set aside the past and dealings of courts for now. Let’s walk, talk, and be unburdened, at least for a moment.”

Reluctantly, I nodded, accepting the temporary ceasefire.

Our path took us deeper into the garden, where the foliage grew thicker and the outside noises fell away. Here, the air was cooler, the shadows deeper, and the sense of seclusion more pronounced. Eris seemed more at ease in this part of the garden, his steps unhurried, his eyes occasionally catching the light in a way that softened the usual sharpness.

"This is one of my favorite parts of the garden," he shared, his voice almost contemplative. "There's a peace here that's hard to find elsewhere in the court."

I looked around, taking in the dense greenery that enveloped us, the serene quiet. "It's like a different world," I admitted.

"Yes," he agreed, his gaze lingering on a particularly dense cluster of trees. "A world apart, where one can forget, if only for a moment, the burdens waiting beyond those trees."

As we walked, the conversation slowly shifted from the impersonal — comments on the weather and the garden — to more personal territory. Eris spoke of his childhood in the court, his voice tinged with a nostalgia that painted a picture of a boy who had run through these very paths, wild and unburdened.

I listened, the stories painting a picture of a different Eris, one who had existed before the weight of the court had fully settled upon his shoulders. It was in these stories that I found myself drawn in, my guard lowering just a notch as I began to see the man beneath the prince.

Our walk led us to a secluded spot with a bench overlooking a tranquil pond, a favorite retreat of Eris’s by his own admission. "I come here to think," he said as we sat. "Today, I wanted to share it."

Something in his tone, a rare note of sincerity, made me glance at him. "Thank you," I said quietly, the weight of my secrets making the words heavier than intended.

"Everyone needs a sanctuary," he replied, his voice low, almost reflective. "Perhaps, for now, this can be ours."

As we sat together, the morning light softening around us, a part of me wanted to believe in the sanctuary he offered. But the secrets I held tightened like a noose around my thoughts, a constant reminder of the stakes at play.

For now, this truce would have to do—a brief respite in a garden of hidden thorns.

In the quiet embrace of the garden, Eris and I sat together on a weathered stone bench, enveloped by a tranquil stillness that seemed to stretch on for eternity. The morning sun had just begun its ascent, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow upon the verdant landscape around us. The delicate fragrance of cherry blossoms lingered in the air, mingling with the earthy scent of damp soil and the distant melody of chirping birds.

For what felt like an eternity, we remained ensconced in a shared silence, each lost in our own thoughts amidst the serene beauty of our surroundings. The weight of unspoken words hung heavy between us, a silent barrier that seemed to grow with each passing moment.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, casting long shadows across the garden, I could no longer bear the oppressive weight of my thoughts in silence. The chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves seemed to mock my inner turmoil, urging me to break free from the suffocating grip of my fears.

Finally, unable to endure the silence any longer, I mustered the courage to speak. "Eris?" The sound of my voice was barely more than a whisper, carried away on the gentle breeze that caressed the garden.

At the sound of his name, Eris stirred from his contemplative reverie, his eyes slowly opening to meet mine. There was a fleeting moment of recognition in his gaze, as if he had been expecting this interruption all along.

He regarded me with a cool detachment, a silent question lingering in the depths of his gaze. It was as though he were silently urging me to articulate the thoughts that had weighed so heavily upon my mind.

Summoning all of my courage, I pressed on, knowing that his patience was not limitless. "I need to speak with you," I said, my voice steadier now, though the weight of my confession hung heavy in the air.

For a moment, there was silence between us once more, the only sound the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. Then, with a subtle nod of acknowledgment, Eris inclined his head, granting me permission to unburden myself of the secrets that had long weighed upon my soul.

(Calanmai, Fifteen Weeks Ago)

The night of Calanmai unfolded like a grand spectacle, a symphony of sights and sounds that swept through the Spring Court like wildfire. In the heart of the courtyard, beneath a sky ablaze with stars, I found myself ensnared in a whirlwind of tradition and temptation, drawn inexorably towards a destiny I could not yet fathom.

As the festivities reached their crescendo, a hush fell over the gathered throng, anticipation crackling in the air like static electricity. All eyes turned to the dais at the center of the courtyard, where Lucien Vanserra, with his mane of fiery hair and eyes that glinted like shards of emerald, stood poised to perform the Rite—the ancient ritual that ensured the flow of natural magic within the Spring Court.

I watched from the edge of the crowd, my heart pounding in rhythm with the pulsating beat of the drums that echoed through the night. Beside me, Ianthe, with her golden locks and beguiling smile, whispered honeyed words in Lucien's ear, her intentions veiled behind a facade of innocence and charm.

But I knew the truth—the truth that lurked beneath the surface, like a serpent coiled in the shadows, waiting to strike. And so, with a courage born of desperation and defiance, I stepped forward, offering myself as a sacrifice to protect Lucien from the machinations of those who sought to use him as a pawn in their deadly game.

Lucien's eyes widened in surprise and disbelief, his gaze searching mine for the truth hidden beneath the surface. And in that moment, I saw the flicker of gratitude and something deeper—a spark of hope amidst the darkness that threatened to engulf us both.

Together, we slipped away from the crowd, seeking refuge in the sanctuary of the forest that bordered the Spring Court. In the darkness, illuminated only by the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the canopy above, we found solace in each other's arms, our bodies moving in a dance of desperation and desire.

With hesitant hands, Lucien reached out to me, his touch tentative yet determined. There was a solemnity in his gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the sacrifice we were both willing to make in the name of saving the Spring Court from impending doom. Each movement was deliberate, as if he were navigating uncharted waters, unsure of what lay ahead.

As he undressed me, his fingers trailed feather-light over my skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. The air crackled with anticipation, heavy with the weight of unspoken words and unfulfilled desires. There was a raw intensity to our connection, a primal need that pulsed beneath the surface, driving us forward even as we teetered on the edge of uncertainty.

Our kisses were slow and languid, each one a silent plea for understanding, for absolution. And as our bodies moved together in a dance as old as time itself, I felt a sense of surrender wash over me, a letting go of the fears and doubts that had plagued me for so long.

With each touch, each caress, we explored the depths of each other's souls, seeking solace in the midst of chaos. And as he spilled his essence inside me, there was a sense of release, a letting go of the burdens that had weighed so heavily upon us.

In the aftermath, we lay entwined beneath the moonlit sky, our breaths mingling in the stillness of the night. There was a peace in that moment, a fleeting respite from the storm that raged around us. And as we lay there, lost in each other's arms, I couldn't help but wonder what the future held for us—for the Spring Court, for our people.

But such thoughts were for another time, another place. In that moment, there was only us, two souls bound together by circumstance and necessity, seeking solace in the midst of turmoil.

(Autumn Court, Present Day)

"What is it, little fox?" Eris's voice, gentle yet tinged with curiosity, pierced the tranquil stillness of the autumnal garden, drawing me from the depths of my reverie. The morning sun, a soft orb of golden light, filtered through the crimson leaves of the ancient oak tree under which we sat, casting a warm glow over the secluded corner of the courtyard.

Eris reclined on the stone bench with an air of effortless grace, his features masked in an enigmatic veil of indifference. His gaze, like liquid mercury, bore into mine with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine, as if he could discern the turmoil that churned within me with unsettling ease.

For a moment, I hesitated, the weight of my confession heavy upon my tongue, like stones in a riverbed. The memory of Lucien, his absence a haunting specter in my heart, mingled with the uncertainty of what lay ahead, casting shadows over the fragile sanctuary we had found amidst the autumnal splendor.

Yet, despite the tempest of emotions that threatened to engulf me, there was an undeniable pull, a magnetic force that drew me inexorably towards Eris, compelling me to lay bare the truth that simmered beneath the surface.

"I—" I began, my voice trembling like the leaves that danced in the breeze, the words caught in the tangled undergrowth of my uncertainty. With a trembling hand, I reached for my tiny bump, a silent testament to the life growing within me, the fragile thread that bound me to a future fraught with peril.

"Eris… I'm scared," I confessed, the admission hanging heavy in the crisp autumn air, a fragile offering of vulnerability laid bare before him. Tears welled in my eyes, their crystalline trails reflecting the kaleidoscope of emotions that churned within me, a tempest threatening to tear me asunder.

It was a truth I had not yet found the courage to share, the truth about my unborn child, about Lucien, about the tangled web of emotions that threatened to ensnare me in their grasp. And yet, as I spoke the words aloud, I felt a sense of liberation wash over me, as if the act of vocalizing my fears had lifted a burden I had long carried in silence.

“I know,” Eris continued after a moment, his voice tinged with a quiet sadness. “When my mother would give birth, my father would have meetings with his counsel and continue about court like nothing important was happening, too caught up in his ambition to even consider loving her. He would leave her to suffer alone, to be in pain, awful pain, alone, while she brought his children into this world,” he took a breath, watching the branches of the great tree sway before looking back to the fountain sitting before us, water streaming softly and glinting in the light of the sun.

“So, once I was old enough to see how wrong it was, I joined her in the birthing rooms. I didn’t care how many times a nurse advised me against it, how much I was beaten afterwords by my father. It wasn’t about any of that. It was about her, it was about not being alone in a time of need, to not be consumed by darkness without a twinkle of light. My mother deserved better. Still does,” Eris sighs, resting his warm hand atop mine on the bench, giving it a small squeeze. “I can not promise profection, I can not promise relief, and I can not promise life, but I can promise that you will not walk in the darkness alone, that I will be right there, by your side as you scream and claw and cry until your babe joins this world. Just as I did for my mother.”

As he spoke, his warm hand found mine on the bench, offering a reassuring squeeze that spoke volumes more than words ever could. "I can't promise perfection," he continued, his gaze steady and unwavering. "I can't promise relief, or even life itself. But I can promise that you won't walk through the darkness alone. I'll be there, by your side, every step of the way."

As the last words of our shared confessions lingered in the air, the atmosphere seemed to soften, infused with a sense of understanding and acceptance. The ancient oak tree above us rustled gently, its branches swaying in a silent dance with the breeze, as if nature itself bore witness to the fragile bond we had formed in this secluded corner of the autumnal garden.

In that moment of quiet introspection, my gaze fell upon a delicate forget-me-not that had nestled itself amidst the fallen leaves at the base of the oak tree. Its petals, a soft shade of blue tinged with hues of violet, seemed to shimmer in the dappled sunlight, a beacon of fragility and resilience amidst the earthy backdrop of the garden.

A sense of recognition washed over me as I regarded the flower, its presence a poignant reminder of the vulnerability we had both shared in this fleeting moment of connection. Like the delicate bloom that dared to flourish amidst the harsh realities of autumn, we too had found strength in our shared vulnerability, forging a bond that transcended the barriers of fear and uncertainty.

With a gentle smile, I reached out to pluck the forget-me-not from its resting place, cradling it in the palm of my hand as a symbol of the bond we had forged amidst the chaos of our intertwined destinies. And as I turned to meet Eris's gaze, I knew that in this fleeting moment of shared vulnerability, we had found not only solace but hope, blooming like the delicate forget-me-not that dared to thrive amidst the changing seasons of our lives.

TAGLIST

@purple-writer8 @defnotlucienvanserra @cherry-cin @julesofvolterra @mirandasidefics @mandziaaa @lilah-asteria @littlestw01f @skylarkalchemist @babypeapoddd @daardyrnitta

[i-am-countess-olivia]

To our great shame there are only 22 Fitzier fics with the "Spanking" tag. This is a lil preview of a longer thing to help bring that number to 23.

Rated T for now, less than 1k.

----

“—And from there, our strength permitting, we may consider assembling parties— James, are you with me?”

James twitches his hand against the charts to illustrate he is present at the table and not, in fact, lost in the same numbing haze he's been stumbling through for days.

“Forgive me, Francis.“ He reaches for his tea, lifts the cup to stare at cold dregs, sets it down again. "The hunt— yes, we ought to wait."

Francis watches him with a look James would rather not interrogate lest he be forced to name the emotion it carries.

“Are you sleeping, James?”

James nods firmly once and, in an attempt to reassure, smiles a wretched, half-demented thing. It is now, by his uncertain count, four days since the ice went up in flames.

He feels something warm and damp creep from the crown of his head and only just manages to stop his hand from shooting up to his hairline. He brushes back a strand of hair as pretence, then brings down his fingers for a furtive inspection: only sweat. His heart races regardless.

“I sleep. I cannot say I rest."

Francis travels forth a hand to rest upon his arm. “And— have you wept?”

Startled, James turns to him and meets a look of sincere and profound concern. In the moment that follows his breath swells, quickens and bursts out of him in a bitter spew, the most emotion to leave him since that first dreadful sunrise. “What the devil does it matter if I have or not? Do tears make burnt corpses into men again?”

Francis retreats his touch, his gentle withdrawal and his lingering look of care only adding to the looming berg of James’ guilt. Before James can apologise, he speaks again, slowly and not without a note of strain:

“James, there are things for which I feel I must atone now that I am— now that I am here again. My mistreatment of you for one.”

“Mistreatment? Francis, what, no—“

“Hear me, James. It was cruel of me to have hurried you and others through your mourning for Sir John. You were owed—“

“—It isn’t mourning I am owed at present,” James interrupts grimly. “It is punishment.”

It is, in truth, the only deliverance he has been able to imagine for himself, the only plausible path through the fog. He expects a dispute from the next chair, but hears only muffled voices and weary steps outside the cabin and the ever-present groan of the ice-bound hull.

Whilst Francis sits in what must be appalled silence, James lets his face fall into his open hand. He would gladly chisel his own flesh if it meant freeing himself from this numbness. The world is muffled, dull. He cannot imagine ever laughing at a joke again or breaking into song or feeling awe at a sunrise.

“Would a fitting sentence lift this burden from you then?”

James' hand slips down to his mouth by degrees to reveal Francis, whose expression has changed from concerned to considering, his gaze elsewhere, his fingers steepled at his chin.

"I don't hope to receive it from God," he says and wonders what new madness must have dawned for him to thus lay out before Francis his most intimate torments. 

"I know you don't, James." Sad and balm-like, those words. Almost tender. If James’ heart was hammering before, it's now striking thunderbolts. "Then what is to be the remedy?"

"When we return I'll face whatever reckoning I am due and then examine its effects," James says with a touch of black flippancy but knows, even as the words leave him, that it is a far-fetched and fantastical thing to contemplate — and not what he would have for a cure in any case. 

Francis' eyes turn to him, soft and full of thought. James meets them and finds his own thoughts bolting away. Wildly, they land not where he might wish or expect. Hickey. The cat. The rich smell of blood below deck.

Again, again. Somewhere inside him, a fragile light has flickered into life.

Francis' hand has returned to his shoulder.

"I cannot have you carrying this on our walk, James. You won’t last a day.”

James can't tear himself from Francis' eyes, the shape and even splay of his fingers. "If you really intend—" He swallows what he cannot yet shape into words. "How do you mean to raise it with the other officers?"

Francis shakes his head. "This is not for them. Forgive the blasphemy, James, but I believe the only order we are seeking to restore here is that of your mind and spirit. Which means two of us only, and a curtain kept well drawn while you take your penance."

The last word, uttered in that almost-tender tone, strikes like a fever and James must shut his eyes against the triple surge of terror, shame and gratitude. Thus fuelled, the light inside flares brighter, a beacon he can drift towards.

"What do you propose?"

"Give me a day to think on a course that may best see you unburdened. Then we will begin.”

"Francis—" James can only nod and mouth his thanks.

"This shall be to both our benefit, and to the benefit of all. And James?"

In reply, James has laid his palm over the hand upon his shoulder. He shudders deeply at the words that follow.

"You will weep. I will see to it."

[julaibib]

السلام عليكم

I would like to know the recommended supplications and remembrances on the Day of Arafah and how to spend this day.

وعليكم السلام

The Messenger of Allah (saw) said of the Day of ’Arafah, ‘In it, there is an hour in which no believing worshipper makes a supplication to Allah for good, except that Allah answers it for him, and he does not seek Allah’s protection from evil, except that He protects him from it’. [Tirmidhi]

The Prophet’s (PBUH) Dua for the Day of Arafah

Our beloved Prophet (PBUH) recommended the following dua for the day of Arafah:

لا إله إلا الله وحدهُ لا شريك لهُ ، لهُ الملكُ ولهُ الحمدُ وهو على كل شيء قدير

La ilaha illallahu wahdahu la sharika lahu, lahul-mulku wa lahul-hamdu wa huwa ala kulli shay'in qadir.

“There is no god but Allah. He is One and has no partner with Him. His is the dominion, and His is the praise, and He is omnipotent over all things.”(Sunan al-Tirmidhi 3585)

This is a short yet profound dua for those yearning for Allah’s forgiveness and mercy. It reminds us that no sin is too great, and no heart is too distant to return to Him.

وَقُل رَّبِّ ٱغْفِرْ وَٱرْحَمْ وَأَنتَ خَيْرُ ٱلرَّٰحِمِينَ

Rabbighfir warham wa anta khayrur-rahimin

“My Lord! Forgive and show mercy, for You are the Best of those who show mercy!”

This well-known supplication asks for the best in this life and the next, and for protection from the torment of the Fire.

رَبَّنَا اتِنَا فِي الدُّنْيَا حَسَنَةً وَفِي الاخِرَةِ حَسَنَةً وَقِنَا عَذَابَ النَّارِ

Rabbana atina fid-dunya hasanatan wa fil ‘akhirati hasanatan wa qina ‘adhaban-nar.

“Our Lord, give us in this world that which is good and in the Hereafter that which is good and save us from the torment of the Fire.”

This powerful supplication asks Allah to shield us from emotional, physical, and social struggles, like anxiety, sadness, weakness, debt, and oppression. It’s a deeply personal prayer that reflects the everyday battles we often fight silently.

اللّهُـمَّ إِنِّي أَعْوذُ بِكَ مِنَ الهَـمِّ وَ الْحُـزْنِ، والعًجْـزِ والكَسَلِ والبُخْـلِ والجُـبْنِ، وضَلْـعِ الـدَّيْنِ وغَلَبَـةِ الرِّجال

Allaahumma ‘innee ‘a’oothu bika minal-hammi walhazani, wal’ajzi walkasali, walbukhli waljubni, wa dhala’id-dayni wa ghalabatir-rijaal

“O Allah, I seek refuge in you from grief and sadness, from weakness and laziness, from miserliness and cowardice, from being overcome by debt and overpowered by men (i.e. others).”

This short, all-encompassing prayer asks for the essentials we need every day: spiritual, physical, and emotional support. Abbas (RA) reported that our beloved Prophet (PBUH) used to make this dua between the two Sajdas:

اللهم اغفر لي، وارحمني، واهدني، وعافني، وارزقني

Allahumm-aghfir li, warhamni, wa-hdini, wa ‘afini, warzuqni

"O Allah! Forgive me, have mercy on me, guide me, guard me against harm and provide me with sustenance and salvation."

’Arafah is a day of immense forgiveness when Allah sets many people free from the Fire. Even if you are not standing on the Plains of ’Arafat, you can still seek Allah’s forgiveness from your own home, workplace or local masjid.

[skywerse]

I think I’ve finally stopped cringing enough to share some of the stuff I worked on for my short film, “Heirloom” and this is the colour script!! :D

The colours carry a lot of the emotional weight in the film, pulling you through each stage of the story and making you feel every shift the characters experience!! This was especially crucial since there's no dialogue or narration to lean on... So let me yapp a bit about that—

The first act features vibrant yellows, greens, and oranges—warm, lively tones that signify peace and stability. This palette establishes a sense of calm and familiarity, but as the act progresses, darker hues begin to infiltrate the scene.

In the latter part of the first act, the colour scheme shifts dramatically to dark, gritty reds and oranges. This transition introduces this tangible intensity, this foreboding feeling, highlighting a surge of anger and tension. The dominance of these reds signals a significant change in the narrative.

The second act dives into violets and purples, evoking a sense of novelty and uncertainty. These colours effectively illustrate the protagonist’s struggle to find his footing in a world that has moved on without him.

The third act is divided into two parts! Initially, deep blues dominate as the protagonist returns to a home that's long gone. These dark, sombre tones represent profound sadness and loss.

The final part of the film transitions back to these bright, saturated yellows, concluding on a very hopeful note. This return to vibrant colours signifies a resolution and a full-circle moment, reflecting the protagonist's journey and his redemption :)

if you have 7 mins to spare to watch my short film, look under the cut!!

(BEWARE!!! I was on a tight deadline for this, the audio is SHIT)