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bunnys-kisses · 3 days

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some women don't want the bear

john 'soap' mactavish

cw: smut/pwp, predator/prey, cnc, roleplay/fantasy, forest sex, messy sex, unprotected sex, after care, gunplay, degrading language, dirty talk, (partially) clothed sex, pussy slapping, filth (!!!)

bunny says! reblogs, tags & comments feed the rabbit!

you never really thought about scotland having forests. you always imagined the rolling plains and large cows. not dense forests as you hastily ran pass trees and tried not to trip over roots.

your heart was racing, your breathing ragged. you needed to get away from the man in the woods. he had found you cabin for the week and had tried to get his way inside. the only way for you was out the door and into the forests before he could harm you.

"shit, shit, shit." you panted as you tried to get further into the forest, only getting more lost. you felt panic all of as you ended up in a clearing.

you wanted to scream for help, but no one would hear you. you were a lost little thing, all alone in the woods with a big scary man. a man who wanted to take you apart.

your knees felt weak as you looked around, the afternoon light shined through the thick foliage of the trees. you eventually crumbled to your knees like a dying deer when you heard the snap of a twig nearby. you quivered and whimpered when the heavy footsteps came closer.

you felt yourself be yanked by the hair and forced to look up at the man in front of you. you bottom lip wobbled, "please don't kill me, sir."

he chuckled and tapped his pistol to your nose, "cute. i don't like 'em dead, bonnie. i like 'em when they struggle." then pressed the gun to your lips, "c'mon. be a good little whore and suck. or i'll find another way to get this thing wet." his eyes cast down to your lap.

you carefully licked the gun and the intruders eyes were on you. his blue eyes gleamed like sapphires, full of danger. you never got his name as you continued to suck off his gun.

you prayed it wasn't loaded.

"pretty girl for me." he said, "bet you're popular with the boys at uni." he laughed before he used his other hand to comb his fingers through your hair, "don't worry about that. once i get my seed planted in ya, you'll be too tired to think about other boys while you're chasin' my boys around." he pinched your cheek, "hard to finish school when you're nursing one babe and pregnant with another." he chuckled.

you hated how hot it felt. it flooded your core and made your face hot all over. your heart raced as you continued to lick the weapon.

his words kept coming, "you, me and our little mission to repopulate that big cabin you were staying in. you were tempting me with that, one woman doesn't need that many rooms. you were hoping i'd come and give you an excuse to fill 'em up. better i come and seed that little cunt of yours before a big bear or something comes and does it instead.' he laughed at the improbability of that.

you looked up at him, your eyes gleamed in the afternoon light and it made the intruder's cock twitch in his pants. he patted your cheek a little harder than you liked before he wanted you to have the real thing.

he tossed the weapon to the side and pushed you down onto your back. he got on top of you and he could feel the heat of your core through those thin tights. he didn't give it much time before he ripped the cheap fabric at the crotch, followed by your panties ending up in tatters too at the seam.

"good hold you got there, bonnie." he purred, "a nice tight little cunt that i'm gonna enjoy ruining." he chuckled as he sank two thick fingers into your sweet puffy hole. he sank in like a hot knife cut butter, "oh, someone's a little whore, huh? do you let all the big scary men of the forest fuck you? or am i just special." he smiled with all teeth and you felt wetness grow between your legs.

he crowded your space, his weight on top of you kept your pinned. you weren't as strong or as big as him. he was muscular with a mohawk and a tattoo. you could already feel his length pressing against you through his jeans.

he was going to split you in half with that thing!

"ya want it, bonnie? do you want me to fuck you raw. ruin you for any other man so much so that another man could even breed you. get that pretty cunt addicted to my cum." he patted your pussy before he sank his fingers back into you, now using his thumb to play with your clit.

you sent electricity through you, you tried to find some support from the forest floor to get yourself out from under him. but there was no escaping him. you were going to be bred by this monster.

you wanted to hit him, but he was a bulk of solid muscle. you would break your hands before you made any dent in him. you laid there and kicked out your legs but you were pinned under him.

he took his fingers out of your slick pussy and licked your wetness off of them letting out a soft moan, you tasted so good. he said, "a wife's gotta taste good, even when heavy with bairn." then placed a broad hand on your stomach as he got his cock out of his blue jeans.

the birds chirped and the sun beamed down on you as you laid in the mess of leaves and twigs. you could feel the man's heavy gaze on you. you swallowed at the sight of his cock, it was thick. you swore his balls were heavy, ready for breeding.

he kept his hand on you as he guided his cock into your sweet, slick pussy. he groaned a little bit as he pushed into you. your pussy felt so good enough his cock.

he chuckled, "where have you been all my life?" his pace skipped pleasantries and soon he was bullying it deep into your womb, "a pretty little thing to breed and keep. you, me and a bunch of babies." he was so large compared to you, you couldn't fight him off. he looked like a military man, even if you could get out from under him, he would stalk you through the forest. he groaned, "you're so good for me, lettin' me use that sweet cunt of yours. i'll keep this little cunt." he patted it before he gave it a firm slap.

you panted and squirmed under him, a fruitless attempt as he fucked you with a fury that you couldn't find words for. his cock felt like it was in the back of your throat.

the harshness of his thrusts made your head spin as you gripped onto him and tried to get him off of you. but he wasn't going anywhere, he was too busy having his cock into you. he wasn't going anywhere until he was finished with you.

you were his now.

regardless the pleasure coursed through you and the pace made you hot all over. the feeling was overwhelming and you knew you wouldn't last long. you panted and moaned, your entire body was burning from the intense pleasure.

"please." you whimpered.

"what?" he asked, curious what you had to say.

"please don't kill me." you whimpered.

"no, no.. shh, shh. no way." he said, his voice overly sweet, "i would never. now c'mon, bonnie. cum for your husband." as he continued to thrust up against you cunt.

you then gripped onto the forest floor as best as you could and arched your back. you then climaxed. you felt your body betray you as your pussy clenched around him as you it all became too much. you felt like an animal being bred in the forest. "fuck." you gasped.

"so good. fuck, i'm gonna ruin that little pussy. don't worry, bonnie.

he spurted inside of you with a heavy grunt before he slowed to a stop. his heart hammered in his chest as he admired the sight of you. he gave you pussy a firm slap before he pulled out.

"good girl." and after that, the little roleplay ended. and the man you loved came back. he got you in his arms as he kissed at your face, you were still in a state of bliss as your orgasm still came through you.

johnny then picked the twigs out of your hair, he got his jacket around your shoulders. he may have gone a little over kill with ripping your leggings and panties. but you were safe with him now.

"did you like that?" he asked as he rubbed your shoulders before he helped you onto your shaky legs. he'd carry you if he had to, that what was what a husband did for his wife.

even if she wanted to have crazy, kinky forest sex during their honeymoon. but he'd have to admit, it did excite him too. using those skills of his to good use. so before he picked you up and brought you back to the cabin for some nice tea and food, he waited to give him a response.

you looked up at him, as if your cheek was scraped from the debris on the forest floor. your eyes gleamed, almost excitingly as you said, "can we do that again sometime?" <3

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lovelookspretty · 2 days

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lover of mine

drew starkey x actress!reader au

— in which drew and y/n, secretly exes, must fake date in order to keep the peace at a mutual friend’s wedding, but the forced proximity makes them question whether they ever truly moved on.

warnings: girl bye this whole part is just screaming n crying omg be prepared

authors note: wanted to make a little unexpected visit at the end given his character but yk 😋 let me know if u arent on the tag list yet !! interact w me thru replies, anons, or dms !! notifications are always on <3

long story short, the group collectively agree to postpone this dinner night because of what happened. just as you left the restroom, drew was gone and were instead met by leila who told you they were leaving to eat at the pearl some other time.

you feel terrible that they had to witness what they did, and you assume they must’ve seen you and drew talking in the hallway for them to make this decision. they know something’s wrong between you two, and you almost break on the spot. it’s like the whole plan is crashing down and you don’t know what to do, how to move forward.

you and drew travel in different cars on the way home but to end off the night, the group splits up. some dress down and head back to explore the town at night or there are others who choose to stay home, just keep a respectful distance.

you rid of your clothes and step into the shower to collect your thoughts, and it takes everything in you not to cry from frustration. the steam curls around you, the hot water beating down your back like it’s trying to wash the weight of everything away—but it doesn’t.

no amount of heat or scrubbing can erase the guilt, regret, and shame that engulf you.

when you finally step out, your skin is red from the heat, and you wipe a hand over the fogged mirror, catching a glimpse of your own tired reflection. your new clothes cling to your still-damp skin, and your hair hangs heavy and wet down your back.

when you step out of the bathroom, the cool air bites at your skin, but that’s not what makes you freeze. you see him—drew—walking toward your shared room. he’s freshly showered, his hair slightly wet, and you realize he must’ve used the bathroom across the hall that gia and roman share.

for a split second, your eyes meet, and you have to bite down on your emotions, hard, before you can speak. before you can let it all flood out.

you get to the door first, quietly letting yourself in, then leaving it open so he comes in too. the air between you feels heavy—like there are words unsaid. you can hear the faint sound of music downstairs, theo’s voice talking low, maybe to leila, but it’s distant. they must be trying to let you talk without feeling like you need to worry.

you step into the room, moving toward the dresser on your side of the room. your hand rests on top of it, gripping the edge for balance, as if the solid wood can keep you grounded. your back is to him, but you can hear him enter. he stands there for a moment, probably watching you, probably waiting for you to say something.

the silence is unbearable.

“why didn’t you just tell me?”

your voice comes out quietly, almost too low for him to hear. you don’t turn around, your eyes focused on the lamp in the corner of the room, as if looking anywhere but at him will keep you from falling apart. your hand tightens on the dresser as you wait for him to answer.

you hear him shuffle behind you, his breath catching like he didn’t expect you to speak first. “i . . . i don’t know,” he says, his voice just as quiet as yours. “i didn’t want to hurt you.”

you swallow hard, blinking rapidly as the familiar burn of tears threatens again. you know he’s trying to be honest, but that answer—it’s not enough. it doesn’t fix anything.

“you didn’t want to hurt me?” your voice wavers, and you finally turn, facing him. he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at you like he doesn’t know how to fix the mess he’s made. “this wasn’t even just a few days either. this has been weeks—weeks of us talking, planning, pretending . . . and the whole time, you were lying.”

as you walk over to him, he opens his mouth to respond, but you can see the guilt weighing him down, making it impossible for him to speak right away.

“not only were you lying to them,” you gesture loosely, meaning the others, everyone, “but you were lying to me.” you point to your chest as your voice cracks, weak and filled with betrayal.

his face tilts slightly to the side, and though he’s staring at you, his eyes are glossing over. you can see the weight of what he’s done finally sinking in, and it’s tearing him apart. he swallows hard, his throat tight.

“i didn’t mean to,” he whispers, his voice trembling now. “i never wanted—”

but he stops, his words catching in his throat, and you can see the tears threatening to spill. his jaw tightens as he forces himself to keep looking at you, even though it’s breaking him inside.

“no, but you did,” you tell him. “you made this decision. you created this plan when you had mila back home, drew.”

he winces at her name. you can see it. but you don’t stop.

every day, every conversation, every moment you’ve spent together, he knew. and he said nothing.

your words slow down though, and the weight of them sinks in deeper. “i had finally gotten to a point after we broke up where i felt like i was free of us,” you say, voice quieter now, but raw. “i didn’t have to worry about things like this anymore. i was finally done with us.”

drew’s lips part like he’s about to say something, but he can’t, and you don’t give him the chance. “but here i am.” you let out a short, breathless laugh, as though even you can’t believe the mess you're in. “i mean, i didn’t think agreeing to this plan was going to work out perfectly, but—”

you stop, searching for the words, your throat tight with emotion. it takes everything in you to keep from crying. you look away from him, your voice going numb, the exhaustion seeping through. “but i didn’t think i’d end up feeling like this. like none of it ever really ended.”

you stand there for a moment, letting the weight of everything hang between you two. you wipe at the corner of your eye, then shake your head slightly, more in disbelief than anything else.

“so why?” you ask, “why didn’t you just tell me? why didn’t you say something from the beginning, when we started this whole thing?"

he looks at you, his jaw clenching, but his eyes are filled with guilt. he takes a deep breath, his face turned slightly to the side like he's trying to hold himself together.

“i fell in love with you,” he says, and you scoff. oh, he’s just now fallen in love? he realizes his mistake and gets up when you start to walk away, but he grabs you by the arms, “no, no, no, y/n please, i fell in love with this life—being with you again. i didn’t want to lose that. i’m still in love with you. i always have been. i just realized it too late.”

you can’t believe him. “but you did lose it, drew.” your voice is quieter now, but no less intense. “you lost it the moment you decided to lie. you didn’t just ruin this plan, this stupid fake relationship.”

you shrug him off of you.

“i thought,” your voice cracks, “i thought telling our friends the truth would make everything worse. i was so scared they’d feel like they had to walk on eggshells around us, like it’d be awkward if they knew what happened. but you know what? i wish i’d just told them. instead of this. instead of . . . all of this.”

“and it’s not just about mila,” you say, “even when you’re supposed to be my fake boyfriend, you’re still making decisions for me. you speak for me, like you always know better, like i can’t speak for myself.” you can feel your frustration bubbling to the surface, the heat rising in your chest as you push forward. “it’s like . . . no matter what happens, you still feel like you need to control everything.”

drew’s mouth opens slightly, like he’s about to respond, but you can’t stop now. the words tumble out, each one hitting you harder than the last.

“i mean, do you know how exhausting that is?” your voice rises, and you can feel your emotions slipping, coming out faster than you can stop them. “you made up the plan, you pulled back the moment i was getting comfortable again, even our breakup was your decision.”

his expression hardens, and you can see the conflict raging behind his eyes. “i thought we agreed there wasn’t any point in keeping up something that was barely there,” he says. “we were hardly talking or communicating, y/n. i mean, trying to keep up a relationship for us that wasn’t even really there? was it . . . do you think it would’ve been better if we didn’t break up? i mean—”

“yes! yes, it was worth it! i didn’t care if we weren’t always together!” you blink, caught off guard for just a second, but the fire inside you flares back to life. “and you said there wasn’t any point; not me. we’re busy people, drew, lives like ours don’t get spent every day how these two weeks are supposed to be. you have to know that. so i’m sorry that you felt enough was enough for us but you shouldn’t have had to decide what you thought was best for both of us and make that decision on your own without telling me!”

as you speak, you notice the way his face shifts, confusion and regret flickering in his eyes.

you exhale, shutting your eyes. “trust me, i spent nights worrying about us when we were together, replaying every moment, every doubt.” your voice lowers, becoming more vulnerable, almost a whisper. “and i told myself, ‘okay, that’s normal. that’s normal maybe. so you didn’t get a fairytale relationship; grow up.’”

“but i understood that . . . no matter what, i wouldn’t have left you because i loved you,” you cry, “i stayed because that’s what you do when you love someone.”

drew’s face crumbles at your words, and his gaze drops to the floor. you take a deep breath, steadying yourself as you meet his gaze again. “look, i’m not going to say anything to anyone about mila,” you say. “but you need to figure this out, how we move on from here, and whether you’re going to tell her about this plan because i’m not gonna keep doing it if she’s not comfortable with it.”

drew nods slowly. he’s quiet, visibly processing everything. “i’ll do it,” he says, almost to himself, but you nod anyway. he takes a shuddering breath, his voice barely above a whisper as he finally speaks. “i didn’t mean to lose you,” he says, staring at the ground. “but i did. i know that now.”

you watch him for a moment, the weight of his confession hanging between you, before you turn away. your hand reaches for the door, and this time, you don’t hesitate.

“yeah, you did,” you whisper, voice broken as you open the door and hurry through, leave him standing there alone. “you did.”

drew stands there, frozen in place as the silence settles around him. he watches when you walk away until the laughter from outside fades into a distant echo, and he sinks down onto the edge of the bed, his body heavy with regret.

“—fucking—” he mutters under his breath, his voice barely audible. he leans forward, elbows digging into his thighs, and cradles his head in his hands while tears spill from his eyes. in that moment, he’s completely alone, engulfed by the realization that he pushed away the one person who mattered most.

“i’m gonna be back, okay?” libby tells you. you’re sitting in her bed, her and leila feeling like it’s only reasonable for her to step up, and she would’ve no matter what.

“hey,” you say before she goes, your fingers reaching her arm. she halts, looking at you again as she settles back down on the edge of the bed. “thank you for letting me sleep here tonight.”

she gives you a knowing look. “there’s no need y/n. my job is to make sure you’re comfortable and okay. your job is to get under my covers and drool on my pillows ‘til morning.”

“shut up,” you murmur and consider whacking her in the face with one of said pillows, but she leans forward to give you a hug. it’s gentle at first, and you’re relieved to feel a warmth from someone at a time like this. you feel like you can stay there forever, but she pulls away to leave the room.

there’s a knock at the door that startles you a bit, and you wait anxiously for who’s behind it. they open it quietly and peek their head in—roman?

he lets himself inside with cautious steps, and before you can speak he shushes you.

“keep it down, stupid,” he says, and you furrow your eyebrows at him. he takes maybe two steps forward and then stops there. “i just wanted to say sorry for not saying anything before at the peel.”

“the pearl.” you nod, your lips pursed. “thanks.”

he deadpans at you. “i don’t do this very often so i’d appreciate more than just a thanks, you kn—” he pauses to rephrase his words, and you can see the gears shift in his head. he sighs. “i fully saw that you were upset and i didn’t do anything. part of it was because i didn’t know if i should’ve but the other was that the food was just really good—”

“roman,” you try to tell him to get out, but he persists.

“no,” he tells you. he tries to search for the right words before continuing, “i’m just sorry. i don’t want to make it seem like i don’t care or that you don’t have anybody to talk to. and i’m not gonna jump the gun or be all enthusiastic the next time this happens but . . . i just won’t be quiet anymore.”

you’re taken aback by roman’s unexpected display of concern. you can’t tell if you’re imagining this. this has to be the first time you’ve probably ever known him that he’s being like this. but you nod slowly, absorbing his words. “thank you, roman,” you say softly, appreciating the effort he’s making. “it means a lot that you care.”

he shifts on his feet, clearly uncomfortable with the emotional territory but pressing on anyway. “good,” he replies, his voice a little firmer. “because i might not always show it, but i do care. just . . . don’t think you have to go through stuff alone, alright? we’re friends, i guess, even if i don’t always act like it.”

you smile faintly, still surprised that he’s even still standing there. “i get it. i appreciate you saying something.”

“goodnight, y/n,” he says. just as he’s about to leave, he glances back, a knowing look in his eyes. “and just so you know, i get that things are complicated with starkey, but it’s pretty obvious you two aren’t really together. you don’t have to pretend around me.”

your heart skips a beat, and you feel a rush of vulnerability. how much does he really know? but before you can question him further, he’s already slipping out the door.

at the same time, libby slides past him with mugs of hot cocoa, “ew, what are you doing here?” she says to roman, avoiding him like he’s her brother. “get out of here.”

she kicks the door closed behind her, and her mood switches to a smile. “what was all that about? oh my god— did he hurt you? did he infect you?” she asks, feigning concern as she plops down next to you and handing you a mug. you take the mug and just shake your head with a grin.

@rubixgsworld @itgirlbrina @thepopcultureaddict @icaqttt @samsmelodrama @kissfinalgirl @itsamegazaddysworld @willowpains @toterry @wearemadeofstardust0 @cl4uus @maybankslover @itneverendshere @httpsdrewstarkey @ilyrafe @sunny1616 @pillowprincess4him @yootvi @matthewswifeeee @uwuemlwlrld @l4venderia @chenslucy @darkreymbow @congratsloserr @skyslowalking @behindviolettwrites @allthoughtsmindfull

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snowball-doie · 3 days

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| pairing: poly!Markle x gn!Reader

| info: 18+ MDNI. Wholesome 'til the halfway point. threesome. MLM behavior. Cum eating. Penetrative sex. Oral.

| aurora's note: tds3 changed me as a person....

| poly!markle who are the silly boyfriends who can never take anything serious.

| poly!markle who think it's hilarious when they surprise you with matching ugly pajamas for your anniversary.

| mark who gets cuteness aggression when he sees you and chenle wearing the pajamas, laughing about how stupid you all look-- he can't help but pat down the floof of hair sticking up at the back of chenle's head, and he feels like he has to tackle you onto the bed while burying is face in the crook of your neck.

| poly!markle who lay on either side of you in bed, sending your group chat TikTok memes while giggling to themselves, instead of just showing their screens or talking.

| chenle who rolls over and swings a leg over you while putting his foot on mark's legs-- mark ends up scrolling with one hand and mindlessly plays with chenle's foot with the other.

| chenle who gets all giggly because mark's tickling him. his contagious laugh makes you laugh until your stomach hurts.

| poly!markle who gets a burst of energy at 1am and decides it's the perfect time to start a dance party in the bedroom, in their matching pajamas, while you're half asleep in bed.

| mark who pulls you out of bed and makes you dance with them.

| chenle who plays the silly meme music while mark queues up the music he can actually sing to.

| poly!markle who end up forgetting about the queue, and when a slower song comes on, they sneak up on you, trapping you between their bodies. mark's in front of you, hands wandering around your sides. chenle's behind you, his hands sneaking under the waistband of your pajama pants so that he can get you off while you're moaning into mark's mouth and begging them for more.

| poly!markle who can't even take their silly dance night serious, so they end up taking turns fucking you while laughing at the meme songs that randomly play in chenle's playlist.

| chenle who bends you over so your ass is up in the air while he rails you from behind and you suck off mark.

| mark who lays you on your back and lifts one of your legs high into the air, his hand pressed on the back of your thigh, while he fucks you deep and slow, kissing your ankle, whispering that he loves you so much.

| poly!markle who cum on each other and watch as you lick it up.

| poly!markle who fuck you 'til you're tired, but they're still wired with energy, so they turn to each other for a bit.

| poly!markle who somehow still have all the energy in the world after they're spent, so they leave you to rest in the bedroom while they go interact with fans on instagram in another room.

| poly!markle who wakes you up in the morning with kisses all over your body-- mark's content when you groan and start pulling on his hair, sleepily begging him to get you off with his mouth, and chenle watches with a grin.

| poly!markle who never fail to keep you occupied with their energy, entertained by their antics, and fucked-out from their incredible stamina.

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katebishopsbaefy · 2 days

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Shoot Me

billie eilish x reader

𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚

summary: you and billie both get your periods at the same time and are the definition of miserable

word count: 1219

You roll over with a groan, pressing your face back into your girlfriend’s side, clutching your stomach. You feel her arms wrap around you. She obviously wanted to feel you as much as you wanted to feel her.

You and Billie had been unfortunate enough to get your periods at the same time, so now here you lay, sprawled on your bed, clutching your stomachs, groaning occasionally. Somehow you’d managed to not only lose track of your heating pads, but you’d also completely run out of pain relief medication, and neither of you felt well enough to drive to the store to get some.

Billie gently kisses your forehead when you press into her. She grunts as she reaches one arm over to the nightstand to check her phone, muttering out a low “shit” upon seeing the many texts and missed calls from her brother, who she was supposed to meet up with today.

You rub your eye and look up at her. “What’s wrong?” you mumble.

She swings her arm back over to hug you tighter, deciding to deal with Finneas later. “Nothing,” she whispers, starting to rub your back. You hum at the touch. “How’re you feeling?”

You grumble out something about feeling like shit, but it comes out muffled due to your face pressing further into her. Your hand finds its way underneath her loose t-shirt in search of more comfort.

This time, she hums at your touch. The weight of you laying on top of her serves as a weighted blanket, and although it’s comfortable, it doesn’t do much for her cramps. “This sucks,” she states. You hum in agreement.

Your short conversation is interrupted by multiple aggressive dings from her phone. She groans again and reaches back over, checking the new texts from her brother.

“Who’s that?” you ask.

She lets out a huff. “Finneas,” she mumbles, “I forgot I was s’pposed to meet up with him today.”

You whine and grip her tighter in response. “Mmm, don’t leave me.”

“I don’t think I could go anywhere even if I wanted to,” she says, giggling quietly at you.

She hadn’t realized that she forgot to respond to him yet again, getting distracted by you, until the sudden alarm of her ringtone and buzzing of her phone forces her to finally respond. You both jump at the sound before she answers. You can hear a faint “hello???” from the other end.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to ignore you,” Billie says, exhaustion lacing her voice. “I’ve been asleep all day, me and y/n have the worst cramps ever.” She shifts a little and waits for Finneas to respond. “Actually yeah, that would be super helpful if you have time.” Another pause. “Can I send you a list?” Short pause. “Okay, great, see you later.”

The loss of her warmth makes you groan as she flips you off of her to sit up. “What’d he say?” you ask.

“He said he has some time, so he’s gonna pick some stuff up for us,” she responds. Taking your shared blanket with her, she gets out of bed. You groan for probably the 500th time, but she ignores you and grabs your arm, effectively dragging you out of bed too. “Come on, we’re gonna go sit on the couch.”

“Just shoot me instead,” you mumble. You clutch your pillow to your stomach and trudge your way down the hall with her to the living room.

She laughs at your remark. “At least we get more time to hang out,” she says, gently bumping her hip with yours. You smile at her and bump her back.

It feels like an hour has passed by the time you make it to the couch. You flop down, immediately leaning into Billie’s side, and you feel her do the same. She sits up for a moment to wrap you in the blanket again before snuggling back into you. “Wanna watch something?” she asks, to which you shrug, and she flicks on a random channel.

You completely lose track of time sitting with her. You have no idea what show’s playing, being too distracted by her hands, which you had taken into your lap. Fingers laced together, palms pressed, her warm hands warming up your cold ones. You’re so spaced out playing with her fingers that you don’t realize you’re starting to fall asleep until she giggles at you.

“Sleepy?” she asks. You look up at her, noticing her eyes starting to droop as well.

“No,” you whisper, reaching a hand up point at her jokingly, “are you?” She shakes her head.

At some point, you had both begun to shift around, so uncomfortable from your cramps. When Finneas arrives at your place, he finds you passed out, sprawled on one side of the couch, gripping your pillow. Billie hogs the blanket on the other side, and your heads meet in the corner. He smiles and snaps a quick picture to send to you later.

He quietly makes his way over to your kitchen, careful not to make too much noise with his bags. Ice cream, chocolate, and other comfort foods are unloaded into the fridge. Despite how quiet he tries to be, the soft rustling is enough to wake Billie, who quickly sits up and pads over to him, dragging her blanket behind her. “Hey, you don’t have to do that,” she says quietly.

He shakes his head. “It’s fine. Go sit back down.”

“But I feel bad,” she mutters. She plops down onto a seat at the kitchen island, resting her head on her arms.

Finneas slides her a container of pain medication over the table, which she gratefully accepts, downing a couple of pills. “If you wanna do something…” he says, rifling through the bags, “go pop these in the microwave for a minute.” He pulls out two stuffed animals, unzipping them from the back to take out the pad to be heated up. Billie audibly sighs at the sight.

“Oh my God, you’re literally a life saver,” she breathes. After heating them up, she makes her way back over to the couch, where you’re still sound asleep.

“Y/n,” she whispers, gently rubbing your shoulder to wake you up. Your eyes flutter open and you smile at her. “Hi, my love. I’ll trade you,” she says, referring to the pillow you’re still clutching. You gratefully switch with her, pulling the stuffed toy to your stomach and letting out a breath at the relief it provided. “Better?” she asks, kissing your forehead softly as your eyes close again.

You hum. “Thank you,” you say to her, and, louder this time, “thanks, Finneas.”

He and Billie talk for a little longer, deciding to make up the work they were supposed to do another day, and she thanks him excessively, to which he shrugs every time. Then he leaves, leaving the two of you alone again.

As she sits back down, she pulls your head into her lap. Her hand in your hair, yours on her back underneath her shirt. A few short minutes later, your fingers stop tracing patterns into her skin, and she knows you’d fallen back to sleep. She scoots around, getting more comfortable before falling asleep too.

No matter how shitty you felt, she always made you feel better.

#billie eilish #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish x fem!reader

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seresinhangmanjake · 2 days

Text

The One I Want: Part 16

Jake Seresin x plus size!reader

Summary: You're new in town and some guy named Jake is about to be your roommate. Being skeptical of new people keeps you lonely and uninterested in any entanglements, but Jake is desperate to change that.

Warnings: a little smut

Words: 1500

The One I Want Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag List

“I can’t tell you much,” Jake had told you, but you knew that. “We’re not a hundred percent in the clear, but it’s looking like four weeks, maybe five.”

“Beats fifteen,” you’d said, hearing a rewarding chuckle in return.

You were thankful no one could witness the mess you were at that moment, your face-splitting grin heavily contrasting the puffiness of your eyes from tears. But that was just the beginning of weeks of inner turmoil.

For forty-eight days, your stomach has swirled a storm that’s consistently had you on the edge of nausea, whether from anxiety regarding his safety or butterflies at the thought of Jake returning. You miss him, more than you thought yourself willing to, and regardless of what he told you, nothing guarantees he will walk through the door of your apartment. And if he doesn’t, you know exactly what will happen to you. You’ll crumble into unsalvageable pieces, and no one—not Millie, not Rooster, not anyone who has been kind to you over the last months—will be able to put you back together.

And then what? Your only choice will be to leave. Start anew. Twelfth new place. Except this time, you’ll be more numb, less human, less operable on a daily basis. It’ll be like waking from a dream to a gray environment. You fear nature will lose its color, and you will lose your light once again.

—

It’s another week before your phone rings with a name other than Millie’s plastered across the screen. Unknown Number, but the first three digits are recognizable, matching those of the number Jake has been using to call you with. What you hear on the other end of the line, however, is not Jake, but instead, a gruff voice asking you to confirm your identity.

“Yes,” you answer. “That’s me.”

The man clears his throat. “You are the emergency contact for Lieutenant Jake Seresin. We’d like you to come down to our medical facility as soon as possible,” he says before providing you directions.

You drop your phone, and then you’re running. Running to his truck, running from his truck to base, running through halls until you find someone willing to lead you to him. You’re so terrified, your arms jittery, legs barely functioning from the panic of Jake’s pending fate, so overwhelmed by nerves that when you finally do see him, it pisses you off.

That man with the voice that imbued you with dread is on your shit list for life. Maybe next time, he could lead an emergency contact call with He’s fine or Don’t worry, because his implication was severe enough that you feared lost limbs or damaged brain functioning. But there Jake is, not in a coma or with some life-threatening injury, but sitting on the edge of a bed in a room with his back to you as a nurse seals a strip of medical tape across a small patch of shaved hair on the side of his head.

When she’s done with her work, she smiles at Jake and nods at something he says before walking out of the room. She jumps at the unexpected figure lingering just outside the door, and then realization dawns.

“Oh, you must be the girlfriend,” she says. “You’re welcome to go on in.”

So you do, cautiously easing into the room, hoping that when he turns, his face won’t be covered in slashes and bruises—a sight you’re not sure you can handle with strength and maturity. You’d love him all the same, but to see him in such pain would take you to your knees. But again, he’s fine. Beautiful as ever. Not a mark on him that you can see save for the one on the mend.

Jake’s face brightens at the sight of you; he practically glows, and you’re shocked to discover yourself not running into his arms. You’re frozen for a moment as you take him in. It’s a quick moment—a brief second to recover—but then you’re stepping to him, your eyes watering, your bottom lip quivering, your fingers reaching up to brush over the stark white tape. You’re careful with your feathery touch, relieved to see that his injury is not so sensitive as to make him wince.

Jake’s arms wrap around your waist. His eyes do not break from your face. He’s patient as you scan him once more for visible injuries, verifying for your own sake.

“It’s just the one,” he tells you, his voice soft and only a few notes above a whisper. Your eyes snap to his. He lifts his hand to cup your cheek, thumb stroking your cheekbone. “Come here, beautiful.”

You melt when his lips gently touch yours, but the kiss doesn’t last long as innocent. There’s bites and sucking and giving and taking, and it’s perfect in its semi-sloppy neediness. Voices passing by the door is what breaks the two of you apart. Jake lightly groans before he chuckles and rests his forehead against yours.

“I missed you,” he says. He places another quick peck on your lips. “I want to take you home.”

“Then take me home.”

—

“J-Jake!”

You feel his mouth curve against your core before he licks another stripe right through you, tongue like a heated blade slicing you in two halves, spreading you open and baring you inside and out. You’re completely gone—lost in the sole way you’re willing to be lost—as Jake tethers you to this earth. He’s the only one you trust to ground you while simultaneously letting your head float amongst the clouds.

His arms curl around the thickness of your thighs, locking onto you and keeping your hips steady atop the mattress as he devours and tastes and sucks and licks some more.

“Come on, beautiful,” he mumbles into your folds, just loud enough for you to hear through the rush of blood in your ears. “Let me have it.”

As if you could hold it back.

Your whole body jerks and writhes as you sink into pleasure, back arching, head digging into the pillow. Jake reaches a hand up to intertwine your fingers and you squeeze them tightly while he continues to kiss folds and brush his nose against the overstimulated bud.

“There we go,” he coos until your body calms.

Jake crawls onto the bed, lips and tongue traveling up the soft flesh of your stomach, between the valley of your breasts, into the dip in your throat before he kisses you, demanding you taste everything you just gave him.

Jake introduced you to your taste during those weeks before his deployment. His head lived between your legs. He showed you how to perch perfectly on his face, encouraging you through your concerns of suffocating him. He begged you to relax when he backed you up against the wall, slipped your pants off, knelt, and tossed your leg over his shoulder as he dove in. And after each success of making you crumble to pieces, he sealed his lips to yours and pushed his tongue into your mouth.

You know your taste as well as you know his, and on the occasions he spills down your throat before he returns the favor, you get the satisfaction of the combination on your tongue—a mixture more intoxicating than an alcoholic binge.

“I’m never going to want anything like I want you,” he says after he slips inside of you, the intensity of the love in his eyes penetrating your soul.

“Then it's good that I’m yours,” you whisper back.

Thrusts that were paced and steady and gentle falter. With your words comes a sharp rut of his hips—unexpected to you both—that hits hard, deep. Jake chokes on the air in his lungs, his eyes snapping shut as you cry out.

“Fuck” hisses through the grit of his teeth. Then he finds his pace again.

His head falls to your neck. Nibbles make you gasp, and the image of examining claiming bruises in the mirror first thing come morning causes your walls to clench around the veiny column moving in and out of you. Your fingers fist into his hair. Nails dig into the toned muscle of his ass.

“I do love you, Jake,” you say.

He stops completely, but you don’t question it. The fingers in his hair loosen and you lightly scrape your nails along his scalp, down to the base of his neck, then back up into blond locks. Turning your head, you stamp a tender kiss onto his temple.

Jake doesn’t say a thing. He doesn’t look at you. His thick breaths burn the delicate skin just under your ear. When he begins to move, he’s slow, taking his time before he picks up, working to nudge that special spot inside of you that tightens a white-hot coil in your belly.

“I love you so much, beautiful,” he whispers.

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fic #top gun maverick #glen powell #jake hangman seresin #top gun #tgm #jake hangman fic

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softieyume · 3 days

Text

"Without You."

✿ Sylus x fem!reader (non mc)

✿ He finally realized what it felt losing you forever.

✿ angst. no comfort.

✿ somewhat continuation of Never Yours.

✿ rambles: ran out of diamonds and can't pull for Sylus card so im coping thru angst rn :')

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ──────

Life without you felt like hell.

Each day felt like torture for Sylus, he struggled to get through the day, constantly reminded of your absence in every single thing he does.

He found himself avoiding places that are filled with memories of you, like his collection room where you shared equal interest and fondness of said collections with him. The indoor greenhouse he had set up for you where you used to tend to your small garden with him.

And mostly, your old personal bedroom that was left untouched ever since your departure from his life.

Instead, Sylus threw himself into more work, trying to use his job as a distraction from his crippling grief. But no matter how tired he feels physically after working himself to exhaustion, he still found himself having trouble sleeping completely.

The empty space beside him in his bed was another painful reminder of what he's lost—he'd toss and turn, trying to sleep but his mind will start replaying memories of you. He'd often find himself reaching out to the other side of his bed, his hand searching for your warmth—but it was always met with a cold dreadful space.

The crushing realisation would hit him again, causing another wave of grief that made it even harder to sleep. He'd clutch a pillow, burying his face into it as he sobbed silently into the night.

His body felt weak and he looked paler compared to before, the only thing that kept him going was his determination to push through, yet the sadness in his eyes was visible to everyone around him. His appetite decreased drastically, Luke and Kieran had to force him to eat just to keep him from starving, despite fearing the consequence of Sylus's wrath. The loyal twins even resorted to asking help from her because they hoped at least she could snap some senses in him.

And unfortunately, not even Miss Hunter could fill the void you had left behind.

One night, Sylus had a particularly hard time sleeping. He toss and turned in his bed, his mind filled with images of you —your laugh, your smile, your touch, the feel of your skin against his own.

Each memory felt like a stab to his heart, causing his breathing to catch in his throat as he clutched his pillow tightly, his knuckles turning white from squeezing it too hard.

The grief was so overwhelming that he ended up hallucinating that you were still by his side and resting beside him on the bed that cold dreadful night.

Sylus slowly opened his eyes when he felt fingers lightly running through his hair, causing him to shiver a little at the familiar touch.

He slowly turned his head to look at the figure resting beside him and his heart skipped a beat at the sight.

You laid there on the bed, your hand gently running through his hair with a soft smile on your lips.

Sylus's breath caught in his throat, his heart thumped in his chest as he stared at you in disbelief.

*No.. this.. this can't be real...*

His mind was racing, he tried to reach out cautiously, his hand trembled as he slowly extended it, trying to touch your cheek to see if you were real.

As soon as his fingers made contact with your cheek, he almost gasped at your realness. You felt so warm, so smooth, so real, just like he remembered.

His eyes widened, his hand trembled even more yet he didn't pull his hand away, as if afraid that you'll disappear like a mirage if he moves.

Your smile widened, your hand moved from his hair to his hand, wrapping your hand around his own that's still on your cheek, pressing it lightly against your skin. "Hello, my love."

Sylus's heart raced even harder at the gesture, the feeling of your warm skin against his palm was like a dream come true.

His eyes searched your face, taking in every detail of you — from your warm eyes to your gentle smile—hoping that this isn't just a cruel hal—

"It's okay, Sylus...I'm here.."

Your voice was like a soothing melody that echoed in his mind, cutting his train of thoughts short, as it was the same voice that used to bring him comfort and happiness, the same voice that'd call his name gently.

Hearing it now, after thinking he'd never hear it again, made his eyes prick with tears as he swallowed hard, tightening his grip on you as his chest grew heavy.

Sylus couldn't bring himself to speak, his throat felt constricted as his heart raced, his mind struggling to process what's happening.

He pulled his hand away from your cheek, but before you could say anything, he suddenly wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to him, as he buried his face into your neck, taking in your familiar scent and warmth.

You chuckled softly, your arms wrapping around him as you held him close, your hand gently rubbing his back in a soothing motion.

"You're clinging to me like a koala." You teased him gently.

Sylus felt like he could cry at your familiar teasing, he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, holding you tighter.

"Don't... don't leave me..." Sylus mumbled against your neck, holding you as tightly as he could, scared that you'd disappear again. His voice was strained and filled with emotion, his fingers clutched at the back of your shirt in a desperate grip.

Your smile softened, you held him tighter and stroked his hair tenderly.

"Silly.. Why would I leave you.."

Sylus took a deep shuddering breath, your words brought him a certain comfort but he still didn't want to let go, he wanted to hold onto you until this dream ends —no, he desperately prayed it wasn't a dream at all.

This was real. You were real. You were back.

Back to him.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Both just lay there in each other's embrace in silence, cherishing the feeling of being close like this again.

Sylus continued to hold you tightly, his face buried in the crook of your neck. Your scent and warmth was intoxicating, it made him feel like he's finally home.

As your hand continued to stroke his hair, Sylus was filled with a sense of calm and comfort that he hadn't felt in a long time.

The weight of his grief and exhaustion started to lessen a little as he focused on the feeling of your fingers running through his hair and the sound of your steady heartbeat.

He relaxed a little in your arms, his grip on you loosened slightly as the exhaustion started to take over.

You continued to hold him, sensing his exhaustion and tiredness.

"You should sleep, it's late." You said softly, pressing a gentle kiss on his forehead, your hand still moving through his hair.

Sylus nodded against your neck, his eyelids were starting to feel heavy. The sound of your heartbeat was like a lullaby to him, making him even more sleepy.

"I love you, Sylus.. Forever and always.."

Sylus's heart thumped against his chest, the declaration of love from you made him want to stay awake with you longer. Unfortunately, fatigue soon overwhelmed him as his eyes slowly closed, the sound of your voice, the feeling of your warmth and the beat of your heart were like a soothing lullaby that made it hard to stay awake.

He tried to fight it, to hold onto you for a little longer, but the exhaustion was too strong and he soon fell into a deep slumber, believing he was held in your embrace.

When the next morning came, everything changed.

Sylus's eyes slowly opened, his mind groggy and disoriented, for a moment he was confused as to why he didn't feel the familiar warmth of you next to him.

He bolted upright in bed, his eyes wide as he looked around the room with a sinking feeling in his chest.

There was no sign of you anywhere, and the realization that it was all a dream shattered his heart all over again.

The empty sheets beside him were like a cold reminder that none of it was real. It had all been a cruel, beautiful dream that felt so true that he thought it was real.

Sylus's chest ached, a lump formed in his throat as he clutched the sheets in a tight grip.

"No....no...no..."

His eyes blurred with tears, his heart clenching painfully as he realized that he was all alone again.

*It was all a dream... She's not really here...*

The realisation hit Sylus like a punch to the gut, he felt a wave of despair wash over him as his heart ached with a deep, bone-crushing sorrow.

The room felt cold and empty without your presence, he felt so lonely and lost.

Without your smile, your voice, your warmth... Without you, everything just felt so bleak and hopeless.

You were really gone.

And there's no one to blame but himself.

#sylus x reader #sylus x you #love and deepspace x reader #lnds fanfic #lnds sylus #lnds x reader

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save-the-villainous-cat · 3 days

Note

Heyo!!!!✨️✨️✨️

You write Hero x Villain so well and I was wondering if you'd be willing to write about a Hero that was kidnapped by the Villain, and Hero is expecting harsh treatment, but they instead wake up in a lavish bedroom, restrained to the bed of course but it's a very nice bed. It turns out Hero had been overworking themselves and Villain was worried about them and had had enough. Maybe Hero tries to argue that they haven't been overworking and Villain goes ballistic.

It was a joke.

It had to be.

The hero looked at the handcuffs (which were their own) and then back at the villain.

"You're kidding." The hero was seldom in the mood for jokes. Most of the time, they didn't understand the references their friends made or ended up explaining jokes which people - apparently - did not like. It was quite hard for them to find anything funny. A cat was funny. A sound could be funny.

But a practical joke? Not so much.

"Honestly, I wish I was. Do you know how heavy you are? I would have never dragged you up here for a joke," the villain said. They were sitting on a luxuriant chair across the room, one thigh on the other. Their foot was dangling in the air happily and they looked well rested as they drank from a coffee cup.

"What time is it?"

"It's ten in the morning." The hero smiled to themselves. "On a Monday."

"What? No. Shit. Shit. Fuck-" The hero was already late to work. They were always 30 minutes early. They couldn't be late. They started struggling against the restraints, tossed and turned, tried to pull and free themselves. But it didn't work, no matter how much forced they conjured.

In the end, their wrists were sore, nothing more.

"Relax," the villain purred. "For some strange reason - which I am not associated with - your workplace has been shut down. Water damage."

"What did you-?"

"Purely coincidental," the villain lied. They shrugged and finished their coffee, setting the cup down on the tiny table next to them. They stood up and once they were in front of the villain, they leaned over them. "You look very good in my bed, by the way."

"Am I your hostage? Is that it?" the hero asked.

"Hostage? My god, do you know how much planning and energy that requires? Too much work, really." The villain tapped the tip of the hero's nose with their index finger. "My love, do you remember when I broke your leg a while ago?"

"Still hurts like shit when I work out."

"Hm." The villain almost looked like they were sorry. "Well...that was a rather harsh method, I have to admit. But a very effective one. Until you started working again, harder this time. I didn't see that coming."

The hero stared at the villain. Initially, they had thought the villain would understand what it was like to sacrifice themselves for their beliefs. The hero was, in many forms, very dedicated to both their jobs. The one in the office and the one outside of it as a hero. No task was too much, no overtime was too long.

Of course, the hero heard the whispers about themselves, they heard how their family made fun of them for working long hours and how they judged them for never finding time to meet up. After a while, the hero had stopped getting into arguments with their parents. You wanted me to have a steady job or my work is important to me were not good enough explanations for them. So, the hero had given up on that.

But they had genuinely thought the villain would know what that felt like. To be invested, to be motivated.

"Is being determined such a crime?"

"Determination and obsession are two different things, my love," the villain said.

"What do you care anyway?" the hero hissed. They were sick of people getting into their business and telling them how to live their life. It was more than exhausting.

The villain was quiet. They studied the hero's face and eventually sat down on the edge of the bed. Their lower back was touching the hero's side.

The hero did not pull away.

"Your hand has been shaking for two weeks now," the villain said. "Do you think I am willing to fight a weak enemy? That is below me. My equal is supposed to match me in combat. Not only attractiveness."

The hero didn't say anything to that right away. They knew they had had...struggled with fighting these past few weeks. But they had not wanted it to be due to their work. It was clearly a coincidence. Some harmless infection or illness.

"Listen...I am fine. I have a good job and I have a duty to fulfill."

"When you go home after work, do you feel like you have accomplished anything?" the villain asked and the hero, despite how sure they were of themselves and their work ethic, knew that the villain was digging into a wound with dirty fingers here.

Because, no, the hero did not feel satisfied, they barely felt relieved.

"Do you feel happy?" The villain's eyes were boring into the hero's. Curious, brilliant eyes.

The villain was quite provocative but this was right out a punch to the gut.

"You are asking unfair questions."

"You don't like them because the answer hurts. You are miserable. What you are doing right now is devouring you. And once that is done, what am I left with? Another one of those broken heroes who dies in their twenties because it's all too much?"

The hero looked at them, tears burning in their eyes. It was their job. It was their chance to prove themselves.

The hero was worth something. They were useful, they were smart. They were good at work. What would be left for them if that was being taken away?

What was the hero without it, anyway?

"Right now," they said, "I dislike you very much."

"Our relationship goes beyond simple fights," the villain explained. They let their fingertips dance over the hero's throat, even let their hand cup it carefully. Goosebumps spread all over the hero's back. The villain could have choked them anytime. But they didn't. "It's a vicious cycle. You and I. We cannot escape. And that is your duty. That is your priority. The objective which demands all your attention. Stopping me is a lot of work and you need to focus on that. If I get too powerful, you know what happens. I want power. I want power over you, over the city."

"So instead of working the usual way, you want me to work because of you?" The hero was quick to blink the tears out of their eyes.

This was simply ludicrous. The villain was wrong. They were lying, manipulating.

"No. I want your attention, I want your dedication. The healthy amount." The villain leaned over them, their lips brushing the hero's ear. "I can be nastier if I want. Right now I could break any bones of yours to force you to rest."

Their fingers glided up the hero's forearm until they found the hero's hand. The villain took it.

"But I saw how much pain that caused. And how disappointing the results were. So. Last chance, my love. Tune it down. Or all of us will suffer."

They pressed a kiss to the hero's temple.

However, the villain had to kidnap the hero three more times until the hero decided to start taking care of themselves.

#obsession? in this house?#writing snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroxvillain snippet #heroes and villains #hero #villain #hero x villain #heroxvillain #an answer for an ask #request #kidnapped hero

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writingescapades · 2 days

Text

Falls First, Falls Harder

Multiple characters: Rafayel x reader, Pinocchio x reader, Aventurine x reader

Rafayel:

Of course he fell first. You saved him. You befriended him. You encouraged him. You supported him. You bestowed your heart in his hands with a smile on your face. And you betrayed him. His love haunts him, for only he recalls these memories. And yet! And yet, he finds himself unable to detach from you. An urge beyond a mere bond. Your relation in the modern day, a palimpsest of new experiences atop old emotions. It’s new and old, scary and nostalgic. He doesn’t know if this path will end the same as every other path. He is a god. His every act demands a grand sacrifice, even from himself. And yet, he chooses to fall.

You fell harder. Who was this strange, charming, enticing man? Initially a job turned into best friend. You couldn’t imagine being in a position where you find yourself reaching out to someone you barely know but fully trust. Rafayel was surprisingly fun. Always keeping you looped and eagerly seeking for you to entwine back. Touchy. Deep, and very caring. His loyalty astounds you when surrounded by the lights and smiles of admirers. No matter how high to the gods his talents take him, he always seems to look down only upon you. It’s a different sensation, yet very familiar. Too familiar as your dreams are too eager to play on familiar faces and memories. You really don’t know where life with Rafayel will take you, but you’re slowly finding it impossible to imagine it without him.

Pinocchio:

You fell first. How could you not? A sweet, quiet, gentleman-puppet with a mischievous streak. In the wreak of Krat, this sole life drew you in. Pinocchio shone for he remained every enchanted, ever curious with the world, no matter how decayed it was. It was addicting. He taught you to experience life anew. You couldn’t help the resurgence of feelings you thought died with Krat. But you held back. He was a puppet, brand new to life. You could not possibly foist such emotions onto someone so, young – emotionally. Instead you savoured the friendship, and bitterly swallowed back your feelings, hoping they would go away one day. But they wouldn’t. So you fell harder.

Pinocchio is new to emotions, yes, but he isn’t a fool to himself. He may not be able to express himself as articulately as he imagines or desires, but he understands what he feels. The more he grew, the more he discovered. And so, to him, it made perfect sense to read a book and instantly connect the couple to him and you. And it made perfect sense to show you the book, point to the couple, and then move his finger back and forth indicating the two of you. He didn’t understand your frown and shake of your head. He didn’t understand your words or disagreement. Yes, you are friends. Yes, very close friends. But to Pinocchio, you are also what this couple was. Why else would he scrounge around for odd bits for you after a battle? Why else does he go to you first when he comes home covered in oil, mechanical hand in bad need of repair? What did it mean to you to be this couple? Yes, he would like to hold you. Yes, he does seek you out. Would you let him in?

Aventurine / Kakavasha

You fell first, but it took a long time. Aventurine would not show you any side of him beyond his persona of the gambling manipulator, and you could care less. For the longest time, he was just that guy you sometimes worked with. You worked surprisingly well together. Mostly because you let him plan everything out, putting in a voice when you knew your idea would work. It surprised you that he seriously considered your inputs. It surprised everyone else too, which was why you were unofficially Aventurine’s work partner. People really learn about one another when they’re exhausted, and their lives are on the line. Aventurine slipped his mask a little, but it was enough to see that there was more to him. You didn’t call attention to it, but quietly responded. If he noticed, he didn’t draw back. It was really the small things like holding his cup while he played, making sure no one slipped anything into his drink. Or carrying him to bed when he fell asleep at his desk again. You were just being a good person, until that moment. He was gambling, again, and you saw it. It was almost imperceptible, but after working alongside him, you knew when something was off. The stakes were high, and his hand started to tremble. You found yourself holding onto his hand. In shock, he let the dice go as he turned towards you. He won the game but attained a better reward. You.

Aventurine doesn’t pride himself on how long it took for him to let you in. He exaggerates kind acts because his life seemed to abstain from it, but he knows to be wary. That every open hand conceals a dagger. Which was why your nonchalance surprised him. You didn’t fawn over him, nor did you detest him. He was his himself around you, and he couldn’t bear that. But you were useful, and so easy to be around. So he pushed you and tested you, but it seemed that he was the only one who tired out. Aventurine cracked and Kakavasha peeked out. He expected a complete rejection, but you, you held his hand, and he has yet to let go.

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ilovescarymen · 2 days

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talk to me: Spencer Reid

You’d never been one for vulnerability. It probably had something to do with how you grew up, an emotionally unavailable mother and a mentally absent father- you were always berated when you cried or showed you were upset so as you got older , you stopped.

You had a boyfriend who made you think you could be soft and vulnerable infront of him but, he ended up using it against you in an argument, after that you swore to never be vulnerable again.

You became a blank canvas that was impossible to read, a smile always plastered on your face, a fake bubbly personality to cover the pain beneath the surface. You’d only cry in the comfort of a bathroom or your home and then smile around others. It always worked. No one ever questioned it, untill now.

Your boyfriend, Spencer Reid is a profiler for the fbi’s behavioral analysis unit. He study’s human behavior for a living, which means he sees right through your little facade.

He never addressed it because he thought that maybe vulnerability would come with time. Maybe you’d stop crying in the bathroom or the shower and instead cry in his arms.

But when he arrives home from a case and you’re not at the door , bouncing around and ecstatic to see him he knows something’s up, he peeks around the corner to your bedroom and sees his sweet girl, crying and hiccuping.

You notice him and quickly wipe your tears , perking up, your stand up off the bed and run to your boyfriend’s arms.

“Hi Spence! Sorry I’m running a bit late on dinner! I’ll go get it started!” You quickly spew out, as you make an attempt to walk away your pulled back by your boyfriend, he gently places his hands on the side of your face and scans your face, before making eye contact with you.

“Honey, slow down, what’s wrong?” He asks genuine concern in his voice

“Nothing! Why would something be wrong Spence?” You put a smile on your face and look up at your boyfriend, his eyebrows are furrowed together and a frown is all over his face.

“Sweetheart, you do know that I study human behavior every day right? I know you’re lying to me, please just talk to me baby. I love you and I care and I want you to feel better”

You shake your head “nothings wrong I’m okay” you release yourself from his grasp and slip past him to the kitchen, you open the fridge and scan it “I have pasta sauce! I can make you-“ you let out a squeak as Spencer picks you up and carries you over to the couch, he sits you in his lap facing him and holds you in place.

“I have let you do this long enough. I let you isolate yourself and pretend you’re okay when you’re not but no more. I want you to come to me, I want to cheer you up honey, I will never judge you, you know that right? I’ll never make you feel stupid for feeling your feelings. I love you I want you to talk to me”

Your lip starts to tremble and tears start falling down your face “she’s- she’s so mean Spence” you hiccup, he pulls you to his chest and hugs you, his arms wrapping around your waist

“Who is? Honey who’s mean?”

“My mother” you sob out, Spencer doesn’t know the horrors of your childhood. All he knows is you grew up in Texas and you left because you wanted a change in scenery, what he doesn’t know is that you actually left for your own safety. Your mother had lost it and you left to avoid another one of her beatings.

“Oh honey” he coos, he kisses the side of your head and rubs your back gently, whispering little “it’s okay”’s and “let it all out”’s in your ear. When your crying calmed down you sat up, looking Spencer in his eyes.

“M’ sorry, I know you got home from a case and this is probably the last thing you wanted to deal with” you breath out as you wipe your eyes

“Hey hey, Nuh uh. Don’t ever apologize for feeling your feelings, I’m more than happy to do this. To be here for you always. I love you, sweetheart “

“I love you too Spence “

“Now, tell me why we hate your mother”

And you did, you told him everything, and when tears fell Spence gently caressed your back and listened intently, showing you that it was okay.

This is what love is.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x plus size reader #spencer reid x fem!readr

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smoooothoperator · 2 days

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What Was I Made For?

22: All Things End

childhood enemies, forced proximity, accidental pregnancy, enemies to lovers (👀)

Warnings: the last scene...

a/n: HIIIIIIII NEW CHAPTER!!!!!!! I have to say that this one was so emotive to write because I went through the same :)

if you want to play a game and ask things about Dafne

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Every way of feedback is very welcomed

The crowd's roar watching Lando getting out of the car echoed in the distance, but I barely heard it. The weight of the result sat heavy on my chest as I walked through the pit lane after I weighed myself, helmet in hand. Fourth. So close to a podium, but close meant nothing in this sport. I’d given everything, fought until the last lap, but it wasn’t enough. It never seemed to be enough. Half a second away is not enough.

I knew they were all watching me, the engineers, the mechanics, the team principal.. They didn’t need to say anything. I could feel their disappointment as much as my own. But more than that, I could feel their sympathy, which somehow felt even worse.

I shook my head, trying to clear it as I unzipped my suit. I could feel the sweat clinging to my skin, the heat still radiating from my body. The car had been a beast out there, so close to perfection but betraying me when it mattered most. I glanced down at the Ferrari emblem on my chest, my fingers brushing over it. We should’ve had it today. It slipped away, and My jaw tightened, and I could feel my grip on the helmet hardening. A dull heat settled in my chest, like embers smoldering, waiting to ignite.

“Charles, you did your best” someone said, an engineer, I think. I nodded, forcing a small smile, but it didn’t reach my eyes. I couldn’t even fake it right now.

My eyes scanned the crowd, looking for Dafne. And there she was, walking toward me. She looked different now, not just because of the obvious, with her round belly that made my heart swell every time I saw it, but because she wasn’t the one in the suit, and wasn't stepping out of the car. She was on the other side of the barrier now, watching instead of driving.

I still saw it sometimes, the longuing in her eyes when she watched the cars line up on the grid. She never said it, but I knew it weighed on her, the thrill of racing just out of reach now. But seeing her here, waiting for me, with our son growing inside her, I felt a different kind of pull. Something deeper. She had sacrificed so much, and I hadn’t even brought home a win for her today.

When she reached me, she didn’t say a word, just wrapped her arms around me. I closed my eyes and rested my chin on her head, feeling the warmth of her body, the rhythm of her breathing. For a second, it was just us. No team, no podium, no race. Just Dafne and me.

“I’m sorry” I muttered into her hair.

I hated that I’d let her down.

“You don’t have to be sorry, Charles. You drove brilliantly.” she smiled, looking into my eyes.

Her voice was soft, full of that reassurance that I’d come to depend on. But I couldn’t shake the feeling gnawing at me. I wanted to be more than just brilliant. I wanted to win. For her, for our baby, for the team, for myself.

I sighed, feeling my frustration boiling under the surface. My hand instinctively rested on her belly, where our baby kicked gently. That always helped, always reminded me of the bigger picture, but today, the sting of losing was hard to push away.

“For you and the baby” I said, my voice barely a whisper. I hated how it sounded, like an apology for something I couldn’t control.

“We’re both so proud of you. There’ll be other races. You’ll get your win” her fingers caressed my cheek, soft but firm, and she smiled up at me, her eyes full of warmth.

I wanted to believe her, I really did. I nodded, but the smile didn’t feel right, as if it cracked on my lips. My stomach churned, twisting in ways no one could see. I’d been saying that to myself for years now. There’ll be other races. And there always were. But somehow, something always went wrong. Strategy. Tires. An unlucky safety car. And now, with the championship in mind, a fourth-place finish felt like a punch to the gut.

But Dafne…She never stopped believing. Even when I was down, when I couldn’t see the way forward, she did. She always had, even before we were together, back when we were just competitors and we hated the other, fighting for every tenth on the track.

I kissed her gently, just on the corner of her mouth, needing that small connection, rubbing soft circles over her belly.

“I hope so” I said, but it sounded fake to my own ears.

The paddock noise began to filter back in, the debrief looming ahead. I’d have to face the team, go through every lap, every corner, every tire strategy. It was the part I hated most after a tough race: the arguments, the what-ifs, the “if only we had…” moments that I knew would haunt me for the next few days.

I turned to walk toward the garage again, Dafne’s hand still in mine. I could feel the sweat starting to dry on my skin, the exhaustion creeping in, but there was no time to process it yet. The media would want their interviews, the engineers would want to go over the data, and I’d have to relive every second of the race.

But Dafne tugged on my hand, pulling me to a stop just before we reached the engineers waiting for me. I turned to look at her, and there was something in her eyes, something different. A fierceness, maybe. Determination.

“Charles” she said, her voice firm but gentle, smiling weakly at me. “You have to stop beating yourself up for things you can’t control.”

I blinked, taken aback by her words. It was like she had read my mind, peeled back the layers of frustration that were suffocating me.

“You drove your heart out today” she continued, her hand resting on my chest now, feeling the rapid beat of my heart. “And it’s okay to be disappointed. But you don’t have to carry it alone.”

I swallowed, my throat suddenly tight. I didn’t know what to say. She knew me so well, better than anyone. She knew how hard I was on myself, how I replayed every mistake, every missed opportunity over and over again in my head.

“I just… I wanted to win for you” I finally admitted, my voice cracking just a little, making me smile weakly while keeping her hand on my chest.

“For me?” She raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a soft smile. “Charles, I don’t need you to win for me. I need you to keep being the man you are, the one who never stops fighting, no matter what. That’s what matters.”

Her words hit me harder than I expected, a wave of emotion rolling through me. I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close, pressing my forehead to hers. The sounds of the paddock faded once more, the pressure lifting just slightly.

“I love you” I whispered, the words coming easier now, settling deep in my chest.

“I love you too” she whispered back, her breath warm against my skin.

For a moment, we just stood there, holding each other as if the rest of the world had fallen away. The weight of the race, the disappointment, the frustration, it all seemed to fade away when I was with her.

But I couldn’t hide from the rest of the world forever. As much as I wanted to stay in that quiet moment with her, I knew I had to face the team.

“I have to go” I said quietly, nodding toward the garage after taking a deep breath.

“I know. I’ll wait around, I want to talk with Susie” she gave me a small smile, her fingers tightening around mine before letting go.

Those words meant everything. Knowing she’d be there waiting, that I wasn’t facing all of this alone. It gave me the strength to turn and walk toward the team of engineers and media waiting for me, the usual post-race chaos already waiting for me.

I moved my shoulders in circles, pushing the disappointment aside as much as I could, ready to face whatever came next.

The debrief was a blur of numbers, data, and what-ifs, just how I predicted. The strategy team was already analyzing every moment, trying to figure out where we had gone wrong.

The logical part of my brain understood everything they were saying, but the emotional part was still screaming that I should have found a way to make it work, no matter what.

I tried to stay focused, answering questions the interviewers made after the debrief session, offering my perspective, but my mind kept drifting back to Dafne. To her words.

After what felt like hours, the interviews finally came to an end. The engineers packed up their laptops, the garage started to empty, and the noise of the paddock began to quiet down.

I let out a long breath, running a hand through my sweaty hair. My body felt drained, my muscles aching from the tension of the race. All I wanted now was to get out of here, to leave the track behind for the night.

I walked through the door of the garage that led to the paddock, immediately finding Dafne sitting in one of the tables outside the Ferrari hospitality with her laptop in front of her and a hand rubbing her belly. When she saw me, her face lit up with that smile that made everything else seem like background noise.

I walked over to her, my pace slowing as I got closer. I hadn’t realized how much I needed to see her until this moment. She stood up when I reached her, and without thinking, I pulled her into my arms again, holding her tight.

“You okay?” she whispered against my ear.

“I will be” I whispered back, nodding against her neck.

“Let's get out of here” she smiled, holding my hand.

Waking up next to her always felt like a dream. Looking back in time, I can't believe that now it's normal for us to be in the same bed.

Six months ago I woke up next to her, but the aftermath of it was being shouted at by her and the heel of her shoe hitting the back of my head. But now, that moment was left in the past, and now Dafne is my girlfriend, the mother of my son.

I shifted closer, the warmth of her body radiating through the sheets. My hand slid over her belly, feeling the gentle flutter of kicks beneath her skin.

“Are you awake, Dorian?” I chuckled softly, closing my eyes.

“He's been awake for hours” Dafne groaned, placing her hand on top of mine, making me chuckle.

“Really?” I sighed, moving close to her belly and kissing it softly. “You should let your mom sleep, little one”

She chuckled, moving her hand to my hair and brushing it with her fingers. I looked up at her, pressing kisses on her belly and smiling.

“I already accept that this last trimester I will barely sleep” she sighed. “There are many things we have to do…”

didn’t need to say anything; I just held her, feeling Dorian’s tiny kicks against my palm, reminding me that everything was about to change.

She sighed and let me place my arm around her, pressing my chest against her back and my chin on her shoulder. This was like a ritual for us, holding each other before the day starts.

“I talked with Susie” she smiled. “We will have a meeting in a few weeks”

“That's amazing, love” I smiled, kissing her neck.

She smiled and played with the fingers of my hand, taking a deep breath.

“And… Well… The new house subject” she sighed.

“You want to talk about it?” I whisper.

“I think we have to talk about it, yeah” she sighed. “We can't wait until the last minute, Charles. At least… We should buy one and have everything ready for when Dorian comes… Right?”

I took a deep breath and sighed. I could see it in her eyes, she was clinging to every last moment with Athena, as if holding on could delay the inevitable. A part of me wished we could move forward, find the house and prepare for Dorian’s arrival. But how could I ask her to let go, when I wasn’t sure I could do the same if it were me? The veterinarian that sent us the results of the study said that it would happen anytime, because Athena was older than what Dafne thought.

“Okay” I whisper. “Where should we look, hm?”

“Near Maranello?” she whispered, looking back at me. “Somewhere that is close to your job, so you can be close home too”

“Yeah, I was going to say that too… I don't want to be away from home all the time, only when it is inevitable because of the races” I sighed. “But… What if in the future I leave Ferrari?”

“Would you?” She said surprised, making me chuckle and nod.

“I want to win a championship, Dafne” I whisper. “And if I can't do it with Ferrari, then I have to find a better team”

Somehow, saying those words didn't hurt. It felt right. Now this is the future, Dafne and Dorian are my future. I don't have to be loyal to Ferrari anymore, only to myself and my family.

“I will support you with any color you wear” she said. “No matter the team. I'll always wear number sixteen”

“God, I don't know what I did to deserve you” I smiled softly, kissing her shoulder multiple times. “I don't know what I did to deserve your forgiveness and then have your love… Really…”

“Easy, you knocked me up” she joked, making me laugh. “No, Charles… I… We always loved each other , that's all we need to know. And we were too childish to confront the reality”

“Yeah” I nodded.

She took a deep breath and turned around, slowly as lately, and I helped her. Dafne looked at me with her sleepy smile, placing her hand on my chest. I smiled looking down at her hand, watching the ring she never took off.

“Athena won't make it, you know?” she whispered, breaking the silence. “Last night Erica sent me a text”

“What?” I frowned, worried. “Dafne, why didn't you tell me…”

“I didn't want to worry you, Charles” she sighed. “And somehow, I accepted it already”

“What is happening with her?” I said, holding her hand.

“Erica said Athena stopped eating” she sighed. “And I'm sure she's searching for places to hide…”

“Oh, love” I sighed, hugging her tightly. “Do you want to go back home? And be with her?”

“I… Yeah” she nodded. “I wouldn't forgive myself if I'm not there for her”

“Okay” I sighed, kissing her forehead. “Then we should get ready, okay? Go take a shower while I reserve the jet and pack what's left on our suitcases”

“Thank you, Charlie” she whispered, sitting on the bed and getting out of it and going to the bathroom.

I sighed, biting my lip and grabbing my phone, immediately texting Erica.

Charles: Any news about Athena?

Erica: She told you?

Erica: She's… well, not eating.

Erica: I'm trying to give her wet food with a spoon, but she refuses to eat

Charles: Fuck… We are going to leave on a few hours

Erica: Okay, I'll text Soleil so she can go pick you two up

Charles: Thank you, Eri

Charles: But… What's should I do? For her?

Erica: Just be there for her, please. She might be smiling, but I'm sure she will be crying if you let her be alone for some seconds

“Fuck” I sighed, leaving the phone on the bed and looking at the bathroom door.

I got up and walked to the door, opening it slightly. My heart broke immediately when I saw her sitting on the toilet, with her phone in her hands while she looked at pictures in her phone.

“Oh, baby” I sighed, opening the door and walking in, kneeling in front of her.

“I’ll miss her,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “She’ll never meet Dorian, Charles.”

“I know, Dafne” I sighed. “I feel bad about it too, but… There's nothing we can do. We tried everything, right? The medicines are not working anymore and we can't keep sending her to the veterinarian, it's too expensive and she's suffering a lot of stress because of it. And I'm not complaining about the money, we have a lot of it, but…”

“But we are spending a lot, I know” she sighed, resting her head against mine. “I just… I wanted to try to make her life a little longer…”

“And we tried, but she's tired, Dafne” I whisper.

She nodded slowly and wrapped her arms around me, hiding her face on my neck. I smiled weakly, rubbing her back with my hand, trying to calm her.

“We’ll be there,” I whispered. “For Athena. For everything. Together.”

When we landed that day, Soleil came to pick us up at the airport, but she wasn't smiling. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she was yawning all the time.

I knew there was something wrong, and the moment Dafne squeezed my hand tight, I understood what was happening.

As soon as the car rolled to a stop inside the gates, Dafne was already halfway out, her movements rushed and unsteady. She barely waited for the car to be turned off completely before running toward the house, with her breath catching in the air. I followed her close, feeling my heartbeat drumming in my ears. Erica was in the living room, holding a cup of coffee between her hands, warming her palms.

“Where?” Dafne mumbled.

“This morning she went to the garden” Soleil said behind us.

I watched as Dafne took a deep, shaky breath, the hand that held her trembling as she placed it on the couch and the other one holding her belly . Her usual strength seemed to come down as she realized what’s coming next. I wanted to comfort her, to follow, but I knew she needed this moment alone, her last moments with Athena.

“How are you?” I asked Erica, sitting next to her.

“Tired… Sad” she sighed. “Athena is so important for Dafne, I don't even want to know how she's feeling right now”

“She's sad too” I sighed. “She wanted her to meet Dorian, that's the only thing she wanted”

“I know” Erica sighed.

“I think no one was ready for this” I smiled weakly. “I wanted Athena to meet Dorian too. I wanted my son to grow up with her and wanted to take many pictures of them cuddling. I never had a cat while growing up, and I never thought I ever wanted one… But when I met Athena, I loved her immediately”

“Everyone goes through that” Soleil sighed. “I'm glad Dafne brought her home, that she came home with a cat”

“Yeah…” I nodded.

I took a deep breath, looking at the backyard door and sighed, placing my hands on my knees to impulse myself to get up. I walked out towards the garden, finding Dafne sitting on the grass, looking at the flowers that grew there.

“Dafne” I said softly, standing behind her.

“She's…” she mumbled. “Sit next to me, please…”

I sighed, blinking hard to stop the tears from falling. Dafne was holding her cat in her lap, with the crochet jacket she was wearing wrapped around the small weak body of her cat.

“She's still breathing…” she sighed, leaning on me when I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, holding her close.

“She was waiting for you” I whisper, pressing my lips on her temple.

“Yeah…”

We sat in silence, the garden air still and heavy, as Athena’s tiny body rose and fell slower with each breath. The scent of earth and flowers lingered, but the world felt distant, as if time was standing still.Her once bright blue eyes were looking at us, somehow telling us that everything was going to be okay.

“I think she knew we were waiting for her” she whispered, rubbing her thumb over the pink nose of Athena. “That we were waiting to find a home for us. I think… I think she knew it was her time to leave, huh?”

“Athena was more than amazing, wasn’t she?” I whispered. “She was with you through everything, your shadow, your comfort, your constant. And somehow, I think she knew it was time to let go… she knew you had a new life to care for, but she helped guide you here. Guide you to us…”

“You think so?”

“I do” I whispered. “You took care of her during all this time, taking her to the vet whenever she was sick. I think pets are with us for a reason. I think something, a God or whatever you want to call it, put her in your way to lead you to this moment. To lead you to us, to our baby”

She gasped softly as Athena’s breathing slowed, then stopped. I held her close to me, feeling how her body started to shake with her soft cries while she hugged the cat between us. The tears came, hot and heavy, as I held Dafne close. Athena had been with her for so long, a bridge between the past and this new life we were stepping into. Now, as her breath stopped, it felt like one chapter closed, and another quietly began.

dafnemorelli

liked by charles_leclerc, ericamorelli, soleil_morelli and 792.579 others

dafnemorelli Ten years ago I was doing voluntary service in a shelter near Florence with the Prema team while recording a challenge. In that place, I met many dogs and cats, but only one of them stole my heart.

Athena came to my life when I needed her, right after my grandma passed away, and she has been with me since then. She cuddled me when I felt down and always welcomed me home whenever I came home after a race. She was like a daughter to me, and I thank her for everything she did.

People say that pets come and go into our life for a reason. Athena came to my life to help me go through the loss of someone important to me and stayed with me to teach me how to be a mother, how to take care of someone else, animal or human. When Charles came into my life as my lover and we knew about the existence of our son, Athena knew that it was her time to leave, because she knew that I wasn't alone anymore.

My little baby left this world yesterday's evening, and now she's sleeping finally in peace between the flowers of my garden, her favorite spot in the world. Charles and I are immensely sad because of this, but we know that she will be with us, taking care of us and our baby.

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charles_leclerc

liked by dafnemorelli, arthur_lecler, violetsinclair and 829.461 others

charles_leclerc This morning, after what happened yesterday, we made a small grave in the backyard for the most amazing cat I ever met. After that, I went to the city because I wanted to give Dafne a small gift.

I told Dafne I was going to a meeting in Maranello, and since her sisters were at home too, I knew she would be in good hands. So, with that, I grabbed the keys of my car and drove to Florence. At night, I was searching for a place to get the gift, and when I found it, I knew I had to go.

I cut some hairs from Athena and saved them in a little bag, keeping it in my wallet. And now those hairs are inside of the necklace I bought her, to keep Athena close to Dafne's heart.

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novaursa · 2 days

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The Crown of Winter Roses

- Summary: Rhaegar starts the Rebellion by stealing his sister, you.

- Paring: sister!reader/Rhaegar Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 18+

- Next part: 2

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

Rhaegar sat alone in his chambers. The silence of the Red Keep was stifling, yet he welcomed it, for it was in these moments of solitude that he could allow himself to be truly vulnerable, to grapple with the emotions that he kept so tightly locked away.

He thought of you, his sister, Y/N. The memory of your face haunted him, a ghost that lingered at the edge of his thoughts. He could still recall the first time he had held you, a small babe with a crown of silver hair and eyes that mirrored his own. He had been only a boy then, but even at that tender age, he had felt an overwhelming protectiveness. You were more than just his sister; you were a part of him, as if the gods had split his soul and given half of it to you.

He had watched you grow, seen the child you were slowly transform into the woman you would become. The court whispered of your beauty, the poets sang of it. “The Jewel of Westeros,” they called you, and not without reason. But it was not just your beauty that captivated him. It was your spirit, the fire in your eyes that spoke of strength and intelligence beyond your years. You were the only one who could calm the storm within him, the only one who could make him forget, even for a moment, the heavy weight of prophecy and destiny that lay upon his shoulders.

But then, the gods – or perhaps it was his father’s madness – had intervened. Aerys had refused to wait, refused to allow you to come of age. Instead, he had bound Rhaegar to Elia Martell, a match that, while strategic, felt like a betrayal. The memory of that day still burned in his mind. He had stood before the Great Hall, the words of his vows leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. Elia had been kind, gentle even, but she was not you. The thought had shamed him then, and it shamed him still.

His father had sent you away not long after, to Storm’s End, to serve as Lady Cassana’s ward. It was a cruel twist of fate, separating the two of you when he needed you most. He had protested, of course, but Aerys had been adamant. He had raved about alliances and security, about keeping you safe from those who would use you against him. But Rhaegar knew the truth. His father had seen the way he looked at you, had seen the way you looked at him. And Aerys, mad as he was, could not abide the thought of losing control, not over his son, and certainly not over you.

He clenched his fists, the leather of his gloves creaking in the quiet. He had tried to be a good husband to Elia, tried to fulfill his duties as prince and father. But there was always that emptiness, that hollow space where you should have been. He had convinced himself, for a time, that it was for the best, that you were safer far from the intrigues of King’s Landing, away from the poisonous whispers and plotting eyes. But in his heart, he knew that he was lying to himself. You were his other half, the light to his shadow, the calm to his storm. Without you, he was incomplete.

And then there was the prophecy, the haunting words that had plagued him since he was a boy. “The dragon has three heads.” He had believed, with all his heart, that you were meant to be by his side, that you were the key to unlocking the secrets of the past, to ensuring the future of their House. But instead, you were betrothed to Brandon Stark, a match that made him seethe with a jealousy he could not control. Stark was a brute, a man of the North, with no understanding of the fire that burned within you, the dragon’s blood that coursed through your veins.

He rose from his chair and crossed the room to the small table where his harp lay. The strings were cool beneath his fingers, and he plucked at them absently, a soft, mournful melody filling the air. He had written this song for you, though he had never played it where others could hear. It spoke of loss and longing, of a love that could never be. His voice, when he sang, was low and rough, each word a plea to the gods who had denied him what he desired most.

“You were always meant to be mine,” he whispered, the words breaking like waves against the shores of his despair. “And now you are lost to me.”

He thought of you in Storm’s End, surrounded by strangers, your laughter no longer echoing through the halls of the Red Keep. Did you miss him as he missed you? Did you think of him in the quiet moments, as he thought of you? He did not know, and that uncertainty was a blade that twisted in his chest.

He set the harp down and turned away, unable to bear the sight of it any longer. Duty and destiny, love and loss – they were chains that bound him, unbreakable and cruel. He had tried to be strong, to be the prince his people needed, but he was only a man, and men were weak, fallible. They loved, they lost, they yearned for things they could never have.

Rhaegar closed his eyes, and in the darkness, he saw your face, your smile, heard your voice like a whisper on the wind. “Forgive me, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath. “Forgive me for not being strong enough, for not being able to fight for you.”

But it was too late for forgiveness, too late for regrets. The path had been set, and he was bound to it, as surely as he was bound to Elia. All he could do now was move forward, step by painful step, and hope that, in the end, the gods would grant him some measure of peace.

But deep in his heart, he knew that peace would never come. Not without you.

The Hall of a Hundred Hearths was filled with the roar of voices, the excitement of the crowd palpable as the knights readied themselves for the next tilt. Yet, amidst the clamor and the spectacle, Rhaegar Targaryen found himself strangely detached, his thoughts drifting far from the tourney field.

It had been years since he had last seen you, years spent trying to bury the longing that never truly left him. He had told himself, time and again, that it was for the best, that you were safer away from him, from the web of power and madness that ensnared their family. But the distance had done nothing to quell the ache. If anything, it had only deepened it, the emptiness in his heart growing more profound with each passing day.

The knights before him clashed, steel against steel, but Rhaegar’s eyes were drawn inexorably upward, to the royal stands. There, amidst the fluttering banners and the noble lords and ladies, he saw you.

The sight of you struck him like a blade, sharp and sudden. You had changed, as all must with the passage of time, but the essence of you remained the same. Your beauty, once remarked upon by the poets and whispered about in the courts, had only grown, maturing into something almost otherworldly. You were resplendent, a beacon of silver and violet, your hair catching the sunlight as it streamed through the high windows, your gown a cascade of pale blue and gold.

For a moment, the world around him seemed to still, the noise of the tourney fading to a distant murmur. It was as if time itself had paused, granting him this fleeting, stolen moment to simply look at you. He drank in every detail, the curve of your lips, the grace with which you moved, the way your eyes sparkled with a light he had not seen in so long.

He could see the way others watched you, their admiration barely concealed, but none dared approach. There was something untouchable about you, something that set you apart from the rest. You were a Targaryen, with all the fire and blood that name carried, and you wore it like a mantle, like a crown.

It was then that his gaze met yours. For a heartbeat, everything else fell away. He saw the recognition in your eyes, the soft widening as you realized who was staring back at you. In that brief exchange, a thousand unspoken words passed between you. There was shock, yes, but also something deeper, something that stirred the embers of hope he had long thought extinguished.

He could not look away, even as his heart hammered in his chest. The years apart had not dimmed his feelings; if anything, they had only grown stronger, more desperate. You were not just his sister; you were his other half, the missing piece that made him whole. Seeing you now, after so long, was like stepping out of a darkened room and into the light. And he knew, in that instant, that he would do anything, anything, to have you by his side once more.

But then the world rushed back in, the cheers of the crowd, the calls of the heralds, the thunder of hooves as the next pair of knights charged. Rhaegar tore his gaze from you, the loss of your eyes on his a physical pain. He tried to focus on the match before him, but his mind was a tumult of emotions, his heart warring with itself.

He had a wife, children. His duty lay with them, with his family, with the kingdom. But the gods were cruel, and they had given him a glimpse of what he could never have. It was a torment, one that he bore with quiet anguish.

When his turn came to ride, he moved almost on instinct, his mind still consumed by thoughts of you. The lance felt heavy in his hand, the armor a suffocating weight. As he rode onto the field, he felt the eyes of the crowd upon him, but there was only one pair that mattered.

He did not know what possessed him in that moment. Perhaps it was the need to show you, to prove that he had not forgotten, that you were still, and always would be, the center of his world. Or perhaps it was something deeper, something primal that he could not control.

When he unhorsed his opponent, the cheers of the crowd were distant, hollow in his ears. His gaze sought you out again, and when he found you, he saw something in your expression that made his heart clench. There was pride there, yes, but also something softer, something that spoke of shared pain and longing.

Without thinking, he dismounted and approached the stands, his steps slow and deliberate. The murmurs rose around him, whispers spreading like wildfire as the crowd sensed something unprecedented was about to happen. His heart pounded, each beat a drum in his ears, but he did not falter.

He stopped before you, his eyes never leaving yours. The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring. He could see Brandon Stark’s eyes burning with anger, Robert Baratheon’s face twisting with something darker, but they were of no consequence. Not now. Not in this moment.

Slowly, almost reverently, he lifted the crown of blue winter roses, the flowers fresh and vibrant against the silver circlet. He could feel the tension in the air, the breathless anticipation of the crowd, but he did not care. This was for you, for you alone.

When he placed the crown upon your head, his fingers brushed your hair, the touch sending a shiver down his spine. He held your gaze, his voice a low murmur that only you could hear. “For the queen of love and beauty,” he said, the words heavy with a meaning that went far beyond the ritual they were meant to serve.

For a moment, he allowed himself to hope, to dream of a world where you could be his, where you could stand beside him as you were always meant to. But the dream was fleeting, shattered by the reality that loomed just beyond this fragile bubble of time.

He saw the fury in Brandon’s eyes, the confusion and hurt in Robert’s. He knew what they would say, what they would think, but none of it mattered. Not now. Not with you looking at him the way you were, as if you, too, felt the same unbearable pull that had haunted him for so long.

He wanted to speak, to say something, anything that could convey the depth of what he felt. But the words would not come. Instead, he bowed his head slightly, a gesture of respect, of devotion, and then turned away.

As he walked back to his horse, he felt the weight of what he had done settle upon him. He had defied convention, defied expectation, and in doing so, he had set events in motion that he could not control. But for that single, shining moment, he had been true to himself, to what he felt. And as he rode away, the image of you crowned with winter roses burned bright in his mind, a beacon of hope in the gathering storm.

For good or ill, he had made his choice. And whatever came next, whatever price he would have to pay, he knew it would be worth it, if it meant having you, even for just a moment, in his life once more.

Rhaegar’s pulse thundered in his ears as he waited in the shadows of the godswood, his hands trembling beneath his gloves. The cool air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, but he barely noticed. His thoughts were consumed by what he was about to do, the irrevocable act that would change the course of their lives forever. He could hear the distant sound of laughter, of celebration, the wedding feast in full swing. Lyanna Stark, the Wolf Maid, would be wed to Robert Baratheon tonight, and the halls of Storm’s End would echo with the revelry of that union.

But Rhaegar had no place among the revelers. His heart, his soul, his very being was elsewhere—focused solely on you. The thought of you, promised to another, made his blood boil. The pain of it was unbearable, a gnawing, relentless ache that had driven him to the brink of madness.

It was madness, he knew that. To steal you away on such a night, under the very roof of the man who would wed Lyanna, under the watchful eye of your betrothed, Brandon Stark. But he had no choice. He had tried to resist, had tried to stay away, to let you go, but the gods—those cruel, capricious beings—had bound his heart to yours, and no force in the world could sever that bond.

He had watched you from afar, seen the way you carried yourself, poised and proud, even as you stood beside the Stark boy, your future husband. It had taken every ounce of his will not to storm the hall then and there, to tear you away from the one who claimed you. But he had waited, biding his time, knowing that this was his last chance to act.

He thought of the prophecy again, of the words that haunted his every waking moment: “The dragon has three heads.” He needed you, not just as a man craves a woman, but as a king needs his queen, as a dreamer needs his vision. You were part of his destiny, the key to everything. And if he let you slip away now, if he let you be bound to another, all would be lost.

The sound of approaching footsteps jarred him from his thoughts, and he tensed, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. But then he saw you, slipping quietly through the trees, your face pale in the moonlight, your eyes wide and searching. You had come. He had not been sure that you would, had not been sure that you would heed the message he had sent. But you had come.

“Y/N,” he breathed, your name a prayer on his lips as you drew closer. You looked at him, and in that moment, he saw everything—fear, hope, confusion, love. The conflicting emotions in your eyes mirrored his own, and for a heartbeat, he hesitated. What right did he have to do this, to tear you away from the life you knew, from the family who loved you?

But then he thought of Brandon Stark, of the vows you would be forced to speak, the life you would be forced to live. And he knew, with a certainty that bordered on madness, that he could not let that happen.

“Rhaegar, what are you doing?” your voice trembled, a note of desperation creeping in. You had always been strong, unyielding, but now, faced with the enormity of what he was about to do, he saw the cracks in your armor. “This is insane. If they find us—”

“They won’t,” he interrupted, his voice firm, resolute. “We will be gone before they know it. I’ve made arrangements, planned everything. We can be across the border of Stormlands by dawn.”

You shook your head, taking a step back, and his heart lurched in his chest. “And then what? We run? We hide for the rest of our lives? What about the realm, Rhaegar? What about your children? What about—”

“I love you.” The words burst from him, raw and unguarded, and he saw the shock in your eyes. He had never said it before, never dared to, but now, standing here in the dark, with everything on the line, he could hold it back no longer. “I love you, Y/N. I’ve loved you since the day you were born. And I know it’s selfish, I know it’s wrong, but I can’t let you go. I can’t let you marry him.”

Your eyes softened, the fire in them dimming for just a moment. He reached out, his hand trembling as it brushed your cheek, and you did not pull away. “Please, come with me,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I can’t do this without you. I can’t be who I’m meant to be without you.”

He saw the conflict in your eyes, the war between duty and desire, and he held his breath, waiting. For a long, agonizing moment, you said nothing, your gaze locked on his. And then, slowly, you nodded.

“Alright,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Alright, Rhaegar. I’ll go with you.”

Relief, so intense it was almost painful, flooded through him. He took your hand, gripping it tightly, and together you turned toward the waiting horse, your steps quick and silent. He glanced back only once, at the great, shadowed bulk of Storm’s End, at the hall where Lyanna Stark would be married to Robert Baratheon, where Brandon Stark would soon discover that his bride had vanished into the night.

He knew what would come next. Knew that Robert would not let this insult stand, that Brandon would be furious, that Aerys, his father, would react with the same madness and cruelty that had come to define him. He knew that blood would be spilled, that the realm would be torn apart, that everything he had tried to build would come crashing down around him. But none of that mattered. Not now. Not with you beside him.

He mounted his horse and reached down to help you up, his hands steady now, his heart calm. This was right. This was what was meant to be. You fit against him perfectly, your body warm against his, your arms wrapped around his waist as the horse moved beneath you.

He glanced back once more, a final farewell to the life he was leaving behind, and then turned his gaze forward.

He knew, deep down, that there would be no forgiveness, no redemption for what he had done. He had stolen you, taken you from those who cared for you, had set a flame to the tinder that would ignite the realm. But he could not bring himself to care. The thought of you with Brandon, with anyone but him, was a torment he could not bear.

And so he rode on, his arms tight around you, his mind a storm of guilt and desire, fear and hope. The rebellion would come, and with it, death and destruction. But for now, in this moment, you were his, and he was yours, and that was all that mattered.

The journey south had been a blur, days and nights merging into one endless ride. He had spoken little, lost in his own thoughts, his guilt and desire warring within him. He knew what they would say, what they would think: that he was mad, that he was his father’s son. But this was not madness, not truly. It was something else, something far more terrible. He could not live without you, could not let you be bound to another when you were meant to be his. The gods themselves had decreed it, and who was he to deny their will?

The feeling of you now, riding with him, was both a comfort and a torment. Your face was pale, drawn, but there was a strength in your eyes that had always been there, a fire that burned even in the darkest of times. He wanted to speak, to tell you that he was sorry, that he knew what he had done was unforgivable. But the words would not come. How could he explain what he barely understood himself? How could he make you see that this was the only way, the only path left to him?

He glanced down at you, his heart aching with a pain that was almost physical. You were staring straight ahead, your posture rigid, your hands clenched tightly around the sleeves of your dress. He could feel the tension in your shoulders, the way you held yourself as if preparing for some unseen blow. You were afraid, and that knowledge cut him deeper than any blade.

He had sworn to protect you, to keep you safe from harm. And now he had become the very thing you needed protection from. It was a bitter irony, one that left a foul taste in his mouth. But he could not, would not, let you go. Not now. Not when he had come so close to losing you forever.

The inn where they would rest for the night loomed ahead, a small, nondescript building nestled among the trees. He pulled his horse to a stop and dismounted, turning to help you down. Your eyes met his, and for a moment, he saw a flicker of something there, something that gave him hope.

“We will rest here,” he said softly, his voice rough with fatigue and emotion. “It’s not much, but it’s safe. No one will find us.”

You nodded, saying nothing, and he felt his heart twist in his chest. He had expected anger, rage even. But this silence, this quiet acceptance, was worse. It felt like a condemnation, like you had already resigned yourself to whatever fate he had chosen for you.

Inside, the inn was warm, the fire crackling in the hearth casting a soft, golden light across the room. Rhaegar watched as you moved to sit by the fire, your gaze distant, unfocused. He wanted to go to you, to hold you, to tell you that everything would be alright. But he knew that was a lie. Nothing would ever be alright again.

He turned away, his hands trembling as he poured a cup of wine. He needed to think, to clear his head. But his thoughts were a tangled mess, a whirlwind of guilt and desire, fear and hope. He had done this, had set this course, and now he must see it through. But the cost, gods, the cost was more than he had ever imagined.

He thought of his children, of Elia, of the family he had left behind. What would they say when they learned of what he had done? What would they think of him, the man who had torn his family apart for the sake of a love that could never be? The thought made him sick, a cold dread settling in the pit of his stomach. But even that was not enough to change his mind.

He took a long drink of the wine, the taste bitter on his tongue. He had to be strong, had to see this through. For you. For the prophecy. For the future that only the two of you could create. He would be remembered as a villain, a madman, but if it meant having you, if it meant fulfilling the destiny that had been written in the stars, then it was a price he was willing to pay.

The door to your chamber stood open, a dark, yawning void that seemed to beckon him. He hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to go to you, to hold you, to make you understand. But he knew that he could not. Not now. Not yet.

Instead, he turned and made his way outside, the cool night air washing over him like a balm. He stood there, staring up at the sky, the stars bright and cold above him. He had read once that the stars were the tears of the gods, weeping for the fates of men. He wondered if they were weeping for him now, for what he had done, for the path he had chosen.

He thought of you, lying alone in the dark, and his heart ached with a pain that was almost unbearable. He had wanted to save you, to protect you from the cruelty of the world. But now, he was the one who had brought you pain, who had torn your life apart. And for what? For a dream, a prophecy, a destiny that he could not even begin to understand?

He sank to his knees, the cold earth hard beneath him. He had made his choice, and now he must live with it. But gods, it was hard. Harder than he had ever imagined. He had thought that love would be enough, that it would carry him through the darkness. But now, he was not so sure. Now, he wondered if he had been wrong, if he had been a fool.

He looked up at the sky, at the cold, distant stars, and he felt a despair so deep it threatened to swallow him whole. He had done this for love, for a dream of a future that only the two of you could create. But now, standing here, alone in the darkness, he wondered if he had not, in truth, destroyed everything he had ever held dear.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking on the words. “Gods forgive me, I’m so sorry.”

But there would be no forgiveness, no absolution. Only the long, dark road ahead, and the terrible, inexorable march of fate. He would be remembered as the prince who loved too much, the man who brought the realm to ruin for the sake of a woman he could never truly have.

And yet, despite it all, despite the guilt and the pain and the fear, he knew that he would do it all again. Because you were his, and he was yours. And in this world of fire and blood, that was all that truly mattered.

#asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #asoif/got #asoiaf x reader #game of thrones #got x y/n #got x you #got x reader #rhaegar x y/n #rhaegar x you #rhaegar x reader #rhaegar targaryen

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animatedjen · 2 days

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What are you hoping to see in Jedi 3 when it comes out (either story or gameplay wise)? I really hope Cal doesn't get killed off, but given that Luke is (allegedly) the last Jedi by the time of the original trilogy, I know I have to brace myself for that possibility.

So funny story, the "does Cal die at the end of Jedi 3" conversation happened (again) on Twitter last week, and I wrote a thread - you can read it here or with a non-Twitter link. Ended up getting way more attention than planned, a ton of people misunderstood my point, and now I'm a little gunshy about sharing opinions over there for a bit haha. But the community is much smaller on Tumblr so I think I'm still okay here 🫠

I do have a pile of Jedi 3 ideas from earlier this summer! Which includes the the first draft of my "Cal should live" perspective. One new thought is about the Force Slow ability - the way Cal has accessed it throughout the narrative of both games, and how that instinctual power (driven by emotion?) looks and feels different from his other force abilities, especially in Survivor.

It's ultimately been "stained" by darkness, and when (I hope) Cal finds some sort of inner peace, I'd love to see his Force Slow ability be "healed" to a new expression of that power. Not as raw and wild as the dark side, but something that comes from a place of hope instead of desperation. Maybe he learns how to be a shield instead of a sword due to Cere's teaching? (there's a small visual parallel there but that's probably worth exploring in its own post)

As far as Cal's existence clashing with our understanding of Star Wars canon, it can feel complicated. Technically Ahsoka and Ezra are somewhere during ESB, though disowning the Jedi title or getting stuck in the Unknown Regions might disqualify them enough. Will Cal still consider himself a Jedi by the end of the trilogy? Is this just an issue of semantics, or availability, or Luke being the only one operating by the Jedi code of old? Would Yoda actually know if any other Jedi exist?

Honestly not sure. Now if the third game lets Cal visit Dagobah, that's a different conversation...

#thanks for the ask anon!#twitter is great for connecting with fans and Respawn devs but very weird when anything goes beyond my small audience #most people are very nice. those who aren't are just loud or confused (sometimes both)#asks #star wars jedi survivor #jedi survivor #jedi survivor spoilers #jedi 3 concepts #cal kestis #photomode

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vevobly · 1 day

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Being Natalie Scatorccio Girlfriend Headcanons (Pre-Crash) [Part 1]

A/N: This is technically my first headcanons post. But I ended up posting Jackie's first then Misty's, so yeah! Heads up for sensitive topics such as addiction, smoking, and implied/referenced terrible home.

Since Nat comes from a rough home life and doesn't exactly have the best reputation at school, your relationship is probably being kept on the down low. It's not because Nat might be ashamed of you or anything like that; she just doesn't want to drag you down with her. She already gets a lot of unwanted attention and judgment from others. She doesn't want more—especially if it affects you too.

She isn't big on public displays of affection. But you CAN catch her giving you these small, meaningful gestures! A light touch on the arm, a passing glance, or, if you smoke, she'll quietly give you a cigarette when no one's looking.

Nat doesn't open up easily. But with you? As cheesy as it might be, it's different. You're one of the very few people she can be vulnerable with when life decides to shit on her. She doesn't tell you everything, but it's fine. You understand, and you aren't going to push her to do so (unless something warrants it).

She'll call you up late at night just to talk about whatever. Sometimes she crashes at your place to avoid the bullshit she deals with at home, sleeping more soundly in your bed than anywhere else. When you bring that up, she'll either respond with something witty or sappy. And you? You'll like whatever she chooses to tell you instead of the other.

Dating Nat means late night drives in her beat up car with no clear destination! She loves going where the road takes you two, and you're always down to ride shotgun with her.

With this in mind, you two occasionally sneak off to places that are abandoned. Why? For privacy and peace, of course! Oh, and because those locations usually have great views. You can bet your ass that Nat has taken you to loads of romantic places (though she would argue that they're plain) already, talking about how shitty Wiskayok is and how you guys could escape it one day together. Neither of you are sure of anything, but it is nice to dream about, right?

Nat is VERY loyal to you. She might not say it, but she shows it by defending you in her own subtle (some of the yellowjackets would disagree with that—I think you already know who) way when people at school talk behind your back.

Of course, being Nat's girlfriend grants you the special privilege of seeing a side of her that others don't. Which is her being surprisingly sweet when it's just the two of you. She’ll let you pick the music when she's driving (even if she grumbles about your taste) and surprise you with small gifts like mixtapes or a pack of your favorite candy.

Nat's not the most affectionate, but when she is, she turns into this huge sap. Point that one out and she'll deny it vehemently. Either rolling her eyes or crossing her arms to her chest before insisting you're the one being a massive sap. Touché, you'll tell her, and then she'll start laughing; saying you're her sap.

Being together with Nat means you've got to deal with rumors about her at school from time to time. You hate it but what can you do? People will talk whatever about her whenever. While it certainly made you pissed that people do that to her, you've learned to just ignore what they say about her. You know her. You know Nat. And she is way different from how people see her. While she appreciates you defending her, she doesn't need you to. She's not a charit

When things get bad, she'll seek you out. Sometimes she'll show up at your door in the middle of the night, simply saying "I needed to see you." and you'll let her stay. Your place is always welcome for her.

Believe it or not, you're the first person Natalie tells about her frustations (usually the team or her dad). Annnnd, even though she might try to brush off her feelings; you know how to read her and help her without pushing too hard. Still, it makes her feel like a damn--

You know about her addiction. And while you always make sure she's okay, that just isn't enough. So you give her space, let her know that you will be there for her no matter what (but will you though? your relationship is just a faulty boat that's been leaking from the very start. No matter how many times you try to bail the water out, it will sink. It was just destined to). You'll always love her. You'll always love Natalie.

When she's spiraling, you'll be the one to bring her back. Nothing big has to be done, neither of you guys could care about those. Just a quiet word, a reassuring look, or being there is enough. She loves you, she really does. But how the fuck do you love her? She's a mess, and being with her brings you absolutely nothing. why. Why. WHy. WHY. WHY DO YOU LOVE HER OF AL--

If you smoke: Nat loves sharing cigarettes with you. It's almost like a ritual. You or Natalie light one up, pass it back and forth with each other while talking. You'll both sneak out sometimes during school breaks, find a secluded spot to talk and smoke freely there from everyone else.

If you don't smoke: it'll still happen. The difference is that Nat will just be the only one smoking while you'll just watch her take a drag maybe and talk with her. It's a bummer you don't smoke but Nat will take whatever company you can give her whenever.

#yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x you #natalie scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio x you

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autistichalsin · 2 days

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My chapter-by chapter analysis of The Hunger Games, chapter 1

Disclaimer: this and all future chapter analyses will contain spoilers for all the books.

What really strikes me about this chapter is what a masterpiece it is; a masterpiece of foreshadowing, establishing moments of characterization, worldbuilding and more, all without ever feeling like we're actually getting infodumped on. This is accomplished with Katniss's stream-of-consciousness storytelling. I've heard it criticized so much, but even aside from the very salient point that it fits her characterization as an emotionally stunted, traumatized, poorly-educated teenage girl, it still helps the story in moments like this. We feel Katniss's inner chaos, and it makes the story that much more immersive.

On to the spoilery part of the analysis:

When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold. My fingers stretch out, seeking Prim’s warmth but finding only the rough canvas cover of the mattress.

There was a post, a while ago, that I can't find but wish I could. In it, the OP talks about how Prim is literally doomed by the narrative, not "heavily foreshadowed death," but literally doomed by the narrative, and this paragraph is the first sign, because Katniss reaches for Prim and feels emptiness instead. And re-reading this, I agree. The first thing we see Katniss do is reach for Prim, and find nothing. This time, it's temporary, but by the end of the series, it won't be. We've been warned, even if we don't realize it yet: Prim is doomed.

Scrawny kitten, belly swollen with worms, crawling with fleas. The last thing I needed was another mouth to feed. But Prim begged so hard, cried even, I had to let him stay. It turned out okay. My mother got rid of the vermin and he’s a born mouser. Even catches the occasional rat. Sometimes, when I clean a kill, I feed Buttercup the entrails. He has stopped hissing at me.

Katniss loves her sister and will do literally anything for her. Katniss also has no moral qualms about drowning kittens. With just one paragraph, we learn what a simultaneously harshly practical yet beautifully caring, loving person Katniss is. She has no room in her life for useless things like pets, and drowning strays probably helps the people of 12 in the long run by leaving vermin to be eaten by those on the verge of starvation. But her sister wants to keep Buttercup, and so she will. Katniss will sacrifice anything to keep Prim happy.

Foreshadowing. Prim is doomed.

Entrails. No hissing. This is the closest we will ever come to love.

STILL more foreshadowing, for different themes: both for one of Katniss's biggest complexes (I'll get into details about this later) and for the theme of love. Katniss doesn't truly love anyone but Prim. Her entire world, we know, is going to be shaken when she does finally feel that for someone else again. Once again, we are being introduced to the recurring themes of love vs practicality and the classic question, "how much pain is love worth?"

Katniss is going to answer this question again and again: for Prim, there is no amount of suffering too great. For others... she'll find different answers. Eventually.

My father knew and he taught me some before he was blown to bits in a mine explosion. There was nothing even to bury. I was eleven then. Five years later, I still wake up screaming for him to run.

The first hints of Katniss as a deeply traumatized girl emerge. Sometimes, when you're traumatized enough, thoughts can segue into The Event with no warning, just by proximity. And through the combination of blunted language and stream-of-consciousness leaps, we can see just how broken this has left Katniss. Unfortunately, this is only the start of Events for her.

My father could have made good money selling them, but if the officials found out he would have been publicly executed for inciting a rebellion. Most of the Peacekeepers turn a blind eye to the few of us who hunt because they’re as hungry for fresh meat as anybody is. In fact, they’re among our best customers.

A brilliant bit of worldbuilding. The Peacekeepers are working off of deeply corrupt laws, which they ignore because they too are being mistreated and systematically starved, even if they aren't as at risk as the people of 12. The system doesn't care about the very same people it safeguards to enforce its rules. This is the first hint we get that the system isn't sustainable, and it comes before we even fully understand what kind of hell this government is.

The theme of "bread and circuses" is going to be hammered down to us again and again that this is how tyrannical governments, including this one, pacify the masses. But when only the bourgeoisie are being given the bread and circuses, well.... the proletariat aren't going to take it forever.

The book hasn't shown itself to be the anti-capitalist masterpiece it is yet, but this is the first hint that we're reading a tale of class warfare.

“District Twelve. Where you can starve to death in safety,” I mutter. Then I glance quickly over my shoulder. Even here, even in the middle of nowhere, you worry someone might overhear you.

I have seen criticisms that this is an egregious case of showing and not telling, with Katniss constantly talking about the dangers of badmouthing the government while never facing them. But in truth, it's the opposite. Yes, Katniss hasn't been caught despite repeated statements that she could have, but we'll learn, here and in future chapters, that 12 has been receiving a sort of tradeoff with other districts; their more severe poverty places them below notice. No one thinks them capable of causing real trouble, and even their district specialty- coal- is later proven to be basically useless, busy-work. So they get ignored... for now. Until the oligarchs start seeing what the proletariat can actually do and crack down all the harder to ensure they keep their cheap labor.

Are you seeing the resonance with the real world yet?

Even at home, where I am less pleasant, I avoid discussing tricky topics. Like the reaping, or food shortages, or the Hunger Games. Prim might begin to repeat my words and then where would we be?

Here we see the dual themes of parentification and sacrifice. Katniss will be the adult, even though she ISN'T an adult, for her sister. She will keep quiet on things that hurt her, and upset her, to set a better example for her sister and keep her from getting hurt. Prim gets to have the normal and safe childhood Katniss never had, because Katniss has invested everything into ensuring she does.

We are taking a step up the ladder of self-sacrificial acts, here. In other words: more foreshadowing. Katniss will give everything for Prim. Prim is going to die, because Katniss is going to lose everything she cared about in the process of protecting everything she cared about.

In the woods waits the only person with whom I can be myself.

Katniss can't be a teenage girl. She has to be Prim's mom. She has to be tough. She has to be a provider. She has to be a trader. An advocate. She so rarely complains about it, too. But it shows here just how much she's given up. Only one place, and one person she can be herself with, and yet...

Gale.

Isn't this ironic. Because we are about to see, throughout the entire series, that this day is going to be the last time Gale actually lets Katniss be herself (and even here, there are strong hints that Gale wants Katniss to be something very different).*

*Disclaimer, because it seems important: my opinion on the Katniss/Gale vs Katniss/Peeta ship war is "team nobody." I think both of them were very bad for her in different ways. Any comment I make that seems like it is favoring one ship or the other... isn't.

“Hey, Catnip,” says Gale. My real name is Katniss, but when I first told him, I had barely whispered it. So he thought I’d said Catnip. Then when this crazy lynx started following me around the woods looking for handouts, it became his official nickname for me.

Maybe I'm overanalyzing, but I feel like this sums up the Katniss/Gale relationship so much. Katniss tries to speak, and Gale doesn't hear or understand her. Gale projects something onto her, and Katniss rolls with it. Sure, in this case it's a cute nickname, but it represents so much more to me.

Gale doesn't understand Katniss. Fundamentally. He understands the Katniss he wants to exist. The one who will run off with him and play house in the woods and indulge his little fantasies. He doesn't know very much about the real Katniss, at least as long as he's looking at her through a romantic lens.

“Look what I shot.” Gale holds up a loaf of bread with an arrow stuck in it, and I laugh.

Despite what I just said, I do love Gale and Katniss's friendship, and it breaks my heart that their friendship was as doomed as Prim. (Hint. Hint.) Katniss needed someone who understood the unique pain of parentification due not to abuse, but poverty- the kind where you aren't 'allowed' to feel angry at anyone within reach. Which is the worst kind of injustice. Getting mad at someone who harmed you is one thing, but getting mad at a system you can never (... yet) hope to change is different.

She must have really loved him to leave her home for the Seam.

It's said in a casual and sort of admiring way here. But Katniss is going to learn firsthand about the intersection between love and sacrifice. With the generational mirroring as a theme, especially between Katniss and Peeta, we're being given more foreshadowing that Katniss has self-sacrifice "in the blood."

I try to remember that when all I can see is the woman who sat by, blank and unreachable, while her children turned to skin and bones. I try to forgive her for my father’s sake. But to be honest, I’m not the forgiving type.

Another little glimpse into Katniss's pain and trauma. Her mom wasn't there when Katniss needed her most, and Katniss and Prim both almost died as a result. It wasn't her fault, and we see later that she regrets it deeply, but this still leaves scars. Your parents, above everyone else, are supposed to protect you. Katniss's mom didn't, Katniss nearly died, and because of that, Katniss had to sacrifice what remained of her childhood to become Prim's mom.

Katniss and Prim's relationship never goes back to just normal sisterhood after this. From the moment Mrs. Everdeen's trauma rendered her catatonic onwards, Katniss and Prim's relationship was infused with a mother-child dynamic that never left, not even when Mrs. Everdeen became well again.

It's so painful, all the more so because it's so real. I lived this with my little brother, albeit with stakes maybe 1% this high, when my mom became an alcoholic and my dad was too busy just trying to survive to really do anything. I was the one to take care of him emotionally, to show someone cared, to provoke my mom's anger so he wouldn't be hit, to make sure homework got done and he didn't skip school (I failed. Badly.) He still considers me more his parent than either of our parents. It never really goes away, even when you're both adults; that overdeveloped feeling of responsibility stays with you. Always.

And the worst part of it is when the parent who made you have to do this decides, on their own, that the time is right for them to come back. Katniss's mom is far more gracious about it than my own. She at least understood Katniss's pain, and didn't try to force the role on her; it happened only when Katniss was ready. But that too, as we'll see in a minute, was painfully real for me.

“I never want to have kids,” I say. “I might. If I didn’t live here,” says Gale. “But you do,” I say, irritated. “Forget it,” he snaps back. The conversation feels all wrong.

Once again, a hint that despite their sweet friendship and similarities, these are two tragically, fundamentally incompatible people. Katniss is in too much pain to think of ever having a family, and Gale is in too much pain to think of not ever having one. Katniss wants to survive the way she always has (which she doesn't realize isn't her destiny yet) and Gale wants to flee and survive literally any other way.

Both change in the end, but the underlying incompatibilities in their life approaches are still there.

And even if we did . . . even if we did . . . where did this stuff about having kids come from? There’s never been anything romantic between Gale and me. [...] Besides, if he wants kids, Gale won’t have any trouble finding a wife. He’s good-looking, he’s strong enough to handle the work in the mines, and he can hunt. You can tell by the way the girls whisper about him when he walks by in school that they want him. It makes me jealous but not for the reason people would think. Good hunting partners are hard to find.

A few very interesting things are happening here. One, we're getting another hint, first dropped during Katniss's thoughts about Buttercup, that Katniss has a pathological inability to believe others actually like her- romantically or otherwise. Part of it is low self-esteem, part of it is putting Prim on such a pedestal that Katniss feels she can never live up (and giving her more self-esteem issues) and feeling like anything she attributes to herself might take away from Prim, and part of it is just raw cynicism. And maybe a dash or two of the feeling of permanent othering trauma gives you. Especially when that trauma involves a realization that you're never going to be able to rely on others to meet your own needs. You're responsible for your needs and your loved ones' too.

(Katniss is one of the most complex and real characters of all time. I relate to Katniss an uncomfortable amount sometimes.)

The other interesting thing is that you're getting a sense, for the first time, of how much trouble Katniss has recognizing and processing her own emotions- a very common trait in neurodivergent people. She can sort-of-understand a feeling of jealousy, but can't quite put her finger on the reason, and fitting with her attitude of relentless practicality, she decides that it's the worry of losing a useful hunting partner. Because, after all, Prim is the only person she loves, she can't care for anyone else, there isn't room for that. To care about anyone else would be to "take away" something from Prim.

Katniss repeatedly raises the question of when self-sacrifice crosses the line into self-harm by proxy. When altruistic love becomes self-negation instead. It's sweet that she loves Prim so much, but the codependence... If this is the benchmark for love for Katniss, it's no wonder that she feels at this point that she can't feel it for anyone else. This isn't sustainable.

(Prim is doomed. We've been warned.)

I found the patch a few years ago, but Gale had the idea to string mesh nets around it to keep out the animals.

This is going to be a recurring theme; Katniss is too impulsive and lacking a sufficient cause-effect pathway to be a planner/strategist. Gale makes the plans now; later it'll be Peeta and Haymitch.

(Also, this is foreshadowing Katniss's lack of agency. She is about to become an audience member in her own life story. She found the strawberries, but she didn't decide what to do about them. Gale did. That's about to become her entire life.)

No one in the Seam would turn up their nose at a good leg of wild dog, but the Peacekeepers who come to the Hob can afford to be a little choosier.

There is a hierarchy still, where the Peacekeepers are starving, but not as starving as the people in the communities they're sent to. Everyone is hungry, but some are hungrier than others.

Hint. Hint.

“That’s not her fault,” I say. “No, it’s no one’s fault. Just the way it is,” says Gale.

"Remember who the real enemy is." Katniss gets told this repeatedly, by Haymitch and others, and eventually she learns the lesson in time to lead a successful revoltuion.

Gale does not learn this lesson. He will end up destroying everything he cares about in his pursuit of revenge against the Capitol and anyone associated with it.

Gale would normally say that there is a huge difference between Madge, the mayor's daughter who is pampered and comparatively privileged, versus the willfully malicious Peacekeepers; the middle class are still part of the proletariat, after all. But Gale, in his pain and fear, loses sight of it and lashes out. This time, it's just words. By the end of the series, when he gets actual power, it will lead to something far more catastrophic.

Prim is doomed to die, Gale and Katniss's friendship is doomed to end in the most bitter way possible, and Gale is doomed to be his own worst enemy.

Gale knows his anger at Madge is misdirected. On other days, deep in the woods, I’ve listened to him rant about how the tesserae are just another tool to cause misery in our district. A way to plant hatred between the starving workers of the Seam and those who can generally count on supper and thereby ensure we will never trust one another. “It’s to the Capitol’s advantage to have us divided among ourselves,” he might say if there were no ears to hear but mine. If it wasn’t reaping day. If a girl with a gold pin and no tesserae had not made what I’m sure she thought was a harmless comment.

Gale knows he's wrong to say things like that. But again, as said above, his pain and fear get the better of him, and cause pain to those around him. His normal philosophy is correct, but he loses sight of and discards it far too easily.

(Gale is going to lose everything because of his scorched-earth approach to anger.)

Also, a note: this is how the real world operates too. Culture wars to distract from class war. For an entire generation of readers, this was their introduction to the basic principles of socialism.

But what good is yelling about the Capitol in the middle of the woods? It doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t make things fair. It doesn’t fill our stomachs. In fact, it scares off the nearby game. I let him yell though. Better he does it in the woods than in the district.

Katniss is still hung up on practicality. When she rants about the Capitol, she is, subconsciously, crying for help. But venting for the sake of venting doesn't make so much sense to her, given her stunted emotions.

Another bit of characterization I really enjoy here is the realistic teenage behavior. Yes, they're the oldest in their families, responsible for their entire family and only able to support them by hunting, and they should "know better". But they're teenagers in a fascist government, with an already extreme list of traumas and corresponding problems with emotions. Of course they're going to act irrationally at times and scare off game because they're having a meltdown- even non-traumatized teens would do that sometimes!

They're teenagers. Incredibly well-written, realistic teenagers. They don't have fully developed frontal lobes with the corresponding gifts of planning, impulse control, cause-effect relationships, and other things yet. They're more mature than most, but they're still going to behave foolishly sometimes.

Prim is in my first reaping outfit, a skirt and ruffled blouse. It’s a bit big on her, but my mother has made it stay with pins.

This is probably a "the curtains are blue because they're blue!" moment, but this is another bit of symbolism I enjoy. Katniss, at Prim's age, was hunting and entering the Hob. Prim is being kept alive by both Katniss and Mrs. Everdeen. She has a dress that mostly fits. She has good meals now. She is protected where Katniss wasn't. The dress represents both the sacrifices Katniss made for her and the fact that now, Prim has the adoring mother Katniss didn't have. She has two loving people looking out for her, willing to do anything to keep her safe, healthy, and happy.

(Prim is doomed.)

To my surprise, my mother has laid out one of her own lovely dresses for me. A soft blue thing with matching shoes. “Are you sure?” I ask.

Katniss can't comprehend her mom doing motherly things for her. Both because of the parentification, and because Katniss still fundamentally can't believe that anyone, even her own mother, actually cares for her enough to want to do anything for her. Not after four years of Katniss carrying the entire family on her back. It's incompatible with the world she's lived in for the last four years.

Katniss is painfully relatable.

I’m trying to get past rejecting offers of help from her. For a while, I was so angry, I wouldn’t allow her to do anything for me.

Painfully. Relatable.

What Katniss is feeling in this scene, I don't think I can describe to anyone who hasn't been there. It's relief-bitterness-anger-hope-longing-mistrust.

"Oh great, look who's finally here to help now that things are okay again and I figured everything out on my own! I want you back. I want a parent back. I don't want to do this anymore. I can't stop it. I can't trust you not to make me do it again. I'd better keep doing it so I don't get my hopes up. How do I even live without doing this? How do I live as a person and not a caretaking robot for my family? Am I allowed to do that? What kind of selfish person would I be if I did, especially now that I've seen what will happen if you fail again? No, I'm not letting you do this. I'll let you pretend to the little one because they need a parent figure and they deserve to feel normal, but me? Hell no, do you think I'm stupid? I am taking care of myself, I already learned what it costs to trust other people to see to my needs and that is not a price I'll pay a second time, thankyouverymuch. Yeah, mom I love you. I'm glad you're okay now. And thanks for doing this for me, I guess."

It goes something like that.

But I digress.

In just this paragraph Katniss expresses so much of the pain of parentification, so succinctly yet vividly that it makes my chest hurt.

I just really, really love Katniss, okay?

“You look beautiful,” says Prim in a hushed voice. “And nothing like myself,” I say.

Ow. Just... ow. She says it so matter-of-factly. Like she's just accepted it into her worldview; Prim, the embodiment of everything good in the world, is beautiful. Katniss, the leftover, the thing that exists just to take care of Prim, is ugly. That simple.

I wish we could have seen Prim respond here; surely she doesn't like anyone, even her sister herself, talking about Katniss this way? Or maybe Prim is so used to these kinds of casual self-put-downs that she's stopped trying to talk Katniss out of it.

Again: painfully relatable.

I protect Prim in every way I can, but I’m powerless against the reaping. The anguish I always feel when she’s in pain wells up in my chest and threatens to register on my face.

Once more: Painfully. Relatable. You put so much into protecting 'your kiddo'. And then something comes along and reminds you that you're even more powerless than the useless adults in your life. It hurts. It feels like you failed. It's one thing for you to get hurt, you already know how to deal with it, but them?

Ugh. Dystopian fiction isn't usually where my inner abused and parentified child gets validated, but this series unlocked some things in my neural pathways.

Thank you, Suzanne Collins, for Katniss. I feel so seen in so many ways through her and her story.

Sorry. I know this is supposed to be an analysis, not a love letter, but damn if Katniss doesn't play my heartstrings like a fiddle.

“Tuck your tail in, little duck,” I say, smoothing the blouse back in place. Prim giggles and gives me a small “Quack.” “Quack yourself,” I say with a light laugh. The kind only Prim can draw out of me.

Sorry, I am going to try to not repeat myself so much, but once again it just... Prim gets to be a child, because of Katniss. She gets to be a normal-ish 12 year old who makes silly animal noises and can't tuck her dress in. Katniss was fighting for her life and trying to find food. And of course it's not Prim's fault- I love Prim. But there's something just so painful about this contrast. Katniss had her childhood stolen from her, first by the tyrannical government she lived in, then her father's death, then her mother's mental illness, and finally the needs of a child she never should have been responsible for.

It's no wonder Katniss spends so much of the series in that emotional state abused, neglected, and traumatized children know all too well. You're simultaneously precocious and childish. Too grown-up one minute and acting like a child the next. Katniss never got to experience linear growth, and her psychology sure as hell shows it.

Painfully. Relatable.

Also, yet again: Prim. Is. Doomed. She's the most important thing in Katniss's life, the rationale for every decision Katniss makes, the reason she gets out of bed in the morning. The one person who makes Katniss's life worth living. Precious, sweet Prim, who retains her innocence and kindness in a world that aggressively stomps out both, is doomed by the narrative in every possible way.

Anyway, Gale and I agree that if we have to choose between dying of hunger and a bullet in the head, the bullet would be much quicker. The space gets tighter, more claustrophobic as people arrive. [...] I stare at the paper slips in the girls’ ball. Twenty of them have Katniss Everdeen written on them in careful handwriting.

When you're a child, you can't comprehend something awful happening to your parents, because your life experience just hasn't shaped yet to show you that it's even possible. You don't understand that it can happen.

When you're an adult, you can't comprehend something awful happening to your child, because your life experience has shaped to show you exactly how it's possible. You know exactly how it can happen, so you can't believe that it can actually happen.

Katniss is at a stage of her life that would already be transitional in normal circumstances, where she'd start contemplating mortality- but she's already dealt with it for years.

Her own death doesn't scare her anymore. Her sister's scares her so much that she doesn't even think it's a possibility. After all, everything she's done for the last four years of her life has been for Prim. To keep her alive and give her the childhood Katniss lost suddenly and traumatically.

Prim is doomed.

Taking the kids from our districts, forcing them to kill one another while we watch — this is the Capitol’s way of reminding us how totally we are at their mercy.

We got hints of apathy and cruelty before, but now the curtain is, for the first time, being peeled back. This isn't a system built on simple oppression. It's a system built on raw sadism.

It's another sign that Panem isn't sustainable. People can endure a lot of cruelty when their loved ones are hostages, but there are limits. When those limits get pushed (hint), something will have to give.

To make it humiliating as well as torturous, the Capitol requires us to treat the Hunger Games as a festivity, a sporting event pitting every district against the others.

Bread and circuses. The poor give labor (food) and entertainment, and the rich receive them. The rich live sequestered lives full of privilege, yet ultimately just as much under the thumb as the tyrant as anyone else. But still supporting the system because they lack the empathy to want change when they benefit from the status quo more than they would from a new system, so they think. They are simultaneously disgusting and pitiful.

Like the comfortably wealthy Trump-supporting boomers we all know and loathe.

The last tribute alive receives a life of ease back home, and their district will be showered with prizes, largely consisting of food.

Our very first, incredibly subtle hint, that winning the games might be even worse than losing them. The first time reading, of course, you'll take this at face value. Later, though, you'll think of this and realize it was all only mockery and isolationism, a way of guaranteeing that the victors would be scapegoated by their District, ensuring they would never find companionship again even if their trauma didn't prevent it. And they can't complain, because, after all, they now have a life of comfort.

So many things are intersecting here; class warfare (Victors being an allegory for "temporarily embarrassed millionaires" and the American Dream) and the isolation of trauma and mental illness and more.

But suddenly I am thinking of Gale and his forty-two names in that big glass ball and how the odds are not in his favor. Not compared to a lot of the boys. And maybe he’s thinking the same thing about me because his face darkens and he turns away. “But there are still thousands of slips,” I wish I could whisper to him.

Katniss so rarely worries about herself, only those she cares for. Again; her own mortality is okay to her. It's those she protects she can't let this happen to. But since she can't even bear to face the possibility of Prim being chosen (Prim is doomed) yet, she focuses her feelings on Gale, not only worrying that he'll be picked, but worrying that he will be upset that she might be. She only spares thoughts for herself for a few brief seconds, in the next paragraph.

Katniss gets accused of being selfish so many times, but it's notable that those moments only happen once she volunteers to go into the arena, once her survival depends on a bit of selfishness. Before then, she's one of the least selfish people in the entire series, and I'd argue that even at her worst she doesn't count as truly selfish. She's a teenager trying to survive and return home to her family, not a toddler who won't share toys.

I’m feeling nauseous and so desperately hoping that it’s not me, that it’s not me, that it’s not me.

But, of course, even when you are theoretically okay with dying, being faced with the actual thing will still inspire terror. So for just a moment, Katniss lets herself lapse into worry about herself.

For just a moment, she thinks about herself- and just that fast, Prim is placed in danger.

(This is how Prim will die too, by the way; being put in danger the one time Katniss is focused on something other than her. Prim is doomed.)

Effie Trinket crosses back to the podium, smoothes the slip of paper, and reads out the name in a clear voice. And it’s not me. It’s Primrose Everdeen.

The unthinkable has happened, and Katniss's life has been changed forever.

And even though she can save Prim this time, it's only temporary.

Prim is doomed. Nothing in the world can prevent it now. Prim would die in the arena, but by going instead, Katniss has put herself in a position where any and all actions she does will spark a revolution that gives her a Pyrrhic victory.

There is no version of events where Prim lives.

Prim is doomed.

#katniss everdeen #thg #the hunger games #hunger games #primrose everdeen

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