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deliciousangelfestival · 1 day

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The Malicious Daugter is Back! - Bucky Barnes

Character : Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: It's just a business marriage. Bucky thought it would be easy until he encountered the stepsister of his fiancée. She turned his world upside down.

Chap 1, Chap 2 ,-

Main Masterlist || Support : Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

It was supposed to be easy, but it's not.

He felt his hands and sensed they were shackled to this agreement. While everyone chatted and laughed at this lunch party, he couldn't share the same sentiment.

Today was the engagement party of two influential conglomerate families.

The daughter of Celestial Enterprises, which owned Luxury Goods, Smart Home Technology, Media & Entertainment, was Victoria Sinclair.

She was a strikingly beautiful woman, exuding an air of sophistication, yet there was a hint of maturity beneath her seemingly spoiled demeanor.

With a shy gesture, she reached out and gently touched her fiancé's hand. Her soft touch snapped him out of his daydream.

She gazed at his face, mesmerized by his striking features. He could easily be the most handsome man she had ever encountered in her life. Despite meeting countless models and actors, none of them held a candle to him.

Bucky Barnes was the epitome of sophistication. With his jet-black hair, piercing blue eyes, and impeccable suit, he exuded an aura of intelligence and quiet confidence.

As the heir to the AstraNova Group, specializing in aerospace, renewable energy, and real estate, his wealth and influence were undeniable.

He felt something creeping on his hands, he glanced down to see his fiancée Victoria touching him. Despite his discomfort, he clenched his fists, fighting the urge to lash out.

But he had to keep it together. Tonight, his psychiatrist would have to listen to his anxiety. He couldn't let anyone at this party know about his Sensory Processing Disorder (SPD).

He was overly sensitive to sensory input, including touch. In this room, only his parents knew about his disorder.

Bucky smiled and gently pushed Victoria's hand away from him. He could only tolerate it for five minutes. But it seemed this woman didn't understand him.

If she were just another woman, Bucky would have instructed his assistant to escort Victoria away. But he couldn't do that.

Because this woman was necessary, in fact. Her family's money was crucial. This was a business marriage. Bucky wasn't a social man, so when his family arranged the marriage, he complied with their wishes.

He thought he could go along with it, but his disorder acted up every time he got close to Victoria. She was glued to him.

"Fuck," he thought. He wished his parents had chosen a woman who preferred shopping over clinging to him.

"Look at this couple. Hohoho… Like newlyweds," remarked Victoria's mother, Genevieve, a woman around 50 years old, exuding opulence in her elegant gown adorned with intricate lace and jewels.

"What a joyful day," nodded Bucky's mother, Cassandra, a woman of similar age, dressed in a modest yet tasteful attire, her eyes fixed on her son who appeared calm. However, she couldn't help but notice Victoria's persistent touching.

She prayed that Bucky wouldn't lose his patience.

"By the way, where is the oldest daughter?" slipped one of the guests, causing a ripple of unease among the attendees.

Even Victoria lost interest in getting close to Bucky. She stopped leaning toward him and sat up straight.

Her silent expression mirrored Genevieve's, catching Bucky's attention.

This was the first Bucky had heard of another daughter.

“You have an older sister?” Bucky asked Victoria.

Victoria responded with a nervous voice, “I do... She's... how should I say this? She's complicated. She's never at home. And when she is, all we do is fight.”

Bucky nodded, understanding her explanation. An estranged sister.

But he had never come across any mention of this in his fiancée's family background.

Were they hiding their other daughter? An illegitimate child?

Bucky noticed Victoria's father, Jonathan, a distinguished man in his sixties, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, who had stopped drinking and focused his attention on the table.

Genevieve laughed elegantly and remarked, “Haha… She doesn't enjoy these kinds of events. She prefers outdoor activities.”

On the first day of their engagement, Bucky found himself embroiled in family drama.

Then, a voice from outside could be heard, “I'm sorry, miss. This room has been booked,” said the security.

“It's booked for Sinclair and Barnes, right? What a coincidence. I'm a Sinclair too,” a playful female voice retorted.

‘BANG.’

The private door burst open from a forceful kick, startling the guests.

All eyes turned toward the newcomer.

Even Bucky turned around to see who it was.

She was wearing black leather boots, black pants, and a gray turtleneck sweater. Her attire stood out starkly against the elegance of the room.

She looked at everyone, then stopped at Victoria and Bucky. Then she scoffed, causing Victoria to clench her fist and bite her lips.

Compares to Bucky. He wondered what had happened to her. She was wearing a hand cast, a band-aid under her right eye, and small new scars under her lips.

Two things he realized were that her demeanor and facial features were different from Victoria's.

Victoria nervously laughed, "We thought you wouldn't come."

💋💋💋

You smirked and grabbed a glass of wine from the server who was serving drinks.

With a bow, you said, “Congrats on the engagement. Pardon my lateness. Seems like a rat ate your invitation.”

Victoria forced a smile, determined not to take the bait, especially in front of her fiancé, Bucky, to avoid any confrontation.

You walked past the couple and headed towards your father, Jonathan.

He showed no reaction, simply sipping his wine.

Standing beside him, you didn't even glance at Genevieve, who gritted her teeth, continuing to smile at the Barnes family.

You said to your dad, “Is this what your wife asked for? I must say I'm impressed.”

Bucky was taken aback when he heard that. What did it mean?

Genevieve gripped her wine glass tightly. The stories of her as ‘the other woman’ were in the past. She had worked hard to be accepted in this socialite world, and it had made everyone forget that she was the second wife. Everyone had called her Madam Sinclair, and Victoria the only daughter.

You shrugged your shoulders. “I'm just impressed that my sister could join the Barnes household. She didn't have to steal someone's husband like her mom.”

Victoria gasped and started sobbing.

Genevieve exclaimed, “How could you make your sister cry?”

You drank the wine in one gulp and put the empty glass on the table. “I want to vomit when I call her my sister. I need that wine to clean my tongue.”

Genevieve looked at her husband and whispered, “Jonathan, stop your daughter.”

You looked at your father, who was also looking at you, both of you silent. This is the relationship between father and daughter. Both of you used to be close, but everything changed after the other woman entered the family.

He won't say anything. He never does.

Turning to the new couple, you observed Victoria drinking water and her fiancé Bucky.

You didn't know much about him. What an unlucky man, you thought.

Walking towards him, you stopped in front of Bucky.

Bucky was looking at you too.

You said, “She throws away everything that I own or touch. I wonder…”

Your fingers touched his chin, and your face came close to his. You could see his eyes clearly.

You smirked and said, “I wonder if she still wants you after I do this.”

What you did next made everyone gasp.

Victoria screamed, “Get your lips away from him,” as she pushed you away from Bucky, acting as a barrier.

You wiped your lips, achieving your goal of seeing Victoria panicked.

With a salute gesture, you said, “I've got what I wanted. Goodbye, everyone,” and left the party.

Victoria grumbled, looking at Bucky and touching his hand. “Are you okay? I'm sorry. If you're mad at my sister, I apologize.”

Bucky pushed her away from him, his action shocking her slightly, but understandable since he had just been kissed by a stranger.

Bucky remained silent, not because he was angry, but because he had a million questions.

His disorder prevented him from being touched by someone, and yet he had just been kissed.

This is also his first kiss.

And... he didn't vomit.

Bucky looked at the closing door, wondering where you had gone.

He knew he had to see you again.

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blue-jisungs · 2 days

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hello! i hope 2024 has been treating u well!

can i request where jaemin is ur new roommate and ur sorta pessimistic abt him for awhile cuz of his cats? then one day its just u and his cats and then u start warming up to them, not knowing that jaemin was watching the whole time please!

so sorry if this is too specific but thank u if u see this!!

cats and pizza

author's note. hi anonnie! sorry it took so long :( 2024 has been quite nice for me teehee, i hope it has been for u too <3 also this was so fun to write as someone who absolutely adores cats 😭

setting. vet med student !jaem x fashion designer student!yn

warnings. one of the cats pisses lol, pizza, swearing, yn doesn’t like cats and talks bad about them >:(

“oh come on, it’ll be fine! he looks nice and he’s a veterinary medicine student? come on, he must be… normal… i think” renjun hummed, looking through your shoulder at the text you got.

you rested your forehead against his arm and groaned while he took your phone and replied to the message.

“you need a roommate. stop being picky… besides, he’s not gonna be any weirder than the chenle guy… probably. hopefully” renjun cheered you on and patted your head.

your previous roommate, karina, had to move out so now you were in a desperate search of someone at her place because there’s no way you could single-handedly afford the rent. the landlord didn’t mind as long as it was paid so you could choose whoever you wanted.

but once you put the offer online, the amount of people and interviews crushed you. the rent was almost due and you had to hurry up – but it wasn’t your fault that all the interested individuals were… specific.

but getting a text from a guy named jaemin drew your attention. he wasn’t dry like all the previous guys and said that he’ll adapt into your schedule to come see the place – unlike others who set up the date and you didn’t have much choice.

you agreed to meet today and brought your bestie, renjun, as a moral support. and additional eye of judgement.

a knock on your door caused you to jerk up.

“it’s probably him” you sighed and ran to open the door “hi—”

your voice got stuck in your throat as your eyes met with a very handsome guy. a gummy smile bloomed on his lips as he reached his hand out.

“hi, i’m na jaemin! y/n, i assume?” he asked, voice full of positive energy. renjun appeared behind you.

“i… oh, right, you know my name. yes, y/n” you cleared your throat and shook his hand. it was warm and bigger than yours.

“renjun” your friend grunted and accidentally nudged your shoulder.

“i’ll show you around. do you want some water or anything to drink?” you asked nicely, stepping aside to let him in. while jaemin and you couldn’t take your eyes off each other, renjun let out a sigh.

“do you have any questions?” your friend asked, crossing his arms.

“oh, yeah! are pets allowed? cats specifically?” jasmin asked and you froze.

well, technically yes.

but you just weren’t a big fan of felines. they are just… mean. and ignorant.

but jaemin is so cute and–

“no”

“yes”

you looked at renjun surprised when you two spoke out at the same time. jaemin laughed (and goodness, if it wasn’t the prettiest thing you’ve ever heard), throwing his head back slightly.

“yes they are. i’m just more of a dog person, you see” you hummed. jaemin sent you a warm smile.

“don’t worry, they’re lovely” he reassured you and renjun urged to show him the room.

and you blame renjun to this day for that because if you were to listen, you would’ve paid attention and noticed that jaemin had said ‘they’.

was one of your main factors to settle for jaemin the fact that he was charming and handsome? yes. did you think he only has one cat? yes.

much to your surprise, along with a new roommate you got three cats as a bonus.

standing terrified in the middle of kitchen you watched one of them snuggle against your leg as jaemin watched with amusement.

“they are real angels. i promise they won’t cause any trouble” he hummed.

you moved away from the cat but it followed you, looking at you with its big, blue eyes.

“just for the love of god please… make sure they don’t shit in the kitchen. or come anywhere near my room” you murmured, jaw clenched. if that furry thing of a demon is going to brush against you again–

the cat must’ve somehow understood that and it purred, tail wrapping around your leg.

“go… away…” you whined, stepping back yet again.

“luke, c’mon” jaemin sighed and grabbed the cat in his arms. the beast animal was looking at you with a mischievous expression. a shiver run down your spine as you looked away, and a meow came somewhere from the distance.

the sound of happy little feet kept you awake at night. lucy, luna and luke (it was hard not to remember the names since jaemin had them engraved on almost everything) were playing around in the hallway. at 3am.

pressing a pillow to your ear and pulling the duvet over the other, you cursed mentally at your own stupidity. you hated cats, why would you even agree? sure, jaemin is really cool and there certainly is something between you two but the goddamn furry beasts…

a loud meow came from under your door.

and then a scratching sound.

“you have to be kidding me” with a groan, you left the bed and opened the door only to be met with a pair of evil looking cat.

“luna- lucy, whoever you are… get your ass out of here” you grunted and tried to whoosh the cat away. but it only meowed and tried to come into your room “no!”

it was middle of the night, you should be asleep and getting your well needed rest for today’s exam.

but you’re closing the door and fighting with a feline.

great, just great.

“jaemin!” you yelled out, not bothered by the fact that you’ll wake him up “na jaemin, get ahold of your goddamn furry devils!”

you heard his hurried footsteps and when he reached to hold the cat up, you noticed he’s not even angry in the slightest.

“luke, c’mon, no scratching the door. sorry, y/n. sleep well” jaemin hummed softly and walked away with the pet in his arms, scratching it’s head gently.

as much as you’d like to say that you warmed up to the cats it just wasn’t… very true. you just accepted their presence. you even refilled their bowls a couple of times or threw them a squeaky toy.

as long as they didn’t interfere with your personal space, you didn’t with theirs.

which you were glad for.

“i’m back! i have some leftover pizza if you’d like!” you yelled out, not even sure if he was home.

you went to leave the pizza in a safe space (you totally didn’t save it because you knew it was his favorite) and walked towards your room.

something was off - it was very quiet in the apartment. and… it smelled…

pushing the door open you saw lucy jump off your bed.

“what?” you grunted, noticing how the cat ran past you. before you realised the smell, you saw the source: cat urine.

on your uni project.

“no, you’ve got to be shitting me” your voice broke, walking up to the handmade material for a dress. it was certainly pissed on.

but how did the cat end up here? you closed the door to prevent exactly such thing from happening.

tears were falling from your eyes, feeling helpless.

lucy was peeking at you from behind the door cautiously. maybe she sneaked in before you left and then you accidentally locked her in? yeah, that’s the only possible reason.

but that doesn’t make the situation any better (or the cloth any less stinky)

“ew… y/n…”

you heard jaemin’s mocking voice but the moment you turned around and he saw your quivering lip, his face dropped.

“what happened?” jaemin asked, walking in.

“i… lucy peed on my dress… which was my project for tomorrow… i don’t know what to do…” whines and sobs ripped out of your chest. jaemin sighed, eyeing the situation.

the said cat meowed as if saying sorry.

then, you felt two warm arms wrapping around your shaking body.

“it’s going to be fine, i’ve dealt with this countless of times before” he said calmly, fingers caressing your hair “let me handle this”

you sobbed into his chest – maybe from the stress of relief – and jaemin continued to soothe you, his cat watching you two curiously.

this day was shitty as hell. it’s been two weeks since the pee accident and luckily you managed to save your project. and whereas that made your mood lighten up, today was just a bad day.

you lost $20, dropped your phone and cracked its screen, and on your way back home rain started pouring and soaked you completely.

the warmth of your place was nice and made you feel secure. the second you stepped inside, you broke down.

everything just snapped and you sat down on the floor, careless to the fact that all the water is pooling around you.

cries left your lips, tears mixing with the raindrops on your face.

suddenly, something warm and fluffy crawled on your lap.

at first you wanted to push it away but upon meeting luna’s blue eyes staring at you cutely, you didn’t. you let her stay, unsurely resting your hand and her head. when she purred, you took it as a sign to let her.

sobs mixing with purrs drew the other two, lucy snuggling next to you, pawing the material of your sweats, and luke staring at the scene.

the cats silently comforted you, it hit you.

because of that, you started crying even more; feeling bad about the way you treated them before.

the quiet sound of door opening fell deaf on your ears.

jaemin looked down and his heart warmed upon the scene. he was proud of his kids, they reacted the same way he would.

“i have some pizza, i figured you’d want some” he announced quietly and you nodded.

maybe that’s all you needed after all: cats and pizza.

masterlist <3

taglist. @l3visbby ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @planetkiimchi ,, @mon2sunjinsuver ,, @w3bqrl ,,

@eternalgyu ,, @haecien

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londonfog-chan · 1 day

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I Will Not Keep My Mouth Shut About this High School Romance Between Eddie Munson x Reader (Headcanons)

Why lord? Why are we not talking about this?

I’ve dated metalhead guys in the past, and believe in me when I say these fuckers move fast.

Eddie is no exception to this rule. He loves hard and quickly, especially if you’re into the same things he’s into as well.

I’m talking balls to the wall insanity like: the day won’t even be over and he’ll have already asked you out, kissed you, offered you weed, and secretly be planning the names of the four kids he wants with you.

Mans is delulu as fuck for you.

As much as he has his passions there’s just something about the fact that you actually gave the town freak unconditional love that makes him desperate. Corroded Coffin, Hellfire Club, he’d pick you over them any day if it meant he got to keep you.

Guarantee, you’ll already have gone all the way before the weekend is up of that first week of the relationship.

Cherry boy cherry boy cherry boy.

But he knows what he’s doing. It will have been awkward but the best part is now “Rainbow in the Dark” makes you feel all hot under the collar and “Shame on the Night” makes you laugh and reminds you of the awkward panic cleaning up after.

The epitome of live fast die young. He will throw his life away if you ask him to, so make sure you use your powers wisely.

At some point Eddie will ask you to run away with him. He doesn’t give a shit where, so long as it’s with you.

Shared interests are probably how the two of you met in the first place, especially if you’re like me and unable to beat the weird kid allegations. You drifted towards his club because you for whatever reason were an outcast too.

Eddie would probably crush on those who are conventionally pretty, popular, the epitome of the 80’s beauty standards. That’s just human nature. But with you… it’s so much more different.

You’re like his nerdy fantasies come to life, like the princesses he writes about in his campaigns that are a mix of dark, dangerous, able to hold their own and fight for him and with him. Think of if you will a sexy bombshell rotoscoped into those old metal music videos. Facing the world wearing only red lipstick and a cocksure expression.

He would get along so well with someone who wasn’t afraid to let their wild side show, or to express it. But at the same time if you’re more shy and reserved, he is determined to help you come out of that shell and be the best possible version of yourself.

It’s impossible not to match his excitable energy, it’s just so goddamn contagious. It might scare you how far you’re willing to go for Eddie and how quickly you might find yourself changing. Because believe me, you will change, and it will be for the better.

Eddie will always be your number one hype man.

He will literally be so excited about everything you do because it’s you! The person he loves more than anyone in this whole entire world.

Eddie will literally put up with so much for you. Even if you guys fight he will struggle to maintain his composure because he does not want to fuck this beautiful thing up.

Drives himself up the wall with anxiety about it too. But that’s the thing about Eddie’s dynamic with you: is that he will do what it takes to keep his fucking cool around you.

Your fights are infrequent but can get explosive if there are unsaid insecurities. So to avoid this: keep honest with him. About everything. Don’t lie to him, because as fast as he fell for you, lying is the quickest way to break his trust and send him packing.

One of his flaws in the relationship is that his insecurity that this will all go away will make him all that more prepared to leave if you have a massive blow up fight.

Like he’s already preplanned his exit strategy and everything.

But the longer you’re together, the more comfortable he gets and eventually he settles down from jumping the gun into taking things one day at a time.

He’s a fucking keeper. And all I’m gonna say is you better start training with swinging a blunt weapon because once you have him, you’re going to be right there in the Upside Down fucking up some monsters keeping them away from your man.

#reader insert #stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #help #I love him your honor #y’all will be on some delulu ass shit #I know I am #stranger things x reader #headcanon #headcanons #stranger things headcanons

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tocomplainfriend · 19 hours

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Oh no

TW - racism and Slavery, power dynamics

really meh. IDK why they went mecha with the cherubs. The energy of the fight and how much it lasted was really lacking. I'm annoyed still by the "GUYS STOLAS IS SO SAAAAAD" bullshit. Why is the thumbnail so bad? I thought it was fake.

There is not an understanding of classism or power dynamics or anything.

Blitz was right, Stolas is a privileged asshole that constantly reduced their relationship into something sexual and belittled blitz, in remarks of him as a lower / IMP. Stolas did a scenario where Blitz job depended on them having sex. The series is creating a scenario where Blitz needs to love Stolas back because Stolas is so UWU sad baby that 'loves' him.

The main reason i hated the re-write of Stolas and blitz meeting-is because is exactly this: (something I've been aware of for a while.)

This exact situation of white slave owners making the kids of their slaves play with their white kids (I originally got introduced to this idea for a long form criticism of the Princess and the frog Story from Disney). IDK why would you make a scenario where there is inequality to the imps and how they suffer racism- if you just want Stolas to be in the right and Blitz in the wrong

I do not care if Stolas is sad and his life (even tho better because he is rich and has a literal book that gives him powers, vs being an IMP that could die, suffer from property and any possible scenario they are exposed to- or be a slave servant to the richer people because they were born imps.) he doesn't get to freed from all his wrong doings. No matter how depressed he is, his power is still higher and over Blitz. And creating a terrible scenario for blitz or any Imp for that matter.

They are really going for the plot line of But Stolas is a good rich privileged person.

Also, a scenario where the discriminated x privileged... There is the direct connection to the "what about everyone else".

If a non discriminated against person with big power is not bigoted to the person, the one they fell in love with. Does only that one discriminated person get saved from their social situation? Does everybody else still suffers because they don't happen to be the one. But what if the privileged person still discriminates against those people, but not their "special one".

Also... if you get a scenario as the discriminated one where you get to be saved from your situation, that's fucked. This person loves you if you say yes to them then you don't have to deal with being poor and as oppressed by the system but only you! Your entire group of people lives in the same conditions as you... If you say no, then you'll go back to being oppressed. This person on power hold power over you still. How much can you wight in with your own problems and boundaries, if the other one can throw you away into your old way of living. Can you leave the relationship? If you leave, you can get all the things you did with the privileged person cause maybe they don't hate you for being from a certain minority group, but the system over all hasn't changed. Can your group of people only get better life conditions by loving the pre-existing group in power? Those that person even like you, or do they like the power they hold onto you? Or maybe they like your race for your race more than you as a person.

Just a thing in the writing of this kind of story.

Also, character can have flaws, but they need to be recognized as flaws in writing.

Stolas are constantly victimizing himself (just like any sad privileged asshole would). He can't take the fact that if blitz is angry at him is for a reason, because he doesn't see his treatment of his as a bad thing. Cause in Stoals pov he enjoyed having power over blitz and calling him an IMP and forcing his romanticized view of the situation on to him- But Blitz was pulling a fast one to get money, This rich guy who he got gifted to as a slave playmate now is holding his job over his head in exchanged for sex, the same guy constantly does sexual advances towards him even when he explicitly says he doesn't want that (remember all of Loo loo land episode?), he gets call plenty of imp based "petnames" (“My impish little play-thing”) from a guy that can literary buy imps as slaves any day, suddenly he has to reciprocate his romantic feelings because he is sad, and apparently he wanted something more even thought he made it entirely empty and sexual all this time.

Stolas fake apologized, got fairly screamed at and victimized himself.

And apparently calling him out is bad for Blitz to do? Victim blaming.

I think by the last episode, they are going to kick Stolas out of the castle, technically putting him in a similar social position to imps with nowhere to go. Even if it doesn't magically work that way. -and Stolas is going to be "more sad and more in the right, so Blitz has no ground to complain now, right!?" ...

The way all of this episode and series is written tries so hard to delete any negative feeling against systemic problems, classism related issues, etc. if it's against a character the series wants you to like. If it's Stolas then he did nothing wrong, the power dynamic doesn't exist... if it is Mammon then he is a terrible person holding his power over others' capitalism sucks... oh but not Stolas tho! If it is Ozzi there is no power dynamic over a disabled imp, constant searching for appreciation from someone he fells is above him (like he tried to get with Mammon, because Ozzie is a good highly privileged person. No bad things to look out for! Fuck capitalism, but I'm one of the good rich people, no criticism is possible!

All that bad stuff could that people in my position of power is awful! But I would, could never do that! Because I'm a good one! Hmm

If you don't see the problem here, you may be a problem or may be justifying something terrible.

Also, funny enough about the short of Millie and Sally... I can't believe you only get content of a female character AND MILLIE IN SPECIFIC in extra side content that Viv didn't even care enough to write herself... and also the short gave me nothing new about her, I got more for Sally (and finally something normal! More than a line and she gets to have a character).

I hope there is a better episode for her.

#vivziepop critical #hazbin hotel critical #vivziepop critique #helluva boss critical #helluva boss criticism #vivziepop criticism #hazbin hotel critique #helluva boss critique #hazbin hotel criticism #anti vivziepop #tw racism #tw slavery

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spacebarbarianweird · 21 hours

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Hi, wondering if you could do some dadstarion headcanons for a half-elf child, since I see quite a few for astarion with an elven child. I was wondering how he would deal with a half-elf child as they are known having the free-spirted and chaotic energy whilst having a sense of wanderlust, I picture astarion trying to stop them from running off at times, or not.

Oh, doing a half-elven kid would be fun! In case you want to read about an elven kid, I am currently writing a series about Astarion's elf daughter Alethaine

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion's half-elf child

You are a human and you can't wait for decades till Astarion is ready to settle down.

You have ten years, fifteen, maybe twenty, but not a year more of active life ahead.

Astarion understands that, too, but what he also understands he can't settle down now.

You break up ten years into the relationship and your ways part.

As an innkeeper, you gather all kinds of strange folk under your roof but you can't find anyone who you want to share a bed with.

Not until...

Someone familiar shows up.

You barely recognize Astarion, thinking, it's just another Moon Elf. They all look the same especially when they have long hair.

"Hello, darling."

You stare at him in disbelief.

He isn't a vampire anymore.

Green eyes, long silver hair. Mortal.

He tells you all sorts of things that happened to him. He found his family and his home, and he was saved from the curse and resurrected.

And then he spent years searching for you.

He will overlive you anyway. You have a few decades but he will keep living his long elven life after your death but somehow it feels less terrible now when he can walk in the sun.

You soon get pregnant - bless or curse be the human fertility.

The half-elf baby stuck between two worlds, is born almost without pain as she is just way smaller than a human would be.

The tavern and its yard soon became her playground. She is curious like a human and has an innate wanderlust as an elf. Sometimes she just goes missing only to be found in the next village.

Astarion's elven family loves her but there is always sadness about her.

She will die.

Astarion will see her death even if she lives till the ripe old age. If she has kids of her own with another human, they will all wither and die in front of their elven eyes.

Astarion tries not to think about it. He has never learned to think about the future.

The girl becomes a professional adventurer and leaves her human village. Astarion stays with you till your days end and buries you, feeling sorry only about those ten years he was away.

Then he leaves and returns to Evereska to his elven family.

Your daughter wanders the world - always ending up at her father's, ready to tell new stories and share new experiences.

Astarion notices the indication of her own aging and knows his daughter's time is also coming sooner or later.

But he tries not to think about it.

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agirlwithglam · 1 day

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becoming selfish is the best thing i ever did.

✧*. * · ~ thewizardliz 💖🕯

youtube

💖 stop going into arguments with people who are not willing to listen. it is completely useless. if your boundaries were crossed, and the other person is not willing to say "im sorry for doing that, i won't do it again", then conversation over. its done. its not worth your time or energy.

🕯prioritise your own needs and wants. fill your own cup! are you okay? are you whole? if you don't want to do something, dont do it. whatever you want, comes first.

💖 stop being always available and trying to save everyone. if you keep on being there for people- again and again and again, you are letting people use you. people will only reach out to you if they have problems or they need help. but what about when everything is going good? then what? do they come to you? you are showing them that they can always come to you and you will always be there but that shouldn't be the case. be able to say "i dont want to listen to your problems today. i have enough of my own problems and goals to worry about." the only reason they come is because YOU allow them to come.

you ask yourself why does anyone not make sure i am ok? thats because YOU do not make sure you're okay. remember that you cannot save everyone. IT IS NOT YOUR JOB TO SAVE EVERYONE.

🕯sometimes god gives you situations so you can grow. also if you are constantly trying to step in for God to help and save everyone, you may also be sabotaging God's plan. people give certain problems/ situations in their life because God gives it to them so they can grow wiser and better! why are you trying to save them? its not your responsibility.

💖 be okay with people misunderstanding you. if you have a goal or a dream in your life, NOT EVERYONE IS GOING TO UNDERSTAND YOU. people come from different households, religions, schools, etc. they will not understand you or have the same mindset/ heart as you. be OKAY with people not understanding you. they are not you.

"oh why did they hurt me/ treat me like that, i would never do that to them" honey, they're not you. they don't have the same personality or heart as you. if you're constantly gonna go through life thinking that everyone has the same heart as you, you will be hurt. i have done that so often thinking that i'm a good friend to them so they will do the same back, its not always true. you will be hurt. people are just different. and thats okay! let them be.

🕯realise that you can only change yourself. stop trying to change people. they will not change unless they are willing to. our human nature is comfort- humans love comfort. in order to change, it takes going through discomfort. it takes strength. some people are completely oblivious to themselves- they think that everything is perfect and nothing is wrong with them, etc. and yk what? let them be. you cannot change them. but you can change yourself. and if you do not want to change, you're not going to change. no one can force you to change unless you want to. by trying to change others and help them become their best version, you're wasting your energy to become YOUR best version and to create your dream life!

💖 stop needing people to validate your self worth. "i dont need anyone to tell me how good i am. i dont need anyone to tell me how beautiful i am or smart i am. because i see those qualities in myself already." KNOW who you are. if you get a compliment, say thankyou, be grateful. but don't crave it. be okay with not receiving it and not needing it because you already know that you're all that. if you need that compliment or words from other people, then they are basically in charge of you because their opinion can change your reality entirely and shake you. when YOU are the one that always creates your own reality! be strong in your ownself otherwise you'll be like their little puppet. know that you know what? im amazing. i've been through so much stuff in life but i'm still coming out strong and i'm still standing.

🕯treat yourself as your own best friend. talk to yourself! in her video, liz said that she talks to herself before bed and tells herself about her day. (for that i recommend videoing yourself! its so much fun) or when she's stressed she says to herself why are you feeling stressed? what exactly are you feeling? and then she tells herself and talks to herself. BE YOUR OWN BEST FRIEND. hype yourself up in your mind! comfort yourself, have a conversation, etc. give the advice to yourself. go on dates with yourself, hug yourself, love yourself.

💖 less chasing, more attracting. being feminine basically means letting it flow and go. being calm and at peace. being relaxed because you know that you attract all your blessings. when you're not desperately looking for things, or chasing after things, then your whole. your energy is whole. when the energy of desperation is gone, then you can attract everything you want into your life.

🕯only add great people to your life. make sure that whoever you date, are friends with, hang around- they need to add value to your life. its not only in terms of money, its also in terms of are you making me happy? are you reciprocating my energy? people that are always negative or always complaining, do not allow them into your life. do not be friends with people who are being miserable then complain about being miserable but don't do anything about it.

💖 stop seeking other people's permission to do whats best for you. you don't need someone to say "you can do it!" because you know you can. be independent- liz doesn't need to ask anyone for money because she is already making her own money. she is doing everything for herself. she has everything she need to support herself and people she loves.

like how cocky are you to think that you know be better than i know myself? lol. you have not been through what i have been through. you have not lived my life and yet you're here deciding whats good for me and what i should be doing? um, no thanks! xoxo.

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hausofneptune · 2 days

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songs that give me the same energy as these aspects/placements — alt. edition [4]

[astro notes no. 016]

༊*·˚ ˗ saturn square neptune (synastry) | granite — sleep token

when you sit there acting like you know me acting like you only brought me here to get below me never mind the death threats, parting at the door we’d rather be six feet under than be lonely and if you had a problem, then you should've told me before you started getting all aggressive and controlling you only drink the water when you think it's holy so keep an eye on the road or we will both be here forever

— this is an aspect that can signify a fair amount of tumultuous energy within a connection. specifically, there tends to be a clash between the neptunian's free-flowing, romanticized outlook on life, and the saturnian's rational, accountable approach. there can be a great level of idealization of this relationship, usually on behalf of neptune. neither party here can really “see” the other for who they really are. what saturn sees in neptune is potential, which isn’t inherently negative on the surface, but it begins to fester into frustration, as saturn solely views neptune from a place of what it is that they want them to be, instead of who they truly are. as a result, neptune can begin to feel confined by saturn, and potentially even ashamed of their true nature and identity.

— ultimately, working through an aspect like this requires effort and compromise on behalf of both partners. neptune will have to learn to approach the relationship with a grounded perspective, and grow to maintain balance between their heart and their head. saturn on the other hand, has to learn to be more considerate of neptune’s feelings, and guide them from a place of love and understanding instead of control. these two usually will feel very indebted to one another, and that energy paired with a more “evolved” approach from both parties can make for a long-lasting connection where the two learn a lot about one another, and more importantly, themselves.

༊*·˚ ˗ aries or scorpio in big three / mars as the chart ruler | killpop — slipknot

her canvas doesn't leave a lot to fantasy but her peace of mind can't stay inside the lines it's so confusing, the methods that she's using she knows she shouldn't leave a mark that i can see will she ever find one million of a kind? it’s cold and lonely, but that's because she told me lost inside her dirty world no one hurts this pretty girl but her

— those with prominent mars energy in their chart tend to be defined by their intense, passionate nature. these natives have an insatiable flame that burns within them, and that energy generates a “heat” that doesn’t go unnoticed by those around them. they’re also extremely dedicated to attaining their desires by any means necessary, and while this can be a beneficial characteristic, it is possible for the more malefic side of mars to kick in and push these natives to a point of self-destruction. their risky, impulsive nature can at times back fire on them, and may even influence an attitude of “i’d rather be the one doing the burning, rather than be the one getting burned”, even if it means burning themselves in the process.

— this is an attitude i see with more unevolved scorpio placements, due to their fixed modality they tend to harbor resentment that can at times fester into this tendency to view life through the lens of past, painful experiences. and not to make this point about an entirely different song (lmao), but it also makes me think of the line from SZA’s Seek & Destroy where she says “now that i ruined everything i’m so fucking free”. there’s a level of control that martian people can find in the more “destructive” sides of themselves, and this destruction can also manifest in a literal sense, as people with mars aspecting the ascendant specifically can have prominent scars on their bodies or encounter injuries more frequently than the average person. although, mars’ influence tends to speed up the recovery for any ailments they have, and grants them a high amount of stamina as well.

༊*·˚ ˗ venus in virgo or pisces (composite) / venus in the 5H (synastry) | my understandings — of mice & men

i don't mind it, i don't mind if you're overrated or if you're staring at the edge of the world keep in mind that i’m a sore eye with blurry vision but i can see it has to be your love that i’ve been dreaming of and if we climb this high, i swear we'll never die

— when venus is in virgo or pisces in the composite chart, there’s usually a intense dedication that both parties have to the relationship and to one another. while virgo and pisces are opposing signs, i personally find that they can be similar in the ways in which they show up in love. these are two signs that are defined by their inclination to be of service to their partners, they have the capacity to see things in their loved one that others may not see and their partner themselves may not be able to see. where they tend to differ, though, is their practicality. both virgo and pisces are mutable signs, but virgo's mutable energy manifests in more of a precise way. venus in virgo in the composite indicates love that is expressed by more tactful means, it's a love that says "i see your potential, i see your worth, let's grow and evolve together". whereas venus in pisces in the composite is more spiritual in nature, and says, "i will meet you wherever you are, i will shape myself into the person that you need most in order to get us where we both need to be".

— i touched on venus in the 5H synastry in my last synastry / composite astro notes post, but i bring this placement up in relation to this song because it's also indicative of this sense of seeing one's partner through rose-colored lenses. the "potential" that these two see in one another has more to do with their shared creative interests, especially on behalf of the venus person. venus tends to be very dedicated to the 5H, and will typically "idolize" them due to their admiration for their talents and artistic vision. this is a placement where discretion is needed, as their can be a tendency for one or both parties to approach the relationship from two completely different standpoints at times.

༊*·˚ ˗ pluto in the 10H / pluto aspecting midheaven | frances farmer will have her revenge on seattle — nirvana

in her false witness, hope you're still with us to see if they float or drown our favorite patient, a display of patience disease-covered puget sound she'll come back as fire to burn all the liars leave a blanket of ash on the ground i miss the comfort in bein' sad i miss the comfort in bein' sad i miss the comfort in bein' sad

— while these placements can be indicative of an intense determination in relation to one's career and public affairs, it is also very possible for this to manifest as someone who is viewed as polarizing by the public. and i do want to note that i'm not at all trying to trivialize what frances farmer or kurt cobain went though, but it is worth acknowledging the fact that frances farmer had pluto in her 10H, and kurt cobain had pluto square his MC. these are placements/aspects that can signify someone who tends to be extremely ambitious in their approach to their professional life, and despite the hardships they can face on their journeys, they ultimately tend to have a long-lasting impact on the public.

— i find that people with pluto in their 10H / aspecting the midheaven are typically more renowned and celebrated in death, but while they're alive they're often unappreciated or even hated. these natives may find themselves subjected to scrutiny, mischaracterization, and even abuse by the public. the lives of both frances farmer and kurt cobain are very much indicative of that. we view frances farmer in present time as a victim, and we view what she went through as a horrific tragedy, but while she was a live she was nothing more than a hysterical, misbehaved woman who deserved what she was put through. whereas with kurt cobain, every facet of his life and identity was picked apart. he's now viewed as an icon, and specifically a figure who inspired an entire generation, which is ironic because he quite literally never wanted to carry the weight that came alongside that, and it was ultimately one of the things that arguably led to his own demise.

༊*·˚ ˗ saturn aspecting IC (synastry) / ruler of the 2H in the 7H (composite) | million dollar houses (the painter) — pierce the veil

would you ever try to leave me for somebody who deserves you most? 'cause darlin’ i am just a painter i’m painting houses for the rich old folks i’m gonna make a million dollars 'cause nobody's gonna steal you, no for diamonds and gold, for diamonds and gold ‘cause i’ve broken bones for you, and for you only i make money but we just can't keep this home give me your heart and your hand and we can run

— with these aspects/placements, matters of physical security play a significant role within the relationship. with saturn aspecting the IC (square or opposite specifically), one or both partners here can struggle with feelings of anxiety in regards to maintaining a stable foundation with one another. these feelings could stem from their own personal experiences growing up, as one or both parties may have grown up impoverished or with less than others in some capacity. this can also indicate a domestic life marked by feelings of restriction or inadequacy, both in terms of their personal lives and the life that they've curated with one another. one or both partners may feel as though they cannot meet the demands of the other, and it can trigger feelings that are reminiscent of what they experienced in childhood.

— having the ruler of the 2H in the 7H in the composite (or saturn trine, sextile, or conjunct the IC) can manifest in less strenuous ways. while the significance of material security is still present in the relationship, it can show up as both partners maintaining a balanced, similar approach to finances and stability. both partners usually approach the relationship with an innate, grounded understanding of their own personal relationship to money and their own material possessions, which allows for ease in navigating these matters with their partner. the ruler of the 2H in the 7H in the composite can also indicate financial gain through their partnership, especially if the planetary ruler is a benefic like venus or jupiter. it can also indicate a pair that is very protective of one another, and at times difficulties surrounding possessiveness, depending on the full context of the composite chart.

༊*·˚ ˗ sun / moon in the 12H | sleepwalking — bring me the horizon

i’m at the edge of the world shere do I go from here, do i disappear? edge of the world should i sink or swim, or simply disappear? your eyes are swallowing me mirrors start to whisper, shadows start to sing my skin's smothering me help me find a way to breathe time stood still the way it did before it’s like i’m sleepwalking

— having the sun or moon in the house of self-undoing is absolutely not for the weak lmao. people with these placements struggle to navigate life or express themselves the way that the rest of us do because they are quite literally on a completely different plane of existence than us. the 12H is the house of "death", both literally and figuratively, and people who have these placements (specifically sun in the 12H) are here not only to aid others through the transitional, spiritual experience that is death, but they have to walk themselves through that experience as well, over and over and over again. these are placements that may experience multiple rebirths or "ego deaths" throughout their journey, and it can definitely take a toll on them mentally, spiritually, emotionally, and even physically.

— this is why it benefits these natives to have some form of a spiritual or religious practice that keeps them grounded and focused. otherwise, they can begin to harbor pain and resentment, that ultimately leads them to work against themselves. at their lowest, these natives can feel as though they're not actually really "here", it may feel like they're walking through life without actually existing, in a sense. these are usually themes that these natives experience more so in youth, but with age and growth, they do eventually in time find their purpose and are able to maintain meaningful, flourishing connections with others, but most importantly, with themselves.

disclaimers | masterlist | ask

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artdcnaldson · 1 day

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🌝 and if i speak about how i’d sell my soul for patrick zweig to come home after a long day of practice all sweaty and his bones aching!! and how i’d be like get your stinky ass in the shower but yet i’m on my knees blowing him while we’re in there!!! and then if i say that it would kinda be the dream if he teased during said blow job - “c’mon i waited all day and you’re not even gonna gonna take it all” “baby you can do better” “hold still let me just use your throat”

what would happen if i said all that!

If you said all that I may have to be inclined to agree <3

Because he loves when you act like you’re not absolutely aching for it. When you push his face away when he moves in to give you a sloppy kiss, simultaneously bone tired and keyed up and needing an outlet. His shirt is somewhere on the floor of the hotel room, his clothes like a breadcrumb trail leading to your spot in the center of the bed, his favorite toy to work out all of his pent up energy.

“I’m not fucking you until you shower.” You tell him firmly. And you’re not lying, technically. But if you join him in the shower, sinking to your knees, that’s fair game.

And he thinks you look so pretty on your knees like that— the tepid water pressure trickles down your face, plastering your hair to the sides of your face, mascara starting to run in fat black streaks down your cheeks. Tongue on the underside of his cock, tracing the long line of him up to his tip.

He relishes in your hunger, the way you can’t hide just how badly you want to be a willing hole for him to fill. He pushes his tip between your plush, inviting lips, watches your eyes widen in disappointment when he pulls out and slaps his cock against your cheek.

“Ah— clean me up first.” You make a face, something between annoyance and arousal, but you give in so easily. He groans as you stick out your tongue, lapping at him with soft kitten-licks. His fingers tangle in your hair, the pressure stinging as you make out with his cock. “Atta girl.”

Patrick likes making you wait— likes that desperate look in your eyes when you’re yearning for him to give in. Your lips are spit-slick and pretty as they move to his balls, laving them with the same attention you showed his dick.

And you look so pathetic, on your knees with a hand between your thighs playing with yourself. Getting off on him claiming your mouth. He’d take a picture, if his piece of shit phone wouldn’t die out at a single drop of water.

He takes pity on you, only after his desire to be buried in your mouth turns into more of an ache. His thumb pulls your bottom lip down, making you open wide for him. You stick your tongue out and swallow him down like a good little toy.

It feels perfect— he’d certainly trained you to take it the way he liked, but he couldn’t ignore the urge to be an asshole.

“C’mon, baby—“ the hand fisted in your hair tugs and your whimper vibrates around his length. “Like you mean it.”

Drool drips stringy from your lips, making a mess of your chin, making a mess of him. A firm hand on the back of your head urges you further, to take him deeper and deeper. Your throat constricts around the shape of him, your nose, pressed into the thatch of curls at the base of him, eyes going watery and glossy as he stills there.

You squirm, trying to pull back, catch your breath. He holds you there and you gag slightly as the head of his cock bullies the back of your throat. Fresh tears spill down your cheeks, and he takes pity— pulling you off of him and relishing in the way your chest heaves with each desperate breath.

“Look at you getting off on it.” Shame and arousal floods you in equal measure, because he’s right. Even as he uses you as nothing more than a warm, wet hole, you’re aching for more. You want to be useful, to be a nice little reward for him. “Open up and look pretty for me.”

And you do. Tongue out, mouth open and inviting. He goes slow, at first, letting you get used to the feeling of your throat being used. You look up at him, fingers moving faster between your thighs. You want this. You want more.

You’re moaning and gagging around him, eyes rolling back as you chased your own finish. You loved when he got like this— when he used you for his own release. You’d never admit it to him, not verbally, at least, but he could read you well enough. He watches you tense and tremble beneath him, bucking against your own fingers. Feels you moan around him, and knows he’s fucking done for.

He pulls out of your throat and jerks himself off while you kneel beneath him, tongue out, waiting for it.

He really needs a new phone, he decides.He’d take a picture of you now, face painted in thick spurts of cum, lips swollen and smiling up at him as if to say ‘thank you, Patrick.’

Thank u for readingggg <3

#my writing #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig

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gojonanami · 3 hours

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thinking about reader chewing out the higher ups in a meeting and then going apeshit on them over how they treat gojo while satoru is just sitting down in the corner enjoying the shitshow like

'hmm... why does this give me a boner? :)'

hes disgusting 😮‍💨

but he deserves to be stood up for

The door bursts open, the candle wicks crackle falling silent as you extinguish them, just as you plan to do to the elders.

And for once, the ancient beings weren’t scared of the monster that was your husband behind you, but the one in front of them.

“I heard you had decided to take issue with my husband’s defense of his students,” your voice was quiet, but deadly — yes, you weren’t as powerful as your husband, but it didn’t mean you could snuff out each of these men as easily as a candle’s flame.

“Sweetheart—“ Satoru says, a chuckle in his voice, “you don’t have—“ and you’re cutting off his sentence with a glare, rest of his sentence stuck in his throat before he swallows it with a smile, “I’ll wait outside for you, Princess,” throwing a wide grin to the elders, “I’ll be waiting.”

“You dare to take that man’s name in vain when he has done you the favor of letting you live as long as you have—“

“You insolent—“ and the air is sucked from the room, your cursed energy taking its place — and it’s a warning, a warning to stay silent until you’re done speaking.

“He has done nothing but raise up the next generation, and all of you have done nothing but antagonize and endanger every sorcerer,” and your fingers curl into fists, “and you have the audacity to call my husband a liability, a monster,” and you give a terse chuckle, your eyes glow, not with the warmth they did when you smiled at your husband, but with the rage and fury you would always defend him with, “you don’t know what a monster is,” and your cursed energy emits in larger waves, as your lips curl, “but I’d be happy to show you.”

“You didn’t have to pull me out of there,” you pouted, as Satoru had a firm arm around your waist, “it wasn’t like I’d actually kill them,” you left off the ‘yet’ though you know your husband felt the same.

“I know, I know you wouldn’t allow me to miss that, sweetheart,” and your brow furrows, as you continue to walk, until finally reaching the exit, his lips curled in a wide grin.

“Then why—“ and he’s pressing a hard kiss to your lips, a gasp he eagerly swallows with glee, as his fingers grasp at the nape of your neck, his tongue sliding against the seam of your lips.

And he finally pulls away, your pants filling the silence, as he steps forward to press himself against you — your eyes widen — all of him.

“Seeing you like that, do you know how hard you made me sweetheart?” And you’re snorting, but he’s dragging his thumb over your lips, “I love you,” and his voice softens as his gaze does, because he knows you love him — not as the strongest — but as Satoru Gojo.

“I love you too.”

#sab [asks]#sab [anons]#sab [mlist]#I had to write this #satoru gojo x reader #sab [nsfw asks]

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the-great-fusilli · 2 days

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I’m all for delusion and shipping characters that don’t canonically end up together BUT… I will never get behind Zutara.

Maybe it’s because I don’t take colonization and eithnic clensing lightly, or maybe it’s because I disagree with the “Katara is like Aang’s mom” statement. Either way they should not be end game. People often bring up how Zuko helped Katara release a lot of pent up emotions concerning her mother’s death and who killed her, but the Fire Nation (his people) were responsible for that death. And up until that specific arc Zuko was upholding the beliefs of those people.

“Zuko doesn’t need Katara to be his mother like Aang and the rest of the group do, they’re on equal footing.” Except Aang and the rest of the group don’t need Katara to be mother either. People just view Katara as a maternal character because of her personality and that’s the only role they’ll acknowledge her having in the group. Katara’s mother showed her a love so deep and protective that she died so Katara could live, so of course the trauma of losing her mother in that way at such a young age would cause her to take on the role her mother had. Whether it be because of obligation, or simply because that’s all she knew.

Aang and the other characters have also experienced a lot of trauma, but Aang was raised by monks. He doesn’t need a mother figure because he’s never experienced gender roles in the way the other characters have. His idea of a family is being shaped as the show progresses because aside form Monk Gyatso, they are the first family he’s had. He’s curious, fun-loving and light hearted because that’s how Monk Gyatso raised him to be, not because he’s an irresponsible little 12 yr old without a mother. His people were eradicated, so Katara doesn’t raise Aang she guides him through grieving the loss of his people. A loss she knows all too well.

Toph is blind and her family is overly protective. They don’t give her the space or freedom to be her own person or earth bend. Another experience that Katara knows all too well. Her grandmother never let her leave the southern water tribe or water bend so she gives Toph the same thing she gives Aang. Sokka is Katara’s brother… he also experienced the loss of their mother except Sokka is a boy. He’s been made painfully aware of gender roles because he watched their father leave to fight in the war instead of staying to help him and Katara. He decided he needed to be more like his Father instead of his mother. So all the responsibility of taking care of the both of them fell on Katara.

Katara and Zuko are not on “equal footing” before he leaves the Fire Nation. He’s a prince from the Nation that has been inflicting pain on her family, her people and the world for 100 years…(he literally calls my good sis “water tribe peasant” meaning at some point he believed she was inferior because he had royal blood.) He has changed now of course and I love both Zuko and Katara, but them being end game makes no sense to me.

Aang and Katara to me are like 2 halves that make a whole. I’ve believed they were soulmates since the moment she broke him out of that Iceberg. She felt a higher calling, not only to be a water bender fighting for her people, but also to be apart of something bigger than herself and have the freedom to do so. It is not a coincidence that in the moment where she feels her biggest emotions and showcase her strongest bending at that time in her life, she broke THE Avatar out of an iceberg he had been in for 100 years. It was FATE. Katara helps Aang grieve, gives him a family, teaches him water bending and teaches him that the world may be counting on him, but the amount of death and pain he sees is not his fault. Aang helps Katara finally step into her full potential, he gives her the things she’s been longing for… freedom, fun, a chance to master water bending and put an end to the war. Some of Aang’s own words were “Why would i choose cosmic energy over Katara?” He had an opportunity to master the avatar state land directly in his lap, but instead he chose her.

IM TEAM KAANG TIL I DIE

Also I think personality wise Zuko and Katara are too much alike for my liking. They’re both sassy as hell, sarcastic, stubborn momma’s babies, who resent their fathers a lil and went through hell for a couple years because of their siblings (+ losing their moms.) In some ways they ARE opposites (especially their bending & colors,) and i agree they have character development arcs that fit together like puzzle pieces…BUT they are more alike than they are opposite. I don’t have a problem with people who just like to see them together but pls stop with the justifications bc no.

#katara #avatar aang #aang #atla #kaang #zuko #prince zuko #toph beifong #atla sokka #avatar the last airbender #ships

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gobblinggojo · 2 days

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Fortnight

Yuta Okkotsu x Reader

Warnings: Lyrics used at some point, Angst, Cursing, Reader is described gender-neutral,, Reader was sent to a mental asylum by their parents due to their cursed energy which has caused trauma, Past-trauma mentioned, Manga chapter 261 Spoilers, Blood and death mentioned.

ੈ✩‧₊ The Tortured Poets Department Masterlist˚⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

“I touched you,

For only a fortnight

(I touched you)

But I touched you.”

This was not how any of it was supposed to go. When you first came to Tokyo Jujutsu High, as a first year, you were welcomed with warm, open arms. A complete and utter drastic difference from your home life.

As a child, you always knew that you were different, You could always see the monsters that your family could not see. For as long as you can remember, you can always remember waking up to the monster in your closet, only to be shaken off by your mother and father as it just being your imagination. You remember distinctly the sounds of your cries as you wailed for your mama and papa to save you. The very same cries you were letting out at this very moment, hoping–praying for Yuta to be okay.

Too many people in your life have either left, or been killed due to the agonizing evil in this world. Nobara, Nanami, Gojo-Sensei, …Megumi. So many you have loved and cherished as if they were your very own family.

From the very first moment you were abandoned by your mother and father at the age of ten in that wretched asylum, you knew that you had absolutely nobody. You could still remember the numerous tests and the various blood-work and psychiatric treatment you were put through. The shock therapy, the injections, so much trauma that you, as a child, had to endure.

When Gojo-Sensei came, a boy with midnight black hair by his side, you had finally been saved–seen, and saved.

“You–Y/n, have a gift. And I promise you, that with my guidance, and the love of your peers, you are going to be just fine. ‘Kay?”

Gojo-Sensei’s words are often replayed over and over again in your head throughout the few short years you have been at Jujutsu High. You felt comfort in them, because in all honesty, Gojo-Sensei was right. With his guidance, and the love you often felt from your peers, you were okay. You were perfectly, and utterly fine.

Truly, everything was going so, so amazing in your life.

So, why did it all have to change now?

“I wanna kill him..”

Your words came out in strained sobs as you sat at the medical bedside of Yuta Okkotsu. Shoko stood right above him, scalpel in hand as she worked ever-so-carefully as she removed Yuta;s brain from his head. By his left side, Gojo-Sensei lay, head cut right open, and brain gone.

Even in death, Gojo-Sensei was nothing but a puppet for the jujutsu world.

And so was Yuta. Your Yuta.

“I think we all want to kill him, Y/n,” Shoko’s voice was soft as she spoke, continuing her diligent work of art as she wiped a bit of blood away from dripping down Yuta’s head.

The male lay unconscious by you, hand loosely in your own grasp as he lay limp, awaiting to use Kenjaku’s cursed technique inside of Gojo-Sensei in order to stop the raging battle between Sukuna and the Jujutsu world.

“He has taken everything away, Shoko…Nobara, Megumi…Gojo-Sensei…My Yuta..” Tears began to well up once more, slowly dripping down your face as you stared sadly at what was becoming of your lover.

Shoko pressed her lips together in a frown, her gloved hands carefully continuing to cut open Yuta’s head to get to his brain. Her brown eyes moved at one point, gazing right at you with a look of complete and utter pity. “I know, Y/n.”

It was silent for a few more minutes as Shoko carefully extracted Yuta’s brain from his head. It made you completely and utterly sick; seeing your lover there in that state. You wanted to throw up as you watched Shoko set his brain down on a medical table before she turned towards Gojo’s own body, beginning to prepare it for Yuta’s brain.

“Yuta and I were only together for two weeks, Shoko….He called it a fortnight..” You chuckled sadly, remembering Yuta as he spoke to Gojo-Sensei with such excitement when Gojo-Sensei had returned.

“I finally worked up the courage to ask Y/n to be mine, Gojo-Sensei..” His shy smile, accompanied by that little blush of his as he scratched the back of his neck warmed your heart.

“No kidding! Look at you Okkotsu, finally taking what's yours!” Gojo’s voice boomed loudly as he chuckled at his students' pride. “How long have ya been together? Don’t tell me I’ve missed a whole year!”

“We’ve been together for a fortnight..”

Shoko let out a sad chuckle, moving her head to gaze at you as she smiled pitifully once more. “Gojo always knew that something would happen between you and Okkotsu..” You watched as hands covered in latex carefully grabbed the bloodied organ off of the medical table. Shoko turned her back away, carefully placing Yuta’s brain inside of Gojo’s head, before she began to get to work stitching up the puppet.

“...Will Yuta come back?” Your voice shook as you asked the dreaded question that you already knew the answer to. There was no way that Yuta would be coming back. He only had five whole minutes before the cursed energy would leave him, leaving both himself, and Gojo-Sensei dead.

“I don’t think he will come back, Y/n.”

Shoko’s words were straight to the point, not wanting to lie to you and get your hopes up. However, you wished that she would have lied to you. The feeling of your heart sinking deeper into your chest hurts. It hurts so bad.

You could feel the salty trail of tears slowly drip down your face, falling right onto Yuta’s hand that you held as you stared hopelessly at the love of your life.

“I touched him for only a fortnight, Shoko…How is that fair?” You cried out, moving to stand up as you let go of Yuta’s hand. Your face was red as you wiped furiously at the tears that continued to come out of your face. “How is that fair?!” Your voice cried as you screamed in Shoko’s direction, heart beating quickly as you wiped Yuta’s blood off of his face.

No reply. Shoko stayed silent as she continued to work on stitching up Gojo, her brows knitted together as she completely shook off your breakdown.

And I love you.

It’s ruining my life.

I love you, it's ruining my life.

I touched you.

For only a fortnight.

I touched you.

But I touched you.

Those words replayed over and over again inside of your head, like a mantra that you had known forever. Tears continued to crash down as you turned, rushing out of the medical room as you cried. Cried for your parents, cried for Gojo-Sensei, for Nobara, for Megumi…but most of all, for the loss of your lover–Yuta.

This just was not fair, nothing was fair.

Your eyes roamed the destruction outside of the medical room; sobs continued to escape your lips as you looked for at least a place to sit and calm yourself. None of this was fair.

You continued to walk around the destroyed property of Jujutsu high, face red, eyes burning as you continued to cry, and, and cry.

“It’s not fair..” You spoke to no one in particular as you fell to your knees under one of the many trees outside; one of the few that was not destroyed during Sukuna’s rampage. Your heart continued to beat, soft sobs leaving your lips as you stared down at the ground, hands gripping the ends of your uniform as you cried.

“Gojo-Sensei–” You cried out the name of your teacher as you looked up to the sky, eyes narrowed as if you were trying to curse your deceased instructor with just a look into the sky. “You should have just kept me there–at the asylum. I never wanted to ever get this attached to anybody again..Nobody.” You let out another pitiful sob as you wiped helplessly at your eyes, trying so hard to get rid of the oncoming rush of tears that just would not stop.

“I want to kill him so bad..” Your bottom lip trembled as you let your hands drop to your lap, sobbing once more as you slammed your head back into the trunk of the tree.

“Loving Yuta was the worst decision of my life…Loving you is ruining my life, Yuta!” You screamed up to the sky, face beet red as you continued to scream and cry at the realization that you truly lost the love of your life forever.

There was absolutely nothing that Yuta could do to fix this–to come back and continue to love and protect you.

His arms encircled your waist as he held you close in the vision of your memory; his warm breath tickling your neck as he pressed a kiss to it. “I’m so happy I finally have you now, Y/n..” He let out a shy chuckle.

“I’m happy we both just finally found the courage to confess…I really missed you while you were gone, Yuta..” You let out a breathless giggle as he pressed another kiss to your neck, before moving to press one to your cheek, then your forehead–and finally your lips.

“You have no idea how happy you make me..”

“I feel like I finally have someone to live for.”

“I love you, Y/n.”

“I will never, ever leave you in this cursed world. I will forever protect you, okay?”

I love you…

I love you..

I love you.

Yuta Okkotsu, forever loving you is ruining my life.

Tag List:

@athensflower

@blendingcaramal

#okkotsu yuta #yuta x reader #jjk x reader #reader #yuuta x reader #jjk yuta okkotsu #yuta x reader angst #jjk angst #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #yuta okkotsu x reader fluff #yuta okkotsu x reader #yuta x reader jjk #jjk yuta #jujutsu kaisen angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader angst #Spotify

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respectthepetty · 14 hours

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Pride Petty Watch - LiTA (Rain/Payu) 1

Because I'm petty, I had the crowd pick which blacklisted shows I would watch for the month of Pride. I had planned to space them out more, but due to wacky weather over here (tornadoes, thunderstorms, softball-sized hail, and flash flooding), I had plenty of time to binge watch the first show, Love in the Air, which perfectly aligns with my real life theme of stormy weather, so I'm posting my random thoughts in five parts, two for each couple and the special episode.

I'm seated, I'm watching, and I'm being petty.

It starts at "2:00 AM" - Oh no. Nothing could happens at 2 in the morning, and the time just keeps going. This event isn't even going to begin until 3 AM?! Take me home, NOW! I don't care how fine these men are. I'm stopping for mini churros at Jack in the Box on the way home and going to bed. I'M OUT!

I've seen plenty of pictures of Boss in the past two years, but I still lost my breath a bit when he took off his mask because he was looking delicious in the rain.

RAIN WANTS A GIRL?!

Out of everything I saw about this show, NOBODY mentioned that Rain was trying to get a girl. I'm shook. That's a huge part of the plot I never saw mentioned. There were rumors of the actor (Noeul) being with Milk (of MilkLove), and I saw more of THAT in connection to this show than about him liking a girl within it. Where are y'alls priorities?! *looks at Tonnam and breathes deeply*

Payu's room is IN the garage? But what about the fumes? What about the noise? What about a good work/life balance?!

😬😬😬

I don't care if this boy is snuggling in his sleep, Payu is on my shit list! Instead of being like "oh, I misunderstood the signals," he pushed harder then got upset. Even if Rain secretly does want him, I need a verbalization. This is the end of the first episode, and I'm mad as hell at a bisexual on the first day of Pride. Damn.

Start of episode two and I know Rain's voiceovers are there to make me not be upset at Payu, but . . . I'm pissed at this man! He did all of that work, said it was free, but now there is "another" charge, then he shows up at this boy's school when he could've just talked to him at the shop, and feels him up in the bathroom stall. I am BIG mad!

I will admit, this is hot. Still very mad at my fellow bisexual for him saying he wasn't trying to force himself on Rain (even though he was about to mark a map on that boy's neck), but they got chemistry.

My fellow Slut for Christ, only God can judge you, but know that I am too.

All racetracks look the same so Pit Babe and Cutie Pie could have been filmed here for all I know, but I have this at 1.5 speed, unmuted, so I hear this is a legit hype rap song. WEARETHEGOOD's "Threat" with these colors?! Energy? Matched.

HE IS SPANKING HIM?!

I don't kink shame but both people should be willing participants in this endeavor. Then just to drop him on the floor like that?! That does not inspire trust! This is not Blue Boy behavior, sir! But this lecture after is. That is what I need from you. Remind him that this isn't some petty school shit but actual gangstas he is messing with. Remind him that he can't be reckless. THAT'S HOW BLUE BOYS GET KISSED!

Now it's a competition? Payu wants to fuck Rain so badly he looks stupid, yet Rain is over here saying he is going to make Payu want to fuck him, what? harder? What is this all about?!

What do you mean you didn't want to show Rain your bad side? Has all this been your good side up until this point?! Cause, dead ass, this side ain't looking that great either with you being upset you weren't sleeping with him on the first night and stalking him. So you're going to get worse?

Y'all can't sucker me in with red and blue colors. I Told Sunset About You tried that, and I'm still being petty about it. But whose house are we at now?! This is a different room than before. Payu got multiple places?! In this economy?

Prapai strolling in all happy because he had a good night . . . Sir, I'll get to your ass soon because I know how you got that happiness, and you are on the same shit list as your fellow bisexual bestie.

I am Sky and our judgement cannot be measured.

TWINS?!

All this blue between these two yet they are straight up lyin' every two seconds. The fuckery.

WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!

I would've let him turn it in, but I appreciate that he looks so good while looking so sad with that warm glow.

Payu gets one positive point for leaving his arms open for Rain to come to him, but now that warm glow feels sus like maybe I should be paying more attention to Rain's yellow/orange backpack.

And now for a negative point because even though I keep seeing black x white, Payu stays morally grey by playing with this boy's emotions and hiding from him in his own shop! These after scenes are not doing Payu any favors.

Payu, do I like you? Do I hate you? Do I wanna fuck you? Do I wanna kick you in the balls? All of the above?

Guess I'll find out in the next three episodes.

#love in the air #Pride Petty Watch #I only love Sky but I already knew that #I could like Payu but he is doing the most at all times #on a scale of 1 to 10 how attracted am I to Payu?#a solid 8 #on a scale of 1 to 10 how much do I want to choke him?#eh . . . 8.65 #I could do both simultaneously but I think he'd be into that #and that would piss me off #these are not color coded boys in love #they are like color menaces

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kiryoutann · 9 hours

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Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

SOMETIMES, you'd like to know who your mother was before she became your mother.

You want to know where the acidic and corrosive elements that precede each of her statements come from. Perhaps she acquired it from your father—someone even more poisonous than she was. However, from how it blended with her expression every time she said: “a man’s heart is truly a wretched, wretched thing!” you can't be convinced otherwise that before she met your father, she wasn't like that—that she was once a loving girl before he wrecked her and made her your vengeful mother.

Time heals all wounds, they say. And yet, as far as you know, your mother's is still dripping with blood. Rotten. Maggot infested.

You believed it was exactly what she wanted—so that it wouldn't heal, so that she wouldn't forget how much it burned and constricted her. Those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it, and she will undoubtedly carry it with her until death. “A man's heart is truly a wretched, wretched thing,” she says, as if she's sure you'll forget what happened to her—to both of you. As if losing the love of her life was hereditary. “Don't you see, sweetheart? We are a paradox of contrasts and twins.”

You're still wondering whether it was a warning or a prayer. Good mothers ensure with all their body and soul that the past does not repeat itself, that their daughters do not embody everything they might become – their mothers. God forbid they dragged themselves across the floor, trembling fingers stretched stiffly clawing at doors that had been long since being slammed shut. However, your mother wasn’t always a good mother, and she often swore over her mother's grave that you would feel the same way she did.

And yet, despite her curses and how much you hate her as much as you hate your deadbeat father, apparently a sense of familiarity is what you're searching for.

Perhaps, that’s what made him catch your eye.

Soft footsteps were created when several pairs of ballerina pointe shoes came down the hallway after the performance ended. Smiles and laughter were among them—a familiar sight; the audience was satisfied with their performance, and they were sure that the ballet director had no more notes for them because, firstly, Marie, the main ballerina in the role of Giselle, had become the center of conversation thanks to her gifted movements, leaving no room for talking about little "building" errors for the other dancers. Second, this season has reached its end, which means they won't be showing "Giselle" again for at least the next few months.

“I saw you sneak chocolates before the show, El.” One ballerina teased.

“They're for energy!” Eloise insisted with a grin.

The ornaments on their heads moved as they both laughed. You flashed a smile but didn't dare enter into the conversation. Satin-clad feet kept moving in the direction of the corps de ballet dressing room door. More laughter and gossip ensued as you passed through the door to the small vanity you shared with another dancer.

"So where are you going after this?" someone at the next table asked, not at you.

You turned around, periodically glancing in the mirror to wipe away the last traces of makeup. "I don't know! Somewhere that can help me relieve stress, obviously. Soph?” Claudine directed her question at another, still not you.

“Sorry, girls, but I have to sit this one out. My mamma has been protesting about me coming home late lately ever since she saw some protests on TV. You two have fun without me.” Sophia declines—that leaves Jules and Claudine alone then. You were ready to return to your own thoughts when Sophia's hazel eyes fixed on you and called your name. "What about you?"

Claudine turned to you, her lips forming a teasing smirk. “Gonna go home and practice some more, no doubt,” she teased. “Live a little for once! Come out with us.”

You focused on untying your pointe shoes while the other two laughed. “No thanks, I'm tired. Think I'll just relax tonight.”

Rather than a teasing smirk, now Claudine's lips resembled a declaration that she was correct once more: "Look, I'm right, aren't I? She's still the same boring girl. No surprise that the best role she can get is dancing as a leaf in the background." It's no longer a myth. It is no longer a myth that other dancers—old and new—only see a robot prodigy, soulless in her single-minded pursuit of perfection. Your movements were full of precision, tempered by years of being under the training of a Russian coach your mother sought out for you. And yet your body is sharpened for nothing more than the purpose of being a vessel. Hushed jokes about you selling your soul to the devil for your skills.

“Aww, not even for one night? Loosen up that tight bun of yours?”

You shoved the last of your things hastily into your bag, not paying attention as someone else's hairbrush and chapstick were forced to sit on top of your toiletry bag—you can always return them tomorrow. The other girls are still laughing while you swing the overstuffed duffel over your shoulder.

“Goodnight,” you say tensely, clutching the strap of your bag so tightly your knuckles turn white. Without waiting for a reply, you turned on your shoes and hurried out of the dressing room, their taunts echoing in your ears.

London streets glistened wetly as you made your way down the sidewalk. The recent rain left dark spots on the pavement. You pull your coat tighter around you, shivering in the damp night air. As you passed a rowdy pub, loud voices and laughter spilled out onto the street. Warm light and the smell of beer beckoned from within, but you hurried on without glancing in, not wanting to face anyone's eyes.

The entrance to the subway glimmers under the streetlamps. You descend the stairs slowly, your shoes clicking on the concrete steps. The underground platform was nearly empty at this late hour. A lone figure dozed on one of the wooden benches, and a teenage couple whispered together further down the tiles. Your eyes roam over the tiled walls and ads for shows you'd never see—anything to avoid looking at other people and risking a confrontation.

The screech of brakes announces the arrival of your train, followed by beams of lights illuminating the dark tunnel. You boarded the mostly empty carriage and sat down, watching the dark tunnel walls pass by. On the opposite side, your weary reflection in the glass glances back at you.

Soulless.

Soulless ballerina.

TWENTY-THREE YEARS HAVE GONE BY: Thirteen times, you were part of the corps de ballet in Swan Lake. And now, the new director—whom they “imported” directly from somewhere in France to replace the old one—announces that the next season will be Swan Lake. You don't have anything against it—why should you? Thirteen times. Thirteen times in the corps de ballet, and this time will make no difference to you; just another faceless dancer in the flock, never the Swan Queen—they wouldn't risk a soulless ballerina in the spotlight. But wouldn't audiences grow bored of the same classic retold so often?

"Now now, I know you are all tired of this ballet," he said calmly. "But we will be doing something different - a new interpretation, with a fresh artistic vision. This will be Swan Lake as you have never seen it before. Rehearsals will focus on bringing new emotional depth and dimensionality to these iconic roles. Who knows – maybe some new faces will emerge for leading roles. I’m looking forward to seeing what you all can do. Now let us begin."

The familiar piano notes of our warm-up piece drifted through the studio as you took your place at the barre, fingers curling around the worn wood. You close your eyes and focus on steadying your breathing. Even when your muscles hurt from fatigue, you persist through well-known stretching exercises with a focused effort. Your eyelids flutter open, and out of the corner of your eye, you see the new director watching silently at the edge, his sharp eyes taking in each dancer.

“One.. and.. two.. and..”

As you move on to tendus and plies, you let the rhythm of the count wash over you – “.. three.. and.. four.. and..” Your burning thighs, your stretching calves, your flexing toes. "First position...and plié. Second position...and tendu. Third position...and rond de jambe." and the coach's familiar count. Your mind wanders as the dancers continue, thinking about the director's words about seeking new depths. Stealing a glance through the mirror, your eyes returned to the man—his ringed fingers in front of his lips as he pondered.

The music continues to play, swelling with a crescendo. You concentrate on your movements again, lifting your legs high according to standard and extending your lines through fingertips.

You found your eyes drifting to the director's reflection in the mirror more and more. The coach's voice faded into a blur as you studied his intense expression, watching for any sign of interest or approval. But time and again, his gaze passed over you without pause, lingering instead on Claire or Amelia as they executed perfect pirouettes or graceful penche poses. A familiar ache of longing and envy twisted in your stomach. No matter how hard you focused or how flawlessly you hit each position, you remained invisible to him.

Your breaths are shallow, and your head is whirling. Your eyes couldn't stop following him; he was walking around watching dancers who weren't you. He spoke to the coach, then stepped back with his hands linked behind his back. Still not you. As the music nears the end and the dancers have transitioned into combination movements, he still doesn't look at you.

You know the truth: this will be your fourteenth Swan Lake, and you will once again blend into the anonymous corps de ballet. The reflection of a woman in the mirror—your reflection, somber with lifeless eyes and dull hair pulled back in tight bun. The director stated that he wanted to bring forth new depths and emotional aspects to distinguish his Swan Lake from those of other opera houses, therefore it's fitting that he didn't choose you. As an empty ache expands in your chest, you accept the truth: this is your fourteenth Swan Lake, being another swan for the fourteenth time.

The director won’t choose you.

He won't choose you.

He won't choose...

You.

He chose you. You don't know why or how.

An hour later, you find yourself standing in Studio A, facing uncertainly across the hardwood floor. Five of the girls sat at the end of the room while the director watched Claire give her interpretation of Odette in her white swan act. You watch her movements critically, noting the slight wobble in her lower back and how her port de bras could be straighter. Her pirouettes needed more control and spotting—you counted two extra turns that threw off her balance. Then she launched into the black swan's sinister variations. Gone was the white swan, replaced by a vixenish temptress oozing sensuality from her pores. The director made a few thoughtful comments you didn't quite catch before dismissing her.

The director breathed out your name and you were quick on your feet. He crossed his arms over his chest as you took your place in the center. You looked at the girls behind you through the mirror reflection, then at the director, then signaled the pianist to begin.

The famous White Swan melody plays, and you start. Plie, tendu, glissade—your limbs moved through the steps as they had a thousand times, polished, technically perfect. Your movements rely on muscle memory, analyzing your every move through a critical lens. First pose: left arm extended, back straight, neck long. Check. The second one: right leg stretched to the sky, toes pointed to the max. But was your ankle tilted just now? You furrowed your brows while making a mental note to adjust. Entering another glissade, you land on the ball of my foot, keeping your plie low. One.. and.. two. You count the seconds, nitpicking any imperfections.

“Slow down, dear, find your breath.” The director's voice cuts through your thoughts. Find your breath? You were in complete control of your breathing, hitting every mark precisely as the music demanded. What more should you find?

You barreled ahead through the choreography, unwilling to let up on your own rigid standards even as he continued offering feedback. "Loosen your shoulders...savor each moment rather than rushing to the next...let us see you feel the music, not just hear it."

But you are feeling it. You feel every crescendo and decrescendo—you stay in rhythm with the music as the score enters the ritardando section. How could he say you didn't feel the music when you lived and breathed each score? You knew this piece inside and out. From the opening notes, you have remembered not just the choreography but every key change and tempo variation. By the time you sank into your final pose, you were a bundle of nerves.

“Your technique is superb, but so tightly wound,” the director said. “Try to loosen up your lines and embrace the artistry, not just the steps. Now, show me your Black Swan.”

As the dark notes of the Black Swan coda swirl, you pour all your focus into hitting each precise movement with flawless technique. You arch into an arabesque, extending your working leg to the maximum while maintaining perfect turnout. Your spot was fixed, and your balance was unwavering. You continue through the practiced motions, and you fly into your final fouetté combo. As the last note faded, you struck your ending pose.

Slowly, you straightened your body and lifted your gaze to meet his, pressing your sweaty palms together tightly. The director remained silent, hand in front of his mouth, and looked you up and down in a way that made you want to flee. But, you restrained yourself, waiting patiently for his consideration. The pressure in the room was so intense that it made you suffocate.

After what felt like eternity, he gave a small nod – neither acceptance nor rejection. “Thank you, Mademoiselle, that was… illuminating. Please check the cast list tomorrow morning – we will announce our decisions then.”

The compliment is ambiguous, with two implications that you know tend toward the negative. Your anxiety failed to calm down, and all you could muster was a hushed thank you before you left the studio in a daze, questions still swirling around unanswered like always.

Now here you are, unfortunate enough to be under the wailing sky of London with minimal cover from a shuttered cafe. The dense fog and wind impede your eyesight, making it difficult to see the towering structures. On the left side, several cafes and pubs radiate their orange lights from within, beckoning anyone in need of somewhere to go for a quick drink or two. Anyone but you, apparently.

The city streets felt hauntingly deserted through the deluge of falling water. Shivering even in your coat and tights, you knelt down and tightened your scarf. Puddles of water begin to form in the potholes, and you desperately hope that the rain will stop soon; you still have a long ride home on the subway to prepare for tomorrow.

Just then, a splash of heavy footsteps caught your attention.

Through the sheets of rainfall, you glimpsed a tall figure hurrying down the sidewalk, taking in what little details you could discern. His leather jacket and boots, yet the way he hunched his broad shoulders against the storm conveyed a certain roughness. You squinted to make out his face, only to find it covered by a mask and a hood pulled too low. It's unsettling, but disturbingly, it makes you enthusiastically guess what lies beneath it—was he handsome or scarred? Young or weathered by experience? It intrigued you so much that you didn't realize he was only three steps away from you.

As the stranger approaches, you take more details that should have set off alarms. His all-black leather jacket may have been fine material, but it was worn and faded. And although broad-shouldered, his build spoke more of hardened muscle than gentility. Everything about him screams danger. When he drew up beside you, you intended to duck past and continue on your way.

But something held you rooted to the spot.

Now, two strangers stood side by side, between them were raindrops dragged cruelly by the cold wind. His towering figure was as still as a statue; for a man his size, he was skilled enough to be almost invisible, almost. The scent of him washed over you then—alcohol, but not the refined wines and spirits of high society. This was something rougher, meant to burn away thought rather than enhance it. Beneath that, cigarette smoke and a musky men’s cologne, attempting to cover something.

The man is still silent, and you should've taken this as your second chance to leave. There are only two possibilities for a man like him: a perverted stalker or a serial killer—most likely the latter, because for what reason would he decide to take shelter under the awning of a dark bankrupt cafe with a woman when the surrounding pubs are still serving happy hour?

While the stranger settles against the wall, you notice his large hand drift casually into his pants pocket. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding in panic wondering what weapon he might pull out – a knife, or worse. All instincts screamed to run away, but your feet remained rooted to the ground, frozen.

“Nasty night.”

Your body comes to a complete stop. The air is forgotten, and you wonder if you really heard him speak just now or if you were just hallucinating. He has a roughness to his voice, gravels, and a low range with a hint of timbre muffled by his dark mask. Unknowingly turning toward him, you stared at his side profile until he met your gaze, and you swiftly looked straight forward again.

“Uh, y-yes, quite a storm,” You stuttered in reply, cursing your trembling voice. Gripping your duffel bag tighter, you tried not to say anything that might offend him.

Minutes pass, the rain as the only noise. Finally, he spoke again, "Subway, yeah?" Between the sound of the rain and his muffled ones, you tried hard to make out what he was saying. After fully understanding it, you give it a nod.

“Yes, the subway. Though it may be closed by now with the weather.”

The man pulled out a pack of cigarettes. From the corner of your eye, you knew he was taking off his mask. Your heart beats fast as you resist the urge to turn your head, settling to look at the dark street in front of you instead. Smoke wafts between you both, creating faint, short-lived tendrils in the air.

The two of you were in silence. You wanted to talk to him again but didn't know what there was to say; it could be that he just wants to smoke with a company, a quiet company. He let out a puff of fresh cigarette smoke, and you inhaled it all. Toxins are bad for the skin and lungs, and yet you're better off suffocating than giving the impression that you're disturbed.

“Subway's closed, like you said. No sense waiting in the wet.” He took the last drag and threw the cigarette butt into the gutter. “Come on then. Pub's the best place for now.” His voice muffled again – he had put his mask back on.

You hesitated at his offer, biting your lip as you weighed the options rapidly in your mind. On one hand, the rain shows no signs of letting up, and this awning provides only a little protection at best. But to follow a strange man through the streets, alone, allowing him to take you to a spot where inebriation may be present—where his worst pals might be waiting. Girls your age being spiked is something you hear about a lot.

Shaking your head, you manage a small smile. “Thank you for the kind offer, but I'll be right here. Best not to trouble you further on such a night.”

He tilts his head, his eyes peering from the mask's shadows as if reading your unspoken fears. Does he see the consideration behind your polite refusal—how now you are a vulnerable woman, and this relative anonymity without further conversation is a safe option, despite the discomfort? Within his dark eyes, there was a stirring that you didn't understand. Pity? Or mockery? Under his towering height and massive body, you were nothing but a frightened rabbit.

Gusts of wind drive cold droplets under the awning. You suppressed a shiver, hugging yourself tighter. “Really, I'll be fine. The rain can't last forever." A forced laugh follows your words.

You seize the chance to stare back at him. It was impossible for you to know what calculations were going through his mind, or what emotion lay beneath that mask. It's pretty unfair, you think, that he can hide under a hood that nearly makes him invisible in the dark of night while he can see all of you—a greasy-haired woman hoping the man in front of her will respect her dumb decision. It's the least he can do.

Just when you think this staring game would go on for another minute, he turns his gaze. “Suit yourself, love.” His voice comes out gruff, and your heart drops thinking you've let him down (but, for what?). "But you'll catch your death waiting in the rain."

A pang of guilt crashes into you as he turns his shoe the other way. For safety's sake, you rejected him, thinking you're being sensible; but there's an authoritative voice in the back of your mind telling you, "He's the first nice guy in a long time, and look what you gave in exchange for his kind offer." Self-doubt is playing in your heart. His back was already turning, boots squelching away into the rain.

“Wait!” You called after him, hating how small and frightened you sounded. He paused and searched back, eyes questioning through the mask. Steeling your nerves, you step into the downpour. “I'm coming with you.”

If this guy thinks you're an indecisive woman who can't even commit to a decision for more than five seconds, thank goodness he didn't say anything other than give you another stare. He led the way as he went, holding the door of one of the busy London pubs. More liquor and tobacco smells. You both entered, bringing a burst of damp wind with you. The warmth and noise within are a shock after the storm outside.

He steers you towards the fireplace, shrugging out of his soaked jacket. “Get yourself by the hearth,” he said, nodding to an empty chair. “Dry off.”

You did as he said gratefully, holding your hands out to the flames. The colors returned to your cheeks; fear slowly evaporated away.

“What'll you have, love?” He asked, and you frowned before understanding. Oh, drinks.

“Something light,” is all you say, eyes lowered again. The man gave a nod and went to give the bartender the order.

He returned not long after, setting the drinks down and taking the chair opposite to yours, stretching out his long legs toward the fire. You took the gin with a murmured “thank you.” He settled with his own—whiskey in a glass, neat. You glanced at the remains of rainwater dripping heavily from his clothes in a growing puddle at his boots. The drinks were enjoyed in companionable silence, still trying to find calm after the storm's fury.

The fire crackles merrily as you sit. Finding your voice, you clear your throat gently.

“Thank you, for…” Your fingers tapped nervously on the glass. “Well, for everything, I suppose.”

His eyes lifted from the flames to meet yours, and you offered a small smile. “I’m (Y/N).”

As the name slips out, you berate yourself. How stupid, giving up something as personal as your name! This man was still a stranger, no matter his kindness so far. For all you know, bad intentions could be lurking behind that calm gaze even now. But in the cozy glow of the fire, your sense of awareness wavered, lulled to sleep in a false sense of security.

He merely nodded, moving his hand to the mask hook over his ear without expressing much emotion. Your eyes widened, and your heart was pounding. The breath in your lungs stilled in anticipation as the fabric peeled slowly back, inch by inch. Is he about to...?

The man removed his mask, appearing at ease and lacking in secrecy. He looks at you, and you quickly look aside, pretending to offer him a little privacy. You wait for him to finish, to put it on again, but he never does. Is it okay to look-

Deciding to no longer be the uneasy one (since the guy looks completely unconcerned as he takes a long sip of his drink), you follow suit and allow the liquid to cascade down your throat. There's a slight thump as your glass hits the aged wood. Your curiosity is piqued even more by the fact that he hasn't made any moves to wear it again. Slowly, you raised your gaze, meeting that unveiled gaze – a secret not meant for your eyes.

Blonde eyelashes – pretty. Faint shadows hung under the eyes. Light stubble. Scars dotted his jaw, thin white slashes earned from unknown origins. His nose sat slightly off-center, clearly broken more than once in past altercations—bar fights, perhaps? Though something about the precise thinness of the lines didn't seem right for brawling. Regardless of which one, he is clearly no stranger to violence, and being near him is enough for someone to sense the danger he was capable of.

But, there is something about that powerful jawline, the intensity found only in his hooded eyes, spokes of steel and intricate details that defy explanation. Fire in his eyes. Even after taking off the mask and grasping it between his lengthy fingers—just when you think all the curtains have been exposed—he still remains a mystery.

(And you're just another gullible woman who believes she knows how to solve the puzzle.)

You wait; surely he will offer his own name in return now that you've bared yours. But seconds ticked by in the silence, and still he said nothing.

A flush crept up your neck at the realization that he had no intention of reciprocating. Did you misread this entire meeting? Why did he bring you here if not to talk? You observe his stony profile, wishing you could see past him. Did he intend to remain a mystery—an enigma full of intrigue? Or is it actually a test to see how long your curiosity can last?

Your fingers fidget with the condensation on your glass. Under this new tension, the easy silence fell away. Seeking an escape from the awkwardness, you looked for something, anything. Your gaze landed on a group of regulars in the corner, laughing boisterously.

“Do you, um, come here often?” You ask lamely, cursing your inability to make small talk. But there was an amused glint in his eyes that put you back at ease.

“Aye, I'm 'ere often enough,” he replied, taking another sip. You assume he finds humor in your discomfort, rather than mocking it. The knot in your shoulders loosened, and you relaxed into a smile again.

For good or ill, this man stirred something deep inside you—and you're desperate to scavenge for light, safe conversation topics to continue the conversation.

“So, um, what kind of work do you—” You catch yourself, cheeks warming. Too personal to ask a stranger met by chance. You let out a dry laugh. “Sorry, I don't mean to pry. It’s just… making conversation.”

At the small thud of his glass meeting the scarred wood of the table, your eyes darted up in surprise. Already empty—have you been so lost in thought that you missed him finishing? A swell of questions rose inside you as you watched his movements for a clue. Would he signal the bartender for a refill, extending your time together? Or was this the end—the strange encounter came to a close because you somehow offended him for prying too much?

“Military.”

Unexpectedly, he gave a single-word reply. Military—that explains a lot, from his physique and bearing to the scars and the lingering scents that cling to his coat.

"Oh!" was all you could think of as a response. More questions swim to the surface, demanding to be asked, but you quash them, not wanting to risk being presumptuous a second time.

Feeling indebted, you then offer, "I do ballet, with the Metropolitan Opera." The words slip out before you can check them, and inwardly you curse yourself once again.

Great. Name, job, and workplace. Why don't you give him your address next?

You bit your lip. Risking a glance up, you hope he won't take your openness as foolishness. His quiet acceptance has so far calmed your nerves, and now you find yourself craving that ease again.

“Must be rewarding,” is all he offers—you grow accustomed to his terse responses. Plain, perhaps even half-hearted, but you smile as though he had read you a lovely poetry full of flattery.

“Yeah, it's really rewarding to dance and like, share that joy with others.”

Liar. What can a soulless ballerina have to share? So far, frustration is what you inflict on your director, and criticism is secretly a “reward” for your fellow dancers. You understand perfectly well, from the top of your head to the balls of your toes, that there is no joy that you can share. However, this man didn't know. He doesn't know who or how you are. Since the very beginning, you have spoken truth to him; allow this one deception to pass.

Your fingertips made a gentle squeak as they rubbed across the condensation on your glass. “If I may ask… what inspired you to serve?”

For a moment, he was quiet, considering with eyes turned to the flames.

"It was a calling, I suppose," came the gruff reply. “The world had its darkness even then. Felt a duty to stand against it.”

After providing an answer, the two of you returned to silence. You gazed thoughtfully into the flames, thinking of how you might spark another conversation that didn't rely solely on question and answer. The last thing you want is for him to view you as overbearing or pushy.

“What drew you to ballet, then?”

It was unexpected for him to pose a question, and you were taken aback when he did. Your lips curved into a smile as you thought about the answer, and your mother's role in starting it all.

"Well, I think it started because Mom thought ballet was 'cute'." A tone of amusement permeates your voice. “She had no idea about the art or discipline—she just wanted to see her little girl swirl and spin in frilly costumes. But I had fun dancing, dressing up, and listening to the music...”

Somewhere in your head, your mother's voice echoes again. Bitter and resentful, encased in an everlasting nightmare. Your mother stood in the audience, and you ran towards her, tutu skirt fluttering gently. She wiped her eyes and knelt down in front of you, whispering, "You were marvelous, sweetheart," as she drew you in. She smiles, but it stops short of her eyes. Then a string of apologies, saying that he’s gone—that she knew he had promised you to be here, but he's gone. Dad is gone. And he'll never see what you can do.

“My first real performance, in elementary school… I was so proud when the curtain fell.” You continue, remembering another face that has long been a ghost in the past.

("Why did you let that man walk away?")

You clear your throat softly. “After that, it just felt right, you know? Like I'd found where I belong.”

Liar.

Steering away from the bitter past, you change the direction of the conversation again. “Are you from around here?” It's a simple question, maybe even stupid. His accent alone makes it plain he grew up in this land, but, no matter how long you've lived in England, you have a small grasp of regional dialects within the country.

“I mean, I know you're obviously from here—your accent kind of gives it away.” You waved. “I just meant—is this area home for you? Or are you from elsewhere originally?”

The barest upturn of his lips catches your eye. Was that a smile? On this gruff, grumpy stranger who has only revealed so little so far? Your heart beats at the sight, rare as a summer snowflake. He reached into his pocket, took out a cigarette, and held it between his dry lips. The lighter ignited, and white smoke was blown out.

“Manchester, originally,” he said, intonation hanging. He took another drag of his cigarette before exhaling slowly and adding, “A different world now. You?”

“I've been in the city for years now, but I'm from San Francisco.” You said. “When the chance came up to transfer here from my old opera house back home, I leapt at it. Felt it was time for a fresh start, to spread my wings and live on my own. And maybe get out from under my mom's feet—love her to bits, but she can be a bit much sometimes.”

From your own remarks, you can't help but question if mothers are as harsh on their sons or if this is solely reserved for daughters. Girls are taught to keep close to home and their hearts, while boys are free to roam and explore. Is it any wonder, then, that spreading your wings felt like escaping? You wanted to ask him but ended up lacing your tongue tightly.

The fire's burned low, just embers burning gently in the fireplace. Time passed unnoticed as the two of you sat chatting quietly. But outside, the rain began to subside until it was a fine patter on the roof.

“Storm’s passed, seems.”

As he speaks, you glance up to find his guarded mask has fallen once more into place. The easy openness that had soothed tired nerves now closed again – strangely making you bereft. A feeling of melancholy welled up in your chest at the thought of parting, of kissing away the intimate bubble the two of you had crafted and going back out there into the cold reality where you would be strangers again. Your fingers fidgeted in your lap as you searched for words.

“I suppose you're right… it has eased off some.” Your voice came out small and awkward to your own ears. Licking your dry lips, you added, “thank you, for your company. It was…nice, not to feel alone.”

He stood up, stretching his tall frame. After this, the spell of the evening will evaporate, and everything will return to the reality of loneliness once again.

“C'mon then, let's get you home,” he said gruffly, offering a hand to help you up. His strong hand envelops your smaller one—rough yet tender, sending warmth through your limbs that have little to do with the fire now dying.

Pushing through the heavy doors, the night air is a contrast to the warmth of the pub. Thick fog covered the streets, rain-slick stones glistening under the street lights. He waved at the first cab that passed—and you prayed it wouldn't stop so you could buy a little more time with him.

It stopped. The night was set to end.

He holds it while you slip inside. Through the open window, your eyes met his; he crouched beside the window, broad shoulders hunched. He's talking to the cab driver, but you can't hear it—not when your heart flutters madly in your breast over a single question. The ache of still not knowing his name. It seems wrong, unfair, that he knows you so well, yet you know nothing of him in return.

The cab lurches into motion, snapping the spell. Panic rises in your throat; you can't let him disappear into the night—to the back of your head like another passerby.

“Wait—please! I don't know your name."

Before you can stop yourself, the words tumble out in a desperate rush.

The second ticks by as you wait. He finds you foolish, for sure—just another desperate, nosy girl who wants to play detective the second she sees a puzzle. The clinginess in your request must have given the impression that you were a fool in love—gullible and name-obsessed.

Something shifts in his dark eyes, and you hope it's a wall crumbling away. Then, in his low rumble – “Simon.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, almost parting your lips in question before—

“Name's Simon,” he repeats.

(And the sun breaks through storm clouds.)

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