#❛ a fighter forced to perform. ➴WRITING. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yesimwriting · 1 year ago

Note

Heyy ya!! Hwo you doing? I wanted to ask maybe you can write Coriolanus x reader when he gets to district after just finishing training for pacekeepers, or maybe where his tribute just arrived to the capitol and the reader maybe says the “what does my mentor do besides bring me roses?” Line? ❤️

A/n the turn around for this was so fast for me 😭 i got excited

hi!! i love these prompts and am so glad for the excuse to write something for him 😭,, also i didn't blatantly make the reader the district 12 tribute bc i didn't want to necessarily cute lucy gray out all together, but it's clear that she's from a poorer district and that being assigned to mentor her is an insult to the Snow name,, also reader pulls a katniss and volunteers for a younger family member bc the irony of that scratches an inch in my brain

Summary: After the very public slight of being assigned to mentor a female tribute from a lower district, all Snow can think about is the uphill battle that winning the Plinth prize will now be. Until, he realizes, that he's been given the first ever district volunteer who seems to have a quality that makes people care about her.

Warnings: my first time writing for a specific character, Coriolanus's internal thoughts are a little softer than they should be at some points but i love the accidental and deeply impractical crush trope so

---

Of Angels

The desperation masquerading as fierceness behind her eyes is undeniable. Coriolanus feels the way your panic, your shock as the weight of your own words dawn on you in his chest. He swallows, forcing down the feeling.

Take me--take me instead! The phrase is repeated again and again, shaky and pleading.

Something about the display, about the 12-year-old girl that desperately tries to cling to you as peace keepers push you forward, makes it hard to watch. Even worse, it makes it impossible to look away.

The first ever district volunteer. A suicide mission or a--a desperate call for attention? A decision made out of hysteria that you're already starting to regret?

He can't decide as the footage of you being ushered onto stage is played. Surely, Dr. Gaul and other Capitol officials won't find this acceptable. The concept of volunteering has always been reserved for the careers, the districts that produce well fed children that train for this. It's a way to allow them to pick their best, their strongest. It is not a way for someone to lay down their life for someone else.

"Are you saying you volunteer?"

You blink, eyes wild and bright as you openly survey the crowd. Coriolanus briefly thinks that you might attempt to take what he doubts is an actual out. You seem to be considering something before finally nodding once. The motion so stiff it makes you look smaller, like the girl whose name was originally called.

"Yes," you mumble. The softness of it is a personal accost. Your choice was made in panic, but that isn't who you are. You're not much of a performer or a fighter or even bold...you're not much of a chance at the Plinth Prize. "I-I volunteer."

----

In the end, he had come because of Tigris. She had insisted that there was a way to see his tribute as more than just another face from the districts, as more human than animal.

She loves that little girl enough to die in her place. If I was her, I'd want someone to tell me that my choice meant something. I'd want someone to show that they care about me.

The words had felt dismissible at first, but the more he thought about them, the more it made sense. Panem had seen the entire thing, had seen the way that his tribute continued to comfort the younger girl even after sentencing herself to death. There's a story worthy of a show in that.

If he can convince you to go on camera, to speak of the girl, of the choice...maybe he'd have a chance at his future. And if the public support manages to help you in some way or another, that'd only be an additional benefit. You love that girl enough to die for her, maybe that means you love her enough to fight tooth and nail to live for her as well.

The train that stops at each district pulls to a stop. The doors open, releasing the sound of tributes that are learning the consequences of attempting to cause issues for the peacekeepers.

A boy he vaguely recognizes steps out, and then a younger girl. Are you one of the tributes already risking their lives in an attempt to aggravate peacekeepers? Or maybe you're cowering at the back of the train, clinging onto the safety of a familiar space.

You prove to be neither. You emerge from the train, perfectly in tact and stable.

Coriolanus parts his lips, yet no words manage to come out. You're different in person, the white you're dressed in is objectively dirtier than it was when you were reaped and yet somehow, here in the dim, gray station it feels brighter. A stray beam of sunlight breaking through a cluster of clouds. A promise that the storm will end soon and that the angels have yet to abandon the earth.

Your dress is a simple thing, loose enough to be a hand-me-down or maybe even borrowed, the lace of the skirt falling farther down your knees than it should. That paired with the ribbon scraps tied to each side of your head make you look younger and cruelly innocent.

"Hello." The blandness of his own beginning forces a burning sort of regret to take over his chest. You attentively turn, expression kind and expecting. It only makes the embarrassment he doesn't fully understand scorch him from the inside out with more violence. He's once again struck with the desire to look away and finding himself incapable of doing so. "My name is Coriolanus Snow, and I'm your mentor."

You nod, features hardening. You've pieced it all together--his appearance, what he's saying, and where you are. He's revealed himself as part of the Capitol and now you can no longer watch him with kind, accepting eyes. The look you're giving him is almost enough to make him wish he could have presented this differently.

Coriolanus extends an arm, the carefully chosen pure white rose an olive branch. You blink, eyebrows drawing together before you slowly reach out and take the flower by its stem. Your fingertips brush against his own, the warmth of your skin is so shocking he has to remind himself not to flinch.

"A mentor?" You repeat the word like your only reason for doing so is to try out the foreign word on your tongue. "Does everyone get one or am I just lucky?" You look down at the rose you're now holding. "Or has the rumor that I'm a rebellion trick spread to the Capitol?"

The last question genuinely surprises him. It shouldn't, there had been some talk about why anyone from a poor district would ever choose to go into the games. The way you and the girl you saved reacted to each other could have been staged...but Coriolanus didn't think it was enough to warrant genuine rumors. Anyone that had looked at your eyes and seen the fear in them would have known that it was sacrifice. Is sacrifice. That girl means the world to you.

"No," he starts slowly, "No, everyone gets one and no one here has any preconceptions about you."

You raise your eyebrows, making it clear that you don't believe him. No preconceptions had been a strong way to phrase things, but the urge to assure you had taken over with no warning. You then look away, glancing around to take in your surroundings.

"Then why isn't there..." You trail off, your gaze landing firmly on him. "You're not supposed to be here."

He blinks. For the first time, it feels like you're truly looking at him. His own susceptibility to your wide eyes turns his stomach. You're the one that should feel like something up for display under his stare. "No, I'm not."

The admission forces the edge of your lips to pull upwards. "Alright," you hum, "So what does my mentor do for me besides bring me roses?"

"I do my best to take care of you."

For a second, all you do is stare. He's surprised you. The realization brings him more relief than it should. "The girl who you volunteered for..."

You tilt your head downwards, hiding your expression as your fingers carefully toy with the exterior of the soft petals. "My cousin," the explanation is low, cautious, "But we uh--we're more like sisters."

An in that he doesn't even have to work for. "I understand that." You look up, not bothering to hide your confusion. Maybe you weren't expecting something so human to come out. Maybe human works for you. "During the war, we took care of each other...and then after our parents passed, we were left in the care of our grandmother."

The silence that follows is tight, straining against the sympathies you're not willing to extend to someone like him. Your lips part, and Coriolanus is disgusted by the part of him that's curious about what's going to come next.

You're pushed back with no warning. His attention snaps towards the peacekeeper who is shoving against your shoulder with more force than necessary.

"Excuse--" No reaction, no response as another peacekeeper grabs your arm. "Excuse me, I'm her--" You're being dragged away in order to be packed into another vehicle of transportation with the rest of them.

Coriolanus stays near, doing his best to never lose sight of you in the chaos. A tribute breaks free from the hold of the peacekeepers and launches his body forward. An ill thought out escape attempt. The distraction is all Coriolanus needs. This is his chance to go after you, to cement a connection that will guarantee cooperation.

It's not the distraction that gets him to move or even thoughts of the Plinth prize, it's the final flash of angel white fabric as its forced back into darkness. He rushes forward before he can overthink, entering the vehicle just as the doors shut.

----

i think i might make a part 2!!

#the hunger games #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #the hunger games x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the ballad of songbirds and snakes x reader #coriolanus x reader

1K notes · View notes

tiredfox64 · 5 months ago

Note

Hello! I know today is Father's Day and I don't see much father's day stuff so I was wondering if you could write different scenarios for each of the Lin Kuei trio that are surprised by the reader and their kids for father's day?

Happy Father’s Day

Yip notes: No fatherless behavior here

Pairings: Lin Kuei Bros x Afab reader

Warnings‼️: FATHER INTO YOUR HANDS-

Bi-Han

Bi-Han was not big on Father’s Day. That day had been nonexistent for years and it truly ceased to exist once he let his father die. Even when he married you and you had his first child he could not care about Father’s Day. It’s just another day for him.

But he is a father now. You want to celebrate that because he was a good father to his son. He may be the grandmaster of the Lin Kuei but he still makes time to spend with him. He puts in a lot of effort to teach his son how to defend himself and encourages him to help you whenever you need it. Basically, he’s trying to teach him to be a man at five years old. It’s good to teach them responsibility early on.

There is one thing that Bi-Han wishes his son could be and that’s to be a cyromancer just like him. He hasn’t show any signs that he has this ability or any other powers. His son is an excellent fighter but he could do so much more if he had his father’s abilities. He can’t force the ability to perform cyromancy on his son, that’s obvious. He also won’t punish him for not having it.

But the universe is always surprising people. And there is a special surprise waiting for Bi-Han this Father’s Day that you have discovered.

While finishing up breakfast and giving your son his food you noticed him looking at his juice with a grumpy face. He looked at it like it insulted him. You checked to see if something was wrong with it but the only issue you could detect was that it was warm. No one likes warm grape juice. That’s when your son decided to place his hand over the top of the cup and you began to see cold mist emanating from his hands. Some of the juice began to freeze, even making a squeaking sound while forming. A couple of purple ice cubes floated to the top of the juice and your son continued eating breakfast like that was normal.

“Wha—When did you learn to do that?” You asked him. He shrugged like kids do when they can’t understand the impact that just had on a situation.

This was incredible. He’s a cyromancer just like his father! Oh you can’t wait to tell Bi-Han when he comes back. You gotta plan something to really surprise him.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

By the end of the day all Bi-Han wanted to do was have a good meal and relax. There was something wrong with some of his clansmen, they were acting crazier than his son when he didn’t get fruit snacks. He’s happy to come back to a sane wife and a tranquil son. But that smile on your face does not yell sane. It yells ‘You have something planned and that could mean murder’. You ran up to him and hugged him so tightly that he wondered where you gained this strength. After placing a dozen kisses all over his face you ushered him to sit down and eat.

“What did you do? Have you murdered someone? Are you trying to murder me now?” He has always heard about wives killing their husbands in creative ways but never would he imagine he would be a victim.

“No! It’s just a special day.” You reassured him that you wouldn’t kill him.

Me personally-

Bi-Han still looked at you with the tiniest bit of concern, but he did notice that you made him his favorite dish. He was incredibly hungry after the day so he really wanted to eat. As he satisfied his hunger your son came in with the teacups so you could serve his father some tea. Tea that was hella hot. Like hell kind of hot. Woman! What are you doing?!

The amount of stream coming from the warm liquid as you poured it into the cup indicated how hot it was. Bi-Han stared at it wide-eyed before staring up at you. But you acted clueless and like it was a simple mistake.

“Oops, looks like it’s too hot,” You looked down at your son, “Sweetie, would you mind helping mama cool down daddy’s tea?”

Your son was shaking his head frantically with so much excitement in his eyes. You picked him up and brought him closer to the cup but not too close that he would actually touch it. He placed both of his hands out. Soon, Bi-Han started to hear the sound of ice cracking and forming in a matter of seconds. The steam from the hot tea began to dwindle until it was a faint vapor. When Bi-Han looked closer he found that there were a few pieces of ice that seemed to be made from the tea. His eyes were now wide with surprise.

A faint smile appeared on your husband’s lips as he looked at you and your son. He got up from his chair and began hugging you both. He congratulated his son for gaining his abilities and having some control over them. Better to find out this way than when he has a tantrum. Then Bi-Han looked at you. There was so much love and adoration in his dark eyes. You were the woman to give him a wonderful son who he feels pride in. A son who everyone will believe is his. He could not thank you enough for giving him such a wonderful gift that he will hold onto until his death. He will forever be grateful that you gave him the family he desired.

He could thank you on Mother’s Day though.

Kuai Liang

You always informed your twins to respect their father. Kuai Liang was a hard-working man who built his clan from the ground up just so he could protect Earthrealm and more importantly his family. Even with all that responsibility weighing down on Kuai Liang he still made an effort to be with his children. He didn’t mind having his daughter and son by his side as he trained the initiates. They did help him calm himself down when the initiates were an absolute trainwreck. If his daughter wasn’t there patting his arm and telling him that he was doing his best he would have bursted out into flames a long time ago. She’s pretty smart for a five-year-old. And his son is pretty fiery. He’s yelling at those initiates like he was a drill sergeant.

Recently, the twins have been with you more often. That’s fine, he doesn’t think they are picking favorites, but he does miss their company. But they should get more time with mama. It’s important that you both get equal time with them.

Little does your husband know that you have been planning something for him. He didn’t even know Father’s Day was approaching. It will hit him in the morning.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

The twins came sneaking into the bedroom in the early morning. They don’t understand time, they only understand that the sun is up so it’s go time. They got onto the bed and began lightly jumping as they told their dad to wake up. Kuai Liang groaned as he slowly began to wake up to the sound of his children giggling. They shook him away and finally, he sat up.

“What is the matter?” He asked in a sleepy voice.

“We have decided that we should begin training now.” Your son spoke for himself and his sister.

Kuai Liang fully woke up at that moment. He has been waiting for the chance to teach them how to control their fire abilities. They were early bloomers so he has been dying to do this for a long time. I was you who held back on allowing them to train even though they begged. You decided to allow it for his Father’s Day gift. You were still lying down when he turned to you for approval. That’s when you gave him a thumbs up and he was out of bed. You’ve never seen him tie his hair up into a bun so quickly.

Throughout the whole day, you saw your husband and children running around the place as he helped train them. They were focusing hard on getting their abilities to work just so they could impress their father. Your daughter was the first to get the fire started, literally. Her hand would produce this thick, black smoke before catching on fire. Her fire was like ethanol fire with the bottom having a hint of blue before transitioning into orange. It stayed steady and Kuai Liang was impressed by his daughter's commitment.

His son…well he is fiery. He so badly wanted to impress his dad that he put so much energy into it that both his hands ignited. He was so excited and he placed his hands together to see how large the fire could get. He didn’t expect to make a tiny fire whirl. The fire grew skinny but longer and burned brighter as it twirled in his hands. Kuai Liang was not ready for that at all and was worried for a second before his son closed his hands. The whirl disappeared and his son turned towards him with a large smile on his face.

“Daddy, did you see that?!” He yelled with enthusiasm.

“How could I miss it?” Kuai Liang responded.

After that fire hazard of a training session, they actually trained with the other initiates. They listened well to their father’s instructions, better than the other initiates even with some being adults. They weren’t perfect but Kuai Liang was still happy to see them making an effort especially when they helped each other out. Hopefully, that sibling love stays forever.

Half of the day was done and Kuai Liang was more than happy with the results of the day. Once he got back to you it only got better. You served him his favorite dish and you all sat down to eat dinner together. He told you all about the kids’ achievements. It warmed your heart to see his constant smile as he listened to his son or daughter explain how they felt at that moment. And then your son created another fire whirl to show you at the dinner table.

“Hey! No creating fire at the dinner table! You can only do that if we are under attack.” You scolded your son.

The end of the day came and you both put the twins to bed for the night. They were incredibly drained from the day. They have small bodies you can’t blame them. You and Kuai Liang made your way back to the bedroom and started preparing for bed. Throughout the whole time you were getting ready he would occasionally add in something else that happened in the day or something that was on his mind. It didn’t matter if it was minimal or something theoretical he wanted to talk more about the day. You started to wonder if you would get any sleep that night. But he eventually shut his mouth since he needed rest for the next day.

You both lay in bed, his forehead pressed up against yours and his arms wrapped around your waist. The only sound left was light breathing. Both your eyes were closed and you both slowly slipped into slumber. He heard you say one more thing to him.

“Happy Father’s Day.” You whispered.

“Thank you.”

Tomas

Father’s Day has been special to Tomas since you first told him you were pregnant on Father’s Day. Seeing that little onesie made his heart explode and filled his mind with the many possibilities that came with being a father. Even when your son was a baby you still made sure to make Father’s Day eventful to show how well he was doing as a father. He truly was wonderful both before and after your son was born.

Now your son is five and he understands the concept of holidays which makes it easier to plan something for Tomas. You and your son are a team with the goal of making Tomas happy for the whole day. Your son was actually the one to suggest getting his father a new karambit. It sounded like a great idea but you had to make sure to get the right one for him. Not one that was cheap or the incorrect style like a folding one. You know how much he loves his usual karambit so getting one that will make him put that one down even for a second would be a challenge. But there has been no challenge that you haven’t overcome yet. You will overcome this one as well.

You suggested to your son to ask his father to take him on a hunt. Tomas always mentioned how he wanted to teach his son to hunt both as a way to defend himself and give him a chance at survival. Your son was getting interested in finding a weapon that would fit him best. A bow and arrow was what caught his eye. So you can kill two birds with one stone by allowing Tomas to teach his son to hunt and allowing your son to figure out a bow and arrow.

A plan was made. Now to wait for Father’s Day to come.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

The moment Tomas opened his eyes to the morning light his son was standing above him and asked him to take him hunting. It confused your husband because this was out of nowhere. But children decide things at random and go with it. So is it really all that strange?

Tomas debated for a bit, unsure if it was safe to do so. But he began hunting when he was six so what difference does it make? It’s one year early. If any danger were to occur, Tomas would defend his son to the very last breath. He looked towards you for approval and you said today would be a good day to do so. It was sunny and your son was clearly excited to go outside. Your husband smiled at you before giving you a kiss and getting ready for the day.

In less than an hour they were out of the house. Tomas had his karambit and a hunting knife while your son had a bow and arrow. That gave you time to prepare everything and hopefully that karambit you told Johnny to order for you will arrive in time.

Tomas was loving the conversations he was having with his son. He would randomly tell him facts about things in the woods that he learned from books you had around. He never knew there was a difference between an oyster mushroom and a maitake mushroom until it was pointed out to him. He decided to collect some for you to use later.

A few miles in, that’s when they spotted a pheasant in the distance. It was clearly a male since it was larger and more colorful. Tomas instructed his son to duck down behind a bush and keep an eye on the bird. They couldn’t miss it since its blue head popped out amongst the green foliage. Tomas helped his son to place the arrow correctly and told him to be very careful when pulling it back. Your son was very focused and his breathing was intense as he stared down the bird. Seconds passed, possibly minutes. The only sound that was heard other than the breathing was the wind. Finally, he let the arrow go and it flew in the air. It struck the pheasant and it fell limp on the ground. At that moment Tomas could not be any prouder.

He congratulated his son on his first hunt. Not only was it his first but it was a success. They were able to gather vegetables and meat to take home. When he looked down at his son from time to time he saw his younger self in him. A strong boy who was on his way to becoming a great hunter. He’ll be able to protect himself and hopefully protect you from any harm.

Once the sun began to set that’s when they made their way back home. Your son held onto his father’s hand the whole way even when they walked into the house. The pleasant smell of food hit Tomas’ nose and he recognized that you made his favorite dish for him. You absolute sweetheart, he’s so happy he married you.

He was ready to tell you all about the successful day they had once he sat down but when he did that’s when you placed a gift box in front of him. It didn’t look like anything extravagant but there was a soft smile on your face and an excited one on your son’s.

“Open it.” You gestured for him to do so.

Tomas was careful with taking the top off the box. The light reflected off the item and soon he realized what it was. A new karambit. It wasn’t just any ordinary karambit though. He took it and the handle felt perfect in his hands, like it was shaped for him. The blade was a nice, shiny black color with the sharp part of it being silver. Then something caught his eye. There was something carved in the blade. They were initials. They were his, yours, and your son’s initials.

Tears began to prick his eyes without him realizing it. The karambit just looked so beautiful and the day he had was so wonderful. He felt you and your son’s arms wrap around him before you gave him a kiss.

“Happy Father’s Day.” You said with love.

“Thank you…thank you both.” His voice quivered a little as he hugged you both back.

Yap notes: I would love to go to another baseball game with my dad. Or bet on horses. I love going to the racing tracks with him. Adiós!

444 notes · View notes

mckngsong · 11 months ago

Text

‍ ‍ yeah, katniss thinks dryly, i'm just like that. i tend to give a lot of people signals without even realizing it. she knows she's frowning now, bordering on something shamefully akin to a pout as she forces her own eyes to level directly with minerva's rather than drifting downward again -- she is awfully distracting all of the sudden, and she feels strangely put off balance by it. she could pull away, wipe her mouth clean of whatever intoxication minerva has planted there and return to her compartment, pretend this had never happened for her own well - being. she should. this is a girl who has shown her nothing but spite ﹠ animosity since they met, and it is nothing she can blame her for; not with what she bears of brutus' fate . . .

‍ ‍ still, inexplicably, she doesn't extract herself. there is a soothing warmth that envelopes her, something nerve - ridden and excited all at once causing her heart to flutter with hummingbird's wings, the tips of her fingers buzzing against smooth skin with something she cannot put a name to -- something she has scarcely felt before. she wets her lips and somehow manages to say without tripping over herself, “ i'm not as dense as you think, you know. ” because in most things, katniss is uncannily perceptive ― this is just one thing she had never thought to expect. her gaze narrows, just enough to let the other know how ridiculous that sounds. it's not something she's ever had the urge to do, at least . . . before now. but she is forced to admit, this feels nice. it is something so -- harmless, normal, if she had been anything other than a tribute ﹠ victor ﹠ mockingjay. it's almost as if she could pretend. caution to the wind ( the deed is already done, after all ), katniss presses forward and initiates another kiss herself, this one wholly intentional and steady, fingers trailing to the ridge of minerva's jaw.

NOW SHE FEELS KIND OF BAD FOR LAUGHING, her mischievous little grin turning into something different, a softer and more genuine smile. plush lips connect to the other's for a moment, and minnie ignores how she has to go up on her tip toes to make it happen. still she rolls her eyes, ❛ no signals? you're just like that? now i'm worried i took it all wrong. ❜

the singsong is sweet, though the little way her eyebrows knit together is not, ❛ why would i be playing a game? ❜ because she's always playing a game, in some way or another. and maybe minnie feels half-queasy because this had been a game, for a while, but now her wires feel crossed and it's kind of a lot, ❛ you can hate someone and still kiss them. normal people do that. ❜ no, minerva, they do not.

#angeldored #❛ a fighter forced to perform. ➴WRITING.#❛ you showed me colors you know i can’t see with anyone else. ➴ANGELDORED ⁀ MINERVA ROMERO.#❛ the embodiment of the revolution. ➴THE MOCKINGJAY.#they're so silly....#also oops a tag drop for you

4 notes · View notes

snnrinc · 30 days ago

Text

[AO3 Portal]

PAIRING : Boxer!Nanami Kento x GN!Reader

TAGS : SFW, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Boxing

SUMMARY : The losing streak that the boxing champion Nanami Kento began experiencing was shocking and infuriating not just to himself, but to a lot of people around him. With his exhaustion rising and the pressure from his sponsors and supporters to perform better becoming overwhelming, Nanami finally understands why his mind is not present in the game. Something is missing, a very important component to his motivation, the one that keeps him going in the face of defeat and countless obstacles.

His spouse, you.

WORD COUNT : 4.6k

AUTHOR'S NOTE : Suffering from a back pain that had me going to the ER to get checked only to wait over 10 hours to be seen gave me the inspiration to finally write this.

This longer continuation of my previous ficlet with Boxer!Nanami was inspired by the request of a lovely reader on AO3 <3

The cheer of the spectators was deafening as they chanted his name, clapping and yelling as he walked over to the ring basked in the eye-straining lights of the reflectors. He climbed the stairs and stepped through the ropes to take a seat at his corner stool, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd in search for familiar features. All the voices around him melted into a single continuous noise, a cacophony that was starting to cause the tension in his temple to pulse painfully. It took a tap on his shoulder for him to finally shift his attention from his fruitless search through various faces of strangers to the man standing in front of him. With a sigh, the voice of his cornerman finally filtered through.

“Yo, Earth to Nanami, do you copy?”

Nanami huffed, giving Gojo an unimpressed stare as he smiled at him, his eyes almost twinkling from beyond his black glasses. He helped Nanami get his mouth guard secure and tapped his shoulder again, his tone turning a bit more sympathetic.

“Hey, I know it's easier said than done, but try to focus on the match. You'll be home before you know it.”

With that, Gojo stepped out of the ring, taking his place at the ringside and allowing Nanami a view of his opponent, sitting across from him and staring daggers at him. The referee stepped in the ring and Nanami stood up, watching as his opponent tapped his boxing gloves together and jumped from one foot to the other, clearly pumping himself up for the fight. By the looks of how he carried himself, Nanami could guess that the guy was most likely a brawler, placing all bets on heavy punches and combinations—perhaps even the type to overlook effective aggression in favour of getting points from knockdowns.

With a strategy already formulated in his mind, Nanami rolled his shoulders and cracked the tension in his neck away, stepping towards the centre of the ring and raising his fists. After the referee went through the usual rules, the bell signalled the start of the fight and Nanami moved closer, watching out for the gestures of his opponent and trying to anticipate his actions. A few punches directed at his abdomen and Nanami was quick to parry, ducking once he realised that his head was left unprotected. He narrowly missed a left hook going for his jaw, landing a clean hit to the other fighter’s ribs and sending him stumbling a few steps back. He heard his fans cheer and the voice of the commentator excitedly yelling out about Nanami’s quick reflexes, but he drowned out the sound when his opponent advanced again, unleashing a flurry of punches and forcing Nanami to retreat closer to the ropes. From the corner of his eye, he could see Gojo yelling something out, lost in the amalgam of voices. Not that it mattered to him—he did not have the energy to listen to anyone that wasn't you.

The opponent raised his arm for a punch and Nanami shifted his stance to parry it, only to be surprised by a punch from the other side, landing perfectly against his jaw. He lost his footing from the force, his vision blurred as he connected with the canvas of the ring, cold under his hot, sweaty skin. Fuck, perhaps it was for the best you were not present to see him get caught cold in such an embarrassing way by a feint.

It took him a moment to come to, and once he opened his eyes and saw his opponent at one of the neutral corners, the referee slamming his hand against the canvas next to him, he finally realised he had been knocked out for a few seconds. He quickly pushed himself off the ground, standing up before the countdown was over. He could feel the swelling in his cheekbone, the pain and tingling heralding the onset of a nasty bruise. He was sure you would fuss over him once he got home, he could almost imagine the worry in your eyes so vividly, looking at him as you’d gently tend to his injuries.

Distracted yet again, the thought of your tender touches was brutally knocked out of him by yet another punch delivered to his jaw. This time, he was at least quick enough to adjust his step before falling, a pained grunt escaping his heaving chest. He heard Gojo yell out his name in frustration and he chanced a glance at the remaining match time. He grimaced once he read it: not nearly enough for him to take back the dominance of the ring. He knew he had already lost points from being momentarily knocked down, and whilst he was correct in his assumption that the other fighter was a brawler, his punches were far more calculated than Nanami had anticipated.

Despite not throwing in the towel, it wasn't long before the match ended with the scales tipped against Nanami, the side of the crowd that hosted his supporters echoing noises of disappointment and anger. Maintaining his sportsmanship, Nanami shook the hand of his opponent before he climbed off the ring, marching towards the lockers of the boxing club in time for the organisers to prepare for the next fight card.

As Nanami walked down the hallway, shuffling off his gloves and taking out his mouth guard, he heard Gojo run up to him, slowing down once he was in step with him.

“Hey, man, what the hell happened?”

“Don't talk to me now.”

“No, what the hell is going on with you?” Gojo pushed, following Nanami in the locker room. “You've been out of it for more than half the matches this season. The sponsors are not happy, not to mention your supporters.”

Nanami sighed, throwing his gloves on a chair and placing his mouth guard in a pocket of his gym bag, making a mental note to get it cleaned and disinfected once home. He grabbed a towel as he thought over what sort of excuse he could give Gojo to get him off his back, while also not relaying his real reasons.

“I'm tired,” he said simply, to which Gojo crossed his arms.

“You're distracted,” he countered, earning a half-hearted glare from Nanami.

Sighing, Gojo turned to his own bag to grab a bottle of water, walking over to Nanami and holding it up for him to take once he finished wiping his sweat off.

“Listen, I get it,” Gojo continued. “You need your lucky charm to be present or whatever, but you really gotta pull yourself together, loverboy. Your spouse has a job just like you. You can't keep losing focus like this.”

With a sharp stare, Nanami snatched the bottle from Gojo’s hands, taking a healthy swig to soothe his thirst. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew Gojo was right. His frustration at how rarely he was seeing you despite living in the same home due to your different work schedules was starting to get to him. Coupled with his previous lost matches, it only served to add to the cocktail of negative emotions swirling in his heart, effectively distracting him regardless of how much he wanted to focus on his fights.

He finished the bottle then wiped the corner of his mouth, tuning out the rest of the words that Gojo was ranting at him. He was tired and couldn't wait to finally get home to you and your comforting arms.

The drive home had never felt longer for Nanami, not to mention each step needed to reach the front door of your home. Every muscle and bone in his body ached as he searched for his keys through his pockets, opening the door and being met with complete darkness. His shoulders deflated even further when he realised your shift today was longer than usual. He kicked his shoes off with a sigh and shrugged his jacket off, placing it in its usual spot on the coat hanger before trugging to the living room and approaching the couch. He grunted as he began to sit down, a sharp pain shooting through the muscles in his back. He lied down, trying to find a comfortable position to wait until you got home from work.

His eyes closed just as he checked the clock again, his eyelids heavy enough that he didn't even realise he was falling asleep. A few minutes passed—or perhaps close to an hour, he wasn't sure—when he felt a gentle touch on his jaw and the familiar feeling of a pair of lips on his forehead. He cracked one eye open to see you smiling at him, gently urging him to wake up.

“Hey, handsome,” you said, your thumb caressing his hand. “Can you sit up so I can patch you up?”

Blinking a few times, he did as you instructed without further argument, noticing the bandages, gauze, dressings and painkillers you had prepared on the coffee table. He could tell you had been home for a while, taking the time to get everything ready for him before waking him up to allow him a few more minutes of rest.

As you began to clean the injury on his cheek, he looked into your eyes, noticing just how much your exhaustion mirrored his through the dark circles under your eyes. He took in your features, your mere presence calming him down while he quietly waited for you to carefully place the dressing over the bruise. His cutman usually dealt with his injuries quite efficiently, making sure that he was never at risk of infection or his injuries worsening, but even so you still made sure to tend to anything that the cutman deemed insignificant. Nanami had told you before that there was no need for you to fuss over him, but you always insisted, so he patiently let you tend to him until you were satisfied and reassured that he was okay. There was something so sweet and intimate about your gentleness in the face of his vulnerability, despite how much he didn't want to admit that he loved how you cared for him. After all, as your husband, he was supposed to care for you, too, but with his profession it seemed to him that the burden fell on your shoulders more often than not.

Nanami reached up, affectionately cradling your cheek with his hand. You turned your head to kiss his palm, smiling at him before you returned to focusing on bandaging him. Your fingers swiped against his bottom lip and he winced, suddenly aware of the cut he hadn't felt while high on adrenaline.

“Sorry, it might sting,” you said, disinfecting the cut carefully with a cotton ball, damp with rubbing alcohol.

He hissed, but otherwise kept still for you to finish. You placed a soft kiss on his lips once the dressing was secure, and he smiled for the first time that day, leaning back in to steal another kiss.

“I missed you,” he said, placing his forehead against yours.

“I missed you, too,” you responded, gently threading your fingers through his hair.

“I didn't cook dinner.”

You chuckled. “You didn't have to, silly. You're tired. We can get takeout if you're hungry.”

He hummed, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you to lie down next to him on the couch. He adjusted his position so he could cuddle close to you, burying his nose in your hair to inhale your comforting scent.

“How was work?”

“Hectic,” you sighed. “I'm sorry I arrived so late, but I had a lot of work to catch up on.”

“It's fine.”

You moved your head to look at his face, raising an eyebrow at his short tone.

“Did something happen?”

“Just tired.”

The usual excuse was already prepared on the tip of his tongue, allowing him to continue hiding just how frustrated he was at your absence during his matches, but as a fellow workaholic he knew he had no legs to stand on when it came to complaining about you working so hard each day for the both of you, lest his middle name is Hypocrite. To soothe your worries, he planted a kiss to your forehead, rubbing his palm across your back and smiling at you lovingly.

“Let's go to bed.”

Nanami was sure that if he heard the referee count whilst he was on the ground one more time, he'd lose it. Perhaps then he'd finally be able to concentrate.

A flash knockdown had never been this annoying and demotivating. It had gotten to the point that he was starting to doubt his own abilities and experience. Surely he hadn't always had a glass jaw. In the past, everyone was throwing praises left and right about how he had such a “good set of whiskers,” how his slips and punches always seemed to be so well calculated, and how he dominated the ring no matter his position. Nowadays, not only was he getting his ass handed to him by fringe contenders, but by upstarts and low calibre fighters. It was honestly shameful for someone of his rank, and despite occasionally winning a match here and there, it was not nearly enough to please his sponsors and supporters.

The sound of the bell rang with a shrill vibration through the arena, saving Nanami just seconds before he found himself on the receiving end of what he assumed was going to be a sucker punch, judging by the position the other fighter had assumed. He turned around and slumped on his corner stool, watching in a daze how his cutman Geto stepped up to the ring to tend to his injuries, with Ieiri coming up as well with a damp towel to help Nanami cool down. She took the mouth guard out and allowed him to drink some water from her bottle, moving to the side so he could spit out the rest. The last thing he needed was to get punched in the stomach full of water.

Gojo tapped the canvas to get his attention as Ieiri stepped down, clicking his tongue in disappointment. He placed his chin against his palm, leaning his elbow on the edge of the ring, his other hand lazily hanging against one of the ropes.

“You're distracted again,” Gojo said simply.

Nanami sighed in annoyance and looked away from Gojo, his eyes landing on Geto who was applying a cold compress against his cheek.

“Y’know, I hate to say it but Satoru's right,” he said. “The main event’s about to start and this is already the… what, fourth chance you get? It's also the last one if you want to get into the championship again.”

“You don't need to rub it in, Geto.”

“I'm not trying to, but you have to admit you’re getting special treatment at this point. You're too young to be shopworn.” Geto helped him get his mouth guard secure then gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “You've won before. You can do this.”

With that, Geto stepped out and Nanami took a deep breath, ignoring the snarky jabs at his performance from the commentator. He couldn't care less about their opinions when his mind was racing with negativity, shame, anger and disappointment at himself running wild within him. The adrenaline pumping through his veins was not enough to keep his mind on track anymore, and for a while he wondered if he truly had reached his limit and the only direction left for him to go after peaking was down.

He tried to shake off the thought as he approached the other fighter, taking the first punch, which landed clean against the abdomen of his opponent. He slipped away quickly when the fighter tried to retaliate, parrying the next punch with practised ease. Nanami threw one more punch, but this time it didn't connect right and it left him open for a second too long, the other fighter taking the opportunity to jump to an offensive position. Nanami raised his fists to stop the hits, the sound of his name being called from the ringside by his team making him snarl. Then suddenly, a sweeter sound filtered through, piercing his mind with crystal clarity.

“Kick his ass, Kento!”

Instinctively, Nanami looked towards the source of the sound, registering your face for a split second before he was hit by a heavy cross punch. He stepped back, narrowly dodging a rear uppercut, and stumbled against the ropes. He took one more stunned glance at the ringside to make sure he was not hallucinating, his heart swelling when he saw you were actually there, next to the rest of his team.

You actually came to support him.

A surge of energy shot through his body, his heart hammering with both adrenaline and something more, something akin to motivation, forcing his limbs into motion at last. He swivelled around and pushed himself off the ropes, prowling closer to his opponent, his eyes blazing with a dangerous fire that had almost been extinguished if not for your presence.

His opponent began throwing a few quick jabs and Nanami felt pain shoot through his forearms as he blocked them. One well-timed slip and he saw his opening, with the other fighter’s hand flying past his face, Nanami had a clear shot to his abdomen, landing a jab powerful enough to knock the wind out of him. The fighter quickly recovered, a sharp huppercut connecting to the side of Nanami's jaw and causing a dizziness to settle in his vision for a few moments. An advanced blow to be sure, but instead of letting himself overthink it, Nanami accepted that he had to switch his strategy to keep up.

The crowd cheered, the voices melding together in a way that made his ears ring. He focused his hearing until he could hear your voice again, shouting for him to keep going. He zeroed in on the sound, shaking off his dizziness and glaring at his opponent. The timer on the scoreboard was nearing the end, with just a few minutes left of the main event, and with how the balance was tipped in the favour of his opponent due to the clean punches and ring dominance, Nanami knew he had to make the last stretch count, for his sponsors and supporters, for his team, for himself, for you.

He took a deep breath, the air flowing through his lungs and allowing his muscles to destress for a second as he tuned out every other sound save for your voice. At last, he felt like his mind was finally aligned with his body, working as a whole instead of being pulled in several directions at once and splitting his focus, a single stream of concentration connecting his limbs to his will as he entered the zone. Time seemed to slow down as he shifted his position, pivoting his leg behind him as he wound up for a rear hit, and finally, after so long, he could clearly see his opening, his mind immediately dividing the width of his opponent's torso into ten parts to find the weak spot, situated right at the ratio point of seven to three.

He exhaled, swinging his fist to land a blow against the fighter’s rib, knocking him backwards a few steps. Taking advantage of his lost footing, Nanami delivered a few jabs that the fighter was too slow to counter, instead trying to land an overhand blow which Nanami dodged with ease, ducking under the hit and taking a step backwards to twist his body. His eyes shifted to his opponent’s head, eyes scanning him and effectively calculating his next move until…

There it was.

Nanami saw the weak spot, his focal point narrowing on the exact line of the seven to three ratio, and channelling all his force into his arm, he twisted his body swiftly, his fist cutting through the air like an arrow heading straight for its target. The haymaker landed perfectly against the jaw of the fighter, his head moving to the side as his body tipped over from the force, collapsing unceremoniously on the ground, a clean knockout even if from a wildcard punch.

Nanami took a few steps backwards to one of the neutral corners as the referee began counting down, his hand slamming against the canvas until he heard the final number without his opponent standing up. The cutman of the fighter helped him up as he began to regain consciousness, and Nanami sighed in relief once he heard them confirm he was alright.

He waited for the judges ruling with bated breath, the crowd clamouring as the commentators began singing praises over the clean hits that Nanami managed to land, saying something about his spark having been reawakened. Soon, the scores were out, and Nanami heard the crowd of his supporters erupt with screams of excitement before he even had a chance to register the ruling, the sound of the commentator calling out his name replaying in his mind until he shook off his initial reluctance and raised his hands up in a triumphant pose.

He saw movement near the ropes and his eyes shifted to the spot, noticing you excitedly jumping up and down as you clapped and screamed out how happy you were. Just as Nanami was about to receive his reward, he moved away from the corner, sliding through the ropes and jumping off the ring to wrap his arms around you and lift you off the ground. He spun you around with a smile as you laughed happily, clinging onto his sweaty and tense body. Nanami grabbed your thighs and wrapped them around his waist to hold you up against him, looking up at you with a lovestruck gaze as the crowd cheered.

You cradled his face in your hands with great care, leaning down to kiss him sweetly. He responded by deepening the kiss, pouring his love and adoration into it until the air from your lungs was depleted and you both had to pull away to breathe.

“I missed you,” he said, voice just loud enough for you to hear him over the clapping and cheering of the spectators.

“I missed you, too,” you responded, planting another kiss to his lips before you leaned your forehead against his.

With you secure in his arms, he certainly didn't need the judges to tell him he was the winner.

It was a slow morning for once, the sun shining through the curtains and bathing the living room in the warm glow of the afternoon. The TV was playing a random show, one you chose more to fill the silence as you both relaxed rather than to actually watch it. With his head in your lap and your hand soothingly running through his hair, Nanami felt like he was in his own corner of Heaven.

He stared up at you, watching as you mindlessly scrolled through your phone, occasionally laughing at a funny video and turning it for him to see it. You looked so gorgeous, still in your pyjamas as you lounged with him on the couch, your beautiful eyes sparkling in the light of the sun bouncing off the floor, your lips so kissable that he had to stop himself a few times from disturbing you by constantly distracting you with loving pecks.

He raised a hand to affectionately caress your jaw, catching your attention as you smiled down at him and leaned over to kiss him. He was quiet for a few moments until he finally decided to voice his curiosity.

“How come you came to the match a few days ago?” he asked, eyes watching yours as you looked back at him. “That was one of your usual work days.”

You smirked. “Gojo called me whining like a baby.”

Nanami groaned and looked away with a frustrated sigh as his hand dropped from your face. You laughed in amusement, grabbing his hand and bringing it to your lips to press a quick kiss to it.

“He explained everything to me. You should've told me you were struggling, Ken,” you said, your tone turning gentle. “I didn't know if I should feel flattered or guilty knowing what you had to deal with.”

“You had enough on your plate.”

“Kento,” you sighed, caressing his cheek and turning his head to look at your loving eyes. “I'm never too busy for you. You're my husband, we can find ways to compromise so things work well for both of us. I should've known the matches were so important to you and-”

“Don't,” he cut you off, sitting up and turning to close the distance between you again. “They're not your responsibility. You couldn't have known since I never told you directly.”

You smiled at him, shifting to wrap your arms around him and snuggle against him, pressing your face in the crook of his neck and inhaling him in. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, eyes closing to bask in the comfort of your warmth, the scent of you, his home.

“Let's promise to be direct with each other, then,” you concluded, and he smiled against the crown of your head.

“Okay, darling. Let's promise.”

“You should also probably thank Gojo. He helped me take a day off with his acting skills. My boss actually believed he was my brother who had been in an accident when he called crying.”

“Let's not push it that far.”

You chuckled, shifting again so that both of you could comfortably cuddle while browsing your phones. Nanami began scrolling through some random social media, until a message from Gojo popped on his notification bar. He opened the message and ignored the teasing messages of Gojo, the news article he sent catching Nanami’s eye instead. The thumbnail was very clearly a picture of you two kissing at the match, with him holding you in his arms and your palms placed on the sides of his head, angling him so you could share a romantic and passionate kiss. The headline read “The Power Of Love: Boxer’s losing streak curse lifted by True Love’s Kiss.”

Nanami would've rolled his eyes if he didn't somewhat agree with the headline. Your mere presence was powerful enough to sway him enough to get back on track, soothing and motivating him all at once in a way that nothing else could. He put his phone on do not disturb and looked down at you, peacefully scrolling your phone and leaning against him. He couldn't help but let out an amused huff as he watched you, his knight in shining armour, his hero saving him from his undoing with what he was convinced was true love’s kiss. You looked at him, your lips lifing up in a smile as you noticed his.

“What?” you asked with a slight laugh, and he just shook his head.

“Nothing. I just love you.”

You beamed at him, leaning in to kiss him sweetly. “I love you, too.”

You settled back in his arms, your body fitting against him like you were both carved for each other. The thoughts and worries of his matches seemed distant, forgotten for a while as he focused on the present. Nothing else mattered but the fact that regardless of the outcome of his matches or just how tired or roughed up he was, he always had a home on your arms full of love and comfort to come back to. He smiled, knowing that as long as you were together, he'd always be on the winning side.

#jjk x reader #kento nanami x reader #nanami fluff #jujustsu kaisen x reader #nanami kento x reader #jjk fluff

105 notes · View notes

mckngsong · 11 months ago

Text

@4thdistrict liked for a lyric starter !

‍ ‍ “ we all still die, what will you leave behind? ”

‍ ‍ ‍ ― willow tree march, the paper kites.

#4thdistrict #❛ a fighter forced to perform. ➴WRITING.#❛ to put yourself back together. ➴4THDISTRICT ⁀ FINNICK ODAIR.#sorry. SORRY.

5 notes · View notes

mannequinreligi0n · 29 days ago

Note

I'm new to making requests so I'm sorry if i do it wrong 😓

Could I request a Vergil x Reader enemies to lovers smut? Kind of like hate sex but halfway through they realize they like eachother? Maybe with some breeding too

I'm in a Vergil phase right now and I love the way you write him 💕

Sidetracked

you and vergil release some tension while on a mission / enemies to lovers trope

pairing: vergil x gn!reader

wc: 870

warnings: nsfw! - typical smut, no extreme warnings

author’s note: YES THANK YOU FOR THE ASK !I LOVED THIS ! kept this somewhat short and more of a vergil pov . there’s a lack of breeding, but i pinky promise i’ll make it up to you when i get around to finishing my vergil mating fic. enjoy !!

links: ao3

Dirty fingernails dig into the flesh of your hips, thumbs hooked into your hip-bones with cosmic strength. Vergil had you lifted in his arms against the cavern wall, demon carcasses still bleeding out and twitching some feet away. This was happening far too frequently: Dante forcing Vergil to take you on missions to gain experience, you pestering him the entire time by simply breathing in his direction, and Vergil stuffing himself into you as a form of punishment. But was it really a punishment, if you both harmonized each other’s names with every orgasm?

“You petulant, ignorant, disgusting insect,” Vergil snarls in your ear, face flushed and dripping sweat. “Your entire life is a waste, and spending any moment of it with you is worse than damnation.”

”Disgusting?” You frown up at him, hands gripping his coat like reigns. “You don’t really mea- MMPPH! HHMMPPPHH!!”

Vergil moves a hand to clamp it over your mouth roughly, your head rattling against the cave wall from the impact. He couldn’t take the incessant whining, moaning, complaining - it was driving him to the brink of insanity. Weeks and weeks of ‘Vergil, I’m tired’, or ‘this sucks, can we go home?’, or his least favorite: ‘I don’t even know why you’re here’. He had half a mind to drag you back to the agency and dump you back onto Dante, washing his hands of you. But there was a major downside to that that outweighed all the pros of ridding himself of you.

He would have to put an end to these satiating quickies.

No more delightful moans, no more watching you waddle back onto the battlefield, no more seeing that angelic smile shine up at him in the final seconds of your release. Despite himself, he often looked forward to it every week - a single moment of joy in his desolate world. And he knew, deep down, you did too, often finding new ways to ‘torture’ him just so he’ll pin you beneath him. Vergil convinced himself that it was purely for logical, beneficial reasons. He always performed better on the field after gushing into you. Something about the adrenaline, the endorphins, made his demon blood go crazy. He often found himself swinging Yamato with more precision, or dodging attacks with impeccable reaction times. How could he give up something that made him a better fighter? A better hunter?

No. He needed to put an end to this. The line between a ‘quick fuck’ and a ‘meaningful connection’ was getting too blurry for his liking. This was the last time, no more after this. He was a seasoned warrior, one that could fight just as well without you. This had to stop. It must-

“Don’t stop. God, pl-please don’t stop.”

Vergil hadn’t noticed his hand over your mouth fall to cradle your head, too lost in his thoughts. The sound of your wanton begging lobotomizes his brain, him gazing down at you dumbly with lust. All he could focus on now was how pretty you looked taking him, head drooping back and eyelashings kissing your cheeks. His eyes fall to his hips moving like an automaton, snapping in and out your impossibly warm walls. The sight alone is heaven - he figures people die to achieve this level of nirvana, and yet, he has it right in his fingers.

Damn it, he can’t put an end to this.

Swallowing his pride, Vergil relents to his desires and speeds up, the primitive sounds of fluids and skin-on-skin bouncing around the cave like an echo-chamber. His hand on your hip tightens, nails forming crescents on the skin as he runts his cock into you, pelvic bones slamming together. Vergil thinks you’ve already come by the way you’re squirming under him - he feels a little bad for not noticing earlier, too consumed in his own world to hear your moans clearly. He doesn’t care enough to ask though, the sirens blaring in his body that he’s about to come himself. With one, two, three more pumps, Vergil growls and bites down on his lip, pulling out just in time to cum over your sex rather than in it. The head of his cock twitches as white spurts out of it, ropes making a Pollock on your skin. WIth a shuddering breath, he slowly lowers your legs back to the ground, allowing you to hold his arms as you steady your shaking legs.

“…Are you alright?”

You answer with a small nod, still trying to regulate your breathing. You squat down and gather your pants, pulling them back on. “Yeah, m’good.”

”Good, good,” Vergil returns your nod and zips up his fly, averting his eyes from you. There was a voice in the back of his mind pleading with him to say more, to show you more of his human side. He wanted to, gods be damned, he really wanted to. But not now, not like this. Instead, he kneels down and scoops your weapon off the cave floor, wiping the blade clean with the end of his coat. He offers it back to you with an imperceivable smile, eyes meeting yours for a heartbeat. “Let us continue on. There are four more caverns to clear.”

#vergil sparda #vergil sparda x reader #devil may cry #devil may cry smut #dmc vergil #writing #fanfic #dmc #oneshot #smut #asks #enemies to lovers #vergil x reader

70 notes · View notes

mckngsong · 11 months ago

Text

@angeldored, minerva said “ you drool when you sleep . ”

‍ ‍ the daughter of war is haloed by the late afternoon sunrays, and katniss has to squint at her from underneath her shielding forearm. there is a frown on her lips, sleep - addled from the rousing of her nap.

‍ ‍ “ . . . no, i don't, ” only after a not - at - all subtle wipe of the back of her hand across her chin; no drool, though maybe a smudge of dirt. unamused, she lays her head back down onto the cushion of long grass and drapes her arm over her eyes -- no need to let her gaze linger on minerva. ugh. “ was there something you wanted, romero? ”

#angeldored #❛ a fighter forced to perform. ➴WRITING.#❛ you showed me colors you know i can’t see with anyone else. ➴ANGELDORED ⁀ MINERVA ROMERO.#❛ i feel divinity in my veins like aching， like fire. ➴PJO VERSE.#ehehe

5 notes · View notes

dontbesoweirdkira · 4 months ago

Text

Yandere Alphabet—Johnny Cage MK1

A/N: I’m back in my MK11/1 phase so please be prepared for the toxic men we love/hate! Here’s prime Johnny being a absolute monster to his darling. Remember this is all my opinion.

Warnings: abuse, violence, emotional/verbal abuse, kidnapping, forced videos, ect…

Masterlist

Requests: Mk11/1/X or whatever else I write for open 24/7

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Johnny dearest is always functioning at a highhhhh intensity! Especially when it comes to his darling.

He’s never shy of showing his love for you. He doesn’t just have one love language… Gift giving, physical affection, words of affirmation and quality time are all his favorites.

It can often times be quite scary witnessing this first hand. He’s constantly love bombing you and acting a little too perfect at times to win you over…of course this is only followed by his✨abusive behavior ✨

Any little piece of information he can grab from you, he will use it for his benefit. You like a certain brand? Here is everything they have in every single color….

You like a partner you can sit and paint with?! Well buckle up baby because he is now, Mr. Johnny Ross(loll)

He’s willing to one up anything someone will offer you with something farrrrr greater.

You’re smothered with all kinds of physical affection as-well and it doesn’t matter who is around y’all at the time. You can try to push him away, his grip will only become tighter and he’ll utter sweet nothings in your ear, “the more you fight me,the worse I’ll make this for you.”

His smile and gestures are oh so sweet, but there’s just something so chilling behind it.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Before Johnny had ever joined the tournament he was a very great muy thai fighter, sometimes to a fault.

Cage got himself into lots of trouble and plenty of fights during his career over very small issues….you don’t think he’ll go through hell and back for you?!

I mean come on he kills for fun at this point, he’ll gladly slice someone’s head off if they disrespect you.

I honestly don’t believe there’s any limits Johnny is not willing to cross when it comes down to getting his hands bloody. Torture, extortion, kicking someone into a moving train…

I mean hell I’d say at his very worst delusional state he’d even kill someone publicly if that proves his devotion to you.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

From reading other writers works and analyzing hours of Johnny cannon content…it seems to be a mixed bag.

But I personally think he would be rather mean towards you.

Yes MK1 johnny is a sweetie pie and really seems to care about people he loves but his wife still left him over his ways.

I can see him being extremely condescending and enjoying watching you beg for food or to be let out.

He’s a narcissistic asshole at his core. I think he’d get much pleasure out of forcing you to give praises to him and perform certain humiliating tasks to get what you want/need out of him.

(Don’t mean this sexually lmaooo)

“Oh you want some water, sweetheart? Sure! You know you can have whatever you want in this house….as long as you do what I asked for earlier..”

I think Johnny would also film you doing these tasks while he laughs at and mocks you. Just something wholesome for him to watch when he’s away from you🥰

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Obviously the stuff I mentioned previously plussss

Forcing you to go to premiers, red carpet, parties, and interviews.

Sometimes he’ll make you sit in his movie trailer all day while he’s getting ready or reciting lines. You will have to compliment his hair and costuming thoroughly or no one will go home until it’s right.

“It looks great.” Ain't gonna cut it!! Please just play along. The costuming and makeup department are underpaid and overworked. He’s gonna have a full blown diva meltdown if you don’t respond correctly.

Also! You don’t have a choice to not be all over his social media or on his live streams…and you better not even HINT to being abducted because you will get it!!

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Depends on how long you’ve been his darling…

I think Johnny is fantastic at pretending his life is perfectly fine and that “Cage” is really him.

He wants you to believe he truly is all he is cracked up to be. Deep down all narcissistic people are a little bit insecure though and he fears you’re going to walk out on him if the mirror shatters.

Living in his house longer than a few months is easy to see just how messed up and vulnerable he actually is. No matter how much he tries to hide his addictions, failing career and lack thereof money…you see it all.

Every now and then Johnny will get black out drunk and have a moment of vulnerability. He’ll shower you in endless apologies and cry about how much he’s just scared you’ll leave…

You’re so perfect and pure unlike his disgusting self. You’re the only reason why he still tries—-blah blah blah

He forgets all that crap in the morning and goes back to being his usual self. Don’t bring this up, even in the heat of your emotions he’ll gaslight the hell outta you

(Deep down he knows what you’re saying is true but who would he be to admit this)

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

It’s hilarious…Oo it reminds him of this old Hollywood film..what was it called again?

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

Is it a good day or is it happening after a shitty day at the studio??

A good day? He’ll just have fun with it. You’re not strong enough to even win this so why do you try???

It’s cute though and it doesn’t really phase him at all. Like I said he looooves recording videos of things like this to replay later. He might even play it for you again before you go to sleep, just to remind you who actually has the upper hand.

“Hahahaha, oh this is comedy gold! Are you seeing this? I hope you’re watching so the next time you think about being a pain in my ass and try to escape, you’ll remember just how weak you are. This is my kingdom baby..no one leaves unless I say so.”

He says this all with his stupid smile before turning over to fall asleep like it’s nothingg

A bad day he’s pissssed. Can’t you see that he is trying all he can to get back on top…FOR YOU…and you wanna be a little bitch and escape??

There’s nothing but pure rage and I’d caution you to ignore anything that leaves his mouth for the next two hours

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

He wants to obviously get back on top of the world. He craves that attention and status again. He wants to get married to you, maybe make you into some kind of model or something too…maybe not….you’re only allowed to pose for him.

You’ll be his perfect little trophy that he can parade and throw around as he pleases. You’ll get everything you could ever want.

Who wouldn’t want to be married to an Emmy-Award winning super starr?? This is the perfect life no?

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Jealous? Johnny Cage and jealous being used in the same sentence?! Yes.

He’ll never ever give you the satisfaction of admitting that he is. He always gets jealous over the littlest things.

He doesn’t believe in you having a Hollywood crush…he is the Hollywood crush and how dare you insult him by even suggesting that person is hotter than him?!

He’ll spend hours dissecting them and how every feature or personality trait is unattractive in contrast to his. You’re starting rivalries, y/nnnn!!!

You are to not look, speak , or breathe the same air as another man. Johnny will constantly be in the backseat of a cop car fighting these guys.

If he suspects you’re crushing/talking to someone else(even if you’re not) he’ll lash out about it.

Your devices, journals, and personal items are all confiscated until he goes through every single one of them to make sure you’re really not cheating.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Okay let me give him a break. I’ve talked so much about him being a menace that I need to remind everyone that he’s a natural romancer.

Ganghis khan doesn't have anything on the amount of women he’s been with. Of course Johnny knows a few things about being sweet to a lady.

There’s plenty of days where he’s extremely charming and shows that he cares. Even with his crippling debt, he still finds money to spoil you.

A lot of times you think he isn’t listening to you because he’s always glued to his phone. While that may be 60% true, he does pleasantly surprise you with the things you mentioned or talked about. He’ll have his assistants scour the internet trying to find rare items from your favorite fixation for you.

I mentioned he is extremely physically and verbally affectionate at times. A lot of the times his compliments are…degenerative but he will say something wholesome every now and again.

“Hmm…I really love your hair like that. The curls really make you look lovely.”

On a regular day he does speak rather gently to you, especially in public and if you get nervous from all the paparazzi.

He doesn’t shy away from PDA. Cage isn’t embarrassed of you at all, even if you are more of a plain Jane. You’re still smoking hottttt!

Don’t worry about asking before touching him. If you’re a socially anxious person, he actually gets excited when you hold onto his arm or curl up into him.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Flirtatious banter and love bombing…

He was genuinely shocked when you had absolutely no interest in him. That has never not worked on a woman. (A lie) You didn’t even accept the Chanel bag?! That’s a first.

when he realized all his tricks weren’t going to work, he resorted to just taking what is rightfully his.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

He likes to take away any kind of enjoyment from you. If you want to act up and not obey him…fine. If he’s not happy then you can’t be.

He’ll deactivate devices, turn off the water or light, even lock up all the food items so you can become deprived.

Will also make the house extremely hot or cold and remove any blankets/air conditioning.

You liked your stuffed animals and nicknacks? How about your prized possessions? Well too bad. He’ll throw them all in a box and hide them somewhere.

The bedroom is emptied and if you need to use the bathroom, you can pee in a cup. His luxury soaps and toilet are only meant for him at the moment.

Can be rather verbally abusive as well. You won’t be able to forget that “he’s the prize”, princess. He gave you everything, and he’ll take it right back. You only get things if you’re good.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

This all depends on you, chica…

How loving are you towards him? Are you constantly giving him such a hard time? Do you reject every advance and sweet moment that he tried to give you?

If not, he’s a saint. He’ll ignore your bad behavior and cut you some slack. He’ll find your antics to be more endearing than anything.

If so, he’s not so patient. Why cut you so much slack when you push him out everyday. You’re not even trying for him.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

I don’t believe so. At most…he might think, “gosh did I really just capture her?”, at first.

But then when he really thinks about it, the pros outweigh the cons. He gets to have you all to himself. You’ll learn to love him, he usually grows on people.

Besides, the authorities would never believe that a super star like him, would ever kidnap some random chick, like you.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Okay I have mentioned that he’s a little shit and finds it a bit funny when you cry…but isolation is something he hates.

Yeah like go ahead lock yourself in the bedroom for about an hour because you’re upset. Anytime after that, he’s kicking down the door.

He brought you here to spend time with him. You’re not going to waste away in some closet. Besides he’s worried that you’re plotting to jump out the window or something. He doesn’t want you to hurt yourself either.

Trying to distance yourself from him won’t work out for you. If you sit on the opposite side of the couch or refuse to cuddle in bed, he’s handcuffing himself to you so that you have no choice but to interact with him.

This is kind of sick but sometimes when you’re having one of your moments he might start live streaming just to get you to stop. He’ll flip the script and act like he’s the one hurting. He knows you don’t like the spotlight and are too scared to stand up for yourself because his fans won’t believe you.

You’ll usually give into what he wants and apologize to him until he turns it off.

“See…that wasn’t so hard. I won’t have to include my fans in our problems if you didn’t act out like this. I just get so frustrated that I have no choice but to put you on blast.”

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

He has quite a few. Picking on his insecurities and soft spots are the best ways to manipulate him.

Sweet talk to him, make him think you’ve finally realized how much he loves you. How much you truly do need him to survive. He’s given you a whole new life for the better and you’re sorry for not seeing that sooner.

Play on this for quite a while until he lets his guard down…just pray he doesn’t catch onto your manipulation before you can get far enough away.

He’ll never let up on you when he finds you.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

I don’t believe he’d beat on you.

I do agree with some other writers that he would threaten you with violence or even put something to your throat but I can’t see him going through with it.

He just wanted to scare you into loving him.

“Come on, babe. I’ll put it down if you tell me how much you love me? Hmm. How about that you won’t ever look in another man’s eyes ever again.”

I do think at times he’ll be extremely rough with you. You might even end up with scratches or a bloody nose. I don’t think any of those were purposeful. You were just fighting him so much that it happened.

If he’s super pissed with you, hair and ear pulling would definitely be on the bingo card. (Possibly biting? Or are you guys like number 5 and find that weird?)

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Oh so badly but only if you won't be cooperative with him.

He needs your attention, love and support. He needs to have every single inch of you. All your energy and time should only go to him. He won’t budge on just some 50%,..he needs it all. Trust me when I say that he knows if you’re not giving enough.

Whatever gets the best results out of you he will continue to do at full intensity until you give into him.

You’ll learn to forgive and forget about all the things he’s done. One day you’ll see the bigger picture.

Johnny can’t handle rejection and has never been one to give up. If it’ll take years to break you, so be it. You’ll be the best award he’ll ever win in his lifetime.

#headcanon #yandere johnny cage #mortal kombat x reader #oneshot #yandere imagines #johnny cage x reader #yandere mortal kombat #yandere headcanons #johnny cage #mortal kombat 1 #johnny cage mortal kombat #mortal kombat 11 #lui kang x reader #yandere kung lao #bi han x reader

102 notes · View notes

thesunrisesss · 1 year ago

Text

Something I love about Suzanne is the fact that she leaves so many things for us to pick up on if we pay attention. One of the things I really began to pick up on was just how juxtaposed Peeta and Katniss and Snow and Lucy Gray are. We all know that she created both young Snow and Lucy Gray to resemble Katniss and Peeta, but the way she compares and contrasts them is just *chefs kiss*

Of course, the dynamics between the pairs are vastly different. Rachel said it beautifully in an interview regarding the comparisons between Katniss and Lucy Gray, “Lucy Gray is a performer forced to fight, Katniss was a fighter forced to hunt”, but I’ve heard little about people comparing Snow to Peeta.

My headcanon is that Snow also has a deep disdain for Peeta. Not in the same way that he loathes Katniss, but because he can’t help but see Peeta as a "weaker" version of himself.

Peeta wants Katniss to be free and is willing to let Katniss make decisions for herself. A fantastic example is when she starts her situationship with Gale. Peeta doesn’t force her to be with him. But, when Lucy Gray sings her ballad during her interview, Snow can’t help but feel disgust over the fact that he doesn’t have control over her; that she could be giving her love to someone else when he feels like he is the only one deserving of it.

Peeta cares so deeply about Katniss, showing time and time again that he’s willing to put his life on the line to ensure she survives and I believe that Snow can’t help but hate him for it. He can never fathom caring about someone more than he cares about himself; only caring about self-preservation. Snow may see Peeta's compassion and think it’s a waste of time. He probably believes that at some point Katniss will betray Peeta, much like he believes Lucy Gray did to him.

Suzanne writes with such intention, leaving no loose ends in any of her stories. There are so many comparisons between the characters that it is hauntingly beautiful, but she also makes them very distinct and unique. I can't help but believe that this decision to create these characters in this fashion was not only intentional but extremely implied.

163 notes · View notes

therealslimshakespeare · 7 months ago

Note

do the girls deal with any specific bouts of cruelty BECAUSE of period weeks? Like guards being especially malicious or things like that?

Female Complaints

Me instead of just answering, takes weeks and ends up writing you a blurb, which rather deviates from the original ask. Ugh sorry. The long and short of it is yes! If, and that’s a strong if, they are caught during it. But they would endeavor not to be with everything in them. And as shown here, many of the boys try to help with that

Warnings: mentions of periods, internalized Misogyny, some gender dissatisfaction (we’ve all been there when curled in a ball and no Advil on hand) and some hinted sexual threats

Lieutenant Sanchez would have rather licked that guard’s boot than admit to her ailment, but the longer his all too observant heckling went on, the more conscious she was of symptoms she’d otherwise surmount by a supreme and long perfected method of productive disassociation.

Keeping her eyes down on her literal cabbage patch, Sanchez tried to pay attention to the rub of her blisters on the rough hewn handle of the garden hoe, anything to forget about the tear pricking pain gnawing at her pelvis. It was an old trick to withstand the forces of hurtling her fighter jet into the blue yonder, to focus on another discomfort, the bite of your tongue, the curl of your toe in your boot, anything over the crucial and foremost discomfort that might throw off your performance. She wasn’t weak, she knew that, but it was impossible not to hold oneself up next to others. Her time in enlistment had only been possible on certain days of the month by crucially provided medications. Now those medication weren’t available and she was half crippled one week out of the month, and there was talk. Talk about how she ever managed to do her job.

She’d done it magnificently.

That’s how she’d done it.

And she’d seen it through until her bird was a fireball in the sky, driven down into her target along with her bombs, one last salvo of equipment, a final “fuck you” to her enemies as they plucked her from the sky. Now she was hoeing sandy earth between cabbage rows with a swimming head and knees that buckled from the intensity of her menstrual cramps.

Lieutenant Sanchez wasn’t very fond of considering herself a woman; it hadn’t gotten her much beyond unwanted restrictions and unasked for attentions. She could not relate to Maureen Kendeigh’s delight in her sex, the way she held court over discomforts and reveled in girlish peculiarities while in camp. Maybe Kendeigh was more confident, stronger, or maybe she’d had a kinder go of life so far, but Sanchez would rather lick that guard’s boot than admit even to her fellow prisoners that she was suffering from female complaints again.

Last time had been complete with a migraine, and there was nothing for it but to lay with her coat sleeve tied around her eyes and blindly grope for the bucket to puke on occasion. Someone had emptied the bucket twice, brought a washcloth and gently told her to “let me” while she’d futilely batted the kindness away.

Sanchez wasn’t looking to recognize her benefactor. Even though she suspected him, he wasn’t getting shit from her. Not even thanks.

She refused to belive that anyone had seen her like that. Just as this guard was never going to get the satisfaction of an admittance of the same. There was no tell-tale blood on her trousers, she was doing her job, the weeds were being churned up by her furious whacks -the Krout Fucker could go pound sand for all she cared. But then again, were it an option, she’d do anything to pause, to straighten, to brace her hands on her hips for a brief respite.

-A posture that had earned her the guard’s first jape.

If she’d mistaken his German jokes about blood and female dogs, she did not misunderstand his gesticulations to his crotch and then her own. The laughter that followed from his fellows haunted her, that little crowd of four standing at a little distance, smoking and mocking, the way her fellow prisoners gave her uneasy looks, the way Ida Brady hauled the water buckets about a few rows down as if she hadn’t bled a child out of herself a little over a month ago.

The woman was ghost-like in her frailty and thinness, but she was strong. Sanchez loathed her for it, for the way she’d managed to be so very discreet about the ultimate female humiliation, the way she seemed so impervious to all the taunts and laughter of the guards about her erstwhile misfortune. The way she could haul buckets and hoe crops without a wince, the way she was respected by the men in spite of it.

“Here, let me.” a large, warm hand folded over Sanchez own white knuckles on the wooden handle, making to take her prop from her.

Same words, same voice, if there was anyone she liked to avoid more than Ida Brady herself, it was her caregiving fairy of a brother. Washcloths over throats or help in Sector B’s shit excuse for a garden, Sanchez didn’t like owing John Brady anything. She gripped her garden implement harder, half to wrestle it back from his presumptuous aid, half because now he was taking it away, she realized how crucial the support was to her remaining upright.

“Think you’ll find this is mine.” she snapped.

“Think maybe you should take a breather.” he leveled back, fingers still curled over hers and for a woman who’d not allowed a single touch all winter, to feel a hand on a hand in springtime was more electric than perhaps it should have been. Or maybe it was those watchfully wise eyes pleading with her through a greasy fringe of brown hair. His eyes were green in the sunlight, or maybe that was his undershirt reflecting.

“I’m fine.” she jerked at it; unnervingly the wood didn’t even budge from his grip -he was strong for a scrawny little fuck with pretty clavicles and no need for a razor.

“These are for you.” Brady’s other hand extended a very quaint little bag in front of her face, domestic and familiar, its label touted seeds for a variety of squash. “To be sewn in between the cabbages, apparently their vines will help block out the weeds. And we can eat them.”

Sanchez took the bag with one hand, her other still trapped beneath his own on the hoe’s handle. “And you’re not smart enough to put seeds in dirt?”

“Sit down and plant them before I make you.” Brady’s tone was the sort Sanchez supposed her father was going for when belligerently ordering her about in her younger, dependant days, -it weakened her knuckles in reflex and suddenly the hoe was out of reach and Brady’s other hand extended as if to help her into some goddamn carriage. “Come on, no one will notice if you stop makin’ a fucking scene.”

Gingerly she put her hand in his and knelt down, winded from the agony of the descending movement despite his supportive grip, but once seated on her knees, she had to admit -to herself, never him- it was better this way.

“There.” he muttered, like he himself had been the one relieved, “You don’t have to be so stubborn. Everybody helps everybody in here.”

Sanchez pondered that, knowing that the bomber girls certainly had a pack of protectors that she had denied herself due to belligerence and not a little annoyance at being blamed for Cleven’s scars. Stubborn, he dared call her stubborn! It made her venomous even as she carefully undid the bag and poured a small quantity of the precious seeds in her palm, “Oh?” she taunted him “Does your harpy of a sister even have female complaints?”

John Brady’s form was excellent even when hoeing a cabbage row and he certainly was making an annoyingly more significant amount of progress compared to Sanchez’s weak limbed efforts of before. “Wanna keep your teeth?” he grunted as his hoe blade blurred near her foot, “Then don’t talk shit about my sister.”

Sanchez found the warm earth and the posture on her knees too comforting to retain her vitriol; she ought to hurl another barb at him but it all seemed a little unimpressive as she realized this was the first spring day she’d really enjoyed: sat here on her knees between cabbage rows with John Brady whacking the earth beside her.

“Huh.” she uttered after a while, having kept pace with his work down the rows, shuffling on her knees and repeating the motions of dig and plant and cover. The crowd of guards had not yet dispersed but the heckles had stopped.

“What?” Her companion grunted.

“Staring at asses seems to be a staple for them, no matter whose ass.”

Brady’s hoe thudded into the earth and stayed there for a beat too long as he met her eyes, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Is it the one with the blonde scruff?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” Brady’s hoe went back to work, its wielder not seemingly perturbed.

“Used to that?” she asked him, suddenly discomforted at the realization, which was a new sensation for her -concern for somebody else in this hell hole.

“Yeah.”

“That’s shit.” was all she had to offer, but she eyed the guard in question, and something showing on her face seemed to bother him enough he turned away and began his route through the compound again, cigarette crushed into the earth and dog trailing at his leash.

“Yeah.” Brady assented beside her, unaware of the change. “Lotta things are shit right now.”

“Yeah.” she agreed.

“S’why we need to let each other help.” he sermonized and she was reminded why she found the young captain so aggravating. She also felt an odd impulse to follow him around like those damn guard dogs and snarl at anyone who had shitty intentions.

“Yeah.” She agreed, “Anytime you need to hide a body, I’ll help.”

He turned her a lopsided grin, surprising in its width and brightness, how easily it cracked across his sober face despite the context, “Knew I’d find your currency one day, Sanchez.” he about preened and then they began on another row.

#masters of the air #mota #mota fanfic #integrated AU #Brady x Sanchez #it was about time the other girls got a little love

62 notes · View notes

angel-of-the-moons · 7 months ago

Note

Hiii, how about writing some fluff about Poe teaching reader who’s a new pilot for the resistance some of his tips on flying? The rest is up to you. I’m missing Poe as well :,)))

Baby Wings

Poe Dameron x Reader

TW/CW: Nothing!

A/N: I might consider writing this on my tablet because lord help me, typing these out on a tiny phone screen is not good for my hands! 😩

💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫

You couldn't stop the butterflies from fluttering inside of your belly as Poe Dameron--the Poe Dameron--leaned into your cockpit to point out the controls of your new X-Wing.

You had just been appointed to his squadron as a fledgling pilot. You had originally been a smuggler that the Resistance hired routinely, and apparently, a flight maneuver you performed in a dogfight with a few weequay pirates got Poe's attention.

If you could fly like that in an old hunk of clunk freighter, how would you do in something designed for finer maneuvers, for dogfights?

How good would your skills be against the First Order?

Your senses were currently buzzing as everything Poe invaded the cramped space. The smell of oxidized metal, or smoke and ozone from patching up hull breaches and walls to the base; the smell of sweat and cheap juice he'd downed before spotting you in the hangar and rushing over to offer his "expertise".

He wasn't looking at you, he was practically laying on you, actually; as he supported his weight on the console with one hand and pointing out the dials, buttons, levers and latches you'd need to memorize to control your new fighter.

His face had thin rivulets of sweat trickling down his gloriously almost-olive skin, his dark raven curls falling around his face, clumped with excess sweat. His suit was soaked too, the orange having dark stains from the moisture his body was sweating out thanks to the damned heat of this Force-forsaken planet.

But honestly, you sent a silent prayer to whomever was listening for the heat, because you hoped--like some foolish schoolgirl with a crush on a galaxy-famous athlete--that Poe would get sick of the heat and tear off the top half of his suit to cool his heated skin.

You were so absorbed in staring at him, that you had almost entirely forgot to listen to him. You only realized your brain lapsed when he turned his head to smile that trademark grin of his, wrapping up his last sentence.

"...and then that's the yoke, obviously. Don't need to tell you that. Got it?"

"Wh--oh! Y-yep! Got it, commander..." You cough awkwardly, four fingers fiddling pointlessly with the controls.

"Kay, theeeeen..." He smirked at you from the corner of his eyes as he turned back to your control panel. "...repeat everything I just told you. Y'know... So I know my impeccable lessons stuck."

"I, uh--well, uh. This is the..." You began to blubber out, trying to find something you did know and give a quick, half-assed explanation on what it did.

Poe barked out a hearty belly laugh, "Don't even bother, darlin'... If you were paying attention... You'd know that I squeaked in a line about me being the former Emperor of Kashyyyk. And, as handsome as I am, unfortunately, I feel ike the wookies might have an issue with me wanting to claim the throne. ...If they even got one."

Your face flushed with color and you buried your face into your hands, "Stars, I am so sorry. I-I really was trying to pay attention, I just..."

"Got lost in all this--" He leaned back to gesture to his messy, sweaty form. "--primal, god-like, drop-dead gorgeous attractiveness?"

From the bottom of his ladder, you could hear BB-8 tweet out a response that called Poe out. You swore you could make out "nerf-herder" and "Hutt's armpit" in-between his refuting whistles and beeps.

Poe leaned back on the ladder and frowned at his round companion, "Hey, you little womp-rat! I will have you know a lot of people find me handsome!"

BB-8 once again doubted that claim, your abilities once again picking out few choice words such as; "drunkards", "a blind quarren" and "brain-dead jawa".

You need to laugh at their bickering overpowered your embarrassed, darkened cheeks and you titter and snort at what little you could pick ou.

Poe looked at you with a playful scowl, "What're you giggling about?"

You cover your mouth and point down at BB, who tweeted as he spun in a circle.

Poe looked between you and BB, his jaw going slack as his amber eyes looked to the both of you in disbelief.

He finally looked back at you for a final time, pointing at you.

"You," He pointed down at BB-8. "Can understand him?"

You rub the back of your neck. "W-well sort of... I spent a lot of my childhood working in a droid repair shop, and--"

Poe clapped, whooping happily, "Oh, I knew I liked you! Finally, somebody else who can hear what this little metal butterball is shouting at me! You'd be surprised at how many people don't understand droids!"

He leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, "...Sometimes I think they're the lucky ones."

BB-8 twittered and shrieked a response, beeping rapidly in an irritated manner, making Poe laugh once again.

Finally, he leaned into the cockpit once more, winking at you.

"C'mon, darlin'... let's go over this again so the info soaks up into that pretty little brain o' yours. And if you do a good enough job on the pop quiz... maybe we can hit the local cantina!"

#🌙 answered #poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #star wars

79 notes · View notes

mckngsong · 11 months ago

Text

‍ ‍ they play on a graveyard. it is the sort of morbid knowledge that sits ever presently in katniss' mind, but it is not a thing to tell children or their parents -- so she lets it haunt her, alone, and even allows a feeble smile as father and son tumble about the meadow. it is chest - achingly sweet, and she had looked forward to this visit more than she realized. annie's company is companionable in a way she didn't know, either, and she relishes in it. “ you don't have to save finnick the embarrassment. i know he was dying to get out here. ”

‍ ‍ the brief merriment she allows herself is swept away by the mention of her mother, a dull ache in a never - healing wound, and the archer drops her gaze back to her father's bow in her lap while she swallows the taste of antiseptic on the back of her tongue. “ it's not for you to be sorry about, ” and she speaks with a softness she only learned after she settled back in twelve. fingertips smooth over the wood with distracted satisfaction. “ i didn't really expect it, anyway. she . . . made her decision a long time ago. ” and once again, katniss is burying her resentment for the woman who never raised her. “ besides, the waters in four? i'm surprised you three could pry yourself away. ”

“ i don’t know who was more excited about the trip, finnick or irvin. ” she’s smiling fondly, watching her husband LUMBER after their shrieking son. it’s beautiful out here, green and lush with life. a different sort of peace than the musical waves back home. annie lets silence wash over, listening to the distant birdsong, before she casts a long glance to the younger girl ( woman really, it’s been three years ) seated at her side. watches her scarred hands work efficiently and smoothly as she oils her bow. “ i tried to see if your mother wanted to come… i’m sorry. ”

@mckngsong ˡⁱᵏᵉᵈ

#70th #❛ a fighter forced to perform. ➴WRITING.#❛ when i decided to wage holy war. ➴70TH ⁀ ANNIE CRESTA.#❛ i’m back between villages ﹠ everything’s still. ➴POST WAR.#mops up my tears. it's fine !

5 notes · View notes

mckngsong · 11 months ago

Text

@netwoven said 〝 you didn't need me anymore. ”

‍ ‍ her frown etches deeply into a scar - borne visage, furrows wrinkling between the tight draw of her brows and the corners of her mouth arcing downward. one of those expressions that hardens the morning mist of her eyes into steel. rarely does she look upon finnick in such a way, unless she is in one of her worst moods -- the ones when she is burning from the inside out with her own self - loathing and cannot stand to be in the presence of another. ( but even he has withstood those, often. ) it certainly isn't what she expected, seeing him for the first time since snow's execution. ( since she took initiative into her own hands and executed coin instead. )

‍ ‍ “ what the hell does that mean? ” katniss sits straighter in her chair, pulling her elbows from the table -- creating distance. she peers into those emerald hues and can't help feeling a little indignant. it isn't what he meant, some part of her knows, but her defenses prickle all the same. “ you were home, finnick. with annie. of course i didn't bother you. but that doesn't mean i didn't want to see you, or -- talk to you. ” they had all gone their separate ways for awhile, after everything. had to carve their own paths toward a semblance of healing. and katniss . . . katniss had been so buried in her own grief, that most days it was a battle just to get out of bed. to walk the house her sister's ghost danced. she couldn't have asked for anyone's company even if she had wanted it. it'd been all haymitch could do just to force his way inside on the odd weekend.

‍ ‍ she sighs, lowering her hackles with some effort. “ we all needed -- time. you never had to be my caretaker, but i didn't . . . i didn't forget. ” not about their time in thirteen, clinging to one another for sanity while they watched their loved ones break and the world warred around them. just because that time has passed, doesn't mean she doesn't still appreciate his company. his companionship.

#netwoven #❛ a fighter forced to perform. ➴WRITING.#❛ i’m back between villages ﹠ everything’s still. ➴POST WAR.#i can't believe you asked for this...i'll fight you wtf #i'll get you a tag eventually i swear

4 notes · View notes

anarchotahdigism · 9 months ago

Text

I know i say "wear a mask and riot" and "fuck a peaceful protest" but I'd had a nice long post about how digital work and advocacy is praxis (or can be) on my old account. Right now, COVID is spreading and killing thousands of people in the US alone and nearly all """radicals""""" and """""leftists"""" are philosophically no different than the fascists they claim to oppose because they are so thoroughly wedded to eugenics that they refuse to wear and enforce masking. COVID causes long COVID in 10-30% of cases so the so-called US alone may well be a majority disabled nation now due to rampant eugenics forcing the spread of COVID. Long COVID is a rotting death and makes everything an order of magnitude more difficult if you still are able to do the things you were prior. Repeated COVID infections means you're guaranteed to be immunocompromised permanently and disabled in other ways you'll likely find out the hard way. With 40% of cases being asymptomatic and most only showing severe symptoms after 2-3 infections, and many starting to drop dead after 3 to 5 infections, many people accrue damage from and spread COVID without realizing it until it is far, far too late. As a result, it's guaranteed that the ableists have disabled and killed people. They've kept disabled people like me who are high risk out of radical spaces & communities. They've abandoned solidarity for everyone but the abled, ableist middle class while focusing most of their efforts on electoralism, despite the clear and constant failures of such actions. The BLM Rebellion of 2020-2021 had significant---albeit broadly temporary--impacts on electoral politics, society, and communities because it was a constant and ongoing rebellion that was also much more disability inclusive than prior leftist movement moments. For the first time, people recognized the need for remote actions & support because while masking was at the high water mark, more abled people understood that a lot of us disabled could not and would not risk COVID but we had had skills vital to the project. Things disabled people were absolutely critical for during the BLM Rebellion: police scanner observation and transcription, evacuation coordination, event & route planning, translation services, postering, graphics art & design, self defense seminars, radio nets, mutual aid fundraising, mutual aid distribution, bail fund coordination, zine writing, mask & test distributions, contact tracing (remember this??!??!), car brigades, organizing medical supplies, teaching first aid skills, and countless other roles often organized & performed remotely. For every fighter, there are at least a dozen support roles and with some thought and effort, those roles can be aided or done digitally. Posting on its own can be praxis in that it shares information, knowledge, tactics, demonstrates that there are other radicals out there willing to do what they can, normalizes radicalism, and in some cases, regimes pay close attention to internet support.

During the height of the Jina Amini rebellion in 2022, the Iranian regime tried to cut the internet repeatedly to stifle information out of and into Iran to hinder protest coordination and outrage. It also paid extremely close attention to when the rebellion was trending and refrained from reprisals until the mass attention of the internet citizenry turned away. Posting literally helped save lives by forcing the regime to wait, buying people time to organize, prepare, and act accordingly in Iran and internationally. Personally, I will always remember and be grateful for the Palestinians who turned out across the world, but especially in occupied Palestine, for Iranians. Iran is not the only regime that will wait until posts slacken and attention wanes before massacring people. If you are disabled, if you have arrest risks, if for any reasons you don't want to be involved in a radical riot, but you want to support those who can and do, there is so much you can do year round but especially things kick off!! Any skills, resources, knowledge, or support you can organize or contribute is valuable! eSims for Gaza right now are monumental in ensuring Gazans can coordinate information, requests, record Israeli occupation war crimes & apartheid cruelty, and many disabled graphics designers are offering their services in exchange for esim donations. It's been incredible to see.

The people who are against digital activism are ableist and racist and ignorant as hell beyond that. You can make an impact and even save and change lives while homebound. Begging genociders to stop profitable genocides has never and will never work. Riots & boycotts work because they directly confront and attack power and if those actions are supported by communities, they can continue for quite some time, as we saw with the BLM uprising. Regimes do not fall because people ask regime leaders to please stop committing atrocities; they fall when the people are able to bring to bear the sum of their hopes and wrath and bring the fight to those who have been oppressing them. That requires inclusive community & an outright rejection of the regime and its systems of cooptation & recuperation.

If a revolution or movement isn't inclusive, if it excludes the disabled, the poor, the marginalized, the oppressed, it's not a revolution or movement, it's just another genocidal regime change.

65 notes · View notes