#( wasteland baby — CAPITOL )

[fine-prints]

for: @erisharrington / CLOSED where: the capitol when: shortly after the arena attack

Corduroy Falto sat back in the leather seat, drink in hand, eyes watching the doors open and close as patrons made their way in or out of the restaurant. It was mid-afternoon ( closer to 1:30, but he told himself this to justify the drink ) and the sun shone brightly through all of the skylight windows, brightening up the place despite all of its dark colored interior. He had asked Eris Harrington to meet and was hoping to gather a little more information if possible, especially with her knowledge. Cord would respect anyone building a life for themselves in journalism, even if their preferred forms were different.

The man was about to start playing a dangerous game, one he had no rule book for. There had always been hints and shadows of the truth growing up in the Capitol, but Cord had been too blinded by the lifestyle to see it. Now, though, in the wake of a serious chess move by the districts, he had to give into temptation.

But for now he left those heavier thoughts aside to enjoy the drink and peruse the menu. He purposely arrived earlier than his meeting time, the type to like getting a lay of the land instead of walking into something unprepared. So journalist of him.

[fine-prints]

Corduroy waltzed into the building in his waist-high, maroon corduroy pants. Signature look, of course — who was he to break habit ? The white button-up shirt he wore hung a little loose in contrast to the secure waist, and over his shoulder slung a leather book bag filled with the most precious things; notepad, fountain pen, pack of gum and his badge ID for his newspaper.

He didn't expect to need it meeting with Sarah Kline because his meeting with her was purely inquisitive, but didn't know what doors she could open and who he might meet on the other side of the threshold. So he met her gaze with a bright, open smile, letting the charm of a laugh escape him.

"Can't leave you waiting, Miss Kline," he said politely, and if he had been born in another life, in another Panem, he'd have the slow drawl of a southern-born boy. Instead he was a purebred Capitolite and every inch of him oozed it.

He knew the boundaries of the Capitol kept him safe from all the prying hands of hatred out there. ( Little did he know he'd come to change his mind, but that's for another day ).

"Seven forty-five, right." Cord checked his watch and they had a little time before their festivities commenced. Still, there was plenty of time for information gathering — he would ask gently about her employment history here, about the kinds of stories she preferred to cover.

"Can I get you a coffee ?"

a plotted starter for @fine-prints

Corduroy Falto. Coming to speak to her about her career. Anyone who was anyone in the media industry - even anyone who followed all the good media content - knew of Corduroy Falto! Not just because of that silver lining of poetry hidden within every piece, but because of the fashion and the face. He certainly was someone that made you spill your secrets. She had never met him before - only seen him from afar. Sarah couldn't believe he had actually reached out to her. He knew of her as well! How incredibly flattering!

But the chokehold he had on her the moment she saw him entering the studio through those glass doors was out of this universe. He was even more handsome like this; up close in real life. Her throat dried up a bit, her pupils dilated and her pulse increased. If she was more academically inclined, she'd know that meant trouble.

Her gaze went from the subtle curl of his hair down to the shine on the nose of his shoe and before she knew it he was standing in front of her. Suddenly she felt quite ridiculous in her purple leotard.

"You give yourself away Mr. Falto. Your perfect timing and immaculate appearance tell me that you have not watched and joined this morning's exercise." Her eyes were glued to him. Oh, how dashing he was! Her tone was humored, light, sweet. Nothing about it indicating that she expected anything of the sort. "There is a re-run at seven forty-five."

[dazed-and-confused23]

Can I please request a fic where Dusty the Deathclaw has a close call? Like maybe the Enclave or the Brotherhood of Steel, or raiders, got in a lucky shot on Dusty’s belly. And this DEVASTATES the reader enough to go full John Wick on the person who shot Dusty, even to the point that Cooper is like “Oh Damn”. Cause they hurt the WRONG wasteland baby!

Dear Hearts and Gentle People 17

I had a lot of fun with this one and it gave me an excuse to head down to the Capitol Wasteland. Ignore the janky timelines ❤️

*so sorry that this took a while to get out. Life does a good job of getting in the way sometimes @odditycircus-2002. I hope you enjoy! ❤️*

Masterlist

You aren't a fan of the Capitol Wasteland. The weather is shit, and she and Cooper had been shot at no less than eight times in the two weeks they'd arrived. This pocket of the wasteland felt even more dangerous to be in, especially with the rumor of a slaver group in the area. You and Cooper had agreed to avoid them as best you could, but that still left the rest of the factions the two of you needed to keep an eye out for.

The BOS left the three of you alone for the most part whenever they happened to cross your path, Dusty had even made a friend with the dark skinned lady named Cross. Raiders were raiders, but the problems really started when she and Cooper stumbled across another group. The Enclave.

Even after the destruction of Raven Rock, pockets of the old world faction still remained. The day was coming to an end when laser fire suddenly accosted the trio of wanderers. They dove for the cover of nearby rocks and grab for their own weapons. Dusty roars loud enough that your ears ring and charge ahead, furious milky eyes zeroed in on the men in suits of power armor.

"Fuck. That's the Enclave," Cooper snarls beside you, and you whip around to stare up at him in horror. Out of all the factions that they could have run into, it had to be one of the most dangerous ones. They were righteous zealots who dreamed of wiping the earth clean of all mutated creatures.

This was the one faction that would have the kind of firepower to actually hurt their deadly companion, and you felt fear grip your heart when rapid laser fire fell upon Dusty. The creature snarled and gnashed his teeth, dropping down to his front arms to sprint forward and close the distance between himself and the Elclave member who had the gatling laser.

"Dusty!" You scream and run forward, ducking behind rocks and burnt out cars in your bid to get to the deathclaw. Cooper rubs right behind you, taking pot shots at the line of figures that stand on top of the cliffs above them. One woman screams as a bullet catches her in the leg, and she goes tumbling off the cliff to hit the ground, dead.

The deathclaw rips through the men and woman who don't have powe armor, blood and gore flying in all directions, and painting his golden scales red. You arrive in time to see a man in power armor rip something off his back and onto his shoulder. The weapon glows a terrible blue, and you watch in slow motion as a bolt of electrified plasma flew through the air and struck Dusty in the chest.

The deathclaw goes down with a howl of anguish, rearing back to expose the blackened flesh of his soft underbelly. His scales crack and melt off, and Dusty falls to the side, the ground shaking when his weight meets the earth.

Cooper hears you scream, and the sound rattles him. It's full of pain and fury, rage, and disbelief. He watches you drop your weapon and dash forward, throwing yourself at the man who shot Dusty. You cling to the man, feet finding foothold as your fingers dig into the neck paneling of the suit and rip at the tubing and wires that connect to the helmet.

Steam erupts from the power armor, and the man jerks around, stumbling as half of his suit loses power. You find the latch to the helmet and rip it off, exposing the face of the terrified man who dared try and kill Dusty.

The ghoul shouts your name when the two of you tip over, the power armor useless now that its systems have been compromised. You appear seconds later, wielding your side arm. You shoot the man in the face until the chamber runs dry, shoulders heaving and teeth bared in an animalistic snarl.

With the fight over, with any other remaining Enclave having fled the scene, you turn on your heel and run to Dusty. You drop to your knees beside the whining creature and reach for his massive head, hands gently smoothing over his dangerous horns as you whisper reassurances to your baby.

"Is okay, sweetheart. I'm right here. Can you let momma see?" You coo, and Dusty lifts his head, moving just enough that you can see the awful wound left behind from the tesla cannon. Dusty whuffs and grunts, obvious sounds of pain falling from his maw.

"Cooper, bring me my bag," you order, and the ghoul does so without a word. You dig around until you can find your stash of chems and drag out the med-x and stim-packs you have. You have no idea if these would work, but you had to try.

"I need to see it, Dusty," you murmur, and Dusty shoves his head forward and into your lap, looking for comfort, and you easily give it to him. You hold his head close to your chest, and the beast breaths in your scents deeply, his milky eyes closing as he begins to calm down.

You look at Cooper, and the ghoul sighs, but he takes the medical supplies from you. He goes about moving around the deathclaw until he can see the burn. The med-x goes first, and then he injects four stim-packs around the wound.

The chems seem to work, for it isn't long before the deathclaw relaxes, his body sagging forward, and you grunt as you take his weight. His breathing evened out, and Cooper watched in muted fascination as the wound began to knit back together. He sighs and plops down in the dirt beside you.

You lean into him, and Cooper wraps his arm around your waist as best he can, kissing the side of your head. Silent tears stream down your face as relief sweeps through your body.

"He'll be alright, smoothskin. Dusty's tougher than he looks."

[lillian-gallows]

Kinktober Day 28: Daddy kink and Cock Bulge with Charon

Pairing: Charon x Fem!LW!Reader Word Count: 3452 Warnings: Daddy Kink (Duh), Cock Bulge (Duh x2), Dom/sub Dynamics, Dirty talk, Oral sex (F Receiving), Vaginal Fingering, P in V sex, Depictions of heavy exhaustion and anxiety around kinky topics but it's communicated in a healthy way (Then thoroughly explored), Fluff (These two are so in love it hurts!). Kinktober Master(sub)list.

Minors DNI

Charon could see it the moment you both walked through the front door.

The weight and tension in your shoulders, the drag in your steps, the way your face was blank but in a bad way. You looked more like a shell than the woman who saved the entire Capitol Wasteland from the Enclave.

He watched you drop your pack on the floor on the way to the kitchen, which you normally didn’t do. Normally you B-lined it to the bedroom to put it away and get changed out of your Vault suit.

He called your name and got an absentminded hum in return. “You okay?” He asked and realized when he got the same hum again that you were on full autopilot, there wasn’t a thought in your head other than the drinking the Nuka-Cola you’d just pulled from the fridge.

He’d never seen you like this before in the time he’s traveled with you, not even when you went from just companions to lovers have you ever been like this. Sure, you got spacey sometimes when you were tired, but this was new.

The sugar served to bring you back to yourself just a little bit, but not enough to really think clearly. “Char…?” You murmured as you turned to the living room, where you found him standing with a concerned look on his face, though it didn’t really register in your brain. “What sounds good for dinner? I um…” You lost your train of thought, shaking your head for a second to bring it back. “I think I can warm up some steaks…” Then you were back in the fridge, but suddenly you weren’t sure why, looking at the rows of cold food without remembering why.

“No…C’mere. You need to rest.” He was suddenly behind you, guiding you away from the fridge with a gentle hand, but you resisted.

“No…!” You whined. “We need to eat. That’s what we do when we come home. We eat, then we sleep.”

“Baby, if you try to cook right now, you’ll hurt yourself.” He countered. “I’ll fix us something, so please go sit down.” He said, steering you to the couch, where you sat heavily, making the springs squeak.

“But…” You tried but the words didn’t come.

“No, buts…Just relax and let me take care of it.” He said, a scarred and calloused hand gently brushing stray hairs from your face, catching his attention when you leaned into the touch, nuzzling into his palm on instinct. A completely thoughtless act. “Stay here.”

“Okay, Daddy…” The mumbled word made his breath hitch in his chest. You’d never said that before, never even called your actual father that. He wondered if you were just loopy and said it jokingly, but the lack of giggle or teasing smile told him you meant it, even if you didn’t realize you’d said it.

Charon went to the kitchen and set to work heating up the mentioned steaks while his thoughts ran in circles, cutting them up so you wouldn’t have to handle a knife to do it yourself. He’d long ago found he liked the act of doing things like this for you, taking care of you felt right to him, knowing you needed him for more than just violence made his heart warm and race.

When he returned to the living room with dinner in hand, he found you completely asleep on the couch, curled into a tight ball, eyes moving under their lids, showing you were deep in REM sleep.

The plates found a home on the coffee table while he took you in his arms and carried you up the stairs to your bedroom, where he stripped you down to your underwear and left you in bed to sleep.

Several hours later, you woke in your bed with no memory of how you got there, or even when you’d gotten home. You remember that you did get home, but you don’t have the acute memories, no mental images to pull from before falling asleep.

Your stomach growled as you sat up slowly, hair a mess , eyes bleary, and limbs a little shaky, then you realized you were in only your underwear, which told you that it was Charon that had put you to bed.

The Brahmin skin pants were soft against your legs as you slipped them on, and the leather house shoes kept the chill of the metal floors from your toes.

Your footsteps felt deafening as you descended the stairs, and when the living room came into view you were met with the sight of Charon sitting on the couch with all the guns set out on the table, your 10mm pistol currently in parts and the grip in his hands as he methodically cleaned it.

“Char…?” You managed, voice still heavy with sleep.

He turned to look at you, foggy blue eyes scanning over you carefully. “Feeling better?” He asked as he set the gun part down to give you his full attention.

“I don’t remember feeling bad. How long have we been home?” Your brows furrowed as you rubbed at your eyes, trying to clear them better.

“It’s tomorrow, so a while. Let’s get some food in you. Sit.” He ordered and as he did something about the way he spoke triggered something in your head.

You remembered trying to make dinner, you remembered Charon not letting you, and you remembered calling him Daddy…Oh God…

Your face flared with heat as you stiffly shuffled to the couch to sit down. Was he going to ask about it? Would he ignore it? You’re not sure which you’d prefer more.

That word had been on the tip of your tongue since the two of you had gotten together, something about him, his caring nature that hid under all his gruffness, the way he makes you feel so small in more than just physical size, it just made that word want to fight its way from your lips.

But you dare not let it win.

Nova had been the one to introduce you to the concept long before you met him. She told you about how there were bad Daddies and good Daddies, guys that just liked to be called that in bed and others who actually wanted all the work that went into taking care of someone. She’d had more experience with the bad Daddies but told you not to let her experiences deter you from having your own with someone you trusted.

But you’d been too scared of his reaction to even bring it up, let alone let the word slip. What if he thought it was weird? What if he didn’t want to be with you anymore? It was something you could live without easily, especially if it meant you didn’t risk losing him.

But here you were, having put your foot thoroughly in your mouth without even realizing it.

You hadn’t noticed how much time had passed as your thoughts spiraled till Charon came back with a plate of food, a cut up Salsbury steak, deviled eggs, and Instamash, all perfectly warm and smelling amazing.

God, you were starving.

“What about you?” You asked when you noticed there was only one plate.

“I ate a bit ago.” Then he nodded to the plate as he picked up the part he’d been cleaning, though his eyes didn’t leave you till you took your first bite.

The food didn’t last long, leaving the plate clean and you with a sated sigh. You felt a lot better now, but the mortification still lingered, but Charon hadn’t said anything about it, though his eyes continued to drift over to watch you eat every so often, like he was checking up on you from a foot away.

Once you were done, he set the now clean and reassembled gun on the table gently, the metal barely making a sound on the wood, before turning to face you. “Do you remember anything from yesterday?” He asked carefully, concern written all over his face.

Your face burned and you were certain it was bright pink. “A bit now.”

He nodded slowly. “Do you remember what you called me?”

The thought of lying flitted through your mind, it would be easy, and both of you could just brush it under the rug if you did, but he didn’t seem angry or even particularly bothered by it, so you hesitantly nodded. “I’m sorry…I don’t know what happened…” The words were a reflex, the need to apologize that always sat in the wings waiting to jump out.

He shook his head. “Don’t be. You didn’t do anything wrong.” His stern face was so soft right then, and it made the anxiety that threatened to make your stomach churn calm just a little. “How long have you thought of me that way?”

That question felt like a brick to the head. He’d put it together that easily.

“Um…” The words tried to lodge themselves in your throat as you looked down at your fidgeting hands. “A…A while…” They came out so quiet that if not for the silence of the house you were sure he wouldn’t have been able to hear you.

His larger hand wrapped around both of yours with ease, pulling your gaze back to his. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

You swallowed around the lump in your throat. “I was scared you’d think it was weird, or worse. I don’t want to lose you over something like that, it’s not worth it.” You explained softly.

He nodded slowly, taking in your words and rolling them around in his head for a moment. “It’s not weird at all. I love you and I love taking care of you.” He said before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Besides, I think it’s hot.” He continued, a crooked smirk finding his face.

Your face flared as you looked back at him with wide eyes. “You do?”

He chuckled. “Hell yeah. Having my pretty Baby calling me Daddy is sexy and knowing she needs me…” He let out a quiet groan as if to drive home his point. “I love it.” His hand cradled your cheek, and he watched as you leaned into the touch the same way you had the day before, without hesitation, an action borne of feeling safe. “Can I show you?” He asked softly.

“Hm? Show me what?” You tilted your head in confusion.

“Just how much I love you, how perfect I think you are.” He leaned in slowly, giving you the chance to stop him if you weren’t okay with it.

Your eyes darted between his for a moment before you nodded, a movement so slight that he only caught it because he was so close to you, then his lips met yours.

His scarred lips molded with yours perfectly, guiding you to tilt your head with his hand as his tongue slipped between your lips to twist with yours, pulling a quiet gasp from you.

Your hands gripped his shirt like an anchor as he pulled you into his lap, carefully positioning you to straddle him before he let his rough hands roam over you, holding your hips, squeezing your ass, pulling you flush with his chest by your sides.

Quickly the gentle but hungry kiss turned purely ravenous as you nipped at his lower lip, the corners of your lips turning up at the growl he emitted that vibrated your chest.

You could feel him through his pants, steadily getting harder, and the urge to grind down on him was impossible to resist. His hold on your hips grew tighter as he began to guide the movement, rolling up against you every time you pressed down.

The action put pressure on your clit, forcing you to break the kiss as it pulled a quiet moan from you.

“That’s what I like to hear, Sweetheart…” He rasped as he started to kiss down your neck, teeth nipping here and there to leave little red marks that would be purple before the day was out. “Lemme hear you.” He said, punctuating the words with a particularly hard and slow grind.

“Charon…” You gasped and he made a quick sound with his tongue.

“That’s not my name right now, Baby.” He corrected, hazy eyes looking up at you from where he was kissing your chest. “What’s my name?” His brow lifted expectantly,

The word was on the tip of your tongue, and it slipped free so easily. “Daddy…” You breathed and you could feel his responding grin, and the way his cock jumped in his pants.

“Good girl…” His purred into your skin before returning to his previous actions, leaving a menagerie of marks on your soft skin that made you whimper and gasp for him while never once letting you stop grinding into his lap.

You were soaked and somewhere in the back of your brain you hoped that the scent of sex didn’t seep into the couch, but you were too busy slipping deeper into the sensations that Charon was pulling from your body.

But it wasn’t enough, it was nowhere near enough, you craved more of him, and the frustrated sound that came from your lips alerted him to that fact.

He pulled back from your neck so he could make eye contact with you. “What’s wrong, Baby? Use your words…” He said lowly.

“More…I need more, Daddy…” You begged, flushed all the way down your neck to your chest. It was a sight he loved to see.

“Yeah? What do you need?” He pushed, seeing your mind was quickly going fuzzy and muddled and enjoying the game of teasing.

You tried to string the words together, but a well-timed press from his hips into yours made them fall apart as you whimpered then made another frustrated sound, which made him chuckle, letting you know that he knew exactly what he was doing to you, and was enjoying every second of it.

“Need you to…To fuck me…Please.” You finally managed, looking up at him pleadingly.

In response he stood with you in his arms, your legs wrapping around him on instinct as he carried you up the stairs and to the bedroom, where he kicked the door closed behind you and laid you out on the bed, sitting up on his knees just long enough to pull his shirt off and throw it away, followed shortly by your own.

His hands slowly roamed your body till they reached your breasts, where he cupped the soft flesh, giving each nipple a pinch just to hear you keen, before he kissed you again, but this time it was short lived.

He left a trail down your body with his lips, whispering praises of your beauty and perfection as he went, till he reached your pants.

Tugging them off was as unceremonious as removing your shirt had been, and your panties went with them in the same motion, and once there were no more barriers, he descended on you.

He licked a line from the bottom of your pussy to the top before sucking your clit into his mouth, pulling a shocked “Daddy!” From you as your thighs tried to close on his head, but his massive hands held them open while his mouth never let up.

“That’s it…Tell Daddy how good he’s making you feel…” He muttered into your skin, eyes watching you shamelessly as he drove you to the edge of sanity.

You hadn’t even noticed his hand move till you felt him press two fingers into you, curling them up into that sweet spot till you were seeing stars, only to then send you to another galaxy when he returned to sucking on your clit in tandem.

Your voice pitched up as your orgasm welled up faster than it ever had before, a tightening low in your belly that made your legs shake.

“Daddy…Don’t stop…Please, don’t stop…” You begged, trying to roll your hips into him but his remaining hand was planted firmly on your hip, keeping you in place.

You felt near bursting when he hummed on your clit and launched your body and soul off the edge with a cry.

He pressed kisses to your thigh as he helped you ride it out with his fingers, and once you’d stopped writhing, he kisses his way back up your body till he reached your lips.

You moaned at the taste of yourself on his lips and tongue, trying to chase it when he pulled back to discard his pants, which looked painfully tight. “So gorgeous, Baby…” He murmured as he looked down at you, and if not for the fact that you were already flushed red, you’d have blushed at the love in his voice.

His cock stood proud as he pumped it once, twice, three times before returning to you, setting between waiting thighs to rut against your slit, coating him in your slick with a groan. “Feel so good and I’m not even inside you yet, you feel what you do to Daddy, Baby?” He breathed the words lowly, hands gripping the sheets next to you.

Your arms wrapped around him of your own accord, clinging to him like he was the last tether to this world. You managed to nod to his words but all you could manage to say was an incoherent string of half-finished pleas to stop teasing you.

Call it pity or mercy, it didn’t matter which it was, because it got you want you so desperately needed as he lined his cock up with your waiting cunt, pressing in nice and slow, making sure you felt every inch and vein.

You never felt fuller than when he was seated fully inside you, and you never felt more sated than when he started moving.

As if sensing that gentleness was the last thing you wanted or needed, Charon set a hard punishing pace, slamming into you, pressing hard into your g-spot and his tip ramming into your cervix on every move, it had you all but screaming a jumbled mix of curses and pleas to keep going.

And just when you thought it couldn’t possibly get any better, he sat up and pulled your legs up onto his shoulders, the new position sending him somehow even deeper into you.

Through bleary eyes you were just barely able to catch the way his eyes widened as he looked down at your lower belly, prompting you to lift you head to see what had his attention, and holy fuck.

You could see it.

His cock was moving in and out, pressing a bulge through your belly with every thrust.

Your hand drifted over the spot reverently and when you pressed just slightly you felt a sharp flair of pleasure as you must have pressed you g-spot harder against his cock, making your pussy clenched down on him at the sight, and it pulled his rapt attention back to your face, seeing you as enamored with the sight as him and you felt him throb.

“Look at that, Baby…Can see Daddy’s cock stretching your pretty pussy out...Gonna be molded to my shape when we’re done.” He said, punctuating his words with low growls and sighs. “So fucking perfect…”

You were nearing your end again, the sight of what he was doing to you made your body feel like it was on fire, and you reached out to him, needing to feel him pressed against you, and who was he to deny you when you looked so beautiful, with your glassing lust blown eyes and flushed face, pretty filth pouring from you lips like water while your body quivered under his touch.

He let your legs slip from his shoulders as he leaned back down, wrapping his arms around you as you did the same, nails digging into his skin as your whole body tensed like a bowstring ready to snap.

“C’mon, Baby…Cum for me, cum for Daddy…” He rasped into your ear, sounding as close to his end as you.

That string snapped not two thrusts later, and you dragged him down with you, the pair of you forming a writhing, gasping, mass on the bed. All tight muscles and euphoria.

He held you there for a long while, hips rolling lazily into you as you both rode out your pleasure, basking in the afterglow and nowhere near interested in letting it end yet.

Scarred lips pressed gentle kisses wherever they could reach, pulling a blissed-out smile from you. “Thank you, Daddy…” You whispered, nuzzling into him.

His low chuckle sounded in the near silence. “My pleasure, Baby…”

[witchyleehibernates]

Steve's Games (HG AU)

Steve was 15 at the time of his games, and the gang had only been training for the year, often in the backyard of Dally’s house in Victor Village, Dally had always been interested in weapons so it wasn’t hard to ‘train’ the gang in a sense. He was anxious during the ��saying goodbyes’, of which the Curtis all came to see him, though Sodapop didn’t visit with the rest of his family, he visited with Evie and the two just held him for a moment with Evie telling him that be ‘better come back because he’d promised to marry her’, and Sodapop is just latched to Steve and laughed when he heard Evie, joking that ‘no no, Steve’s marrying me’ and Steve saying that he was going to marry the both of them if they kept arguing. Dally came to see him too, and told him that he had to make himself appear untouchable, and later, Two-Bit relayed the same advice.

He was pretty silent on the train ride, just sitting nearby to Two-Bit and mentally going through Two’s Games and Dally’s games to see if there was anything that he could do or should avoid doing based on conversations with both of their gang’s victors. He has no clue who the girl tribute is, just that she ‘sounded annoying as hell’ and that she seemingly had an interest in him. He was not interested and he made that very clear several times. He’s relieved when they get to the capitol and it was like he never saw her again.

Steve made himself out to be a cocky asshole and as if he was untouchable, trying desperately not to let anyone know that he was in fact scared out of his mind. He was a little scared that he wasn’t going to make it home to fulfill his promise to Evie and Sodapop, even if he’d said it originally as a joke… Steve hadn’t meant it as one, and he could see that Evie was entirely for the idea. Steve never talked about his parents, but he did mention the Curtis family a bit more than he probably should have, though he played it off as if Sodapop was the reason for it.

And we know his arena was an icy wasteland, and upon feeling the cold biting at his face and feeling the frigid air, he fully swore and cursed the arena to high hell and back. Steve absolutely hates the cold, though that was something only Sodapop and Evie knew about. He wraps his arms around himself, still swearing up a storm (which at home, Sodapop and Evie laugh a little bit about, and in the center area where the mentors watch, Two-Bit’s shoulders are shaking and he has his face in his hands because at some point, Steve cursed out the capitol a little bit). Someone later in the games also calls Steve a ‘Cold Asshole’ and Steve curses him out as they fight and Steve wins.

Steve is the one to figure out about the polar bear cubs, and he gets a little hurt and a little poisoned but he manages to kill the ones that had seen him and hide in one of the iceberg structures, pouting a little as he curses out ‘tiny little fuzzy things that Sodapop would adore’ trying to kill him. He also finds out about the snow, and Steve could only think about Ponyboy and Johnny during winter, running around and playing in the snow until they get sick and Sodapop forcing him and Evie to play in the snow with him as it’s lightly snowing. Steve also nearly freezes to death the first night, but he manages to pull through and he works all that next day to get more blankets. Four people died throughout the night though, one being the other tribute from District 12.

When Steve made it back home, he had to learn that Curtis' parents had died while he was in his games. It broke him a little inside and that was the first and only time the gang had ever really seen Steve break and cry. They were like his pseudo parents after his own died, and they were gone now too. He was devastated and had let Sodapop essentially ‘baby him’ that entire day, despite feeling like he was being seen as weak.

Note: Steve was the youngest in his games, the rest all being 17/18 years old and the other tributes were pissed that they’d very nearly escaped the games and then failed.

[writingsofwesteros]

The doors to the chambers her mother were being kept in opened, and Nora saw her kneeling and praying, and she rushed over to her- she hadn't seen her since the blacks claimed the capitol and took them prisoner. "Mother?" She choked out, and Alicent turned to see her, letting out a loud sob. "Oh, my baby, my beautiful girl," She ran to her daughter, embracing her tightly.

"I'm here, mother, I'm here," She whispered, clinging to her as though she were still a child. "What has he done to you?" She asked hastily. "He and that brute from the North-" "Our lives are to be spared," Nora told her quietly. "Jacearys means to take me as his wife- to unite the split factions of our house." Alicent's eyes widened, and she shook her head. "No- No he cannot- Your brothers...they will come, we only need bide our time," She said frantically, and Nora sighed, her heart clenching as she saw how her dear mother's mind was slipping from her. "Mother...mother Aegon and Aemond....they are gone," She whispered. "I have no choice...if it means we will live- that you will live-" Alicent cupped her face and sniffled, saying, "My sweet girl, I wanted better for you. All I have to done make sure that my children would not suffer as I did, and now I have lost them to the Stranger, and you, my love, must be bound in marriage to the enemy." Nora wiped her eyes and shook her head, saying, "Do not worry for me, Mother. I only care about keeping you safe, and alive." "Time's up, Princess." Lord Stark entered, and she kissed her mother's cheek before she reluctantly departed. She let the Hand escort her back to her own chambers- the pin that once sat proudly on Aemond's lapel, Cregan Stark now wore.

As they walked, he led her through a longer route, one where the hallway of portraits were hung. Her eye fell upon one- the one taken when Maelor was born, and she saw them all, and her heart ached. Lord Stark had the decency to let her stand and look at them, and this time, she could not stop her tears. Every detail was there, their faces, and she felt an insatiable yearning to touch them, hear their voices, be encased in their warmth. But as the Warden of the North stood behind her she was reminded that her life ahead of her was a cruel, lonely, icy wasteland. "Will you burn all the portraits?" She asked. "Dance on their graves? Shall we spend the rest of our lives rejoicing that they are dead? That I have no one?" She sniffled.

"We shall do no such thing, Princess," Lord Stark said. "War has taken too much from each of us. Though they are traitors, they are still a part of our history. The King has no wish to erase history, only to set it back on its course." She stepped closer to the portrait, and she wanted nothing more than to claw her way back into that moment. "And...you are not..alone." He murmured. "Soon you shall have your husband-" "Do not be naive, Lord Stark." She snapped at him. "We both know I shall be Queen in name only, I am merely his peace token, his broodmare- a prayer that he might have a silver-haired heir, to bolster his remaining shreds of legitimacy." Lord Stark said nothing. "The King will grant you freedoms, when you prove you can be trusted." Cregan told her. "When you let your past go, and embrace your future." Looking up at the faces at those she loved, she almost laughed in his face. Those whom she loved were dead, the past was all she had left of them. How could she be expected to let it go? To let them go?

!!! Stunningly sad and beautiful!

Poor Nora just going through it and Cregan being a jerk at the moment ;)

All the while Jace enjoys how everything is falling into place

[organicbabybattles]

Round 1, Side A, Poll 5

Jo Mayfield-Wayfair ( @calameowri ) VS. Crosby ( @henbased )

-------

( art by calameowri )

What is your baby's name? Pronouns?: Jo Mayfield-Wayfair (he/him)

Is your baby from a fandom or original?: splatoon but its also a zombie apocalypse au …?

How old is your baby?: 11

Tell us about your baby!: [tw for parent death]

he's just generally big hearted and i love him :] jo wants to have a good time, but he also works really hard to do his best !! he wants to help with everything and be as positive as possible. jo also dreams of playing turf war once he's old enough, even though he's kind of in the apocalypse..

he did lose his mom near the beginning of civilization deciding to collapse [TM], but he's been trying his best to move on, and he's been basically adopted by two fellows (friends' ocs). he still loves her and always will

his hobbies include practicing with his splattershot, making music, and gardening :]

Anything else you want to add?: i made him planning for him to die eventually and then i couldn't. now he's my most loved and popular oc he almost gained server mascot status once

----------

( art by henbased )

What is your baby's name? Pronouns?: Crosby ( she/ her )

Is your baby from a fandom or original?: fallout (3 specifically)

How old is your baby?: 8-9

Tell us about your baby!: [ MOD NOTE: TW for child death and child harm ]

her name is crosby because on the radio she heard the name "bing crosby" and decided crosby was a very suiting name. she doesn't have parents to contest this issue. in fallout 3 there's a rumor in the shipboat city (rivet city) that a kid fell off the flight deck because of lack of railings. that was crosby. she's fine btw. she's also part of a gang in rivet city of child orphans who mug and harass the people living on the boat (cannot kick children off boat; children may die) and visitors of one of the best trade stops in the capitol wasteland. she pickpockets money and stores it in her eyehole.

the hole in the face is from getting shot. idk the logistics of hows or whys. i liked the walking dead ten years ago and some things stick around. she doesnt let it bother her she thinks it's cool. it is cool (built-in coin purse)

Anything else you want to add?: would try to rob you with a knife. nat 19 luck +3. congrats youve been robbed by a child.

[twosides--samecoin]

There's no Old Olney in the real life Capitol Wasteland because it's baby

[ohhkaty]

Record collecting is an expensive hobby but it also honestly brings me so much joy. There’s still so much I want to buy and will buy (tbh) but I keep going to record sales and not remembering what I own and almost buying doubles of the same album, so that’s why this list exists. But I also saw folks publishing their lists earlier and I love seeing what people have in their collections (truly I’d love to see yours if you wanted to post it!) If you ever want to talk records or music I’m your gal ♡ 

A Abba - Super Trouper - Voulez Vous - Greatest Hits Vol. 2 The Animals - The Best Of The Animals Arcade fire - Everything Now Arlo Parks - Collapsed In Sunbeams Aqua - Aquarium

B Bleachers  - Bleachers MTV Unplugged  - Take the sadness out of Saturday night  Beyonce - Lemonade - Renaissance Billie Eilish - Happier Than Ever  Barenaked ladies  - Original Hits  Bo Burnham - Inside  Bob Seger - Stranger In Town Billy Joel - 52 Street - The Stranger - Glass Houses - An Innocent Man The Beatles - Help - Yesterday and Today - Abbey Road  - Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band

C Carly Rae Jepsen - Dedicated - The Loneliest Time Cat Stevens -Tea for the Tillerman Creedence Clearwater Revival - Chronicle Vol. 1 Cheap Trick - At Budokan

D Dirty Honey  - Dirty Honey Dodie  - build a problem  Dua Lipa - Future Nostalgia  Dee Gees - Hail Satin  David Bowie - Legacy (The Very Best Of David Bowie) Dolly Parton  - Greatest Hits  Diana Ross - Swept Away - Summer 

E Elvis Presley  - The Essential Elvis  Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong - Ella and Louis  Etta James  - At Last  Edith Piaf  - The great Edith Piaf  Elton John - Greatest Hits  - Greatest Hits Vol. 2  - Captain Fantastic  - Honky Château  - Here and There 

F Fleet Foxes - Fleet Foxes  Florence and the Machine  - Lungs  - Dance Fever  Frank Ocean  - Channel Orange (yes this is a boot) Fun  - Some Nights  Fleetwood Mac - Rumours - Tango In The Night - The Dance

G Greta Van Fleet  - From the Fires  - Anthem of the Peaceful Army  - The Battle at Garden’s Gate  George Ezra  - Gold rush kid  Grateful Dead  - American beauty Genesis  - Invisible touch  The Guess Who - The Best Of The Guess Who 

H Haim - Forever EP - Days Are Gone - Something To Tell You - Women in Music III Harry Styles - Harry Styles  - Fine Line - Harry’s House Hozier - Hozier - Wasteland, Baby! Hall & Oates - Rock 'n Soul Part 1

J Jill Barber - Chances Jeff Goldblum and The Mildred Snitzer Orchestra - The Capitol Studios Sessions Jeff Lynne’s ELO - Alone In The Universe Joni Mitchell - Blue Jimi Hendrix - Are You Experienced Janis Joplin - Greatest Hits - Pearl Jefferson Airplane -Surrealistic Pillow Jethro Tull - Stand Up Janet Jackson - Control 

K Kacey Musgraves - Golden Hour - Star-Crossed  Khruangbin and Leon Bridges - Texas Sun - Texas Moon Kate bush - Hounds Of Love Kansas - Leftoverture

L Lorde - Melodrama - Solar Power The Lumineers - The Lumineers - Cleopatra Lizzo -Coconut Oil - Cuz I Love You Lauryn Hill - The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill Lana Del Rey - Born To Die Led Zeppelin - In Through The Out Door 

M Maggie Rogers - Surrender Mother Mother - Dance And Cry Mumford and Sons - Wilder Mind Mika - Life In Cartoon Motion Matty Matheson - A Cookbook (yes this is a real cookbook, it comes with a zine!) Marina And The Diamonds -Electra Heart Minnie Riperton - Les Fleurs: The Minnie Riperton Anthology Meatloaf - Bat Out Of Hell Mr mister - Welcome To The Real World 

N Nathaniel Rateliff & the Night Sweats - Nathaniel Rateliff & the Night Sweats The National - Boxer Nico - Chelsea Girl Neil Young - Harvest Moon Neil Diamond - Live At The Troubadour 

O Orville Peck - Pony - Show Pony Orla Gartland - Women on the Internet Olivia Rodrigo  - Sour 

P Phoebe Bridgers - Stranger in the Alps  Paramore  - After Laughter  Prince - Purple rain  The Mamas & the Papas - The Papas & the Mamas The Police - Zenyatta Mondatta Paul Simon - There Goes Rhyming Simon - Graceland  Pat Benatar - Crimes of Passions 

Q Queen - Greatest Hits

R The Regrettes - Feel Your Feelings Fool - How Do You Love - Further Joy Ramones  - Ramones 

S The Sheepdogs  - Live At Lees  Spice Girls  - Spice  The Strokes  - Angles 

The Struts  - Strange Days 

Silk Sonic  - An Evening with Silk Sonic 

Simon and Garfunkel  - Bridge Over Troubled Water 

T Taylor swift  - Lover  - Folklore  - Evermore  - Midnights  Trixie Mattel  - Two Birds/One Stone - Barbara  Twin shadow  - Eclipse  - Twin Shadow Tears for fears  - Songs From The Big Chair  Toto - Toto IV Toronto  - Get It On Credit  Talking Heads  - Remain in light 

W Whitney Houston - Whitney  - Whitney Houston 

Y Yola - Walk Through The Fire - Stand For Myself Years and Years - Palo Santo

Z The Zombies - Odessey and Oracle - Oddities and Orcales  

123 The 1975 - The 1975 - Being Funny In A Foreign Language

Movie Soundtracks - Labyrinth - The Virgin Suicides - Eternal Sunshine of - School Of Rock - Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind - Promising Young Women - Josie and the Pussycats  - Almost Famous -Rocky Horror Picture Show - Up - Space Jam  - Little Shop of Horrors  - Grease - Saturday Night Fever - Xanadu  - Ghostbusters - St. Elmo’s Fire

Television Soundtracks - The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina - Stranger Things Vol 1/2 - Stranger Things Vol 3 - Euphoria Season 2 - Steven Universe 

Musicals - In the Heights - Hair

[rebellicnrising]

jessica parker kennedy . cis female . she/her ➶ DID YOU SEE THEM ?! they’re finally back as a MENTOR , and you know they’re one of my favourites ! it’s JUNIPER TORRANCE , the THIRTY-EIGHT year old WINNER of the SEVENTY-SECOND hunger games! i’m just so excited to see them returning to the capitol all the way from DISTRICT EIGHT! they won their games using DAGGERS/ALLIANCES so their tributes will no doubt be desperate for their wisdom. the capitol just loved them for being so NURTURING , even if they have been known to be SHARP at times. they DO  have a relative in this years games ( daughter ) and they DID volunteer to go into the arena with them . ( character ISN’T part of the uprising ) 

BASIC INFORMATION

full name: juniper torrance nicknames: june, junebug age: thirty-eight birthday: september 22nd zodiac:��virgo district: eight gender: cis female pronouns: she / her orientation: bisexual profession: weaver, tribute, mentor, mother

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

face claim: jessica parker kennedy hair color: dark brown eye color: hazel height: 5'3" scars: scars across the tops of her hands and fingers, a jagged scar that runs from the top of her right hip to mid thigh

RELATIONSHIPS

father: jasper reems mother: annette reems ( deceased ) siblings: holly reems ( younger sister ) children: chantilly “tilly” torrance ( 13 year old daughter, reaped for the 94th games ), bobbin torrance ( 5 year old son ) significant other: tba torrance ( potential wanted connection )

TRIBUTE DETAILS

reaped/volunteered: reaped reaped age: 16 victor of the: 72nd hunger games weapon of choice: daggers arena: winter wasteland and a hot desert  kill count: 1 token: a woven bracelet made by her sister

EXTRA

mbti: infj-t ( the advocate ) temperament: sanguine moral alignment: lawful good primary vice: pride primary virtue: charity element: water

BACKSTORY **TRIGGER WARNING: TYPICAL HUNGER GAMES VIOLENCE/DEATH, SUICIDE, FORCED SEX WORK**

ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴍʏ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ'ꜱ ꜱᴀᴠᴀɢᴇ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ʀᴜɴꜱ ʙᴀʀᴇꜰᴏᴏᴛ ᴄᴜʀꜱɪɴɢ ꜱʜᴀʀᴘ ꜱᴛᴏɴᴇꜱ

it’s a golden first memory: the light of the sun filtering through a dingy window, casting rays of sunlight that reflect the dust in the air in small sparkling flickers and the rhythmic sound of your mother’s loom as she wove fine dyed silk threads together. your mother’s voice had been warm in your ear as she paused to pick you up from the floor into her lap, letting your small fingers run across the delicate pattern she was weaving together. you can’t remember what she told you but you remember the warmth of her voice and the love in her kiss when she pulled you into a hug and pressed her lips into your hair, the swell of her stomach with your baby sister pressing into your side. it’s the last time she holds both of you because bringing that baby sister of yours is what takes her from this world. 

your father is heartbroken but he throws himself into being the best he can for you and your baby sister. it’s your mother’s mother who watches the two of you when he leaves when the sun is barely beginning to color the sky until the stars start to dot the sky and he comes walking back up the road. she teaches you to weave with your fingers and thread and how to stretch a meal meant for two into enough for four. she starts teaching you tatting when your hands are still small and unsure with hers covering and guiding them until your muscles learns the patterns. when you and your sister get older, you sit beside her on the hard wooden bench with your hands grasping freshly woven tweed that you thump and knead with the women of your district, their voices raised in song to help keep the rhythm; you remember the peacekeepers that loitered and watched, wondering what they were so curious about. nan tells you later that it wasn’t the work they were interested in but the songs you sang-- that songs have power for normal folk like you and that peacekeepers and the capitol wanted nothing more than to keep that power from you. 

your father gently hushes her. he’s a quiet man, your dad-- a good man. a man who goes to his job working as a tailor in a factory that produces those bright white uniforms for the peacekeepers, keeps his head down, and loves his family-- slow to anger, first to offer help. he never wanted any trouble. but nan is a storyteller, a songteller and she tells you that the women of this family have never been quiet. she teaches you the history she tells you the capitol doesn’t want you to know, teaches you songs she tells you have been outlawed. because of the power-- power she gives you. and when your name is called at the reaping and you’re allowed one last brief goodbye, she squeezes you tightly and tells you to remember the songs. remember that power. 

ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴍʏ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ'ꜱ ꜱᴀᴠᴀɢᴇ ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴜᴛ ᴍʏ ʜᴀɪʀ, ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ɴᴏᴛ ʟᴏᴡᴇʀ ᴍʏ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ

the capitol is a new world that seems so at odds with the life you have left in district 8 and you realize quickly that sixteen years of watching the games hasn’t prepared you to be apart of it. your district partner is a boy you know from school- caspian polk- and at first, he won’t acknowledge you. silence the entire train ride to the capitol and when your foot slips on the dress they’ve put you in for the parade, his arm reaches to steady you but still-- not a word. you go through your training, your hands trying the weight and balance of all sorts of weapons- not handled with even an ounce of expertise- but you realize that outside of the career districts, most everyone else seems as lost as you are. you might be going into an arena in a matter of days where you will either have to kill or be killed by the faces around you but for now, you’re all the same: a bunch of kids who have no idea what the fuck you’re doing. you don’t make friends but you become friendly with those faces and your mentor reminds you of the reality and you remind them of yours: you’re all the same, you’re all lost and you’re all fucking scared. why not show kindness in the moments leading up to the inevitable? 

the gamemakers give you a four for the less than impressive display you give as you try your hand at the weapons that don’t feel right in your hands and even that you feel is being generous. you don’t expect to like caesar but he puts you at ease almost immediately and you tell him about your dad, your sister, your nan and about waulking the tweed and tatting the lace and button swaps with friends at school-- things that all seem so important to you but you know bore your audience. that night before bed, your district partner slips a small silver button in your palm. you try to hide it- not wanting to give up the bracelet on your wrist, woven with love by your sister- tucking it inside of your cheek when they inject the tracker in your arm but just before you go to the platform, a gloved finger shoves its way into your mouth and fishes it out. the last thing your mentor tells you before the platform takes you is that there is no kindness inside the arena. the inevitable was here. 

icy wind hits your face and steals your breath and when you open your eyes all you see is white-- blinding snow as far as the eye could see, a frozen tundra. the horn sounds and chaos ensues as all of you run for the cornucopia and the sparse packs, the plethora of weapons. you grab a pack and run blindly into the snow as fast as your legs can carry you, trying like hell to disappear. six die at the cornucopia and you think about venturing back to find some shelter in this frozen wasteland but you know how this goes: the careers have taken the cornucopia, there was no shelter there. hours later, you find your district partner, gripping a spear in his hand and the first words he says to you are you’re alive. 

the two of you stick together- strength in numbers, after all. another cannon goes off in the wee hours of the morning and neither of you realize just how long and slowly those cannons will go off. two more die in the first week. no cannons go off the second week. at the beginning of the third, two more go off in quick succession and then the rest of the week is quiet. and it goes on like that-- a quiet week, a cannon or two the following, then nothing. the days are long and the nights are bitter cold and you know that caspian’s warmth at your back keeps both of you from ending up another canon fire; your rations last for four weeks- nan’s lessons in stretching coming in handy- but soon your stomachs rumble. you’ve seen animals here and there- nothing that looks natural, nothing you’re all that eager to eat but caspian tells you that you can just close your eyes while you eat- and that’s where he gets the bright idea to hunt. 

you hear his screams echoing on the frigid wind ( is it still frigid? have you grown numb to it? is it warmer? ) and when you find him, the female tribute from four has buried the dagger in his throat, cutting off those screams. you don’t remember what happened next ( though now you’ve watched it dozens of times ); you don’t remember tackling her from behind, a scream of rage ripping your throat, how your fingers had twisted in blond hair and how you had slammed her face into that hardpacked snow, how you had held her down into it while she thrashed and how your hand had grappled for that dagger, ripping it from her when your knee jabbed into her kidney and how you buried it in her side ( over and over ), staining the snow red. two cannons sound and you weep. 

there’s only nine of you left when the wolves come, massive mutts that look like the monsters from some long forgotten fairytale. you’re running from them when you meet up with two others- two girls from ten and eleven- and they let you hide with them as the mutts continue to roam and another cannon sounds. there’s only eight of you left and the three of you agree to work together to at least take care of the career pack. the snow has started to melt and where you expect to be hidden green, there’s nothing but hardpacked dirt peeking through patches of muddy white. the three of you try for the cornucopia when the gamemakers announce the jugs of fresh water and food, only two of you come out with no food or water. you wake up a few days later to the sound of a cannon only to realize that your last companion has taken your dagger and let her blood soak into the dirt. days pass and more cannons sound off at irregular intervals: one, two, three, four, five. you’ve lost track of how long it’s been. 

the snow disappears and instead of the frigid air that steals your breath, it’s an intense dry heat that dries your mouth and eyes. snow blistered skin cracks open and bleeds at the dryness and surely to god it’ll be over soon. the wolves return and you run towards the cornucopia but one of those paws catches your thigh, ripping through your pants and tearing through skin and muscle. you manage to higher ground, dragging yourself up and just out of reach with weak and trembling arms; you watch as the mutts tear the boy from four apart. 

you won the hunger games. 

ᴡᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟʟ ʙʀᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴛʜ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴀʀᴋɴᴇꜱꜱ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ, ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴘᴀɪɴ

nine weeks. you were in the arena for nine weeks and all anyone can talk about was how boring the games were this year. caesar grins that too wide grin and asks if you wished the games had been more exciting and you can’t say anything. you go back to district eight alive but with less fanfare than previous winners-- you were a boring victor, only one kill to your name. but you go home against all odds and that’s a brief comfort before you’re brought back as a mentor. you feel woefully unprepared to be in that position and you can see the looks those tributes give you, familiar faces that cloud with doubt as you stumble through those first games, trying to coach them through trainings, the interviews, those moments before the platforms raise. another mentor tells you that the first year is the hardest-- growing pains, you’ll figure it out-- as both of your tributes are killed in the bloodbath. 

you try your damnedest to try and return to a normal life- all you want is to return back to your life at your mother’s loom, with your nan’s tatting spools-- but the reach of the capitol is long and those claws dig into you time and time again, dragging you back with no warning or cornering you while your mind is supposed to be focusing on those terrified faces you hope will replace you. you don’t belong to yourself anymore; you are another trophy to be passed around, awarded to those who have pleased the president-- and you’re not the only one. it’s the most fucked up club to be apart of and your voice raises in dissent- not for yourself, your voice quiets for yourself- but for the other faces whose eyes echo that same silent shame and fear. when you return home to eight after letting your voice raise, your father is healing after being punished by peacekeepers-- those peacekeepers he had spent your entire life avoiding, his head down and his mouth silent-- and no one can give you a reason for why. it’s the first moment you realize that those you love would suffer under president snow’s long reach to cause you pain. to keep you in line. 

your nan tells you the women in your family have never been quiet but your voice is stolen out of fear for those you love most. you go when called and return quiet; you take the sons and daughters of your district and play mother preparing your children for battle, soothing the anger that burns in their chest and comforting the fear and grief that spills over onto your shoulders. you work each year to try and create alliances between your district and others- we can keep them alive longer if they work together, we can keep them safe longer if they stand together- and some years the offer is accepted and others ( most ) it’s left on the table. while your focus has always been on your tributes- your district’s children, your children- there’s never animosity towards any of the others that come off those trains and enter the tribute center; your arms have always been open to those too, shoulders strong enough to bear the tears and fears-- your heart has always been open, ready to spill out a mother’s love to cover them before sending them off to war. 

your focus had been on your tributes, your family, your life-- falling in love had never been a part of the equation. you run from it for years, keeping those would-be suitors at arms length, not willing to give another avenue for president snow’s twisted form of control to constrict around your throat. and it’s so frustrating when he comes into your life, undeterred from the way you hold him at arm’s length, how you run from him. you slip and fall into love and it’s the most terrifying thing you’ve ever experienced- yes, including the games- and you do everything you can to keep him hidden from those prying eyes, that long reach. because when he looks at you, he doesn’t see the brokenness you see reflecting back at you from the mirror, he only sees strength; he doesn’t see the shame you feel painted across your body from hands that have left their stains on your soul, he only sees the love you carry for those dearest to you. he asks you to marry him; you tell him no. he keeps asking and you continue to refuse him. it’s nan who you confide that secret fear- that you would only put him in danger, that your love would bring him pain-- and she reminds you that you belong to yourself; the capitol might have it’s claws in you but that you have the power to take back yourself, a little at a time. you have given so much, are you not due some happiness? 

you marry him in a quiet ceremony, your clasped hands tied together with thick cords, braided in intricate fashion. and you’re happy for the first time in so long, covered and protected in the love of your husband. when your daughter begins to grow under your heart, it’s impossible not to think about the games and you wonder if you haven’t made the most terrible mistake a woman in the districts can make and provided another tribute to be reaped for their games. when she’s born, the games are fast approaching and you are firm in your decision and when those tributes and you board the train for the capitol, she is wrapped against your chest, your thundering heart soothing her to sleep. it’s more than refusal to leave her, it’s more than the fact that you are nursing her-- and when you arrive in the capitol, a new mother with her baby, you don’t hide her from the cameras. you show her off, smiling to the camera as they zoom in on her sleeping face, telling caesar about this new journey you’re embarking on. you bring her back the next year and the next, allowing those cameras to capture those precious moments and broadcast them across the capitol- across panem. you want everyone to see her face and hear her bell-like voice; you want them to love her the same way that you do. if nothing else, you can try and offer her the protection of being known and beloved. 

ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴇᴇᴘ ɪɴ ᴏᴜʀ ʙᴏɴᴇꜱ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴏʟᴅ ꜱᴏɴɢꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴡᴀᴋɪɴɢ ꜱᴏ ꜱɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴀɪɴ

you’re approached by those that call themselves rebels and the voices of women throughout your bloodline want to join them in that silent fight against the capitol but the capitol’s reach is still long and you can almost feel it hovering over you-  your father and sister, your nan, your husband and your beloved daughter- and you silence those voices. you wish you could help, you wish you could agree but there are those to think of, those that you are charged with protecting. it’s something your husband and you argue about ( he has never gotten used to that hovering hand, wants to throw it off like a heavy yolk that keeps the two of you tied to the same wagon ) but in the end, you have the final say. you will not put your daughter in danger. and when your son makes his grand entrance into the world ( that first breath taken in the medical center of the tribute training center, your voice wailing with him, lamenting the fact that you did not want him born here-- you will share your children with the capitol but they belong to you, to district eight ) it only cements that fact further. 

when your daughter’s name is called for the reaping the world drops out from under you and you feel as if you’re falling-- it wasn’t supposed to be like this, she was supposed to be safe- and those voices in your bloodline cannot be quieted anymore. you burn with generational feminine rage as you step forward, volunteering to step back into the arena for the first time in over two decades. the friendships you have fostered with these people over the years- your fellow mentors- are threads you wrap tightly around your fist; their eyes also burn with that generational rage, their own focus on their loved ones and you hope that it’s not a fire that will burn up those threads. you’ll need the in the days that are coming; you’re getting your daughter safely out of the arena, come hell or high water.

TFLDR + EXTRAS

june is from district 8 and won the 72nd hunger games at 16. 

her games lasted for 9 weeks and the arena was a frozen tundra that slowly melted and turned into a blistering desert for the finale. she only had one kill and survived by making alliances and waiting it out. 

got the Finnick Treatment until she had her first child

married her husband in a very quiet handfasting ceremony in eight and has worked very hard over the course of their marriage to keep him out of the spotlight. there’s very little known about her husband outside of vague things she lets slip to the cameras, just enough to begin to satisfy that curiosity but nothing concrete enough to incriminate him. 

has a 13 year old daughter tilly ( short for chantilly-- u know like the lace ) and a five year old son bobbin. for the first four years of each of their lives, she has brought them to the capitol with her in efforts to have their faces Known by the capitol/districts in an attempt to protect them-- thinking that the capitol would be less inclined to use them as a tool to manipulate or punish her if they were known

actually had her son in the capitol during the 89th games. she jokingly says he’s her ‘disobedient’ child bc he wouldn’t wait until they at least got back onto the train before making his grand entrance into the world. 

is not part of the rebellion bc she was focused on keeping her family safe but NOW THAT’S OUT THE WINDOW she can easily be swayed if im being fr

is incredibly friendly and absolutely leans into the Mom Victor gimmick- katniss and peeta are the star-crossed lovers, finnick is the capitol’s darling, she’s everyone’s Little Mother. will mother you, your tributes, your escorts and your stylists. she’ll mom you so hard. 

is a Soft character but just like an egg, if you put her in hot water she can grow hard. can tell you to fuck off in the most polite way. 

CONNECTIONS

mentor pals!! literally nothing gets me harder than a good found family bonded through shared trauma. would love 2 have it someday.

past tribute alliances!! have our tributes allied together in the past? let’s plot it out!! 

current tribute alliances!! bitch she is gonna try and get everyone in on her own alliance bc she wants her daughter to be COVERED. 

rebellion recruiters!! june had been approached by the rebellion before - eight has been historically more rebellious than other districts- but she didn’t join bc of her family. now, she’s definitely more inclined to listen 

ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING DAWG FR LET’S GO IT ONLY TOOK ME THREE DAYS TO WRITE THIS SHIT 

[cosmicknives]

As much as I dislike Fallout 3, I do have an intense love for my Lone Wanderer. Poor child is just dissassioating across the Capitol Wasteland with their baby deathclaw, trying to find the meaning of life in the stars above.

[beleester]

I think New Vegas is thematically saying "you can't build a new world by cosplaying as the old one." The bad guys are cosplaying as the Roman Empire, Mr. House is forcing random wasteland tribes to cosplay as prewar Las Vegas, the NCR is a notional democracy ruled by the rich in the vein of old America, etc. And in the DLC you get the Sierra Madre which is all about "letting go", and the Big MT being stuck in an infinite loop, and I never got around to playing the last two DLCs but I gather that Ulysses has a weird obsession with American history as well.

Fallout 3, while it's got a lot of memorable setpieces, felt kinda shallow in retrospect. Megaton is built around an atomic bomb, but it's not really part of the story, it's just a cool visual and sets up a simple, isolated moral choice between killing off a bunch of convenient traders and quest givers or... not doing that. There's no Big Question that you're trying to answer as you roam the Capitol Wasteland, just a bunch of cool scenes that usually don't have good worldbuilding to support them. You say that it's more directly about America, but the Enclave doesn't really do anything interesting with that, they're just generically fascist.

To be fair, writing quests which are still satisfying when you take the blatantly evil option is really hard. "What if you murdered people instead of doing nice things for them?" is baby's first moral dilemma - it was fresh in the 2000s, it's impressive in a "look how flexible our game engine is!" way, but Fable and Bioshock have long since beaten that dead horse into a pulp. Writing "what if you hurt innocents for complicated political reasons?" or "here's a strong in-character reason for you to support a murderous ideology" is a much tougher job. (I can't imagine what sort of writing skill it took to make people be unironic fans of Caesar's Legion.)

Taking another crack at Fallout 3 and just thinking about the series.

A weird thing about the Fallout series is that Fallout and Fallout 2 were decently popular at the time, but by Fallout 2 the people in charge had basically decided that nobody actually liked the gameplay in them, to the point where, of the six sequels only one (New Vegas) actually tried to mimic the game design philosophy of the first two.

I guess from what I've played you could maybe argue for Fallout 3 as well to some extent, but...

The big things about Fallout 1 and 2 for me, gameplay wise are:

Multiple character builds that each play differently, with different strengths and weaknesses;

Quests in which there are several different factions playing against each other, where the PC can do everything from ignoring them to joining one or more sides, aiding one or the other or even playing them off against each other for profit;

You can be selfless, amoral or even outright evil and the quests are still satisfying;

The idea that quests change the world around you as different factions gain or lose power due to player actions

Now, neither of the first two games are perfect here. Fallout 1 in particular had the idea of a karma system but in practice there are barely any bad karma quests and they are strictly less interesting than the good karma ones.

Anyway Fallout 3 so far is a minor step backwards from Fallout 1 in terms of all of these design goals, and I'd say Fallout 4 is just... not even the same kind of RPG.

It feels even weirder given that games in the exact same genre as Fallout 1 and 2 are now incredibly popular.

PS - That said, I don't know if this is a hot take or not, but Fallout 3 and 4 are a lot more immediately gripping and thematically interesting from the very start than New Vegas, although I admit that I've played NV the least of any of the main series so maybe it gets a lot more interesting. New Vegas seems to be following in the footsteps of Fallout 1 and just using the wasteland as an excuse for a frontier adventure. 3 and 4 go, "Okay, if Fallout 2 is about blowing up the President of the US let's move the next games to the east coast and make them even more directly about America" which I think is a really solid idea.

[dreadlock-detective]

Rebecca’s journey across the Capitol Wasteland truly began when the Overseer took advantage of her fear and kindness with false promises of caring and understanding. She handed over the gun, terrified of what was happening, and he tried to take her life with it. In a panicked desperation she beat him to death with a vault guard’s baton. It was an awakening to the horrors of the Wasteland where liars, manipulators, and murderers thrived.

Years later, even her closest companions never found out what happened when she left the Capitol Wasteland for the ruins of Pittsburg. Every now and then, though, she’d wake up screaming about “Trogs”, a baby, and cursing a man named Wernher. All she’d say of the matter is that the bastard got what he deserved.

A redraw of this old piece of mine from 2014, since I felt it didn’t capture the mood right as well as I could make it now~ Fallout 3′s The Pitt DLC remains one of my favorite bits in video game RPGs all these years later. Partly because of Rebecca’s personality, partly because of her build, and partly for the mods I had at the time making everything much more desperate.

[that-blue-vault-dweller]

Companions react to sole having a white faced deer fawn (doe) that thinks soles her momma, and sole takes care of her and bottle feeds her? Like not even a radstag doe, like a normal fawn!

Oh, my gosh, it’s so CUTE!!!! Thank you for this wonderful ask, and thank you times ten for sending actual pics of this beauty!!! 🥺🥺🥺💙💛💙💛 I’ve never seen such a cute fawn!

I hope you enjoy! 

Cait - Is not outwardly impressed with it, but she does secretly think it's pretty cute for a deer. It definitely looks better than the local radstags around that have multiple legs and heads. This one is actually so normal that it looks abnormal. She quietly resolves to make sure that nothing happens to it and that no one targets it as a trophy when it grows up.

Piper - Thinks that it is the most adorable thing she's ever seen, and she often asks F!Sole if she can help feed it. F!Sole always has to start the bottle-feeding to get the baby to start suckling, but Piper can usually take it from there. When she does, she is grinning ridiculously and looking at F!Sole with wonder in her eyes. She is absolutely in love with the creature.

Curie - Is truly fascinated by it and finds it to be terribly cute. She cannot believe that such a pristine specimen has somehow materialized from the Commonwealth. Naturally, she wants to run some tests and examine it as closely as possible. Of course, she is not only examining it for science despite how she insists. She also really likes to just watch the young animal because it makes for such a happy feeling inside.

MacCready - Is laughing gleefully and kneeling down to pet it as soon as he sees it. He thinks that it is positively adorable, and he asks F!Sole if she thinks that there was some special vault dedicated to preserving animals and they've just now released the creatures into the Commonwealth. He has never seen anything before that resembled the little thing and he has lived in both the Capitol Wasteland and the Commonwealth.

Deacon - Starts trying to help F!Sole think of a name for the fawn. He tells her that she should definitely name it something harsh and tough like Killer, Spike, or Diablo. He likes the irony of it all, and he also thinks it would be really cool if she could threaten people with her pet without ever having to show the deer and just relying on its name. However, she does not seem so enthused with his ideas.

Codsworth - Is excited about getting to help F!Sole raise young regardless of its species. Something deep in his programming just sparks up and makes him happier than ever when he is caretaking. He is even happier than usual, and even starts referring to the small fawn as if it is a baby. F!Sole recognizes it as his way of coping with the loss of the true Shaun, so she leaves him be as he babies the creature.

Hancock - Is in love with it, and frequently is stopping by to pet it. He just loves to sit next to it and stroke it gently, quietly taking in the beauty of something so magnificently unmarred and untouched by radiation. He likes to quietly spend time with it, and he promises that he will never let a thing happen to the little creature.

Danse - Very sheepishly and quietly asks to help feed it only minutes after meeting it. F!Sole gets her on the bottle, and offers it to him to take over. The entire time, he is just staring at the fawn carefully, reaching his hand out and stroking its back as he just gently feeds it. He is so extremely in awe and the pair of them are honestly adorable.

Preston - Thinks she is the cutest thing he has seen in quite some time. He makes sure to keep a close eye on her to help keep her safe. When she grows up, he makes sure to send a message to the entire group of Minutemen to let them know to never harm the special deer since she is so important to the general.

Valentine - Feels his heart warm at the sight of it. He and F!Sole discuss just how unique that the creature is even by Pre-War standards. Neither of them have ever seen a fawn with so much white hair covering its body, and they honestly just love to ooh and ahh over how beautiful it is.

X6-88 - Believes that it is quite similar to the synth gorillas at the Institute. He suggests that they dissect it and look inside its brain to see if it possesses a synth component. When she yells about how bad of an idea that is and how horribly upsetting that is, he states that it was merely a suggestion and she needs to calm herself.

Dogmeat - Wants to play with her as soon as he meets her. F!Sole scolds him gently when he wants to play-fight or play chase, though, so he soon learns that it is best to just quietly snuggle with the creature. She is a great nap buddy, so he does not mind too much that she does not enjoy playing.

Strong - Is very excited when he sees it. He tells her that when it grows up, it will taste absolutely wonderful. She has to tell him that they won't be eating it and that it's a tamed pet like a hound. When he hears this, he sours and is very disappointed indeed.

Maxson - Immediately asks if she would be willing to donate it to Senior Scribe Neriah. However, when she adamantly declines and informs him that this is her baby, he realizes just how important the creature must be to her. Therefore, he just calms her down and then proceeds to ask questions about how she found it and whatnot in an attempt to distract her from his blunder.

Sturges - Thinks it is absolutely adorable, and he even starts to build a large fence for it to keep it from wandering off and getting itself hurt. It is a project full of hard labor, but he finishes it within a few days, and he surprises F!Sole with the fence for her newest pet. She is absolutely thrilled and thanks him profusely. He is just glad to keep the little creature safe.

Glory - Is honestly shocked at the sight of it. She cannot believe something so unmarred and strangely beautiful actually came out of the Commonwealth. She eventually gets very fond of it, and she calls the both of them white-haired twins with a strangely huge smile as she strokes its head lovingly.

[nerdygirlobsessions]

My Mayutori Playlist

Aptly named “Sunlight”

Sunlight - Hozier

Say My Name - Prince of Eden

Work Song - Hozier

Iris - Chris Lanzon (cover)

Under the Skin - Flyte

Third Eye / Demo - Florence + the Machine

She Burns - Foy Vance

Delilah - Florence + the Machine

Warmth (Live at Capitol Studios) - Bastille

Would That I - Hozier

Ocean Eyes - The Darcy’s (cover)

Honey - Magic Man

Jackie and Wilson - Hozier

Two Ghosts - Harry Styles

I Will Be There - Odessa

So Hot You’re Hurting My Feelings - Caroline Polachek

Queen of Peace - Florence + the Machine

Archie, Marry Me - Flyte (cover)

Blood Bank - Bon Iver

Shrike - Hozier

Admit Defeat - Bastille

Love Again - Gregory Dillion

All I’ve Ever Known - Original Cast of Hadestown (not the Broadway version)

Cringe (Stripped) - Matt Mæson

Anchor - Bastille

Wasteland Baby! - Hozier

I need to contribute more to Mayutori week. I have a few fics in the works but my editor and I have been busy

[chris-that-one-explorer]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @rakimaiirisa Thank you ❤ I really I am enjoying doing these :) practice makes all the difference.

This is Supposed to be an event happened to Chris back in the Capitol Wasteland.

Wandering at night

Is everything alright, mister? Chris said with a worried tone. The mysterious stranger aiming a bright light towards me, eyes almost blinded, I swallowed hard but managed to shield well. The mysterious stranger stopped and said, "Out at this time? a little bit late from home, aren't you?" I responded and said, "Yes sir I was just taking some fresh air before going back home." "Fresh hair huh?" the mysterious stranger said in a odd tone, "Aren't you too young to be wondering alone at night, this could be a dangerous place for someone's like you, mind if I accompany you back home?" I hesitated, a nervous look on my face, I took a step back, his blinding light dropped to the ground in front of my feet, an aggressive tone and look on his face, the stranger started pointing out a gun at me and screamed, "You won't leave this place alive!" I took the shot, but I am bullet proof baby! I managed to escape from the attack, heart pounding and beating like is on a Sunday Marathon! I had to lean on a fence after runnin' far, found not much away from the abandoned town had to patch up the wound up, then managed to be back on the road and finally arrived back home, safe.. and sound again.

tagging @worldxwonders and anyone else who wants to do this, no pressure if you don't want. :)