#Destroy him Prim

[sk1llz-heeler]

Ripping and tearing I need more cannibal content

[godsofhumanity]

in keeping with the theme of the Norse gods and Greek gods having a swap, what about a marriage? Been fantasizing off and on about Loki x Hecate pairing ever since you did that dialogue about Loki needing a skull and Hecate having like 8 of them. What do you think that would be like? Esp since Hecate is technically an Anatolian goddess adopted by the Greeks???

hee hee that loki x hecate post is SO old,, ur a real one anon for remembering it. honestly, when i made that post i was just putting random people together in a chat post.

but, i sort of always thought that marital relationships between different pantheons would be forbidden? so like, you can't marry someone from a pantheon different to yours. but just for the shits and giggles, i think Loki x Hecate would be insane. im actually not sure that they would get along as husband and wife-- Hecate strikes me as very proper and orderly, and Loki is chaos personified. also, Loki is self-serving, so i feel like it would be a love-hate relationship, very much what i imagine Loki x Angrboda to be like.

the only Norse x Greek pairing i ever considered in my life was Freyja x Apollo. idk, i just like the aesthetics of it?

u say you've been fantasizing about Loki x Hecate so i'd love to hear ur thoughts? i don't really have any myself 😭

[agentmilayawithshield]

The moment Tigris tells Snow he looks like his father, my heart broke.

That's her Prim.

That's the child she took care of while being a child herself, stuck with an adult who couldn't care for them all that well. She tried so hard and sacrificed so much for the boy that despite all her love still turns into a monster.

Katniss's Prim dies, but Tigris' Prim destroys every part of the boy she raised, to the point she wants him dead and has nothing in her heart for him except absolute loathing.

[sw4tch]

My ideal optimus characterization is "the most depressed mech you've ever known, the only reason he still fights is because of the idealized dream of a world without war is the one which promises him a future in which he finally gets to rest and rebuild and/or to not exist anymore. he carries a deep sadness within but that's what ironically makes him the most hopeful. he is the most melancholic atlas you've ever known and he's deeply aware of it. born to be a dad in a hawaiian shirt, cursed to be an ideal to legions. he has the customer service voice and smile curse because he has to be Perfect at all times. He cannot crack underneath it all when so many depend on him. He is no longer an individual, he is a symbol, and he takes that responsibility so seriously."

[space-invading-pigeon]

Hellfire Adopts Steve Pt. 2

Pt 1

Eddie may be repeating his senior year, but he's no idiot. He's intuitive, a quick thinker, and generally, he's an excellent judge of character. Which is exactly why he protested Gareth's decision to drag Steve Harrington, the former King of Hawkins High and current King of Don't Fuck With Me, to lunch with Hellfire.

Jeff and Freak are both genuinely terrified to have His Royal Highness picking at subpar mashed potatoes in the uncomfortable plastic chair across from them; to his credit, Steve Harrington seemed unbothered by the situation, even as Princess Nancy Wheeler and her own little pet outcast Jonathan pass him on the way to their own table. Eddie watches with growing interest as Steve boredly ignores Nancy's attempt to catch his eye (it's almost hilarious- he'd been at the Halloween party last month where Nancy got absolutely shitfaced and then screamed at Steve in front of the entire student body, and yet here they are, Nancy trying awkwardly to speak to Steve and Steve resolutely going about his business).

Gareth stammers through a story about their latest DnD campaign, his round face practically glowing with excitement as he uses the peas on his tray to illustrate what their party had been up against. Eddie fully expects Steve to say something rude, dousing Gareth's smile and deserving every bit of ire Eddie can muster, but Steve just smiles at Gareth and ruffles his hand through the unkempt curls Eddie's been trying to get Gareth to take care of.

From there it only gets weirder. Steve seems to have taken a real shine to Gareth and is nothing short of a perfect gentleman to Jeff and Freak, but he loves to bicker with Eddie. Honestly, Eddie's impressed at just how much Steve seems to like bitching at people.

Steve is also surprisingly responsible? After that first lunch, Steve is around all the time; he shows up to Hellfire meetings with his backpack full of homework and a Tupperware full of something delicious (Eddie had nearly cried the first time he took a bite of Steve's macaroni), only to completely ignore their entire session to study. Occasionally, the walkie Steve carries with him whenever they aren't in school will crackle to life, and Steve will make himself scarce pretty quickly.

Overall, Steve is awesome. Eddie hates to admit it, but watching such a prim and proper guy emotionally destroy someone for commenting on Freak's size, and Eddie just knows that the damage done to Tommy Hagan's car after Gareth showed up to Hellfire with a busted lip and glassy eyes was Steve's fault.

========

Steve is actually really enjoying his time in Hellfire. He doesn't really mention it to the kids, and both Nancy and Jonathan are still avoiding him, so Steve sees it as a win: he gets to make friends who haven't seen him get his ass beat by interdimensional horrorterrors that have ruined dogs and flowers for him forever, he gets to learn more about the game his new little brother is obsessed with, and innocent kids don't have to bear the brunt of King Billy's reign of terror.

Gareth decides almost instantly that he likes Steve; not only because he saved Gareth from bullies or brings them food better even than Wayne Munson's, but because Steve always listens to his DnD stories. Jeff and Freak (who Steve will only refer to by his Government Name, Melvin) grow to like him as well, not at all encouraged by the food Steve brings or (on one memorable occasion) the incredibly realistic melee weapon, straight out of a flick like Red Dawn, that they found under his seat one day.

[contact-guy]

lol THIS ENDED UP BEING SO LONG but it's such a cute story opening that I had to draw Watson roasting Holmes's messiness for the newspaper and Holmes skillfully maneuvering his way out of having to do chores. It's all canon, even the indoor sharpshooting, except for the bit about the cold bath.

canon text under the cut:

An anomaly which often struck me in the character of my friend Sherlock Holmes was that, although in his methods of thought he was the neatest and most methodical of mankind, and although also he affected a certain quiet primness of dress, he was none the less in his personal habits one of the most untidy men that ever drove a fellow-lodger to distraction. Not that I am in the least conventional in that respect myself. The rough-and-tumble work in Afghanistan, coming on the top of a natural Bohemianism of disposition, has made me rather more lax than befits a medical man. But with me there is a limit, and when I find a man who keeps his cigars in the coal-scuttle, his tobacco in the toe end of a Persian slipper, and his unanswered correspondence transfixed by a jack-knife into the very centre of his wooden mantelpiece, then I begin to give myself virtuous airs. I have always held, too, that pistol practice should be distinctly an open-air pastime; and when Holmes, in one of his queer humors, would sit in an arm-chair with his hair-trigger and a hundred Boxer cartridges, and proceed to adorn the opposite wall with a patriotic V. R. done in bullet-pocks, I felt strongly that neither the atmosphere nor the appearance of our room was improved by it.

Our chambers were always full of chemicals and of criminal relics which had a way of wandering into unlikely positions, and of turning up in the butter-dish or in even less desirable places. But his papers were my great crux. He had a horror of destroying documents, especially those which were connected with his past cases, and yet it was only once in every year or two that he would muster energy to docket and arrange them; for, as I have mentioned somewhere in these incoherent memoirs, the outbursts of passionate energy when he performed the remarkable feats with which his name is associated were followed by reactions of lethargy during which he would lie about with his violin and his books, hardly moving save from the sofa to the table. Thus month after month his papers accumulated, until every corner of the room was stacked with bundles of manuscript which were on no account to be burned, and which could not be put away save by their owner. One winter’s night, as we sat together by the fire, I ventured to suggest to him that, as he had finished pasting extracts into his common-place book, he might employ the next two hours in making our room a little more habitable. He could not deny the justice of my request, so with a rather rueful face he went off to his bedroom, from which he returned presently pulling a large tin box behind him. This he placed in the middle of the floor and, squatting down upon a stool in front of it, he threw back the lid. I could see that it was already a third full of bundles of paper tied up with red tape into separate packages.

“There are cases enough here, Watson,” said he, looking at me with mischievous eyes. “I think that if you knew all that I had in this box you would ask me to pull some out instead of putting others in.”

“These are the records of your early work, then?” I asked. “I have often wished that I had notes of those cases.”

“Yes, my boy, these were all done prematurely before my biographer had come to glorify me.” He lifted bundle after bundle in a tender, caressing sort of way. “They are not all successes, Watson,” said he. “But there are some pretty little problems among them. Here’s the record of the Tarleton murders, and the case of Vamberry, the wine merchant, and the adventure of the old Russian woman, and the singular affair of the aluminium crutch, as well as a full account of Ricoletti of the club-foot, and his abominable wife. And here—ah, now, this really is something a little recherchè.”

He dived his arm down to the bottom of the chest, and brought up a small wooden box with a sliding lid, such as children’s toys are kept in. From within he produced a crumpled piece of paper, and old-fashioned brass key, a peg of wood with a ball of string attached to it, and three rusty old disks of metal.

“Well, my boy, what do you make of this lot?” he asked, smiling at my expression.

“It is a curious collection.”

“Very curious, and the story that hangs round it will strike you as being more curious still.”

“These relics have a history then?”

“So much so that they are history.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Sherlock Holmes picked them up one by one, and laid them along the edge of the table. Then he reseated himself in his chair and looked them over with a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.

“These,” said he, “are all that I have left to remind me of the adventure of the Musgrave Ritual.”

I had heard him mention the case more than once, though I had never been able to gather the details. “I should be so glad,” said I, “if you would give me an account of it.”

“And leave the litter as it is?” he cried, mischievously. “Your tidiness won’t bear much strain after all, Watson. But I should be glad that you should add this case to your annals, for there are points in it which make it quite unique in the criminal records of this or, I believe, of any other country. A collection of my trifling achievements would certainly be incomplete which contained no account of this very singular business.

-The Memories of Sherlock Holmes: The Musgrave Ritual

[mahboimahboi]

reader getting absolutely destroyed by gojo, toji, getou, and nanami😇

A SEX FEST x M!Reader (featuring Getou, Gojo, Toji)

Smut

As the phone rang that was seated on top of the table, Gojo whistles to a tune he created on the spot as he picked up the phone and placed the it near his ear. "Hello~ This is Gojo speaking." He spoke in a singy-song voice as a light chuckle moves past his lips.

"Oh, Mr. Gojo, good morning. I would like to ask if Y/N is with you? He told me that he would be there at your house for a very important tutor lesson." A boy's voice spoke from the other end of the line as Gojo begins to play with the telephone's cable, twirling it around his finger.

One side of Gojo's lips move upward upon hearing your name, as he kept his composure and spoke as poised as he can, being known as one of the most prim and proper teacher in their school. "Yes, he is." He replied, eyeing the scene unfolding on his bed through the side of his eyes.

"Oh, can I have him over the phone please? I would just like to talk to him about something." The male spoke, Gojo's smirk just growing wider, if possible.

Gojo pops his tongue and replies with sinister laced in his voice. "Of course, give me a minute."

He passes the phone over to you, whilst you covered your mouth trying to restrict any sound of sex satisfied noise from ever coming out of your mouth as Toji holds you down in place like you are some kind of sex toy or fleshlight, drilling his cock in you roughly. "R-Ryuuji? What is it?" You tried to answer the phone with all the strength left in you, but you accidentally drop the phone as Toji pulls your body back towards him, Gojo getting the phone from where it fell and ends the call after telling your brother that you are busy. "F-Fuck, yes, sir. Fuck me, fuck me good!" You moaned out, rolling your eyes to the back of your head, your eyes hanging out of your mouth in pure bliss.

"Huu, yes, kiddo. I'll fucking give you what you want." Toji groans out, gritting his teeth as he fastened his pace, his strong arms holding you in place, your own strengh nothing compared to his, letting yourself just melt into lust and left your body to be used at his own advantage. "That's what I love about you, kid. You're a really good cum dumpster." He degrades you, the word enough to drive you crazy as you felt a very familiar coil in your stomach.

"S-Sir! AH, FUCK! NNGGH! I'M CUMMING!!" You let out, holding onto the adult male's biceps, but your pleasure is not long lived when you feel something wrap around the base of your cock, making you whimper as your climax got rejected. "N-No! NNYAH!" You moan in pleasure, but the noises was too much for Getou that he pulls your head by your hair and inserts his fat dick in your mouth to cover the irritating sounds coming out of your mouth.

"Didn't actually perceive you as a person who likes noisy bitches like this slut, Toji." Getou comments as the male starts to fuck your mouth without even giving you a proper warning, holding onto your throat with one hand. "Hm, fuck. Well, I say this one's a little different. Bitch knows how to use his mouth." He said, howling in pleasure when you start twirling your tongue around his thick rod. Getou pushes his head back, letting Toji's thrusts be a moderator to your head sucking his cock.

"Careful boys. I still haven't had my turn yet." Gojo stated, pushing down the glasses he had on a little as he smirks, finding your fucked up state a total turn on. It is as though you are purposely seducing him, which you are. You tap on Getou's thigh to signal him that you wanted to say something, the male groaning in annoyance as he pulled out.

"S-Sir Gojo, my ass still feels empty even w-with sir Toji's cock in me." You said, which made Toji stop his movements, his pride being stepped on at your words. He lets out a dark chuckle, dropping his head low. "Please, fill me up, sir Go—AAH!" You're cut through your words when Toji suddenly starts fucking you roughly, practically just vibrating in your place.

"You fucking slut! You could have just asked Gojo, not say shitty words and hurt my ego." Toji grunted in anger, using you to let his frustration out. I mean you are the reason he is angry right now, so you basically deserved getting your brain completely fucked out.

Gojo stifles a laugh before he joins you, Getou, and Toji in bed. "Don't worry, hon. We'll have our own little fun time once they're done with you." Gojo smirks, before he got out of the bed and moves towards his own room, leaving you to be a mess with his co-teachers.

[spicynectarines]

actually i just finished rereading the books and i can conclude that if team peeta is not somehow in your answer idk what to tell you

this is so important team gale or team peeta

[disgurrr]

The symbolism of Katniss and Peeta’s children is one of the most beautiful and profound parts of these books. First, the gender of their children. The Everdeen family had all girls and the Mellark family, all boys. But together, Katniss and Peeta had one girl and one boy. Combining, or perhaps breaking the Mellark and Everdeen cycle. Bridging the two families together in a way that was unthinkable before.

Second, the birth order. When Katniss tells us that she gave birth first to a daughter, it reminds me of Katniss as a first child (or first daughter), who is protective of her younger sibling, Prim. And throughout Peeta’s childhood, he was missing a protector. His older brothers, who probably suffer the same abuse, did not quite protect him or shelter him the same way Katniss did for Prim. And while this is no one’s fault but their parents, it breaks my heart to know Peeta was beaten and abused, and none of his brothers protected him the way I know Katniss would have. But now, a Mellark boy is being protected by their older sibling, a sister like Katniss. Maybe something young Peeta yearned to have, but beautifully his son does have now.

And lastly, the physical descriptions of their children. Merchant and Seam were divided, there was a division in D12, and their physical descriptions are proof of that. Seam typically had olive skin, gray eyes, and black hair. Merchant had pale skin, blue eyes, and blonde hair. Katniss’s parents tried to bridge that division but failed—shown by Katniss only having that Seam look and Prim, the Merchant look. But Peeta and Katniss successfully brought together D12, destroying the division. With the girl having black hair and blue eyes, and the boy with blonde hair and gray eyes. There no longer is Merchant or Seam, there is only D12 with its beautiful meadow of love, joy, hope, and safety, all for the next generations to enjoy and flourish in.

[thesweetnessofspring]

Another thing about the epilogue is that in the beginning, Katniss doesn't say she doesn't want kids. She says she's never having them. Big difference.

Here's the thing, I do agree with you in terms of Katniss's heart of hearts, but there is this exchange with Gale:

"I never want to have kids," I say. "I might. If I didn't live here," says Gale. "But you do," I say, irritated. "Forget it," he snaps back.

Katniss doesn't give us insight exactly into why she doesn't want kids here. She does speak of how difficult it is to have a family, and at this point she hasn't explained what The Hunger Games are. Also at the start of the series, Katniss is resigned to the fact that this is the way life is. She's not itching for rebellion like Gale. To her, life will continue this way, and she doesn't want to have kids in the only Panem she's ever known. So therefore, she will "never want to have kids."

The reasoning for this declaration is given more depth in the last chapter of the novel:

That if I do have feelings for him, it doesn't matter because I'll never be able to afford the king of love that leads to a family, to children. And how can he? How can he after what we've just been through?

And in Catching Fire in regards to the baby bomb:

Isn't it the thing I dreaded most about the wedding, about the future—the loss of my children to the Games? And it could be true now, couldn't it? If I hadn't spent my life building up layers of defenses until I recoil at even the suggestion of marriage or a family?

Honestly, these lines are just heartbreaking. In the first one, Katniss uses transactional language, as she often does. It's not that she doesn't want a family, she can't afford it, just as she couldn't afford the cakes in the bakery shop. The cost of having a child would be far too high, of losing her children to the Games or else watching them struggle in the pains of hunger, cold, and want. To possibly die herself and leave them vulnerable, as what happened to her after her father's death. In the CF quote, she admits that she built a defense against the very thing that could destroy her: love. The most powerful love she could experience, and a potential fate that she "got a taste of" with Prim at the 74th Reaping, but could curtail by volunteering for her, something she would be powerless to do as a mother.

If Katniss truly didn't want children, didn't want a marriage, didn't want what her life was in the epilogue, she wouldn't have needed to build those defenses. And not only that, it was layers of them. As if each time she had a thought or feeling toward that life, she told herself, "no, that's not for me. That is a life I can't have."

People may argue Katniss was choosing not to have children, but is it really a free choice if the Capitol's violence would be perpetuated against her children in either poverty and/or a spot in the Games? If the choices are a.) never have sex that will lead to pregnancy b.) see your child go hungry and live in poverty; or c.) see your child be taken to the Hunger Games, how is that at all free choice? Like every other aspect of her life, even this, the choice to marry or not, was being coerced by the Capitol even before she stepped in the Games.

It's only a choice when she can be as certain as any parent reasonably can that her children are safe. And though it understandably takes her time, in the end, she does agree to have children with Peeta. The "layers of defenses" slowly come down and she's able to see what was behind there: a desire for a family. And with that, taking back the life that the Capitol took from her when she was eleven years old.

[teecupangel]

Colossal Squid! Desmond and I'll give you my bones

“Have you heard the legends of the Kraken, Shay?”

“Every sailor has.” Shay answered politely, glancing at their guest.

Even as bitter wind gripped its claws at them, Haytham Kenway looked as prim and proper as a gentleman on his way to watch an opera.

Shay, on the other hand, had pulled the fabric around his neck up to cover his freezing nose.

“And do the stories tell of the Kraken a monster that destroys without any care of one’s status or upbringing?”

“The sea is a cruel mistress to all, Master Kenway.” Shay answered, glancing to his right. Gist just shrugged, obviously also a bit confused to why Haytham Kenway was talking about the Kraken all of a sudden.

“Yes, she is.” Haytham agreed as he walked towards the bow of the ship, “But the Kraken is not cruel.”

“He is playful and intelligent. He also has the habit of trying to show his displeasure using his limbs.” Haytham continued, making the other crew members stare at him, forgetting their tasks as they listened to a man who sounded like he knew the Kraken himself, “But above all else…”

“He is one ugly squid.” Haytham commented.

They would have laughed at that but the waters beneath them grew dark almost immediately.

Large tentacles rose from the depths and the crew shouted in fear and surprise.

Shay immediately ordered them to main the cannons but stopped when Haytham said, “It is no use. Human weaponry does not work on him.”

Shay froze, noticing that what he had thought to have been sunlight against the tentacles was actually…

Glowing lines that reminded Shay of the light of that device back in Lisbon.

For a brief moment, Shay was paralyzed, the fear and pain of that day flashing before him.

Haytham was still speaking and Shay tried to focus on his voice.

Haytham wasn’t there in Lisbon.

Shay wasn’t there in Lisbon anymore.

Haytham was his anchor to the present.

“The Kraken is what those who know nothing call him. The Templars though… had a different name for him.” Haytham continued calmly, as if the ship had not been kept in place by tentacles coiling all around it. There was no creaking sound and that only made Shay more frightened.

The Kraken knew how to control its strength so it wouldn’t damage the ship, only keep it immobilized.

That kind of intelligence…

“Desmond.”

Shay frowned.

Where have he heard the name before?

“The sea monster that Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad tamed. The ruler of the seas that cares for the Assassin Brotherhood.”

That’s right.

Shay heard Adéwalé talked about a ‘Desmond’ before. Shay had thought it was some kind of pet because Adéwalé talked about how it followed his old friend whenever he sailed.

One of the tentacles reach out towards Haytham and Shay shouted, “Master Kenway!”

Haytham raised a hand, stopping Shay from unsheathing his dual blades.

“Do not move, do not speak, do not even think.” Haytham ordered calmly, “He is here for me.”

“Will this be the day you drag me into the depths, Desmond?” Haytham asked, a slight curiosity in his tone, “Or will you still prolong this dance we share?”

The tentacle wrapped around his neck but, with how big the tentacle was, it wrapped his entire upper body instead.

Haytham didn’t seem worried, looking at the sea below as he stood at the very tip of the bow, “Well?”

Shay and the rest of the crew could only stare, frozen by fear and confusion, as Haytham was slowly lifted.

… before he was placed in the center of the ship. The tentacles uncoil around him slowly. There was a pause before it flicked Haytham’s hat off and Haytham simply gave a tired sigh.

The tentacles let go of the ship and returned to the depths of the sea.

It took a few seconds before the water returned to its normal color.

The entire crew gave out a relieved sigh as many of them fell on their asses.

“Master Kenway, what was that?” Shay asked and all of them turned to stare at the mysterious man as he picked up his hat.

“That was Desmond.” Haytham said as if he was just introducing a family friend he didn’t get along with, “The Sea Scourge of the Templars. He attacks every ship that shows its Templar affiliation. He won’t attack this ship though.”

“It won’t?” Shay couldn’t stop himself from sounding skeptical.

“As long as I sail with you, he will not.” Haytham said.

“Why?”

“Because that squid still believes I am my father’s son.”

[bookns]

They say animals look like their owner but with the crows, it's a copy and paste of personality. Inej would like puppies but love cats. It took her so long to heal to get cats because she used to be called a lynx but her love for them begun again she likes stealthy, grateful cats (she sees herself in her). Nina also had a cat but Nina's cat is so clumsy and is the type of cat that knocks and destroys everything in its path. It lives for food but also is a cuddler. Matthias has a husky (yeah yeah I know SHUSH this is imaginary) because he sees his wolf in the husky's eyes. His dog makes sure Nina's cat behaves and doesn't destroy the whole slat. I also can see Matthias saying that he tolerates small dogs but has such a big soft heart for teeny tiny dogs. Jesper has a medium sized chocolate lab that had puppies. One puppy he forcefully gives to Kaz (after Inej forces him to take it). He loves that dog and the crows (Anita, Prim and Jesper) named it dirty paws.

[nebulablakemurphy]

Moves & Countermoves (Part 21)

Summary: No one ever wins the games, even fourteen years later, Y/N is still playing.

Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20

They try something new, in the form of Prim visiting Peeta with Y/N. Katniss and Haymitch watching from the viewing window. Things are going well…until they’re not. The news of Peeta’s family sends him spiraling. Yelling and cursing Katniss, saying it’s her fault that Snow bombed twelve. That she’s a threat. Telling Prim to kill her.

“Peeta, what you’re saying isn���t real.” Prim says, in a whisper. Withdrawing from the edge of his bed.

“She’s a monster, Prim!” Peeta insists, the angry vein pulsing in his neck.

“Peeta,” Y/N calls his attention back to her. “You’re safe. No one is going to hurt you, I’m here.”

“She’ll kill you too. She’ll kill all of us. She’s a mutt, the Capitol created to destroy us!”

Nothing settles him after that. The doctor has to use a tranquilizer for the first time in days.

Y/N excuses herself to the opposite side of the viewing glass. Catching Katniss’ gaze, holding it as she moves closer. “It’s good to see you up and about. How are you feeling?”

Katniss says nothing, catapulting herself into her mentor’s arms.

“I’m here,” Y/N assures her. “I’ll be here.”

————————————————————————

Haymitch escorts Katniss’ to the Nut in District Two. Y/N hangs back in Thirteen, with the kids and Peeta. Cashmere is sent to stand in for her best friend, which Katniss seems to appreciate, allowing her to weigh in on dialogue for the propo to sway the loyalists.

“Plutarch wrote a speech for you.” Haymitch tells Katniss, as they get into place near the tunnel left for civilians to escape, after the bombs were launched to bury the Nut and all the weapons inside.

The suggestion was Gale’s.

“Killing isn’t personal, Katniss. I figured you of all people would understand that.”

That’s what he told her the night before. Only she doesn’t agree, “killing is always personal.”

Cashmere takes the paper from his hands, reading it thoroughly. “She’s not saying this, they’ll tear her apart.”

“I never said it was a good speech,” Haymitch fires back. “Look, Katniss, you have to remember that you’re talking to everyone. Not just the people in the districts, but the Capitol, survivors from Two. You want them to lay their weapons down, so you might want to experiment with a little sensitivity.”

Katniss nods, though it isn’t her strong suit. “This is Katniss Everdeen, speaking to all the loyalists, from the heart of District Two-”

She is cut short by the train behind her, screeching to a halt.

Boggs wants to get her back, away from the tracks and the people who will soon emerge. But Katniss will hear none of it, especially after shots are fired. Ending up with a bullet in her own gear and unconscious all the way back to Thirteen.

Y/N finds them upon return. “What happened?” She asks Haymitch.

“Bruised ribs, bruised lung.” Haymitch runs a hand over his face. “It’s my fault. Shouldn’t have let her go.”

“Haymitch, you know there’s no way we could’ve stopped her.” Y/N sighs.

“No, but she’s more likely to listen to you than me.”

“I don’t think that’s true.” Y/N swallows.

“How are things? How are the kids?”

“They’re good, they missed you though.” I missed you.

“And Peeta?”

“They showed him the propo, he has real memories of Katniss.” The one’s the Capitol couldn’t taint because they didn’t own them. “He wants to see her.”

“You think that’s a good idea?” Haymitch wonders, feeling his wife reach for his hand.

“I know he’s in there. We can’t give up, there has to be a way.”

“No one’s giving up,” Haymitch assures her. “When Katniss is cleared to leave medical, we’ll ask her to see him. Tell her that he wants to see her. I think that’s progress in itself.”

“Yeah,” Y/N nods.

“Come ‘ere.” Haymitch pulls her against his chest, pressing his lips to the crown of her head. “We didn’t come this far, just to come this far.”

Again she nods, fisting the fabric of his uniform in her hands. Somehow he makes it hurt less.

No one could carry this burden alone, instead they learned to shoulder it together. To trade off when the other was weak, they learned to be two halves of a whole. Trying to pull away from that now seems impossible; excruciating at the very least.

Only when she is there, resting safely against his beating heart, Haymitch can breathe again. “I love you, Y/N.” More than you will ever know.

“I love you too.”

————————————————————————

Days pass, Finnick and Annie get married. It’s beautiful, everything they deserve. They’re glowing; so in love.

Daisy squeals her distaste during the ceremony, until Y/N manages to quiet her with milk.

“I hear ya, kid.” Johanna adds, under her breath.

At the reception everyone dances. Not Johanna. She doesn’t understand how these people can prance around while the world is going to shit. Brooding until little hands pull her to the dance floor. Everest and Arista Abernathy always do get the best of her. Just like everyone else, she was begrudgingly wrapped around their fingers from the day they met..

“Let me go.” Johanna finally demands, with a smile.

Cashmere is their next victim, any and all bystanders are fair game.

Katniss narrowly escapes; finding Johanna among the crowd.

“You saw Peeta, didn’t you?” The victor of District Seven asks. “Did you tell him hi for me? We’re old friends, you know. We had adjoining cells in the Capitol, we’re very familiar with each other’s screams.”

“I’m going to kill Snow.” Katniss says; her tone is cool, calculated. Watching Prim take Daisy from Y/N, so she too can join the crowd. She knows that if she dies, to end all of this, it will be worth it. Prim will have her mother and her former mentors to get her through. She would be taken care of. “Nothing good is safe while he’s alive, and I can’t make another speech about it. No more cameras, no more propos, no more games. He needs to see my eyes when I kill him.”

Johanna’s scowl tips up into a grin, “now you’re talking.”

“I need to find a way to the Capitol while everyone is looking the other way.”

“I hear the medics talking, they’re shipping supplies to the front lines from hanger two, around midnight tonight. Medicine, painkillers, I was gonna go steal some for myself, but I guess I could just stay here and cover for you.” Johanna turns to looks at her dead in the eyes. “Anyone can kill anyone, Katniss. Even a president. You just have to be willing to sacrifice yourself.”

————————————————————————

When Katniss disappears that night and crops up later with troops in the Capitol, Haymitch wishes he could say he’s surprised. But Katniss is who she is and he expects nothing less.

Coin can’t bring her back now. Instead she shoots for plan B, deploying the ‘star squad’ to join her. “It’ll be perfectly safe, you’ll be days behind the main troops. This is just to rally continued support and to document our journey to victory, spearheaded by familiar faces. I’d greatly appreciate if one or both of you could be there. Peeta is being deployed soon as well.”

“Peeta?” Y/N stammers, “Peeta can’t be anywhere near Katniss, let alone a war zone. There are too many triggers.”

“Dr. Aurelius has assured me that you’ve made leaps and bounds together, aiding in Peeta’s recovery. I’m sure that he would benefit from having you there.” President Coin gives Y/N a pointed look.

“I need to discuss this with Haymitch, in private.” Y/N insists, before her husband has a chance to wring the other woman’s necklace.

“Of course.” Alma nods, “I hate to spring this on you, but we are pressed for time. I’ll need your answer by tonight.”

Part 22

Series Taglist: @praline357 @flowercrowns-goodvibes @justheretoparty420 @avocadotoastwithegg @treehouse-mouse @emo-markie @spilled-mi1k @magical-spit @greaser9902 @jessicamellarky @yourebuckingkiddingme @smuha2004 @sendhelplease @ninimackbrews @wittiestrain184 @r1dd1kulus @erenluvr69 @helpimhyperfixating @jackierose902109 @jellybear455 @dreammgc @dadbodfanatic-x @ftdtcmlovr @inky-sun @ms-brek-ker @undercover55655 @mischiefmanaged21 @avoxrising @koiphisch @drwho-ess @daisydaisybilly @misfits1a @nj01 @eruannaaa-blog

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Hi!

Can we go a batfamily x fem child reader?

Reader is like the personification of Gotham

Reader take strolls around Gotham to help people

Reader she's like prim and proper and elegant

Reader who's a little insane and a bit mad

Reader who had a old and dark mansion at the end of Gotham

Reader who's favorite is red hood

Reader who won't hesitate to kill but she stop herself

Reader who got adopted by the batfam

(Can you base reader of this?)

I’ll try my best with this!

-It was strange, seeing such a young child wandering the streets of Gotham so late at night- you didn’t seem scared at all, as you wandered around, almost like you were exploring.

-Batman was watching you from a rooftop, curious about you, wondering where your parents were and wondering why you weren’t scared as you looked out over the harbor.

-His many adopted children were also curious about you- looking down at you, Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, and Robin as you were skipping down the road past a group of thugs as Robin spoke, “Is she really that brave, or just stupid?”

-When one of the thugs grabbed you by the back of your dress, hauling you up, they were quickly springing into action, rushing to you.

-Red Hood hit the one holding you and when you landed hard on your butt, everything froze as a minor earthquake shook the city. Nobody paid it any mind as Red Hood grabbed you, holding you up in his arms as they all took care of the thugs.

-When someone managed to hit Red Hood from behind, he went down hard and took you with him, but he did his best to protect you, but once again, when you hit the ground, another earthquake rumbled through before tears welled in your eyes as you realized, “You’re hurt!” the skies, which had been clear, suddenly darkened with clouds, and rain fell as the first tear slipped down your cheek.

-Nightwing was the one to take you from Red Hood, trying to calm you down as just as the rain started with your tears started, it stopped when you calmed down. Batman was curious, seeing that it was a bit odd, as he remembered the earthquakes as well.

-You were taken to the roof by the group with Red Robin and Red Hood going to get food for everyone, including you, and you introduced yourself, “My name is Y/N!”

-Batman was very patient with you, “Where are your parents Y/N?” you tilted your head to the side, like you were confused, “I don’t have any.”

-They all froze, realizing that you were an orphan, but you didn’t seem bothered as Bruce spoke again, “Where do you live then?”

-You stood from Bruce’s arms, looking out over the horizon, to a large mansion that has long been abandoned, being condemned but not destroyed as it was a piece of Gotham history, being the first building in Gotham, “In that house- that’s where I was born and raised!”

-They all shared a look, a bit concerned, thinking you were an abandoned child that was delusional. When the food arrived, Bruce handed you a burger and you smiled, “Thank you Mr. Wayne!”

-They all froze in shock, hearing you calling him by his actual name, Bruce cautiously speaking, “You know who I am?” you didn’t look bothered, smiling up at him and that’s when he noticed that your eyes were much older than what you looked like- like you were an old soul, “You know who I am?”

-You smiled, but it was almost unsettling, “I do- I know each person that has been born in, lived, and died in Gotham. It’s kind of my job.”

-Okay you just went from poor abandoned delusion child to scary really quick. Damien was quickly on guard, ready to fight you if you were deemed a threat as Jason spoke, looking curious, “And what exactly is your job?”

-You beamed as you stood, twirling before facing them, the Gotham skyline behind you, “I am Gotham! Or at least the personification of Gotham.”

-They all froze before Tim spoke up, “Wait so those earthquakes we felt and the rain when you started crying, that was all you?” you nodded, taking your seat again, but this time in Jason’s lap, as you liked him because he protected you, “Yup- when I’m happy it’s sunny and clear, when I’m sad it rains, when I’m mad it storms, and if I get hurt then bad things happen.”

-Batman was curious about you, and the more he heard, the more his internal adoptive impulses were flaring up, but so were the others, as they realized this was true- you were Gotham.

-You accepted their invitation to live with them with little to no hesitation, showing them that you had little to no fear, which was a bit concerning, but you were excited to have a family again!

[zoeys-ksbd-fan-blog]

There's no room in the long blog post I'm writing about book 1. But this story slaps.

The prose mimics really old stories and poems meaning it's pretty blunt and straight forward. Since in the era of spoken stories where stories couldn't be written down, you couldnt have long winding descriptions and dialogs.

But, its a very effective way of telling a story. I was completely immersed, and moved despite it missing much of the extra detail I tend to expect from modern books. Instead of writing a paragraph describing something. You write one sentence that's really profound and it does all the work, sometimes more effectively.

I believe the story itself has an interesting angle on abuse. Prim's father Lord Hansa in previous passages doesn't seem to be the type to berrate and control Prim. However the position she has is of a servant, cleaning and cooking for her father.

I believe her situation is summarized best in the repeating line "there is no finer daughter".

The story is sure to let you know that everybody in all the worlds know her as this beautiful perfect daughter. And when her father is killed, I believe that she is unwilling to rid herself of her title as a daughter because it's all she has.

Throughout the story every time she attempts to bury her father's corpse. The corpse speaks to her, and berrates her for being such an awful daughter.

This is a super natural story about immortals and gods. It is entirely possible that the corpse IS speaking and IS her father. And through her eyes she knew his true colors as a horrible man when we the readers had no idea. And the story is about her escaping that. This is a fine interpretation.

But I think that the voice of her father is actually her own mind saying these things to her. She can't bury her father, she can't get rid of him. Because she would be destroying herself. And every place she tries to bury him he taunts her.

And when the gods start reccomending places for him to be buried, she can't choose any of them. Because she isnt ACTUALLY trying to bury him. She's just prolonging the inevitable.

She eventually brings him back to their house, and puts his corpse back on his throne.

And when she leaves, the house disappears. She is as literally as possible, left with nothing.

That is what the story is about.

Of course the story does have a happy ending and you should read it.

Kill 6 Billion Demons is real good.

[eddiemunson-reader-shame]

A Freak and a Basket Case: An Eddie Munson x Fem!Hispanic!Reader

Chapter One - Seek and Destroy

After many years of being unable to connect in a personal way with reader insert fiction across all genres, I’ve decided to make an insert where I’m forcing you to eat a concha, speak a little Spanish and be absolutely weird. I’m a short Hispanic chick who was a loser in high school bro. I admire other writers here in the fandom who have every confidence in me being a bombshell badass, but I’m not her. This one’s for my Hispanic/Latina no sabo girlies who never beat the weird kid allegations and who never fit right into any mold. Con mucho amor. ❤️

[Masterlist] - Chapter One (You are here) - Chapter Two

***

Hawkins, Indiana was going to be hell on earth, of that, you were certain.

You did not want to move here in the first place. This whole situation was horseshit. Spur of the moment pendejadas from the family matriarch in command of a newly formed triad. The family did not need a fresh start over in a new home, everyone needed to start looking harder. Expanding the search area. Keeping the name in the media. Doing something about the rampant corruptions and blatant conspiracy afoot.

So you were going to do what you did best: shut out the entire world, and focus inward.

I will not hold fear… Fear is the mind killer…

“Sit up right huevona! You’re going to mark my seats.”

You slid your feet off the seat, hoping deliberately that your shoes left marks. You were looking out the window with a scowl. You wanted to be anywhere but here, in this piece of shit town…

Your mother obviously noticed the scowl, as she sighed deeply before trying to talk to you again.

“I know you’re not happy, but this is a new start for us. Try to make the best of it, yeah?”

“And why couldn’t we just have moved somewhere else in New Mexico?! Chingao, you didn’t even think about it, you just put your finger on the map and ya!”

“Watch your mouth.” Your mother snapped. “And you know it wasn’t just putting a finger and ya. We needed a fresh start, and Hawkins was the best choice we could make. It wasn’t as impulsive as you make it out to be, it’s what’s best for all three of us.”

“And what the hell about dad?!” You demanded. “Huh?! How the shit do we continue doing our part if we’re all far away?!”

Your mother’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, eyes narrowing as she drove. Your words had obviously hit a raw nerve. It had only been a year and some change… The changes hadn’t even had time to settle before the move came.

“What’s done is done. How many times am I going to have to go through this?! It’s been over a year, it’s time to accept he’s not coming back. Basta!”

“Bullshit…” You hissed, quietly resigning yourself to silence as you knew any further provocation would start another fight you didn’t want to hear.

The Dodge Aspen continued down the unfamiliar streets. Even though the realtor had boasted about the minimal commute to the schools, with traffic and the morning commute, Hawkins managed to turn a ten-minute drive into almost forty-five minutes. Luckily, your mom had anticipated this. By five am that morning your mother was already blasting a mix of oldies on her eight track, banging on your bedroom door and setting off the barking of your family’s two dogs. Tiffany had almost tripped you in the bathroom when you stumbled in to use the hair dryer brush on your unruly hair, Scruffy had refused to go outside into the dog run, and the family cat Rhett had puked all over your brother Jaime’s work pants while he screamed at you to help him find another pair. Useless from years of mi hito syndrome.

It had been a shitshow of a morning, an omen of things to come.

Your mother blasted the horn at a green Chevy that nearly sideswiped her, trying to cut in front of her.

“Pinches babosos!” Your mother growled under your breath, but you were too pissed off to care about your normally prim mother’s little slip up.

The two of you stayed in silence for some time, until you spoke up.

“You couldn’t have picked somewhere with raza at least? Like California?” You muttered, “A la chingada mujer.”

“What does it matter if there’s no raza here?!” Your mother demanded. “There’s no way we could have managed in California, and Hawkins Elementary was the only district hiring for my preferred grade. I wasn’t going to kill myself working with middle schoolers in Lynwood!”

“But serio mom?! Right at the start of senior year, you didn’t want to wait until I graduated?”

“With the way you were acting, you were on your way to getting held back for the year.” Your mother hissed, clearly fed up with your bullshit. “So shut your mouth and quit complaining.”

You shut your mouth. What could you say to that? Your mother was right.

A lot had changed in the past year. You were now compulsive in your actions, self-soothing in the oddest ways as old, pre-established habits became worse or new symptoms developed. Pacing up and down the hallway of the old house listening to music on full blast was not anything new, chewing on your clothes was, as was the rebellion of dying all of the new clothes your mom bought you some shade of black or gray. You had always been a bit of a space case, living in your imagination as a kid and reading your weird books or bothering your parents with stories of aliens and weird monsters, but that had all been innocent fun. Science fiction books and fairy movies did not a troubled teen make, but lately that vivid imagination was shrouded in grimdark. Obsessive thoughts, spiteful biting comments, lashing out and isolating away from everyone... This was not normal. This was not your normal.

The reasonably happy, vibrant kid that your mother knew was gone. Instead replaced by a bitter, angry young adult at eighteen years of age that had your innocence ripped traumatically away from you too young.

I will not hold fear… Fear is the mind killer…

This was not how senior year was supposed to go. Senior year was supposed to be the last hoorah. A happy time to start preparing for reality. For college plans. Not a time to be stuck in a small Midwestern town that felt like a foreign country.

The scenery of green trees scattered among the brick-and-mortar buildings of Hawkins held no interest for you. Normally you would be excited at all the greenery, the majority of your life spent staring at the same desert scrubs and adobe houses. Hawkins had four seasons, New Mexico had maybe two, but you would have given up four seasons and Midwestern charm for the sand and red clay mountains any day. New Mexico was closer to what was important.

New Mexico was closer to dad…

It only got worse from there as the car approached the high school. Your mom pulled into the drop lane; the car still idle as she stared you down with a hard gaze.

“Mija, I know this isn’t ideal. But you’re strong. You’re going to do fine. Just please… Please try to make the best of this situation. Do it for me, huh?”

Absolutely no move was made to exit the vehicle despite the impatience of the cars still waiting to exit the drop off lane. You stared at the collective student body of Hawkins High with disdain, downright disgust even. As if you would rather swallow glass than get out of the Dodge. You began chewing on the sleeve of your large jacket, already sweltering under layers of clothes even though the summer mornings in Hawkins were balmy at 85 degrees with high humidity.

“Stop chewing on it mensa, you’re going to ruin the sleeve!” Your mother said, swatting your hand.

You moved the cuff away from your mouth but said nothing, instead fishing in the pocket for your Walkman. When you pulled it out, you opened the tape deck and rooted through your backpack, yanking out a cassette tape from the depths and popping it in. The volume was up so high that your mother scowled when she heard what was blasting from the orange foam speakers of your headphones when you pressed the play button.

“Come on mija, you couldn’t pick something happier for your first day at a new school?”

“Nope.” you growled, pushing the Walkman into your pocket. “I’m not picking shit else. I’m going to play this fucking tape so loud, that everyone is going to stay far the fuck away from me.”

The bite in your tone was unmistakable. You were more afraid than angry.

Despite your mother’s sputtering protests and grabbing hands, you unbuckled yourself, threw open the car door, slung your backpack over your shoulder and slammed the car door on the way out.

Your arrival at school was not exactly on the best of terms, and already you were making enemies out of the majority preppy crowd of Hawkins High. Stomping your way through throngs of students to the front office for your locker assignment and school timetable, bumping the shoulders of anyone who got in your way, nearly sending some lanky string bean of a freshman flying into his little group of friends.

The hell with everyone you figured. Kick rocks. Kiss my ass. Fuck yourself with a bent tire iron.

I will not hold fear… Fear is the mind killer…

You hoped the coordination of the day would repel everyone too. Unlike everyone else who had set up their first day back ensembles with care the night before, you came to school in a black cardigan over top a gray linen dress, black tights layered with dirty socks, beat up Chuck Taylors that had been everywhere from White Sands to TRC, and your hair half assed done.

The piece de resistance was the jacket. Even though it was the end of August, you wore a large Carhartt jacket over your ensemble. Your headphones were on, your Walkman was blasting so loud that the music could be heard when you walked, and your scowl was so menacing that you could not help but lunge at and startle a few innocent girls in pastel color culottes as they passed you by. It was your one line of defense; to deter the general populace of Hawkins High you had decided to be a goddamned menace.

It was unfortunate really, because no matter how hard you tried to deter everyone away from you, it took you maybe the first ten minutes of trying to find your classes to realize that Hawkins High, home of the Tigers, had fangs that could snap even the most ironclad of wills.

You were drastically underprepared for the high schooler’s reception to your take no shit attitude. One big dude you shoulder checked ended up checking you right back into the tan lockers, the crash of your body into the metal was loud and embarrassing, causing a gaggle of girls to point and laugh. They said hateful, evil, ignorant shit as they passed, screaming it into your ear or yanking your headphones right off your ears so you would be forced to listen. The name calling cut deep to the core too. One girl even called you a slur to your face, a foot flashed out from some wastoid and nearly sent you toppling to the ground had your oversized jacket not caught on the door handle to the girl’s bathroom.

It was fucking humiliating. You wanted everyone to go away and leave you alone, and your rebellious attempts at being a badass only ended up attracting every kind of attention you did not want.

You hid in the girl’s bathroom, pushing passed a girl in a blue sundress and a strawberry blonde side ponytail to lock yourself in a stall. The tears could not wait until you were sure the bathroom was empty, you began to sob uncontrollably, loud and unashamed, the noises so awkward you did not hear the whispers of the other girls as they exited the facilities.

Fuck this day. Fuck this town. You wanted out. If you could just run away now and hitchhike with the first car you saw today, you would do it.

Dainty footsteps approached your stall as you bawled like a baby, a soft knock making you freeze.

“Go away!” you cried, voice small and hoarse from the sobbing.

“… Hey it’s… It’s going to be okay…”

A soft, delicate voice only foretold by a pair of blue high heels at the opening of the bottom of the stall. You did not know the girl, nor did you want to.

“Go away…” you begged, face burning with embarrassment as you groveled for your freedom. “Please… Please just go away and leave me alone!”

The shoes hesitated, but eventually walked away. Leaving you to your pity party.

I will not hold fear… Fear is the mind killer…

Play stupid games, win stupid prizes cabrona. Quien te tiene?

You could already hear the criticism from your mother in your mind as the late bell rang and everyone had cleared out of the bathroom to their first period class. With your glasses all smudged up from tears and snot, you exited the stall with your tail between your legs, cleaning up at the sink and washing your face clean before you made up your mind. You were not going to class today or ever again, every part of your mind was made up. Now it would only be a matter of time to find an out. Maybe you could walk home, steal Jaime’s ranfla or the Dodge Aspen to make your escape, probably the Aspen since it was less inconspicuous and would blend into the sea of cars on the freeway better than a blue 1972 Chevy Monte Carlo that was well loved. Besides, the Chevy was out of the question until Jaime got back from work at the Hawkins Water Utility, and you were not going to wait that long for him to come home and stop you. The elementary school was a closer walk, and as you walked out of the girls bathroom without checking if the coast was clear, you put your headphones on to drown out all outside distractions and blasted your Walkman to formulate how you were going to break into and hotwire your mom’s car (you knew how to do neither of these things).

As you were walking, you heard nothing. Saw only the school entrance doors ahead of you, but that did not mean you were not still jumpy and traumatized from before. You were walking quickly, unaware of the noise you were making and drastically underprepared for the biggest shock of your life.

You felt yourself being snagged by the strap of your backpack, an iron grip on your shoulders summoned a scream so loud that it hurt your throat and made you jump nearly ten feet. Your headphones were yanked from your ears, and a low voice with hot breath was in your ear muttering words that would drastically change your life.

“You’ve got bitchin’ taste in music there, princess.”

“FUCK ME FREDDY!”