#She will never know hunger or fear for her live in the gaze of a predator

[noahthegrailkeeper]

I found a caterpillar at the grocerystore I work at, about a month ago.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

To Surrender

Billy Washington x female

Summary: Before her, Billy had never appreciated his hands. | Word Count: 2.1k~ | Warnings: choking, smut, p in v, doggy style

Before her, Billy had never appreciated his hands.

He thought women were more interested in how tall he was, how broad, how strong, how funny. The thought of having to live up to all of these expectations was absolutely daunting. And he often felt, before this relationship, that he was unable to reach them, never mind achieve them.

He wasn't funny. Or strong, he thought.

But since meeting her. Since she allowed her heart to curl around him like a tight embrace, he found that she liked the little, more subtle things about him.

Like when he blinks slowly and dreamily when he's had two pints, smiling like a lovesick teenager. How the dimple presses into his rosy, sun-kissed skin when he genuinely laughs at something. And how, every time he changes gear, he rests the hand he'd used for the gear stick rests on her knee with an affectionate squeeze that mirrors the feeling in her chest.

What he'd never considered was that sometimes women liked hands.

He remembered thinking, since fucking when, when she told him how much she likes them. How big they are and how long and slender the fingers, but still thicker than hers.

He admits, at first he thought it was quite cute. Thinking she meant it was because his hands were easy to hold.

But he never imagined he'd be stark bollock naked, on top of her in bed, and staring at her mouth agape, when she'd asked him to put them around her neck.

“You want me to what?”

He'd barely gotten the words out before she was guiding his hands to her throat, her gaze locked onto his with hunger. "Trust me," she whispered, her voice sultry. "I need to feel them...just like this."

Billy hesitated, feeling the thrum of her pulse under his fingertips. He wasn't new to the world of kinks, but this was different. There was a level of intimacy here that he hadn't expected, a rawness that made his heart beat faster.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice softer now, almost a murmur. His fingers felt foreign against the delicate skin of her throat. He could sense the trust she was placing in him, and it both thrilled and terrified him.

"Please," she breathed, her eyes fluttering closed as she leaned into his touch. "You won't hurt me.”

This wasn’t just about trust, it was about her need to be seen, to be understood in a way that went beyond words or gestures. She wanted to feel him, to feel his control, to know that in his hands, she could let go completely. He ran his thumb gently along her jawline, his touch featherlight, and watched as she sighed, her body relaxing beneath his. Her neck was so fragile, so delicate, and yet she was asking him to take command of it, to exert force.

Slowly, he tightened his grip, just enough to press her skin lightly around his palm. He could feel her pulse quicken, matching the rapid beat of his own heart. Her breath hitched, but there was no fear in her eyes when she opened them to meet his gaze. Only a deep, burning need.

"Tell me if it’s too much," he whispered, his voice thick with the weight of the moment.

She nodded, her lips parting as she exhaled slowly, her body arching slightly beneath him as if to push herself further against the hardness that was pressed against her thigh. The sensation of her soft skin beneath his rough hands, the trust she placed in him, was electrifying.

He would never truly forget the first squeeze of her warmth around his length, even after all the times they'd slept together. It was a feeling he couldn't describe, guiding the fat head of his cock to disappear inside her, sending a jolt of white hot pleasure right up his spine.

The shaky moan that slipped through his lips made her smile, seeing the effect her body had on him would never ever get old. With a soft roll of his hips, near-pulled entirely from her, he pushed inside again, deeper this time, his movements slow and deliberate, savouring the way she enveloped him.

A soft moan escaped her as his fingers tightened just a little more, the pressure firm but controlled. Her reaction was immediate, responding with a mixture of surrender and eagerness, her eyes fluttering closed again as she let herself be lost by the sensation.

“Harder-”

With a firm, almost possessive grip, Billy used his hold on her neck to keep her exactly where he wanted her, maintaining control as he rutted into her. She gasped at the pressure, her body instinctively responding. The way she remained perfectly in place, held steady by his grip, sent a surge of satisfaction through him, her submission fueling his desire. Every movement was precise, guided by the way his hand anchored her, ensuring she stayed in sync with him, exactly as he needed.

His grip on her neck remained strong, but his voice softened, filled with a rough tenderness as he spoke. “That’s it…”

His grip tightened just a fraction more, asserting his control as he thrust into her, each movement rougher and deeper than the last as he hooked one of her legs over his shoulder. The bed creaked beneath them, the sound of their bodies moving together filling the room, but it was the low, soft sounds she made that drove him wild. Her breath came in sharp gasps, each one a mix of pleasure and submission, her moans growing louder as he pushed her further.

Her hands clutched at his arms, nails digging into his skin as she struggled to hold onto something, anything, that could ground her in the overwhelming intensity of it all. But Billy didn’t falter, he pulled her close, controlling every movement, every breath she took.

“You’re perfect,” he breathed, a broken whimper escaping him as she tried to suck in air, the sensation mirrored around his length as her walls fluttered around him.

Her response was a broken moan, her body writhing against his, completely at his mercy. With each thrust, he drove deeper, his pace relentless as he pulled her onto him again and again, using the grip to remind her of who was in control. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her chest heaving as she struggled to keep up with the intensity of his pace, her moans mixing with the sound of skin against skin.

Billy could feel the pressure building within her, the way her body tensed as she teetered on the edge of release. He wanted to push her over, to make her fall apart in his hands, but he wasn’t done yet. Not until he had taken everything she had to give.

With a soft, teasing kiss to her lips, he pulled back and she inhaled shakily, his hands sliding down to her hips, guiding her to shift positions. She followed his lead, moving onto her hands and knees, her back arching naturally.

He took a moment to admire the view, the way her body curved so perfectly, skin flushed with anticipation. His gaze travelled lower, lingering on the enticing swell of her buttocks, the way her hips flared out, inviting him to touch, to savour every inch of her. But what caught his attention most were his own hands, now grasping her waist firmly. If this is why she liked his hands so much, he could certainly see why.

“Billy…” she whined, her voice trembling with need as she shifted her hips slightly, pressing back against him in a silent plea.

He chuckled softly, enraptured, his hands still exploring, caressing her in a way that was both gentle and maddeningly slow. “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he murmured, voice thick with admiration.

With deliberate slowness, he ran his hands over her hips, savouring the feel of her, before letting one hand glide up her spine. When he reached the small of her back, he flattened his palm against it, gently pressing her down just enough to arch her further, giving him a better angle as he positioned himself behind her.

With one hand still on her lower back, he guided himself into her, sliding back in slowly as if slotting into place, relishing every inch as he filled her completely. The new angle made her gasp, the arch of her spine intensifying the sensation, her hands gripping the sheets as he began to move, the pace steady but firm.

Rocking his hips, Billy couldn't tear his eyes away as he watched himself sink into her again and again. He tangled his hand in her hair, gently pressing her face into the pillow, muffling her moans. A haze settled over her, making her head feel light and blissfully fuzzy.

His other hand slid down her back, gripping her hip to pull her even closer, deepening the angle with each thrust. Every sound she made, even muffled by the pillow, sent a jolt of electricity through him, fueling his desire to take her harder, faster.

He tightened his grip on her hair, pulling her head back just enough to hear her voice more clearly. His hips moved faster, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more desperate.

“Billy,” she gasped, her voice strained as she reached back to clutch at his arm, her body trembling beneath him. The way she said his name, the way she squeezed around him, almost undid him right then and there.

His hand slid from her hip to where they were joined, his fingers finding that sensitive spot that he knew would send her over the edge. He rubbed tight circles, his breath coming in harsh pants as he felt her body tense beneath him.

“Fuck- come for me,” he whispered, his voice low and rough with urgency.

Her breath caught in her throat as she shattered, her release crashing over her like a wave. The way she pulsed around him, the way she cried out his name, sent him hurtling over the edge with her.

With a deep, guttural moan, Billy buried himself inside her one last time, his release surging through him with an intensity that left him shaken. As the aftershocks of their shared release began to fade, he eased his grip on her hair, his touch turning gentle as he smoothed the strands away from her face. “Back on earth?”

She turned her head slightly, her face flushed and glowing with the afterglow, and gave him a soft, blissful smile. “I don’t think I ever want to come back.”

Billy chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck before slowly pulling out, the loss of her warmth making him shiver.

As Billy pulled away, he caught sight of a faint red mark around her neck, right where his hand had been. His heart skipped a beat, a rush of panic surging through him.

“Shit,” he whispered, his voice thick with worry. “Did I hurt you? I didn’t mean to-”

She quickly turned to face him, placing a reassuring hand over his. “Billy, it’s okay. I’m fine, really.”

His eyes searched hers, still filled with uncertainty. “I never wanted to leave a mark… I just-”

“I know,” she interrupted gently, squeezing his hand. “You were perfect, I promise. I liked it.”

Billy let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, fuck me, that’s a relief. I’m really not sure how to explain this one if anyone asks though.”

She grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Oh, I’m sure we could come up with a story,” she teased, her fingers trailing up his chest. “Maybe I’ll just say I was…attacked…or something.”

He snorts in response, “yeah for some reason I doubt they'll believe that,” he leans back, one hand tugging around her waist, “maybe just keep this between us,” he jokes, wrinkling his nose playfully.

“Hm,” she smiles, their noses brushing. “Maybe next time how about we make sure it's a bit less… visible?”

Billy's eyes glimmer with affection, and a small hint of admiration that she is here, right before him, in his bed, and all his.

“Suppose I can manage that.”

...

General Taglist: @1lluminaticonfirmed @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blackswxnn @blairfox04

@buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @eddieslut69 @emmaisafictionwhore @eponaartemisa

@hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @justbelljust @minholy223 @mochi-rose

@natty2017 @nenelysian @nixiefics @primonizzutto @qyburnsghost

[midnightbears]

✿ duskbound, afterlight.

#STARRING: cybertronian fem reader & other characters.

#TAGS: trauma. talks of character death. hopelessness? mentions of prostitution. no appearance of canon characters because this is an intro. hunger games reference!

#NOTES: hi! still alive, just not writing for kny atm because my head is like a powerpoint presentation with all my hyperfixations and i can't write for requests when it is on another slide. hope that makes sense. this is the first chapter of my megatron x reader, a strangers to lovers to enemies featuring pre-war cybertron, a magnanimous amount of lore, a lot of non-cannon stuff like sparklings and stuff because i can do whatever i want, and my flickering motivation to finish it. i don't have a specific transformers i'm basing the timeline off, so we will see. i thought of publishing it on ao3 or smth but i have better judgement so i just figured i would upload the first chapter on tumblr. the new transformers movie was soooo good and it inadvertently rekindled my transformers obsession. enjoy? let me know if you like it, i would appreciate it if you have questions or anything :) THIS BITCH IS LONG SO BEWARE

"Y/N, my optics hurt."

"I know, sweetspark, I know."

This place reeked. Pure flowing smoke and vapor, stinking energon, and the smell of the gray coal and ash that powdered the laborers' and miners' bodies like scintillating glitter filled the pavements of that day—such fragrant poetry. 

The barely perceivable light that shone down could not even be called proper illumination in the first place. Every once in a while, the wells of your optics danced up to gaze toward where the sweltering sunlight was supposed to be.

Still, your spark did nothing but wail at you when, each time, all that you caught were mountains upon mountains of pitch-dark vapor, dull particles of dust from the mines, and the visualization of the austere whispers of despair and anguish among the workers of one of the mining towns from one of Cybertron's Primus-forsaken satellites, Nuna 5PY.

Even if you turned to look towards the downtown streets, the particles infiltrated your vents and blistered your optics.

Some workers used gas masks, while others retreated to the mines, where the synthetic stench wasn't as foul, but most were forced to return to work. They snatched up energon everywhere they could, recharged in fits and starts among their screaming. You seriously needed to leave.

As Vaportrail coughed onto the city street, you held her small servo. Even with the torrential acid pouring last night, the smog got to her well before the rush hour. 

You realized things would not improve today, so you hurried in fear of the younger developing tear-streaked optics and a headache to match. It saddened you that Vaportrail would never know what a normal life would be like. It was as though they had collectively given up years before she was born, which was unjust to her and all the future sparklings. 

You grabbed her and pulled her into the cart. Traveling was enjoyable, but not at the price of introducing additional hazardous particles into the environment. 

Mining Outpost R–02 was one of the towns from Nuna 5PY, where unnamed members of the lower classes labored interminably, tediously. The gloomy, smoky shambles of a metropolis required the Communication Grid to communicate with other areas and locations simply. It was no place for a sparkling. 

The infant cybertronian lay quietly on the sulfurous mine carriage attached to the railway, more vulnerable than the glass that was painstakingly constructed for the masses of the High-caste buildings and just as giddily colored.

You wondered if her peds are dirty; how would you know? You pondered what she ate back when Starlight was still living in this downtown slum; where did her mother get energon to nourish her? 

Your servos were callous from several scars and defects, and a part of you ached to sweep her up in her arms and shelter her eternally. But. How could you ever live with yourself if you didn't allow such an innocent being to live a tranquil life?

"I'm sorry about your carrier," You told the sparkling wistfully, making sure she was comfortable for the long ride from here to where your late best friend wanted her youngling to go if something ever happened to her. You gave her a small pad which contained personal information like her name and situation, along with a plead for somebot to take her to safety, "Cybertropolis is a nice place, just make sure you reach the police station safely, they'll know where to take you." 

"Thank you," Vaportrail squeaked out, her knees pulled up to her chest plate. 

The train inevitably started, and you walked in tandem with the slow speed of the carriage just to get a good, final look at the sparkling's dainty, cheerless face. Vaportrail would surely be a problem when she got older because all of the mechs would swoon over her—deservingly so.

With those optics and a grin as charming and gauzy as that, she was the very picture of the youthful beauty who had once bored the name of Starlight. You believed she was the sweetest femmeling on the planet.

"I love you, okay? And I'm sure your carrier is so proud of you. Good luck!"

Eventually, you had to withdraw from the train, which only allowed you to stare at the vanishing small frame of a waving Vaportrail, whose response had been forever lost in the sad, sepulchral winds of the town. 

Despite that, you could still stare at the sparkling's naive, callow features and find colossal gratitude and admiration in its place, which made a lump form in your voicebox and squeezing palpation beat inside your spark chamber.

With Vaportrail gone, the smell of blazing smoke burned your olfactory sensors and induced you to cover them with your suitable servo. You had never before realized that the shrilling blare of the injectors, the drills, the massive excavators, and the wheels of the trucks could be so overwhelmingly loud, either. From the corner of your optics, the flashes and instants of the sparks that aimlessly flew around whenever metal met metal brought you out of your bewildered daydream. 

But then you turned and saw the portrait of shattered ambition, lost hope, undetermined origins, opaque bitterness, damaged honor, futile dreams, and wavering will that assembled the cybertronians of Nuna 5PY.

It was a blow to the back of your head.

Starlight was dead.

If you closed your optics, you could still see the glow on her metallurgical protoform, the spark that no longer burned, and the sound of her laughter that still reverberated in your audio receptors and processor.

Oh, you missed her desperately. 

She'd spent her days as a young and daring cybertronian who didn't let the vacillating shame of her prostitution career ridicule her or anything she was. A good, pleasant, and kind femme that thrived and existed, only for some mech to tear her from her home and forever close her laughing optics. She was a femme, a friend, a sister, and a carrier.

She was someone.

"Oi, femme!"

You knew that whoever was calling that word in such a degrading manner was referring to you and you only. You were aware that you were one of the few femmes working on that hellhole.

Sourly, you turned your helm to the source of the voicebox and found your boss—if he could even be called that—staring at you rigorously from across the street. Other mechs were beside him, and in their hungry optics, you could see hunger, amusement, a blatant lack of respect, and other things—all of it for you.

"You said five minutes. Start moving your aft before I tell someone to move it for you."

The group of despicable mechs started laughing at the humorous, unique, spectacular, utterly not-ever-done-before knee-slapper comment. You wondered what comedians told to get a chuckle or two out of their audience nowadays. 

You detested yourself when you started walking back to the mines with crystal-clear coolant forming in your optics and with the words caught inside your voicebox.

Even the clicking of your battered timer had a languid touch in the fading light of their (your) chamber as if it were a spark-beat at rest. The perpetual rhythm of it became more of a white noise inside the transparent yet spurious safety surrounding your beguiling, chimerical space bubble. 

The memory of the lingering perfume of Starlight's aromatic utensils saturated you far more intensely than it did only days before, making you want to pound and bang your head against the wall until you ran out of energon inside your body.

Your spark chamber was wrenched apart in the core by a hollow cavity. It had been there for forty-eight groons. Faithless and cynical, the pit that took form inside of you pulled you to the very depths of your revolted mind.

You were immobile, your bare servos lying at your sides and your digits tinkering with the berth. Everything within the room drove you crazy and made you want to tear out your optics under the scrutinizing, deep-rooted omnipresence of both the carrier and the sparkling.

Vaportrail was not napping on her carrier's bed; her small chest plating was not rising and falling according to her mellow, smooth breathing. You remembered how she would spring from Starlight's berth just to greet you after every single burdensome solar cycle of nothing but suffering under the cruel comments and sometimes spiteful actions of mechs and their superiors. 

You knew and understood that she left for a better life in Cybertropolis, yet you just can't comprehend why you are not hearing her dulcet giggles and her voice as soft as a feather.

"Y/N, look at me!"

You turned your helm lightly toward the soft-spoken sparkling from your spot on your berth. 

One of your stabilizers was crossed over the other, your servos snuggly behind your helm. Due to your horizontal position, you were seeing Vaportrail in a somewhat awkward manner, whispering something to her carrier excitedly, which made you turn your whole frame so you were resting against your side, lifting your helm with your right servo.

"What is it, V?"

Vaportrail, who had her mother's laughing optics, stood proudly atop Starlight's berth beside her laying figure, servos on her hips and grin on her dermas, meekly waiting for you to look at her so she could show her spectacular stunt.

She was no bigger than a mining pickaxe, which is why she was never let out of Starlight's and your’s shared chamber. She was still tiny, even for a youngling her age, but that was not unusual, as the impoverished environment and the mediocre energon didn't do much to help anyway. Primus knows what could happen to someone so small and so weak.

Her confident, puffed-up stand made you laugh casually, as while typically Vaportrail was a modest sparkling, never one to demand attention or directly ask for what she wanted, whenever she got like this and let out her inner childishness for the silliest of things, both you and Starlight would get tons of laughter out of it.

"Go on! Show Y/N what you've been practicing," Starlight encouraged.

When you nodded at Vaportrail, signaling that your attention was entirely on her, her optics lit up. She walked towards the end of her carrier's berth, planting her peds at the very ends before turning around. 

Vaportrail crouched, and with a slight push from her servos and an impulse from her peds, she successfully rolled forward in the berth, landing on her bottom before scrambling to get up and putting her servos up in the air, muttering a small 'Ta-da!'

You had smiled warmly, watching Vaportrail giggle to herself giddily. Starlight clapped for her and swarmed her in a big hug, proud of her sparkling and happy that she had gotten her little trick right. Honestly, you were a bit jealous. You wished you could be this happy by doing something as simple as a gymnastic maneuver.

Vaportrail cheered along with her carrier, excitedly thumping her peds against the surface of the berth. Then she turned to look at you, her optics gleaming with happiness. "I did it! I did a forward roll!"

"Oh, did you?" After your rhetorical question, you languidly returned to your original position, lying with your back plates on the berth and your servos behind your helm. You cheekily turned to Vaportrail and Starlight, a sly, good-natured smile pulling at your dermas; you closed your optics. "I wasn't looking."

"Y/N!"

Both femmes happily laughed at the moping undertones of Vaportrail's voice.

"Just kidding!"

That day was a long time ago, at least it seemed to be; it felt like it. Those words were spoken in the same chamber you slept and resided in. That comical stunt was performed in the berth across from yours. They were not here anymore. Even if you wished they were back together, that deceitful dream would only be achieved by death.

No one can pursue their dreams or be free enough without it. Freedom is for the rich because dreaming costs money.

Starlight wasn't there to hold her youngling and hug you when you needed it. You weren't hearing her voice either, singing lullabies to help you both fall into a much-needed recharge. Her presence was so needed, so sought; in places like this, femmes like her were what one needed to forget about the harsh burden that was the act of being alive. To think that only forty-eight groons before she was still living, she was still here. 

Her memory made you miserable because best friends comprehend you like no other. Starlight was overly protective and brutally honest—as if she ever needed that. You felt so enraged and resentful at not being there to protect her that you feared you might break. 

Although you dug Starlight's grave, blatantly refusing to let the body of your best friend turn into waste parts or scrap metal, a part of you still suppressed the image. One day, you would properly weep for her, but first, you had to accept that she was truly gone. A part of you would never be able to accept that Starlight would never appear, skipping around a corner to tease you for falling for her clever joke.

‘How can she be dead?’

Harsh knocks against your metal door made you jerk from your position on the berth.

"08, are you in there?!" 

The boisterous tone of the mech standing behind your door made you remember that you were still real and breathing inside your crude, undeserving, unworthy existence. Your bubble-turned crystal cocoon inevitably started collapsing at the reminder that life could still go on without Starlight because, after all, no cybertronian knew who Starlight is—was. No cybertronian knew who Starlight was. The world moved on without her.

Without thinking much, you got up from the cold berth, chills flourishing in your metallurgic skin before walking the small distance towards the oxidized door and swinging it open. You would not have considered the thought of opening (being too engrossed in your self-pity and wallowing in grief, you know?) in the first place was it not for the genuine undertones of chipper motivation that were painted over H–01's usually harsh, asperous voice. 

Wait, why was he at your door anyway?

His hulking, rusted frame was as corroded as ever, and it was honestly a little sickening to look at. Despite the awful veil of dust and ash that littered him, the grayish, crimson, and dull turquoise glares of his deteriorated paint job could still be peeked at; his wheels were decaying, and his melancholic optics had lost their love for life— as had everybot else's.

Ancient as a cosmic star and twice as intelligent, with his towering structure and terse personality, H–01 was by far one of the town's most elderly seniors—and, may you add, one of the most cordial. 

You remembered the day you first arrived here, back when you were still an inexperienced femme in life, gullible, back when you dreamed dreams. 

After an accident in your old work establishment,—one of the mech coworkers had stepped over the line with you, resulting in a mining pickaxe protruding from his knee plate and a lot of energon spilled around— you had been sent to Mining Outpost R–02, and H–01 quickly took it upon himself to become a mentor of some sort as you shared letter unit. 

You recalled that he laughed as he had never before when you told him the story of why they had banned you from your previous workplace. Later, you met Starli—

"08?"

You blinked owlishly, and realizing that he was calling out to you, you grounded yourself and met his preoccupied gaze.

"What did you need?"

He frowned at your mediocre attempt at lying. H–01 was by no means stupid, and sadly, you didn’t give enough credit and didn't acknowledge how easily he could pick apart your facade, layer by layer, until your shell was utterly ripped apart.

"Kid, I may be rusty, but I'm shrewd enough to know that you're not well." You became conscious of how absurd you must have seemed in his words. He continued. "I'm sorry about your friend and her sparkling."

There it was again, that funny feeling, that blow to the back of your head. You felt your spark wail painfully, and your limbs tensed up, your optics frantically searching into H–01's face plates for any sign of mockery. You found none. You almost crumbled at his sincere words until your response was unwillingly driven back to your tanks when the piercing siren started blasting across the halls of the chambers.

Instinctively, you covered your audio receptors at the discomfort. At the same time, H–01 merely stared into the speaker device right up against the wall, a bit far away from them. From the corner of his optics, he saw many of the workers exiting their chambers, each of them confused, some of them covering their audial receptors as well, and others staring, irritated and visibly vexed at the gadget that was currently stripping them of their much-needed recharging hours.

The workers of the 8th unit, otherwise known as the H unit, approached the oldest mech from their division, questioning themselves about what was going on. Their optics wilted, and there was a slight lolling to their helms, drunk with weariness after a session of an endless cycle of mining.

"01, what's going on?" One of them asked rather loudly, trying to shout over the siren, coming up to them just as you got used to the loud siren and pulled your servos away from your audial receptors. 

You moved out of the entrance of your chamber to shut the door behind you, joining H–01 by standing beside him. They shared a brief glance, one filled with puzzlement, the other brimming with uncertainty. But before anyone could share their answer or even make a single move, the horrendous blaring of the alarm stopped. 

The speaker against the wall went completely silent, and a single red light started beeping. The Cybertronians looked at each other, baffled.

Someone talked via the speaker.

:: Attention, all workers. You are summoned to the patio at this instant. Once you reach the area, stand in your respective branch line and don't question your current predicament; ignoring this order will result in immediate offlining. I repeat: ignoring this order will result in immediate offlining ::

I need to leave. I need to leave. I need to leave. I need to leave.

That was what you were thinking when you, H–01, and the others walked among the congregation of cybertronians—you would have said mechs were it not for the few femme 'nurses' among the outer lines of the crowds, who as far as you were concerned, were the ones who took care of the workers who suffered minor accidents like infected optics, fractured limbs or something along those lines. 

It was not like they counted anyway. Primus knew what they were actually in this town for and what they did to survive.

The patio, used for Cybertronians during their spare time, was circular, wide of range, and littered with damaged devices and compartment containers, a whole mess of passed-down gear and materials. 

Whenever they got their energon rations and stopped here to rest, H–01 would remark that only the fuel granted to them wasn't recycled—well, that and the smoke. The patio boulders formed a patchwork, with stones obtained as useless scraps and waste from renovations resting together as lovely as crystalline statues from the High-caste buildings. It had artistry to it, as well as smoothness. You and H–01 used to sit there together.

You saw the executives of Mining Outpost R–02, violently shove some of the workers towards their specific department, yelling something at them that you couldn't quite catch. Considering the calm and easy-going attitude of the mistreated miners, you could just tell that they were the prissy, fastidious mechs of the upper divisions, maybe the 1st or the 2nd, where they didn't get punished for slacking off or harassing other workers along with the bosses just for the fun of it.

Your unit quickly got on its respective branches and neatly stood in line. You all exchanged terse nods, mentally preparing yourselves for whatever was about to happen. 

In front of you and the rest of your division were the mechs of the 7th unit, and behind them were the workers of the 9th, and so on. Judging by the others' facial expressions, they, too had no idea of why they'd been called here nor could muster up a word, which only fueled your desire to learn what was going on. The patio got tighter, more claustrophobic as cybertronians arrived.

You were the last number in your unit, meaning that you were placed in the furthest spot from your old friend. You lightly reclined your helm backward to attempt and catch a glimpse of H–01, but to no success, as you saw him and all the other mechs, for that matter, focused on the temporary stage ahead of them. 

It held a podium, a small staircase, and fifteen glass balls with electronic chips on them. One for each unit of the Mining Outpost. A chill went down your spinal plate at the thought.

An overwhelming, ominous silence suddenly governed the patio when a mech no one working here had ever seen before climbed up the staircase. The way he moved caused cybertronians to stare at him in fear. 

The mech was brawny and towering, and the way his helm fell over his lifeless, devoid optics and left shadows smeared on his cheek plates made others shudder. He was directly in front of the plain, pitiful microphone stand. However, an almost charming smile crossed his dermas.

"I suppose you're asking yourselves why were you brought in here."

Because of the microphone, his voice, profound and with a baritone tone, boomed across the patio, making you wince lightly at its loudness. You, of course, were desensitized from loud noises due to the continuous straining sounds of the mining machines around you day after day, as everyone else was. However, his statement caused many cybertronians to look among themselves, clearly disturbed.

"Gentlemechs, my name is Bullway, and I've come all the way here from Kaon to offer you a choice. I intend to give fifteen of you the chance of coming to Kaon with me and becoming gladiators."

Hushed whispers and inaudible sentences started falling from everyone's dermas at Bullway's words and what they implied. From the corner of your optics, you saw most of the mechs look at each other in mute amazement at what they had just been offered.

Their superiors, who were at the base of the set-up podium, quickly took it upon themselves to silence everyone with a loud yell, the absence of sound appearing once again.

"Think about it! Money, power, glory, fame, all laid at your digitprints!" Bullway threw his arms out to emphasize his words. "Join me, and all you have ever dreamed of will come true. A life of nothing but recognition! Isn't that what you deserve?! Isn't that what you dream of as you stare at the ceilings of your measly stations?!"

Dreaming cost money. Dreaming cost money. Dreaming cost money.

Almost as if he had read your mind, H–01 subtly leaned his helm forward to take a peek at the workers of the section he conducted. Most of them remained stoic, and he was very glad to see that, but what worried him the most right now was H–08.

His facial plates morphed into that of slight disturbance because as he peered into your face, he clearly saw what could only be described as contemplation, doubt, and consideration, which both bothered and worried him.

Bullway smiled at how he had you under a forged delusion and continued his speech, "See the crystal globes here? There's one for each unit of your Mining Outpost. They all contain chips with your respective electronic signatures. Each vorn you have worked here, your signature will be entered an additional time. You can figure out the rest, so let us begin!"

Each vorn?

You suddenly realized that the globes were not in order because, in the same minute that you let the circumstances sink in, Bullway had already slipped a servo inside one of the spheres and grabbed one chip from it, reading it aloud so everyone could hear the letter and number clearly.

"G–10!"

All of the divisions started looking among each other, searching for the (not) lucky mech, a pregnant silence following suit as the group in front of them all glared sympathetically at the chosen one, who stood frozen in place, optics blinking several times, wishing to Primus that Bullway had read the designation incorrectly and it wasn't him who was just chosen.

You felt a shiver run down your spinal plate when one of the guards roughly seized his shoulder and made him start walking toward the platform, ignoring the mech's begging and lightly dragging him across the patio as everyone stared in horror. Your intake suddenly went dry when Bullway moved to the next globe, grabbed an electronic chip, moved to the microphone again, and read it aloud.

This time it was from the upper divisions, A–07, you heard.

Just like that, another mech was whisked away from his branch line and thrown across the patio. He then ascended the flight of stairs to stand beside G–10, who apparently was still encapsulated in deep denial, continuously shaking his helm in disbelief. It was tenaciously obvious that Bullway did not concern himself with their worries and imminent fear as he once again moved toward a globe and grabbed another.

You wished cybertronians would step outside their own frames and oversee from the outside what was actually happening at that very instant in Nuna 5PY. Plucked from their workstations like flowers in a garden, sent off to Kaon for the purpose of entertainment for the Upper class with the bombastic excuse of 'MONEY POWER GLORY' behind it.

Prisoners inside their own bodies, trapped to fend off for themselves on a planet where no one cared about them.

Electronic signatures continued rolling off the mech's glossa like energon from a wishing well. The mechs that were chosen always did the exact same thing. They stood completely aghast for a few nanokliks, staring at the soot-stained ground in front of them in absolute shock, their frames deflating like rubber balloons, dermas parting in awe at themselves because they just couldn’t believe it.

F–03.

I–11.

D–04.

E–07.

K–15.

O–02.

When they got prodded by one of the guards, they stared at them, silently begging for compassion, but they found none. Eventually, they were pulled out of their place and shoved towards the staircase on the stage, where Bullway gleefully welcomed all the newcomer 'gladiators' just to grab another electronic chip and call out yet another designation, and so repeating the cycle.

C–01.

M–06.

B–09.

L–01.

J–02.

N–14.

Oh, there was still a globe left. The H unit.

The crowd drew in a collective breath, and then you could hear a pin drop. You were feeling nauseous, your servos clammy, your whole frame tense, your processor hurt, and your spark ached. You longed to see Starlight, you wanted to chase after the train where you sent Vaportrail off to Cyberpolis, and you didn’t know how much H–01 was desperately hoping that it wasn’t you, that it wasn’t you, that it wasn’t you.

"And the last one! H–08!"

[fastlikealambo]

The third wife of rhaenyra targaryen.|| rhaenyra targaryen x black!fem reader

In the five years since Queen Rhaenyra The Conqueror, Bringer of New Valyria, triumphed over the usurper without losing a single dragon, the realm is at peace. Having no need of husbands and taking two other wives, Queen Alicent and Queen Mysaria, the dragon queen is in need of a third and final wife to rule the seven kingdoms at her side.

You were just a girl from nowhere, watching the sky fill with dragons at peace, destined to be a scullery maid in a vicious household and the future wife of a ratcatcher until fate and blood decide your future for you. 

History will remember Rhaenyra Targaryen as the great unifier, the second coming of Visenya Targaryen who brought another golden age of dragons out of war. But they will sing songs of you, the smallfolk who ascended to fire and blood as the queen’s favorite, the one they tried to kill so many times, the third wife of rhaenyra targaryen.

Some notes: Aegon, Aemond, and Daemon are dead but their dragons were saved, and Otto Hightower and Criston Cole spontaneously combusted, I don’t know what to tell yall. Luke lived, Jace lived, Helaena lived, Jaehaerys lived, Baela and Rhaena are happy goddammit.  During the short war, Rhaenyra married Mysaria and one year after the dance of dragons ended, she also married Alicent.

Some other notes: This is dark and I drew some inspiration from Cinderella and Hurrem Sultan (the fictional representation of her from the show's magnificent century but nobody I know watches that show). Rhaenyra is in her thirties and reader is in her twenties. 

Trigger warnings for violence, murder, abuse. MINORS DNI

Chapter One.

Chapter Two: All that you are is transformed.

 “I wish to be anointed.”

   “Anointed?” 

The question did not come from Princess Rhaenys but from Queen Rhaenyra herself, who sat forward on the throne. You dared to allow your eyes to meet hers and her gaze, though formidable, was not cold, simply curious. 

  “I’m smallfolk, Your Grace.  I do not carry the rank or protection of a house, everything you see before you is all that I am. To be by your side would be a blessing, not only to me, but to those who serve you, to all smallfolk. Anoint me, Your Grace, and you anoint yourself.”

Where in all the gods did that come from?

Didn’t matter.

    “Shall we continue on, Your Grace?” Rhaenys asked but Queen Rhaenyra lifted her hand and beckoned you closer.

 You forced one foot in front of the other until you were in front of the dragon queen, your face reflecting in the famed sword Dark Sister, the queen rested one hand on its hilt, the other was outstretched to you.

No, you would not go back to mending dresses and waiting for good bread. You would not die today, not tomorrow, nor the next day.

 You bowed before Rhaenyra and her hand found your cheek, a calloused thumb brushed away your tears. 

   “You believe yourself capable to rule next to me? To forsake all that you have known, all that you are, to be mine and only mine, my lady?”

No one had called you their lady before, much less a lady.

   For your mother, for yourself, you took Rhaenyra’s hand that held your face and put it over your heart.

     “All I ask is for my mother to be safe and never know hunger again. With that I’m yours, Your Grace.”

  You released the queen, only then remembering there were other people in the throne room.

Perhaps you had overestimated yourself, you should have been more demure,curtsied better. Perhaps if you told the truth, confessed that you were wearing a dress stolen from the back of a noble lady you murdered, the queen would show you mercy.

There was no going back now.

Queen Rhaenyra stood and you curtsied again, a sudden storm of fear sweeping over you that calmed when Rhaenyra bent forward and put her lips on your forehead, each cheek,and lastly your lips. 

To know the mouth of the dragon queen was to know The Gods themselves.

  “Send the rest away, I have chosen. “ Rhaeyra ordered and took your hand in hers.

    “I believe the gods have brought you to me for a reason and you will be safe here. Come, we will get you settled in and then I will introduce you to my wives.” Queen Rhaenyra said and suddenly you felt dizzy.

Was this really happening?

Had your fate truly been transformed?

As you two took your leave, a crowd entered the throne room, the not chosen ladies clambering to see who was chosen.

 You spotted your former employer’s daughters and watched their eyes widen at the sight of you on the queen’s arm. They pushed and shoved their way to the front, shrieking.

  “Do you know them?” Princess Rhaenys asked, studying you for a moment.

You made complete and total eye contact with both girls before letting the Queen lead you on.

  “No, I do not believe I do.”

Just a little something to tide you over! Hope you liked it!

@asvterias

@nxcxllxsevens

@newcaptainofsquad9

[reaper2187]

Daniela x servant female reader

The grand halls of Castle Dimitrescu echoed with an eerie silence, the kind that enveloped the senses and made every creak and whisper stand out starkly against the otherwise oppressive quiet. The dim light of flickering torches cast long, dancing shadows on the ancient stone walls, giving the castle an almost alive and breathing quality. Daniela Dimitrescu, the youngest and most tempestuous of the Dimitrescu daughters, prowled through these halls with a restless energy. Her fiery hair cascaded around her pale face, and her eyes glinted with a mix of mischief and hunger.

Daniela paused at the doorway of the library, a room she frequented less often than her sisters, but tonight was different. She could sense something—or rather, someone—inside that intrigued her. She pushed the heavy wooden door open with a soft creak and stepped inside, her gaze immediately falling on Y/N.

Y/N was a new servant, having arrived only a few weeks prior. Despite her position, there was something about her that caught Daniela's attention from the very first moment. Perhaps it was the way Y/N carried herself with quiet confidence, or the way she seemed unafraid to meet Daniela's piercing gaze head-on. Tonight, Y/N was seated at a large oak desk, engrossed in a thick tome. The firelight from the nearby hearth bathed her in a warm, golden glow, highlighting the soft curves of her face and the strands of hair that fell across her brow.

Daniela watched her for a moment, a slow smile spreading across her lips. She moved silently, her footsteps making no sound on the plush carpet as she approached. When she was mere inches away, she leaned down, her breath brushing against Y/N's ear.

"Enjoying a bit of light reading, are we?" Daniela's voice was a low, seductive purr.

Y/N started slightly, her heart racing at the sudden closeness. She turned her head, her eyes locking onto Daniela's. "Lady Daniela," she said, her voice steady despite the fluttering in her chest. "I didn't hear you come in."

Daniela's smile widened. "That's because I didn't want you to," she replied, straightening up and walking around to the other side of the desk. She perched on the edge, her gaze never leaving Y/N's face. "What are you reading?"

Y/N glanced down at the book in her lap. "Just some old legends and folklore," she said. "I find them fascinating."

"Do you?" Daniela said, tilting her head. "And what, pray tell, do you find so fascinating about them?"

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then said, "They often contain a grain of truth. Even the most outlandish tales have some basis in reality."

Daniela chuckled, a low, throaty sound. "Spoken like someone who knows the truth can be far stranger than fiction." She leaned forward, her eyes gleaming. "Tell me, Y/N, do you believe in monsters?"

Y/N held her gaze. "I've seen enough in this castle to know that monsters are very real," she said softly.

Daniela's smile turned predatory. "Indeed," she said. She reached out, tracing a finger along Y/N's jawline. "And are you afraid of them?"

Y/N swallowed hard, the touch sending a shiver down her spine. "No," she whispered. "I'm not afraid."

Daniela's eyes darkened with a mix of amusement and desire. "Brave words," she said. "But bravery can be a dangerous thing, especially here."

Y/N straightened, meeting Daniela's gaze with determination. "I know the risks," she said. "And I'm willing to face them."

Daniela's expression softened slightly, a flicker of something almost like admiration in her eyes. "You're an interesting one, Y/N," she said. "Most of the servants here cower in fear. But not you."

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest. "I… I don't see the point in living in fear," she said. "Life is too short for that."

Daniela's smile returned, but this time it was less predatory and more contemplative. "You intrigue me, Y/N," she said. "I think I'll keep you around for a while longer."

Y/N felt a strange mix of relief and apprehension at those words. She knew that being in Daniela's favor could be both a blessing and a curse. But as Daniela stood up and turned to leave, Y/N couldn't help but feel a spark of something else—something that felt dangerously close to excitement.

"Goodnight, Y/N," Daniela said, pausing at the doorway to glance back at her. "I'll be seeing you."

Y/N watched her go, her mind racing. She knew that Daniela was dangerous, unpredictable, and utterly captivating. And despite the risks, she found herself looking forward to their next encounter.

The following days passed in a blur of routine and tension. Y/N went about her duties with a heightened awareness, always sensing Daniela's presence even when she couldn't see her. It was as if the young Dimitrescu daughter was always watching, always waiting.

One evening, as Y/N was cleaning the grand hall, she felt that familiar prickling sensation on the back of her neck. She turned around to find Daniela leaning against the wall, watching her with an inscrutable expression.

"You're quite diligent," Daniela remarked, her voice breaking the silence.

Y/N straightened up, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I try to be," she said. "It's important to do one's job well."

Daniela pushed off the wall and walked over to her, her gaze intense. "And do you enjoy your work, Y/N?"

Y/N hesitated, then said, "It's challenging, but rewarding in its own way."

Daniela stopped in front of her, so close that Y/N could feel the heat radiating from her body. "I think you could find greater rewards elsewhere," Daniela said softly. "If you were willing to take a risk."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat. "What kind of risk?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Daniela reached out, cupping Y/N's face in her hand. "A risk worth taking," she said, her eyes dark with promise. "Come with me, Y/N. Let me show you what real power feels like."

Y/N felt a thrill of fear and excitement. She knew that following Daniela could lead to unimaginable danger, but there was something about the young vampire that called to her, something she couldn't resist.

"I… I'll come with you," Y/N said, her voice trembling slightly.

Daniela's smile was triumphant. "Good," she said. "You won't regret it."

As Daniela led her deeper into the castle, Y/N couldn't help but wonder what she had gotten herself into. But one thing was certain: life with Daniela would be anything but ordinary. And as she looked at the fiery-haired vampire beside her, Y/N felt a strange sense of anticipation, a feeling that whatever lay ahead, she was ready to face it head-on.

[wifeofsnowbaird]

You Can't, You Can't Catch me Now I'm coming like storm into your town

Part 1/Part 2/Part 3/

Masterlist

[Mentor!Coriolanus Snow x time-travel, hg-era, tribute!reader x toxic!Finnick Odair (in the Peacekeeper era)]

Warning: gore, blood, gun and knife violence, serious injury, death, physical assult, possibly non-con...as I said, maybe...

Summary: You are a rebel, the last chance of the rebellion against President Snow. You're told to go on one last mission to kill the man who massacred Panem. It took you years to understand your mission when you became [name] Lily Baird, starting from the age of five till before the reaping day of the 10th Hunger Games.

The day you began your plan to destroy President Snow before he became the villain he was meant to become.

'Both sisters, Lucy Gray and [Name] Lily Baird are a part of the Covey, and though they have been chosen as tribute for both District 12 and 9 because of our own mistakes, we hope they will stay safe.'

You knew about [Name] Lily Baird, named after her because your mother was inspired by her fiery personality and strength, but now you realize that you were transported to a time before the Baird sisters died, one of sickness and one because of Coriolanus Snow himself.

'I will kill you, President Coriolanus Snow.'

The reason you had volunteered to kill Snow was the debt your parents had owed him. They had cried and pleaded with the Peacekeepers to have some more time but they refused to react. Most District people had been forced into poverty and needed money and the Capitol granted them ways to gain some, but unfortunately, it was a loan that kept on growing. This started with President Snow’s reign and imposed slave labor on many of the people living in the poor Districts like 8, 9, 10, 11, and 12.

Your parents had died in those situations, your father being forced into the coal mines and your mother transported to District 8 to work on Peacekeeper uniforms. 

Both were killed by the very people they worked for. 

‘[Name]! Are you ok? The train was very harsh…’ A bright-eyed girl-Lucy Gray- bent over you to wake you up from your sleep. The sun shone through a slit in the ceiling, highlighting your bronze skin as you moved.

She grinned over to you while sitting on the floor, eyeing you as you moved. 

‘I loved your song, [Name] Lily, it was magical.’

You suddenly gasped, how did you…faint on stage?!

The small girl beside you nervously smiled before she extended a hand in your direction.

Lucy Gray motioned over to the extended hand and introduced you to her.

‘That’s Wovey from District 8, and I’m sure you know me!’ Her grin widened.

‘Of course I do, Lucy Gra-’

‘District 9 girl tribute, it’s time to meet your new mentor since Plinth’s son wanted your apparent sister, so your mentor is now Coriolanus Snow.’

Lucy Gray frowned, slight fear shining in her gaze. You bent your head to whisper in her ear a quote which should gift her strength.

‘Don't let them sense your fear or they will laugh with joy…’

And that is true defeat…

You had woken up in [Name] Lily Baird’s body 13 years ago, when the original [Name] Lily Baird was adopted by Lucy Gray's parents. It hadn’t taken you long to understand how to survive in the Covey after the...deaths...of your adoptive parents because you had lived in 12, the poorest District.

But you had never understood what happens in the Hunger Games besides the fact that most tributes wish they were dead.

‘Get out.’

A disgruntled Peacekeeper snatched you from the floor and pushed you toward a man with analyzing blue eyes. He smiled at you and offered a gorgeous white rose. 

‘So this is Coriolanus Snow…I take it back, Haymitch was right, he’s hot-no, focus, [Name]!

You grimaced at the rose and snatched it, scratching his hand lightly. His smile faltered a bit but once he noticed her flaming face his smile returned, brighter than before. 

‘So is this the only thing you do?’ You elaborated once you noticed his furrowed eyebrows. 

‘Bringing me roses, is that your only skill?’ He glanced at your hand gripping the rose before straightening to reply.

‘I’ll do my best to take care of you,’ You looked annoyed once you heard that and he noticed before you could even form a thought as if he wanted you to view him as a man worthy to be your mentor. ‘And I’ll make sure to keep you safe.’

You rolled your eyes before catching the movement of his hand gliding through the tresses of his platinum blond locks. 

‘I’m sure you will, Coriolanus Snow.’

Until I kill you.

‘Tigris,’ The blond-haired woman hummed, her adept fingers quickly stitching one of Grandma’am’s old shawls. ‘I think my tribute is in love with me.’

She paused, glancing at the blue-eyed man sitting beside her.

‘Why…why would you think that?’

‘She…trusts me, to keep her safe at least.’

Tigris chuckled, careful not to wake the Grandma’am at such late hours.

‘Do you want her to be in love with you? Because it seems like you have an infatuation with the singer.’

He focused on the scratch she’d marked him with.

‘Maybe…”

[shrinrj]

𝓘𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓮𝓷𝓮𝓶𝔂’𝓼 𝓮𝓶𝓫𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓮 ( KING BALDWIN IV X Y/N FANFIC)

The king of Jerusalem , ruthless in his glory…never thought his heart once hardened by agony , forged from the strongest of metals in times of war and crime would soften at the sight before his eyes. A small house , he wasn’t even sure if it qualified as one…destroyed and shattered…burnt into flames…a figure suffocating inside , he could practically hear the muffled moans of pain and anguish. "Why must I care ? Isn’t this what I wanted…" he thought to himself but no…it wasn’t. He hadn’t ordered the raid to be this way. It wasn’t his doing. That daum foul , Guy de lusignan, gave extreme orders…they were villagers , they were nothing but villagers. The muffled screams haunted him.

"Daum it…" he muttered under his breath

"My lord…where are you going ?"

"Wherever you are not. Wait for me , I must do something" Baldwin unmounted his horse with a swift movement. Adrenaline overshadowing his leprosy. He stood before the cottage looking at the flames eat it with such insatiable hunger. "Hell , is within." He thought. He kicked the door open and looked at the source of the muffled sound…gladly , she was just by the door , unconscious , her body frail and weak under the hellish flames , he carried her over his shoulder…back to his horse.

"This woman needs urgent medical care , fetch for the physician , QUICK !" He ordered , his voice authoritative , commanding…yet dripping with fear. He didn’t know why he did that. Why he risked the fire but…god knows , he thought it all worth it. His men all had dumbfounded expressions on their faces as the physician rushed to the king "my lord…are you hurt ?"

"Not me. If she dies , consider yourself dead. Heal her." Baldwin expressed , his tone cold and threatening yet his gaze fearful…very fearful. Baldwin knows guilt , it lives within him like a crippling monster , a soul sucking entity…a parasite , or perhaps apart of his soul. He knew he had killed…hundreds. His hands were stained with blood but this isn’t the blood he wanted on his hands. Knight code comes before all and knights don’t harm women , children or elderly…but he did…now he did , and this will haunt him forever.

"A word." He said to Guy with a threatening gaze.

Guy approached , a smug look on his face like usual , walking with pride. "My lord." He bowed his head.

Baldwin’s blue gaze pierced Guy’s fragile , narcissistic soul. "Who died and made you king ?" Baldwin asked.

"Oh…God forbid my lord , long live the king of course."

"Really ? If so…why did I carry an innocent maiden on my shoulder from the fire of her small home. I do not recall giving such orders."

"Well , my lord" Guy chuckled nervously searching for a lie to justify his bloodshed , "those villagers…they were hostile…like all saracens are ! I ordered knights to only harm those who harm them. If she’s harmed , she is no innocent maiden."

"If your men were truly harmed by a woman small enough to be carried on the shoulder of a leper , perhaps they’re more fit for a harem than they are for a crusade."

The physician tended to the girl’s wounds and she woke up coughing , tears in her eyes , she looked at the king with a look of disdain -at the very least- her eyes filled with fury…behind them a hint of sadness…

"You woke up…"

She didn’t reply

"Are you alright ?"

She didn’t reply

Baldwin has had enough. He stood in front of her and with the end of his sword lifted up her chin to look at him. “You speak when spoken to." His tone shifted to something more affectionate , warmer…"are you alright ?"

"Take a good guess , your grace” she said , her voice quivering as anger lingered onto every letter she uttered looking at her destroyed home.

"I’ll have your home repaired. I didn’t order this. My knights acted outside of their orders and they will be punished , I swear it."

"Your gold won’t bring back mother’s dresses…or father’s books." She managed to spit out as grief , anger , melancholy consumed her soul , making speech a chore , making looking up at him a harder one. She saw nothing but a monster , an anomaly.

"Did you lose anyone in the fire ?" The king said , surprisingly cold.

"No…" she said as she looked away.

"Then you lost nothing. All can be repaired." He said , his tone cold , his gaze colder , yet his words…there was comfort within them.

She stood up bravely , in all of her reckless ferocity to fight him , to cry , to storm only to feel her head lighten…her sight blur..she collapsed , only to be caught by the king’s good hand before she fell down. He caught her swiftly and then lowered her down. For a moment , he felt a sticky warm substance from her hair. "It can’t be.." he removed his hand to see it stained with blood…the blood of the innocent…on his hands , not symbolically this time , it wasn’t a figure of speech…it was his reality. It was as real as his illness and the savagery of his knights. A scary relevation indeed…one he could not grasp. "Dieu…seigneur…BACK TO JERUSALEM !" He yelled out to his knights as he blopped her in front of him on the horse , praying to his God and hers that she wakes up.

[oldiesstationlover11607]

🎶Good morning, good morning to you!🎶

Fun fact, I spent at least ten minutes looking for a greeting-related lyric from a band I saw in concert yesterday and could not find one that wasn’t extremely sad. Gives you an idea of my music tastes. So you get this one!

Anyways, hi! It’s 💛! Your favorite anon (jk). I absolutely loved the Disney story! I’m a Disney freak myself so I was sure I would know all the fun facts, but your story actually taught me one (never say fanfiction never teaches you anything). Also, your Daughter series has my soul in a death grip. I’m addicted to it.

So, I have a request. I absolutely loved the vampire story you did and the dynamic between vampire Josh, Tyler, and the reader. And I’m a sucker for a good angst. Soooooo…I was wondering if you could maybe do a fallow up where the reader’s hunger just cannot be solved (she’s just always hungry. I can’t think of a better way to describe it). So, out of necessity (and part curiosity), she one day follows Tyler on his hunt for a live blood source. But, one way or another, Josh finds out and he gets really mad (maybe just because he didn’t want her to kill or maybe he’s also a bit jealous too…your choice 😏).

I wanted to get this request in prior to the end of October which is why I made it now, but if you don’t see the vision of don’t want to do it that is totally fine. 💛

Real Thing Part 2 - Vampire!Tyler Joseph + Josh Dun X Reader

Warnings: Vampire stuff, blood, possessive tyler and caretaker josh (i love this dynamic so much hehe)

Word Count: 2066

A/N: Another vampire fic! God J love this AU so much hehe - enjoy :)

Part 1

The hunger had been gnawing at me for days. No matter how many blood packs I drank, no matter how much Josh reassured me that it would get easier, the ache never faded. It sat there, constant, coiled in the pit of my stomach like a snake ready to strike. And Tyler’s words echoed in my mind, his voice a low, teasing whisper that lingered long after he’d walked away.

You’ll realize you’re still hungry.

It was true. No matter how much I wanted to believe Josh—that this life didn’t have to be about killing, that we could survive without giving in to the darker urges—I couldn’t escape the truth.

I was starving.

I tried to distract myself. Josh and I went through our routine, checking the bags, rationing what we had left. He sat with me every night, his calm presence a comfort, his touch grounding me. But it wasn’t enough anymore. They felt thin, weak—barely a drop of relief for the storm brewing inside me. And every time Tyler’s words crept back in, the hunger sharpened, cutting deeper, “it’s a full-on rush.”

I couldn’t help but wonder if he was right. Maybe there was something more I needed, something only a living pulse could give me.

The thought terrified me. But it also thrilled me.

So, one night, when Josh had gone out to scout for more supplies, I found myself slipping away from our hideout, my heart pounding with a mix of fear and anticipation. I knew where Tyler would be. He didn’t exactly hide his hunting grounds—always close to the edge of the city, where the streets grew quieter, darker, and more dangerous.

My footsteps echoed faintly in the alley as I followed the trail of his scent. It was familiar, comforting in a way that only made me feel more conflicted. I told myself I was just watching, just curious, but deep down, I knew better. The hunger had driven me here. It was gnawing at me, clawing at the edges of my control, and no matter how much I tried to suppress it, it was winning.

I found Tyler in a shadowed alley, leaning casually against the brick wall, his gaze fixed on a couple walking down the narrow street. He hadn’t noticed me yet, his focus entirely on his prey, his body tense with anticipation. The way he watched them, his eyes gleaming in the dim light, sent a shiver through me.

I should’ve turned back. I should’ve left right then.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I stepped closer, my breath shallow, heart racing. Tyler’s head snapped toward me, and for a moment, his eyes widened in surprise. Then, that familiar smirk crept across his face.

“Look who finally showed up.” His voice was a low, teasing purr. “Couldn’t resist, huh?”

I swallowed hard, the hunger twisting inside me, making it difficult to think. “I’m just… watching.”

Tyler raised an eyebrow, pushing off the wall and stepping closer to me. His presence was intoxicating, overwhelming, like a magnet pulling me toward him. “Just watching?” he echoed, his voice dripping with amusement. “That’s not what it looks like.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but I couldn’t find the words. The truth was, I wasn’t sure why I was here. Part of me was curious—wondering if feeding from a living source would really be different, if it would finally quench the unrelenting thirst. But another part of me felt guilty, like I was betraying Josh and everything he’d been trying to teach me.

Tyler’s eyes flicked down to my throat, his grin widening as he stepped even closer, his breath brushing against my skin. “You’re hungry,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “I can see it. You’re starving.”

My heart raced, my breath coming in shallow bursts as Tyler’s hand ghosted over my arm, his fingers trailing lightly along my skin. The hunger roared to life inside me, fierce and demanding, and for the first time, I didn’t push it down. I let it rise, let it take over, my body trembling with the intensity of it.

And Tyler could feel it. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispered, “Come with me.” 

The world around us seemed to fade as Tyler's words lingered in the air, beckoning me toward something I had fought against for so long. My pulse quickened, my breath shaky. I wanted to say no, to turn and run back to the safety Josh had built for me. But the hunger was too loud now, a living thing clawing at me from the inside, and Tyler’s presence only made it worse—made it unbearable.

Without thinking, I nodded.

Tyler’s smile widened, his grip on my arm tightening just slightly as he led me deeper into the alley, farther from the soft glow of streetlights and closer to the shadows. My heart pounded in my chest, not out of fear, but anticipation. My body ached with need, my senses sharpening as the scent of fresh blood reached me, faint but enough to send another wave of hunger crashing through me.

We stopped at the mouth of a smaller alley, where a lone figure stood, unaware of the danger lurking nearby. It was a young man, distracted, scrolling on his phone, completely oblivious to the two predators watching him from the shadows.

Tyler's eyes glinted in the darkness as he glanced back at me, his voice low and smooth. “This is for you,” he said, his tone dripping with temptation. “I’ll show you how it’s done. You don’t have to be afraid.”

But I was. Not of the act itself, but of how much I wanted it. The thought of sinking my teeth into warm flesh, of feeling that rush of blood as it flowed into me, was exhilarating in a way I hadn’t expected. The part of me that still clung to Josh’s teachings screamed at me to stop, to turn back before I crossed a line I could never uncross.

But the hunger drowned out that voice. It took over completely, twisting my moral compass into something unrecognizable.

Tyler’s movements were swift and fluid as he approached the man, too fast for him to react. In a blur of motion, Tyler grabbed him, pulling him into the shadows, his fangs flashing before sinking into the man’s neck. The sound of blood rushing filled the air, thick and intoxicating, and I found myself stepping closer, mesmerized by the sight of Tyler feeding.

My mouth watered, my fangs aching as I watched. Tyler’s eyes flicked to me, dark with hunger, and he pulled back just enough to let the man slump against the wall, still alive but dazed, his pulse weak.

“Come closer,” he spoke, blood dripping down from each side of his mouth. As I stepped forward, the man's pulse was a hypnotic rhythm beneath his skin, drawing me closer. Tyler watched me, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction, daring me to give in. My hand hovered near the man’s shoulder, fingers trembling, but it wasn’t the cold that made me hesitate—it was the weight of what I was about to do.

Before I could make the final move, Tyler’s hand shot out, gripping my wrist with surprising gentleness. His gaze never left mine as he pulled me toward him, his lips still wet with blood, the metallic scent wrapping around me.

“Wait,” he whispered, his voice low and seductive. Before I could respond, he leaned in, catching my mouth with his in a fierce, sudden kiss.

My first instinct was to pull away, but then the taste of blood filled my mouth. Warm, fresh, intoxicating. He had parted his lips just enough to let it pass from him to me, shotgunning the crimson liquid into my mouth. My body reacted instantly, the hunger flaring to life as I swallowed, feeling the rush of warmth spread through me. The sensation was overwhelming—electric, raw, and primal in a way I hadn’t felt before.

Tyler’s hands tightened around my waist, pulling me closer as his lips moved against mine. He kissed me deeper, his body pressed firmly to mine, and I could feel the heat of the fresh blood coursing through both of us. It was dizzying. I tasted the rush of the man’s pulse, felt the strength of it as if it were my own, and for a moment, the hunger quieted.

When Tyler finally pulled back, his smirk returned, smug and knowing. His thumb grazed my lip, wiping away the stray drop of blood before licking it off his own finger. “There,” he purred. “How does that feel?”

I stared at him, still breathless, my mind swirling with the aftermath of what had just happened. My hunger was still there, lingering, but the taste of fresh blood—it had been different. Not like the bags. It was immediate, potent, like nothing else I’d experienced since the night I turned.

Tyler tilted his head, his fangs visible under the dim streetlight. “Now you see why it’s so hard to resist. Why bagged blood isn’t what you should be feeding on.”

I swallowed hard, trying to steady myself. The pull of his words was undeniable, and for a moment, I understood the craving Tyler spoke of, that thrill of taking blood straight from the source. It wasn’t just the hunger—it was power, freedom. But as the heat faded from my lips, the guilt began to creep in, thick and heavy.

“I… I don’t know if I can do this,” I muttered, my voice shaky.

Tyler’s grin only widened, his eyes dark and full of mischief. “You already have,” he said, his voice teasing. “And it felt good, didn’t it?”

Before I could respond, a sharp voice cut through the tension like a knife.

“What the hell are you doing?”

I spun around, my heart freezing in my chest. Josh stood at the mouth of the alley, his face twisted in anger, eyes locked on Tyler—and then on me. His gaze flicked between us, catching on the blood smeared across my lips. For a moment, his expression faltered, and something darker flashed behind his eyes. Betrayal. Hurt. But then it was gone, replaced by fury.

“Josh, I—” I started, but he cut me off, stepping forward with deliberate, forceful steps.

“You’re feeding off people now?” His voice was low, dangerously calm, but I could feel the storm raging underneath. “With him?”

Tyler shrugged, unbothered by Josh’s presence, the smirk still firmly in place. “Relax, man. She didn’t even bite him. I was just giving her a little taste.”

“That’s not the point!” Josh snapped, his eyes narrowing, his fists clenching at his sides. “You know what happens if we go down this path. You know what it means.”

He wasn’t just mad. He was furious. Not just because I’d broken the rules—because I’d done it with Tyler, of all people. His jealousy simmered beneath the surface, mingling with his fear of losing me to this darker side.

“Josh, it was just… the hunger, it was too much.” I took a step toward him, but he backed away, his jaw clenched tight.

“I told you I’d help you,” he said, his voice trembling with barely restrained emotion. “You didn’t need to go to him for that.” His gaze flicked to Tyler, who was now lounging against the wall, watching the confrontation unfold with a mixture of amusement and indifference.

“Calm down, Josh,” Tyler drawled. “She’s just learning how to handle what she is. You can’t shelter her forever.”

“I’m not trying to shelter her!” Josh shot back, his voice rising. “I’m trying to stop her from becoming like you.”

The words hung in the air, sharp and final. Tyler’s smirk faltered for a second, but then he laughed, the sound low and dangerous. “Like me? You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Josh took another step forward, his eyes blazing. “Watch it.”

The tension between them was electric, two forces clashing in the dark alley, both trying to pull me in opposite directions. And in the middle of it all, I stood frozen, the taste of blood still fresh on my lips, torn between the two of them. Tyler’s temptation, raw and wild, or Josh’s control, steady and safe.

But the hunger… the hunger wasn’t going away.

And I didn’t know how much longer I could fight it.

//

REQUESTS OPEN

[agattthaa]

Unravel

Paring: Anna/Lane

Word count: 1.037

Rating: T

Summary: There was nothing that Anna desired more than to understand what was hidden inside of Lane's eyes.

Warning: Spoilers from Anna's scene in September's update.

Tagging: @rc-catalog

Anna had never been the type of person to run away from her feelings or wishes. She has always been, instead, the person to be scared of how far they could go. How far they could and they would develop into. How far until they consumed her entirely and without leaving a single trace behind.

So Lane’s entire existence was nothing shorter than terrifying and amusing.

She had arrived on that cold state like a hunted and hurt predator. Her eyes voracious, hungry and conscious of all and every sudden move, as she was absolutely sure that they would attack her, but that shine on her eyes was the proof that if that went to happen, she would take at least someone down with her.

Not a single one of them expected her to actually ever calm down. For Lane to actually become a part of the team, turning into someone involved in solving their problems, someone essential for their plans, someone that sat down on the table with them and, although she herself never told her own stories, she listened patiently to all of theirs.

She was still a predator, but now, her enemies were the squads’ enemies and not the squad itself. Now all her fury and anger were towards the people hunting and hurting them. She was now a vital part of them.

And still, the light on her eyes kept on shinning dangerously, but now that danger seemed to only exist towards Anna.

And still, Anna did pull away. Anna didn’t run. Anna didn’t hide.

Not from Lane, never from Lane.

Never from that hunger gaze that seemed to have as it’s only intention to unravel all of Anna. All of her secrets, all of her sentiments, all of her wishes and desires.

As if Lane herself was the plage that hunted the face of the earth during the entire apocalypse, as if she would take everything from Anna and leave her bare and empty, with nothing left besides the longing that she felt at that particular moment.

And still, Anna did not run away.

She didn’t run, she didn’t hide, she didn’t fear.

Not Lane. Not her feelings. Not from her feelings for Lane. Feelings that seemed to grow and multiply faster than any poisonous ivy. Feelings that felt more intoxicating than any type of alcohol. Feelings that, somehow, were more complex to her than all the other mysteries that the entire human race was now living through.

And yet, like a moth to the flame, she seemed to only be more and more dragged towards the warmth that emanated from Lane’s over analyzing eyes and soft skin. Like she herself wanted to be unraveled by Lane, like she wanted to handle all of herself in a silver plate to Lane, like an offering towards a divinity, like she was ready to make her own blood drip down if that was what Lane truly wanted.

Like she wanted to unravel Lane herself.

Like she wanted to find out if Lane wanted and loved just like she did with everything else. Analytically and pragmatically and with her whole and entire being.

Would Lane ever stare down at Anna with as much wonder and interest and obsession as she did with that dammed book?

Or would such feelings emerge something else completely different on the woman she now held on her arms?

Would love make a woman like Lane a devoted too? Was it capable to make her show herself truly? Her own feelings? Her own vulnerability?

Would love ever be capable of making a woman like Lane able to give up everything? To give and take and sacrifice and lose?

Would she ever admit them?

Anna knew those feelings existed, she saw all of them herself as soon as she laid down on Lane’s side on that night, on that crumpled bed on that dark train. The shine on her eyes had no hunger on that moment. It had something else. Something like curiosity, confusion and fear.

Fear of what, that Anna didn’t know, at least not yet.

But although she tried to play it of crossing her arms and turning away, Lane was not repulsed or even bothered by Anna’s company or touch. In fact, she leaned into it when Anna hugged her close, slowly drifting back to sleep as she, probably unconsciously, held Anna’s hand on place, keeping it basically impossible for her to let go of that embrace without Lane waking up.

Not that Anna wanted or intended to end it.

She didn’t want to.

She wanted to be the only one to ever hold Lane, the only one able to keep the woman’s nightmares away from her, the only one she showed herself to, the only one Lane ever slept with at night. The only one to understands her.

And perhaps she would.

Because Lane would never let anyone know that something as trivial as a nightmare was bothering her. Because Lane would never let anyone else know she also had fears and was scared and that she was as vulnerable as the rest of them, that she was just better at hiding it than most of them. Because Lane would never let someone else hold her like that.

And that was good, amazing even. Because Anna wanted to keep on holding her and her alone. Anna needed to be near. To stick around. To know if Lane truly shared the same feelings than her. To know if Lane wanted Anna with at least 10% of how much Anna wanted her.

But until the day Lane was ready to open up, to admit herself, to show herself as bare as Anna was now, Anna would wait.

By Lane’s side. Acting as a good friend. Taking good care of Lane, paying attention to her needs and wants.

Pulling closer

Carefully, slowly, like the medicine flowing down on an I.V.

Almost unnoticeable until everything that Lane could feel was Anna. So deeply inside of her that she would even wonder why it took her so long to claim what was hers.

Until that day, Anna hoped Lane would only have sweet dreams, especially when she was holding her so close.

[hangesophtalmologist]

Mind Games

finnick odair x original female character

tropes: rivals to lovers

synopsis: once the 75th Hunger Games are announced, Finnick only finds one solution to save his mentor and friend: barge into his long-life rival's house and find a way to convince this irritating, egoistic victor to volunteer. Only, he might be the one person she hates the most after the Capitol.

Part: 1 or a prologue of an anticipated story. Lowkey could be a stand-alone even though I have their entire love story planned out in my head. I just can't form it in words yet.

Warnings: swear words. Basically just insults. Mentions of Alzheimer.

Wordcount: 2,6k.

Finnick was practically running in the streets of District Four – more precisely, in the privileged area of the district known as the Victor’s Village. This was not the time to maintain his unbothered, cool persona. Blood was pumping in his veins, chest heaving in the effort of calming the deafening panic that was creeping up in him. This could not be happening, not again. After everything they had been through. He thought, foolishly, that he was safe. Relatively safe. That it was over since he won the Hunger Games – but they never really win. Becoming the shiny toys of the Capitol promised them wealth and comfort. But all the disgusting, overplayed luxury was only meant to hide the sad truth about victors - they remained toys, and at any time could the people of Panem realize they wanted to play with them again.

The announcement of the 75th Hunger Games came crashing down on him like a bomb, crushing his frail illusion of stability. For him, it didn’t matter. He was strong enough to survive at least for most days. No, the suffocating feeling of fear that had paralyzed each of his muscles, only letting his brain run the infinite possibilities of death, sorrow and suffering, had come from his concern for Mags and Annie. None of them would make it past the first day left alone, and even with his help the Hunger Game was a downright death sentence.

But there was a tiny, silly bit of hope that made him jump on his feet, storm out of his house with one name in mind. The one person he spent a lifetime despising, annoying and arguing with, the very person that hated his guts and made him know every day, was actually his last hope. This was the worst idea he ever had, but he had not choice. He’d go to her, do anything she could ask him for – he’d even recognize she was better than him, he’d beg her on his knees if that was what it took. But even with all that, Finnick couldn’t tame down the desperation that clawed at his heart when he pictured her violently telling him off - like he could swear she’d do.

“Naia!” he called, basically shoving the door of a rusty house open and frantically searching the rooms with his eyes. “Naia!”

His feet moved on their own accord, stomping in the home that felt completely empty. His eyes scanned the squeaky-clean floor and the few furniture there was. For a moment, he feared no one was here until he heard a faint voice coming from a closed room. Calming his breath, he approached and went to slightly open the door before he thought better and faintly knocked on the wood.

Hearing no response, his fingers glazed over the handle, but before he even twisted it, his hand was violently ripped away from the door, and he was met with a furious charcoal gaze.

“Where the fuck do you think you are, Odair?”

There stood Naia Calder in all her glory, in the middle of her living room, as tall as him, muscular arms crossed over her chest who was quickly rising and falling, sweaty skin that glistened under the yellowish light and hands wrapped around a blood-stained tissue that left no doubts on which sport she was practicing before Finnick stormed into her house. Hopefully, she would not be tempted to switch to a livelier punching-ball when he states why he came down here.

“Calder”, the man started, his eyes firmly locked on the challenging eyes of his nemesis. “I need to talk to you.”

With a snap, she undid her bands and threw them at his feet, chuckling humourlessly. Finnick clenched his jaw, refrained from rolling his eyes at the action. Instead, his gaze stayed firm on her face. Thick brows that furrowed automatically in his presence, straight nose on which fell during summer a constellation of freckles contrasting with her tan skin, big almond eyes that could set the world on fire with one glare, plump, soft lips that would form the dirtiest insults to throw in the air. It was the same face he has known all his life, and never once was it not painted with absolute disdain when they were face to face.

“Want a cup of tea? A few biscuits while we talk about the weather and tide, perhaps?” Naia mocked as she removed the tie holding her bronze-like hair, her biceps slightly flexing from the movement.

Finnick followed with his eyes the movement of her wavy hair falling graciously on her bulky shoulders. He swallowed thickly, focusing to not let his gaze linger on her bruised, muscular, sweaty body. He did not answer to her sarcasm. There could only be one subject the victor wanted to discuss right after the announcement. They both knew it.

“Please enlighten me on what’s your strategy to politely ask me to go die in their Hunger Games all-stars,” she insisted with a fake pleasant tone. “Almost destroying my front door was a dramatic first step, I’ll give you that. I can’t wait to see what you have in stock next.”

Irritation quickly grew inside Finnick, but he swallowed all the snarky answers his lips were about to let slip out of his mouth. Why was she playing dumb? She knew just like him that this was the right thing to do.

“I shouldn’t even have to ask you to volunteer, Naia. You know they can’t go through this again,” he said through gritted teeth, following her as she walked through her house, picking up clothes and objects he couldn’t care less about.

“Keep going. My life is less valuable than theirs blah blah. Maybe add in a few tears.”

“Fuck Naia! This is not funny,” he shouted angrily, desperate to knock some sense into her. “You’re young, you’re obviously stronger and for fuck’s sake you’re the goddamn golden victor of the Capitol. You know you have a thousand more chance to win than they have to survive the first few hours, so can you stop being selfish for once in your life? How can you send them off to their deaths?”

“Mmh, flattery. Not bad. Don’t like the guilt-trip that much, though. Try again. Maybe I’ll consider it if you get on your knees.”

The lack of interest in her voice made him want to rip his hair out of his head. It was like talking to a wall. It used to be her on the receiving end of his sarcasm, but now was not the time for their rivalry and she should know it. He knew Naia, he knew her bad attitude and her personality, he knew the trauma her Games brought her. But he knew her, and it seemed unbelievable that she would be so set on not volunteering. Was she doing it out of spite, just to annoy him? How could she seem so careless? How could she just fold so neatly each one of her clothes, stack them up on a shelf like she had no other problems in her life? how could she just calmly tidy up her room while he was asking her to-

Suddenly as realization hit him, the world seemed to quiet down and to reduce to the small room he had followed her in. His anger and frustration slowly melt, his frown relaxing and his mouth closing in a thin line. The curse he had thrown floated in the air, then was carried away by the wind. A veil of silence fell all over the little space they shared.

The adrenaline and stress disappeared, leaving him with the excruciating wish he could swallow back every word he just spat as he watched Naia clean her room, slowly, carefully tucking away her belongings in dusty boxes already aligned next to her bed. The man had been too blinded by his despair and frustration to take a real look at her house. It did not just feel empty – it was. She was packing away. She must have started tidying up the second she heard the announcement. God, she even started training the moment she heard it. Naia always intended to volunteer. She didn’t even consider staying back as an option.

“You know Odair, Mags was my mentor too. Annie is also my friend. You’re not the only one who’d sacrifice things to protect them,” she finally spoke after a long moment of deafening silence, dropping the sarcasm but radiating animosity. “Only you can have the audacity to assume I wouldn’t volunteer for them, but I would if you oh-so-rightfully order me to.”

When she turned around to meet his face, the vivacity of the anger and repulsion in her eyes froze him on his spot. Her fingers were tightly wrapped around the wooden frame of a picture. A family picture. Four silhouettes. Now that he could see all her personal belongings, even the torn, washed-out picture seemed to scream at him, especially the small, masculine silhouette he could almost see scolding him for coming here to ask her to leave them behind like he had any right to make that decision for her.

“I don’t know why it seems so unconceivable for you that I would be capable of a selfless act, but I’d advise you to stop thinking of yourself as the fucking hero of this district,” Naia seethed, her voice raising with each word that slipped out of her lips so quickly that it seemed her anger was forming sentences instead of her brain. “Stop getting drunk on every single praise the Capitol gives you, and maybe you will see you’re not that special. Breaking news, Finnick Odair isn’t the only goddamn man on Earth with morals! Will his ego shatter to pieces or will he be able to recover from the devastating realization that he is not thecenter of the world?”

Each sentence felt like a punch to his guts, but Finnick stayed quiet, lips sealed by shame, facing the storm his long-time rival had become. He was only starting to realize now how much the announcement affected her, because even if she had probably called him a thousand time worse names in the past, she would always hide any emotion behind a mask of cold indifference. However, now he could see it. He could see everything. The resentment and frustration dripping from her voice. He could almost see the pieces of her broken heart who had fallen in each box she had filled up. And even as she turned on her heels and slammed the door of her chamber in his face, his gaze caught the way her hands uncontrollably, yet unperceivably shook against the handle.

Guilt squeezed his guts. Finnick realized that he spent so much time seeing Naia as his competition that sometimes, he almost forgot she was human. She was not only his strong, arrogant and deceitful rival, the victor he was always compared to when it came to determining the best golden victor of District Four. She was not just the girl that challenged him, that claimed she was better than him and that showered him with mockeries on his skills and his Capitol-persona. She was not just the girl he spared with every once in a while, to settle who is better. She was not just the girl who had a witty come-back for each of this teasing remarks. She was also just a girl. His old friend's sister. The girl from his district whom he grew up with. And behind the arrogance, the indifference, the rivalry, there was the ghost of the person who went through the same horrors he did, and whose soul died a little in that cursed arena.

And if he could forget that so easily, that told him more about the influence the Capitol had on himself than what he wanted to admit.

Shaking his head to clear his mind, Finnick left the room, uncoherent thoughts trying to form words that would be a good enough apology without causing her to explode, but before any sound could come out of his open mouth, his voice died down in his throat as his eyes landed on Naia. The victor felt like a wave just hit him straight in the face – and maybe it did, only it was a wave of agony, radiating from the scene in front of him.

Sadness was painted all over the tiny room he tried to enter earlier, yet Naia smiled with the tenderness she reserved to only one person. Even his presence couldn’t disturb the peaceful expression on her face.

“Mom, do you recognize me? It’s Naia, remember? I’m your daughter.”

Finnick held his breath, waiting for the old lady sat on a rocking chair to answer. He knew her, of course. Naia’s mother’s house had been a safe haven for all the kids who once needed an escape from home, a hot meal or a wonderful story to let their mind wander in the amazing worlds the creative woman shared with them, all more peaceful than the world the Capitol ruled.

But the eloquent and lifeful discourses of the woman seemed long gone as Finnick watched her babble an unintelligible, uncoherent answer while her empty eyes stared in the void. He knew she had fallen sick, but he didn’t know about her condition. Any physical sickness seemed more merciful than forgetting everything and everyone until an entire lifetime is wiped out from a memory.

Naia caressed her cheek with delicacy. She was not expecting an answer. A moment passed. Finnick knew he should leave, that this was too intimate, but somehow, the memory of the warm and friendly woman who spared him tons of slices of cake when he was young kept his feet fixated on the ground.

When he finally moved, the movement caught the mother’s attention, and a flash of recognition illuminated her eyes. He froze, while Naia’s mouth dropped open in a hopeful gasp.

“Mom? He’s Finnick Odair, the fisherman’s son. Do you remember? He fought with Dan one day,” she said as she signed him to come crouching to her level. “You used to invite him over to eat even though I always asked you not to.”

Well, now he didn’t know if he should be more shocked to be recognized by someone who is losing their memory or to be introduced by Naia in such a gentle, harmless way. He’ll be damned if he ever hears Naia talk about him in such a sweet tone again.

“Hello Mrs Calder,” he hesitated a second, before confidently putting on his most charming smile, the one he knew could win him any mom over. “You fed me well when my dad was at sea. I hope I always thanked you for it because I remember your cooking as the best in the district.”

He held her emerald gaze as the old woman tried to speak, but her lips seemed to be moving too slowly, too harshly to actually mold the sound coming out of her mouth. The expectancy, the yearning himself felt made him realize how much more devastating that feeling must be for her daughter. Suddenly, Mrs Calder clapped her hands, startling him, before bursting into a quiet laugh.

“My daughter can’t stand the Odair kid!” she shouted in a joyful tone, punctuating it with another string of unintelligible sounds.

Even though the old lady quickly fell back into a state of incoherence, when the blond man looked at her daughter, her eyes glistened – he didn’t know if it was with tears or with joy. Naia had the biggest smile plastered on her face, holding her mother’s hands and planting a firm kiss on one of them.

“Damn right I do!” Naia exclaimed, laughing a true, relieved, liberating laugh.

Finnick stared at her, drinking in the sight and the sound. It was the first time in months, if not years, that he had seen her laugh so freely. Simply the improbability of the moment ripped a chuckle out of him too. For all she was annoying and irritating, his rival didn’t deserve the cruelty of this situation. So when she asked him to take care of her mother if he ever wins the games (which she still insisted would be highly improbable), the fisherman’s son did not hesitate. And somehow, he knew that behind all their rivalry and their mutual disliking, there was enough respect between them that they’d trust each other’s word.

But he also knew she probably will make him pay for coming to her house to guilt-trip her into sacrificing herself. Which she had already decided to do despite the unthinkable price she had to pay for it.

[soupsbowl]

come and get your love || steve harrington x reader || part 4: mk ultra

part 4/?

word count: 2.5k

tw: swearing, mentions of death

--

You arrived home to a silent house. Your grandmother always went to bed early. You quietly closed and locked the front door, sliding your sneakers off your feet and tiptoeing up the stairs. You clutched Dustin’s notebook tightly as you went. You found yourself standing in front of your father's locked office. The memories flooded back—the briefcase, the hushed conversations, the unspoken fears. Something gnawed at your stomach –fear, curiosity, hunger, perhaps a mix of the three – and you reached for the doorknob.

“What are you doing?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin. Your grandmother had appeared behind you, looking at you with concern.

“Grandma! I’m…I’m sorry I didn’t mean to wake you up. I just got back from work.”

“Why are you trying to get into your father’s office?” Her voice was dark, a tone you had never heard from her before.

“I…wasn’t,” you lied, terribly. You discreetly hid the notebook behind your back, and backed up so you were pressed against the wall. “I think you should go back to bed, Grandma, it’s late. I’m sorry I woke you up.”

Your grandmother furrowed her brows and she stared at you, unblinking. “Why are you trying to get into the office?”

You felt the blood drain from your face. “I... I know something is going on, Grandma.” You didn’t know what to say. Your heart was racing. You took a deep breath before continuing. “I know that Dad’s work at Hawkins Lab has to do with things that have been going on around here. I don’t know how I know…I just…I know,” you admitted, your voice wavering slightly. “And now I need to know the truth about my family.”

Your grandmother’s expression hardened even more. “Y/N, you don’t understand what you’re messing with. Your father’s work at the lab... it was beyond dangerous. It’s complicated.”

“But I can’t shake this feeling that there’s something I need to know,” you insisted, your voice rising with frustration. “I feel like we were somehow connected to everything that’s been happening in this goddamn town. I’m old enough now, Grandma. I have a right to know how my parents really died and what they were involved in.”

She studied you for a long moment, her eyes searching yours. “You have no idea the danger involved in this. Your father… he wanted to protect you from all of it.”

“I know, but I need to understand,” you pleaded, tears welling in your eyes. “I can’t keep living in the dark. If my parents were murdered, I have a right to know!”

Her gaze softened slightly, a mix of sadness and resolve in her eyes. You thought you saw a tear. She turned and went into her bedroom to emerge a moment later holding a key. She unlocked the office. “Come with me.”

She led you into the dark office, the air heavy with dust. The room was stark, almost barren, with only a desk and a chair left untouched since your father’s passing. Papers and books were conspicuously absent.

“He kept everything locked away for a reason,” your grandmother began, her voice low but steady as she looked around the room. “Your mother always told your father not to bring his work home with him. She knew it would lead to disaster. When they left that day…” she paused, swallowed. “The day they died, your father had cleaned out this office, he wanted to take his research and reveal the truth of what was going on beyond the fences inside Hawkins Lab. He knew the risks involved. The lab... they were suspicious of him. He and your mother... they were driving to reveal the lab’s secrets to the press, along with his research and then…” she trailed off.

You listened intently, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Then they got into the accident. Just as they were about to leave town.”

She paused again, looking at you deeply. You brushed away a stray tear that had managed to sneak out of your eye and drip down your cheek.

“I’ve always believed there was foul play involved, but for your safety, it was best not to say anything.”

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you processed her words. The weight of years of secrecy and unanswered questions bore down on you. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“It wasn’t my decision to make. Your father entrusted me with this, to tell you when the time was right, when you were old enough to understand,” she replied softly, her eyes filled with sorrow and regret. “He wrote you a letter. He told me to give it you when it was time you knew the truth.”

An ache spread through your chest as you struggled to comprehend the enormity of what she was telling you. “Show me.”

Your grandmother hesitated for a moment, then nodded solemnly. She moved to the desk and lifted the chair, revealing a small compartment hidden in the leg. Inside was an old, weathered envelope, rolled into a tube shape. She handed it to you, and watched as you carefully unfolded the letter, written in your father’s familiar handwriting:

Dear Y/N,

If you are reading this, then something has happened to me and your mother. I’m sorry for keeping this from you, but I did it to protect you. For years, I have been involved in a top-secret project at Hawkins Lab—MKUltra. These experiments, as difficult as it is to believe, involve, alternate dimensions, powers beyond our understanding. Below are the details of the experiment. I trust that you will know what to do with this when the time is right:

Project Codename: "MK Ultra"

Objective: To explore and harness the energy of the Upside Down to enhance human physical and cognitive abilities, creating superhuman capabilities.

Key Components:

1. Energy Harnessing:

Portal Stabilization: Develop technology to stabilize and control portals to Dimension X, allowing safe and consistent access.

Energy Extraction: Create methods to extract and store energy from Dimension X for experimental use.

2. Human Enhancement:

Genetic Modifications: Experiment with genetic alterations using Dimension X energy to enhance human strength, agility, and cognitive functions.

Psychic Abilities: Investigate the potential for developing or amplifying psychic abilities (telekinesis, telepathy) using Dimension X energy.

3. Field Testing:

Test Subjects: Conduct trials on selected individuals to monitor the effects and improvements in physical and cognitive capabilities.

Behavioral Analysis: Observe changes in behavior, mental state, and any unintended consequences of the enhancements.

4. Potential Risks:

Unpredictable Mutations: Dimension X energy might cause unforeseen genetic mutations or health issues.

Psychological Instability: Enhanced psychic abilities could lead to mental instability or uncontrollable powers.

Cross-Dimensional Threats: Opening portals could invite dangerous creatures from Dimension X into our world.

5. Current Focus:

Subject Observations: Monitoring subjects who have shown resilience to Dimension X exposure for potential enhancement candidates.

Energy Stability: Ensuring the extracted energy remains stable and non-toxic for human application.

I believed in the science. I believed we could make the world a better place. But as time went on, I discovered the truth—that our work was not as safe as I thought. People were being hurt, manipulated. I couldn’t stand by anymore. I knew I had to reveal the truth.

I’m writing this letter and giving it to your grandmother, just in case anything happens to me and your mother. She will know when it’s time for you to read it.

Y/N, you are special. You have strength and courage beyond measure. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you sooner, but I hope you can forgive me. Your mother and I love you more than words can say.

With all my love,

Dad

Your head was pounding, you felt your vision blurring. Somehow, none of it made sense yet it explained everything you had been wondering for the past five years. Your legs felt like jelly and you sat down on the dusty floor, hoping that grounding yourself would help.

Your grandmother looked at you sadly. “I’m sorry Y/N.”

You nodded, but didn’t say anything to her.

“Do you have anymore questions?”

You shook your head.

Your grandmother sighed, then padded quietly out of the room. Upon hearing the door close you immediately began to sob.

--

The only thing worse than finding out that your father was part of some top-secret experiment that led to his and your mother’s demise was having to process that information during Mrs. Click’s 9:00am history class.

You didn’t sleep a wink the night prior, visions of grotesquely enhanced humans and alternate dimensions flashed through your brain, with the occasional imagery of a burning car and your parents’ smoldering corpses.

Geez, Y/N, way to keep it lively.

Mrs. Click had been droning on about the cotton gin for an agonizing amount of time and you could feel your eyelids getting heavy when she brought up the “riveting details of the Munger cotton gin of the Civil War Era.”

You felt yourself slipping into a tranquil doze when all of a sudden you felt yourself actually slipping, as your head slid off your hand and smacked onto the desk in front of you.

Laughs erupted around the classroom and you felt a blush of embarrassment creep up your chest and onto your face.

“Ms. L/N am I boring you?” Mrs. Click stared at you over the top of her horn-rimmed glasses.

The class giggled quietly.

“No, Mrs. Click,” you said, unconvincingly. You straightened up a bit, trying to exude the confidence of someone not only awake, but engaged. “I’m not bored.”

“Lovely, then perhaps you wouldn’t mind reminding the class what inventor received a patent for the Smooth Cylinder Cotton Gin in 1840?”

You stared blankly ahead. Your knowledge of the cotton gin both began and stopped at Eli Whitney.

"Uh, Eli Whitney?" you ventured hesitantly, even though you knew it was wrong the moment you said it.

Mrs. Click sighed; her disappointment evident. "No, that would be Eli Whitney's earlier invention. The correct answer is Fones McCarthy. Maybe you would know that if you had been paying more attention rather than dozing off on your hand.”

You felt the heat of embarrassment rising in your cheeks as the class tittered again. You buried your face back in your hands, wishing you could disappear.

"Actually, Mrs. Click," a voice cut through the whispers. "I think Y/N was just confused because Eli Whitney's gin was the first major breakthrough. It's an easy mistake."

You lifted your head from your hands and met Steve Harrington’s gaze from across the room. He gave you a tight-lipped smile and a small nod.

Steve? Bailing you out? And paying attention in class? This was new. And unusual.

Mrs. Click looked at Steve, also perplexed at his uncharacteristic participation in class, then back at you, her expression softening slightly. "Well, thank you, Mr. Harrington. Let's all try to pay closer attention, shall we?"

To your relief, the bell rang, signaling the end of class. You gathered your books and made a beeline for the door, eager to escape. Before you could make your way to your locker, a hand gently grazed your shoulder.

You whipped around, locking eyes with Steve once again.

“Geez, L/N you’re jumpy today,” his eyes scanning your face as if trying to find the root of your distress. “I promise you Mrs. Click isn’t going to hang your hide over falling asleep in class. I should know, I do it all the time.”

You gave him a small smile. "Yeah, well thanks for bailing me out, Steve. I really appreciate it."

He shrugged, a lopsided grin on his face. "Hey, I just figured I owed you for comforting me after Tina’s Halloween party the other night.”

“Oh no, we were already even for that. You walked me home after the party, providing me with ‘protection’ as you called it.”

“Well, then I guess now you owe me.”

You were suddenly very aware of how close Steve was to you, and that you were staring at each other. His brown eyes were flecked with green, something you didn’t notice the other night.

Stop staring, Y/N.

You cleared your throat, breaking the spell. "Yeah, I guess I do," you said, trying to sound casual. "How about next time you come by Moretti’s I’ll sneak extra cheese on your pizza – no charge?”

Steve smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling up as he did so. “If I let you borrow my notes from class today do you think you could throw in some pepperoni, too?”

You tapped your chin, feigning consideration. “I suppose I could make that happen.”

“Excellent, then we have a deal.” Steve reached into his bag and pulled out his notebook and handed it to you. “I’ll see you around, L/N. Probably at Moretti’s to cash in the pizza you owe me.”

“I’ll be there.”

Steve smiled at you again before turning on his heel and heading down the hallway.

A tinge of guilt suddenly arose from the depths of your stomach as you watched him leave. You had been there when Johnathan drove Nancy home from the party. You had been the one to tell Johnathan to drive her home in the first place. You had heard the couple’s argument outside of the gymnasium yesterday. And here you were, borrowing his notes and staring into his eyes.

Your mind returned to the argument you had overhead between Steve and Nancy. You distinctly remember Steve saying something about “killing Barb.” Barbara Holland had gone missing around the same time Will Byers did last year. Except he was found, and she wasn’t. After everything you had discovered about your parents’ death and Hawkins lab last night, you hadn’t even had time to try and put your detective tendencies to work and further investigate Barb’s disappearance.

You unshouldered your backpack and shoved Steve’s notebook inside. Your eyes suddenly caught notice of the sticker on the front of one of the other notebooks. Hawkins Middle AV Club.

The bell rang, indicating you had three minutes to get to your next class – trigonometry with Mr. Mundy. You pulled one strap of your backpack over your shoulder, and slowly ambling towards the classroom.

In the next three minutes, you took inventory in your head the things that had happened to you over the past few days.

One, came into possession of a middle schooler’s notebook that dictated what could be utter nonsense or clues in the mysterious events in Hawkins over the past year. Two, unintentionally meddled in the relationship of Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler. Three, discovered that the former pair may have somehow been involved in Barbara Holland’s disappearance. Four,  discovered that your father had been involved in human enhancement and interdimensional travel. Five, your parents intended to reveal those secrets to the public and it resulted in their deaths. Six, you were now involved in some deep shit, and trigonometry somehow no longer seemed like a priority.

You stopped dead in your tracks, the hallway deserted.  The obnoxious buzz of the late bell echoed in the empty hall, indicating your tardiness to class.

Seven, you were skipping class to figure out what the fuck is going on.

The words from your father's letter resonated in the back of your mind, urging you forward.

Y/N, you are special. You have strength and courage beyond measure.

You pulled on the other strap of your backpack, turned on your heel, and marched outside.

[jovialmoonprincess]

AU: Journey to Redemption (Part 4)

First Part. / The Winter Ball / Champagne Problems / Frost and Thorns

Coriolanus Snow x Fem!reader 

Summary: Y/N, a young idealist in Panem, dreams of making a difference in a post-war society. As the winner of the prestigious Plinth Prize is about to be announced, a mysterious woman unveils a grim fate for Coriolanus Snow, Y/N's nemesis. Offered a chance to alter destiny, Y/N must navigate her conflicting emotions and intervene in pivotal moments to prevent Snow's descent into darkness. The story unfolds against the backdrop of complex relationships, past connections, and the challenges of a changing world, as Y/N grapples with the responsibility of shaping an unexpected destiny and challenging the very fabric of fate.

Warning(s): None, enemy to lovers, back in time, destiny, Snow being in love, Snow being Snow, THIS ONE IS SO SHORT SORRY

A/N: I'm on Wattpad now too, click here to read and vote there: WATTPAD

Frost and Thorns

Y/N observed the white rose with meticulous attention. The thorns, now trimmed, led her to contemplate how long it would take for that flower to wither completely. She had just returned to her apartment after the ball, immersed in palpable fear. Everything she had experienced that night seemed like an illusion, a theatrical representation of something she could barely comprehend. Unraveling the mysteries of Snow became a complex and increasingly frightening task.

The fear that enveloped her was not just personal; it was the apprehension of falling into the enchanting webs of young Snow and, thereby, living a life of misfortune in a country on the brink of ruin. Y/N felt the urgent need to document her feelings, a kind of emotional testament. The notebook, once forgotten on the shelf, became her confidant, a repository for her most intimate thoughts.

With the pen touching the paper, Y/N sought not only to understand the complexity of her emotions but also to leave a trail in case something unimaginable happened. Her younger siblings, Orion and Aria, would be the recipients of her words, and she wanted them to know, even in her absence, the events that surrounded her.

The responsibility of teaching her siblings about the treacherous nature of the Hunger Games and the cunning of the Capitol rested on Y/N. Despite their creative souls, Orion and Aria needed to understand the dangerous game society forced them to play. The analogy of the Capitol as a snake, to be handled with caution, was part of the legacy Y/N tried to impart.

Her thoughts turned to her mother, a figure who, after the death of her father, seemed to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. She performed her maternal duties with excellence, cooking, caring, and ensuring the well-being of her children. However, Y/N perceived a spirit once free, now contained, as if her mother were constantly immersed in dark thoughts. The vision of the Capitol seemed obscured by veiled conformity, a resignation to an inescapable reality.

The Academy, with its weekday study routine, represented a necessary escape for Y/N. Weekends were sacred, a time to return home and witness the rapid growth of Orion and Aria, an experience that, for her, was simultaneously beautiful and distressing.

Y/N had never feared her own death, but perhaps this absence of fear destined her for a mission that others would avoid. However, she hoped this mission would not be in vain. Her persistent determination was driven by the need to reunite with the mysterious woman, to understand the dark details that eluded her comprehension. The devastating vision of Snow haunted her, but without the context and order of events, the truth remained elusive.

Who was the girl confined in the visions? Why did Sejanus not emerge in her premonitions, and why did Coryo's gaze seem devoid of life? The need to unravel these key moments became an incessant quest, an infinite puzzle challenging her mind. Was it possible to find the answers before it was too late? Uncertainty hung in the air, and Y/N, immersed in these mysteries, was determined to uncover the hidden truths before time caught up with her.

Several days had passed since the reaping. Y/N, sitting on the couch, absorbed in a book for a few hours, decided to take a break and turn on the television. She soon realized that the first act of the Hunger Games was about to begin. Still reeling from recent events, she felt unfocused, as if she were out of tune with reality. The luxurious apartment, all the comforts provided by the Capitol, now seemed like a tangible reminder of her submission to the system. However, she knew she shouldn't complain, as, in a way, she believed that the State and the Academy had an obligation to provide uniforms, food, and accommodations.

As she watched the screen, she witnessed many people being confined in a cage, with a girl in a colorful dress and a boy in red standing out. As the camera zoomed in, she identified Coriolanus and the girl, the same one seen in her vision, being kissed by Coryo through a cell. The scene clicked, and a wave of understanding hit her, bringing tears to her eyes. If the vision was real, the information about Coriolanus becoming a dictator would also be real. Absorbed in her thoughts, she decided to call Tigris, certain that her friend would share her shock.

"Hello? Tigris?"

"Y/N!! I was about to call you."

"Are you watching the Games?"

"Absolutely. Did you see the reaping? Everyone is talking about it."

"I don't like watching the reaping," Y/N admitted, having given up on following this event years ago. It was not something pleasant to witness.

"Y/N," Tigris seemed a bit cautious, "Coryo's tribute is the girl from District 12, Lucy Gray. She's from a circus family. She put a snake in the mayor's daughter's dress, and after that, he attacked her, but she put on a show. LITERALLY, she started singing and dancing, and now the Capitol can't take their eyes off her."

It was a lot of information to process. Y/N wanted to know more.

"Wow. And how did Coriolanus end up in a cage?"

"I don't know, but yesterday, I encouraged him to get close to her. She must be confused, scared, and angry. It seems like her name was deliberately placed there."

Y/N approached the TV slowly. She noticed the rose behind her ear, the same rose resting on her nightstand. Coryo and Lucy Gray seemed like an odd couple. It would be a funny scene if they weren't in a monkey cage.

"For sure," replied Y/N, ending the conversation. She said goodbye to Tigris and returned to her thoughtful book. Her stomach was churning; fear for Panem's future haunted her, and the sight of Coryo so close to another girl stirred a strange feeling. Holding hands, smiling, it was a strange scene for her, even though she was used to seeing the boy being friendly with everyone. Something about Lucy Gray made her feel a flutter in her stomach. Her disposition, beauty, irreverence, friendliness, courage, and the ability to capture young Snow's attention.

A week later, Y/N found Sejanus in the academy corridor and sat beside him.

"How's the mentoring going?" she asked, her interest genuine, knowing that mentoring for the Hunger Games was not something Sejanus embraced with enthusiasm.

"Not very well."

"Why?" she inquired, aware that there was more behind Sejanus's downcast expression.

"Marcus... he was my classmate before I came here. We weren't exactly friends, but we weren't enemies either. One day, I caught my finger in the door, and he grabbed snow from the window sill to try to reduce the swelling. He didn't even ask the teacher; he just went and did it. And now I'm his mentor. And he's going to win. Anyone would be happy with him."

Y/N was speechless in the face of the emotional burden Sejanus shared. Acting on instinct, she hugged him, seeking to offer some comfort in the face of the distress they shared. Two minutes passed, and the hug seemed to alleviate some of the tension in Sejanus.

"Sejanus, we need to end the Games. We need to free Panem," Y/N whispered, paranoid that someone might overhear. "All of this is madness."

"I know. What are we doing? Putting children in an arena to kill each other? It's wrong in so many ways. Animals protect the young of their species, don't they? We do too. We try to protect the children! It's part of us as human beings. Who really wants to do this? It's not natural!" Sejanus vented, and for the first time in a month, Y/N felt the urge to just listen. Normally, it was she who freaked out about this. She felt lighter. "It's cruelty. It goes against everything I believe is right in the world. I can't be part of this."

"Don't do anything you might regret later, Sejanus. We're few against many. We need a plan, something smart. We have to think calmly. Don't be impulsive. Don't put yourself in danger. The Capitol is treacherous." Y/N spoke as if she were uttering a small prayer for Sejanus to absorb every word. It was advice she repeated to herself as a motto.

"Y/N..." Sejanus began. There was no time to finish the sentence because Coriolanus interrupted the conversation.

"Satyria is waiting for us for the seminar, Sejanus," said a stern Snow, noticing the proximity between Sejanus and Y/N. "Hurry up." Coryo didn't even look into Y/N's eyes. He seemed resentful.

The tension in the air revealed the complicated dynamic between the three. The unspoken words echoed through the academy corridors, and Y/N knew that, in the face of uncertainties and imminent dangers, her decisions would shape the fate of Panem.

"JERK." Y/N was furious about how the boy had treated her earlier. "Snow always falls on top of everything. Maybe it's time for him to fall, stumble, and hit his face on the ground to learn not to be so arrogant." Y/N murmured to herself, lying on her bed, replaying the morning scene.

_____________________________

Hi guys, I'm finally on vacation from college. I will be able to update here more frequently. I will post the next chapter when we reach 60 likes on the fic. And also thanks for the votes <3 I KNOW THIS ONE IS SHORT SORRY I will compensate in the next with a lot of FLUFF.

Taglist: @shari-berri@h-l-vlovesvintage@tea-bobba@daenerysqueenofhearts @commanderfreethatdust @glxzillx

TAGLIST AND REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!!!

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

The Hunger

Summary: During his time aboard the ship, rations slowly dwindle, and Ettore begins to feel that familiar call of violence | Word Count: 3k~ | Warnings: blood, gore, cannibalism(?), severe biting, murder, delusions, dubcon

A/N: Happy Halloween, here's my absolutely disgraceful offering for you 😂 I wanted to write something icky so bon appetite ig

Hunger makes a beast out of a man.

He knew the feeling well. The deep, primal surge of hunger in his gut. Had known it first, when he had been born, screaming and covered in blood and mucus. Had felt it every fucking day since he was old enough to reach the cupboards above the counter, rummaging through half-empty shelves and devouring a can of canned peaches that were four years out of date.

He can still taste them.

Even when he stabs his fork into his bowl, pulling out a glob of the tasteless mush. Dr Dibs lovingly branded them ‘nutrition packs’. It was food, yes, in the same way breathing recycled air was living. He swallowed it quickly, as if to bypass the taste entirely, but the acidity lingered on his tongue, and no matter how much he ate, he never felt full.

The dining area was silent but tense, as always. A few crew members sat scattered around the small room, picking at their own portions in dim, flickering light. No one spoke, barely even looked up. After months, years? Of the same routines, these were not people, just background noise.

He scraped the spoon across the bottom of the pack, pulling up the last bits, swallowing every fragment, his throat working hard to force it down. And still, nothing. No satisfaction, not even the illusion of it.

Across from him, a small man with wide eyes and a face pale as milk, was scraping his bowl slowly, methodically, taking tiny spoonfuls. Ettore’s gaze fell to the man’s bowl, then down to the faint smear of mush left in his own pack.

You’re starving, his mind whispered. Look at the others. They’re hoarding. Taking more than their share.

He closed his eyes, shaking off the thought, but the dull ache in his stomach throbbed and burned, relentless and needy.

The body adjusts. It always adjusts. Dibs had said once.

Something raw and restless tapped inside his mind. Relentless.

Perhaps it was the same hunger he had felt before. A dark urge to take, to control. Something weaker would do. The rules were written but not enforced, and it certainly wouldn’t take Dibs’ word to stop him from fucking who he wanted. He’d done it before. And he’d do it again a thousand times over.

Her cell was just a few doors down, set apart from the others. She was one of the few who didn’t recoil from him, who met his gaze without that wary flicker of fear in her eyes. She understood him, or perhaps she just didn’t care. Either way, she’d let him in before, and she would again.

“What do you want, Ettore?” Her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, but there was no resistance in it. She glanced over her shoulder before stepping aside, letting him in. “You know we’re not supposed to.”

And yet she lets me in, he smirks.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he studied her in the low light, the way she folded her arms over herself, wary but willing. Her eyes traced his face, maybe sensing something different in him tonight. He didn’t care. And she, as always, gave in to the pressure of his presence, letting him guide her back toward her bunk with quiet, easy compliance.

He let himself sink into it, feeling the softness of her skin, hoping that maybe this would fill the restless hollow clawing at his insides. He needed this, or at least he wanted to think he did. She breathed his name softly as he pressed his mouth to her shoulder, dragging his lips along the curve of her neck, his fingers digging into her hips with bruising intensity.

Perhaps the sight of her naked body under the blue light would be the balm to his tortured thoughts. He watched as her skin rippled and moulded under his palm, her breasts laid plump in his grip, her bare stomach, leading to that place between her thighs that he used to feel powerful.

She was always ready for him, even when he barged in like this. Fucking slut, he thought. She choked out a low moan, breathy and quiet when he slid into her, so easily it was like she yielded around him. Her insides were silky smooth, moulding to him like she was fucking made for him. But he never took his time to savour it. Ever. His hips slammed against hers, as if he wanted to come as soon as possible to not explore the possibility that he might actually like this. Like her.

But he didn’t want to come too soon. This hunger. It must be sated.

He kissed her neck, harder this time, his teeth grazing her skin, feeling the thin membrane give way under the pressure. She shifted under him, her fingers digging into his back, but she didn’t pull away. It only pushed him further, the taste of her skin. Salty, warm. Alive.

Without thinking, he bit down harder, pressing his teeth into her flesh, deeper until he felt her tense in pain and clench around his cock. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t stop him. The sensation of her skin breaking under his teeth sent a thrill through him, a dark satisfaction that made the hunger swell, feral and desperate, impossible to resist.

She shuddered, her breath ragged, and he could feel the way her pulse beat, quick and erratic, against his lips. He bit down again, harder this time, his teeth sinking in until he felt the soft give of muscle under her skin. She whimpered, her hands tensing against his shoulders, but she stayed still, letting him take what he wanted, even as his grip grew rougher. Surely this was no different to how they usually fucked. Right?

The hunger roared to life inside him, dark and consuming, urging him to go further, to take more. Each bite, each taste, only fed the fire burning in his core, and for the first time, he felt the hunger truly subside, consuming her in this brutal, primitive way. Her skin broke easily under his teeth, and he felt the rush of warmth on his tongue, a taste so sharp and vivid it made him shudder.

“Ettore,” she gasped, a tremor in her voice as she pushed weakly at his shoulders. “Stop.”

Her protests were soft, half-swallowed, and even as her hands pushed against him, it only fuelled the fierce, primal satisfaction that surged through him.

“Ettore, enough—” Her voice broke, louder this time, her body twisting beneath him, her hands pushing harder as fear crept into her gaze. “Stop. Please.”

He didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

Her resistance was intoxicating.

Her hands clawed at his shoulders, her fingers slipping as she tried to push him off. He felt his balls tighten, his cock throb, and the blood pooling on his tongue.

“Ettore—stop!” Her voice broke, louder now, urgent. She braced her hands against him with all her strength and shoved, finally managing to wrench herself free, breaking his hold. The sudden force jolted him back, snapping him out of the consuming haze of hunger as she scrambled back on the bunk, her breathing fast and uneven.

They stared at each other in the dim light, her eyes wide with something between fear and disbelief. She reached up to touch the marks, her fingers coming away red, her lips pressed into a thin, hard line.

For a moment, he didn’t move, his chest still heaving, the taste of her still lingering on his lips. He could feel the lingering pulse of his hunger, ebbing but not gone, and he realised with a sick, hollow certainty that he wouldn’t have stopped, couldn’t have stopped, if she hadn’t pushed him off.

“Get out.”

He wiped his mouth with his hand, pulling his sweats over his erection, still half-hard, denied his release. Lips pressed tightly together, he rose to the door, muttering under his breath.

“Bitch.”

As he stepped out into the dim corridor, the events of the night replayed in his mind. The hunger had eased, churned less in his stomach. From the fleeting intimacy, or from his morbid desire to feel her warm life essence on his tongue, coating his throat? He couldn’t be sure.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the doubt that clung to him. It doesn’t matter, he told himself. It was just a moment. Just a fleeting thrill.

But as he made his way to the common area the next morning, the atmosphere felt off. Tension crackled in the air like static electricity, palpable and unsettling. The rations were running low, and everyone was on edge, glancing at the dwindling supply with growing apprehension. They all knew it, the gnawing anxiety that settled in their stomachs like a stone.

Ettore sat alone at a table, pushing his cold, meagre breakfast around on his plate, his appetite evaporated.

And then it happened. A sharp scream echoed through the metal halls, cutting through the morning haze. Ettore’s heart raced as crew members sprang to their feet, faces paling. He felt a chill run down his spine, dread pooling in his stomach as he followed the crowd toward the source of the commotion.

Her body was sprawled across the metal floor. Lifeless and still. Not at all as he had known her the night before. Her neck was ripped open, fat and flesh splayed out for all to see, crimson pooling around her head, stark against the dull grey of the ship.

Ettore stepped closer, a part of him refusing to believe what he was seeing. The crowd around him whispered in hushed tones, but their words were drowned out by the roaring in his ears. No…

He could see the marks he had left on her neck, a stark contrast to the gaping wound that now marred her skin. The blood, so much blood, spilled out like a dark flower blooming across the metal floor. He felt sick, the world tilting on its axis. And yet a morbid curiosity prompted his eyes to linger.

The memory of their night together came flooding back, and he fought to recall the details. Did she really push me off?

Had it really been just a night of passion, or had he crossed a line he couldn’t remember? 

Her body was swept away quickly. Dibs wanted to keep her death as quiet as possible. And yet whispers echoed in the halls. Driven perhaps by a desire to keep their minds off their rumbling stomach, growling with need. 

As he lay awake that night, the darkness pressing down on him like a weight, he wondered if this was what madness felt like, a hunger he couldn’t satisfy, a shadowy doubt he couldn’t shake. And, somewhere in the void of his thoughts, an insidious question echoed, gnawing at him as hungrily as the emptiness in his stomach.

What if the hunger demanded more than food?

It was only one day, when rations were not served for breakfast. That people began to truly panic. People hoarded what they had. People stole others’ food. Fought for it.

But Ettore’s hunger had become a beast of its own. He tried to ignore it, tried to sleep it off, even rationed what little food he had left, but nothing seemed to touch the empty pit in his stomach.

He hated that his last resort for advice was Dibs. She was a doctor, yes, but at the same time she was an evil bitch, he thought. Not only had she once subjected the women to fertility experiments, until too many of them died, he suspected she was performing on others without telling them.

Could she have been slipping something into the water supply? Sedating them? It was possible.

He sighed, annoyed, as Dibs tightened the blood pressure monitor around his arm. "Something in particular bothering you?"

He rolled his eyes, "Dunno. Just feel out of it."

The machine growled to life, tightening around his arm. His eyes wandered over the many glass bottles of medicine that adorned her desk, documents alike. Morphine. Ketamine. Cortisol.

"Blood pressure is fine," she says dismissively, tugging the band off him, before turning back to her desk to pull some clear liquid into a syringe.

"I'll give you some sedative. Help you sleep."

He barely had time to protest before the needle was in his arm. The liquid cold as it entered his body. He hated that feeling. Right next to the feeling of powerlessness, feeling much like a doll Dibs was simply poking.

Days bled into each other, reality blurring at the edges as he drifted through the sterile corridors, his movements automatic, mechanical. The hunger grew sharper, more insistent, and with it, his thoughts began to fracture. It was as if his mind was breaking into pieces, each one lost in the vast, consuming darkness that filled his chest.

He’d catch flashes of things, brief, violent images that made his skin crawl, moments where he felt like a stranger in his own skin, his own mind a cage he couldn’t escape. Even sleep was no escape.

What had Dibs done to him.

He woke to find blood smeared across his hands, dried in crimson streaks along his forearms, staining the edges of his clothes. A sharp, metallic scent filled his nose, triggering a wave of nausea that clawed its way up his throat. Panic gripped him as he stumbled to his feet, breathing fast, frantically trying to wipe the blood away, as if erasing the evidence would erase whatever he’d done.

But it was no use. The blood was everywhere, staining his skin, his shirt, pooling in the creases of his hands like an accusation. His mind raced, trying to claw through the fragments of memory, but all he found were empty gaps, blank spaces where images should have been.

He’d killed them. Most of them, anyway.

Some, he remembered, had been quick, too quick, barely a struggle before he felt their pulse weaken beneath his grip. Others, he’d toyed with, feeling the thrill as they’d tried to escape, the flash of terror in their eyes when they realised what he was capable of. And with some, he’d torn into their flesh simply to feel the give, the soft, yielding texture between his teeth. He could almost taste them now, the salt of their blood, the way it seemed to dull the hunger… for a moment, at least.

The ship felt emptier, darker. And yet, in the silence, he could feel it, a faint rhythm, pulsing through the walls, in the floor, echoing in his ears like a heartbeat. 

They’re still here, he thought, his senses sharpened, attuned to every slight vibration, every distant shuffle. 

There were still some left, hiding somewhere in the ship, cowering in the corners he’d yet to search. He could almost smell their fear, a scent that made his stomach twist in anticipation, igniting the primal urge inside him.

He stepped out into the corridor, his fingers trailing along the walls, leaving smudges of blood streaked across the metal. The silence was thick, punctuated by the occasional flicker of a dying light overhead. Blood smeared at various points throughout the ship, evidence of his rampage, a streak on the wall here, a handprint there, a dark, sticky pool marking where one of them had tried to crawl away.

Then he turned a corner and stopped short, his gaze landing on a figure ahead. Dibs, standing there, her lab coat rumpled, smeared with her own traces of blood. She looked wild, frantic, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and desperation as she took in the sight of him. 

“You,” he rasped, the hunger in his voice a guttural thing, raw and insatiable.

Dibs swallowed, and he could see her pulse racing beneath her skin. She raised her chin, forcing a calm she didn’t feel. “I… I can undo it, Ettore,” she said, her voice tight, wavering. “I can fix what’s been done to you.”

He stared at her half-lidded, the words barely registering, his vision tunnelling in on the way her pulse beat, fast and frantic, against the hollow of her throat. “Undo it?” he murmured, a twisted smile curling at his lips. The thought was laughable, absurd. Undo it? When he’d never felt more alive?

“The…the hunger. I heightened it. Amplified your instincts, your…your drive to survive. It was a mistake, I can still stop it, Ettore.” Her voice wavered, the words rushed as if she could force him to understand. 

“I don’t want you to stop it.”

“Ettore, listen to me. This isn’t who you are,” she insisted, her tone strained, searching for a sliver of the man she thought she’d created. “You’re under a chemical influence, altered, manipulated to feel this way. You’re not in control–”

In a sudden, fluid motion, he surged forward, his hand closing around her throat, cutting her voice off mid-sentence. Her eyes widened, a flash of terror sparking in them, and for a moment, he watched the shock ripple over her face, the dawning horror of what was happening. Her fingers clawed at his hand, her grip weak, faltering as he tightened his hold.

Her body jerked in his grip, her breaths coming in desperate, shallow gasps as she tried to pull away, but he held her firm, feeling her pulse beat faster, thundering against his fingers. 

“Control?” he murmured, a dark, mocking smile pulling at his lips. “I’ve never felt more in control.”

With a final, merciless twist of his hand, he silenced her, the life fading from her eyes as the last of her breaths slipped away, the crackle of her voice ringing low and primal. Her neck was snapped most unnaturally, blood gushing forth from the wound that cracked open like a peach, overripe.

The silence returned, cold and complete, settling over the corridor like a shroud. He released her, her body slumping lifelessly to the floor. The hunger, raw and consuming, coiled in his chest, easing but never fully sated.

A sharp, electric thrill buzzed through him, potent and addictive, his blood pounding hot and fierce beneath his skin. He savoured it, letting it pulse through him, letting himself feel it fully.

The hunger clawed at him still, restless and eager, and he felt a strange sense of clarity settle over him, sharper than anything he'd felt in weeks. It wasn’t about food. It wasn’t even about survival anymore.

It was about sport.

The hunger thrilled at the violence, at the way his pulse quickened with each ragged breath the victims fought for. This wasn’t just about survival. It was the power, the brutal thrill of watching them crumble under his hands. 

He wanted to see the light fade from their eyes. The muscles relax into submission. As she had done.

There were still others hiding, he could feel it, like faint beacons, waiting to be found. Waiting to be hunted. He grinned, his mind sharp, focused. The hunger roared in approval, urging him forward, whispering that the game had only just begun. There was nowhere for them to go after all.

Hunger makes a beast out of a man.

...

@1lluminaticonfirmed @aemondsfavouritebastard @all-for-aemond @bellstwd @blackswxnn

@blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @cl-0-vr @eddieslut69

@emmaisafictionwhore @eponaartemisa @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @justbelljust

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@qyburnsghost @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @sheshellsseashells

[kelzthalassunwhisper]

“Does the commander believe in doing something wrong for the greater good?”

Victory was a bittersweet song that played when the struggle of battle had ceased. It meant that there was a future and that peace could gradually make it's way into the hearts of those weary from the fight. And in most instances whether the ending was good or bad, the fight was the part most remembered. Potential outcomes were factored, fear stimuli was faced head on, and most importantly loss was something one had to endure.

Yet in this instance, victory couldn't be attained. There was too much at stake and now the Commander had only one recourse. She took each step forward - knowing that the light of the morrow was only going to come from this path.

The ground was like ash, dull, and muted from the taint that stretched throughout the Ghostlands. Trees stood as hollowed shells as life had since vacated this region - only allowing the memories of the past to take refuge in its silence. The Dead Scar was decorated with skulls throughout it as she moved from the path into the upturned earth. Still donned in the regalia of Silvermoon's colors, she carried herself to the gates of Deathholme.

What stood as a testament to time itself was the former scourge citadel and its outposts. No reanimated corpses sought to impede her ascent to the altar just outside the citadel. And while her expression was filled with determination, it did not hide her valor as she took a stance before it.

With a deliberate motion of her hands, she pulled the gauntlet free and threw it against the altar's surface in a display of challenge.

"I know you are here," her voice stated without a look to her surroundings.

"You don't fool me! Whispers, despite how soft they are, still send a message! You live in the shadows and gaze at the warmth of the living - resent us for everything we take for granted. You find the moments we are the most vulnerable and slip out of your place in hiding to remind us that... mistakes cost us. Perhaps this is some sick and twisted mindset that sets you and I apart, Malakortana. But we are two sides of the same coin. I just happen to endure the light of the Eternal Sun."

At this the Commander reached towards her belt and brandished a knife which was drawn and poised along the bare side of her hand. The cut was quick and deep as she pulled the knife away and overturned her hand so that the blood may fall over the gauntlet she had discarded earlier.

"You know sacrifice and I come baring myself in offering to you. This is the language you yearn to speak, but the conversation you can never have with the likes of me alive. I know you to be the monster you are and seek to sate that gluttonous appetite that you flaunt as power. It festers without abandon and behind that charade of your ashen smile, you hunger just like the withered. You crave it."

The blood had already stained the surface of her armor and began to pool beneath it.

"So show yourself! I have come to understand you, now it's time you do the same for me."

(( @allasticus thanks for the ask :3 Mentions @sanguinesorceress ))

[thelustybraavosimaid]

"Loneliness is a terrible thing, but so, too, is the hunger," Aemon felt for the lit candle before him, held onto it to warm his frail, wrinkled hands. "And with that hunger...when we do not heed it, we waste. Valyrians are meant to live long lives, as long as the dragons we claim—barring any maladies or ill-fated events, mind you—but without a soulmate and their blood, our lives are cut by half at the very least..."

Jon watched him as he adjusted the heavy chain resting at his thin neck, wondering. He flexed the fingers of his sword hand. Why is he telling me this? He was perplexed enough with his dreams...yet he couldn't help the curiosity that bloomed in his mind.

Jon may not be a Stark, but he felt Ghost's desire for fresh elk as if it were his own craving, the feeling so sharp on his tongue, the thought of hot crimson and chunked meat cascading down his throat mouthwatering. Was that common among werewolves with bonded loves, as it must be for vampyres? If so, mayhaps the Targaryens and the Starks were never so different, after all.

"...there was a girl I loved, did you know?" The skin around his milk-white eyes crinkled as he grinned. Jon was surprised by that; knowing how young he had been when he joined the maesters, he found it hard to believe he ever would have been romantically involved with another. Aemon sighed in remembrance. "I remember some about her, even still. The colour of her hair, the fairness of her skin, the soft way she spoke. I had already forged maester's links by then, devoted to my order and the lord I served. Yet I couldn't help the way I felt when I saw her.

I met her by chance; she served the lord as well, as a cupbearer. For a while we had gotten close, until I received the letter of my father calling his sons to the Red Keep. There was some...relief in leaving Oldtown. My father urging me to return home was a sound excuse, but there existed another reason why I had to, a deeper reason. A vampyre's bloodlust when it comes to our soulmates is almost consuming at times. It is painful when they're near and we cannot have them. In the past, such torment had driven some to madness.

My greatest fear was hurting her. I was torn back then; all I had devoted my life to was challenged with a single gaze of hers. Despite it, I had to choose my work instead. The both of us were miserable when I departed, but I knew it was for the best. I never would have forgiven myself if I had harmed her with my selfish impulses..."

Aemon's wizened voice drifted off as he fell into his memories. Jon sat in the silence as he dwelled in his own thoughts. Lately, his dreams had been strange, all-consuming, eerily real...but how much to reveal?

He decided on a far safer approach. "Do you remember her name?"

"I told you all the things about her that I can remember for a certainty," his smile carried a hint of morosity. "It has been nine-and-seventy years since last I glimpsed her. When you get to be as old as I, when the bond between soulmates is severed so early, you begin to forget certain details over time. My mind is still as deft as a blade, for the most part...yet I cannot remember her name..."

Silence fell over them once more, the quiet cut through with the occasional crackle of the hearth's firewood. Jon poured him a glass of wine, relieved when he accepted the goblet.

Aemon's white eyes peered over the rim of the goblet, finding him with ease. "You have had similar dreams, have you not? Do you know her name, Jon Snow? The one who plagues you so?"

...how could I forget?

Five years, eight months, and a fortnight had passed since he had last seen her, and yet the memory was fresh in his mind as if he had left Winterfell but a few hours ago. Jon closed his eyes, thinking of the last time he had seen her. She jumped into his arms when he gave her that skinny sword, stung his arm when she whapped him with the flat of her blade, drowned him in shy kisses in gratitude...

He thought of when she laughed and how the world felt warmer in response, chipping away at the jagged anger that lanced him.

He didn't want to leave, not her, not then...but after this, perhaps it was for the better. When he thought of her as she appeared in his dreams, of her striking grey eyes, her slender legs springy and longer, and the smell of earth and snow that clung to her skin, Jon's breath choked on a trembled gasp. His teeth sharpened, pressing down into the meat of his bottom lip. No matter how many years one had spent here, men did not forget their loyalties, their loves, their wants, and that rang true for him, as well. There was a darker edge to his love now though, if this was the painful bond the good maester had warned him about.

Hunger coiled in the pit of his stomach, worsening the more he thought of her.

Was that truly what she looked like now?

"You need not speak it aloud, dear boy," Aemon's hand drifted over Jon's, warm from the dying candle, "the love you bear her is plain enough, even without the seeing. And I hear the pain all the same."

He was grateful. He didn't want to say it in fear of being judged. Hells, he could even be wrong; dreams were but fragments of memory, often making mockery of men. If he wasn't, though...wouldn't the good maester understand, what with his Targaryen ancestry? Of course he remembered her name, though, and Jon was sure he'd never forget, no matter how much time would weather them both.

Arya Stark.

Jon stood. "Thank you for your time, Maester Aemon."

"Before you go, I suggest you take this," he rested his palm over a thick tome, the cover black and without a label. Along the spine, it said, Soulbonds and Bloodlust: On Vampyrism. "Septon Barth was a great chronicler of dragons, wyrms, wyverns...but little know how extensive his work had been on the lore of vampyres and our soulbonds. If you have the time, perhaps it can be of some use to you."

How could it be of any use when the last trueborn vampyre in Westeros was sitting before him, kept alive by the Wall's purported magic? Jon did not want to be disrespectful, though, so he took the tome from his hands. The book was massive, with a sizable weight to it. It was about vampyrism, of course, but maybe he could glean some understanding of his wolfish cravings all the same.

The old man smiled again. "And who knows, perhaps you may see your beloved far sooner than you believe."

Dare he hope? With a flex of his hand upon hearing the words, Jon thanked him, tucked the book under his left arm, and retreated back to the confines of his quarters.

[spatialwave]

Okay not to keep bugging you about the hunger games au I'm just obsessed but how do you think the reaction for the 75th games announcement went for them? Because God imagine the fear? Like katniss was already so scared not only for herself but for peeta and she didn't know she was in love with him, so for a situation where they are both Victor's are aware of their feelings?????

limoreau hunger games in book 2 — the quarter quell announcement.

the quarter quell announcement. a twist in the games every 25 years to keep the games exciting. would it be a twist on the reaping? would the arena be a challenge for even the careers?

what was going to be the winner of what makes the games “refreshing”?

those who enjoyed watching the games were in for a treat — the rest of panem would suffer.

neither marie or jordan were pleased with the upcoming games, mentoring felt like an easy way to relive trauma. they both finally understood the truth of what butcher had told them — do you ever actually win the games?

it was like an infestation. the pest was growing and they would soon be forced to succumb to it. to live with it.

marie sat in her home in the victor’s village, her little sister annabeth cuddled against her as they watched the televised projection on their wall. it was time for the announcement and for some odd reason marie couldn’t shake off the feeling that something terrible was looming overhead. she often felt that way these days.

jordan was watching from their own home where their parents had moved in, standing behind the sofa in which they sat. arms crossed heavy over their chest as they watched the president appear on the screen, smugly smiling at the camera as he introduced what the quarter quell meant to the capitol.

the two tributes, in their houses across the courtyard, watched as the card was pulled from the ornate wooden box. cards that were supposedly written years prior — lies.

that was jordan’s first thought when snow read the words on the card.

“as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors.”

lies, lies, lies.

this was no coincidence.

this wasn’t as simple as a card being pulled from a box.

this was marie and jordan’s punishment for the games.

this was how the capitol was going to step in and destroy the ‘life of fortune’ they were promised… all because those handfuls of berries brought the idea of hope.

jordan breathed out shakily, eyes dropping down when they saw how their mother wept as she curled forward on the sofa. it couldn’t be easy knowing your child might be thrown into the arena for a second time. her reaction settled fear into jordan’s core, their teeth chattered together as they began to tremble.

jordan’s father was still and stoic — even in a time of desperation he couldn’t be bothered to show an ounce of remorse. not even pity. dead eyes straight ahead at the projection.

why couldn’t he be thrown into the games?

clarity hit.

“marie!” their voice was loud and fierce as they nearly slammed through the front door, brown eyes wide and shaky when they saw her stepping out from her home carefully and shakily like a newborn doe. she looked like she was moments away from collapsing as she looked ahead, gazes meeting each other as a choked sob gurgled from her throat.

her eyes were red from tears, cheeks stained with wet streaks as her entire body trembled and could hardly stay upright.

jordan had never seen her so terrified. not even in the arena.

“i don’t want to die—“ marie pleaded as she stepped into the courtyard and fell to her knees just a few feet away from her doorsteps, annabeth standing within the door frame with teary eyes. she was still young, unable to comprehend the depth of what her elder sister was experiencing.

marie was given a second chance at living. promised a life of luxury from the capitol.

most importantly, she finally had given annabeth a safe place to live and food to fill her belly — and if she didn’t survive the 75th hunger games, the young girl would be sent back off to the community home to live the rest of her childhood years cowering in fear from abusive guardians. likely putting her name in countless times just so the home could have tesserae to feed their own selfish mouths. at eighteen she wouldn’t be thrust into adulthood without any familial supports to guide her.

it was playing through marie’s head over and over as panic filled her body and her fingers clutched at her chest as she gasped for air.

reality was caving in.

where was the life she was promised?

lies. lies. lies.

“marie,” a feminine voice echoed through her head as she looked up, vision blurred from tears but she didn’t need sight to know who was at her side.

jordan knelt next her, lifting her from the melting snow that coated the ground and onto their warm lap. a hand delicately wiped at tears that coated her cheeks, staining the skin.

“i can’t go back,” marie’s voice was nothing but a hoarse whisper, “i can’t do it again.”

“i know. i’m sorry.” jordan’s voice cracked as they helped their lover sit upright, a hand soothingly rubbing her back as they leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to her temple, “i’m so sorry.”

all jordan could do was kneel in the wet snow, their arms holding marie tight against their chest as they hummed a quiet, sweet song. a gentle melody that marie had showed them during their time in the games — a tune their father often whistled to the mockingjays.

they knew then and there that they weren’t going to watch marie be thrown back into the arena without a fight.

“please.” marie’s voice croaked as a new flooding of tears spilled down the sides of her face and neck. jordan’s heart was breaking at the vulnerability she was showing and how annabeth was watching with shaky, doe brown eyes.

this couldn’t be it. not like this.

though their promised life of fortune and safety may not have been all sugar and sunshine, or true, having marie next to them was what made it bearable. to finally know what love felt like, to experience, to live and breathe it.

without marie, they were certain that happiness would never find them again.

so — they knew then and there they would be going back into the arena, too. if that was the last thing they’d ever do.

“together… we’ll go together.” jordan breathed.

—

(thanks for your patience in my limoreau content. life has been busy and i hope you’re all surviving during the busy holidays… also - who can correctly guess who the president is in my au? hehe.)