#i have a personal vendetta against snow

[jamminvroomvroom]

bro if i see one more fucker on instagram be like OMG SNOW! almost died selling cheese n soup in that cold fucking tragedy today. twas a madness i was moving like the fucking michelin man in me layers. the english are too weak for this bollocks we’re gonna be stockpiling loaves of bread in a minute.

[nunyabznsbabes]

Katniss is like Lucy Gray this, Katniss is like Sejanus that, and yes fine that's all good and true and lovely but Katniss Everdeen is also a direct parallel to Coriolanus Snow and people NEED to start talking about this because it's driving me crazy.

Think about it: they both grew up poor and deeply vulnerable, losing parents at a very young age, with a matriarchal adult (Katniss' mother and Coriolanus' Grandma'am) who fails to provide for them emotionally and physically. They intimately understand the threat of starvation, even developing with stunted growth because of it, and their narrations in the books share a fixation on food. Throughout their childhoods, both experienced constant fear and suffered a fundamental lack of control over their circumstances. Because of this, they're inherently suspicious of the people around them. They resent feeling indebted to others, especially those who have saved their lives. They're motivated almost entirely by family and deeply connected to their communities. Both are used and manipulated by the Capitol, both are forced to perform to survive and despise every inch of it, both are thrown into the Arena and made to kill. Both have a self-sacrificial, genuinely sweet sister figure acting as their conscience. Peeta and Lucy Gray - performers and love interests with a fundamental kindness and sense of hope about them - fulfill markedly similar roles in their narrative. Both contribute to the development of the future Hunger Games, Snow throughout tbosas and Katniss towards the end of Mockingjay.

It's easy to ignore these similarities because, as mirrors of each other, they are exact opposites. Katniss is from District 12, viewed and treated as less than human; Snow is the cream of the Capitol crop, given the privilege of a name with social weight, an ancestral home, and the opportunity of the Academy despite having no more money than a miner from 12. Katniss has no agency over her life, and responds by being kind whenever she's able, while Snow justifies horrendous evils in order to continue his quest for complete control. Katniss does everything she can to protect her family; Snow does everything he can to protect his family's image as an extension of his own ego. Katniss loves her District and connects with its inhabitants on a meaningful level, but Snow is indifferent at best to his peers - the apparent "superior people" - and only engages with his community for personal gain. Katniss emerges from the Arena horrified at herself and the system, but Snow takes his trauma and turns it into an excuse to perpetuate the violence with himself at the top. Katniss cares for Prim until her death and then snaps at the loss of her little sister, while Snow survives on Tigris' blood, sweat, and tears and then torments and abandons her, presumably because she calls him out on his insanity. Snow actively adds to and popularizes the Hunger Games because of his vendetta against the Districts following his childhood wartime trauma - Katniss briefly agrees to a new Hunger Games in the pursuit of vengeance, but later stops them from happening by killing Coin and choosing a life of peace and privacy. Snow is obsessed with revenge, but Katniss empathizes with the Capitolites and does what she can to keep them from suffering. He exists in a cruel system and selfishly upholds it; she exists in a cruel system and works to dismantle it for the good of her family and community, at great personal cost. And Peeta and Lucy Gray are incredibly similar, but Katniss and Peeta forge a relationship of genuine love and understanding that shines in comparison to Coriolanus' obsessive projection onto Lucy Gray.

So, yeah, Katniss is Lucy Gray haunting Coriolanus. But I bet you anything that eighty-something year old President Snow looks at her, the girl on fire, bright and young and brilliant, emerging from a childhood of starvation with a relentless hunger for success, a talented and charming performer helping her win the Games, and he sees the ghost of his own past. And that's why he's so afraid of her! Because if he sees himself in her, then he's up against his own cunning, his own talent for manipulation, his own charisma, his own genius. He's up against the version of himself that he once wished to be, with the nightmare army of his childhood at her back and her star-crossed lover at her side, spewing Sejanus' truths in his own voice. This isn't to say that Katniss ever achieved the level of power and agency that Coriolanus did during her time with the rebellion, but it is to say that Snow was taken down by what truly terrified him - his own morality, come to finish the job.

[assriels]

honeyed temptations

pairing: azriel x reader 

word count: 2.2k

warnings: some smut and suggestive language (mdni 18+ only pls!!), swearing, azriel is whipped for u but is also very stubborn, domesticity/fluff

summary: despite azriel’s relative indifference to most things, he absolutely, undeniably hates the heat. and fucking loves when you wear sundresses.

a/n: continuation of my ongoing headcanon that azriel is actually kind of a stubborn baby, especially with his mate; i have a summer oneshot for cassian coming out soon! <3

masterlist

banners by @/cafekitsune <3

Azriel was fucking furious. It was like the sun had a personal vendetta against him, determined to steal any and all comfort from him as he baked in the hot morning sun in your shared bedroom.

Peak summer in Velaris was nothing to scoff at. Though the Night Court was hailed for the beauty of its moon and stars, the same could not be said for its seasons. It was a solar court and that meant that its moon waxed and waned through the full dearth of the seasons. And summer just so happened to be Azriel’s least favorite. 

Though he could handle the strikingly cold winters the Night Court had to offer — it snowed quite heavily in Illyria, afterall — the heat of the summer was unbearably oppressive. It didn’t help that his current residence was the House of Wind, built high on a mountain cliff where the heat rose and was entirely too close to the sun. Not even the House’s breeze helped staunch his somewhat over exaggerated agitation at the rising temperatures. 

It was still morning, but it seemed that the sun had decided that it would be especially insufferable today, showboating its prowess even at 9 in the morning. 

“C’mon Az,” you implored, gentle hand poking his bare shoulder. “Rhys is here, we have a meeting.” 

He pouted at you from where he was sprawled out on the bed, not having bothered to get up — or put clothes on — despite having been awake for an hour now. He rolled onto his side to get a better look at you, hoping that if he pouted enough you’d have mercy on him and let him stay naked and as cool as possible; the thought of putting on clothes — most of which he owned were black — made Azriel’s head ache. 

“‘s too hot.” 

You huffed a laugh at his childlike petulance. Who would have guessed the feared Shadowsinger of the Night Court couldn’t handle a little heat? 

“You’re being a baby,” you chuckled, sitting on the edge of the bed as you attempted to negotiate with your mate to get out of bed. 

It was then that he took stock of your appearance. You had always been much less bothered by the heat than he was — and much more functional in it — and so your morning routines were never disrupted. You had already bathed and gotten ready, pretty little sundress skimming your curves as the hem tickled the skin on your legs. 

“You look nice,” Azriel noted with a hum of appreciation. Ordinarily, he would’ve reached over and pulled you on top of him to make both of you late for Rhys’s meeting for an entirely different reason, but he couldn’t fathom getting any more sticky and sweaty than he already was, so he resisted. Instead, he opted for toying with the hem of your dress in contemplation.

“Is this new?” He asked, taking in the sweet honey yellow linen and thin straps. You nodded your head and smoothed your hands down your front, fixing the neckline of your dress in a way that had Azriel’s eyes burning holes through your skin. 

“Do you like it? I bought it when I went out with Feyre the other day.” You intentionally left out that you had bought it with the explicit purpose of using it to tempt your mate out of bed, knowing that he always needed a little bit of incentive in the summer. 

Assessing hazel eyes tracked the familiar planes of your body, face lit with an entirely different kind of heat now, “Yeah, I like it.” 

His gaze lifted to yours and you nearly gave into him. The adoration in his eyes and the blush high on the apples of his cheeks was mesmerizing, “You’re very pretty, you know.” 

Azriel’s unfiltered affections for you always made your heart beat quicken, and your attention shifted to his hand resting comfortably on your thigh, thumb drawing innocent circles on your skin. You bent over to kiss him briefly in thanks before patting his hand and getting up off the bed. 

You could’ve sworn you heard Azriel whine in protest, but it was drowned out by the sound of you sifting through the dresser, no doubt searching for clothes to throw his way.

He watched you from his spot on the bed, eyeing the way the hem of your dress billowed from your waist and just barely covered the curve of your ass. He was convinced that he could stare at you for an eternity and still find new parts of you to marvel at. 

Before he could get too lost in his greedy appreciation of your beauty and the stunning way your dress complimented every curve and dip of your body, you were tossing clothes at his face.

“Stop staring and get dressed!” You laughed, “You know Cass is gonna give you shit for being late. Again.”

It was no secret to those closest to Azriel that he was an absolute terror when the summer rolled around. Though it only took a week or two for him to adjust and become begrudgingly functional again, the days leading up to his revival were always a source of great amusement to the Inner Circle. Ah, the perfect Shadowsinger finally reveals his flaws, Cassian would consistently tease.

He only groaned in response, rolling onto his back once again to stare at the ceiling. 

You sighed. Truthfully, you found this side of him endearing – and quite funny – but you knew he had a job to do and nothing would get done unless he was, at the very least, clothed. Sauntering over to the bed, you looked down at him with your hands on your hips. You were met only with a stubborn look in return; you could’ve sworn you glimpsed the ghost of a defiant smirk curving his lips, “Make me.”

You reeled at his challenge. Fine, you would make him. 

The bed shifted as you straddled him on all fours, careful not to let any part of you touch any part of him. His hands came up instinctively to grasp your hips as he didn’t even try to hide his triumphant smile. But you wouldn’t let him get away with it, at least not now.

You encircled his wrists in your hands, guiding them above his head to pin them to the pillow. Both of you knew he could easily wriggle out of your grasp, but Azriel was aware that this was riling you up just as much as him so he conceded. Allowed his beautiful mate to do whatever she pleased.

“Don’t touch,” you commanded in his ear, punctuating your words with a slow swirl of your tongue along the shell of his ear. “If you listen, I promise I’ll be so, so good for you.”

Unexpected emotion flooded his chest as he resisted the urge to break the tension with his affection for you. You were already so good for him. In more ways than he could have ever wanted, more ways than he ever imagined. But he kept his mouth shut, and focused only on the way he could feel the hem of your dress kissing his skin as your mouth nipped at sucked at all the places that drove him insane. 

“C’mon, Az,” you cooed, licking a sinful path up his neck before you blew on his skin, reveling in the way goosebumps rose on his flesh despite the sweltering weather. “Get up for me, huh?”

He didn’t miss the double entendre as you tracked a scathing wet trail down his body, your tongue — frustratingly — the only part of you touching him. He was being difficult and you were making him pay for it by teasing him in ways only you knew how to. Azriel groaned low and deep when your cool breath hit right beneath his bellybutton, abs flexing as he willed himself to maintain his composure. You still weren’t touching him, and he was already embarrassingly hard, body desperate to feel your skin on his. 

His brow furrowed with concentration and lust as he met your gaze right before your lips puckered and you took the head of his cock – pretty and swollen and throbbing just for you – into your mouth. Azriel’s head flopped back onto his pillow as he loosed a long, deep breath, a cross between a sigh and a moan so pleasing to hear that you nearly forgot your initial intentions. 

One well placed stroke of your tongue had your eyes meeting his yet again, all dark pupils and a thin ring of gorgeous hazel. You were the picture of perfect seduction, pretty lips split open on his cock, bent over him in such a way that gave him an unobstructed view of your cleavage beneath your dress. You released him with a sinfully wet pop! as you pulled back and smiled at him, sweet and teasing before you blew gently on his tip. Azriel shuddered.

Oh, Mother above. He was milliseconds away from flipping you onto your back and tearing your godsforsaken dress right off you — or maybe he’d keep it on — but you were faster, jumping just out of his reach and off the bed, as if you hadn’t just addled his mind with fantasies of all the ways he could fuck you in that dress. 

The wicked smirk of satisfaction curving your lips told him that you’d had your intended effect. Azriel was barely able to recalibrate his bearings in time for him to notice you heading towards the door. He sputtered in disbelief, “Where are you going?”

Before you traipsed out the bedroom door, you turned back to look at him, “To be continued, mate. After you get dressed.”

When you shut the door behind you, Azriel could have sworn he heard your giddy, maniacal laughter echo in time to the sound of your footsteps down the stairs. Now he had two problems: 1) he was still hot as the fires of Hell and 2) he was achingly hard and knew he’d have to make a concerted effort not to look too long at you in that dress all day if he wanted to cling to what little composure he had.

He sighed as his shadows swirled around his ears, barely offering any reprieve from the heat. 

Pretty mate. So, so pretty. Everyone thinks so. 

Make that three problems: 3) Cassian would be making innocent comments about you looking so good in that dress just to irritate him. 

The possession roiling around in his gut – courtesy of the mating bond – was his final straw as he scrubbed a frustrated hand down his face. Fucking fine, he would put the damn clothes on. 

☾𖤓 epilogue ☾𖤓

“Where’s that overgrown child you call a mate, anyway?” Cassian quipped after you made your appearance in the dining room for breakfast. 

“Exactly where you think he is,” you laughed over a bite of toast.

“What’s wrong with Azriel?” Feyre implored innocently, “Is he not feeling well?” 

Rhys chuckled and shook his head, “Azriel is not very fond of the summer—“

“That’s an understatement,” you and Cassian mumbled under your breaths in tandem.

“—and it’s a nightmare getting him to do anything in heat like this. But luckily we have Y/N.”

Before your High Lady could ask the question on the tip of her tongue, Cassian stole a piece of bacon off your plate, ignoring the way you protested, “I mean, you’ve seen how whipped he is Feyre. He’ll do anything if Y/N even suggests she wants him to. Az only gets out of bed in the summer because she asks.”

In retribution for your stolen bacon, you speared the rest of Cassian’s eggs and forked them into your mouth before he could inch away from you. You didn’t respond, knowing all too well that Azriel actually would not get out of bed even if you asked, leaving you to resort to other…tactics. 

“I’m not a child, you know.” Came Azriel’s petulant interruption as he greeted you with a brief kiss to your head and the rest of his family with a grunt of acknowledgement, “I can do things on my own, in case you forgot.”

“We’ll stop calling you one, once you stop acting like it,” Cassian taunted.

Azriel’s scoff was his only response as he sat down next to you at the table, plating two pieces of bacon in front of you to replace the one he knew Cassian had no doubt probably taken. You smiled up at him gratefully, and despite the still sweltering heat that had only seemed to have gotten worse as time progressed, he smiled back. 

Feyre was in awe; it was like the heat had melted away his stony exterior, leaving the real Azriel exposed for everyone to see. Feyre met your gaze across the table, a mischievous glint in her eyes that told you she was more than privy to the extraneous measures you had taken to coax your mate out of bed.

“How do you do it?” Cassian not-so-quietly whispered to you. 

“I have my ways,” you responded cryptically with a smirk as Azriel’s hand ventured beneath the hem of your dress, squeezing your thigh.

You would most definitely be paying for your little shenanigan in the bedroom later.  

[mortallydeepestobservation]

The holiday pretense- Chapter 1

Summary: Namjoon has never been a fan of the holidays. In fact, he could list more things that sucked about ‘The most wonderful time of the year’, than things that brought him joy. Yet, beneath his cynicism, a flicker of hope appeared this year, as the faint scent of homesickness hung in the air.

Unfortunately, there’s one tiny little thing that keeps him from calling home- his lack of a girlfriend.

But fear not; this holiday season, Namjoon’s smart mouth gets him in a situation where he has no choice but to approach you- his longtime friend and roommate- with an unexpected request.

Pairing: Namjoon x f.reader Genre: fake-dating, friends to lovers/roommates to lovers au; crack, smut, fluff. Rating: explicit. Minors do not interact. Warnings: every single trope in the book; but with a twist. Dialogue heavy. OC is really bad at lying, anddd… I didn’t write in literal years so yeah, this is gonna be fun. And I know I am literally that meme rn, the: summer is over-skips straight to Christmas. But do you have any idea just how slow I write? Yes. It is a warning. Smut warnings: to be added~ Word count: Chapter 1-9k Credits: this was literally one of those ‘if no one is going to write this, I will’ because there are not enough friends-to-lovers Namjoon fics out there. And none (that I know of) where the main character feels bad for lying to his family when pretending to date him. This work would not have been possible without the very kind and patient @callmenoona25, who not only helped me beta-read but also served as a guiding light during those moments when I wanted to rage-delete everything. Thank you for all your help! (and please keep helping me coz idk what I’d do without your constant encouragement) Author's note: again, I didn't write in 8-ish years, so this is very very scary. Add in a dash of 'English is not my first language' and you get whatever this is. enjoy. Merry Christmas.

Ah winter, the most wonderful time of the year.

The season when the air is crisp, and the city gets blanketed in thick, white snowfall. When the satisfying sound of crunching snow accompanies every step and every word transforms into nothing more than a puff of steam dancing through the chilly air.

When Mariah Carey’s voice echoes in literally every store for an obnoxious 24/7, as if she has some kind of personal vendetta against silence…

When the heating bill increases by 37%, and it takes an extra 15 minutes for the heater to kick in and for the hot water to grace the showerhead. Ergo, Namjoon now has to wake up half an hour early if he wants to take a shower and not freeze half to death during the day, because the landlord was adamant that there was nothing to be done about the situation.

But it wasn’t all bad.

Sure, Namjoon was never one to possess the so-called Christmas spirit. In fact, he was known to be a bit of a grinch among his friends.

Jin, in particular, enjoyed telling anyone who would listen about their first Christmas at college, when Namjoon adamantly refused to help him decorate the tree after begrudgingly lugging it to their shared apartment.

And most years Namjoon’s lack of enthusiasm for the season was palpable. While his friends reveled in the cheerful atmosphere, he somehow managed to remain detached and aloof, his grinch-like demeanor becoming a defining characteristic, much to the amusement of his companions.

However, there were still aspects of the holiday that Namjoon couldn’t help but secretly enjoy. The food, for instance, was undeniably good. Although the movies were mediocre and the music overplayed, he still found himself humming along to Winter Wonderland whenever it played. And the energetic buzz that seized his friends was no doubt contagious;

This year, before he could even process it, he was dubbed designated fairy-light fixer, the judge of the ugly sweater contest (solely because he had the audacity to show up wearing a black hoodie) and somehow promised Jungkook to help him pick up gifts for his mom, his cousin, and girlfriend.

And now, with the holidays looming just around the corner, and the entire city buzzing with chatter about family feasts, romantic rendezvous, and the art of gift-giving, Namjoon couldn't help but feel a little pang of longing. It had been a solid two years since he last set foot in his hometown, and the melancholic urge to return home seemed like the only logical response to it all.

Or maybe he just needed a vacation…

But there was just one thing that kept Namjoon, a logical being, from making that phone call home.

He knew that part of the reason behind his mother’s question was for organizational purposes, yet he couldn’t help but notice the mischievous twinkle in her voice each time she sweetly asked:

“And are you coming alone?”

Few things managed to irk him as much that specific question in that specific context. And even with countless nights analyzing the emotions it stirred within him, Namjoon found himself very stupidly replying with:

“Uhm, no actually-” despite being painfully single, and fully aware of it.

Following that, the hope of regaining any sensible thought was gone as a chorus of ecstatic comments erupted form his mother’s end of the phone. With a hurried, “Can’t wait to see you, yeah, love you too,” he was left in the suffocating silence of his bedroom, with a new predicament he needed to solve.

Now, let’s not forget, Namjoon is no ordinary man. He possesses a brain that could rival Einstein’s, and he knows all too well that he could simply call back and clarify that his plus one is as real as Santa Claus.

But Namjoon doesn’t half-ass anything. He full-asses it.

That and showing up alone would undoubtedly result in his mom’s attempts to play matchmaker. And if he were to show up alone, after lying about it, well, he might as well prepare for an arranged marriage.

Namjoon sighed as he looked at his phone. He couldn’t understand why his mother had this new found obsession with his relationship status. Especially after she witnessed just how bad his last one ended. Now sure, he may have taken the whole ‘healing-era’ to a bit of an extreme, seeing as he had no relationship, no situationship and no inclination to entertain any romantic thoughts whatsoever. But this was getting ridiculous. Lying to his own mother?

Perhaps he could ask his assistant to pretend to be his girlfriend for the week? No, that wouldn’t work. She mentioned she was hosting the Christmas dinner this year. And it would involve more explanations to HR than it’s worth…

And he couldn’t overlook the fact that her fiancé would most certainly not be amused by that idea.

Just as he was about give up and plunge into another rabbit hole of despair, the solution to his problem came accompanied by the familiar sound of glass smashing in the kitchen.

You.

You would be perfect.

Most people already assumed you two were dating, seeing how seamlessly you fit yourself into his life after moving in.

And last he checked you couldn’t make it home because of some pesky law-jargon issues that required your presence at the office. And changing your flight to a few days later cost you an arm and a leg, while changing it to January was completely free.

And last he checked; you were just as chronically single as he was. (He knew because your last date was so disastrous that he had to abandon his gaming night and rescue you from the restaurant).  

Another crash in the kitchen summoned him back into action. Swiftly snatching his hoodie from the designated clothes chair and making his way to you, detouring only to retrieve the medical kit from the bathroom.

He was quick to spot you, still clad in your work attire, crouched besides the counter, diligently sweeping the stray glass shards of what used to be an ugly mug. His eyes involuntarily wondering towards your ass, once again marveling at how flawlessly you wore that office skirt before snapping himself out of it.

“And I believe that evens out the score, seeing as I only broke a plate, and you killed two mugs this season” he declares, ensuring you weren’t bleeding before abandoning the first aid kit on the counter to fetch the trusty vacuum cleaner.

It was standard procedure by now.

“You also managed to break the microwave, so the title remains yours,” you grumble as you rose to your feet, a smile unconsciously tugging at your lips when you caught sight of his charming dimpled face. “Hey there.”

“Hello,” he replied, giving you a swift once-over in case he missed any hidden hemorrhages “what happened?”

“It just jumped out of the cupboard when I opened it,” you gestured towards the dust pan, as if to prove the cup suddenly acquired acrobatic skills before its untimely demise, causing him to break into a grin “I’ll get you a new one.”

“No worries, it was a gift form an ex, and it was hideous anyway.”

As he vacuumed the area, you disposed of the glass, making sure it wouldn’t slice through the trash bag like last time.

Once the kitchen was safe again, you returned to your previous task, grabbing a new cup and casually turning your back to him.

" Do you want to try an unreasonably expensive hot chocolate with me?" you playfully suggested, catching his eye as he noticed the purple tin on the counter, adorned with a big red bow, alongside a very generic Christmas card.

"Secret Santa?" he inquired back, picking up the card, already aware of the answer to your question.

Unconsciously, he began mentally listing reasons why you would make a good fake girlfriend. Topping the list was your uncanny ability to understand him without lengthy explanations. And it was all quite digestible, wasn't it? Two long-time friends and roommates, thrown together by chance, suddenly discovering hidden feelings for each other?

All his friends seemed to have unanimously agreed that the two of you would make a splendid pair, back when you met, when his roommate, Jin, started dating your roommate, Myeong.

 On their inaugural date, Myeong, in a fit of paranoia, asked you to tag along, in case her potential lover turned out to be a serial killer. And Jin, ever the considerate soul, felt compelled to invite Namjoon, not only to spare you the agony of being the third wheel, but also in the hope of pulling Namjoon out of his dating slump. Not that you would ever notice, as you were knee-deep in exam session, sleep deprived and buried in a mountain of law books.

Poor Namjoon somehow ended up carrying the weight of being third and fourth wheel simultaneously.

But you eventually made up for it, once your exams were over and had a proper 18 hours of sleep.

In no time you wiggled your way into his heart, transforming those awkward double dates into enjoyable hangouts. You’d spend countless hours discussing everything from books to the latest plot twists in popular dramas, to sharing dreams, fears and hopes.

As Myeong and Jin’s relationship blossomed, they gradually faded into the background of your outings, until they were eventually excluded all together. And neither of you seemed to mind, as you found it easier to focus on your conversations without their constant chatter.

That and they couldn’t be quiet in movie theatres like decent human beings.

It was during one of these outings that Namjoon realized just how alluring he found you. The way your eyes lit up when you laughed at one of his jokes made his heart race. Your sharp mind and wit were a match made in heaven for him. And your ability to render him speechless was both infuriating and exhilarating.

But Namjoon also knew that you were deeply committed to your studies, and he didn't want to do anything to distract you from your goals. So, he held back, admiring you from a distance and hoping that someday things might be different.

And as time passed, and he graduated, he came to terms with the fact that you two would never be more than casual friends.

Little did he know that the universe had its own wicked sense of humor. When fate decided to play its sly hand and leave you virtually homeless, because your respective roommates decided to take the next step in their relationship and move in together.

It was only logical, then, for the two of you to shack up as well. After all, you were friends, both neat freaks, and most of all, desperately in need of a roommate.

“The roommate switch”, as Jimin so eloquently put it.

And thus began the most wonderful living arrangement Namjoon ever experienced. Not that he would never tell Jin that.

Suddenly, his bathroom cabinet resembled a Bath and Body works store, and your pink pots and pans had taken over his kitchen. But he wouldn’t mind, seeing that the cooking interdiction was extended, once Jin started recounting all the times Namjoon almost turned their previous apartment into a bonfire during your housewarming bash.

However, you never scolded him for his butterfingers because, truth be told, you had your own healthy dose of clumsiness, (the cup chilling in the trash an indisputable witness to it).

It was quite refreshing to find someone who shared his knack for dropping things.

And he made up for all the free meals by taking care of the dishes. He even went above and beyond by meticulously following the odd care instructions for your fancy pots.

And the rest of your household chores fell into perfect harmony.

 He willingly handled all the ironing, including your own, simply because you couldn’t be bothered. In return, you would dutifully clean the lint tray in the dryer, even when it was his turn to do the laundry, because he found it absolutely disgusting, and you couldn’t resist the opportunity to gross him out.

It suddenly dawned on him why all his friends were convinced that you two were together. He was smitten with you, after all.

But again, time has worked its magic! His infatuation had been long departed, so he could proceed with his plan and not let it affect your friendship in any way, shape or form!

“You know, I never quite understood the purpose of Secret Santa,” you confessed, pulling him out of his thoughts. “I mean, sure, it makes sense in a small group where you can actually get to know the person and buy them something nice. But in a corporate setting, where you’re thrown together with people from different departments, it makes absolutely no sense!” you spoke with passion, even stirring the milk a little harder, causing an impish smile to dance across his face.

“Because you end up with situations like this, where creepy Greg from the watercooler suddenly feels the need to win my graces and splurge on stupidly expensive hot chocolate.”

Namjoon was familiar with your HR endeavors involving Greg, especially after he hit on one of your colleagues.

“Do you want to know how much this monstrosity costs?” you asked, trying to contain your amusement at the sheer absurdity of it all. Pouring the cocoa into the milk and placing the mugs in front of him, you couldn’t help but grin.

“Surprise me,” Namjoon took a sip, which he regretted because he choked once you answered,

“Sixty dollars!”

“That’s absolutely ridiculous” he coughed, once he regained control of his lungs.

The hot chocolate was nice, but nowhere close to justifying the hefty price tag. For all he knew, it could have been dollar store cocoa. But your contagious laugh made it all worthwhile, and he couldn’t help but think that maybe Greg deserved to lose his Christmas bonus on overpriced cocoa that you both would mock.

“Tastes like cardboard” you concluded after a mouthful, “maybe it was meant for that hideous mug your ex gave you,” you teased, earning a puzzled look. “This has horrible taste,” you tack on, noticing his raised eyebrow “just like your exes.”

“I’m not sure if I should be offended by that,” he replied, feigning offense.

“Well, they did break up with you, so clearly their taste is questionable,” You ruffled his hair as you walked past him, your cocoa abandoned on the table.

This wasn’t uncommon in your friendship. Afterall, you were his biggest supporter, as he was yours. But now, with the odd favor he was about to ask you; he couldn’t help but ponder your words for longer than usual. Until he heard the door to your room close and he realized he was left alone in the kitchen.

“Any updates on that flight of yours?” he asked, shooting a glance towards your door. Perhaps the universe would take pity on him and spare him the embarrassment he was dreading.

“Still in January!” you hollered back, your voice muffled by the commotion in your room.

“Ah, cool, cool…” he muttered under his breath, more to psych himself up and gather the courage needed to go over and make a complete fool of himself.  

“Are you still planning on heading home?” your voice was barely audible amidst the movement, so he walked over and propped himself against your door to keep the conversation going.

“Yeah, that’s the plan.” He replied absentmindedly massaging the back of his neck.

Not unless he can find a girlfriend for the week.  “Hey,” he continued, his voice devoid of any moisture, “can I ask you a favor?”

The door swung open, almost causing him to stumble, to reveal you, wearing pajama bottoms and a black tank top, clutching one of his sweaters.

“Depends.” You answered flatly. “Mind if I borrow this?” you gestured towards the sweater, awaiting his nod of approval before slipping it on and sauntering past him to claim your usual spot on the couch. With your feet cozily tucked under the cushion, you scrolled through your phone, probably looking up another horrible movie you’d force him to watch. Oblivious to the fact that you ticked off another item on his mental checklist: looking damn good in his clothes.

“Okay” he took a deep breath and settled down beside you, his posture impeccable and his gaze fixed on the blank tv screen. You glanced over intrigued by his sudden shift in behavior.

“This is going to be weird, and you can tell me to fuck off any moment this makes you uncomfortable. And I promise I’ll never bring it up again, and we can pretend this never happened,” he stumbled over his words, a stark contrast to his usually calmed and composed demeanor.

Your mind raced, conjuring up the worst-case scenarios as you slowly set aside your phone, captivated by every word leaving his mouth.   

Was he about to kick you out?

That only seemed to aggravate whatever Namjoon was on, as he continued to mumble, insisting that you didn’t have to agree to it if you didn’t want to. Which didn’t make any sense, because if he was going to kick you out, he should at least have the balls to tell you straight forward.

You gently collected his hands, causing him to halt abruptly. His wide eyes finally locked with yours as you softly uttered “Just tell me.” You peered up at him, bracing yourself for the worst, and completely unprepared for what was to follow.

“Will you please do me a solid and pretend to be my girlfriend for a week?” he stammered, unable to maintain eye contact, his voice fading into a whisper towards the end.

“What?”

“I might have told my mom I’m in a relationship, and now I desperately need a stand-in girlfriend for the next few days” he confessed sheepishly, quickly adding, “But seriously, if you’re uncomfortable with this, just say the word and we can erase this whole conversation from existence.”

“Oh my goodness, Namjoon,” you breathed out in relief, a laugh escaping your lips as you rested your head on his lap, leaving him even more perplexed. “I thought you were kicking me out.”

“What?” he chuckled, watching you raise a few seconds later, rubbing your eyes before fixing your gaze on him, contemplating his request.

“How can you be so brilliant and so dumb at the same time? Just call your mom back…”

“No, you don’t get it. I can’t do that. If I do, she’ll set me up with the neighbor’s daughter again” Namjoon explained, clearly not in the right mindset to entertain that idea again.

“You want me to lie to your mother?” you asked incredulously.

“Please don’t phrase it like that.” he covered his face, deflating completely besides you.

“This is essentially what you are asking me to do... I don’t know how that makes me feel. Your mom, by the way, is an absolute sweetheart…” you trailed off, observing him intently as he brushed away the hair in his eyes.

You didn’t get to know her too well, but the last time she visited she made sure to stock up your whole fridge with homecooked meals. And to top it off, she even baked cookies especially for you once Namjoon mentioned he had a new roommate.

The discussion, however, took a bit of an unexpected turn when she realized the roommate was you. A girl and not another frat guy. But she quickly developed a fondness for you. Or at least, that’s what you believed when she gave you the tightest hug goodbye.

“I know. It’s a stupid idea.” He muttered, rubbing his face a bit harder than necessary. Then he locked eyes with you and continued. “I am well aware of how dumb this is. And that is exactly why I need you there with me.” His statement left you dumbfounded, completely unable to find any words. “I just want to go home and relish in the fact that I am there without constantly worrying about being single.” he took a shaky breath before continuing,

 “I can’t comprehend why my mom is so fixated on this matter.” He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “I just need someone to navigate this absurdity with me for the holidays, and then we never mention it again.” 

His little speech left you stunned, and before you knew it, you were actually considering his proposal.

 Your Christmas plan was already ruined, and agreeing would mean that you would not be confined to your couch, enduring cheesy Hallmark movies and crying alone on Christmas eve.

Moreover, you were convinced that you had moved on from the little crush you had on him back when you met. Refusing still to admit that you’ve always had a soft spot for the gentle giant that slowly became a staple in your life, and that spending the holidays with him would be the best scenario that could ever happen.

But could you make it through this without getting your heart trampled and your friendship going up in smoke? As these thoughts started to swirl in your mind, your eyes began to wander aimlessly. From his eyes to his chiseled cheekbones and strong jawline, down to his neck and collarbone, and finally to his impressively muscular chest that seemed to only have grown since he started attending the gym religiously with Jungkook. And not to mention those arms that give the most incredible bear hugs. It was strange to allow yourself to notice his physicality in such detail, as if you had been willfully blind to his newfound buffness until now.

“Forget it, I’m sorry I asked,” he said, sensing your hesitation and preparing to end his suffering. But you stopped him in his tracks.

“If we are going to do this, we need a plan.” His eyes light up, color returning to his cheeks, before he squeezed you in a tight embrace “and just so you know, you owe me,” you laughed once he released you.

“Yes, yes, of course, whatever you want.”

“You take out the trash for a month,” he was too quick to nod “and I want you to take me to that bakery you and Jin always rave about.”

“Ajumeoni’s bakery?” he smiled at your request. That was the bakery Namjoon visited with his sister every Friday as a child, and every other day with Jin, on their way to school, because the milk bread was to die for. “Of course. It’s already part of the commute, so consider it done.”

“Good. We have a deal then,” you extended your hand as if sealing a business agreement, instead of setting yourselves up for a disaster. He reciprocated with a firm shake, and you swiftly retrieved your notepad from the coffee table. “So, what’s the plan?”

“Well, let’s establish a few key details about us. We need to become well-acquainted with each other’s personal preferences, so it doesn’t come across like we are just… pretending” he looked over at you as you scribbled.

“I mean, it’s a digestible story already. Two oblivious roommates, suddenly realizing they have feelings for one another after living together for years.” You mused, only to be met with his response.

“And once this is all over, we can simply tell everyone that we figured out we were better off as friends than lovers,” he pondered aloud.

“Right,” you replied, looking up from your notebook “How long have we been dating?”

“Anywhere from three to six months” he promptly answered and you jot it down before firing off your next question.

“And why haven’t we told any of our friends and family?”

“To avoid the inevitable ‘I knew it!’ and because we like the trill of keeping a secret.”

“Fair enough,” you chuckled “So, how did we get together?”

“You finally realized how charming I am and just couldn’t contain yourself?” he flashed a cheeky smile and you playfully deflect by giving his chest a gentle push.

“How about your birthday party?” you offered “We were both buzzed enough to share a kiss and then you confessed?”

“Why do I confess?” he whined, peering over at your notebook page where you already wrote down your version of events.

“Because I’m shy about that kind of stuff” you mumble, burying your face in the cozy confines of his sweater, avoiding any potential eye contact.

 “That’s adorable,”

“Shut up.” You chuckle “Alright, is there anything I should know about you?”

“I’m not a big fan of PDA, especially when we’re out and about, so don’t expect me to be all over you.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “But since we’re going home and pretending to be a couple, what level of affection are you comfortable with?”

“Well, I’m comfortable with you,” you cleared your throat, that bit of information being more truthful than intended “we can hold hands, and do normal couple stuff.”

“How do you feel about kissing?”

“Well, yeah, sure,” you responded nonchalantly, eyes fixating on the notepad in your hands.

A mischievous grin played on his lips as he teased, “Good, because I happen to be quite fond of leaving hickeys.” That broke you out of your little spiral, rolling your eyes at his poor attempt.

As if you weren’t already aware of this tidbit from his past conquests during your college days, before you two became roommates.

“You do know this is all pretend, right?” you retorted, refusing to take the bait.

“Oh, but baby, we’ve got to make it feel real,” he insisted, his tone dripping with charm. However, it did nothing to sway your logical approach to it.

“Right, ‘baby’” -you said it as if it was a legal term, “any preferences for pet names?”

Your serious charade did little to detour him. “Just promise me that our interactions won’t be like Jin and Myeong’s.”  He smiles, eyes twinkling with mischief.  “And surprise me, I’ll be putty in your hands.”

“So, you are not set on honorifics. I can call you Oppa if you want,” little did you know, your innocent suggestion struck a hidden chord within him. A new kink that needed further assessment later on, preferably after this week was over.

“That won’t be necessary,” he said, clearing his throat and reclining against the couch. “Anything I should know about you?”

You pondered his question for a few seconds, allowing a sly smile to play your lips. “I don’t like feet.”

“No duh!” he laughed, shaking his head in disbelief, before regaining his composure. With a meticulous air, he went over all the details once more. “Ah, you need a new background on your phone.”

 Swiftly, he snatched your phone form the coffee table, catching you off guard, and planted a quick kiss on your cheek before snapping a selfie. “Perfect,” he declared, a proud smile spreading across his face as he set the picture as your home screen and background, leaving you to gather your frenzied thoughts.

“But wait, you also need a new photo,” You retorted, only to find him already one step ahead, pulling out his phone from his pajama bottoms and scrolling through his camera roll.

“Done.” He announced, turning his phone towards you to reveal the horrendous picture he had chosen as his own home screen. 

 A candid shot he took during your last year at college, on one of those late-night noodles runs to the local shop next to the library. You were draped in an oversized hoodie, greedily slurping a mouthful of noodles. With eyes blissfully shut, you savored every bite, as it was your first meal of that day, completely oblivious to his hidden photography skills.

It wasn’t until you accidentally stumbled upon your caller ID that you saw it and naturally, grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at him, demanding an immediate change. But he stood his ground, claiming it was his favorite photo of you.

Claim proven yet again as now it was Namjoon’s home screen.

“I hate that photo.”

“I know.” He gave a smile, before safely tucking his phone back in his pocket, and rose to his feet, stretching leisurely. “I think we are good to go, girlfriend,” he said it in such a way that sent a swarm of butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “I’ll go book our train tickets, and you better start packing soon,” he playfully pointed at you, before gracefully disappearing into his room to retrieve his laptop.

“Oh, wait, I need to get a present for your mom!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Before the train even arrived in the station, the sky was threatening to unleash upon you. The air filled with delicate snowflakes, determined to bury you, Namjoon, and your luggage.  But it was yesterday’s conversation that still lingered in the atmosphere, weighing heavy on both your minds.

The darkness of the night had given you both time to process what was about to unfold. Your only anchor on reality being Namjoon’s surprisingly warm hand clasping your freezing one, and tucking it away in his warm coat pocket.

And the fact that he looked like he just strolled out of the latest winter Vogue edition for men didn’t help. While you attempted to make a lasting impression, donning a cream knitted dress, black stockings and boots, topped off with a cream coat, that was far too flimsy for the weather, Namjoon effortlessly sported a navy-blue hoodie, snug jeans and a stylish black trench coat, and even a matching beanie that made his hair look absolutely flawless.

But beyond his impeccable fashion sense, he also proved to be quite the gentleman. Not that you ever doubted it, but now he seemed determined to showcase his chivalry. He wouldn’t even let you lock the door to your own apartment. It was a miracle he allowed you to carry the bottle of Chardonnay you insisted on getting his family, despite his protests that it wasn't necessary. You slightly regretted it now, seeing as your other hand was enduring the elements, instead of being intertwined with his.

“You have snow in your hair,” you pointed out, stating the obvious with the brilliance of a water-is-wet revelation.

“As do you.” he looked up from his phone, where he was engrossed in checking the train’s schedule for any potential delays. “And your lips are blue.” with a swift motion, he untangled his scarf and gently draped it around your freezing form. Something he had done many a time before, anytime he saw you slightly cold, but never before had you considered this gesture to be more than your friend looking out for you.

But today, things were different. Today you were pretending to be his girlfriend.

The sudden surge of warmth that enveloped you left you wondering if it was due to all your blood rushing to your cheeks or his scarf possessing some sort of magical heating abilities.

“It says here that the snow storm shouldn’t intervene with the scheduling, so the train will be here in a few minutes.” He looked up again, a cheerful grin appearing across his features as he caught sight of your pink face. “Aw you’re blushing again,”

“Shut up.” you retorted with the quick-wittedness of a third-grader.

“If I would have known it was this easy to make you flush, I would have made my fictional moves much sooner.” His voice did that thing again, where it went slightly deeper and, only the look in his eyes ticking you off to his teasing.

Your only response was to nervously nibble on your lip. Again, the realization that you are about to deceive not only his mother, but his entire family nestle in your chest, squeezing at your heart like a snake wrapped around it.

“Namjoon, I’m not sure about this.” you confessed, pulling the scarf closer to your face. It was a bit late to be getting cold feet, but this was your last opportunity to speak your mind before embarking on this little ordeal. “I don’t think I can pull this off.”

“Come on now, aren’t you an intern at a law firm?” he raised a playful eyebrow, attempting to ease the tension, but you only glared at him.

“I can’t lie.” You stated firmly “I’m the absolute worse at it. That is why I always find alternative ways of convey the truth. That’s what lawyers do. We don’t resort to lies.”

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that," he quickly apologized, before falling silent for a few seconds to ponder a solution. "Okay, listen. You don’t have to say anything."

"What do you mean?" you looked up at him, a hint of skepticism in your voice.

"I can take care of all the relationship talk, and I won’t say anything unless prompted.” he replied, trying to inject a touch of wit into his response. “Afterall, you are just my friend that just happens to be a girl.” He playfully wiggled his eyebrows at you “And I want you to spend Christmas with me and my family instead of being alone at home.” Namjoon gave you a sincere smile, and you couldn’t help but smile back, feeling the grip on your heart slightly loosen.

“Okay,” you gave a small nod “Thank you Joon.”

The nickname slipped by unnoticed, but you noticed the way Namjoon reacted, rekindling your burning cheeks.

“So, no Oppa?”

When your train arrived, Namjoon swiftly took charge, effortlessly carrying all the bags to your seats, settling in comfortably for the four-hour journey ahead.

He had come prepared, armed with at least three books to keep himself entertained, while you had grand plans of getting a head start on your work, perhaps even sneaking in a personal lecture and a quick power nap. However, much to your surprise, the allure of a nap quickly surpassed all other ambitions, your head found a cozy resting place on Namjoon’s shoulder, and you drifted off into a blissful slumber for the remainder of the journey. A sleepless night imagining what it would be like pretending to date your roommate could do that to you.

Only stirring awake when you were less than a few minutes away, because Namjoon was constantly shifting in his seat, half of his body numb from your weight on him.

“Oh hey,” he whispered, swiftly stretching his legs as soon as you moved off him. “I just spoke to Minhi, she said she’d come pick us up from the train station,”

“Oh, that’s nice.” you yawned, rubbing away any remnants of sleep from your eyes “You could have told me to move, you know.”

“Yes, but you looked so peaceful. It felt almost wrong to disturb you.” He grinned, fully aware that he also indulged in a little nap, using your head as a pillow just half an hour ago.

“Shut up,” you whispered, poking his thigh and retrieving your makeup bag to quickly fix your face before the train pulled up in the station.

The frigid air pierced through your very bones, sending an instant shiver cascading down your spine as you stepped into the snow filled air. You pull your coat tighter around yourself, trying to ward off the cold as you looked around for Minhi, seeing as Namjoon was on luggage duty again.

However, before you could spot her, Minhi’s voice sliced through the chilly air,

“Kim Namjoon, you have got to be kidding me.”

Namjoon’s little sister, all bundled up in a thick winter coat had fixed you two with a piercing stare, her hands on her hips in a classic display of sibling disapproval. 

Namjoon’s wonky smile did nothing to deter her piercing gaze, or calm any of your fraying nerves. “It’s good to see you too?”

You feel your heart drop as Minhi's gaze shifts from her brother to you, her expression a mix of confusion and suspicion. Your worst fears are confirmed - she's figured you out and you haven’t even been off the train for 5 minutes. Now Namjoon will be married off to some rich middle-aged woman and you'll never be able to look him in the eye again.

 You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks, and you look away, silently praying that the snow beneath your boots doesn’t melt into a puddle while she stares.

But then, unexpectedly, Minhi starts to laugh. At first, it's a quiet chuckle, but soon it grows into a full-blown laugh. She laughs so hard that she has to hold her stomach, and at the end she wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of her eye.

“You two are perfect for each other,” she says still chuckling “Fine, I’ll play along. How did you two end up together?”

“Got drunk one night.” Namjoon casually replied, rubbing the back of his neck before wrapping his arm around you, “Turns out all I had to do was say something, because she was all over me the next second.” 

Minhi raised her eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Right,” She hugged Namjoon tightly, and then turned to you, surprising you with a warm embrace. She muttered something about Namjoon never confessing his feelings in your coat, but you were too busy drowning in a whirlwind of confusion and relief to register it.

“We'll talk more later about how inappropriate this is." She added cheerfully, beckoning you to follow her towards her little yellow jeep, bright against the snowy backdrop.

You look back at Namjoon just in time to catch him winking in your direction and giving you a thumbs-up that sent your heart whirling in your chest.

 The car ride was over faster than you would have wanted. Minhi navigated the snow-laden road while she and Namjoon chatted away about mundane topics—work, rent, the best coffee in town. You sank deeper into the backseat, overwhelmed and lost in your thoughts. Because What the hell was that and If this was how you were kicking things off you might as well turn around now. Was it just fear of ruining the friendship or was an old crush budding again? The way he ‘claimed’ you in front of Minhi clearly ignited something in your chest that was not appropriate for friends or roommates or roommate-friends pretending to be dating.

As if sensing your turmoil from the front, Namjoon caught your eyes, giving you a gentle, reassuring smile before the car came to a halt. He gallantly opened the door for you, his hand grasping yours and squeezing it tightly.  

 “I got you, baby,” he says, teasingly, but the poorly-timed joke earns him an immediate glare and an elbow to the ribs.  

“Oh, come on. They are lovely people.” Minhi interrupts before Namjoon can retaliate, “You should’ve seen the way mom was dancing around the kitchen once she heard Namjoon was bringing someone over.”

You just blink at her, your breath misting in the air as you unconsciously step closer to Namjoon, giving him a small nod of support. His presence radiates warmth, his fingers tightening around yours as you walked towards the small house that looms in front of you. Minhi ambles ahead, dropping her bag near the entrance, while you could practically feel Namjoon vibrating with excitement.

“Someone’s in trouble” She whispers dramatically, letting you both into the warmth of the household, where laughter and the mouthwatering scent of home-cooked food intertwine. You follow her into the kitchen and you see the older couple husting about, half-focused on a pot bubbling over the stove and half on each other.

“Mom! Dad! Look who I’ve brought!” she announces, and the couple turned, smiles blooming as they spotted you and Namjoon.

For a fleeting moment, you felt exposed. Like an exhibit at a museum, thrust into the spotlight. Your breath hitched as Namjoon gently nudged you forward, a gesture both comforting and terrifying, but steeling yourself, you bravely stepped ahead, bowing as a sign of respect.

“I knew it!” The affectionate glow sweeping across Mrs. Kim face relaxed your nerves considerably, “I’m so glad you could make it!” her eyes sparkled with genuine delight, and you suddenly realized that Namjoon inherited his dimples from her. But the thought was quickly squeezed out of you as she enveloped you in that bone-crushing hug.

Namjoon’s father, a tall elderly man with kind eyes, patted him on the back. His approval apparent, before he turned his attention to you, “Welcome to our home,” he said warmly.

“I’m honored to be here.” You managed to respond, your voice quacking slightly but laced with sincerity. You heard Minhi groaning in the background but did your best to ignore her exaggerations and focus only on Namjoon’s parents, as you exchanged the required pleasantries.

“Dinner is almost ready,” Mrs. Kim said, bustling around the kitchen with effortless grace. The contrast between her elegant movements and Namjoon’s clumsy demeanour in the kitchen made you smile inwardly “I hope you’re hungry.”

“Yes, we didn’t get a chance to eat today,” Namjoon added quickly, casually leaning against the counter and stealing a taste from the simmering pot.

“I’ll call you over once it’s done. Go show our guest to your room until then,” Mrs. Kim commanded, expertly shooing him away from the stove and passing plates to Minhi.

“My room?” Namjoon echoed, his eyes widening as if the concept had floored him.

“Yes, dear. I know we are old-fashioned, but we are not under any illusions that you two don’t already share a room.” Mrs. Kim replied, stirring the bubbling pot without sparing him a glance.

Minhi shot you a look that was equal parts amusement and something you couldn’t quite place—sympathy, perhaps? Or pity?

“Yes- No. I just thought that it would be more appropriate to let her have the guest room,” Namjoon articulated, his voice half-hearted in its conviction.

Mrs. Kim merely cooed, waved away his protests with a flick of the wrist. “Minhi and Jackson are staying in the guest room. You can have your room.”

“Come on, Namjoon. You always make everything so complicated,” Minhi chimed in, her voice laced with mischief. “Just accept it. You guys will have an entire night to sort things out, right?”

“Right.” he grumbled, shooting her a glare that softened as he turned his gaze back to you “Let’s get you settled in,” he gestured for you to follow him.

The moment you step into Namjoon's room, a charged silence enveloped you- like the kind that proceeds a brewing storm. The room was exactly as you imagined, a blend of cooler minimalist décor and hints of his personal touch, a few pieces of art and pictures hung up on the wall, all whispering tales of youth, friendship and moments you yearned to know more about.

But all those sweet memories fade into the background as the reality settled in: there was only one bed.

“So, let me get this straight,” you began, the awkwardness hanging heavily in the air “You thought about everything, including phone wallpapers, but forgot you only have one bed in your room?”

“No, of course not.” He lied, that endearing grin spreading across his face. “I just thought it would be polite to let you have the bed… since you’re my guest.” He seemed genuinely proud of the excuse, but that pride melted when you teased,

“Before or after you plan for the guest room fell through?”

“After.” He admitted at last, glancing away, as if the walls held all the explanations he could not muster.

“Don’t tell me you planned on sleeping on the floor too,” for a brief moment the ridiculous image of him curled up on the hardwood floor, blankets draped haphazardly around him pops into your mind, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

“No.” He smiles, “I knew you’d take pity on my lower back,” his dimples deepened and you playfully rolled your eyes at him.

“Very strategic Mr. Kim,” you laugh, walking further into the room and taking a seat on the edge of the bed. The playful banter creating a familiar atmosphere, dissolving any lingering tension. A part of you almost couldn't believe you were in Namjoon’s personal space, taking your sweet time admiring the various little parts of him decorating the room, while another part was acutely aware of his gaze on you, observing you as if he were trying to read your thoughts.

He stepped closer, his expression sincere, drawing you in gently as he took your hands in his. “Are you sure?” The tentative nature of his voice hinted at a deeper question—he was about to add an ‘I was only joking’—but you quickly shushed him.

“Yes, of course.”

There were a few past occurrences where the two of you ended up falling asleep together on the couch, limbs tangled under the fuzzy throw blanket, with a movie playing in the background. Without fail, one of you would wake up in the morning to find the other wrapped around them, as the night was chilly and body heat was a rare luxury. Most of the time it was Namjoon that dozed off first, his head lolling in an awkward position until you gently nudged him into a more comfortable posture, knowing he’d whine about neck and/or shoulder pain come morning time if you didn’t. But his lug of a body was always warm, so you didn’t mind snuggling closer to him when it mattered.

This was more of the same. Just in a bed.

You swallow drily, eyes flickering away for a quick second, “I told you, I’m comfortable with you.”

“Come on, lovebirds!” Minhi’s voice rang through the door, breaking the spell. “Dinner’s ready!”

You shared a hurried glance, perspectives shifting as the familiar nervousness rushed back to you.

“Ready?” he asked, his smile spreading across his face, deepening the dimples in his cheeks as he tugged you up to your feet. You nodded, suddenly buoyed by a sense of belonging.

To your surprise, dinner goes by without a hitch. You may have gone a little overboard on the kimchi, but it wasn’t anything you wouldn’t recover from. However, the warmth of Namjoon’s hand resting softly on your thigh might etch itself into your memory for all time.

Halfway through the meal, Jackson showed up, and you got to observe with amusement as Minhi transformed in his presence, her demeanor shifting from the laid-back hostess to a giddy schoolgirl. The way she playfully nudged Jackson, her eyes sparkling each time she teased him, be it about his late arrival or some inside joke, was a refreshing sight. And you couldn’t help but snicker each time Mrs. Kim would chastise them, before dotting lovingly on anything you and Namjoon did together.

As the lively conversation flowed around you, you leaned into Namjoon’s warmth. It felt easy, and so right to nestle beside him, to let your fingers brush against his with familiarity, each touch igniting tiny sparks. You stole a glance at him, watching as he engaged wholeheartedly in the conversation, his contagious laughter filling the room.

After dinner, you offered to help Mrs. Kim clear up the table, even if it was to get a second to clear your thoughts, but to your surprise, Mr. Kim placed a soft hand on your shoulder, smiling, as he gently guided you back to your seat.

“You’ve done enough, dear,” he said, his tone warm and reassuring “We appreciate your help, but tonight is for you and Namjoon to enjoy.” He gave you a kind nod, and you felt your cheeks warm.

“Yeah, there will be dishes tomorrow too,” Minhi interrupted, getting a heartfelt laughter from her father before he left the room, to join his wife in the kitchen.

You shared a sheepish glance with Namjoon, who watched the exchange with an amused smile. His eyes twinkling in the soft light of the dining room, and you felt your heart pick-up the pace in your chest again. You really needed to get away, perhaps splash some cold water on your face. But just as you felt the urge to excuse yourself, you overheard Jackson's whispered confusion.

“Wait, so they’re not actually dating?” His voice was muted, and laced with confusion as he looked between you and Namjoon, his eyes wide with bewilderment.

“Kyung Min!” Namjoon called Minhi by her full name, which made her owlishly blink up at him.

“What? He asked how long you two have been dating for,” she defended.

“And you couldn’t just say three months, like a normal person?” Namjoon shot back, half laughing, half exasperated and watched as her brows knitted.

“No! He deserves to know.” She persisted, glaring at her brother, and you felt the heat crawl up your neck, trying desperately to remain inconspicuous under Jackson’s incredulous stare.

“So how exactly does this work?” Jackson asked, stopping the siblings from their bickering “Is it like friends with benefits or-?” just when you thought it couldn’t get any more awkward, the sip of water you took ended up going down the wrong way, making you choke and sputter.

“No! it’s nothing like that.”  You stammered, trying to form a coherent thought, but all you could manage was a mangled mess of words.

“No babe, they don’t even kiss,” Minhi added, placing her hand over his as if she were breaking some bad news.

But Namjoon reacted with the prove-your-sibling-wrong part of the brain, making you stare at him in disbelief.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but we do.”  

And your pulse picked up again when you saw him leaning in, the implication clear in your mind. You steeled yourself, closing your eyes. But to your astonishment, he didn’t press his lips against yours as you had envisioned. Instead, they grazed the curve of your cheek, followed by a loud, exaggerated kiss.

“I’m confused.” Jackson mumbled, looking over at Minhi as she rolled her eyes.

“You’re not the only one.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Why didn’t he just kiss you?

The thought still lingered stubbornly at the edge of consciousness, even as the icy water from the shower jolted you into the present. You fumbled with the knobs, trying to figure out the right temperature, but your mind was elsewhere.

That scene kept on replaying on a constant loop in your head, each time leaving you just as stumped.

What stopped him?

You talked about this- he brought it up! And you agreed, so what was the hold-up? Was he really so uninterested that the mere thought of kissing you sent him into retreat mode?

Frustration bubbled up alongside the steam, and you invertedly cringed at the image of his nervous smile that still haunted you, his eyes darting away. Scrubbing harder at your skin, you wish the shame and embarrassment would simply wash away with the suds.

And the absurdity of getting worked over your friend not kissing you was not lost on you, but at least if he had gone for it, you might have been able to push that nagging question aside ~What would it be like to kiss Namjoon?  

His lips looked so soft, like they were meant for more than just talking…

You violently shook that thought away, and with a resigned sigh, you turned the water back to cold in an attempt to wash away your sins. Friends don’t kiss!

And he clearly wasn’t interested, so the sooner you silence these thoughts, the sooner you could go back to being normal. Just four more days of pretending to be his girlfriend. You could manage that. And after, you promised yourself you’d lock yourself in your room and avoid human interaction for rest of your miserable life.

As the water continued its relentless pour, you felt your fingertips start to wrinkle, a reminder that perhaps it was time to step out of this session of self-pity. With one last shudder, you turned the water off, determined to face the world- if only for a little while longer.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, the soft glow of a lamp illuminated the room. Namjoon was already tucked into bed, gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose as he quietly looked over the pages of a book. Only, in reality he hadn’t been able to absorb a single word in the past fifteen minutes, his gaze lost in a world of his own.

Silently, you made your way to your side, wrapping yourself in the blanket and turning your back to him. A slight shiver coursed through you as you felt the warmth envelop you, the little tremor alerting Namjoon to your presence.

“Why are you so cold?” he asked softly, shifting slightly closer to you.

Your heart thudded at the caring tone, and for a moment, all the questions crowd your mind again.

Instead of answering, you huffed in frustration and turned to face him.

“Why didn’t you kiss me?” the words blurted out before you could stop them, surprising you both with their boldness, but your face flushed when you met his gaze.

Namjoon’s eyes widened, and he froze, the book forgotten on his lap. “I-I don’t know.” He stuttered, his hand running though his tousled hair, the soft strands falling back in place but not hiding the flush creeping up his neck. You watched the muscles in his jaw tense, eyes averted again in a way that tightened your stomach.

“It would’ve convinced Minhi sooner,” your added, your words hanging heavy in the air. Namjoon chuckled awkwardly, running that same hand down his face.

“You want me to kiss you?”

You hesitated, the corners of your mind fanatically searching for a safe answer

“I’m just saying it would’ve made things easier,” you deflected, avoiding his question much like he had done moments before.

He studied you for a moment, gears visibly turning in his mind before his lips curved into a small, daring smile. “Because I can kiss you if you want.”

Your breath caught in your throat, surprised by the sudden shift in tension.

“Now?” you breathed.

“Why not?” he shrugged “We’re both clearly anxious about it, so why not just get it over with?”

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, lost for words, staring up at him. All the courage from before evaporating into thin air. You quickly searched his features, seeking the playful glint, the laughter behind his eyes, but instead, his eyes just flickered from yours to your lips.

“Do you want to kiss me?” you finally found the words, and his eyes snapped back to your own.

“I think it would make things easier going forward,” he replied, his voice low and earnest.

A heavy silence settled between you, stretching like an elastic ready to snap at any moment, as snowflakes continued to drift outside, dressing the world in white.

You took a deep breath, “Fine.” Ultimately you mumbled, sitting up against the headboard and turning to face him.

“Are you sure?”, The way he phrased it made your stomach flop, as if he were validating a choice that seemed both reckless and somehow still challenged you.

“Yes, now stop talking and just-” The words were lost as the space between you disappeared. But now you knew; his lips were soft, warm and tentative against yours. It felt wonderful, and sent tingles shooting through your veins while your heart tried erratically to catch up. He hesitated for a heartbeat- less than a fraction of a second- before he leaned further in, deepening the kiss, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek. And you soften against him, all the tension melting away. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping lightly as if anchoring yourself amidst the storm of emotions that released once you tasted his mint toothpaste.

When he finally pulled back, both of you gasping for breath, the world resumed its muted noised- the quiet hum of the heater, the faint sound of voices downstairs, Namjoon’s breath against your lips. You could hardly meet his eyes, until you heard the first thing that left his lips.

“I just kissed you.”

Your eyebrow arched, blinking at him as if waiting for the punchline that never came.

“I know. I- was there too.” You replied, a little smile creeping on your face despite the rapid thump of your heart. Namjoon laughed softly; his cheeks still tinged with a shade of pink. “You’re a good kisser.” You added after a few beats of silence, before chewing on your lip, and unintentionally drawing his attention back to them.

“You too,” He gave a curt nod, remembering he has a book on his lap and fumbling to bookmark and put it away.

Another moment of silence followed once he settled back, and your eyes desperately scanned the walls for something, anything to say.

“This isn’t weird, is it?” you settled on the worst option, slightly cringing.

“No!” he answered louder than he anticipated, slightly shocking you which in return startled him. “I mean-” he let out an exasperated breath, “Friends kiss all the time.”

He didn’t believe it. And neither did you. But you still nodded in agreement.

[daydreamer-in-reverie]

If you ask me if I think Snow ever loved Lucy Gray, the answer is is an easy yes and I can 100% back up my belief.

In the beginning of TBOSAS, we saw the Mayor of D12 pulling names out of the Reaping bowl, with Snow speculating that the Reaping was likely rigged by the Mayor because of how flippantly he read Lucy Gray’s name. And it’s easy to assume that to be case when we find out the history between Lucy Gray, Billy Taupe and Mayfair. Of course the mayor would rig the games to send Lucy Gray to her death, his daughter asked him too. From the get go, the odds were not in Lucy Gray’s favor and this is an injustice that even Snow was affronted by.

And yet, in the 74th Hunger Games, escorts like Effie Trinket become fundamental members of the Game’s system. So much so that winners of the Hunger Games make use of their services as they go on their Victory Tour, guiding them as they go through every District. Escorts like Effie are impartial, objective members of the Capitol, with no personal ties with the Districts they associate with. There is no way for them to rig the Games to call out the names of people they didn’t like because it’s not as if they can form an opinion on the children they’re sending to their deaths.

I can’t imagine a world where it wasn’t Snow who suggested this change. Even if it wasn’t his suggestion, with how quickly he amassed power (it was heavily implied he even became Head Gamemaker at one point), he would have had the ability to approve or veto this idea. He would have likely consulted with Gaul if it had been lobbied by someone else before he had the chance to become Head Gamemaker as he swiftly became her top confidant, groomed to take her place on the day she died. Whether or not it was his idea, he would have done whatever it took to see it implemented.

Escorts are a small kindness, to ensure that it is truly the odds that determine whether a child gets sent to the Arena or not and not the machinations of a vindictive person with a vendetta against a certain family or child. A small mercy, to be sure, but a mercy nonetheless. The one single echo of Snow’s love for Lucy Gray, the only woman he ever loved. So that what happened to her does not happen to another child again.

[muzansfangs]

Guilty pleasure.

Starring: Muzan x f!reader; Kokushibo, Douma (mentioned), the Slayers (mentioned).

Warnings: nsfw, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, choking, blindfolding, creampie, unprotected sex, slight bdsm, language, dirty talk, car sex, semi-public sex, slight yandere behavior, possessive behavior, graphic depiction of violence, plotting murder, curruption kink, reckless driving style.

Plot: Muzan leads you into the unknown and you come to terms with the fact that the ambitious politician has blood on his hands. A violent argument ended with Muzan bewitching you once again. Your body and your mind belong to him. However, he cares about you more than he allows you to know. As you peacefully rest on his bed, he plots his vendetta against a mysterious company of assassins: the Slayers.

PART ONE| PART TWO| PART THREE| PART FOUR| PART FIVE | PART SIX

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

THE THREAT.

Ten minutes of silence. You did not dare to speak, he did not bother talking to you. You wondered what was on his mind. His hair were unusually disheveled, his bright eyes focused on the road and his grip on the steering wheel tightened second by second. His knuckles were white and his jaw clenched.

You did not dare to turn your head towards him and face him properly. You were scared to even roll down the window, how could you find the courage to make eye-contact with him? All you did was merely glancing at him and analyze his body language through your peripheral. The last time you checked, you saw his jugular pulsing at an irregular pace from beneath the collar of his snow-white shirt.

That was not a good sign.

You had no idea of where you were going, but he had taken the motorway. You were terrified, guilty, upset and, frankly, you were even mad at him. Where did this rage come from? What had you done to make him turn into a feral beast? Was this the real Muzan Kibutsuji?

Your dispirited eyes burnt for the tears you had shedded earlier and all you did was watching the landscape change outside the window. The high speed he was driving at was preventing you from clearly discerning the roadsigns and you rested your forehead against the cold glass in search for comfort. It was only then, when you realised you were venturing into the unknown with a man you barely knew, with a criminal, that insecurities and dark thoughts crept under your skin.

What if he was going to murder you? What if he was just searching for the right place to dig a grave for you to rot in?

You let out a shaky breath, clamping your mouth shut in a pitiful attempt to repress a groan of frustration to escape your lips. Was it the way you were going to die? You clutched the black fabric of your skirt in your fists and batted your eyes close, trying to steady your uneven breath. Well, if you were really going down, you would have not left this world without a fight.

"Muzan" you feebly broke the silence.

The raven-haired man did not dignify you with an answer. His eyes were still settled on the horizon as he overtook a grey utility car standing on his path. It was a mystery how you had not got into a car crash yet. But you were about to die anyway, right? Did it really matter how your death was going to be narrated by the newspaper?

"Muzan, please" you tried again, sitting up and darting your eyes on him.

The man who had had the ability of giving you headaches in fourty-eight hours of living together did not even pay attention at you. It seemed as if you were air, as if you were a ghost calling out his name in vain. Despite that, you were not going to give up easily. If there was a thing he could not claim and forge, something personal that you were not going to change for anyone, not even for him, was your personality.

You loathed not being listened to, even more you hated it when people pretended you did not exist. Therefore, the next words leaving your mouth dripped anger and contempt.

"Hey, I am talking to you, shithead!" you snapped, jabbing your finger at him in irritation.

Muzan's eyes widened at your abrupt change of tone "Watch your tongue, girlie" he snorted, fighting his impulse to pull over and choke an apology out of you. He knew women, he knew exactly what drove them crazy and, apparently, you were not the exception.

Although, actually, you were his exception. That was all that mattered to him.

You exhaled through your nostrils, throwing your hands in the air in the process "Okay, I'm sorry, alright? It's just that I would like to get a feedback, when I am talking to you" you pinpointed, earning a scornful side-eye from him.

You found it absurd how he could give you such controversial feelings. He made you feel on cloud nine, he gave you butterflies and then he scared you to death, he made you regret your decision to stay by his side and... And he made you feel miserable. Just like he was doing now.

He arched a dark eyebrow "Ironic, isn't it?" he hissed, running his fingers through his hair and keeping just one hand on the leather steering wheel.

"What?" you quipped.

"Demanding a feedback from me, when you literally do whatever you fucking want! I had asked only a goddamn thing of you, Y/N, was it really that hard to listen to me?" he roared, pushing the gas pedal harder with each word he spitefully threw at your face.

There you were, it had begun.

You gulped down, holding on your seat for dear life "Bloody Hell, Muzan, Douma was about to kill her! Was I supposed to stay in the car and watch him cut her into smithereens?" you replied, voice raising exponentially at his affirmations.

Was he really making a fuss about it? You knew you probably should have not hopped down of the car, but you were not going to sit idly when a girl was being tortured to death.

Muzan steered to the right, his eyes blazing with wrath. It was not just the fact that you had ignored his recommendation to stay in the car. It was the fact that you had left with Douma. Out of everyone, you had spent hours in his company, blessing him with your presence, with your smiles. Maybe, who knew, even something more than that.

He chose not to reply, he knew that if he did it now, words meant to be unspoken were probably going to roll out of his tongue. But, as the car entered a forest glade unfamiliar to you, your stomach clenched at the sight before your wary eyes and you finally spat it out.

"Muzan, are you going to kill me?" you asked him, tears welling up in your eyes. Were you serious? How could you even think that he was going to hurt you?

"You are such a child" he bitterly commented, although a small smile curled his lips.

You were capable to mess with his head in a way no one had ever done before. He knew more about you than he actually let you know. Saying that he was obsessed with you was an understatement. You were his perfect match and, sooner of later, you would have fallen for him. It was hard to keep up with you, though. You were not as naïve as he thought you were.

He did not want to overshadow your purity. He just intended to envelope it with his darkness to keep you safe.

"Fuck you" you uttered then, as he pulled over.

In a split second, you reached out for the handle, not even glancing at him to assess his reaction before trying to escape your fate. What a pity. His hand grasped your wrist, forcing you to stop, and he tugged you back towards him. Your head whipped towards his deadly visage, your lower lip quivering in fear. Oh, he was definitely going to kill you, was he not?

"What did you say?" he quizzically asked you, his plum red eyes boring into your watery ones. He could see you were terrified, your breath uneven as he grasped your jaw to keep the intense eye-contact with you. He expected you to stay silent at this point, to keep your mouth shut, yet you surprised him once again.

"I said 'fuck you'. – you murmured, your hands snapping up in dispair, latching onto his forearm, to shove his hand off of you – You repulse me" you barked, watching how his angelic features wrinkled into a mask of hatred and rage. You closed your eyes, when he suddenly yanked your hair back, forcing you to crane your neck and exposing your throat at him, at his vicious eyes.

He was calculating his every move, taking his time in manhandling you like a fragile puppet. You waited, you waited for the fatal blow to arrive, because you were sure he was going to slit your throat, or choke you. But shivers ran down your spine, as you felt his soft lips leaving a trail of kisses down the tender flesh of your sensitive sweet spot. You whimpered, mouth agape, while his soft touch made the fear slowly leave your heart.

Your eyes fluttered open and you hisitantly loosened your grip on his forearm, slithering your hand up his arm to rest on his firm bicep instead. You could tell he was still mad, the air was thin and his kisses, despite being affectionate, were fervish, rough. You did not know what crossed his mind as he stroked his nose against your cheekbone.

"You are an idiot. I've cancelled a conference to save you. Now tell me, sweetheart, why would I want to kill you?" he purred in your ear, tangling his fingers through your hair gently and nibbling at your earlobe suavely.

What a cocky bastard.

He was toying with you, playing with your emotions, pulling the strings of your heart. He was a puppet master, a devious, manipulative man who knew how to break you.

"Because you're a criminal" you breathed out then, ignoring the heat pervading your cheeks. His cologne was intoxicating, the path he drew along your skin with his lips burnt. Was fighting even an option at this point?

You heard him chuckling hoarsely, his hand cupping your cheek and ducking your head down, until your eyes met "Ah-ah, choose your words carefully, sweetheart. That's a tough talk for someone like you" he singsonged, brushing his thumb on your cheekbone almost lovingly. But you knew better than falling for it.

"I'm speaking facts. You are a murderer just like Douma" you said, only to see his eyes clouding over in annoyance. You had hit a nerve, had you not?

"Don't say his name ever again, woman" he hissed through gritted teeth. While it was undeniable that he was playing his cards right, he could say the same about you. Did you really have the gall to push his limits?

You scoffed, as you defiantly quirked an eyebrow up at him "Why? – you chimed, sneering at the man in front of you – Why does it disturb you? I can love whoever I want privately, right? It's in the contract! The same contract you drew up yourself" you mockingly reminded him of that specific clause not bonding you to be strictly faithful to him.

At least, in private.

Muzan fumed in anger and in that very moment you saw your end in his shimmering red eyes. He chuckled darkly to himself, his tongue swirling out to moisten his lips. A maniac, he looked like a maniac.

It happened in a split second. His hands grasped your hips, his fingertips digging into the plushness of your waist as he lifted you up and sat you on his lap. You yelped, hands holding onto his shoulders for support as he dragged his seat back. He was not laughing anymore, he was not gentle at all as he forced you to straddle him.

But, above all, he did not falter as he leant towards your left ear and whispered a thing you knew he would have been capable of doing without hesitation. It was not an empty threat.

"Make sure I will not find it out then, sweetheart, because I will fill the bathtub with his blood, buy the most expensive bottle of champagne and sip on it, as I watch you dive into your lover's guts" he cooed, making your stomach clench.

Did he know about the kiss you shared with Douma? He probably did not. You were wise enough to understand that if you had a secret, it was better to keep it to yourself until the day you died and, maybe, even bury it with your corpse.

"You need therapy. You are a psychopath" you stated, heart thrumming into your chest as his hand slided down your bare inner thigh.

Muzan flashed you a seraphic smile, his fingers playing with the waistband of your panties "Perhaps. – he reasoned, grasping the back of your neck with his other hand to pull your head closer to his – You think you are a good girl, don't you? Wake up to reality, love. You are not as good as you think you are" he murmured, brushing his thumb over your lower lip.

You trembled under his touch, butterflies fluttering into your stomach for his sudden sugarcoated mannerism. It jarred with the words falling from his sinful lips and cursed yourself for allowing him to have a firm grasp over your mind, over your heart. You were defenseless, when he showed you what a real love story with him might have felt like.

"I am a good person, I know I am" you softly replied, earning a chuckle from him.

Muzan smiled, his lips capturing yours in a passionate, slow kiss. You felt on cloud nine, your shaking hands grasping his collar to pull him even closer to you. He tasted like coffee, cigarettes and danger. Yet, if he was so bad, if you should have kept your distance, why did you feel so intoxicated, so attracted to him?

Your teeth clashed as he asserted his dominance over you, his fingers pushing your panties to the side as he tongue explored your mouth. Dear God, he was a good kisser. A soft moan escape your throat, as he started to draw figures eight on your bundle of nerves.

"I'll tell you a secret – he purred, before biting your bottom lip softly and tugging at it, before letting go with a small pop – You think you are a good person because you haven't killed someone yet. Maybe, it still does not occur to you, but you are my woman. You are already doomed" he crooned, watching how you clamped your eyes shut and lolled your head back in ecstasy.

You were such a sinful, beautiful sight to behold and you were his.

Once he had made sure you were wet enough for his fingers to dive into your core, he slowly inserted them. You winced, your walls still sensitive for his rough pace in the early morning, but how could you deny yourself the bliss of going adrift, of venturing into the limitless ocean of pleasure he was leading you to?

"I am the devil, love. People say I am the incarnation of Satan... – he chortled, a glint of malice sparkling into his bloodshot irises as he curled his fingers into you – You have said 'yes' to me. The world already knows you are evil too" he stated, as you screeched his name on the verge of your orgasm.

Muzan Kibutsuji was no good. Muzan was evil, you were not. Then why were you really questioning your morals, as he carefully switched your positions and hovered over you?

Why could you not find the right words to fire something back? You, the most argumentative person the world had ever met, were speechless.

You stared at him enamoured with him. He grinned down at you, slipping his fingers underneath his tie to loosen the knot and hastily untie it. You gasped, when he proceeded to blindfolding you. Everything was new to you and he was aware of it.

He simply enjoyed being your first. Whatever you were going to do with someone else, you would have always thought about him, about the first time he introduced you to a certain practice.

"You look gorgeous, if it wasn't obvious" he said, undoing the buttons of your shirt carefully, not to rip them off. You blushed, goosebumps raising on your stomach as he planted his hand over it.

"M-Muzan... What if someone catches us like that?" you asked him, as his hand reached behind you to unclasp your bra.

You heard him discard it somewhere behind you, probably on the backseats. Your nipples, hardened by the cool air and your arousal, finally came to his vision and he did not waste time in wrapping his mouth around the left one. You whimpered, desperate to see him, and you unintentionally bucked your hips up, brushing your core against his groin.

He groaned, his mouth leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, stopping only to unbuckle his belt and free his bulge from the tight restriction of his boxers.

"What do you want me to say? Would you love me to kill them? – he joked, helping you to hoist your leg over his waist as he lined his shaft to your entrance – Or you still believe I could redeem myself and buy their silence without spilling blood?" he inquired, pushing past your folds with a slow, yet firm thrust.

You gasped, your hands gripping the headrest as he stretched you out, blowing your mind with every inch he claimed.

He hummed, his fingers latching around your neck as he bottomed out with ease "Fuck" he uttered, claiming your mouth once again in a fervent kiss. He stayed still for a few minutes, his cock twitching into you as you finally gave him your consent to move.

And he did.

As he thrusted into you, you cried out his name, the hard, rough pace he chose sending you over the edge in a way you could not believe was possible. You could not see his face, but you could feel his rage, his jealousy.

A jealousy he wanted you to know about.

His hand tilted your head to the side, his breath fanned your earlobe before he spoke "I dare you to fuck Douma. – he chortled, almost hysterically – Come on, go to him later tinight. Go to him and tell him how I turned you into a writhing mess of sweat and cum! Fuck, I dare him to touch you... I'll be glad to end his miserable life".

You moaned, legs shaking as you felt a familiar pressure coiling into your stomach. You were close to reach your climax and you boldly, selfishly begged him.

"Harder, please!" you shrieked, igniting a spark within your partner.

"Tch, look at you! Begging me to break you, when you told me I am a disgusting criminal. – he mocked you, squeezing your throat harder as he picked up his pace – How does it feel to be fucked stupid by a criminal, hm?".

You whined, as he hit your g-spot relentlessly, his thrusts getting sloppy as you orgasmed together, his seed spurting into your walls as you called his name one more time.

♚

The car ride was silent. Muzan's hand never left his place on your leg, stroking it softly from time to time. You were tired, too tired to pay attention to what was happening around you. He had promised you he was going to tell you everything about him.

Not today, though.

You did not have the energy to protest, you complied and allowed yourself to daze off into a well-deserved slumber. Muzan, on the other hand, could not sleep. Once he had parked the car, he glanced over at your sleeping frame.

Did he deserve you? Was there still a dim light of hope in his life? Maybe you were his chance to start anew again. Maybe he could really be a better man for you.

"I'm afraid I will be your downfall, love" he murmured, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear before hopping down from the car and closing the door behind him gently.

Although Kokushibo had offered to pick you up and bring you to your bedroom, Muzan refused. Having you in his arms, he cradled you to his chest, as he tried his best not to wake you up.

In his mind, tormented by the fear he had felt when you had called him earlier that day, when he had heard the broken tone of your voice calling out his name, he was plotting his revenge. A filthy Slayer had dared to touch you.

His vendetta was going to wipe them off of this world, that time, for no one touched what was his and got away with it.

Therefore, once you were tucked under the silky blankets of his bed, he glanced over at his first in command. Kokushibo knew what that deadly look held behind and, when Muzan told him exactly what he had to do, he was not surprised in the slightest.

"Call the Moons. Call them all. We are plotting a mass murder tonight" the soon to be President blurted out, marching towards his office without bothering to watch his bodyguard bowing his head at him.

Blood was going to stream down the streets of that bloody city.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hi, there!

As I had promised, here we are with the fifth part of the story. Honestly, I am absolutely grateful that a lot of people seem to enjoy it. Thank you so much for your support, guys! It means a lot and it’s really motivational. Muzan is a psychopath, but I love him :)

Tag list: @tired-writer04 @hjjks @kakuchosbff @yazzzmints @bookandstar @z3r0art

[hp-hcs]

IM THE ONE WHO REQUESTED THE THEODORE X MALE READER THING AND IT WAS AMAZING I LOVE IT SO MUCH OMG

i’m glad!! 😭😭 i was stressing out so much over that one cause there’s no real coherent plot but i pROMISE I KNOW WHERE THE STORY’S GOING

ends at kind of a weird spot cause idk how to end anything ever

ty to the person who said this could be a five part series. i appreciate your confidence in my attention span.

requests? please, sir, i want some more 🥺🤲

this fire ain’t the only thing that’s camp (Chapter Two of Splinched) — death eater! theodore nott x splinched! male! muggleborn! reader

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Theodore comes tromping back into the clearing with an armful of branches, twigs, pinecones, and duff. He clumsily dumps the load into the snow, wiping snow off of the log-turned-bench by the fire pit, and sitting down.

“Okay, now what?”

“Build the fire,” you instruct. “Make a pyramid shape.”

You bring your hands together so that your palms are far apart but your fingertips touch, making an ‘A’ sort of shape to illustrate your point.

“The pine needles and dead leaves and stuff, that’s all great tinder. It’ll burn the quickest, and help start the fire. Put that in the middle of your pyramid. Build your pyramid around that with the kindling; the twigs and thinnest branches.”

Theodore does as you say, making a rather shoddy pyramid that he seems quite proud of.

You pull your blanket tighter around yourself. You sit inside the entrance of the tent, the flap open and pinned back so you can still talk to Theodore.

You had caught a nasty fever the day after Theodore’s spell, leaving you incapacitated for days. To make matters worse, an unexpected snowstorm—nearly a month too early—froze the entire forest. The storm itself reeked of bad magic; everything about it seemed unnatural.

Merlin must’ve had a vendetta against you both, because additionally during that time, Theodore’s wand had begun to spark and malfunction. The Dark spell he’d cast must’ve done serious damage to the core. But his wand had fully given up that morning, shriveling up and blackening like a spent match.

You toss him your lighter and watch as he unskillfully manages to light the tinder, by the grace of God, and cheers with a loud whoop! that sends the birds in the nearby trees scattering into the air.

“Now just add the bigger branches as needed,” you advise, your teeth chattering.

Much to his chagrin, Theodore was quite relieved with your silly Muggle knowledge. He had no idea how to make or light a campfire without his wand, but you assured him that it wasn’t difficult to do the Muggle way.

Glancing over at you with a dumb, silly grin on his face, quite proud of his own achievement, he opens his mouth to mock-boast, only to have his breath stolen from him.

You still look quite sickly, rather weak and tired, but you really make quite a sight. Against the dull olive of the tent and the muted dark blue of the blanket you’re completely enveloped in, the red, sick flush of your face stands out quite a bit. White snowflakes dot your eyelashes, and your pretty eyes seem to track his every movement.

Stop it, Theodore. You have a job to do.

Clearing his throat, he makes his way back to the tent, ducking in and sitting next to you while occasionally glancing over to keep an eye on the fire.

Your face barely peeks out from the thick blanket as you peer out at him. You clearly are thinking of asking him something.

Please don’t ask why I did it, please, for the love of Merlin, don’t ask, don’t as-

“Why’d you help me?”

Fuck.

“Hm?” Theo hums, as if he hadn’t understood you, wrapping one of the spare blankets around himself.

“You could’ve just left me to bleed out. Or you could’ve said fuck it and Apparated anyway. Why’d you help me?”

“The Dark Lord doesn’t like his things damaged,” Theo says in a gruff voice, any friendliness in his demeanor completely vanishing and signaling the end of the conversation.

You just nod, retreating back into your blanket cocoon.

You both sit in silence.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Chapter Three

[chaos-is-beautifvl]

𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

— all my writing for the stranger things characters. if you have a request, please look to the guidelines here

𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐮𝐩𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝: 𝐧𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟏, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑

𝐤𝐞𝐲: ☾ = suggestive | ❤︎ = fluff | ☁️ = angst | completed = ✔︎ | ongoing (series) = ↺ | requested = ☎️

✿ unless stated otherwise, all of my fics are written with a fem!reader in mind and are poc!friendly

✿ fics ordered oldest to newest

✿ feedback is golden! please let me know what you think!

𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

𝐢. daughter of a cop - ❤︎ ↺ || fem hopper!reader

pt. 1 - eddie has never put much thought into who your dad is and why he’s never met him until one evening when he wishes he never knew || inspired by daughter of a cop - tv girl

pt. 2 - after the first accidental and absolutely horrid incident with your dad, eddie isn’t all too keen on the idea of meeting him officially. spoiler alert: he has every reason to be worried

𝐢𝐢. jealousy, jealousy - ☁️ ❤︎ ↺ || fem!reader + steddie

it’s one thing not having the person you want most by your side. but it’s even worse when you have to watch them move on with someone else, who is way too nice || inspired by jealousy, jealousy - olivia rodrigo

𝐢𝐢𝐢. 15 dozen roses - ☁️ ❤︎ || fem!reader || previous billy hargrove x reader

losing one person you loved was more than enough pain for a lifetime but losing another? you hoped it would never come to it. then again, the universe has a vendetta against you || inspired by yours - conan gray

𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬

𝐢. i spy with my little eye… - ❤︎ || fem!reader

you think your “tiny” crush on one d&d-playing, ring-wearing, poodle-rivaling brunet goes unnoticed until you’re confronted in a pizzeria of all places

𝐢𝐢. fights and... frolicking? - ☎️ ❤︎ ☁️ || fem henderson!reader

dustin’s been worried about his older sister because he hasn’t heard from her since she and their mom got into a fight. worried, he turns to his friend and is met with a surprising sight

𝐢𝐢𝐢. everyone adores you (at least i do) - ❤︎ || fem quiet!reader

eddie was an unapologetic loudmouth and maybe a bit of a freak. so it was a surprise to him and everyone else that a girl of very few words had rendered him speechless || inspired by everyone adores you (at least i do) - matt maltese

only want ya cause i can’t have ya - ☁️ || fem!reader

eddie is a sucker in every sense of the word. how stupid could he be to want someone he could never have? someone who was so much better off without him in their life? || inspired by johanna - suki waterhouse

unrequited love (& other clichés) - ☁️ ❤︎ || fem!reader

if he was truthful, eddie didn’t want to be friends with you. he wanted to be more, mean more to you. but that was just wishful thinking, right? || inspired by unrequited love (& other clichés) - breakup shoes

what was once - ☁️ ❤︎

eddie always thought this might happen but he pushed his doubts aside. now, they’re staring him right in the face, and he’s scared that he might lose you || inspired by what once was - her’s

you’re a rockstar, babe - ☾ || fem!reader

you’re a journalist, and your upcoming piece is about the battle of the bands. when a contestant with hair better than yours offers to show you an “amazing fucking time”, what do you say? you say yes, of course.

𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐓𝐎𝐍

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

𝐢. jealousy, jealousy - ☁️ || fem!reader & steddie

it’s one thing not having the person you want most by your side. but it’s even worse when you have to watch them move on with someone else, who is way too nice || inspired by jealousy, jealousy - olivia rodrigo

𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬

𝐢. dancing’s not a crime - ☎️ ❤︎ || fem!reader

you can’t remember the last time you attended a school dance, and you get a little reminiscent when see the Snow Ball. but who’s to say you’re too old to have a dance?

𝐢𝐢. dear (not so) secret diary… - ☎️ ☁️ || fem wheeler!reader

you have a secret. that secret has been shared with only two people - your diary and your best friend, just not the one it’s about. but what happens when your secret isn’t so secret anymore?

𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐕𝐄

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

𝐢. 15 dozen roses - ☁️ ❤︎ || fem!reader || previous billy hargrove x reader

losing one person you loved was more than enough pain for a lifetime but losing another? you hoped it would never come to it. then again, the universe has a vendetta against you || inspired by yours - conan gray

[vacantgodling]

RED DEATH & THE ORACLE'S FAVOR

Red pressed her face to the table, hiding her eyes. “I have no money to offer you, nor children to sell. I have no clothes other than those bloodied on my back. No riches, nor connections can this deal between us bring. But I do have myself, and any services you ask of me.” The Oracle pondered her brazen request, and smiled to himself at her earnestness without jest. Her head he raised with a kind hand, cupping her chin beneath his palm. “Raise your head, sweet Red, no need to grovel just yet. The night wanes to the hours, young. Come, I will give you lodgings for the night, and then in the marrow, our deal, we shall strike.”

Red like blood, that’s what she named herself. Red like death. 

All seek The Red Death for the howls of her moon scythe to fall down upon their enemies, like the jaws of a wolf on innocent sheep. Just as the jaws of The Wolf Queen close upon even the furthest reaches of this land and has spiraled this country into a seemingly endless ruin.

The vendetta Red has against The Wolf Queen is personal: she is responsible for the kidnapping of her elder sister, Iole. For years, Red has been scouring the land high and low, under rock and hill, to find her beloved kin. Her reputation grew from desperation; burdened with this curse that stole Iole’s life and their childhood away from them. Yet, this curse is her only hope of salvaging it. 

For sustenance, she kills. Shelter, she forgoes. She will not rest until Iole is safe with her once more. 

But she is running out of time and she has exhausted all options. A stroke of luck leads her to another cursed one such as herself, The Oracle; a young man named Hel. The man who knows everything if asked the question, yet he says nothing if not offered a worthy bargain. It is with him that Red strikes her final deal: they will traverse these war battered lands to find and protect The Hidden Prince, who will free this land from The Wolf Queen’s maw. And if she succeeds... The Oracle will give her the knowledge she seeks.

• • • Further Details

Inspiration(s): The folktale Snow White and Rose Red, Snow White and the Huntsman (2012) - but redone because it had such wasted potential, and general fairytale tropes

POV: third person omniscient with a folk tale, singsong cadence.

Themes: overcoming grief, childhood trauma, curses as blessings and blessings as curses, political power struggles, someone is haunting the narrative

TW(s): death, gore, body horror, mentions of child abuse and of SA

Features: all queer & all black cast, neurodivergency of many kinds, atypical romantic/qp relationships

main tag: s: red and hel / s: rdof <- main tag now but older posts are under red and hel

• • • Main Cast

ROSMARIN / RED (The Red Death) -> she/her, aro/grayace

HEL (The Oracle) -> he/him, mspec gay & poly

ARDEN (The Hidden Prince) -> he/him, straight (?)

IOLE (The Innocent) -> she/her

THE WOLF QUEEN (The Scourge) -> any pronouns though people tend to use feminine due to being the "Queen"

[mythuzalasheir3]

Can you give me a little more context on what Once Upon A Time is about?

What fairytale character do all the Hatchetfield citizens align with?

How closely does your AU follow either of its inspirations/what has it changed?

Once Upon A Time basically starts off with the Evil Queen cursing all the other fairytale characters to live in the miserable real world where the only happy ending is his own (and kind of rumplestiltskin's). The only person who can save the day is Emma Swan, the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, who was sent through separately so she wouldn't be trapped in the curse. She gets roped into it when the son she gave up for adoption, Henry (who was adopted by Regina/The Evil Queen), seeks her out on her 28th birthday.

It goes off the rails even further each season and they have a really good musical episode in season 6 (Wicked Always Wins and Love Doesn't Stand A Chance my beloveds) If you want to know more, I will ramble in DMs until the cows come home if you want :)))

I've mapped out seven seasons worth of characters, so I'm only going to do the main ones:

Emma and Henry are original characters, that are literally just them with a new coat of paint, called Helen and Sammy, respectively.

Snow White is Pete, and Prince(ss) Charming is Steph. The Evil Queen (King) is Solomon Lauter and Rumplestiltskin is Ted.

I have had to adjust the lore because of this change. Initially, Regina had it out for Snow because young Snow couldn't keep a secret from the Queen of Hearts (Regina's mum) and got Regina's true love killed. However, because Evil King Solomon is related to Charming, not Snow, his vendetta against Pete is to provoke Tedplestiltskin (trademark me, myth) because Ted killed his wife instead of Steph ,as was the original deal.

I have also genderbent a couple of other characters, like Pinocchio is going to be Alice, when she shows up, and Wilbur Cross and Howard Goodman are Maleficent, and Maleficent's kid respectively.

I have simplified the chaos of the Swan-Mills-Nolan-Gold-Cassidy-Jones family tree as best I can by splitting some of the characters' functions in the story up. Like Pete, as Ted's brother, takes on part of the role of Baelfire, Rumple's son, as well as Snow White, and narratively the Darlings in Peter Pan, while I have another original character (the son of Jenny and Andy Kilgore, who will be Captain Hook), to take Bae/Neal's role as Henry's father, and later on, part of Captain Hook.

I am also killing off Solomon early, instead of my Neal OC, and giving Regina's redemption arc to Becky Barnes, who's acting as the Wicked Witch Of The West, because I said so.

And it's just changes that ripple off of these, mainly.

[reiashiftsrealities]

I hear so many people talk about how the “coincidences” between Katniss Everdeen and Lucy Gray Baird weakened the storyline and I just do not agree.

Coriolanus Snow is naturally a cold, hardened leader. We have seen throughout all four books that he is cruel. There have been only two people he has ever had true compassion for and that is his mother and Lucy Gray. Lucy Gray was the love of his life up until the point in which she left him.

How did she leave him? She told him, and I quote:

“I think I’ll go dig up some katniss, since we got the fire going anyway. There’s a good patch by the lake.”

Snow’s last memory of Lucy Gray was her leaving to get katniss roots. So imagine his surprise when a fiery, spirited young girl named Katniss Everdeen is the tribute from 12, wearing a mockingjay pin of all things, and with obviously no respect for the Capitol. Almost the exact same as Lucy Gray.

He’s always been a cold leader, but he had a obviously special vendetta against Katniss.

The similarities between the two didn’t weaken the plot.

It made it personal.

[valkyrieandstrangeridingaragorn]

What is so frustrating and terrifying about this whole thing is that the show runners chose to created the TVA and to deliberately use images from 1984 and have them use fascistic tactics. They choice to created that poster about the gas chambers. Every awful thing the TVA does was written to be that way. The gas chamber thing is especially noteworthy because it was promotion for season 2. But now they are calling the TVA a family and saying it's a grey area. It's actively a problem and the only reason they can get a reason they get away with it is because they aren't directly tied to the nazis like Hydra is. Which only tells me people only understand in concept why Hydra is bad and not the actual reasons

Pretty much. If they see a swastika they can understand what's wrong with it, but if you take their methods and their ideology, you paint them in a different (better) light, you pick the "right" targets to torture and you write the fascists as charismatic and funny... a lot of people don't realize what's going on. That's scary in and by itself, but it's the perfect opportunity to write series and movies that will show that and help people figure it out... it's not the time to double down!

I know I've said this a million times already, but the Hunger Games are right there. Flickerman was written more or less like Mobius: funny, charismatic, interesting... but the story never shied away from portraying him as the villain that he was, probably the scariest one in District 1 as his job was to convince the audience that the Games were entertainment worth watching on TV.

Hell, they even have a scene with Snow and Plutarch where the latter is explaining exactly how to manipulate the audience by showing Katniss and Peeta's wedding news in order to sway the audience against them. That's how you do it! That's the story taking a stand against the Capitol and its fascism.

But the Loki series doesn't want that at all. They're showing us that fascism and trying to convince us that there's a certain level of it that is acceptable. They had the villain info dump a lot of shit in ep6 but how much on-screen time did we get from the so-called heroes disputing that argument? Or did everything Sylvie say focus on her own personal vendetta instead of the ideology? And what's even worse: the only one who tried to speak against it was Loki... but he was framed as the villain in that argument!

They wrote it that way. And now they're giving interviews claiming it's all morally grey and no one is good or bad. Fuck that. Thanos was right and now this? I'm seeing a pattern. Maybe this is the reason why the Accords were repealed off-screen with one single line whereas CW spent the entire freaking time tellings its audience that the heroes are so bad and they need to be reined in. WTF, Marvel.

[stilldancewithyou]

so I read The Ballad of Songbird and Snakes at least a year ago and I just saw the movie today. And I have a crazy theory that I want to share because I haven't seen anyone else talk about it. My immediate first thought when I finished the book and at the end of the movie was wait...Lucy Gray almost definitely survived and probably made it to District 13. What if she is President Coin? She's the same age as Snow so she'd 100% still be alive when Katniss goes to the Hunger Games. Also Snow and Coin HATE each other and Coin was super desperate to take Snow down, I always kinda thought it was weird in Mockingjay how it was almost like they knew each other because they seemed to have such personal vendettas against each other, the way they hated each other felt a little too personal. And towards the end of Mockingjay, after the rebels take the president's mansion, Katniss finds Snow in the rose greenhouse and he tells her not to trust Coin and that Coin won't hesitate to betray her. And then in district 13 everything is gray, everyone wears gray and there is no singing and dancing, which Katniss points out and thinks is super odd.

Idk I also just really like the idea that the last thing Lucy Gray told Snow was that she was going to get Katniss and (if she is Coin) she DOES get Katniss when she rescues her from the arena in Catching Fire. Also remember Snow died because he was laughing so hard he choked on his blood after Katniss killed Coin instead of executing him (also the fact that she wanted to have him executed in from everybody, just like the hanging tree!!!), I always thought it was so bizarre because why was it that funny to him? It makes sense if she was Lucy Gray. When Katniss killed her instead, Snow won- HE convinced Katniss to do it, HE killed Coin (and he convinced someone who was definitely somehow connected to the Covey, after she tried killing him in the woods outside 12 just like how his father died!!!!!). He finally won the battle between him and Lucy Gray. No wonder he laughed so much. Snow lands on top.

I rest my case.

[blood-injections]

I've been brainstorming the tma au i was going to start writing it but now. The hunger games au brainrot has taken over sorry im starting that instead. Basically its a fusion of the two worlds since they're like super similar anyway, bat city/the capital, same difference. Dracs/scarecrows/peacekeepers/etc. Snow/the director. Same thing. And both had wars that the younger generation experienced only a sliver of but are still being punished for. Battery city is just like on a smaller scale and more condensed than panem obviously. The districts are like the different sectors of battery city- city center, the highrises, the neon district, a few others ill come up with names for, and the slums, which is like the district 12 of battery city. Theres some infrastructure like technically outside the city like farms and power stations to the north and east that people work at, but its all walled and connected to the city keep Battery citizens in and rebels out.

Rebels, or killjoys, fight not just the games, but all of Better Livings bullshit, but some definitely have a personal vendetta against the games and the director. Theres not many killjoys yet since it hasnt been crazy long since the wars, theres only been so many games, most current killjoys are veterans of the wars or children born in the desert by them, or survivors that managed not to get rounded up, or lastly, those that have managed to get out of battery city to join the rebelion. Lots of which rebelled after losing someone important to the games or just realizing how fucked it all is. Theres the underground rebeion inside the city, the juvie halls, but they're different.

The arena for the games.. I'm figuring it out. My initial thought was that maybe they just dump them in the desert, but that'd make it too easy for the rebels no matter what defences and monsters there are. Thats the killjoys domain. Besides, the games are very high tech despite being relatively new, because its bli and theyre futuristic and shit, theres laser guns. Im thinking either the arenas dead in the center of the city, a big dome that the levels of battery city are build around. Or its oitside of the city like the infrastructure is, to the north or somewhere hard for the rebels to get to because of radiation and bad land and and stuff in the way, but bli just fly the contestants in easy. And maybe the arenas like in what used to be a giant football stadium.

The games are pretty much the same as the since material, two people picked from every district, every level of the city. Theres not twelve of them though, there'll probably end up just being eight or so. But I think I might make a twist, that the zones kind of count as another level, and if Better Living has any killjoy prisoners at the time, they'll be thrown in as contestants, or maybe not, maybe targets, so that its just a very elaborate execution. Theyre thrown in to be hunted and whatever contestant takes them out gets a reward that could help them win.

I'm gonna make the Phoenix Witch a huuge thing in the games. Like shes not something many battery city born and raised people know about, only some droids and slums people and juvie halls, and they only know stories passed on by killjoys or zomerunners or past victors of the games. But no matter who you are, once you step foot in the arena, you can feel her presence. Contestants will see her in their dreams or out of the corner of their eye, they'll see her at night collcting the souls of the fallen even if their bodies have already been cleaned up by bli. They'll see her when they die and whoevers left standing in the end will go home with her great sorrow, but also her forgiveness for what they've done to win, to survive. Each and every tribute will pray to her at some point, even if they dont know her name yet. They just feel her, and they allow themselves to find a sense of safety in believing in a higher power. And they pray that the other tributes do not suffer, and that if the times comes they pray to go quickly themselves, and if that times does not come, they pray to be forgiven for the blood on their hands. Or maybe not, maybe they pray for a divine punishment, a reckoning for their sins. But no such punishment ever comes, only the witch wiping your tears and telling you that you will heal.

Just. Love and hope and sorrow and grief perceiving in the face of slaughter and horror and the hatred of those in power that dont believe in the inherent goodness within every being.

[mr-nauseam]

HI, so, I really wanted to learn more about the au you're writing, but one thing that have been keeping on my mind was: what do you think that'll happen in long term? in the sense of the second rebellion and the 74th games and stuff, do you think it'll still happen?

I wanted to answer this question today and it's at night, so there might be a bit of rambling in my answer but let's get started!

First thanks for the question!!! Also I've decided to call this Au: Suffocation Au so I can distinguish it from my other wips even if I don't talk about many of them, haha.

I have to admit that I don't have such long term plans, I usually enjoy open endings and not getting so involved with the events in THG but I do have some ideas of the future after the events that take place in Suffocation (one shot) and I will leave my hypothesis concerning the second rebellion and the 74th games at the end!

The Cardew family enters into crisis. On the one hand, they have no other biological heir, so they will have to give one day the power of the bank to another family, which will cause a lot of tension between the elite families and well, vultures.

The Cardew also demand a meticulous investigation, Livia's mother suspects at one point Coriolanus and there is a potential scandal when that happens Casca (who did not die because in this Au, Coriolanus returns to the capitol in another way) tries to support this hypothesis publicly, this rumor is silenced by the fortune of the Plinth (Sejanus specifically does and this is what makes Coriolanus finally murder Highbottom).

The wedding gift that Coriolanus gives to Sejanus is to murder Dr. Gaul, because in this au specifically Sejanus and Dr. Gaul have a history together of failed apprentice and teacher and a lot of shit happens between them, and Sejanus was very serious when he says that Gaul was in charge of ruining his life (house arrest and he was practicing gamemaker in what Coryo returned and other things).

Some former mentors are more vocal in their opinions against the games (Lysistrata Vickers in specific), and it takes longer for the inhabitants to adopt it as a show, instead of solely a punishment of war because Coryo doesn't immediately return to the capitol when he is sent to D12 and Gaul and Sejanus are not interested in making nice shows, but in fighting 24/7.

Snow not only kills political rivals to be president, he will also kill more people he thinks hurt Sejanus because since he didn't make a big deal about Dr. Gaul he thinks Sejanus approve it somehow, and there are some abandonment issues that Lucy Gray reinforced and he's really as dependent on Sejanus as Sejanus is on him.

The public opinion of the Snow-Plinth wedding is that it was out of pity for Sejanus, who by that point has a reputation for being mentally ill / unstable, this will interfere later with the possibility of an heir (lab baby).

Io Jasper is the head of Gaul's lab when she dies and I believe she could had many arguments with Snow.

About 2nd rebellion: I think the rebellion could have happened earlier, there are details make me believe that it is possible the Capitol is not a united front, able to offer the same comforts and unity among its inhabitants, and Katniss mentions how many people in the capitol from her perspective were there for personal vendettas and we know that if people lose their comfort, they are more willing to want things to change.

What I fear is that an earlier 2nd rebellion (maybe Haymitch games?), could be more problematic in many ways, and end in a very long war (lets remember the dont had the neccesary resources was a big thing in revolution dont be allowed to happen), the D13 would do its thing and I suppose that would affect in many ways. Your question definitely made me began to think about what it would be like!

I promise that if I structure this in a better text later I will share it, I hope I have still answered some questions you had? Thank you again for being interested in my au, I'm open to more questions if anybody want!

[talesfromasnarkylisa]

Stranded In Arendelle: Chapter 3

After finalizing the trade deal with Arendelle, Rapunzel decided to talk to Eugene. Much as she enjoyed hanging out with the populace, she had a bad feeling the gathering was going to go awry. 

“Darling, I think we should go soon,” she told her husband.

Eugene was busy hanging out with a prince when Rapunzel approached him.

“Why?” Eugene was confused. “We’re having the times of our lives here! No property disputes to solve, no world ending disaster. What could possibly go wrong?”

“A lot, actually,” Rapunzel sighed. “The queen is as friendly as a rock. Actually, no. Rocks have way more personality than her. She absolutely refuses to directly negotiate with me. Her sister’s trying to marry a money-grabbing Southern Isles prince. She says Elsa would approve, but I just can’t see that happening. And I have no damn clue as to whether there’s a curse or a vengeful lost royal with magical powers, but there sure as hell are people with a serious vendetta against Arendelle!”

“Calm down, sweetheart,” Eugene tried to comfort her. “I’m sure there are enough bodyguards to secure everything.”

“Yeah, I don’t know about that,” worried Rapunzel. “I also talked to the advisor, and he told me Arendelle has a lot of enemies. Thus why they needed the trade deal.”

Eugene thought about what Rapunzel was saying. He was starting to worry a little, too. There were a lot of land disputes back in Corona. And with King Frederic’s state of health, it would be unwise to leave the kingdom with just him for too long.

“Ok, we’ll leave by the end of today,” he stated. “I just need to finish up discussing some possibly useful weapons for Corona’s defenses.”

“Fine by me,” Rapunzel responded.

…

To say there was quite a scene when Rapunzel and Eugene got back into the castle would be quite the understatement. As Rapunzel predicted, Queen Elsa was very much not fine with the red-haired prince - who as it turned out, was Prince Hans - marrying Anna. Everyone in the room stopped to watch their spat.

So much for that discussion, Eugene was disappointed.

The royals of Corona tried to get out of the castle. But before they could even leave the throne room, the doors behind them shut and locked. Anna pulled off one of Elsa’s gloves. The next thing Eugene and Rapunzel knew, the queen summoned ice spikes with her hand.

Looks like I know who has winter powers now, figured Rapunzel.

She pressed the button on Varian’s unfreezing device to keep the spikes from attacking her. As Elsa fled the palace, a snowstorm was left in her midst. Everyone - from the coronation guests to Anna to the populace at large - were shocked. In the distance, tourist cruises were rapidly departing to escape the icy weather.

“Run,” Eugene stared at Rapunzel. “If we get to one of those ships in time, we’ll at least make it out of here.”

Rapunzel obliged. They ran through snow, slush, and wind. They took every carriage possible until the services closed due to the worsening snowfall. Eugene slipped on ice twice, but only got a few bruises. The two made it to the dock when the last boat left.

They were now stranded in Arendelle.

July 22nd, 1843

Rapunzel and Eugene were in the library they initially planned to get Arendelle maps from. The princess was busy using the telegraph. After having trouble deciphering its beeps and boops at first, she took an instruction manual from one of the shelves.

“Any luck with the telegraph, Rapunzel?” asked Eugene.

“It’s taking forever to operate the damn thing,” she answered. “But yes. Varian’s almost done fixing an airship to send here for us in a few days.”

“With this kind of weather,” Eugene despaired, “I’m not sure an airship’s going to make it.”

Rapunzel closed the instruction manual for the telegraph.

“There should be antifreeze devices on the airship,” Rapunzel stated. “Besides, we were originally supposed to be gone for a week anyway.”

“True,” Eugene responded. 

All of the sudden, Rapunzel spotted Nuru in the library. She waved to her, and Nuru approached Rapunzel.

“Hello!” greeted Nuru. “What are you two doing here?”

“We were trying to get the telegraph to work,” stated Rapunzel. “so we could get back to Corona on time.”

“Oh,” Nuru put some books in her bag. “Do you have any idea where books about meteorites might be?”

As Eugene went to talk to the librarian. Rapunzel cleaned up the telegraph.

“I don’t know,” she answered. “I haven’t been to Arendelle before. Ask Eugene when he comes back. Maybe he’ll know.”

“Ok,” said Nuru. “It’s just that my kingdom has dealt with meteorite attacks for about a decade now.”

Something clicked into Rapunzel’s head. Meteor showers. Hawada. State of emergency. She suddenly remembered part of why Corona needed the Arendellian trade deal; because Arendelle had been refusing to directly help Hawada for a while now and King Frederic wanted to. Unfortunately, Rapunzel had no idea how to help Nuru beyond the rather shaky trade deal the former made to get enough money.

“You know,” Nuru told Rapunzel, “I’ve never experienced snow in my life. I kind of want to enjoy all the frozen white crystals outside. Make snow angels, build snowmen. Wanna come?”

Right, thought the princess of Corona. Nuru’s 16.

“When Eugene comes back,” Rapunzel responded. “I think he could use the fun too.”

“Yay!” exclaimed Princess Nuru.

…

Once Eugene came back, Rapunzel and Nuru started building a snowman outside. Eugene needed to finish up securing those weapons for Corona first, but he promised Rapunzel he’d come back to see the final product.

“There’s so much snow!” Nuru exclaimed. “It doesn’t even go below freezing back home,”

“First time for everything,” said Rapunzel.

Rapunzel gathered the carrot and buttons for the snowman’s face. In the meantime, Nuru struggled to find good packing snow.

“How do I make this into a snowball?” Nuru was frustrated. 

“Look for snow that’s kind of sticky,” answered Rapunzel. “Close to warmer spots.”

“But isn’t snow supposed to be cold?” asked Nuru.

“Yes,” Rapunzel responded, “but not too cold.”

The two princesses were interrupted by a raven haired woman walking by. Slightly younger than Rapunzel, she was fair skinned and wore a grey overcoat on top of peasant clothing. 

“Cool snowman!” she complimented. “Who built it?”

“Both of us,” stated Rapunzel. 

“I’m Princess Nuru, by the way,” Nuru told the woman.

The woman in the gray jacket smiled.

“Nice to meet you both!” she exclaimed. “The name’s Kirsti, for the record.”

“Do you know where Eugene Fitzherbert is?” Rapunzel realized that it was a long time since her husband left.

“The brunet southern guard captain?” wondered Kirsti.

“Yes,” responded Rapunzel.

“I saw him with a bunch of well-dressed men,” said Kirsti. “Either castle guards or soldiers. He didn’t seem happy to be with them.”

Rapunzel dropped the snowball she just started packing.

“I have to go now,” she told the two women. 

“Bye!” Kirsti left.

“May I come with you, Rapunzel?” asked Nuru.

Rapunzel sighed.

“Eugene could be in a very complex and dangerous situation right now. You’re a teenager. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“That might be true,” answered Nuru. “But this trade deal he’s helping out with affects my country which I’m representing here. Which I’m running half the time at this point, even though there’s an acting regent.”

The princess of Corona thought for a bit. Considering the alternative would have been to leave Nuru to fend for herself in a snowy foreign kingdom alone with a shady Westergaard in charge, Rapunzel decided to let Nuru come with her.  (Wattpad version: https://www.wattpad.com/1462062364-stranded-in-arendelle-chapter-3)