#live music capitol of the world

[gogogodzilla]

hiiiii can i request a smut one shot with peeta🥰 anything you’d like. thank you!!!

Dress || Peeta Mellark

peeta mellark x reader warnings: nsfw 18+, unprotected sex, clothed sex, slight dirty talk, fingering, mentions of panty stealing, continuation of this post masterlist ✩ read on ao3 ✩

Effie isn’t lying when she mentions that the Capitol spared no expense for the reception at President Snow’s mansion, although it’s probably pocket change for the Capitol. Humongous parties like this are the norm, after all. 

Your engagement ring’s an unfamiliar sensation on your finger but not an unwelcome one. You link your arm with Peeta’s as you explore the mansion. The ceiling of the banquet hall replicates the night sky and reminds you of home. You wonder if any of the Capitol citizens have ever seen the night sky. The lights from the city are usually too bright, and you doubt many have bothered to venture outside of the Capitol. 

You walk through the ornate halls, exchanging pleasantries with dignitaries and various guests. As the night wears on you begin to think that your cheeks might cramp up from all the smiling. 

It isn’t long before you find where the food is being kept and your mouth waters at the sight. Tables are laden with every kind of dish you could imagine and even more that you’ve never seen in your life line the walls.

“It isn’t fair,” you whisper as you gaze at the various tables. 

Peeta turns to you with a barely-masked grim look. “People are starving…” he began but you’re quick to cut him off. 

“I know.” 

Before you know it, you’re sampling everything you possibly could, determined not to let anything go to waste. It’s no time before your moments of peace with Peeta are ruined by your prep team descending on you. Their drunken babbles mix together, but you do your best to keep up with what they’re saying. 

Octavia questions why you aren’t eating and you brush her off with a laugh, claiming to be unable to fit another bite. This causes a chorus of high-pitched laughs to break out amongst your prep team, and you shoot Peeta a confused look which he mirrors. 

“No one lets that stop them!” Flavius exclaims as he leads you and Peeta to a table holding thin-stemmed wine glasses filled with a clear liquid. 

Peeta picks one up to take a sip, and it’s almost comical how fast every member of your prep team moves to stop him. 

“Not here!” Octavia shrieks. 

Venia points to doors that lead to the bathroom, “You have to do it in there or you’ll get it all over the floor!” 

Peeta looks between the glass and your prep team, quickly putting the pieces together. “You mean this will make me puke?” 

You attempt to hide your disgust while your prep team chuckles. 

“It’s so you can keep eating. How else would you be able to try everything?” Octavia says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

Peeta sets the glass gently back down on the table and holds his arm out to you. “I think it’s time for a dance. My love?” 

Peeta leads you onto the dance floor and pulls you into his arms, mimicking the stance of the dance Effie taught you not too long ago. The dances at home are more lively than this, but you appreciate the closeness this one provides. 

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” he murmurs, and his jaw tenses. 

You run your fingertips along his shoulder and then give it a reassuring squeeze. “Just one more night, and then we can go home,” you remind softly, a small smile gracing your features as you attempt to comfort him. 

He leans his forehead against yours, sighing. “I can’t wait.” 

You pull away slightly, eyes flickering to the front pocket of his suit where your panties are safely nestled. He follows your gaze and grins slyly. 

“You know, I think there are a few rooms we didn’t explore,” you suggest, looking at the crowd around you. Most people are too busy with their conversations to notice you. 

The soft music comes to an end and you give a small curtsy while Peeta bows back. He takes your hand and leads you through the opulent halls of the mansion. Candlelight illuminates your path as you follow him, and a jolt of the thrill of what’s to come runs down your spine. 

Your adventure leads you to a nearly empty hallway and Peeta picks a room to peek into. Once satisfied with the apparent emptiness of the room, he pulls you in and shuts the door gently behind you. He spins you around and before you know it, his lips are on yours. You’re quick to deepen the kiss, and he lets out a small groan in response. 

You pull away to catch your breath and turn your head to admire the room you’re in. It’s elegantly appointed with plush furnishings and a canopy bed. Peeta takes the opportunity to trail kisses down the side of your neck, and you lean your head to the side to give him more room. 

Peeta’s hands begin to wander across your body, caressing any skin he can reach as he nudges you closer to the bed. Your mind is screaming at you to stop this and return to the party, but the ache between your legs proves to be much more persuasive. 

The backs of your thighs hit the mattress and you clamber onto the bed as quickly as your dress will allow. Peeta follows you and his lips are back on yours within an instant. You groan into the kiss, already becoming lost in him. 

He runs his hands up your legs, pulling your dress up along with it. You nearly forgot how exposed you were the entire night until the cool air of the bedroom hits your dripping heat. Peeta kneels between your legs, and you spare a glance at him. His eyes are half-lidded and his cheeks are flushed and he looks absolutely perfect. 

Your eyes dip down to the very obvious tent in his pants and you can’t help but reach for it. He watches as you palm him, occasionally grinding against your hand. 

You tentatively reach for the button of his pants and look up at him for permission. With a nod of his head, you pop the button of his trousers and tug the zipper down. Clumsy fingers reach within the waistband of his briefs and free his cock from its confines. Peeta groans as you slowly stroke him.

He drags his fingertips along your thighs, slowly nearing where you need him the most. 

You buck your hips unconsciously, desperate for his touch, as you continue to gingerly stroke him. 

Peeta slowly, sinfully, circles your clit before dipping down to tease your entrance, earning a mewl from you. He presses a finger inside you, pumping it slowly before adding another one. 

Your eyes roll in the back of your head as he touches what feels like the deepest depths of your insides, and your grip loosens on his cock as you get lost in the sensation of him. 

He removes his fingers and you whine at the loss, but he quickly satiates you with the drag of his cock through your folds. Your fingers tangle in the bedsheets on either side of you, desperate for something to hold onto. 

“So beautiful, my love,” Peeta murmurs as the head of his cock teases your entrance. 

“Please, Peeta,” you whine as you grab onto his forearm, the cuff of his suit wrinkling under your grasp. 

He chuckles before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “S’okay, my love. I’ll take care of you.” 

Slowly, he pushes inside of you and your eyebrows knit together as you focus on taking all of him. You’ve never felt so full in your life, and it was making your head spin. 

Your hands slide up to cup Peeta’s face, and his pulse quickens under your fingertips. You tug him closer, longing for his lips on yours. 

The kiss is gentle and sweet, much unlike your heated and needy movements moments ago. Slowly, Peeta begins moving his hips and you gasp against him. He takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, and your cheeks flush. 

You pull him impossibly closer as the pace of his thrusts increases and he presses sloppy kisses against the column of your neck. He pins your arms on either side of your head and intertwines your fingers with his. 

Peeta rests his head against your shoulder and with every roll of his hips little pants and moans leave him. You wished he would be louder, but you feared you’d be shot on sight if you got caught. Although, it would be a very memorable headline for the evening news. 

“You’re so,” he begins but is cut off by both of you moaning as he reaches a particularly sensitive spot within you and you clench against him. “Fuck, my love.” 

“Faster,” you whine against him, acutely aware of the amount of time you’ve been gone from your own party. 

Peeta ruts deeply within you as he quickens his pace, and the moans that left him cause your cheeks to flush. His head resting on your shoulder allows you to hear every little noise that he makes, and you love every single second of it. 

You reach down to where you’re connected and draw hasty circles against your clit, causing the familiar coil inside you to tense. You’re not sure whether it’s the final roll of his hips or your fingers circling your clit just right that throws you over the edge, but you let out a loud moan that Peeta quickly swallows with a kiss. 

His hips falter against your own, and Peeta quickly pulls out of you. You whine at the loss, and Peeta kneels between your legs as he strokes himself once and then twice before his release coats your inner thighs. 

You attempt to catch your breath as you watch Peeta come down from his high. He leans down and captures your lips in his. You smile into the kiss, momentarily forgetting what awaits you outside the bedroom door. 

You pull away and cup his face, “We should probably rejoin the party. I think Effie will be looking for us.” 

He sighs as he leans into your touch, “It was nice to forget for a moment where we are and why we’re here.” 

“It was,” you nod as you lean in for one last kiss. Peeta is quick to oblige you before pulling out his handkerchief and cleaning up the mess the two of you made. 

He rights himself before helping you to the edge of the bed, careful of your skirts. 

“Do you think people noticed?” 

You huff out a laugh, “For the sake of our lives, I hope they were too busy with the food.”

“It’d certainly make our act more convincing,” he grins as he helps you stand. Your legs are a little wobbly and you cling to him. 

“You keep making my legs feel like this, and it won’t be an act anymore,” you tease as you both near the door. 

He leans down to whisper against the shell of your ear, “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

[lilyslark]

so each of the mockingjays—lucy gray, haymitch, and katniss/peeta—will have a book centered around their games once sunrise on the reaping is released. however, my theory is that sotr won’t be told directly from haymitch’s pov. here’s why:

• lucy gray’s story is told through the capitol’s perspective. she is snow’s tribute, his girlfriend, his ghost. the only way that lucy gray gets to write her own story is through her music, which lives on through the other mockingjays long after she disappears. even sejanus, arguably another mockingjay of that era, is entirely at the mercy of snow’s capitol prejudices

• haymitch’s story might be told by someone questioning the games, someone in a position to see through the capitol’s propaganda (ex: plutarch, a career, etc.) it’s the sunrise, the start of a new story, one step closer to understanding the true mockingjay. haymitch doesn’t quite have his own voice yet, but his story isn’t limited to the capitol’s perspective of him.

• katniss gets to tell her own story as a first-person narrator. at last, the mockingjay has a voice of her own. and while peeta doesn’t quite have this same voice, his story is told through a fellow mockingjay, the person who knows him better than anybody in the world. and the other mockingjays of their time? rue? prim? their stories are all told through katniss’s perspective—an equal, a fellow member of the districts, somebody who truly sees them beyond the capitol’s propaganda.

each of their stories (tbosas, sotr, thg) is a progression towards the true story of the mockingjay, or the revolution of panem—from ashes to a spark to flames.

[amirasainz]

Can you write some Gladiator!Carlos and Goddess!Reader? Maybe Charles is the priest that helps Carlos contact Reader and Carlos falls in love with her? Please, please, please♥️♥️♥️

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl ♥️

Goddess

The arena roared with life as Carlos emerged into the light, his bronzed skin gleaming under the harsh sun. He raised his gladius, saluting the adoring masses of the Capitol. Every movement of his body, every flick of his raven hair, was calculated and captivating. The people loved him as much for his victories in the arena as for his charm outside it. Yet, beneath the surface of his confident smile, there was a gnawing emptiness, a longing for something he could not name.

In stark contrast to Carlos’ boisterous life, his friend Charles lived in quiet reverence. Charles was a high priest, his life devoted to the goddess Yn, the deity of beauty and sanctuary. He was a man of elegance and grace, clothed in simple but fine robes, his voice soft but commanding. The two had been friends since childhood, their bond forged in moments of shared wonder and mischief.

This particular evening, they sat together in Charles’ serene garden. It was a quiet refuge, full of blooming flowers and soft, tinkling fountains. The sun was setting, casting the sky in hues of orange and pink. A small table laden with fruit, bread, and wine sat between them.

Before they ate, Charles clasped his hands, closing his eyes. “Goddess Yn, radiant light of perfection, we thank you for the sanctuary of your beauty and the peace you bestow upon us. May your grace guide us always.”

Carlos watched, amused but respectful, as Charles plucked a perfect white blossom from a nearby bush and placed it on a small altar dedicated to Yn. He poured a trickle of wine into a shallow dish as an offering.

“You really do take this goddess seriously, don’t you?” Carlos said, his lips quirking in a teasing smile. “You’ve mentioned her before, but I’ve never seen you like this. What makes her so special?”

Charles opened his eyes, his expression serene but passionate. “She is everything. Yn is not just a goddess of beauty, but of sanctuary. She is the place we turn to when the world becomes too much. Her presence is perfection itself. Those who feel lost find solace in her gaze.”

Carlos leaned back, folding his arms. “You speak as if you’ve met her.”

“In a way, I have,” Charles replied, his voice lowering as though speaking a sacred truth. “I have stood in her temple, basked in her light. She has no equal, Carlos. Not in the arena, not in the Capitol, not anywhere. You think you understand beauty, but until you have stood before her, you do not.”

Carlos raised a skeptical eyebrow. “She’s that perfect, is she?”

Charles leaned forward, a knowing smile on his lips. “Come with me to her temple. See for yourself.”

---

The Temple of Yn was unlike anything Carlos had seen before. It stood atop a hill, surrounded by pristine gardens that seemed to glow under the moonlight. The building itself was constructed of pure white marble, its columns etched with intricate designs of vines and flowers. Soft music seemed to drift through the air, though Carlos could not see its source.

Charles led him inside. The interior was quiet, the air thick with the scent of jasmine. At the far end of the temple was a statue of Yn, a figure of striking beauty carved from pale stone. She stood with one hand outstretched, her expression serene yet commanding.

Carlos was about to scoff at the statue’s perfection when he felt a sudden shift in the air. From behind the statue, a figure emerged.

It was her.

Yn walked forward, her movements so fluid it was as if she were gliding. Her form was human, yet ethereal. Her hair cascaded like molten gold, and her eyes held galaxies within them. She did not speak, but her presence spoke volumes.

Carlos fell to his knees without realizing it. “Yn,” he whispered, his voice trembling. He fumbled with the pouch at his belt, producing gold coins and laying them at her feet. From his pocket, he drew a crimson flower, offering it alongside the gold. “Take these, goddess. Take anything. Take my heart—it’s yours.”

Yn’s gaze fell upon him, and he felt as though the world had stopped. She stepped closer, the faintest smile gracing her lips. Then, to his astonishment, she bent down and kissed his cheek. Her touch was like a spark of fire and ice, leaving him breathless.

She turned next to Charles, her most faithful follower. With infinite tenderness, she stroked his face, her fingers lingering as if in silent gratitude. Charles closed his eyes, a tear escaping down his cheek.

Without a word, Yn turned and disappeared back into the shadows of her temple.

---

Carlos remained kneeling long after she had gone, his mind spinning. When he finally looked up at Charles, his expression was one of pure devotion. “She is… everything you said and more. I understand now.”

Charles placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder, his own eyes still shining with emotion. “I knew you would. It is a gift to find faith, Carlos. You have seen her. You are changed.”

“I am hers,” Carlos murmured, clutching his chest as if to steady the storm of emotions within him. “Forever.”

Charles smiled, his heart swelling with pride. His dearest friend had found what he had always hoped he would: devotion to the goddess who had shaped his life. Together, they sat in the quiet temple, the lingering presence of the goddess Yn wrapping around them like a warm embrace.

[andy-15-07]

Night Change

masterlist ! pairing: Coriolanus Snow x reader

SUMMARY : When two souls become one

GENRE: fluff, loveeee

The opulent ballroom glittered with crystal chandeliers and elaborate floral arrangements as Y/n descended the grand staircase, her ivory gown cascading around her like a waterfall of silk and lace. The room hushed in awe at the breathtaking sight before them. All eyes were on her as she made her way towards the altar, where Coriolanus Snow, the enigmatic and powerful leader of Panem, awaited.

Coriolanus stood at the front, dressed in a tailored suit that accentuated his authoritative presence. His steely gaze softened as he watched Y/n approach, captivated by her radiance. The air seemed to crackle with anticipation as they locked eyes, a silent promise passing between them.

The ceremony commenced with the officiant's words flowing through the air like a gentle melody. Y/n and Coriolanus exchanged vows, each word spoken with sincerity and love. As they slid the rings onto each other's fingers, a tangible connection formed, sealing their destinies together.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the officiant declared, and a wave of applause erupted from the gathered crowd. Y/n and Coriolanus shared a tender kiss, sealing the union they had both longed for.

The reception unfolded with opulence, the ballroom transformed into a dreamscape of music, laughter, and decadent cuisine. Y/n and Coriolanus moved gracefully through the throng of guests, their connection evident in the shared glances and subtle touches that passed between them.

Amid the festivities, Y/n found a moment to steal away with her new husband to a quiet balcony overlooking the city. The night air was cool against their skin as they gazed at the sprawling lights below.

"Coriolanus," Y/n began, her voice barely above a whisper, "I never imagined I'd find myself here, married to the most powerful man in Panem."

He turned to her, a small smile playing on his lips. "And I never thought I'd find someone who could challenge me, who could understand the complexities of this world we live in."

Y/n's eyes softened as she looked into his. "I love you, Coriolanus Snow, with all that I am."

He pulled her closer, his arms wrapping around her waist. "And I love you, Y/n, more than words could ever express. You are my equal, my partner in every sense."

The night continued with dancing and revelry, the couple moving effortlessly through the sea of well-wishers. Yet, amidst the celebration, a shadow of concern crossed Coriolanus's face.

"Y/n," he said, his voice low, "I know that my role in Panem has garnered its fair share of enemies. Are you prepared for the challenges that may come our way?"

She met his gaze, her eyes unwavering. "I am prepared for anything, Coriolanus. As long as we face it together."

He nodded, a mixture of gratitude and determination in his eyes. "Together, then."

The following days were a whirlwind of celebrations and newfound responsibilities. Y/n took on her role as the First Lady of Panem with grace and poise, standing by Coriolanus's side as they navigated the intricacies of political life.

Despite their united front, challenges did arise. Whispers of dissent and disapproval circulated among the Capitol elite, casting a shadow on their union. Y/n faced public scrutiny with resilience, standing firm beside her husband. Coriolanus, in turn, took decisive actions to quell the unrest, demonstrating to the Capitol that their leader's happiness was not to be trifled with.

One evening, as they strolled through the rose gardens of the Presidential Mansion, Y/n spoke softly to Coriolanus. "I never expected this life, but with you, I am willing to face whatever challenges come our way."

He took her hand, his thumb caressing her knuckles. "Y/n, you are my anchor, my source of strength. Together, we are unstoppable."

Their love story unfolded against the backdrop of political intrigue and societal expectations, a tale of two souls bound together in a world that sought to tear them apart. But through it all, Y/n and Coriolanus faced each obstacle with unwavering commitment, emerging stronger and more united than ever.

As they stood together on the balcony of the Presidential Mansion, gazing out at the Capitol skyline, they knew that their love was a force that transcended the boundaries of politics and power—a love that would endure, unyielding, against the tides of time.

[bishopsbeloved]

something holy

lucy gray baird x female reader

Lucy Gray Baird has had you under her spell the entire time you’ve known her. She’s a creature not of this world, something gorgeous, something holy.

3k words, fluff, mild angst

Lucy Gray Baird is the sweetest girl you know.

You’ve known her for a while, now, but you’ve known of her for even longer. You’ve only ever lived in District Twelve, a Seam girl born and bred, but you remember more vividly than anything that colourful day the Covey were rounded up and forced to settle in your home. Even then, you felt a draw to them. Sure, everyone was intrigued by them, even more so once they stepped into the spotlight and made a name for themselves. You knew you weren’t special, you were one of many in a crowd of admirers, but that didn’t stop you from wanting to know them. You wanted to know the dark-haired girl your age, who you’d occasionally glimpse through a crowd or across a plaza. This hunger, barely sated by scraps of fleeting encounters across the span of years, would only grow with age.

Twelve is the district furthest from the Capitol, and it’s the most neglected, to be blunt — it still has the lowest Peacekeeper to population ratio in the entirety of Panem. A blessing in disguise, you consider it, but it often renders the Seam a relatively lawless place. When the Covey arrived, the best part of a decade ago, it was even worse. The Covey kids were never forced to attend Capitol-mandated schooling in the way that the rest of the Seam kids were because they weren’t really Twelve. They didn’t really didn’t bother anyone, for the most part, and so long as that remained the case there were more important rules to be enforced elsewhere.

For the first few years of their inhabiting a crumbling little red-brick cottage at the edge of the Seam, overlooking the woods, the Covey were like daylight ghosts around town. They wove flowers into each other’s braids every morning, wore long billowy clothes even in the coldest winter snow and communicated more through melody, or strange noises, than they did words. (For a good few years of your childhood, you’d stumble down to their ends of town once a week to offer clumsy good-wish bundles of flowers and herbs, and even ribbons when you could get your hands on them. You’d be met with wide smiles or hummed tunes or, towards the end of this practice, even a beamed thank you, sweetness from Lucy Gray herself, but nothing more, and so eventually you stopped.)

At night, though, they were ghosts no longer; they’d come alive, lighting up the whole Hob with foot-stomping tavern thrashers. As you grew older, more capable, and still more captivated by them, you found yourself more and more often in attendance. That’s how you ended up meeting her; a fight broke out in the pit one night. You were close to the stage as could be, how you were whenever you got the chance, and in a whirlwind of movement and noise you found yourself caught up in the conflict. A pitcher of ale ended up being emptied onto you and you yelped as the lukewarm amber seeped into your dress, whilst its former owner cursed the loss of his drink and angrily swung the empty pitcher at the head of the whoever knocked him into you. The music halted as chaos ensued, and you scrambled to escape.

“Alright, y’all, that’s enough,” said a forceful voice from the stage, a voice you’d recognise anywhere. “You want to fight, you can go outside t’do it, I hear there’s a hell of an audience in uniform out there too.”

Billy Taupe, by this point the size of a man with the broad shoulders to show for it, set down his accordion and leapt down from the stage, forcefully breaking up the conflict, with the lean Tam Amber quick to follow. You were practically swept up onto the stage, and in an effort to de-escalate Lucy Gray reached out her hands to lift you up and into safety. She was stronger than she looked, and you marvelled at the moment, surely gaping like a fool.

“Learn to behave, folks,” she playfully chastised the crowd as Billy Taupe and Tam Amber wrestled two men out the door. You stood stiff as a board beside her, still dripping head to toe. “I’m’na give you ten, and when I get back y’all better have sorted yourselves, alright?” She jabbed a finger playfully at no one in particular before wrapping an arm around your shoulders and guiding you backstage, Maude Ivory and Barb Azure hot on your heels.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” she asked you the moment you were out the crowd’s earshot, “we been watching that whole thing —”

“— they nasty out there tonight,” chimed in Maude Ivory.

“— sure we got an old dress o’ Lucy Gray’s milling around somewhere, get you outta that thing,” Barb Azure offered kindly.

“— come here, into the light, poor thing, are you hurt? Let me see it,” Lucy Gray fretted. Seeing your features properly for the first time under the flickering of the oil fixture on the wall, she paused. “I know you.”

“I been here before,” you offered, finally summoning the courage to speak.

“No,” Lucy Gray mused, “you… you done used to bring us flowers, didn’t you?”

You froze, flushing. “Guess I did. Didn’t think you’d remember.”

“Aw hey now, I’d never forget a pretty thing like you,” she scolded you. Your cheeks burned with colour the same shade as her lips. “Why’d you ever stop? We used t’love your visits.”

“She ain’t kidding,” added Barb Azure, eyes twinkling, “Lu would doll up real early on Sundays and wait around for you.”

“Oh, shut it, you big grass,” Lucy Gray muttered, dark eyes never leaving your face. Your breath caught in your throat. “Look, we ain’t sending you back out there. How’s about we’ll find you somethin’ to change into and you’ll sit pretty with us, alright, sweet thing? What’s your name, baby?”

After that night, she kept finding reasons to be near you. Despite the draw you felt to the Covey you were scared stiff of bothering them. You’d rather die than cause them any trouble. But you and Lucy Gray, and then the whole Covey, fell into a close friendship so quickly you couldn’t help but wonder if that feeling was mutual. For a while they would tentatively invite you to picnics at the lake or bonfires in their back garden, but once they found out you could play the pan flute you were as good as one of them.

Lucy Gray began to consume your every waking thought. Lucy Gray, Lucy Gray, Lucy Gray. It’s been the same old for a good few years now. You spend every moment you can with her, whether that’s taming snakes or catching butterflies or whispering to each other late at night. She’s hardened like brandy and fiery inside, and you preen hopelessly under the light she casts on you. Lucy Gray Baird is what makes the world go round.

Yeah, she’s the sweetest girl you know. And, unbeknownst to you, she’s sweeter than ever on you.

The Covey are a superstitious people. There’s nothing they’ll heed more attentively than the whisper of fate. Lucy Gray doesn’t remember much from her childhood pre-Twelve, but she remembers when her momma would try to teach her how to see future in the way that the earth breathed. She knows to pay heed to the shape that the tea leaves at the bottom of her mug take, and where the first drop of rain falls. Everything, everything, including her heart, pushes her to you. She’s sure of it. It’s something bigger than her that connects the two of you, something cosmic, something holy. She’ll count bluebells on her walk to you — she loves me, she loves me not — and take note of the birds in the sky. She spells out love confessions to you in the chords of her guitar. She whispers poems into your morning tea before she brings it to you, careful hands cradling a mug full of love.

She knows it’s the string of fate that’s drawn her in to you. Why, why else would her family end up in Twelve?

Barb Azure teases her endlessly for the affections she harbours, and Lucy Gray will swat away her cousin with flaming cheeks and hiss half-baked threats but she’ll never deny it. There’s no denying it. There’s no denying the love she has for you, more certain than anything. She knows she loves you like she knows that the sun smiles in the sky. She’ll do anything to be around you.

“What’re you gonna do about it?” Barb Azure asks her casually one warm summer’s evening. The two are side by side in the little stone kitchen of the Covey cottage, occasionally brushing elbows as they chop vegetables in unison. It’s a comforting touch, domestic, homely. Golden-pink sun streams in through the mottled windows, and Lucy Gray basks in it like a snake. The back door is pinned open so that the children, and the strange shaggy dog Clerk Carmine’s brought home, and Maude Ivory’s goat can all trot in and out as they please. In the distance, she can see you all playing, wrestling, giggling freely, hear CC’s shrieking melodious laughter. Lucy Gray’s so at peace in this moment that she forgets she’s been asked a question.

Barb Azure’s bare foot nudges her shin gently. “Lu. What’ll you do? ‘Bout her?”

She shrugs. “Same thing I’ve always done. Keep on loving her, and take what I can get.” She seems perfectly at peace with it, and Barb Azure sighs.

“You’ll get a whole lot more if you tell her how you feel,” she chastises.

“Why, and ruin a perfectly good thing?” Lucy Gray retorts, elusive, half-mirthful, a twinkle in her eye but a weight to her words. “No, I don’t think I will, Barb Azure.”

“Aw, hold your tongue now,” Barb Azure grumbles, “cause it’ll be this old dog who’s wipin’ your tears when the belle finds someone else.” She nudges Lucy Gray good-naturedly before moving over to the stove, but Lucy Gray stays frozen, blood running cold. She hasn’t even thought of that, but it’s true, you could find someone else. Who, she wonders? What kind of person would you go for? You’ve been one of the Covey for years, you eat here and sleep here and make music with them and the rest of it, and you don’t really talk to anyone else. Would you go for one of the boys? Tam Amber, or Billy Taupe? The thought of anyone else all up on you like that makes her shiver. She can live with never being able to have you, she’s done it this far, but she’s not sure she’d handle it if someone else could.

The thought weighs heavy on her mind, and she’s quiet for the rest of the night.

It’s only a handful of days after that you’re out gathering berries with some of the others. Lucy Gray comes with for a while, but she’s not really there, she’s not herself, and after finding a few wild apricots she feebly murmurs about going home to pit them. You watch with concern but she’s gone before you can say otherwise, walking off with her head lowered, and you decide to respect her wish to be alone.

You try to ignore the loss of her at your side as you laugh and joke with the others. You never feel content when you’re not with her, though — she’s the only one who can soothe your temples and still your thoughts.

“You okay, Y/N? You been starin’ at that bush for the better part o’ four minutes,” grins Tam Amber.

“Nay, she’s just mopin’. Gets all moony when she’s away from her Lu,” CC butts in, before tossing a blackberry into the air and catching it in his mouth.

“My Lu?” you ask, caught off guard.

“Well, yeah. So much pinin’ you could build your own forest.”

“I ain’t— I don’t pine for no one,” you tell him shakily.

He just shrugs. “Coulda fooled me. You been lookin at Lucy Gray like she hung the stars in the sky since day one.”

You frown, mulling his words over. Is that true? You love Lucy Gray, more than anything, but it’s never really occurred to you that your love for her could be like that. Sure, she’s the prettiest girl you’ve ever met, you’d do anything for her. She’s so kind, so gentle and sweet, but she’s so quick and so fiery. She has a fierce wit to her that’ll send you rolling and reeling in equal measures. She’s always, always on your mind. Sure, your mind goes straight to her when you hear a love song, but— oh no.

“I think you broke her,” Billy Taupe observes.

“I’m, uhm,” you feel your palms grow clammy as you’re overwhelmed with the need for a moment to yourself, “I’ll head back home, and— and start sorting through this,” you look down at your half-filled basket and begin to hurry away. No one stops you, but you feel eyes on you long after you’ve rounded the corner.

You’re a mess. Your hands are shaking, your eyes blurry, your mind spinning as you grapple with this newfound information. You’re in love with Lucy Gray. It’s so obvious that the kids have clocked it before you. God, you’re so stupid. Of course friends don’t love each other like this. You don’t feel this way about Barb Azure or Tam Amber. This could ruin everything, if you ever let it escape you. No, you determine resolutely, you are not going to ruin the only family you’ve ever had. Having Lucy Gray in your life at all is something so impossibly holy that you refuse point blank to risk ever losing it. You will not lose the Covey. You’ll take this to the grave.

Your feet have carried you home before you know it, and you stumble into the kitchen, panting. There are tears streaming down your face, you realise, and you shakily wipe them away only for more to appear.

“Y/N?” says a soft voice at the door, one you love more than anything, and you look up to see the girl you’re agonising about. Annoyingly, you want nothing more than to crawl into her arms. “Hey, baby, you okay?”

“M’fine,” you murmur, hastily brushing away more tears, but she’s stepping towards you with outstretched arms, and then you’re in them and you’re safe.

“Shhh, sh sh sh,” she soothes you, guiding you into the room you share with her, running her fingers through your hair. “What is it, sweet girl, what’s bothering you?”

“It really is stupid,” you tell her thickly. “CC said something, I guess it freaked me out, ‘n got to me a bit.”

Lucy Gray lets out a surprised little laugh and it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. “And why’re you givin’ a shit about what he’s got to say, huh? Clerk Carmine’s a twelve year old boy. Can’t get more insensitive than that.”

You nod tearfully, gratefully accepting the comfort of her pressing her forehead to yours and toying with your fingers.

“What’s he said to get you all wound up, baby?” she asks you. You hesitate, reddening, and look away.

“Really was stupid,” you mumble.

“You can tell me,” she promises, eyes dark and soft. You bite your lip.

“Just… that I treat you different to the others, I guess,” you admit, words flowing like butter. She could get anything out of you. Lucy Gray stiffens a little in surprise. “Or like, I love you different.”

“Yeah? How’d you mean?” Her words are soft, gentle, and you feel no less soothed than before. Cautiously, you continue.

“He… said I’m pinin’ for you,” you confess, mere minutes after swearing to yourself those words would never reach her ears.

“And are you?”

You stop up short at the bluntness of her question. Her gaze is unreadable, and you inwardly curse her poker face. “I— uhm, what?”

“Are you pinin’ for me?” Lucy Gray repeats.

“I…” You lamely gape like a fish. “I mean, I guess, I don’t know.”

“If I kissed you, d’you think that’d be something you could enjoy?” she asks you. Her tone’s shifted into something different now, and you can’t quite identify it but it has liquid heat pooling in your stomach. Your breath is caught in your throat, you’re scared to make a sound and break this moment, and so you nod wordlessly.

Her hands meet at the nape of your neck and toy with the hairs there as she slowly brings her lips to yours.

Lucy Gray Baird is soft when she kisses you, gentle. She kind of cradles you, her touch delicate, the way she is with her snakes or that fawn she nursed once — as though you might startle at any moment. You don’t know whether to close your eyes and savor the moment or keep them open and commit her to memory forever. You’re utterly beside yourself.

The kiss doesn’t last too long, she keeps it short and sweet, pecking your lips one final time before resting her forehead against yours contentedly.

“You okay, baby?” she asks after a moment, feeling you shaking against her. She leans back to get a better read on you and her brow furrows at your distress. “Sweet girl, I— did I overstep? Oh god, I’m so sorry, I —”

“No,” you manage to choke out. “No, it’s good, I just— this is a lot— I think I’ve loved you forever.”

Lucy Gray melts at that, pulling you in close and letting you rest your head against her chest, soothing her fingers through your hair. “Shhh, sh, it’s okay. Let it out, baby. You know, I always felt like there’s a reason the Covey was brought to Twelve,” she tells you. “I’m so sure it’s always fate, you know? And my momma was too. I always wondered what it was, I’d feel whispers of things at the edges of towns, I spent so long lookin’ for signs I’d never find. And then you brought one to me, you brought me flowers and ribbons and handfuls of love… and then I wasn’t looking for signs anymore. I was seein’ em everywhere I went, and you was bringin’ em to me every Sunday. And it was the holiest thing I ever felt.”

“You’re everything,” you manage, breathless. “I’m not— I’m no bard like you, Lu— you’re everything.”

“I love you,” she tells you, the intensity of her dark gaze setting you alight, “I love you sure as there’s stars in the sky.”

You lie in Lucy Gray’s arms long into the night, and she holds you, whispering to you how much she loves you. When morning comes, you know the stars will still be there, even if they can’t be found. And you know that when she rolls out of bed later than usual on Sunday, her day of rest, and you bring her flowers and ribbons held together with love, she’ll beam brighter than anything and you’ll have a sky full of stars in your arms.

[orionlancasterr]

Oliver Cousland - Grey Warden - Reaver

Oliver had visited Antiva once as a child. He’d not liked the scorching hot sun and had spent most of the summer splayed out on the tile floor of the apartment complaining about it. If his parents knew he’d be dancing in it’s capitol city fifteen years later, with an Antivan Crow no less, they’d be turning in their graves but Zevran made the sun bearable. The music and the wine helped.

“What are you thinking about, Amor?” Zevran asked, brushing the back of his hand against Ollies’ cheek.

It was a simple gesture that made his eyes flutter. He’d never been so sweet- so syrupy slow. In the far back of his mind he knew he had to be somewhere. That there was something urgent happening elsewhere but in the circle of his lovers arms, in the bright Antivan sun he could not remember what it was.

“I think I forgot to do something,” He murmured.

Zevran only smiled. He spun them around the deck and Oliver let him.

“The best part about ending a war,” Zev pulled Oliver close to his face, “Is that there is nothing to worry about after the armor is put away.”

He kissed him and the anxiety slipped away. They stayed like that for a long while, half asleep and swaying. Draped across each other like they’d been here a hundred times before.

Yet, there was that nagging feeling again, tugging at his mind. Images of a stone corridor playing just past where he could grasp. He untangled himself from Zevran’s limbs. The weight of the afternoon weighing heavy on his shoulders as he made his way back into the apartment. Footsteps followed. Something was very wrong, the world spun with each step and everything was fuzzy at the edges.

“Makers breath, I feel like shit.” He muttered and reached for the pitcher of water on the end table.

“Perhaps you just need to rest,” Zevran responded.

Oliver filled his hands with water and drank, hoping the coolness would steady him. It did not. Fingers worked circles into his shoulders and he scrubbed his face with wet hands. Nausea rippled through his body. The music off the end of the balcony was getting annoying and the sun made the air miserable and that horrible, nagging thought of forgetting something was drowning out everything that had been good. He dug his fingers into his eyes until white splotches erupted in his vision.

“I need to focus!” He half shouted.

“You need to calm down.” Zevran responded, holding Olivers chin in his hand.

He brushed his thumb along his bottom lip, an easy smile slipping back onto his face. “It’s been a long day, yes? Let’s go lay down.”

“This makes a lot of sense, actually,” A familiar voice sounded behind him.

He turned from Zevran’s touch to find Valen and an unknown mage standing in the center of the room. The two of them felt sharper than the rest of the room. Valen was looking around, taking in the lived in apartment they stood in as if he’d never been there before but Oliver was sure they’d invited their friends since buying it.

“I almost feel bad about this one,” The mage said, eyes fixated on them.

“You don’t have to feel bad, you could stay here with us.” Zevran said.

The nausea was pounding again. Valen was frowning, his blades loose in his hands. He knew that stance. It only worked because he was fast as hell. That relaxed posture and the always shifting eyes.

“I don’t think we can. Ollie,” he was talking over the other elves shoulder to him “who killed the archdemon, certainly you’d remember that right?”

“Why does that matter?” Zevran asked.

“We’re in the fade. You’re kissing a spirit, none of this is real.” This was the unknown mage.

Oliver stared at them. A slight, baby faced elf with a matter-of-fact expression and a nasty purple bruise blooming on their eye. He’d seen them before. They’d been chest to chest with a templar a head taller and 60 pounds heavier yelling something about apprentices in the stone hallway of Kinloch Hold.

A wave of nausea hit him, made the room spin. It wasn’t real.

“A spirit?” He asked the mage who nodded in response.

“A demon.” Zevran corrected and lunged for Valen.

Valen was quicker and lept out of the way, dropping into a low crouch. Zevran stumbled and caught in the wall his uncharacteristic moment of clumsiness leaving space for Valen to drive his blade up into his chest. It was Zevran’s turn to dodge, turning himself to the side and slashing instead at the young mage who looked more like a fish out of water than anything. Their slow reflexes earned them a gash on their cheek and an expletive thrown haphazardly into the room. Oliver just watched. Blood splattered the tile. Zevran spat and writhed as Valen wrapped his arm around his throat. Zev- no the demon, swung his blades around desperately. More like a trapped animal than a man and as Oliver stepped closer it glowered.

“You wouldn’t harm me.” It stated as fact.

A bold assumption but he had watched Zevran die a hundred times before, nightmare after nightmare. What was one more time.

“Oliver, damnit I can’t hold him forever!” Valen snarled.

He twisted it’s arm behind it’s back, wrenching the dagger from its hand and leaned ever closer until their foreheads pressed together. “I’ll tell you a secret,” he whispered, studying it’s eyes. They were a perfect replication. “There is not a person that I love that I have not seen die a hundred times before.”

He drove his dagger under the demons ribcage. There was no blood. There was no cracking of bone or ripping of skin only a guttural hiss to remind him that it was never Zevran even if the light in its eyes died the same as a persons.

They were no longer standing in a homey antivan kitchen. The band had long ago stopped playing and the air was cool against his skin. None of it had been real. Not one moment.

Taglist: @nuclearsludge @adelaidedrubman @socially-awkward-skeleton @captastra @sunstreakerapologist @wishbonemotel @henbased

[somefanficrecomendations]

December Monthly Roundup

Here's December's fic round up!

DC/BATMAN

Worlds Saddest Breakfast Club by motleyfam   (gen)7k, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd-Centric Following a couple of Very Bad Weeks™ (which may or may not have involved being kidnapped and mildly tortured), Jason decides the best way to cheer himself up is to break into the Manor for a 3 a.m. snack. Turns out he isn’t the only one awake.

Batstream by RandomReader13 (gen), 6k, Bats on social media, Humor   “I want it on record that I think this is a terrible idea and I’m only doing this to mitigate the damage." AKA Red Robin decides it's a great idea to livestream patrol while Batman's off-world. It goes about as well as you'd expect.

cards on the table by wesslan (gen) 67k, WIP, Fortune Teller AU, Tim Drake-Centric  Tim's parents faked their deaths and fled the country years ago, but neglected to take him with them. He spent some time on the streets, and now at 16, he makes a living as a fortune teller, stalking and hustling the shit out of Gotham's elite by telling them eerily accurate fortunes based on the information he gathers about them.  His life is peculiar but he wouldn't change a thing. When he gets booked for the big Wayne Halloween party, however, he finds himself getting all tangled up with the Waynes, and the more fortunes he tells, the tighter the snare becomes.  or: Tim just wanted to scam Gotham's elite, not end up on the Batfamily's watchlist. But it seems they just won't leave him alone..

(a not so) lonesome town by wesslan   (gen), 10k, 2-part series, Sentient Gotham, Jazz music. Two works in which Gotham City is sentient and adopts enough kids to rival Batman himself (Batman is one of them).

Banshee in a Well by liverobinreaction (bugbee) (gen), 43k, Meta Tim, Resurrection Powers   Tim is five years old when he drowns in his parents' pool. He dies quietly, waiting for parents who love him, but will never be there, to realise that something is wrong. They never show up, and he sinks into oblivion.  When he wakes up and claws his way out of the water, the sun has set, and the lights of his house are on. He is cold and wet and his lungs burn.  But most of all, Tim is alone.  (If you die and no-one is there to see it, were you ever alive in the first place?)

HUNGER GAMES

right here in the old therebefore by californianNostalgia (Katniss/Peeta) 14k, Canon Divergence, Ghosts There’s a ghost at the Hanging Tree. Katniss sees him first when she’s six, her hair in braids, the song about the growing gallows fresh in her mind. This changes nothing. This changes some things. (In which Lucy Gray killed Coriolanus at the lake.)

How Rue Became the Mockingjay by aimmyarrowshigh (multi) 5k, Different 74th Victors AU Katniss Everdeen and the girl from Eleven are ruining their best-laid plans – the Capitol’s and the Rebels’. So Caesar, they say. Announce the change. An alternate chronology for The Hunger Games.

CROSSOVERS

Annabeth and the Nine Step Career Plan by feeling_the_aster_9145 (Annabeth/Percy), 76k, PJO x DCU, Annabeth gets Lex Luthor arrested, BAMF Annabeth. Annabeth Chase does not accept limitations. Everyone knows that. If she wants something, no matter how impossible, she will find a way to make it happen. Though, perhaps she will allow Bruce Wayne and his ridiculous paranoia-induced company restrictions a small portion of the credit. Actually… now that she thinks about it, the man may have had a point in his worries. Wayne Technologies does not accept college interns. Annabeth always has a plan B.

A Lesson in Superiority by Nation-Ustria (gen), 96k, WIP, Batfam x Harry Potter, Damian Wayne is Harry Potter, Wizarding Politics “The good news is, he’s not cursed,” Constantine says. “And the bad news?” Dick asks sharply. Constantine squints. “I wouldn’t call it bad news so much as, er, news.” He turns to Damian with something like a grimace. “You’re a wizard, kid.” “...I’m a what?”

[notyouraryang0dd3ss]

on the thg swiftie stuff . the most insane thing ive ever seen as someone who frequents the thg tag on tumblr is someone made an edit wherein they were like 'what if katniss everdeen became a musician after the war and was effectively the taylor swift of panem' and they made album edits for every ts album but using pictures of jenlaw instead and in the post they were like 'its just crazy to me how much of taylor swifts discography perfectly aligns with the type of music katniss would write i HAD to make this edit' and im like . Did you forget the part at the end of mockingjay where katniss was like um id rather be dead actually than share my singing with the world . thats something thats just for me . also... katniss writing taylor's songs... i know she's fictional but literally what does taylor swift's lived experiences have in common with katniss everdeen's . be so fucking for real rn .

i am telling you my anon in arms swifties do not fucking read. literally everytime ive read an ooc thg character analysis its ALWAYS by a swifties. these bitches pick and choose traits abt these characters JUST TO JUSTIFY the ts edit they want to make. THEYRE INSANE!!!!

also katniss would NEVER write self victimizing love songs 12 (or however many albums she has) albums straight!!!! katniss hates herself and literally thinks she doesn’t deserve peeta what!!!!! she is so self sacrificial and she HATES the spotlight and she hates performing for the capitol she would never ever ever ever be the taylor swift of panem!!!!!

ugh anon at least you get my pain. swifties r so dumb and ruin fandom with their self insert of their own interests and personality in their fave characters instead of possessing any critical thinking skills and view and appreciate the characters as they are. i think its because swifties can only humanize characters if they insert themselves into these characters. horrible

[rhapsodynew]

#classic rock news

#new music

A book with memorable graphics of legendary bands. It is being prepared for publication.

Only 500 copies – such a limited edition will be released the book “Rock Visions: Rock 'N' Roll Graphics From The Print Age”, which is a collection of memorable artifacts of twelve famous rock bands and performers of our time. In this list: Alice Cooper, David Bowie, Elton John, BAD COMPANY, JOURNEY, KISS, LED ZEPPELIN, PINK FLOYD, QUEEN, THE ROLLING STONES, STEVE MILLER BAND and THE WHO.

The book presents their graphic legacy – from original tour programs, backstage passes and concert tickets to T-shirts, posters and record covers.

🌧 It's time for November Rain. November will delight us with a lot of good music. Courtesy of UCR News

November 1st

• The Cure – Songs of a Lost World ❤️

• Elvis Costello – King of America and Other Realms (6CD box)

• T. Rex – Bolan Boogie: The Best of T. Rex (2CDs or 2LPs)

• Todd Rundgren – Arena

Warren Haynes [Allman Brothers Band] – Million Voices Whisper

• Weezer – Weezer (The Blue Album): 30th Anniversary Edition (3CD set) ❤️

November 8

• Beach Boys – The Beach Boys' Christmas Album

• Hawkwind – Doremi Fasol Latido (multiple format reissue, including 3CD/2Blu-ray deluxe box)

• Neil Young – On the Beach

• Paul Carrack [Squeeze / Mike + the Mechanics] – How Long Has This Been Going On?

• Pete Townshend [The Who] and Rachel Fuller – The Seeker ❤️

• Rick Wakeman – Yessonata

• Steve Perry [Journey] – The Season 3 ❤️

• Talking Heads, Talking Heads: 77 ( 3CD/Blu-ray или 4LP

• Widespread Panic – Hailbound Queen

15th of November

• Black Keys – Ohio Players (flying double act)

• Bryan Adams – Concert at the Royal Albert Hall in 2024 (3CD/1 bLue-ray box)

• Burton Cummings [Guess Who] – Some good moments

• Don Henley – Creating the Perfect Beast (original 40th Anniversary vinyl edition)

• George Harrison – Life in the Material World (original edition of the 50th anniversary vinyl record)

• Iron Maiden – The Mighty Slave (original edition of the vinyl record with zotrope for the 40th anniversary)

John Cale [Velvet Underground] – "The Academy is in Danger"; Paris, 1919: Luxury Remastered Edition (VP)

• Linkin Park – From Scratch ❤

November 22nd

• Allman Brothers Band – Final concert on 10/28/14 (3 CD sets) ❤️

• The Beatles – American albums of 1964 in mono format

• Kan–Kan lives in Kiel, 1977

Chicago, I live at 55

• Don Henley – I Can't Stand Still; Cass County (Multi-voice editions)

• The Doors – The Doors 1967-1971 (box of 6£) ❤️

• Judas Priest – Rock and Roll: the anniversary edition for the 50th anniversary (in English) ❤️

• Motley Crue – Dr. Feel Good: Deluxe edition for the 35th anniversary of the group (set of 3 CD) ❤️

• Neil Young – On the Beach (opposite)

• "Smashing Pumpkins" – Aghori Mhori Mei (VP)

• Marilyn Manson – "One Murder under God" ❤️

U2 – How to Disassemble an Atomic Bomb: 20th Anniversary reissue (CD; limited edition super deluxe 5CD or 8LP box; cassette); How to Disassemble an atomic Bomb: Re-assembly edition (extended digital edition)

• Van Zant [Lynyrd Skynyrd/.38 Special] – Always look up ❤

November 29th

• Eric Clapton – Crossroads Guitar Festival 2023 (4CD/2 bLue-ray set) ❤️

• John Wetton – Concentus: The John Wetton Live Collection, Volume 1 (10CD box)

• Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes – Concert at the Capitol Theater, Passaic, New Jersey - December 30, 1978 (series of 3 albums, including yellow marbled edition; Sovenoman Zandt)

• Status Quo - The Path to Glory (reissue in summary, including a limited section of "Autographed Vinyl Records")

• War - CD Collection 1977-1994 (set of 4 CDs)

• Wilco – Hot Sun Cool Shroud ("Cold Sun")

🤘 New U2 track

The song "Happiness" was written during the session for the Irish rockers' 2004 album "How to Disassemble an atomic Bomb" and was included in the new album "How to assemble an atomic Bomb again" along with the Wound inspired songs "Rural Mile" and "Your Photo (X + W)"

The upcoming album will include new, previously unreleased songs found in the session archives of the original album. It will be released on November 22 in the room with the main version of "How to disassemble an atomic Bomb"

Tool Group announces the first ever all-inclusive "Live In The Sand" festival featuring Primus, Mastodon and others

Festification and Tool are pleased to announce the holding of the first ever "Tool Live In The Sand" festival at the luxurious five-star Hard Rock Hotel & Casino and Royalton Resort in Punta Cana, Dominican Republic, from March 7-9, 2025. "Tool Live In The Sand" will bring Tool fans from all over the world to the island

At this unique event, which will be headlined by Tool. There will be two nights featuring some of the most iconic and influential rock bands in the world, including Primus, Mastodon, Eagles Of Death Metal and Coheed And Cambria. The stars also include King's X, Fishbone, Wheel, Cky, Moonwalker, and longtime Tool collaborators Alex Gray and Allison Gray join as special guests.

Scorpions announce a concert in honor of the band's 60th anniversary in their hometown with Judas Priest

The legends of German hard rock Scorpions will celebrate their 60th anniversary on stage with a big concert in their hometown

The "60th Anniversary — Homecoming" event will take place on July 5, 2025 at the Heinz von Heiden Arena in Hanover and will include performances by special guests, including Judas Priest

Recall that as part of the celebration of their 60th anniversary, the legends of German rock will also visit Las Vegas

THE NEW CONCERT ALBUM TEARS FOR FEARS

Songs for a Nervous Planet is a live album that includes four new studio tracks, as well as live recordings by Tears For Fears during the tour and in their best moments. The album includes live versions of such hits as "Shout", "Head Over Heels", "Everybody Wants To Rule The World", "Mad World" and others. Covering all periods of the band's existence from The Hurting to The Tipping Point and beyond, this album will take you on an incomparable sonic journey, which is the Tears For Fears concert and their career to date

[clovermunson]

morgan, my sweet!! bringin’ on the heartbreak has caught my eye, and i’d love to hear your best fluffy finnick headcanons. what would it be like to spend new years with him? would he love it or hate it?

savvy, my love!! i’m so happy you requested finnick headcanons, because you know better than anyone that i could talk about this man for hours on end and never get tired. he’s got me gnawing at the bars of my enclosure. but you’ve asked for fluffy headcanons, so i’m gonna deliver. some of these are just general headcanons, some are x reader, so there’s some variety here, folks.

i’ve included them all under the cut, because it’s quite a bit.

join the party!

— so first off, i think that finnick prefers to stay in on new year’s. he loves the new year because to him that means new opportunities and a renewed sense of hope. he just doesn’t care much for parties, huge crowds, and obnoxiously loud music. not to mention, the capitol really ruined him when it came to those kinda things (i’m sorry that got a little sad). but he much prefers a quiet night in, enjoying your company and most definitely eating all of the leftover holiday sweets so they won’t “go to waste”

— speaking of eating all the sweets, he never passes up the chance to help out with baking. sure it’s a chore to keep him from eating everything before it’s finished, but he does his fair share. he’s just a got a sweet tooth, he can’t help it. “don’t you think i deserve a treat for helping?” he’ll ask as he’s already taking a bite from a cupcake before you even get the chance to answer. and he’s right, he does deserve it.

— finnick can cook at least decently. if there’s a night where you don’t feel like making dinner, he’ll cook and he won’t complain about it at all. but you better believe he’s treating it like he’s a world-class chef and he’s asking you to taste test everything (because let’s be honest, he’s not the best, but he’s trying)

— finnick is a cuddly sleeper. this is just a known fact. if he’s having a particularly rough night because of the nightmares, he’ll nuzzle closer to you and hold you just a little tighter.

— he loves loves looooves having his hair played with. it’s calming to him, and just puts him in a relaxed trance that eventually ends up lulling him into sleep.

— finnick odair is tough. as tough as they come, really. he has experienced incomprehensible horrors and he’s strong and well-built, but he’s the softest, most gentle man to ever live. a big 'ol softie. a total teddy bear, some might say.

— of course i think it goes without saying, but he’s a romantic. so much to the point that it would be nauseating from an outsider’s perspective.

— anyway. i also think it’s a given that he’s scarily protective over his loved ones. which is a little shocking, considering his general calm and pleasant demeanor.

— he’s the most unserious person ever. sure he knows when to be serious, but does he want to always be that way? no, because that’s boring. this man giggled over his own “death”, i mean c’mon.

— this man cannot keep himself away from water. any chance he has, he’s in the ocean because it’s comforting to him to be one with the water.

— he’s the most considerate person ever. he’s always thinking about what his loved ones would think about any given situation, and he’s always finding ways to make things easier for them if he can.

— his primary love language is words of affirmation, because despite projecting such a confident exterior, he’s riddled with insecurities and hearing that he’s more than enough or any receiving any praises in general makes him feel like he’s genuinely loved. but it’s closely followed by physical touch, because he’s also a very touchy person when it comes to who he loves, and he gives the best hugs because of it. what i wouldn’t give to hug this man, my fucking god.

[thatuselesshuman]

Writeblr Introduction Post

✨ Also known as, I'm just rewriting my normal intro post to include more author shit ✨

General Bio Information

I'm fine with being called any variation of ThatUselessHuman or Casper (also acceptable: anything I find funny)

Pronouns: whatever makes the joke funnier

Aerospace engineering college student living in the USA (*distant eagle caws*)

Not a minor (don't do anything diabolical with that)

Colorblind, Autistic, and generally just ill

Writing Interests

Suffering/angst enthusiast

Fantasy, sci-fi, and dystopia are my shit bro

Found family, morally dark gray characters, religious elements and/or mythology, and trauma=character development

I tentatively like romance cause it's great when it's a side plot (I'm just ass at actually writing it)

I absolutely adore spinning my religion (Christianity) into fantasy worlds and concepts bc the lore is always IMMACULATE

Other interests

Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint

Bungou Gay Dogs

Epic the Musical

Jujutsu Kaizen (known to dabble in other animes)

The Case Study of Gay Men (The case study of vanitas)

Twink men (Zelda)

Six of Crows

Books in general

Genshin (out of nowhere)

Solo-Leveling

Hunger Games

I do art occasionally

Gummigoo (The Amazing Digital Circus)

Danny Motta

Goals

maybe write a book idk

Be entirely unserious

Make a friend or two

Scream into the void abt my WIPs

Survive.

Common/Important Tags

#dying stars burn the brightest

#sorrow's victor

#bloody hands are kind

#among the living (casper)

#caspers random things

My Works

*blue = Ao3 one shot / green = Ao3 long work / purple = unposted / pink = short (non fandom) writings

Bloody Hands are Kind (wip series)

• Sorrow's Victor (fin.) • Plated Gold Smiles (fin.) • Capitol Perfume (fin.) • The Scars You Leave (fin.) • Bloody Hands are Kind (fin.) • Among the Living (wip)

None of Us Heroes (wip)

Gates of Hell (wip)

All Things Sacred and Blasphemous (fin.)

Writing. (fin.)

Creation. (fin.)

Dear Icarus (fin.)

Human Nature (fin.)

Why. (fin.)

Indebted to the Sea (fin.)

The Love Was There (fin.)

DNI if you're a bitch :)

[fireandiceland]

I saw a similar poll about America and now I’m curious. There is no correct answer btw this is purely about headcanons.

Obligatory commentary to the options because I can't not elaborate:

1) A classic, the capitol of his country. Probably some fancy Altbauwohnung in the inner city.

2) Capitol of Salzburg and best known for Mozart and The Sound of Music.

3) I always think of Schloss Schönbrunn (the one with the zoo) or Schloss Hof (underrated but so pretty) kind of style.

4) Capitol of Burgenland, self-proclaimed smallest metropolis in the world, and very close to Hungary.

[phaedraismyusername]

It's September and we're in a heatwave so instead of choosing violence here's some oppressive summer gothics to match the abysmal autumn vibes

The criteria - they have to be hot and humid, they have to be gothic in nature, dark in content, and they have to at least flirt with the paranormal

Summer Sons by Lee Mandelo

This follows Andrew as he moves to a college across the country to step into his dead best friend Eddie's old life as he desperately tries to prove that he must've been murdered. Haunted, both figuratively and literally, angry and grieving, Andrew sets off on a path that leads him to question everything he ever thought he knew about himself and their history together as he fights to accept who he is, who Eddie was, and maybe tries to learn how to live without him. Fast-paced, dark, and super gay.

Water Shall Refuse Them by Lucie McKnight Hardy

After the death of her little sister, teenager Nif and her family move to rural Wales for the summer in an attempt to escape their grief. Set in the 1970s during a heatwave the isolation and oppressive weather quickly start to take their toll. With an emotionally absent mother, a father with a wandering eye and a needy younger brother, Nif becomes convinced she's stumbled across her own kind of magic, before catching the attention of the strange boy across the street. Think Shirley Jackson, definitely not YA.

Dark and Shallow Lies by Ginny Myers Sain

Now, this is YA. We follow 17 year old Grey as she returns back to her tiny hometown in the Louisiana Bayou for the summer 6 months after her best friends mysterious disappearance. In a town that claims to be the 'psychic capitol of the world', someone must know something, right? Full of secrets, lies, and a boy who steps out of the forest with storm-bright eyes, this was a quick and twisty atmospheric read.

The Hacienda by Isabel Canas

When political upheaval gets her father executed and his family is left in shame and destitution, Beatriz decides she'll do whatever it takes to find security in her life again. When a handsome Don proposes, Beatriz jumps at the chance to accept and move out to his countryside estate with big plans for the future, but it doesn't take long before she's spending her nights terrorised by a mysterious entity inside her new home, forcing her to seek help from the strangest of places. The imagery is creepy, the tone is tense, there's a hot priest, what more do you want?

Cold Moon Over Babylon by Michael McDowell

Probably the darkest book on this list, and definitely the oldest. When a young girl is brutally murdered within sight of her home, it starts a chain of events that will see a family destroyed, secrets and lies exposed, and a vengeful creature that looks almost human to rise from the river as the town that surrounds it starts to crumble. The people are unlikeable, the book is old, the content is Dark - you've been warned.

Ghost Wood Song by Erica Waters

Also YA but this time for the bisexuals. Shady Grove can call ghosts from the grave with her music, just like her daddy could, but everyone knows that only trouble comes from playing for the dead. When her brother is accused of murder, Shady decides to embrace her birthright and use any power she can to clear his name. It's sweet, it's sad, it's lyrical, and there's a little bi love triangle sprinkled in to sweeten the sorrows. It's also a debut!

[tightjeansjavi]

That Girl is a Problem

Part 3: “Needy Little Thing”

(AU street racing! Joel x f! tattoo artist reader)

A/N: first just wanted to say that the beginning of this chapter may be triggering for some to read. The readers boyfriend is not a nice person and their relationship is 100% toxic. I am not in any way condoning toxic/abusive relationships or romanticizing them. The chapter will have the appropriate warnings. Just wanted to end this by saying to please take care of yourselves, and I am always here to chat if need be.

~word count: 3.5k~

Summary: Joel Miller & Tommy Miller left their Texas homestead seeking new thrills. They find themselves working at an auto body shop on Hollywood Blvd. Joel meets you, a self taught tattoo artist working on the strip. You might be just the adrenaline rush that he was searching for. Or, his ultimate heartbreak.

Warnings: readers boyfriend is an asshole, toxic relationship, mentally and emotionally abusive to the reader, talks down on her tattoos and her clothing, makes the reader feel less than/inferior to him, gaslighting, manipulating behavior, reader puts up with it because she has been wired to feel like this is all she deserves when she knows she deserves better, reader wants to appease her boyfriend, power dynamic with reader and boyfriend, reader has consensual sex to appease her boyfriend, reader feels trapped in her relationship and has tried to break up with her boyfriend but never follows through with it, reader uses sex as coping mechanism, reader doesn’t want to leave the relationship because there is a sense of comfort sticking with what she knows even when it’s not good, brief mentioning of physical abuse from the readers boyfriend but no depiction in detail, reader commits infidelity with Joel, smut, fingering, dirty talk from Joel and the reader, reader uses Joel to get off consensually, praise kink, Joel takes care of the reader, after care, some fluff, angst, Joel has a crush, (+18) minors dni!

That Girl is a Problem Playlist:

𝙄'𝙢 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡.

𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙢𝙚...

𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡 𝙞𝙨 𝙖 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙗𝙡𝙚𝙢.

Los Angeles, California: Summer of 1993

It’s 8pm when your boyfriend, Dylan pays you a visit after his long shift. Dylan is an intern at Capitol Records. His dream is to one day be a music producer. The only reason he got the job in the first place, was all thanks to his dad who had a connection at the record label. You and Dylan were the complete polar opposites. Your friends weren’t even sure how the hell you two lasted this long and truthfully? You weren’t quite sure either. Dylan hated your tattoos. He always made a point to tell you that you were ruining your body and the classic “that shit is permanent. You know that right?” He also wasn’t afraid to tell you that he didn’t like the way you dressed. You revealed too much skin and he didn’t want anyone looking at what belonged to him.

Dylan wasn’t all bad. Sometimes he had his good days where he would love on you and make you feel like the only girl in the world. These moments were short lived and you already tried breaking up with him a handful of times. You caved because of the makeup sex. You always felt pathetic after the fact but in your defense, no man you had ever dated treated you any differently. You knew you deserved better of course. It was just that there was a sense of comfort with sticking with what you knew the best. That didn’t mean that you had to stay faithful 24/7. The times that Dylan hurt your feelings, yelled in your face and made you cry, or roughed you up a bit, you sought comfort from other men, or women. Sex was your sole comfort and you knew that it would always be there for you, even on the darkest nights.

Your relationship with Dylan was toxic and the more times he took his anger out on you, the more you wished he would just fucking disappear for good. Why couldn’t you just up and leave him? Why did you keep coming back? He was the only person in your life that made you feel weak, inferior, and you fucking hated him for it.

You had just finished up on Joel’s knuckle tattoo sketches when Dylan arrived. You quickly doused out your cigarette and tossed your box of smokes in a nearby drawer to hide the evidence. He hated when you would smoke and you should have been more careful. You quickly sprayed a bit of perfume to hopefully mask the stench of cigarette smoke.

You heard the shimmy of the beads on the curtain as Dylan slipped through them, making his presence known. “Angel, baby. Are you smoking again? You know how much I hate that shit.” He tsked under his breath.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes as you looked over at him briefly before you tucked away the sketches for Joel safely in a Manila folder before you looked up at your boyfriend, giving him a sickly sweet smile. “I’m sorry baby. You know it’s such a terribly hard habit to break.” You gave him a little sad pout.

Dylan let out a sigh as he approached you, leaning down and he grasped your chin between his fingers as he narrowed his eyes into yours coldly. “Yeah? Just like it’s hard for you to break the habit of not dressing like a fucking street whore?”

“Baby, please..I’ve had a really long day. I have a client coming in later and I really just want to—” your pleas were cut off by Dylan’s malice.

“Aw, honey. I’m so sorry baby. You had a long day? Oh, you poor, poor thing. What about my day, huh? How about the fact that the only shit I’ve been doing is taking coffee and lunch orders for these pretentious fucks all goddamn day. You feel sorry for me too?” He spat, gripping your chin between his fingers even tighter.

“I’m sorry that you had a shit day, baby. That sounds really really stressful. Can I make it all better for you? I’d really love to do that.”

Dylan let out a sigh, loosening his grip around your chin before he gently released you. “I’m sorry for taking it out on you baby. I really just had a terrible fucking day. Can I make it up to you, please?”

This is how it would always start. Dylan would take his frustration out on you. He’d apologize, kiss it all better, and then you would fuck. It was the same vicious cycle. Over, and over again.

“Yeah baby, can I have a kiss please?” You softly requested.

“Of course you can, Angel. Anything for my sweet pretty baby.” He cooed as he leaned down and gave you a sweet, loving kiss. Your eyes flutter shut as you drape your arms around his neck, kissing him back sweetly.

You ask him if it’s okay for you to remove his shirt, he obliges and asks the same from you. At least he still had the decency to ask for your consent, and vice versa.

It had been awhile since you last faked an orgasm with your boyfriend. Truthfully speaking? Your mind was drifting to Joel Miller while Dylan fucked into you. Thank god he couldn’t tell that your moans were overly exaggerated and undeniably fake.

After the fact, Dylan stayed a bit longer, despite your unnoticeable displeasure. Your hair was mussed up and he had practically shredded your fishnets. After a few kisses goodbye, your boyfriend finally left the shop and you spent the next hour cleansing the space with incense, and crystals. Stevie Nicks crackling through the record player was there to comfort you when the stray tears began to fall down your cheeks and you fiercely wiped them away.

You were torn from your thoughts when the front bell at the door chimed as Joel Miller strode in. You could smell the grease and oil on his clothes from the back room. You had grown so used to the car smell, thanks to your boyfriend but on Joel, it was different. Manly in a sense that it seemed to meld into his natural musk.

“Angel? Darlin’? You still back here? Sorry I’m a bit late. Got caught up working on a car back at the shop and lost track of time.” His warm Texas drawl sent your insides swirling.

You fixed your hair as best as you possibly could before you strode out between the beaded curtain. “Hey. Yeah, I’m still here. Shop is technically open till midnight. I use this time to work on sketches and just dick around for the most part. Speaking of sketches, I have yours done if you wanna take a peek?”

The first thing Joel noticed was your swollen lips, and sexed up hair. His eyes slightly went wide when he noticed how shredded your fishnet tights were basically just hanging on by a few remaining threads. “You finished them already? Yeah, I’d love to see ‘em. You work pretty fast darlin.’”

“Oh, you have no idea.” You set the Manila folder down before opening it and pulled out the two sketches. “So, I know you said like snakes and skulls and shit so I incorporated those along with a few other things. We can obviously make changes of course. I just figured this was a good starting point.”

Joel leaned his hands on either side of the countertop as he looked over the drawings and to say he was impressed, was an understatement. “Wow, these are like super fuckin’ sick. You’re beyond talented, Angel. Seriously, these are exactly what I was looking for.” Joel spoke while looking up into your eyes. His dark brown eyes were irresistibly inviting. They reminded you of what warm hugs on a cold day feel like.

“Really? Well I’m happy that I could deliver on what you wanted. Did you want to do color ink or just black and gray?”

“I think colored ink would look pretty cool. Might as well go all out with it, y’know?” He has a small grin tugging on his lips.

How long ago was it since your boyfriend came and fucked you? Couldn’t have been that long ago considering your state. Joel did wonder why your face didn’t possess that post sex glow. Was your boyfriend really that bad?

“Cool. I think colored ink will also stand out as well. I think you’ll be pleased with the results.” You responded while locking your eyes onto his. You couldn’t help but stare at this tatted up Texas man.

“Y’know Angel, it’s rude to stare like that. Is there somethin’ on my face?” Joel said in a teasing tone as a low chuckle vibrated up his chest.

“Sorry, you just have really fucking pretty eyes.” You blurted out suddenly. You nearly wanted to facepalm from how stupid that sounded. Really? His eyes were pretty? What are you, 15 years old?

“My eyes are pretty? Huh, I actually don’t think I’ve gotten that one before darlin.’” Joel sounded amused by your word vomited compliment.

“Yeah well..don’t let it get to your head all at once.” You muttered under your breath, nervously playing with a stray strand of the fishnet fabric dangling along your thighs.

“Are you alright, Angel? I ain’t makin’ ya nervous or anythin’ am I? Cause I can always leave—”

“Nervous?” You cut him off mid sentence. “Now why the hell would you go and say something like that, huh? I’m not nervous.” Your tone was sharp and defensive, as if you had any reason at all to feel shameful just for giving this handsome man a harmless compliment.

“Not even in the slightest?” Joel asked casually, eyebrow raised in your direction.

“No. I’m actually unbelievably frustrated right now. You know why? My stupid boyfriend didn’t let me fuckin’ cum. All because of the outfit I’m wearing. Well, what’s left of it and because I was smoking a cigarette when he showed up. I literally faked a fucking orgasm because it was that bad.” You spoke exasperatedly. You forgot that this wasn’t another one of your vents to your girlfriends. This was Joel Miller, a potential client.

Joel raised an eyebrow suggestively at your admittance. Your stupid boyfriend didn’t let you cum? Well that was fucking rude of him. What a dickhead. “S’okay darlin.’ Not gettin’ to cum is really fuckin’ frustratin’. Dude sounds like an absolute tool for that.” Joel stated casually. He didn’t want you to feel embarrassed for your frustrations. It was completely normal and you shouldn’t feel ashamed of it.

“Well, fuck me. I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to talk to potential clients about my sex life like that. I’m sorry for subjecting you to that Joel.”

“Sorry? What do you gotta be sorry for? If anyone should be apologizin’ it’s that boyfriend of yours. Especially for fucking up your fishnets like that. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were attacked by a dog in the alley or somethin.’”

“Normally I would find that kind of thing hot, but he tore them because he hates them. It was literally the most unsexy thing imaginable. Felt more degrading if anything.”

Joel was silently figuring out his next move. You were visibly frustrated that your piece of shit boyfriend didn’t let you cum. Joel imagined that you would probably end up getting yourself off later when you were home. You could do that or there was a perfectly able set of hands right there on the counter. Thick, veiny, and calloused from hard work.

“Look, Angel. I don’t mean to be oversteppin’ any boundaries or nothin’ but if you’d like, I could help you out with releasing that frustration.”

Your mouth went dry at his suggestion. You hadn’t even known each other for a full day, and Joel Miller was already making provocative suggestions for you to use him to get yourself off. This was exactly why you knew that you and Joel were gonna get along just fine.

“Are you serious? I appreciate the offer but I could probably just use one of my vibrators at home when I close up shop.” You wanted to give him one last chance to back down. The idea of Joel Miller getting tied up with the likes of you was exciting no doubt, but he wasn’t your typical conquest. He seemed too nice to actually be down to please you in any way you requested. Or, so you thought.

“I’m dead serious Angel. You can use me to get off. You think I’m gonna protest that?” Joel asked with a raise of his brow.

“You're making this really fucking difficult cowboy.” You spoke through gritted teeth. Your thighs squeezed together tightly as you thought about his thick digits—

“Is this turning you on? Don’t feel ashamed or anythin’ okay? Seriously. I am more than happy to help out on your own terms darlin.’” Ain’t gonna pressure you or nothin.’”

You subconsciously took your lower lip between your teeth as you rubbed your thighs together. “Come with me.” You tilted your head to the side, signaling him to follow you to the back room.

Joel’s feet were moving quicker than his mind could process as he slipped past the beaded curtain following you.

“I only want you to use your hands, alright? Just your hands. You can play with my pussy, finger me. Do whatever you want but with your hands alone. You got that?” You were already propping yourself up on the padded bench, spreading your thighs open. Joel got a glimpse of your hot pink panties under your short, barely legal denim skirt.

“Christ, okay. Just my hands. Got it. You really don’t waste any time do ya?” Joel swallowed hard as he sank down on the cushioned stool, rolling to a stop in front of your spread thighs.

“Yeah, and I’m getting impatient already. Please just fucking touch me already Joel.”

“Needy little thing. I bet my words alone got you soakin’ through those cute little hot pink panties of yours. Should we look and see if I’m right?” He grasped onto your inner thighs, gently spreading them apart further. He could see the obvious wet patch on the front of your panties as he let out a low chuckle. “Oh, your pussy is wet alright darlin.’ Soaked right through your panties.”

“Mother fucker. Get on with it already or so help me—oh.”

Joel had pulled your panties to the side, using his pointer and middle finger to spread your slick folds open to his greedy eyes. “Mmm. You got a really pretty pussy Angel. She’s so pretty. So wet, soft, needy. I hope you keep me around long enough that I get to have a taste of her. Bet she tastes so fuckin’ sweet.” He hummed, gently rubbing his thumb across your clit in tight little circles.

“Keep that up and I will definitely keep you around long enough to have a taste. Fuck, that feels nice.” Your lips parted open as a soft sigh slipped past them.

“The only goal in my mind right now is to make sure you cum. I’m a man of my word, darlin.’” He rasped, continuing to rub tight, delicious circles against your clit. He was watching the way your pussy clenched around air. He could only imagine just how tight you’d feel around his fingers.

“Fuck, Joel. I’m gonna need a little more than that if you’re gonna get me to cum. Don’t be shy.”

“I know Angel. Just getting her all warmed up for me. Wanna make sure you’ll be thinking of me when you fall asleep tonight and not that stupid boyfriend of yours.” He said with a low growl while his middle and pointer finger were lightly teasing your entrance. He watched your face as he slowly slipped them inside of your wet, tight pussy. He felt the way your walls immediately clenched around his thick digits as he curled them inwards.

“Oh fuck. I knew they were gonna feel nice inside of me but I didn’t know they were gonna feel this good. Don’t worry. I won’t be thinking about anyone but you when I fall asleep tonight.”

Joel hummed in approval as he started to slowly pump his fingers in and out of you, curling them each time to hit the sensitive spongy spot inside of you. His thumb continued to rub tight circles against your clit, applying just enough pressure to send a wave of pleasure up your spine as your toes curled inwards.

“Your pussy is clenching so tight around my fingers Angel. You hear the way she’s purring for me? Mmm. Does your stupid boyfriend ever get you off like this baby? With just his fingers? That’s how a real man can make his woman cum. However the fuck she likes it. Fingers, tongue, his cock. You know that, right? You deserve to cum every fucking time Angel.”

He pumped his fingers faster, listening to the sweet sounds of your pussy squelching around his fingers as he fucked them into you. This was by far the most erotic encounter he had ever had with anyone. You brought the filth right out from between his lips.

“No—no. He never does. He just likes to fuck me. He won’t even go down on me. Even when I ask nicely. It’s never about me.” You let out a low moan, rocking your hips into his hand as your orgasm began to bubble in the pit of your stomach.

“Are you fucking serious? He’s never?—well, that just ain’t fuckin’ right. What a fuckin’ loser. His loss. I’ll eat your pussy till your seeing fuckin’ stars baby.” He pumped his fingers faster, determined to make sure you properly came. That he took care of you the way that you deserved.

Your eyes rolled back into your skull as you bucked your hips into his hand, desperate for more as the tight cord in your belly was begging to snap. You panted out Joel’s name, mixed in with sharp profanities.

“That’s it baby. Keep fucking yourself on my fingers. Get yourself off on me Angel. You close baby doll? Gonna get you there, I fuckin’ promise.” His thumb circled around your clit faster, matching up with the rhythm and speed of his digits curling and pumping inside of you. He hit that soft spongy spot one more time before you were coming undone around his fingers, soaking them in your cum.

You let out a mix between a sob, and moan as you felt the white hot pleasure shoot up your spine. Just like how your cum coated his fingers, the orgasm you experienced wrapped your brain in a delicious fluffy cloud. It enveloped you in a comforting warmth. Joel had a praise kink. That was pretty damn obvious from the way he was still talking you through it as your hips bucked into his hand, riding out the post orgasm high.

“Shh. I got you Angel. You’re safe. Felt good didn’t it? Look at you, you’re so pretty after getting fucked by my fingers. So fucking pretty.” He gently slipped his fingers out, admiring how you had coated them completely. You watched with a hazy, post orgasm stare as he slipped his fingers into mouth, sucking your cum off them. It was so fucking hot to see.

Much to your surprise, Joel had taken a paper towel from your supply bench and gently wiped between your thighs, chuckling when he felt your thighs quiver when the fibers of the paper towel brushed against your clit. “Easy. You’re alright. A little sensitive, huh?” He tossed the paper towel in the nearby trash before he gently fixed your panties.

“You sure know how to make a girl feel special Joel.” You spoke breathlessly as you slowly sat up on your elbows.

“I was raised to be a gentleman, no matter the circumstances, and I’m a man of my word Angel.” He offered you his hand as he gently lifted you from the padded bench. You were a bit wobbly on your feet so he wrapped his arm around your waist to keep you steady. “It’s pretty late and I wanna make sure you get home safe after locking up. Can I drive you home please?”

“I’m technically on the clock for another hour but after that? I’m exhausted. Normally I take the bus, but I accept your offer.”

Joel helped you lock up the shop for the night, flipping the lights off and locking the front door. You weren’t surprised to see that this man had a motorcycle and you gave him a little grin when he held out a spare helmet to you. He revved the engine lightly as you climbed on behind him, wrapping your arms around his middle and pressed your cheek against his back as he sped off into the night.

You were in a state of bliss, feeling the wind whipping against your face as you tightened your grip around his middle. You couldn’t see his face, but you just had a feeling that Joel was smiling. The ride to your little apartment was a short one as you told him the directions. He helped you off his bike, walked you up to your front door and didn’t leave till you had safely locked your apartment door behind you. In the midst of it, you exchanged phone numbers. It wasn’t 100% necessary but like Joel said, he was raised to be a gentleman under all circumstances.

Tag List: @chaotic-mystery @peterhollandkait @lovers-liability @korynnekorynne @loquaciousferret @cutesyscreenname @yazsos @kirsteng42 @777-wonders @last-girl @tinygarbage @wonder-harley @casa-boiardi @alwaysdjarin @bellaramseygfsblog @pedgeitopascalreads

[petty-crush]

“The Crow” (1994)

-a fascinating alternate universe is glimpsed here; when super hero films can be moody, visually adventurous, and have memorable villains

-of course this is all because Batman (1989) by Tim Burton was a fucking smash, but in the end this film is just wonderful and alive

-Alex Proyas has a deft hand as a director. His pacing is at times a little jumbled, but he really creates a dilapidated, lived in universe, and his blocking is superb

-Brandon Lee gives a performance where his whole body contorts to make a person aching to set things right then die

-I have a soft spot for actor Michael Wincott, and his presence as villain Top Dollar is a hoot every second he is on screen

-also, this clearly was a big influence on Cowboy Bebop. Its villain, Vicious, is essentially Wincott with the crow. Absolutely lovely

+and of course the church scene blow out, which is a mesmerizing set piece (again clearly indebted to Batman 89 but it makes it its own)

-the music in this film is well chosen and emotionally moving. This is capitol g Goth. The Cure, Stone Temple Pilots and an thundering cover of Joy Division’s Dead Souls by Nine Inch Nails

-there is a certain vibe to the first half of the 1990s in the United States, and this film captures it perfectly. Downer joyfulness

-the scenario and dialogue, credited to David J schlow & John Shirley, is tender while still moving forward with energy

+I like the random quiet moments of vulnerable whispers, such as “Mother is the name of God on a child’s lips”

-Ernie Hudson has a really laid back presence in this film, he supplies stubborn warmth that lets a lot of the film breathe. His airing of the character makes the film a richer experience

-I love the touch of the hero making the villain feel all the pain of his victim, the 36 houses in intensive care. It’s such a refreshing variation instead of just punching or dropping the bad guy down building

-something wonderful got caught here, it pulls out another world I look forward to revisiting

[onyx666]

☽◯☾ let the moon settle you ☽◯☾

chapter 1

pairing : finnick odair x black fem!reader

warnings : none

don’t hesitate to click on the links （＾ν＾）(underline text)

In the dimly lit room, the air was heavy with the scent of incense and the echo of distant memories. Reclined on a worn leather chair, the cold sensation of the tattoo artist's gloves on her neck is sending shivers down her spine. The walls were adorned with faded tapestries depicting scenes of both despair and triumph, a visual testament to the haunting stories etched into the skin of those who sought solace here. The steady buzz of the tattoo machine hummed in the background, filling the room with an ominous soundtrack as she braced herself for the ritual about to unfold.

The inker, a silent figure with eyes that held the weight of countless stories, prepared the ink that would soon be embedded into her skin.

As the needle met flesh, the pain mingled with a strange sense of catharsis. The molnija, a symbol of the life she took in the arena, began to emerge on her skin like a dark omen. Each stroke of the needle echoed the haunting memory of that fateful moment, the arena's unforgiving atmosphere, and the desperation that had led to the kill.

The room seemed to absorb the shadows, amplifying the somber mood as she thought about that soul she had annihilated on that battleground. The flashing ghost that lingered in the recesses of her mind, its presence intensified by the ink weaving its way into her skin. The pain and regret converged in a melancholic dance, leaving an indelible mark not only on her body but also on her soul.

The lodge became a sanctuary of shadows, the only illumination emanating from the dim glow of the artist's lamp. The mark, now etched into her skin, seemed to pulse with a life of its own, a macabre testimony to the harsh reality of the Games.

Near the end of the process, a heavy silence settled in the room. She, marked by the indigo ink that told a story of survival stained with sorrow, rose from the chair. The molnija on her skin was a permanent scar, a visual echo of the arena's brutality and the darkness that had seeped into her soul.

In the mirror, she confronted her reflection—a visage altered by the weight of her choices. That mark is going to stand as a haunting emblem, a constant reminder that, in the pursuit of life, one will have to confront the shadows that cling to the edges of survival.

Capitol - [17 - 19]

As she stepped into the grandeur of her victor's party in the Capitol, the contrast between her humble origins and the extravagance surrounding her was stark. Winning the 69th edition of the Hunger Games became real. The venue, adorned with opulent fabrics and sparkling lights, gleamed with a decadence foreign to the simplicity of her home District. The air was filled with the lively hum of Capitol citizens, their colorful attire and extravagant hairstyles creating a spectacle that seemed to defy gravity.

Finding herself in a world where excess was the norm. The walls were draped in cascades of silk, shimmering in every hue imaginable. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting prismatic patterns across the room. The Capitol's eccentricity was on full display, with citizens dressed in outfits that defied logic and science—feathers, metallic fabrics, and avant-garde designs that hinted at a creativity untamed by the constraints of practicality.

A live band played a lively tune in the garden, the music pulsating through the space and drawing Capitol attendees to the dance floor. Still adjusting to the splendor around her, she couldn’t help but observe the vibrant dance of colors, both in the attire of the people and the kaleidoscope of lights that danced above them. Waiters glided through the crowd, bearing trays of delicacies that she had never imagined.

The exotic scents of Capitol cuisine wafted through the air, tempting her senses with a richness she hadn't known in District Eleven. Golden platters held bite-sized treats adorned with edible gold leaf, and glasses filled with effervescent drinks bubbled enticingly.

Despite the festive atmosphere, she felt a pang of homesickness. Her gaze lingered on the holographic displays showcasing scenes from Eleven, a stark reminder of the life she had left behind. The Capitol's citizens, however, seemed oblivious to the disparities between the districts, lost in their own world of excess.

The eccentricity of the Capitol population was a spectacle in itself—each person striving to outshine the other in a display of flamboyance that bordered on the surreal.

As she navigated the party, she encountered Capitol citizens eager to engage with the new victor. They complimented her on her triumph, but their words felt like a distant murmur amid the overwhelming opulence. The Capitol's fascination with the Games manifested in their insatiable curiosity about the victors, turning her into a temporary celebrity in this glittering world.

She exchanged bitter pleasantries with Capitol officials, their polished manners contrasting sharply with her straightforward sincerity. The conversations were a delicate dance between the genuine and the superficial, as she struggled to navigate the unfamiliar terrain of political niceties.

In the midst of the celebration, her eyes met those of a fellow victor from a previous Hunger Games. A mentor now, they approached her with a knowing smile filled with sadness. Their eyes held a shared understanding of the harrowing journey she had undertaken, a journey that went beyond the glitz of the Capitol.

One Capitolite, a woman, with an elaborate headdress that seemed to defy gravity, giggled and remarked, “You must have had quite the adventure! I can’t imagine living without all the luxuries we have here.” The implication hung in the air—her life in Eleven was inconceivable, a distant and inferior existence compared to the opulence of the Capitol.

Despite the glittering surroundings, she felt an undercurrent of isolation. The Capitol citizens, in their pursuit of entertainment, had forgotten the humanity behind the victor. It was as if her struggles and victories were reduced to a theatrical performance, a diversion for their amusement.

The conversation fading in the back of her mind, her eyes met those of the fellow victor who had approached her earlier. There was a silent acknowledgment between them, a shared understanding of the dichotomy they faced—the duality of being celebrated and yet diminished to mere entertainment.

As the night unfolded, She found herself torn between the allure of the Capitol's extravagance and the memories of District Eleven. The party was a swirl of colors, music, and laughter, but amidst the celebration, she couldn't escape the shadows of the arena that lingered in her mind.

In this juxtaposition of luxury and survival, her, the young victor from Eleven, stood as a living testament to the resilience that could emerge from the darkest corners of Panem.

In the midst of the discomforting conversations, she felt a rather presumptuous touch on her shoulder. Turning, she found Finnick Odair, the charismatic victor from District Four, wearing a smug smile that hinted at both arrogance and mischief.

His tanned, sun-kissed and golden skin provided a striking contrast to his sea-green eyes, a captivating blend that reflected both warmth and depth.

He seamlessly interrupted the group, his presence demanding attention.

“Care for a dance?” Finnick’s request was accompanied by a challenging smirk, and he extended his hand, as if daring her to refuse. With a mix of reluctance and annoyance, she accepted the offer, escaping from the scrutinizing gazes and disconcerting questions.

The sudden shift from interrogation to an invitation to dance was met with a collective pause from the attendees. Finnick's effortless arrogance had transformed the atmosphere, turning an uncomfortable spotlight into an impromptu moment of forced celebration.

As she took his hand and joined him on the dance floor, the live band adjusted its tune to a rhythm that matched the graceful movements of the two victors. Finnick's skilled steps and her stoic expression turned the dance into an unexpected spectacle, a blend of tension and compliance.

Their dance, devoid of any genuine warmth, became a symbol of reluctant participation, a forced interlude against the Capitol's tendency to objectify victors. Finnick's cocky banter and her occasional biting remarks created a dance that mirrored the power dynamics of their world. The Capitol citizens, momentarily intrigued by the unexpected turn of events, witnessed a performance that teetered on the edge of social discomfort.

As they twirled and moved across the dance floor, Finnick maintained his smug demeanor, enjoying the discomfort he had thrust upon her. Yet, she refused to let his arrogance go unchallenged.

"So why did you accept? Was it my pretty smile or the infamous reputation that lured you into this dance?" Finnick's voice carried a mocking tone, attempting to unravel her composure.

A wry smile played on her lips. "Oh, Finnick, don't mistake my acceptance for admiration. I merely thought a dance might provide a more tolerable alternative to your insufferable conversation."

Finnick's attempts to steer the conversation away from personal matters met with her sharp retorts, turning the dance into a verbal battleground.

Undeterred, he leaned in with a sly grin. "You can't deny there's a certain charm to this it. Perhaps you'll find it more enjoyable than you anticipated."

Her gaze remained unwavering. "Your charm may dazzle those pigs you occasionally call your friends, Finnick, but it holds little sway over me. This dance is a strategic maneuver, nothing more."

He chuckled, a low, confident sound that reverberated through her. "A strategic maneuver? You give this dance far too much credit. Perhaps you're not as immune as you'd like to believe."

The response was swift. "Charm is a fleeting illusion, Finnick. It holds no power over substance. This dance is a calculated choice, not a surrender to you."

Finnick's eyes gleamed with amusement. "Most would have succumbed to the allure of the Capitol by now. Yet here you are, dancing on your own terms."

A flicker of something unreadable crossed her eyes. “If you gaze long enough into an abyss-”

"The abyss also gazes into you" Finnick finished her sentence, intrigued by the cryptic response.

The party, once an uncomfortable ordeal, had transformed into a nuanced dance of social dynamics, where she navigated the Capitol's expectations with a mixture of defiance and composure. Meanwhile, he, though seemingly victorious, couldn't deny the unexpected complexity that had unfolded beneath the surface of that interaction.

As the dance concluded and the crowd rejoined them on the dance floor, they slipped away, finding solace in the secluded beauty of the garden. She couldn't shake off the resentment for what he represented – the embodiment of the Capitol's playboy image, a pawn in their elaborate game.

He noticed the lingering tension and attempted to break the ice. "You know, not all of us chose this life. We're just pieces in their twisted puzzle."

She shot him a skeptical glance. "You seem to be enjoying it quite a bit, playing the part they want you to play."

Finnick sighed, his eyes momentarily betraying a hint of weariness. "It's all about survival. You play the hand you're dealt."

She scoffed. "Survival? You seem to be doing pretty good from what all Panem and I can see."

He paused, his gaze meeting hers with a flicker of sincerity. "Not everyone is as free as they appear. There are strings attached, and cutting them comes at a cost."

They strolled amidst the vibrant blooms, the moonlight casting a delicate glow on their conversation. She couldn't deny the complexity of his existence, even if she resented the role he played.

"I've navigated shadows, walked paths I'd shield from the sun," Finnick admitted, his voice a delicate unveiling of vulnerabilities veiled by his charming facade. "But survival, that's the currency they demand from us."

Her skepticism softened into a momentary understanding. "Surviving at what cost, Finnick? Your fucking soul?"

He chuckled bitterly. "The Capitol doesn't leave much room for souls, darling. They don’t even care for it"

She sighed, the weight of the Capitol's influence pressing down on them.

He met her gaze, his eyes revealing a complex blend of defiance and resignation. "Did Snow spoke to you?" he asked dodging the look in her eyes.

"Not yet. Why?" she replied, searching for understanding in his guarded expression.

Finnick shrugged nonchalantly, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Just curious. The Capitol tends to play its games, and Snow is the puppet master. Always worth knowing whose strings you're tangled up in, especially after a victory."

She frowned, a knot of unease forming in her stomach. The mention of President Snow brought back memories of his looming presence in the Capitol, a figure synonymous with control and manipulation.

"What does Snow want with me?" she questioned, her voice tinged with actual concern.

Finnick chuckled, a wry edge to his laughter. "Who knows what goes on in that twisted mind of his? Just be cautious. Capitolites love to weave narratives, and we're all characters in their grand spectacle."

He deftly shifted the conversation, steering it away from the enigmatic dealings of the so called regent.

“What was the anchor that kept you going in the arena ?” he asked.

A pensive silence hung in the air before she began, “It’s not a memory; it’s a feeling—the warmth of the sun on my face as I worked in the orchards, the rustling of leaves, and the quiet whispers shared between workers.” Her voice carried a nostalgic lilt, a reflection of the simple and rarejoys she had known in District Eleven.

Finnick listened attentively, the subtle dance of moonlight casting shifting patterns on the garden floor. “But in the arena, that warmth turned into the cold steel of weapons, and the whispers became the screams of those who fell.”

Her words bore the weight of the transformation, a metamorphosis from the familiar embrace of home to the unforgiving arena.

As she spoke, the moon’s glow accentuated the contours of her face, revealing a tapestry of emotions etched in every expression. Finnick, still standing in the shadows, observed with a silent intensity. The night seemed to unfold like a novel, each sentence adding depth to the narrative they were constructing.

“What about you, playboy ?”

He painted the scene with his words, “It was during the calm before the storm. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the district. The waves gently lapped against the shore, and for a moment, the air was filled with tranquility. I stood at the edge of the fishing docks, surrounded by the familiar scent of the sea. In that brief respite, I found a seashell on the beach. It wasn’t much you know, but it was enough. Just a simple reminder of a world beyond the brutality that was awaiting. Holding that seashell, I felt a connection to something pure, something untouched by the darkness that we were immersed in. It was a moment of quiet pride, watching the boats return with their bounties. I believed in a future where I could contribute to our district, make it better.”

Finnick’s gaze held a mix of nostalgia and sorrow. “But dreams have a way of shattering. The hollowness set in after the celebration, and the silence in my heart matched the quietude of the sea after the cheers faded away. I faced the reality that awaited me, all of us, as a victor, and it just became a distant echo of the life I had hoped for.”

"Live fast, die young, be wild and have fun....they say." she expressed with a bitter laugh slipping off her lips still cringing at the mantra.

As the gloomy moonbeam reflected on the side of her face in the moonlit night, she spoke with a grace that caught the peacock's attention, still standing in the shadows. The moonlight painted her face with a soft glow, revealing a tapestry of emotions in every expression. As strands of her hair danced in the gentle breeze, Finnick observed in silence.

The night, wrapped in the luminous embrace of the moon, held the promise of a new narrative written in the language of stardust and whispered confessions.

"I believed in the country Panem used to be." she said, still holding hope for the person she wanted to become.

In this moment, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, she became Moon, a celestial muse -a constellation of emotions and experiences that left an indelible mark on his heart, even him not noticing it.

Their conversation meandered through the intricacies of their existence, touching on the compromises they made to survive in a world that thrived on spectacle. Finnick, typically a master of charm, revealed fragments of a soul that yearned for freedom beyond the Capitol's whims.

As they continued to wander through the garden, the dichotomy between them softened. She glimpsed the cracks in his playboy facade as he caught a glimpse of the fire that fueled her resistance.

a/n : i keep seeing ppl do the ai voice cloning thing for a more immersive reading so why not try it

1) Finnick and Moon are 19 and 17

2) since the majority of Eleven’s population is predominantly Black and Native American/Indigenous, it seemed logical to me that Moon came from this District.