#looking forward to writing with you!

[glowsgreen]

@24survivors-monsters-rp continued from x.

"Of course, it's risky," Herbert did nothing to hide his irritation, having very little patience left for nay-sayers, "Nobody pioneers scientific advancement by playing it safe." He turned his attention back to mixing chemicals, "But... Every reaction-even a negative one-brings me one step closer to perfecting my serum."

[the-commissions-deadliest]

"As much as I hate to admit it, I wouldn’t have survived without you back there." (for Bonnie)

“Well darling, I guess that means you owe me one then!”

Bonnie speaks with a laugh, the corners of her mouth curving upwards in a smile. It’s hard to tell if she’s joking or actually genuine with these words. Though she socialises and speaks to others with ease, she’s not quick to truly trust others. Thus she often prefers to keep her cards close to her chest.  She stretches up with a sigh, a sound which is accompanied by a chorus of cracking joints and bones.

Though she had started her work at The Commission in the Corrections Department it was no longer common for her to be sent out on the field for corrections work, not since being promoted. But The Handler had specifically requested she go out and assist with this job; ever loyal and devoted to the woman she called her boss, Bonnie naturally obliged.

“I didn’t expect to be teaming up with somebody tonight but I suppose we did make a good team out there.”

The smile remains on her face as she goes to continue speaking, only to be cut off by the distant sound of police car sirens. Guess they hadn’t been as subtle in their work as she’d initially thought. She looks over her shoulder for a moment and then back to her companion, laughing softly, treating the whole situation with a casual familiarity.

“Hm, well now that sounds like our cue to get out of here doesn't it?”

[hydroesque]

『 starter for @pyroesque 』

𝐈𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊

feat. Childe & Diluc

That day Tartaglia found himself in Mondstadt.

He had been tasked with getting the cores of Il Dottore's enhanced ruin machines, which had ran rampant in Liyue. At least initially... he managed to defeat four of the five creations, but the last one had trespassed to Mondstadt, now close to the Dawn Winery's grounds.

The ginger loathed the fact it had escaped, and to top it off it was the strongest of all of the Doctor's latest creations.

It looked a lot like a ruin guard, but larger, with new adjustments that he had done with the Marionette's aid. Such an unsightly duo.

Finally locating it, Tartaglia took it down in a pushy endeavor. The Fatui would probably be in trouble if he didn't, as it was about to attack the vineyard close the the Ragnvindr mansion.

But he didn't expect things to be so easily — in fact, he hoped for a challenge.

Soon enough the giant machine rose from the ground, with a surprise attack that send the Fatui Harbinger flying.

He came crashing down atop of someone who was approaching the rockus he started.

Getting off of the redhead, he addressed a few words to him.

"My bad! Just stand back and--" He stopped, his words fumbling down the wire when he caught sight of that red hair.

It seemed awfully familiar — a hint he hadn't seen only once in his life, and he'd rather not remember despite reminiscing of it often.

It was none other than Diluc.

His gaze changed, finally speaking again.

"If it isn't the infamous Ragnvindr. I fear you found me quite busy—"

[benevolenterrancy]

Scholarly peak is catching up on recent literature

[newttxt]

and thats a wrapppppppp!!

from the 10th and final chapter of utilities included

masterpost

[stealingyourbones]

Everyday I exist and every day I get more and more exhausted seeing the “lol Batman looks at Danny and goes “who’s gonna adopt this kid” He’s so adoptable!” posts.

[coffeebanana]

Sorry if some of these overlap a little/if I left out something obvious kajbdsjkd I tried my best haha. And that's why there's an "other" option!

[notherpuppet]

Presale Open!!

Link to “My Deer Nanny” Let’s Dance Acrylic Standee:

[beloved-child-of-the-house]

Draco had got barely halfway across the Entrance Hall when it happened. He felt the Trip Jinx round his ankles before he saw his assailants, and he went sprawling hard onto the cold stone floor, the wind knocked out of him, his wand spinning away to clatter out of sight and well out of reach. He lay on his front, coughing and gasping with ugly laughter ringing in his ears.

"Nasty tumble, there Malfoy," jeered someone behind him. "You want to mind where you're going, or you could hurt yourself."

Draco pushed up onto his hands and knees, still trying to get his breath. There was no way he could reach his wand before they jinxed him again; he hadn't even seen where it landed. He never was any good at muggle duelling. He got one leg under him, bracing himself to be knocked flat again, and heard a shout from above him.

"Protego!"

The jinx bounced off the Shield, and Draco got to his feet under its protection. Harry Potter was striding down the marble staircase toward them looking like a thunderstorm. Halfway along he stooped and picked up Draco's wand. He hardly glanced at Draco as he passed him and marched up to the little knot of seventh years picking themselves up from where they'd been hit by the rebounding jinx.

"Think it's funny to knock people down, do you, McLaggen?" snarled Potter, glaring up at the biggest of the lot.

"Oh don't get your wand in a knot, Potter. It's only Malfoy," said McLaggen in the sort of tone you might use to say 'It's only a slug.' "No love lost there, eh?"

"It doesn't matter who it is! We're not doing things like that anymore," Potter said furiously. "We just got done with a fucking war, and you want to keep fighting? You lot want to keep it going just for fun? Well, I don't, and I better not see you do that again! Now clear off! Twenty points from Gryffindor!"

"You can't--"

"Too fucking right I can! Now get back to your common room!" And, perhaps because Potter was Head Boy, perhaps because he looked like he could spit nails, or perhaps simply because he was Harry Potter, they did clear off. Potter watched them go, then turned to Draco. He still looked quite angry, but he was clearly trying to gather himself, "You okay?"

Draco had grazed his palms rather badly from throwing his hands out when he landed; his left wrist and forefinger were throbbing mightily, and his chest still ached, but he shrugged, "Fine."

Potter grabbed his sleeve and pulled Draco toward him to inspect his injuries, "Liar. You should go to the hospital wing and get that sorted out."

"I'll live," said Draco, but he didn't withdraw.

Potter frowned at him, chewed his lip. "I heal it for you if you'd rather," he offered after a moment.

"If nothing else will please you."

Potter pointed his wand at Draco's bleeding hands, "Episkey." The scrapes vanished, and Draco felt the spell heal his sprained wrist and finger as well. Potter pressed something into Draco's hands. Draco's wand. Draco had already forgotten he'd picked it up.

______

Excerpt from my new fic Queen of the Weeds! Drarry, Rated E, 60K. This is a coming of age story about figuring out who you're going to be and what you're going to do after your life very publicly falls apart. Draco and Harry become friends and more after they both return to Hogwarts for their 8th year after the war.

This fic is not a WIP, it is complete. I will be posting new chapters on Sundays and Thursdays until the whole thing is up.

Also gratitude to Allie @oflights from whom I got the poem that I took the title from.

Edit: This fic is now completely posted! You can read all 10 chapters now now now! I hope you enjoy reading it, because it was such a genuine pleasure to write, and I'm really going to miss working on it! Get the whole story here on AO3!

[ai-no-kokuhaku]

if you had to get something off your chest, surely a demon isn't a bad option to vent to

[chilschuck]

May i requests imagines for chilchuck with an s/o that kisses rough? Not sexy biting rough but like those big dogs that throw themselves at their owners lmao!! Id like to see how youthink chilchuck would react ♡

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ this is so cute WAHHH!!! i hope i did it how you wanted, i took rough as more so messy and sloppy, which i thought would be fun to write!! i hope you enjoy anon, and so sorry it took me so long to get this out to you!!!

— CHILCHUCK HCS: x reader who gives messy kisses.

꒰ warnings: ꒱ sfw + gn!reader! fluffy goodness.

꒰ wc: ꒱ 550

✦ i’m still working on requests from april, so i’m so sorry to those of you who are still waiting for theirs!! i will get them out soon, i promise!! (;;w;;) lots of love to you and i hope you enjoy!!! <333

✦ Chilchuck isn’t sure what to think the first time you pull him in with messy kisses. I can imagine it’s a bit shocking to him to suddenly have his nose, cheeks, and lips smothered with smooches like that, so expect him to stop and process that for a moment.

✦ Once his cheeks are done burning and his nose is finished crinkling up, he’ll complain and grumble about it for sure. Be prepared for Chil to wave you off and act like he didn’t like it. (We all know he did.)

✦ Imagine approaching him as he works on something at his desk, his brow furrowed in concentration. You just can’t help but pull his face to you, licking your lips before he can utter a word and absolutely splaying kisses all over him. In between each obnoxious kissing sound is his voice complaining about the sudden barrage. You can’t help it, you tell him after. He’s just so handsome!

✦ It gets to the point where he hears you approach and he jumps, eager to defend his face from your lips. You pout a bit about it once, telling him you’ll stop giving him those messy kisses and he spends the rest of the afternoon silently thinking about the face you made.

✦ Expect him to get a little grumpy if you don’t walk past him while it’s just the two of you and pull him in for kisses. We know how this man is with affection, but imagine suddenly stopping your ministrations and leaving him with none at all. Chilchuck is going to eventually complain that you shouldn’t stop giving those to him. (Even if he acts like he doesn’t like it.)

“Hey.” His voice was softer but still a bit rough around the edges, pulling your attention from the task you busied yourself with.

“Can you… Do that thing you usually do?” Chilchuck continues after swallowing down his pride, that line between his brows appearing from how hard he’s furrowing his brow.

You blink, wracking your brain for what he could possibly be asking. Finally, he lets out a frustrated sigh, grumbling a quiet, “The kisses, idiot.”

That gets you smiling. Stretching your arms out towards him, you give that mischievous look you always do before decorating his face with your lips. Chil moves between your legs as you press kiss after messy kiss along the light spray of freckles across his nose and cheeks, trailing them down to finally meet his lips. You are pleasantly surprised at how much he reciprocates in that moment.

✦ If you haven’t seen him for a long time and the first thing you do is pull him into a flurry of smooches, he’s going to get very flustered. Get ready for him to either grab your cheeks and pull you to his lips or for him to groan out as you speckle his cheeks in kisses.

✦ Either way, Chil is affection and touch starved, and will never admit that to you. Once you find out just how much he secretly enjoys your affections like this, you never let him hear the end of it. He’ll always be on the receiving end of your messy pecks and smooches, even if he acts like he doesn’t look forward to it.

— dividers by @/cafekitsune!! <3

[cintipede]

Martin Blackwood's terrible, no good, very bad 19th november (iteration #67)

fanart based on @formiana 's time loop fic! go check it out its incredible

[muffinlance]

Do you get the impression the live action is treating us like utter morons?? Like I thought that making it aimed at an older audience would open the doors for more subtle story telling, but no, they're just using monologues to tell us eveything! Like in the second episode Katara's like 'oh his power isn't that he's the avatar, it's that he ~connects~ to people'. Girl we're not idiots we can see that!! And the first episode with Aang's goddawful 'I don't want this responsibility' monologue

THIS, YES. The word that keeps coming to mind is definitely "subtlety". The show for literal children? Had it. The remake for adults? Not so much.

[sentientcave]

Retirement Party

Chapter Three - Smoke and Whiskey

<< First Chapter - < Prev Chapter - Next Chapter >

Contains: No Y/N, Kidnapping, Forcible relocation, Generally creepy behaviour, Alcohol mention, Smoking mention (Tobacco, cannabis), plus-sized reader, female reader, There is something fucking wrong with these guys for real, More reader details given, but we're still pretty vague about it. Even though it is hard for me.

~3.2k

When you go back inside, you wind up wedged between John and Ghost on the bigger couch. Johnny’s stretched out on the smaller one, and Gaz claimed the chair that you’d been sitting in earlier, leaving you with no other option. Neither of them makes any effort to give you more space, even though they could. Ghost’s leg is pressed against yours from thigh to ankle, and John’s pinky finger keeps finding your thigh when he rests his tumbler against his knee. You want to curl up properly, tuck your feet up underneath yourself, but you can't without pressing even closer to at least one of them. At least Ghost isn’t quite as intimidating without his mask on.

After a while, Gaz and Ghost go out for a cigarette. The chair looks inviting, and you’d like to get a little space, but Price’s arm drops around your shoulders casually, pulling you in a little closer to his side. “Relax,” he says against the top of your head. “You’re alright, doll.”

The door opens again. “Soap, we’ve got a spliff, you want?” Gaz asks.

Johnny picks himself off the other couch, grinning. “Aye. An’ then cake?”

“Fuckin’ forgot about cake,” Ghost says. “Hey doll, d’you want some of this? Cap?”

“Who rolled it?” John asks. “Because I’m not smoking one of Gaz’s joints ever again.”

“Oh fuck off, Price, I can roll just fine.”

John looks at you and shakes his head slightly. “He really can’t.”

“I can roll,” you say. “I always do with my friends.”

You can see the calculation running behind John's eyes as he adds new information to what he knows and assumes about you. You want to laugh. You almost do. Most people take one look at you, with your big doe eyes and round face and and sunny disposition and think that you're some innocent little thing. Sure, you tend to live life with your arms open, and that might come across as naive to some, but you're not inexperienced by any means. You're nearly thirty years old, you're by no means a child.

"Let's see, then," he says. "Box on the coffee table has everything."

"Does tha' mean we can smoke inside again?" Soap asks. "It's startin' ta get pure Baltic out here."

John looks at you expectantly. "Up to you, doll."

"It's not my house."

He hums. "You're stayin' a while. Might as well be. It's important that you're comfortable."

You slide to the floor and reach for the box. "Well. You'd better open a window or two. But I don't mind."

Making a fuss over the semantics isn't worth doing. You probably are staying a while. Even if John really won't force you, you'll still need his cooperation to get all your stuff loaded back into the van, and all four of them are likely headed for hangovers.

John tells them to open the windows, and leans forward to watch you break up slightly sticky buds into the grinder. He brushes your hair behind your shoulders for you, and when you tip your head back to look at him, there's something in his eyes that makes your ears warm.

Johnny drops down to the floor on the other side of the table, a crumpled looking joint hanging out of his mouth. You can see what John means about not wanting to smoke it.

"You want a drink, doll?" Gaz asks. "More tea?"

You twist to look at him, hanging over the back of the couch, that handsome face smiling. "Have you got pop? Wouldn't mind a ginger ale."

"Got irn bru too," Soap suggests. "Ye've got some Scot in ye, aye?"

"Yes."

"Didja want more?"

You level an unimpressed look at him across the table. "I should've seen that one coming."

"I'd like to see ye com--"

"That'll do, Soap," John says firmly. "She's not goin' to have sex with you."

"Might feel a bit better if she did," Soap says, shrugging. "Ah'm just sayin'."

"You're not saying anything." Gaz sets an unopened can of ginger ale on the table next to you. "If you're gagging for it, we'll take care of you in a bit."

"And if you don't behave yourself you're not goin' to get anything," John rumbles from behind you. "She's been good. Surprised none of you have been slapped."

"Just the once." Gaz snags the joint from Johnny and sits back in the chair.

Ghost snorts. "What did you do?"

"Surprised her picking her up. My own fault."

You lean back and hold up the neat joint you've been rolling, hooking your arm over John's knee. He sets his whiskey to the side and takes it, holding it up for an inspection. "Nice work, doll," he says warmly. “Got a bit of a wild streak to you, eh?”

The praise makes you glow, despite yourself, and you laugh aloud at the second part, a real laugh, not nervous or bitter. All four of them shift their attention to you at the sound, snapping a tension you hadn’t noticed until you felt it’s absence. It’s important to them that you feel comfortable, and your genuine laughter is the first sign that you’re on your way. They really did think that they’d done you a favour.

Insane. But almost sweet, in a fucked up, unsettling way.

You pluck the joint out of John’s fingers and meet his dark blue eyes evenly, not missing the hunger that sparks into existence. “Got a light?”

John pulls his lighter out of his pocket, a little awkward with you leaning on his other leg, and holds the dancing flame out for you. You have to lean in a little to get to it, so you do, your eyes still locked on his as you inhale, the slight sizzle of paper and weed igniting clear in the otherwise silent room. You can hear the way his breath catches too, taken by surprise yet again. You offer the joint back to him, holding in a lungful of smoke.

“Shite,” Johnny hisses, breaking the heavy silence. “Yer absolutely sure ye dinnae want your cunt licked?”

You blow smoke at him from across the coffee table. “I’m sure.”

It doesn’t take long before drowsy complacency overtakes you. Curling up against John’s leg, your arm still hooked over his leg, you let conversation wash over your awareness, not paying enough attention to pick out one thing or another. John’s hand settles on your head, fingers threading into your dark hair, combing through soft strands idly. When you glance up at him, he’s watching you, blue eyes half-lidded but still plenty aware, a funny smile twisting the edges of his mouth upwards. He has nice lips under that bristling moustache of his, not as thin as you would have expected. His voice is a pleasant rumble when he speaks to the others,

He takes a sip of whiskey, and you follow the bob of his throat as he swallows, the way the tip of his tongue darting across his lips. It takes a moment for you to realize that he’s watching you study him.

“Hello, beautiful,” he says. “How are you feeling?”

For the first time since you’ve been there, you don’t feel scared. Just dozy and content, like a cat curled up next to a fireplace. “I’m alright,” you admit. “It’s been a strange day.”

His fingers flex, not quite gripping your hair, just holding you in place with the lightest pressure, encouraging you to keep facing him rather than turning away. “I imagine so.” His hand glides along to your ear, his thumb grazing over the shell, sending shivers down your spine. “It won’t be so strange tomorrow.”

“No more surprises planned?”

John glances up, looking at each of his men in turn, and then back to you. “Doesn’t look like it.”

“We do have cake, though,” Soap says. “Ye want some, bonnie?”

“Yes please.” You only turn to look at Soap for a moment before John is gently coaxing you back, curling his fingers around your jaw. Can he feel the way your heart leaps into your throat, thrumming like a hummingbird’s wings? It’s hard to look John in the eye, but harder still to pull yourself away. His touch leaves burning traces behind, and you’re all too aware of your body and the way you respond to him. It’s all too much, too soon and too strange.

He catches your hand when you try to brush his away. “Why don’t you come on back up here, doll?” he asks. “Be more comfortable than the floor, don’t you think?”

“No, I’m happy down here.” You tuck your knees to your chest, looping your arms around your legs, extricating yourself from his sphere of influence just a little. You’re still pressed up against his calf, but you don’t need to go that far, you just need to face forward so you won’t get pinned under that blue stare again.

John has a certain gravity, a magnetism that you can’t help but be drawn in by. It would be all too easy to sink into his arms, but the idea that you’d been given to him still bothers you, like a persistent, sharp little stone in your shoe, ruining what might have been something.

You perk up some when Soap hands you a plate with a slice of chocolate cake on it. It's not the prettiest thing you've ever seen, but it tastes incredible, rich dark chocolate and an icing that had so much whiskey in it that your teeth feel funny after a few bites.

"This is really good, Johnny," you tell him. "If the whole military thing doesn't work out, you could consider becoming a baker."

"Thanks, hen. And dinnae think I havena considered it. Gettin' closer to packin' it in awl the time. Just cannae leave Gaz until he's got a good team watchin' his back."

"We've got some good sergeants," Gaz says. "Nitro's got real promise."

"Shivs too. Little devil," Ghost adds. "You need a door smasher though. Those girls are tough as 'ell, but some occasions call for a big boot."

"Aye, ye'd say that, bein' the biggest fuckin' boot the Queen's army has ever seen."

"King now," John points out.

"Oh, fuck if I care which poncy arsed Windsor is sittin' in the big chair."

"Bloody leeches," Ghost agrees.

"I've got Sanderson in mind." Gaz winks at you, like you're in on some secret.

"Gary Sanderson? Is he no' dead?"

"No! Turns out he locked himself in a cryo chamber when the bomb went off. That facility was full of 'em, all kinds of experimental tech. It was finally safe to take a team in and we found him. Nitro started calling him Roach, and it's stuck."

"He's a damn good soldier. Be good for the taskforce," Price agrees. "Would've picked him ten years ago."

"Well, he's had a nice long nap, and he's hopping mad about missing so much. He'll make a good doorsmasher," Gaz says.

"How about that Lucky kid? Nitro’s brother.” Price asks. “He looked pretty promising. Unless his luck ran out.”

Gaz hums, licking frosting off his fork. “He’s a good kid, but his problem is that as soon as Nitro’s around he lets her do all his thinking for him. Splits her focus.”

You sigh, setting your half-finished slice of cake down on the table in front of you, and climb to your feet, wincing at the ache of not moving for so long. You edge between Ghost’s knees and the coffee table and skirt around the edge of the couch wordlessly. No one stops you, and there’s no falter to their conversation despite the eyes that follow you until you disappear upstairs to use the washroom.

As you wash your hands, you stare at your own face in the mirror. You look pretty, even with your eyeliner a little smudged, and your lipstick faded to nothing. The buzz of THC is your system makes you giggle. Pretty enough to kidnap, even.

You think about it for a long moment, and then take your makeup off and braid your hair back so you can wash your face properly, and brush your teeth too. All the weirdness of the day is catching up, and all you want to do is sleep it off. The low buzz of their voices carries up the stairs when you step out into the hallway again, seemingly unbothered by your absence. There's no reason for you to say goodnight-- you don't owe them any kind of civility. But you still hesitate.

Long enough that John appears at the bottom of the stairs. "You alright, doll?" He asks. "Comin' back down?" The stairs creak slightly under his weight as he starts coming up towards you.

"I was thinking-- I'm just tired, is all. It's been a long day."

He stops two steps down, so he's still looking up at you. "I understand. We can talk more in the morning."

"I'm sure there's a lot to discuss."

"If you say so. Already told you most of what I needed to tell."

"Just most?"

He nods, and beckons you closer, a conspiratorial smile on his face. You take one halting step toward him, and then another, until you stand right at the top of the stairs. His big hands catch yours, holding you in place when he moves one step up, taller than you once more.

You stare up at him, and your breathing is turned shallow, your heartbeat rapid and heady. His eyes glitter in the dim light as he leans close, the tip of his nose skimming yours, as if he means to kiss you. Like a deer pinned under the headlights of a rapidly approaching truck, you stand frozen, unsure if you even want to move, or if you welcome the inevitable collision.

He smells like smoke and whiskey when he speaks, his lips so close to yours you can feel the soft brush of breath on your skin. "Forgot to tell you how good you look in my shirt," he purrs. "Been thinkin' to say so all night."

Heat licks across your cheeks, his words waking something dangerous in your core, something that wants his hands on you more than anything else. It’s unfair, what he does to you already, barely more than a stranger, and you want him to be a good man so you can indulge that desire without fear of consequence. It’s been such a long time since someone looked at you the way he looks at you now, an almost indescribable fondness that you haven’t even begun to earn.

“It’s a nice shirt,” you say lamely. “Thank you for lending it to me.” You don’t mention that it smells very pleasantly like him, and how it’s been a bit difficult to keep yourself from sniffing at the flannel all evening.

“You’re welcome to anything I have,” he says, and you know he means it.

“I hope that includes your bed,” you say jokingly, trying (and failing) to diffuse the intensity in his eyes. “Because I think that’s where I’m headed now.”

“Of course it does.” His thumb rubs across your knuckles, the other hand coming up to cradle your cheek. You shake, all nerves, worried that he’ll close the distance and kiss you, but he just taps his forehead against yours instead, eyes smiling. “Off you go, sweet thing. You give us a shout if we get too loud, eh?”

You swallow nervously and nod, taking a step backwards. “Goodnight, John.”

"Goodnight, doll.”

You quickly shut yourself into the other room, flicking on the light while you strip down to your panties and wrap the flannel shirt around yourself again, and tuck yourself into bed. It’s been a bizarre day, and the room feels strange, too open and too dark, but it still doesn’t take long to fall asleep.

Hours later, you wake at the sound of the door opening and clicking shut again. You sit up before you’re fully alert, dreams shredding apart and solidifying into reality as you blink away sleep.

“Shh, s’just me,” John’s voice comes out of the darkness, slurring slightly. You can’t see anything in the darkness, until he crosses over to the window and opens the curtains, letting in a little light from the waxing moon outside. He turns towards her, his big frame silhouetted against the scant light, humming. “Bloody hell, you’re a pretty little thing.” The soft clink of his belt buckle is far too loud in the quiet room, as is the rustle of his clothes as he strips down to his boxers.

“John, what are you doing?” you ask nervously.

“Coming to bed,” he says, like it’s obvious. “M’too old to sleep on the floor, and Gaz is on the big couch.”

“Oh. I’ll move then. I don’t mind sleeping on the floor.” You throw back the sheets and swing your legs onto the floor.

“No, no, stay right where you are.” He swoops over and grips your legs gently, lifting them up and back onto the bed. He smells strongly of whiskey and mint toothpaste, and the clinging remnants of cigar smoke. “We can share tonight. Get things set up better tomorrow.”

“John…”

He slides into bed beside you and easily pulls you close, strong arms wrapping around you tightly, rolling so you’re half on top of him, one hand cradling your back and the other on your waist. “Yeah, doll?” he asks.

“John, we can’t— I can’t sleep like this.”

“Shh, just give me a minute to hold my pretty girl.” He nuzzles against the top of your head. “I’m gonna be so good to you, sweetheart. I promise.”

"You're drunk," you say, holding the flimsy excuse out for him, hoping that he'll take it. You don't want to think about him meaning it. It makes going home look all the more unlikely.

"A little," he admits. His hand drifts lower, fingers dipping below the soft lace of your panties to dig into soft skin around your hip. He groans. "You're perfect. Sweet and soft, so damn beautiful. I'll make you happy. I'll give you anything you want, if you stay with me."

"John! Stop that, we can talk later, just go to sleep."

"I know this all started wrong, doll. The lads got carried away. But this is right. You feel that too, don't you? We'll have to come up with a better story for our kids, hm? Something proper romantic." He kisses the top of your head, humming happily.

"Our kids?" you squeak. "Jesus, John, you can't be serious."

"Course I am. We can start trying whenever you're ready."

Well, at least now you know he's just as delusional as the rest of them. "You don't even know if I want kids."

"You do," he says confidently. "Tell me I'm wrong."

"You're drunk," you say firmly. "Go to sleep."

He chuckles. "You didn't say I'm wrong."

You push away and roll over so you don't have to look right at him. Even in the darkness, you're certain that your face betrays more than you'd like. It was none of his business if you wanted kids. You certainly weren't going to have them with him. "Go to sleep," you repeat.

"Yes ma'am," he says, looping his arms around you again, tugging you close to his chest. "Goodnight, doll."

Thanks for reading!

Image Credits: Banner

Dividers: 1 - 2 - 3 by @/Cafekitsune

[quincywillows]

like i remember the vitriol that came out when the mere PREMISE for ballad of songbirds and snakes came out bc it was “about the villain” and wasn’t instead a novella of one of the many cute likeable faves of the masses. i remember how fast people were to tear down the book before it even came out (and still do now). and it’s like look, i get it, suzanne created so many interesting characters that it would be incredible to learn more about and get more content for. but her choosing to write about snow for a prequel isn’t like Romanticizing The Villain or whatever bullshit y’all are claiming as hot takes on twitter -- ballad fits right into the common themes and tone of the series in that its not a romanticization but a reflection on how snow became what we know him as in the original series. both in how he already had some less than charming or healthy traits (just like katniss does -- suzanne is always clear that people are not inherently good nor evil and parallels were drawn between how snow and katniss view the world and think strategically, etc, from the second book), but also in how society and the choices of the greater community in panem created snow. like ballad is a really interesting piece of lore and history and worldbuilding for an already rich and elaborate setting that suzanne created, allowing us to see how that world even came to be and the kind of toxic impact it had on the people surviving in it while still pointing out that those people are human and that everyone has humanity and yet can still cause unfathomable harm to one another based on circumstance and need to survive and pressures of all kinds and like i have lost the plot here now but suzanne is one of the best authors of our time who actually gives a shit about creating layered, nuanced characters and worlds rather than black and white good and evil and unfortunately the hyperpolarization of our hot takes social media culture nowadays just can’t handle her anymore. suzanne im so sorry we don’t deserve your storytelling. anyway i’ll be seated for this movie y’all can skip and keep giving lukewarm takes on twitter to make urself seem so smart for hating a book you probably didnt even actually read