#old fashion snow shoes

[chandleredwards]

Enclosed Family Room Atlanta Remodeling ideas for a medium-sized transitional enclosed family room with black walls, no fireplace, and no television.

[xxacademy]

BLOODIED HANDS OF A LOVER'S MISFORTUNE —THRONE OF HIS OWN PART II

Leon Kennedy x Agent!Reader (she/her)

-> READ PART ONE

Summary: Blood, wine, fangs, touch-- his touch. Leon Kennedy made you his princess. He put you in pretty dresses, and put is mark on every part of you. But, it's time to face the reality of your situation. You are not Leon's princess, you are his back up. Now you're forced to do your job, and come face to face with the chaos of the vampire court.

Word Count: 2.5k

Content warnings: blood/gore, reader gets drugged and restrained, weapons, vampires, typical violence and themes associated with resident evil, i shamefully reference one of Leon Kennedy's cringiest one-liner's.

a/n: i had so much fun writing this!! action & horror elements are the best. i think i could write descriptions about blood and wounds forever... it's so strangely fun (?) anwaysss im playing re4r again and i cannot get leon's kicks outta my brain, lol. i hope you enjoy, and as always thank you for your patience. i am a full-time student and i have a full-time job, so writing can take me foreverrrrr.

Leon sits among the vampiric overlords while you sit alone, drinking a cup of tea, wearing yet another tightly corseted Victorian monstrosity.

The servants were undoubtedly kind to offer you clean clothes and breakfast, but that didn't make you want to leave any less. The uneasiness lingers dense in your stomach.

Last night was... Indulgent, to say the least. But the welcome has been overstayed, and you're antsy to leave the vampire's den. Hopefully, Leon will be quick to end their little conclave.

── ･ ｡☆*☽*☆ﾟ.──

You awoke suddenly to a loud clank beside you. To your groggy surprise, your tea cup had fallen and shattered at your feet.

The idle warmth of the fireplace and the cozy living room must have lulled you to sleep. Despite your mind being deep in a heavy fog, you found the strength to look around the room and confirm that you were still, in fact, alone.

You meandered to the heavily draped window and peeked outside. You prepared yourself to be blinded by searing bright snow, but... Oh, dear god.

The sun was setting. You rubbed your eyes in harrowed disbelief. The sun was fucking setting.

How could it be? It was only just morning. You couldn't have possibly slept the entire day.

Your hands were trembling mess as you squatted down to analyze the shattered tea cup. You grabbed a piece of jagged porcelain and brought it to your nose, breathing deeply.

You caught an unmistakably bitter note buried underneath aromatic peppermint. A sedative herb most definitely was used to lace the tea. You felt ashamed; how could you be so naïve, falling for such a novice trick?

But, there was no time to dwell. You scoured the room for a weapon. The only object that stood out to you was a particularly pointy piece of metal off an ornate candelabra. You ripped out the half-melted candles and bent the metal into a makeshift weapon, poking it into your skin to test its sharpness.

This should work, and if it doesn't? Well, It will, you told yourself.

Jaunty candlestick weapon in hand, you headed for the door, which was, unsurprisingly, locked. You analyzed the clunky metalwork and quickly determined it was an old-fashioned skeleton lock. You pulled several pins from your hair, fashioned them into impromptu Allen wrenches, and began picking the lock.

After several attempts and numerous broken pins, you finally jimmied the door open.

You set out into the gothic night-veiled estate, creeping through the labyrinth of hallways. Your heeled shoes and sweeping gown made stealth damn near impossible, but you had no choice but to make it work.

You followed the networking corridors aimlessly, pressing your ear to closed doors in the hope of finding Leon.

You heard pattering footsteps coming towards you, and in a desperate attempt to hide, you angled yourself behind a column of an archway. But as the person passed, a white-gowned servant, she stopped dead in her tracks and turned on her heels to face you.

Glowing red eyes met yours, and a mindless, other-worldly voice flowed from her: "You made a very grave mistake, chérie." The servant lunged at you, unarmed, fangs bared.

The candlestick you weld plummeted to the ground, and you grabbed the servant by the wrists and held her firm, straining to keep her away as she thrashed with all her might.

You threw her down by twisting her arm to the ground and holding her in place by firmly pressing your heel into her sternum. She cried a blood-curdling howl in pain, thrashing under your foot.

"Where is he? Where is Leon?" You demanded, rage filling your wavering voice.

The servant snickered, flashing small, jagged fangs.

"Tell me!" You demanded for the last time.

She was hysterically laughing now-- It was useless to attempt to communicate with a mindless thrall.

You reached for the candlestick and quickly bent over the thrashing servant and slit her throat with the sharp metal edge.

Hot blood spilled down her virgin-white dress, but her glowing red eyes stayed fully conscious. "You're a fool," she mocked, her fingers laced around your wrist.

You sunk your heel back into her sternum, this time with much more force, causing her head to smack against the floor. She hissed in pain. Blood was still pouring from her neck as you forced her hand off of yours. You repositioned the candlestick in your hand, aiming it for her heart.

You held her still by wrapping your hand tightly around her neck and drove the weapon through her chest. Her head lulled to the side limply, and her glowing eyes dulled- she was dead, finally.

You took a moment to catch your breath, staring at the woman's lifeless body. You couldn't recall a single vampiric servant from the previous night, so why now?

As you began to regain your composure, you looked down at yourself, pretty dress all covered in blood. It was an honest reflection of how terrible the last twenty-four hours have gone.

Regardless, you grabbed your blood-drenched candlestick and began creeping through the hallways once more. No one else seemed to be coming for you now. You were utterly alone as you tip-toed through the darkened estate. Utterly alone-- besides the gut-wrenching feeling that you were being watched.

The oil-painted portraits that decorated the looming walls felt like they saw everything. They saw you massacre that servant, they saw you lie to their rulers, they saw you drunkenly court your colleague. Maybe it was your own internalization showing, but you couldn't shake the feeling.

But you felt relief when you spotted a warm candlelit gleam emanating from the crack of a closed door. It had been the first trace of light you'd seen in these gloomy halls.

As you approached the door, you heard overlapping voices talking and laughing. It sounded like a blend of English and French was being spoken, adding to the dissonance.

You ever so gently pressed your ear to the door, attempting to make out what was happening. You couldn't understand a lick of the French being spoken. But you overheard something in English: "When are you going to get the girl?" a mysterious voice asked.

Another more familiar voice replied. “Quand nous en aurons fini avec lui.”

The King.

They must have Leon here. Your stomach dropped.

What could they possibly be doing to him? And the girl, that has to be me, right?

You don't know how it happened or how your cover could have been blown. What if they killed Leon?

There's no way you'd be able to defeat them on your own. Your mind traces all the rational options to go about this, but you conclude there is none. There is only one way.

You draw a quivering breath and open the mysterious door.

To your surprise, you revealed a grand banquet hall swarmed with almost the same lineup from last night's soirée.

The creak of the door caused all of their necks to turn to you instantly. The first thing you noticed was a sea of glowing crimson eyes. All the Lords have been turned now.

The King's stark pale skin and deep blood-red eyes burrowed through your soul. The pointed corners of his mouth raised in an impish smile. At the King's side was Leon, his arms bound and his head hung limp.

He had been draped and displayed at the hands of the merciless creatures that stalked this land. A centerpiece to their dastardly festivities.

"The bunny makes its way to the wolf's den. It's almost commendable." The King squinted, his head reaching forward in his throne to get a better look at you. "It looks like you even found someone in my estate to prey on. How scary."

"How did you find out?" You kept your words steady and firm.

The King laughed, "Ah, this is a good story."

"Go on," you said, taking a step closer.

The King shifted in his chair and took a sip of what was presumably blood from a crystal glass. "I had one of my men doing perimeter control on the south end. He made it all the way to the road, where he saw a car a few meters away-- and chérie, cars do not drive on that road."

Your heart sunk.

"He found a car and stopped it. I could tell you who he found, but I think you might already know. But in case you need a refresher, it was a United States agent with a very detailed file about you and Mr. Kennedy in his car."

You tried to close the gap between you and the King, but two guards restrained you by your arms after throwing your makeshift weapon to the ground.

"You bastard! You bloody bastard! What did you do to him? And what have you done to Leon!?"

"You're going to love this ma chérie. Leon is on the path to grand ascension— he'll become one of us soon. As for the agent that brought you here, he was at lunch the following day. Not exactly my taste, as I prefer the sweet blood of a woman, but he sufficed."

The room erupted in laughter, and long fangs taunted you everywhere you looked. Even the men who held your arms laughed at you.

You tried to break free of their grip, but they outmatched you. The men lifted you by your arms and dropped you before the King's throne. They pushed you down by your shoulders so that your knees crashed to the ground.

You hoped Leon would look up or say something. But he just rested on his knees, head down, in unwavering silence.

Your voice cracked, "And what about me?"

The King clicked his tongue, scanning your blood-soaked figure with heavy lids and a cocky glint in his eye. "You're simply too... Beautiful to just let go."

You rolled your eyes, "Give me a break! You think I'll just go along with you, easy as that?"

His lips formed into a cruel smirk, "I do."

You noticed earlier that the men who restrain you have swords attached to their hips, which could quickly turn the tide of this unlucky evening. The answer is, how?

"Just you wait, little dear." The King arose from his seat and picked up Leon by the collar of his shirt.

The King was tall; he easily towered over everyone in the room. His raven black hair flowed long down his back, extenuating his gaunt appearance.

It appeared that Leon had also been drugged. His body was limp, and he barely resisted as the King pushed him up and threw him into the arms of guards.

The King cleared his throat, demanding the room's attention to himself. "Good evening, everyone. You all know Leon here; He was incredibly loyal and fearlessly dedicated to our cause. But it's recently come to light that he and his darling little girlfriend are federal agents for the United States military."

The crowd murmured their feelings in disgust. "I know, this is very disheartening. But, I have a fitting punishment for the traitors."

The King dragged on about how he planned on turning you both into vampiric slaves, doomed to a life of servitude. But you couldn't care less. He clearly underestimated you.

You notice Leon begin to come to consciousness. It started with his hands forming into fists and then him rolling his neck from side to side.

He lifted his head, sunken blue eyes meeting yours. You were kneeling on the ground, dress blood-soaked and arms forcefully restrained by guards, all before him, to save him.

Leon's eyes darted to the swords the men beside you adorned, and then they darted back to you. He raised an eyebrow as if asking if you saw what he saw.

Yes— you mouthed the words, and Leon nodded.

"Ahh, you're awake." The King forcefully grabbed Leon's neck, digging his talon-like nails into his skin. "Your time has come, Kennedy."

Leon remained silent in the wake of the King's cruelness.

The King yelled for more guards, and they arrived holding a small box upon a velvet pillow. The King opened the box, taking a sizeable, needled syringe between his fingers.

That's how they're doing it, and Umbrella parasite, of course, You thought to yourself.

The guards holding your arms tightened their grip as the King approached Leon, flicking the serum vial menacingly.

"Let the coronation commence!" The King exclaimed to exuberant cheers.

In a quiet voice, he said to Leon only, "I wasn't planning on the girl being here, but how sweet is it that your lover gets to witness your rebirth?"

Leon scoffed, staring at the King directly, sizing up his foe. "We'll see about that."

The King was unphased as he closed the gap, reaching the needle closer and closer to Leon's neck, and when he was in range, Leon charged his leg and landed a devastating kick to the King's chest.

He went flying back and fell to the ground with wind-knocking ferocity. The syringe skidded across the marble floor, far from the King's grasp.

Before anyone could react, Leon freed himself from the guard's grip, flipping one of them over his shoulder and slamming him to the ground. He kicked in the other guard's kneecap, sending him down instantly. Leon stole both swords from either injured guard and pointed them at the King.

Sweat dripped from Leon's brow, and his skin looked washed out and pale. But he stood tall in the wake of the tyrannical leader. The people around began to stir. Some remained frozen in shock, and some readied themselves for a fight.

This was about to get very ugly, and you needed to break free. With your knees pushed into the ground, it was difficult to maneuver against the guard's strength.

You hastily attempted to drive your elbow into the stomach of one of the guards. He deflected it. But you tried again, aiming for his knee. You landed it this time.

"You bitch," the guard grunted as he stumbled back. The other one grabbed you by your arms, lifting you to your feet and placing you into a headlock.

Leon reacted swiftly by throwing one of his swords in your direction. The guard flinched as the sword propelled through the air, seemingly aimed right at his head.

But, you caught the sword by its hilt and wasted no time driving the blade through the belly of the guard who restrained you. The other guard, who was still reeling from his punched-in knee, was next. It was light work for you as you twisted the blade through his chest.

Leon called for you, requesting your backup as he fought off the vampire spawns. They had Leon surrounded, protecting their King like devoted honey bees.

You axed through the crowd, driving your long sword through the hearts of fresh vamplings. Leon held his own impeccably well. He pushed away hungry fangs with ease, kicking and slicing the hoard.

You joined Leon and pressed your back against his as you fought against the opponents from behind.

Through ribbons of blood, chaos, and murder, you gritted through your teeth, "What's the plan?"

"Kill the King and run," Leon grunted.

"Where to?"

"The cabin."

"You got it; I'll follow your lead." You couldn't hide the smirk that formed across your lips. It felt good to finally be reunited and dishing out justice.

Leon chuckled exasperatedly, "Just stay alive, sweetheart, and we'll all be singing kumbaya later."

part three coming soon xx

!! tag list -> @g4ys0n @elijahsprincess

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

tapis rouge groovies + new rhythmic/twistune ✨

***Spoilers below the cut!!***

Ooooh!! As usual, Vil is striking a model-esque pose and showing off not only his own looks, but the best aspects of the ensemble he’s wearing. (If his outfit looks different than how you remembered, it's because Vil gets new sleeves and a cape added on in part 4:)

I like how the lights behind him and on his face are so bright, yet the shot is framed darkly since we’re looking from his shadowed side. It makes Vil look so mysterious!!

He’s holding up a black piece of cloth that seems to glitter; I believe this is “Black of Night”, the signature color of the high fashion house, Luxe, that prepared his and the other NRC boys’ customized outfits. (The name of the color is a reference to an ingredient in the potion the Evil Queen makes to turn into an old lady.) It’s iconic, and only Luxe knows the secrets behind achieving the color of this dye. Many celebrities wear certain brands on the red carpet as free advertisement for the brands they wear, so this makes sense for Vil to be doing as well.

JAMIL 😳 I feel like both he and Azul are helped out a lot by moving in their outfits; the in-game models are a little too stiff-looking to fully convey the elegance of these particular looks. Jamil’s braids are so pretty here, they flow in the wind with such grace!! His expression is also nice, he’s giving the camera a cheeky little smirk from the side…

The shot’s composition is pretty interesting too! Jamil sort of has his arms spread out and his back revealed, and Vil, in front of him, is blocked out by an onlooker/reporter’s elbow. It gives off the impression of Jamil both showing off his coat while also playing bodyguard to Vil. Jamil is a trained bodyguard and can be protective, so… very fitting! Even moreso since Jamil was the card paired with Vil on the limited banner.

Another outfit helped by movement!! You can see how the tailcoats trail behind him and how his jacket’s wide sleeves actually pull/bunch back to allow the green sleeves of his undershirt come out. The light being so prominent on him also highlights his golden frames very well; it’s usually hard to spot small details like this from the model itself so I’m glad we can better appreciate it here!

I love how Azul is soaking up the attention and making the most of it (as opposed to Jamil, who seems to be playing it cool and serious). Smiling and winking for the crowd… Azul stans eating good www He’s even in his usual “poor unfortunate soul, please allow me to assist you” pose 😂 Reeeeeally trying to paint himself in rbe most flattering way possible, eh??

We can see Vil’s head and Jamil’s pants + shoes here. Vil’s the SSR and the star of the show so of course he won’t be left out! Jamil is the other card on the banner that goes with Vil. You can tell it’s Jamil because of the long coat and baggy pants; his shoes are white but appear darker in this illustration probably because of the shadow over them. Ace is not high enough in rarity to cameo in other Groovies/j

Note: Ace is the R card, so his illustration does not change significantly. A shame, really. I like his look the best in this batch 😔 It would have been fun to see what an interpretation on an Ace Groovy would have been!

There is a second rhythmic/twistune that features Vil and co. strutting down the red carpet! There are many cute details in it, such as Vil interacting with his fans by taking selfies with them, giving his signature, and speaking with a reporter.

Jamil and Azul play their parts as "huntsmen" to the Fairest Queen by bringing Vil boxes akin to the one that was meant to contain Snow White's heart.

When Jamil presents Vil with the first box, Vil pulls out his poison apple luxury bag. Then a fog of green covers the screen and when it fades away, Vil is in his new sleeves and cape combo.

Here he is, posing glamorously for the camera! The others do their best to show him off too. (fhbalifiyabifeab Azul is really doing his best to present Vil...)

At the very end, Azul and Ace step up to help Vil with final makeup touch-ups. Jamil seems to spritz him with some perfume too! Then Vil finally ascends to his rightful place up high!! Such a triumphant ending for a super fun rhythmic 🥺

[ellielatinagf]

Lacrosse! Ellie part 3

Summary: You finally get to meet up with ellie on a date! Is it a date? Technically….

Warnings: cursing, mentions of sexual activity, FLUFFFFFF lmk if I missed any

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

“Girl no those colors DO NOT match” Dina huffed

“Then what can I wear??” You asked almost getting annoyed. Dina had been at you house since 8 am. It’s now 10 am. You’d both been trying to plan a cute outfit for your little “date” with Ellie. Unfortunately Dina is going overboard and dressing you like your going to the red carpet.

“I’m gonna go take a shower Din, can you just pick something cute and casual for me please?” You asked

“Ugh. Fine. I guess no dress then” Dina said grinning a bit. You rolled your eyes smiling and went into your bathroom.

You looked in the bathroom window to see a small amount of snow on the ground. Winter came a bit early this year. Not that you were complaining, you liked the winter. You removed your clothes and turned on the shower to warm water.

As you stepped in you thought of your meet up with Ellie. You’d be wrong to say you weren’t eager about it. You’d thought of both the meet up and Ellie all week. Maybe Ellie a little bit more. You thought of Ellie at your front door holding a bouquet of roses and giving you that goofy grin she has. You thought of Ellie holding your hand while you two sat in a large fancy restaurant. You though of Ellie’s lips on yours at your own made up wedding ceremony. And guilty enough, you thought of Ellie above you naked and prepared to give you all the love she had for you.

Your thoughts were soon cut off by Dina talking behind the door

“Hey are you almost done? I had a lot of fiber this morning!” Dina said. You quickly finished in the shower and put on what Dina had picked out.

You had some boyfriend jeans with a Nike hoodie and a puffer vest over it. It was cute and simple. You looked at your shoe rack. You’d remember Ellie’s shoes. Crusty, old, torn apart converse. As much as it was kind of disgusting, it was kind of cute and made you giggle. You put on your plain converse, maybe Ellie would notice.

dina unlocked the door and came out of the bathroom and smiled at you.

“You look gorgeous” Dina smiled “thanks to me” you giggled at her weird compliment.

“Call me after okay? And give me every detail too. And I mean I wanna know the exact time she blinked too” Dina said

“Okay okay okay I’ll tell give you how many freckles she has” you replied giggling

“More than 50 and I’ll be concerned” Dina joked back and you both went your separate ways.

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

*10:45 am*

You walked in the coffee shop that Ellie had given you the address for. It looked small and family owned. Those were typically the best coffee shops in your opinion.

As you walked in you scan the facility. Would Ellie be here already? Does she like to be fashionably late? Maybe she’d think you were too early.

Your thoughts all went away when you looked and saw a familiar figure sitting behind the counter on the window.

She looked so good. Ellie wore a black t shirt with a red flannel over it. She also wore some faded jeans with them. The jeans has some pain splash’s and…is that charcoal? She also, as assumed, wore those same converse.

You walked towards Ellie and smiled. You tapped her shoulder and she removed her headphones to look at you.

“Hey” You smiled.

“Hey You” ellie smiled back. She turned her body to look at you. You felt her eyes travel up and down your body. You didn’t feel uncomfortable by it, it was almost like she was taking you in. She seemed to have come back to reality and patted on the stool next to her.

“Sit. Um, I ordered you a coffee already if that’s okay?” Ellie asked. She seemed a little nervous. You couldn’t help the small blush forming in your cheeks.

“That’s perfect” You smiled. “So how’s your week?” You asked trying to make small talk.

“My week? Um. Just a lot of practice” ellie chuckled.

Hot

“How about you?” Ellie asked

“It wasn’t bad” You smiled. A waitress came over and brought out the coffee.

As you two sipped your coffee Ellie talked about lacrosse. You didn’t know much about it but with Ellie, she could talk about a single grain of rice and you’d be interested.

“Sorry, am I talking to much?” Ellie asked cringing at herself.

“What? Oh no. I like hearing you talk” You replied. You felt yourself blush once again.

“I just think maybe I talk too much and it like, scares people away” Ellie chuckled awkwardly.

“I like hearing you talk” you repeat. Your cheeks were starting to feel hot. You contemplated going outside and shoving your face in the snow just to cool down.

“Yeah but…I like your voice too” Ellie mumbled. She said it so low, but you could just make out what she said.

“Is that the only thing?” You asked softly.

“Hm?”

“Is that the only thing you like about me?” You asked. You have absolutely no idea where and why this boldness has hit you like a speeding truck.

“….no” ellie replied sipping her coffee. You both looked out the window. The empty road. The white snow covering everything. The way that even though it was the afternoon, the grey sky illuminated the whole view.

“What else do you like?” You asked.

“….I like your smile” Ellie replied once again so softly you could barely make out the words. Your blush grew deep. But not as deep as you saw Ellie’s grow.

“I like your hair” Ellie said.

Oh she’s doing this…

“I like your pretty face” she says looking down in the cup of her coffee. You smiled and looked at Ellie. She turned her head to look at you. Once she saw that you weren’t uncomfortable by her words she smiled back.

“You wanna hear a good song?” Ellie asked.

“Yeah sure” you smiled putting your coffee down.

Ellie got out her phone and plugged in the earbuds. She handed you one as she looked for a song. You blushed and took the earbud in your ear and looked at Ellie with a look that said “I love you”.

Ellie looked at you and smiled. That smile. That grin your always thinking of. Those eyes you can never remove from your memory. Those freckles you wish you could kiss. Is there anything really stopping you from kissing them?

Ellie pressed play on the phone and you both listend to the lyrics

I thought that I was dreamin’ when you said you love me

The start of nothing

Had no chance to prepare, couldn’t see you coming

And we started, from nothing

Ooooh I could hate you now, it’s alright to hate me now

You listened to the rest of the song with Ellie. After it was done she smiled at you

“You like it?” Ellie asked

“Like it? It’s Frank ocean. Who doesn’t like Frank ocean?” You chucked.

“That’s what I’m saying! My friend, Jesse, says he’s mid and it doesn’t even make sense! Frank ocean is a lyrical genius, with the voice of an Angel” Ellie said. You giggled and smiled at her. She returned your smile.

For what seemed like eternity you stared into each others eyes. Her green orbs could light up any room. Her pink cheeks only helped bring out her freckles that were decorated around her face.

“What time do you have to go…pretty girl?” Ellie asked. Your face felt like it was on fire. You looked outside to see it be somewhat dark. Figures, with the winter change. You look at your phone clock

*3:17 pm*

“Hmm..probably now. I promised Dina I’d go to her house” you replied. Dreadfully of course. You wished you could just take Ellie everywhere you go.

“Me too. I have a game today” Ellie replied.

“Oh, you should send me your schedule. I want to go to another game” you smiled. Ellie chirped up and looked at you.

“Really?” She asked “but I thought you said you didn’t know anything about lacrosse?”

“Yeah but I mean…I can learn” you replied.

“Is there….any other reason you’d want to go?” Ellie asks. She knows what she’s doing doesn’t she?

“We’ll maybe…there’s Someone I’m looking forward to seeing” you replied blushing once again. With the amount of blood rushing to your face in this “date” you probably don’t have anymore blood in the rest of your body.

“Maybe someone’s expecting to see you too” Ellie replied smirking. That smile. God that smile.

As you both started to leave you both said your goodbyes at the door.

“Text me when you get home, mkay?” Ellie’s asked.

“Text me when you win your game” you replied. Ellie smiled at you. You stayed there, smiling and staring. You felt yourself leaning in toward Ellie. Like something was pulling you in. Ellie felt it too. You stopped when your lips were inches from hers.

*Dinasaur calling*

What a cockblcok

“Um sorry” you said chuckling nervously scrambling to turn off your phone.

“Oh heh no yeah sorry about that um…text you later?” Ellie asked

“Mhm yeah…bye Ellie” you said

“Bye babe” ellie replied smiling and walking away

after a couple minutes of walking you revived a text from Ellie

*if you could see my thoughts you would see our faces*

Your heart almost stopped. You thought your body was gonna explode. You knew it was yet another Frank ocean lyric, but you couldn’t help but be delusional over the fact that maybe it means something more. Maybe she wants something more.

You picked up the phone to call Dina back

“I’m gonna kill you” you huffed at your professional cockblocker.

I actually LOVEEEEEE this part omg. I hope you guys love it just as much as I do and I sooo wanted more fluff and I know you guys probably do too!Thanks so much for reading and I hope I won’t disappoint with the next part! Bye loves!! Free Palestine 🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸

Tag list: @vqxen @bready101 @vampyangel @gato-chino @a-little-bit-of-everybody @lilylynne11 @lively-blues

Love you all!!! Free Palestine 🇵🇸 from the River to the sea🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸

[jadeoru]

liar's love.

00: prologue -- masterlist

warnings: family issues, briefly mentioned religious trauma, smoking, slight alcoholism, unhealthy coping mechanisms, broken childhood, depression, self harm (burning skin with cigarettes), overall pretty angsty, you have been warned!

She remembers when she was a kid; watching models twice her age strut down a pristinely clean catwalk, looking flawless. She remembers the flame that ignited within her, her eyes sparkled at her cheap television. It was old - older than her, and it frequently froze and glitched. She remembers battling the dust that rested on top of it, choking on it as she hit it with whatever was closest to her, trying to get it to work again. Static brought her a strange sense of nostalgia; the snow reminded her of cold evenings, barely back from school and immediately locking herself in her room. She’d stay up until the sun rose, over-analysing each and every model she saw: every move, down to the smallest of habits. She wrote down everything in a pink glitter gel pen, inside of her unicorn notebook she spent all of her allowance on. Before bed, she’d read through every note, with the television blaring in the background.

The noise created a shield, a blanket, that helped protect her from the outside world. To her, her bedroom was an escape. In her eyes, she thought it was normal; the shouting, the sounds of broken glass, furniture being thrown to the ground. She wasn’t aware that it was wrong, but it made her feel bad. Her parents shouted a lot, and although she didn’t comprehend what exactly was happening, she knew she didn’t like it. She was too young to understand the words they’d scream. Instead, she shrugged it off, waiting for the day her teacher would mention the terms; definitions. Unfortunately, ‘affair’, ‘alcoholic’ and ‘divorce’ weren’t relevant to her education. When the snow danced on the screen, and the low humming static snapped her back into her sad reality, she felt a pit in her stomach. She didn’t have the vocabulary to describe it, other than “painful, but not physical”. Whenever the aching feeling washed over her; found home inside of the deepest parts of her mind - where not even sunlight could reach, she’d reach for the remote, and fill it with noise.

She always liked fashion, although due to her financial situation she could never express her passion the way she wished she could. She remembers staring through the windows of designer stores, up the ‘rich people’ side of town. She’d take her mom’s phone, and take pictures of all the beautiful gowns that were on display. She was never really sure why she did it, she just liked looking at them; drawing them in her unicorn notebook and imagining it was her wearing them. She dreamed of the day she could wear those clothes. Unfortunately the second-hand charity shops in her town didn’t have the extravagant garments that she’d find behind those windows. Her fanciest dress belonged to an old lady before it fell into her hands. It barely even fit her. She didn’t like the life her parents put her in, but she wouldn’t dare complain. Her father, although he never had much to say to her, made it clear that her opinions weren’t worth his time. If she had a problem, he’d send her to her room, to ‘pray it away.’

She always had a weird relationship with god.

She remembers when she came home from school early one day, to the television accidentally left on. She didn’t know where her parents were, they were often gone. She learned not to question it. Instead, she took her shoes off, and curiously checked what show her mother left playing.

That was when she first discovered modelling, and quickly she fell in love with it.

The camera’s blind spots hid a lot of things from her, she realised as she got older. She learned much more when the camera’s stopped rolling than she ever did on tv. She was fooled by the tabloid press into thinking her life would become a life-long party. She thought she’d finally have the life she’d dream of; she’d earn her way to happiness. She never had much free-time. As a model, she needed time to ensure she was always in peak physical condition, to meet the demands of the job. As a freelance model, she used to spend up to eight hours a day in front of a camera. Sometimes she’d take a break, and enjoy a day to herself, but sometimes, that would make her think. And whenever she thought, the empty feeling from her youth revisited her. Which is why she worked hard, consistently; constantly. She buried herself in work, to distract herself from her cruel mind. Maybe if she worked hard enough, she’d finally feel fulfilled.

Luckily, when her career started to kick off, and her name started to get recognised, she found a modelling agency that would support and represent her with pride: the Tsugi Agency. They helped project her in ways she couldn’t fathom: booking frequent jobs, scheduling shoots, runways, interviews, everything she needed to boost her career to the fame she has now. They provided help and wisdom, encouraging her and helping her reach the confidence she didn’t know she was capable of having. She finally had the life she dreamed of as a kid. Her face was plastered on billboards all over the country, and she couldn’t step outside of her house without people recognising her face, knowing her name. It was weird, and there were plenty of times she felt as though she didn’t deserve any of this. Despite the fact that she was living the life she dreamed of,  it felt wrong. She distracted herself from those thoughts by working. She bottled up every negative feeling, just as she did in her family home; the static television filling the emptiness inside of her. She ignored her body's need for breaks. She ignored how desperately it needed to release the growing dread and sadness that she buried deep within her.

Instead, she worked.

She remembered the first time she held a cigarette to her lips; the smoke hit the back of her throat, causing her to choke. It was weird, and she didn’t like it all that much, but she didn’t stop. The smoke filled her lungs, providing her with warmth similar to a hug - it was the closest thing she had.  She remembers when her thoughts got the best of her, and she put the cigarette out on her skin for the first time. It didn’t hurt much, especially in comparison to the pain her mind brought her. In a way, it was relaxing. The light scars that accompanied the burns made her feel stable, secure. But the pain was only temporary, and the guilt that followed her after never felt worth it.

Eventually, that wasn't enough to distract her. Her shaky hands brought the cigarette to her lips, but the smoke no longer felt like home. It wasn’t enough to satiate the ache that begged to be hidden. The ache that only seemed to go away when she’d suppress it, burying it in other problems: Her sweet distraction. That was the night she tried alcohol for the first time. At that moment, when the bottle crashed onto the floor, shattering into shards that reflected the broken remnants of herself, she understood why there were always so many empty whiskey bottles next to the sink. As she witnessed her father’s drunken state, she remembers when she promised she’d never drink; swore to herself that she’d never end up like him. But, as the bottles began piling up in her room, she came to the cruel realisation that she was always her father’s daughter. Nothing could ever change that. Even as a child, she mimicked his coping mechanisms without realising; blaring the television, drowning out her problems - to the present, burying herself in work.

Distractions. 

Her childhood habits followed her into her adolescence, providing her the comfort her parents failed to teach her. Eventually, when she stared into the mirror, it was her father’s face that stared back. As his angry eyes stared into her, her own screaming filled her ears; nails grasping her hair for stability,

She decided to give sobriety a try.

It ultimately made her worse.

There was only one person that understood her, and that was her stylist, Hitoka Yachi. She was younger than her, only by a year, and she was beautiful. She wasn’t as experienced as her in the modelling field, but her enthusiasm made up for her inexperience. She was great; the living embodiment of sunshine. She could light up a room just by entering it. In a way, she kind of envied Yachi. She wished happiness could come to her as naturally as it did to Hitoka. Her smile filled out her cheeks after almost every sentence, like muscle memory. She was one of the only people in her career that treated her like a human being, and not an object to shape and mold to their desire.  She always felt comfortable around Hitoka. When she saw the burn marks that littered her skin, in places her clothes would usually cover, (she was a model after all, she couldn’t let the media see her flaws.) her voice was filled with genuine concern, a tone she only heard a few times prior to that. A voice she never heard as a child. 

Yachi understood her. - in ways no one ever had. She cared for her, in a moment of her life when no one else had. They often spent late nights together; after a frustratingly eventful day. They stayed in her dressing room, and talked about every problem that crossed their minds. She opened up to Hitoka, and never once did she shame her. She was flawed; made so many terrible decisions, mistakes, and honestly spent most of her life being a terrible person, but Hitoka never  judged her: she listened to her, and understood. She saw through the mask she wore, she knew the fragile, broken person that hid behind it,

And yet she stayed.

“Hitoka?” her voice was low, almost a whisper. She turned her head to the side, facing her friend, who was lying on the cold floor with her, staring at the ceiling next to her. “Hm?” Her head turned too, a brief silence encompassing the room as they held eye contact. Her mouth opened, lips twitching slightly as she hesitated to speak.

“You shouldn’t be my friend.” Her words were certain; demanding. Her tone was like a warning. Yachi’s eyebrow raised, a small smile creeping onto her face, the same smile she never struggled to wear. The same smile that she shared with everyone, spreading it around the office like a breath of fresh air. “And why’s that?”

“Because,” she began, turning her head back up to the ceiling, “I'm a mess. You deserve to spend your time with someone happy. - like you.”

She laughed, loudly, it almost made her feel stupid; regret even opening her mouth to begin with. “I’ll leave it up to me to choose who I’m friends with, thank you very much.” she spoke matter-of-factly, elbowing her gently; playfully. “I want to be your friend.” Yachi added, noticing the uncertainty in her friend’s eyes. Her voice was significantly softer, she spoke her name like it was natural to her, like she’d been saying it all her life. She sighed in response, “I’m miserable. I’m going to drain you.” She briefly paused, before continuing, “I’m- I’m going to make you miserable.” She did a bad job at hiding the shakiness of her voice. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, both to fight the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes, and to brace herself for the oncoming insults she would inevitably throw at her. She waited for Yachi to realise the truth: That she really shouldn’t be her friend. Although she knew it to be true, she silently hoped she was wrong. She was broken. She was an empty shell of a young girl that used to be so bright, so full of life, so passionate. She ruined everything she touched, everything she loved inevitably tainted by the infectious evil that nestled its way into her fragile core. Her life was a constant losing streak, and she prepared herself to lose the one person that made her feel normal; safe. Before she responded, she flinched slightly as Yachi grabbed onto her hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

“It’s okay, I won’t let you.”

Over the course of a few months, they quickly became best friends. They were inseparable. Finally, she had something in her life that made her feel valuable, and special. She had a constant. She had finally found the key to recovery; the lighter that reignited the fire inside of her that died so long ago. She found someone that made her realise she wasn’t a horrible monster that only caused destruction,

She was just young, and scared.

All good things come to an end. She knew this. She had everything good taken away from her, that’s just how things were. It always happened, no matter how hard she tried to fight it.  But still, she mustered up the wounded faith that was forced upon her, and prayed for a change. She prayed for God to take away her pain, and grant her the freedom and salvation that was ripped away from her.

As usual, he never listened. 

She remembers walking into her dressing room, coffee in her hand as she prepared for another busy day of shooting. She looked forward to seeing her; excited to talk to her about a funny encounter at the café she spent her morning in. She looked forward to seeing her signature smile; hearing her laugh that always made her happy. The laugh that made her laugh in return. But as her eyes scanned the room, there was not a single trace of her to be found. Instead, standing in her side of the room, was a tall man, with glasses hung lowly on the end of his nose. A man with dark hair, and a cold, focused gaze. Not Yachi. He had a clipboard in his hand, and was meticulously writing something down on it. Before you could even question the stranger, his eyes turned to you, and he quickly filled the suffocating silence.

“You must be Yn. It’s nice to meet you.” a fake, sickeningly polite smile plastered on his face. 

“My name is Akaashi Keiji, and I’ll be your new stylist from now on.”

TAGLIST (open): @wyrcan @kawamarii @moucheslove @mollyrolls @t8tiana @eggyrocks @soobin1437 @dazqa @hibernatinghamster @starkyu @g0vernment-hook3r @giocriedpower

[okaerina]

𖥻 THINGS — enhypen ◌ ִ ۫ ּ

syn ; things enha reminds me of !

heeseung !

dangly earrings, pendent chains, skinny ripped jeans, rock guitar, clubbing, late studio night, concerts, rainy empty street, love songs, specs, ice cream, deers, rainforest, going over the speed limit, long drive, polaroids, balcony, tattoos, collage campus, basketball, getting into fist fights, breaking rules, warm breeze, kisses, sharing earphones, untied shoelaces, sleeveless tops, cross jewelries, chase atlantic songs

jay !

red wine, ball dance, guitar, empty kitchen, champagne bubbles, tuxedo suits, runaway, black cat, fashion magazines, gold jewelries, camping, eucalyptus, biking, biker jackets, street racing, late night walks, city lights, porsche, cologne, the weeknd songs, loose tie, fancy restaurant, chanel bags, iced americano, home, long hugs, words of affirmation, eye contact, autumn, posh music, v necks, opera, musical recital, marriage, ancient churches

jake !

pancakes, golden retrievers, empty parks, cardigans, picnic, wolf pups, landscapes, abstract art, lip piercings, makeout sessions, mornings, cream, sheets, swimming, sand castles, tree houses, venus, varsity player, rings, clashing waves, sun shinning through curtains, backyard, champagne, sparkly eyes, netflix and chill, forehead kisses, caramel fudge, winter, jb songs, garden, lilies, lipstick stains

sunghoon !

sculptures, greek mythology, snow, ice skating, pointe shoes, swan lake, ice rinks, rhinestones, vampires, sharp canines, royalty, huskies, novels, cruise, 90s songs, ear muffs, moon phase, poetry, dandelions, maple leaves, vanilla shake, pearls, penguins, blush, lucid dreams, confessions, lullaby, archangels, romance movies, boyfriend coats, monsoon, hair blowing because of the wind, moles, tears, old love, unrequited love, ribbons, weddings

sunoo !

sun, tulip field, solar system, marshmallows, tteobokki, street food, shopping, karaoke, smiles, cute stationeries, stickers, secret diary, cheek kisses, mufflers, red foxes, bratz doll, playdate, selfies, carnations, easter, boba tea, bestfriends to lovers, cherry blossoms, lip gloss, skincare, disney shows, late night face timing, gossiping, watching kdramas, sanrio stuffs, blowing bubbles, photo booths, texts, horizon

jungwon !

kittens, valleys, teenage dream, gold fish, aquariums, subways, cds, headphones, empty bus rides, babybreaths, holding hands, first love, taylor swift songs, messy hair, vacation, countryside, group study, constellations, piggyback ride, dimples, converse, empty classroom, sheep cubs, indoor plants, mini cactus, namsan tower, han river, late fall, vintage hand written letters , young love, romcom, kitties

ni-ki !

graffiti, sunsets, baggy pants, late night dance jam, empty beach, bicycling, sea shore, ear piercings, watermelon, summer, slow dancing, grass field, bungeoppangs, duck chicks, disneyland, ps5, arcade, puma cubs, eskimo kisses, bracelets, youth, climbing fences, skipping school, skateboarding, mangas, school festivals, footsies, cute band aids, oversized attires, j-rock, night sky, laughters, slice of life, teenage, playfulness, photo booths, anime, shoujo manga

© aenfilmz / 02072023

taglist ; @solarwoniii @shiningstar-byulxx @wtfhyuck @ichiibunztwt @enhawhoreist

[gojoroui]

what do your moots remind you of?

tysm for turning this in nonnie, i was really exited to try this <3 & the fact i thought i had NO MOOTS when i literally have like 33 💀

@wvnrqs — ribbons & bows, old newspapers, pretty swans, tulips, bubbles during a summer day, vintage books

@ode2rin — cats, plushies, desserts, pillow sheets, clouds during a sunset, slice of life vlogs

@yuzurins — chirping birds in pretty meadows, bubble tea, spring mornings, green tea, flowers, plants

@okkalo — golden coins, rainbows, duckies, cardigans, soft breeze at night, lakes, cherries

@noomon — the sun, diaries, simple yet beautiful things, love letters, projectors, mini fireworks

@yoisami — serenity, raindrops falling down a window, youth, modeling posters, strawberries, bunnies

@mikareo — twinkling stars, lattes, romance k dramas, museum of arts, recording studios, eclipse

@rinzsu — instagram posts, cookies, snowman, masquerade balls, photo albums, the beach

@hanrinz — stars, k-pop concerts, snowflakes, headphones, mini skirts, candles on a rainy day

@rosequarzo — japanese folktale, lucky money, headphones, fantasize by ariana grande, toast, waking up at 2am for a snack

@adoregojo — modern universities, polaroids, black & white manga, hairclips, milk tea, bonnets

@riekiss — winter wonderland, snow angels, jewelry, dolphins bumping noses, mini skirts, slowly plucking petals off a flower

@popponn — frogs ofc, matcha, perfectly healthy & straight grass, keroppi, bootcut jeans, chanel soap

@rewh0re — autumn leaves, wooden instruments, music notes, greek & rome mythology, poetry, sacred monuments

@y2kuromi — sand castles, colorful ice cream flavors, perfect pair by beabadoobee, staying up to talk with friends until 1am, pretty seashells, butterflies

@pokkomi — glitter & sparkles, staring at clouds, fantasy genre, cargos, hello kitty, angels

@yunymphs — models, laufey, coquette aesthetic, anything gucci, attractive girls, money

@520cafe — sparrows, cats chasing after yarn strings, thirsty by aespa, picture frames, rice with soy sauce, playlists

@etoiile — lipstick, fashion, staring at the starry night sky, french cookies, milk, daisies

@moonswolfie — coffee, studying with a candlelight during a rainy day, scarves, autumn breeze, biscuits, puppies

@kyoghurts — saturn, friendly aliens, lipstick stains on a white shirt, peach eyes by wave to earth, carp streamers, chalk

@kxttqi — lilies, sunrise & sunsets, lion cubs, melting candles, strawberries, pretty instagram posts

@kaiser1ns — book shelves, j-pop, cheesecake, birthday streamers, lucky money, tigers

@rninies — aventurine, unforgiven by le sserefim, pochacco, mangoes, flip phones, figurine boxes

@iluvies — kaomoji, koi ponds, expensive restaurants, red velvet cake, pottery, bunnies that have their nose scrunched up

@lovedazai — sweet bananas, lily of the valley, bouquet of roses, the smell when you walk into a bakery, prom nights, fairytales

@scopuo — jjk theme song, video games, dvds, tote bags, japanese apartments, thrift stores

@culturity — watching edits at 3am, stargirl, cleared remix by lilithzplug, nokia phone, laces, ramen

@myuroll — my melody, rubber duckies, alice from wonderland, koi fishes, cake rolls, the feeling when when someone gives you a compliment

@noirflms — flower petals, cherry blossoms, coquette clothing, hoodies, pinterest whispers, apocalypse by cigs after sex

@wishmemel — wish me mell, chocolate covered strawberries, the moon, pretty nails, new york at night, mcdonald’s chicken nuggets

@saelique — ocean waves, san-x, doves, kindergarteners (bc ur cute & fun ^^), friends to lovers trope, headphones, staying in bed for 5 more minutes b4 school

@yeritos — pudding, iced coffee, pearl necklaces, mesmerizing color palettes, skipping rocks, mary jane shoes, lamp

[steve-hen-grant]

Pas de deux (Jake Lockley x reader ) 🌙🩰

A/N: So! Kinda my first fic? Trying to exercise my writing skills. (You won’t believe how many times I had to just write “excersize” for autocorrect to save me.) So I hope y’all can enjoy the product of my practice!

In a previous post, I mentioned Jake crying while watching ballet. But what I meant to say was I had already developed a fic to this very concept. Needed the confidence to post it- which the reception to the first post got! It said Swan Lake, but for the plot’s conflict it’s Nutcracker.

Warnings: Fluff, mild comfort, reference to MK lore but you can pretend it isn’t, reference to Tchaikovsky mourning his sister, No use of Y/N, may be read as the POV of Layla, or yourself, mentions of Marc and Steven, no direct use of Spanish but reference to Jake speaking it, Reader may or may not know Spanish, it’s ambiguous this way for a self insert!, and again, my first full fan fiction. That is a warning. Surprisingly unserious. implied that narrator and the moon guys are visiting the US for this show.

Gender Neutral reader, but with uncomfortable formal shoes because they plague us all no matter

Word count: the word counter website broke so let me know when you get down there kk

You and Jake go to the Opera house in downtown Chicago. However, the loyal servant of the Moon God reacts unexpectedly…

Hours earlier, Jake struggled with his tie while I mulled over walking into the opera house together. His dark mustache furled as I helped arrange the black fabric and romanticized the pair of us strolling down the Chicago street: dressed to the nines, my arm in his, with the Christmas lights illuminating our path to the theater. Jake refused, mumbling something about how he didn’t want to make me walk longer in formal shoes than I had to. Knowing how I wouldn’t say anything, refusing to complain or burden the evening, until my Achilles tendons were shot by the time we got back to the hotel.

Among the three of them, Jake’s love language was having foresight to make life as accommodated and comfortable. But he forgets that he has a place in it.

Right now, in the brisk December evening, I trotted towards the warmly lit-refuge of the Civic Opera House. Jake dropped me off directly in front, rolling away to park his sleek Rolls Royce Phantom somewhere secure.

The exterior was like that of most concrete high-riser buildings. Though at ground level, in stark contrast, a sculpted arc entrance stood on the corner of the street. A light snow casted over the figures shaped into the stone. Tall preview posters displayed the principal dancer for the evening: the sugar plum fairy.

My pace towards the ticket booth was quick in the biting cold. The Opera house clerk smiled.

“Reservations under… Spector?”

“No- wait, yes. Yes.”

At my hesitation, I was rightfully earned a disconcerted expression. Marc must have booked the tickets. Before the words left her mouth, Jake appeared to save the day. Showing his- or Marc’s- ID. The clerk was satisfied and gave us two red tickets for entree. Jake took my arm in his, like a Highschool couple in a 50s movie. Between the regal opera house, the way he supports my arm, and opens the car door- truly old fashioned.

“Thanks, Marc,” I teased. He nudged me with his arm.

“Oh please, he made Steven book them,” Jake took off his gloves and stuffed them into his pocket. We handed our tickets off, and at last, we were on our way through marble floors and high ceilings to find seating.

Maybe that’s why we both enjoyed viewings in this specific opera house. It was completed in 1929, yet shined as brightly as ever. Velvet red fabrics and amber blown lights. If you weren’t careful, you could become easily motivated to write a romanticized novel.

In a world of my own, I don’t notice Jake looking over my face. But he wasn’t appreciating the interior of the architecture. Maybe the exterior of me.

Some hors d’oeuvres later, we situated in a balcony, closest to the stage. Jake insisted this would be ‘the best spot in the house’. From the balcony overview, patterns in the snow droplet’s sequence could be figured into the shape of snowflakes. Once again, Jake’s love language would make the evening special, by meticulous design. Jake’s prior knowledge of ballet was limited, yet his relationship to the music goes back.

No one would assume that, from what meets the eye. Even if you knew of his nightly servitude to Khonshu- there was less reason to believe he keeps a special mix of Tchaikovsky’s Greatest in his car’s dash. His work isn’t easy, and who doesn’t wind down to music? An avatar to the god of the moon is no exception.

Live orchestra has become a small thing for us. One that Marc chuffs at and Steven… would probably like to be apart of.

The elevated booth was tailored to the best view possible of the tilted stage. Below, forms of people moved to their seats, shed overcoats, and checked the time. Soon, the red curtains would pull apart to reveal the iconic home of the Stahlbaum’s, and delicate Clara center stage. It was a matter of time, and based on Jake’s mild leg bounce, not soon enough. I place a hand over his palm, steadying his nervous habit to a somber sway.

INTERMISSION

We returned to our secluded seats from the main area. Maybe or maybe not, pocketing some cheese squares and fancy crackers in napkins. Jake put his arm over the back of my seat and smirked, “You think I could do that?”

“Do what?”

“The dancing,” He grinned like a ferret. I pause for a moment to process the idea literally. You know what? Maybe. I’ve stayed in the car while Marc or Steven took care of their missions. From what I’ve seen, Moonknight is pretty agile. Mr. Knight is comparably a Gymnast. Making- often unnecessary- flips and turns over bullets and blades.

“Try asking Khonshu when you can take classes- conveniently between delivering justice.”

To which, Jake snickers. He takes his contraband-horderve from the lobby and speaks, “Oh yeah, it will happen. I’ll just borrow Steven’s tutu.” Jake looks aloft and grins, for a moment, it’s like I can hear his alter too.

“THOSE CLASSES WERE A ONE-OFF TIME!”

The second act. Clara and the Nutcracker prince have crossed the forest into a world of her childlike creation. Her and the prince are welcomed by flowers, candy, and snow. It seems like the defeat of the rat king would be the last of the room’s worries. Except for me.

Nearing a majestic finale, the nutcracker prince shares a dance with her majesty, the sugar plum fairy. He takes her hand and holds it, as her powder pink leg ascends. But this isn’t what Jake is thinking about. His eyes are hardly on the scene below, but he is paying attention to the music. The Nutcracker, Op. 71, Act II: No. 14a, Pas de deux. He holds his breath for a moment. A small gesture I might have missed if he didn’t drop my hand when he does so. I glanced at him, not wanting to disturb his fixation to the show.

And maybe I didn’t want to disturb the way his locks messily fell on his forehead and ears. He’s a gentleman, so he wouldn’t wear his hat into the event. But by removing it, the bunched hair underneath fell loosely. Marc and Steven were supposedly relentless about on the way downtown, if his passive looks to the rear view mirror meant anything.

Does a family of birds live in your hat, mate?

Cmon, Jake, everytime I get the body I have to run a comb through it.

After Jake lowered his hands from applause, he took mine in his again. As if he six whole minutes without it was too much. I press my thumb into his knuckles. He pulls my hand closer to him, holding it totally casually to his heart.

The Finale had wrapped up in a roar of an audience. The evening’s dancers made their bows and the orchestra had begun to pack up their bows and sheet music. Neither me nor Jake were one for crowds, but fortunately, the box seats were close enough to a flight of stairs that crew members likely took. We stood and peeked down the flight that turned around the ivory painted walls.

Jake held my arm and smirked, “Do you want to take a shortcut?”

I gave him a puzzled look. “That way? Are you sure there is an exit? We might get a meet and greet with the rat king,” I half-joke. Jake grins and his eyes light up at that risk.

My eyes narrow,

“You want to meet the rat king don’t y-“

“Yes.”

It’s Christmas. Might as well give Jake the gift of following through one of his mischievous schemes- together. Jake is laughing and throughly unserious as we move closer to the landing of the stairwell. I slide my hand down the glossy railing, “If we find this rat thing-“

“When. When we find the rat thing,” Jake interrupts.

I pause and continue, “Yes, my apologies. When we find the rat, are you going to valiantly slay it, and save me?”

Jake thinks for a moment, stopping on the stairs. He responds, “I’ve fought weirder.” I nod agreeably as we continue hand in hand. But he mumbled something I couldn’t hear, perhaps some Spanish intonations, but too low to react to.

But I had a pretty good idea what he meant to say out loud. Jake will show his affection in careful planning, a car ride anywhere, but not typically his words. In those tender instances where he has to resort to sweet nothings, he expresses it in Spanish. The words flow so naturally that they aren’t being filtered by a process of translation. Just his feelings, as they are.

I smile, and pull him into my arm tighter. It was more than likely he was protectively, lovingly ranting about how well he would protect me. How he would welcome the chance to prove it. In the dimly lit corridor we found ourselves in, we located an exit door and push it. I recall the December air and hold his arm closer.

Jake holds up his keys and presses down on his buttons. Immediately after leaving the back door, we are greeted by the flashing headlights of his car in a neighboring lot. Jake looks at my face of surprise and laughs, “You thought I was going to let you walk so far in those shoes?”

While in the car, on the way back to the flat, Swan Lake plays over the radio. I clutch my coat in the warm embrace of the car’s heating system. Jake is tapping his finger along while letting cars through, but he stops as the piece ends and the next begins. The Pas de deux. This time, I don’t miss my chance to ask. My hand grazes his leather coated arm, “You alright?” Jake keeps a deadpan look through the droplets on the windshield, blinking several times. I lean in a touch closer, “Jake?”

“Uhm, I just read where, you know, what’s-his-face, wrote this piece for his sister who passed. It uhm…” Jake, agitated by the way his mouth wants to curl into a grimace in front of me, lays his arm down in a finalizing gesture. He was done talking about it, not without losing clear vision while driving. I hold his gloved hand, and without thinking, hold it to his chest. His shoulders finally lowered. The light turned green. The music filling the gentle silence.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~🌙~~~~~~~~~~~~

[olderthannetfic]

About the "European" fairytale thing, non-white cultural stories, and "Eurocentrism." To start off, keep in mind that I mean the specific story that's told, NOT the visuals. So if you took the stories themselves, wrote them down as a book with no pictures. LONG SUBMISSION

I honestly feel like it's a bit weird to claim that the Disney movies are "Eurocentric" because none of the stories have anything to do with the actual European version of the fairytales. If they hadn't been specifically drawn to look like that, and you only had a written version by Disney, you could probably argue they're just a bastardisation of any culture where a version of them exists.

If you know the "real" fairytales from Europe, they've got almost nothing to do with what Disney made. You could take any cultural equivalent to a Disney movie and claim it's a "clean washed" and American values version of it, and it "just so happens" they chose a Pseudo European aesthetic, and not even that well. <- That last part is my opinion.

I think Cinderella was used as an example of a story that has an equivalent in Vietnamese culture, the fairytale of Tam and Cam. You could take the Disney version basically the exact way it's written, and put a different coat of paint on it, and it's be just as accurate to any other cultural version: Not accurate at all. There are several versions of the Cinderella story in Europe alone, the German one is different from the French one, and none of them are like the Disney version. In one of the version I've read the gifts and dresses come from a tree from the mother's grave, and at the evil stepsisters cut their feet to fit in the shoe, which the doves tell the prince.

Beauty and the beast is the same. The Disney version isn't the "European" version, it's vaguely based on a fairy tale that also exists across a few countries. If we go European, there's version with a singing tree, a version with a singing bird, there's also a Scandinavian story where a girl is forced to marry a bear, who turns into a human at night. But there are also stories of the same make in Asia and Africa.

It's also one of the reasons I'm both annoyed with both sides bitching about the Disney remakes. On one side, these movies aren't even the "European" fairytales, they've always been a completely American versions of a story that they vaguely took inspiration from the European versions but basically removed 80-90% of the actual European key elements, where the base story also exists in other cultures. With a pseudo historical European aesthetic, which was heavily based on the "current trends" of the years they were made in, example Snow Whites being based on the late 1930's fashion, same with Aladdin, Jasmine being based on the 90's. These aren't "White European" fairytales, they're "Western American" fairytales. If you actually wanted a real European fairy tales, you could just check out European productions or even the books. The other side, who're constantly saying that its a win for diversity or that it "makes the most sense for visibility" or how it's a win for POC fairytales: The remakes still heavily feature some of the pseudo European inspirations, and it's still a shit cash grab. It wouldn't take Disney much extra work if they actually just straight up adapted the story with a different aesthetic since they already don't give a shit about accuracy. You could literally still keep the Western American story they wrote, but could use setting that pseudo African, Asian, LatAm or whatever to tell the story, which are more catered to American born people. (Not like the piss poor 2020 Mulan, at least the 98 seemed passionate and wanting to tell a good story despite being inaccurate. Kinda like all their old movies, inaccurate but at least passionate abt it.) Making shitty poorly redone live action movies isn't a step in the direction for diversity, it's a step in the "Let's throw POC actors to the wolves, and put them in movies doomed to fail." There are thousand options. It also comes across cheap because you're basically boiling down POC, especially American POC entertainment to "rotten leftovers from much more popular white lead fairy tale movies." Great, the first forage for people into big production "POC in fairy tales" are low value Disney trash, with the constant visual reminder that they have to attach themselves to "European" stories. <- Even if it's pseudo European, most people don't know that and will just view it as "European" period.

--

If we want to talk about cultures dominating so much that they warp the entire framework of how we think...

What is a "fairy tale"?

Why does this exist as a category?

--

One of the problems people run into when they try to be more inclusive in this sphere is that while every place has folktales, and many of those do have animal husbands or other common elements that are found in the core "fairy tales" the West knows, they don't have a specific category of tale with the same boundaries.

I honestly think a big part of the reason for rehashing the same tiny core of tales is that it's hard to define what a new entry into the canon would have to look like.

If it's basically a Beauty and the Beast variant, okay, but what if it isn't? And even if it does have some animal husband aspects, what if the actual point of the story in its original context is completely different.

Very quickly, one ends up at that Joseph Campbell place of thinking everything is a Jesus metaphor and all mythologies are basically the same.

[delopsia]

Sleigh Ride | Rhett Abbott x Reader

My cozy little submission for @lewmagoo's Christmas Celebration 🤍 Word Count: 7,500 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, brief food mention, vague mention of somnophilia, Christmas celebrations mentioned but no religious activity tied to it, snowball fights, riding, unprotected sex. A little slice of winter fluff. Brief Summary: Rhett's fixing up the family sleigh to take you on the ride he never got to give you, but not everything goes according to plan when it's finished...

It's the crash that gets your attention. 

A harsh clatter of metal and a heaviness that booms when it hits the ground, thundering through the air like last night's storm. But despite its alarming appearance, you haven't the slightest clue where it came from, the noise bouncing from wall to wall and down to the cellar, never seeming to lose her vicious intensity.

But your feet must have grown ears of their own because they're carrying you out the door within a few seconds. Shoes thumping across hardwood older than you are and down the dirt driveway. On a one-way track to the barn where you last saw Rhett. He's the only person who could have caused such a—

...ruckus.

"Did the ghost of Christmas Past get ahold of you?" It's impossible to stifle the giggle that escapes you; not quite the sight you expected to find when you rounded the corner.

Rhett's eyes roll, hardly visible through the pile of Christmas lights that have fallen on top of him, "help me."

As much as you'd like to do that, you're not entirely sure where to begin. Stepping past clips and oddly shaped tools you don't know the name of, you bend down, grabbing a handful of the cables and pulling them away. Untangling them may take an entire day's worth of work, but at least the mass makes it easy to get them off of him, heavy as they are. 

"I thought you weren't decorating the house this year?" Your hands daringly stroking through his hair as you work, tangled from the Wyoming wind and the slightest bit damp with sweat. Should be something you find gross by now, but that grimy cowboy charm has dug its roots in deep.

"'m not," despite being the one tangled up, he's not that much help. Moving a little too slowly, as you nimbly work to free him of his decorative confines. 

His pause makes you wonder if that's your cue to speak."No?" 

And it must have been what he was waiting for because his head shakes, "Was tryin' t' find that damn drivin' harness." 

The last of the lights fall from his shoulders, laying in a heap around his ankles. A trap that he must deal with alone, lest you bend down and wind up on your knees for longer than planned. Instead, you savor the veins that bulge in his forearms as he reaches down to free himself, "Finally, see the wicked ways of big oil and convert back to old-fashioned horse and buggy?"

"Naw," he's peeking at you through the corner of his eye, seems to have caught on to the way your gaze lingers a moment too long, "d' you remember that ol' sleigh? The one my folks used for their weddin'?"

"The same one Perry cracked the frame of?" You still consider yourself fortunate that you weren't familiar with the Abbotts back then, far away from that first newlywed argument. Its hard telling if Rebecca will ever forgive Perry for making her walk through freezing snow that soaked her wedding dress on their special day. 

"'ts the one," those spurs on his boots chime like Christmas bells as he steps out from the hoard. Closer to you. "'m tryin' to fix it before Christmas."

Your head tilts to the side. "...you're not planning on a second wedding, are you?" Because as far as you remember, that sleigh has been a wedding-exclusive tradition, carrying every Abbott newlywed through a winter wonderland with their partner. And despite the newness of the rings adorning your ring fingers, you don't count as newlyweds anymore. 

Rhett just shakes his head. "Nah," leaning in to press his warm lips to your forehead before returning to the mess he's created, "but it ain't fair that I never got to give you a ride in it."

"I can think of other rides you've given me," and for once in your life, you're thankful he's not looking directly at you, or else he would have caught sight of the way your face dropped. How many more times will your inner thoughts dart off the tip of your tongue? 

He sputters, lights falling out of his hands, "I'm tryin' t' be serious here!" But those cheeks of his are red as can be, rosy with something torn between surprise and fondness. 

"But I'm fully serious," doubling down; there's no sense in going back now.

His index finger shakes at you, defiant, "I'm takin' you on a sleigh ride even if it's the last thing I do."

Your eyes trail over to Isabella, her fuzzy head poking out of her stall. There isn't a way in hell that she knows what is being said, but her gaze suggests she understands every word. Isn't pleased in the slightest about being downgraded from loyal ranch horse to novelty sleigh puller. But it can't be as bad as that parade sleigh she begrudgingly pulled back in January.

The voice in the back of your head openly wonders if he'll give up on it within a couple of days. You've never seen him quit that easily, but what are the chances that the sleigh is even fixable? The old red paint has long since chipped away to reveal decades' worth of rust and weathering and has long since lost parts of the metal underside. No longer capable of sliding across the snow, no, now its sharp ends dig into the frozen soil like a stubborn mule. 

But you wake up the next morning to find Rhett jotting down a plan on the back of some junk mail, and the next, he's out working on it before lunch. When Cecelia approached you two with the idea of staying in the house while she and Royal visited Rebecca and Perry for a month, you'd never imagined this was how Rhett would spend his time. 

"And here I'd thought you got lost in the barn," you chirp, only lifting your head to meet him for a kiss, frozen lips melting against your warmer ones like snowflakes. 

"'m sorry," and for your troubles of waiting an extra hour, he quiets you with a second kiss. Longer. Lingering with the same fire that got you bent over the counter earlier. "I can't seem t' find them damn sleigh bell straps."

On its own, your head tilts to the side. "You're done with the sleigh?" 

"Nah," he makes a face as he peels that hat off his head, seems to have glued itself there after a long day of sweating, his forehead still shimmering with it, "jus' realized there ain't no point in a sleigh ride if there are no sleigh bells." 

But the bells...simply do not exist. 

They're not in the shed, far out in one of the pastures. Nor are they in the cellar or the measly attic full of all the junk in the world. No matter where you two search, there isn't the slightest hint of a sleigh bell. Coincidentally, every person in Wyoming must be having the same problem because there are none when you venture into town. The bells, once sitting in the front of the tack shop, are now nothing but a memory, not to be restocked until next year.

"Hey, Rhett," you find yourself saying in the middle of the general store, "will this work?"

The corner of Rhett's lip wavers up and down, torn between amusement and mock annoyance at the tiny bell necklace in your hand. Red, green, and silver bells of various sizes, all crammed together to create a gaudy masterpiece with a built-in obnoxious soundtrack. 

If his eyes could roll the way into the back of his head, they would have by now. "Yeah, if you're plannin' t' be the horse."

But he's still reaching out to give it an experimental shake as if he's considering it for the briefest of moments. 

"I don't mind the idea of that," giggling, you move to set it back on the rack, returning to its equally festive companions. 

You blink, and all of a sudden, it's sitting in the cart. Not a word is spoken as Rhett winks at you before disappearing into the next aisle over, boot spurs chiming their taunting chant. 

It's only fair that you get him something obnoxious to wear, too—a reindeer antler headband with cheap golden bells on them. Enough to get you a funny look when they cross the scanner in the checkout, but not for him to mention anything about it. 

The bells sit on the counter like a taunting reminder of what seems to have disappeared from the ranch entirely. Vibrantly colored metal catching in the morning sunlight when Rhett leans in to catch you with a goodbye kiss as if he's embarking on some lifelong journey and not walking a couple of yards to the barn. 

One afternoon you catch him swearing to the high heavens over how much he can't stand that motherfucker, Perry, as he welds two pieces of metal together. Vaguely shaped, seems to match the missing piece beneath the rusty old sleigh. On another, he walks into the house, reeking of paint stripper.

"Did you take a bath in this stuff?" You ask, lathering your hands for a second time, working your way back through those freshly washed locks of hair. Silky soft to the touch, the peppermint of his shampoo nearly enough to drown out the overwhelming scent of chemicals. 

"I even used gloves," his nose wrinkles, eyes scrunching shut at the stray bit of soap running down his forehead. Your finger swipes it away just in the nick of time before it can cross his eye and begin to sting. 

You're fortunate that washing his hair has become a favorite winding down activity because it seems you spend half of your evening helping him scrub every crevice twice. Washing away the grime from under his nails and not resting until he smells like peppermint and the brisk winter breeze...at least that's what the bottle says. It's more of a dull mintiness that kisses your nose when you get close enough. 

But it only marks the start of something else. 

Red flecks of paint cling to his clothes and skin like a toddler who has gotten carried away with an unsupervised art project. Unlike the paint stripper, it doesn't carry a scent that makes you lightheaded, but you roll your eyes every time you see him. Red on the edges of his nails splattered up his forearms and reaching up to his cheeks. Ratty old jacket growing to look like it's been involved in a crime.

It reaches its worst on Christmas Eve. Days of paint piling up to join the remnants that stubbornly cling to his skin, making him to look like a Halloween decoration that was accidentally left out when the others were rounded up. But there he is hair decorated with flecks of white as he stomps his boots on the entry mat, shaking free of the clinging snow. 

He looks ridiculous.

"Quit laughin' at me every time I come in the door," he chuckles, not an ounce of seriousness to his tone as he meanders up to you, rubbing his painted nose against your forehead whilst he draws you in. Some big hug that greedily steals away the heat your body has collected over your cozy day in the house, all for the sake of melting your favorite frosty cowboy. 

"You would be laughing too if you saw yourself," your thumb squishes his cheek, feeling the soft prickle of his facial hair as you wipe away a few red flecks. Only to spot more above his brow, and in his hair, and clinging to the side of his neck. 

No, no, no, you have to look away, or else you'll catch yourself scrubbing him down with the sink sponge. Already in your free hand and drenched in dishwater that you've just run, hadn't quite been expecting him to come in so soon. 

You suppose there's the reason why he's here an hour earlier than usual, because he's hooking his thumb into your belt loop and pleading for you to step away from the sink for just a moment. And who are you to deny him when he's grinning at you with paint-freckled cheeks? Soft blue eyes glittering with an excitement that only appears when he's proud of himself. 

So off you go. Stumbling down the dirt driveway in your pajama pants and the winter coat you'd snatched off the hook when you were halfway out the door. Not dressed warm enough to escape the wind nipping at your exposed cheeks, squeezing between the fabrics of your clothes and wrapping you up in a full-body chill. Snowflakes drift past like tiny fairies, melting on your skin and clinging to Rhett's hair. 

Then you see it.

A bright red sleigh pokes out from around the barn door, paint so pristine that it shimmers. Not a hint of how it once rusted to the brink no return doesn't bear its scars of Perry's fateful wedding joy ride. No, it's wrapped up in a big silver bow, like it's brand new. Brought home from the shop, fresh out of the factory, and certainly not a fifty-year-old family heirloom.

You can see exactly where he painted it earlier; the color a little darker where it's still wet, but it's...perfect. 

"Are you sure this is the same sleigh?" Blinking once. Twice. 

It's still there. Real as you are.

"Y' can't tell where I welded it?" His shivering hand points to a space in the underside of it, but quite frankly, it all looks the same to you. He could have tricked you into believing that this is a different sleigh entirely. 

Your head shakes, a movement that dissolves into a full-bodied shiver, "Not a bit." 

It's perfect. The color. The repair. The timing. Only Rhett Abbott can pull together a monumental task at the last moment, all for the sake of a special day. The necklace of bells catches your eye when you meander back inside, dashing for the blankets that have been warming by the space heater. The necklace won't fit Isabella, but they'll certainly fit you.

Who cares where the jingle is coming from? As long as it's there, then you can't bring yourself to utter a single complaint. 

Rhett's heated glare at the reindeer antlers resting menacingly on the couch suggests that he could definitely complain, though.

 The Christmas tree twinkles in Cecelia's office, just a couple of feet away from the living room, a pleasant golden hue that warms the room with its presence. A tiny addition to the movie playing on the television, only serving to make you nuzzle into Rhett a little closer. His heart beating gently against your ear, scruffy cheek resting against your forehead. 

You're snuggled up in bed when you realize you forgot to finish washing the dishes and now soaking in frigid water with nothing but a memory of soap left. But you can't bring yourself to slip out of Rhett's arms to clean up a few measly dishes. It can be left for the morning. Before Rhett gets up to fetch Isabella and works away with all of the mechanics that go into pulling a sleigh. 

They're the first thing on your mind when you slip out of bed in the morning.

Well...that and bringing Rhett a piece of butter toast that he so politely held you hostage for, refusing to let you free of his arms until you paid his tax of kisses and treats. The downside of marrying a cowboy too strong for his own good.

But you don't make it to the sink before you see it.

White.

A winter wonderland so bright that it hurts your eyes to look at it. Reaching as far as the eye can see, toppling high in the trees, and coating everything with a thick winter blanket until you can no longer recognize the Abbott property. But that's not the problem. No, the problem is how much of it there is.

At least a foot and a half deep, not enough to block you in but definitely enough to warrant breaking out the plow. Piled up outside the barn doors, packed tight by the squealing wind, and stacked high on the roof of Rhett's truck. 

"Rhett!" You call out, voice echoing all across the house. Distantly, you think you catch a grumble that sounds like a response. "Can you take a look outside for me?" 

Feet thunk across the floor overhead. 

And then you hear it. 

A muttered, "Shit."  Clear as day, traveling through the paper-thin walls, down the stairs, and straight to your ears.

He's out the door before the toast pops out, swearing under his breath as he yanks his coat over his shoulders; you're surprised he even remembers to lean in and kiss your cheek before he heads out into the world of white. 

There's no way that the sleigh can go through that much snow, but one way or another, you find yourself fiddling with the edges of your gloves, walking towards the barn, bell necklace jingling every step of the way. Despite the added protection of all these layers, the wind still works its way in. Biting at every centimeter of exposed skin that can be found, heckling you even when you step into the safety of the barn. 

"Rhett?" Calling out into the empty room. He isn't here, and the sleigh still sits where you last saw it, completely untouched. In fact, the only other living creatures in this barn are the horses. Isabella's head pokes out of her stall as if she's confused about this whole thing herself. 

Her ears prick forward. Suddenly interested.

Something cold splatters against your back.

"Rhett!" You're squealing. Spinning on your heels. Just in time for a second ball of white to explode against your chest.

Snowballs.

A third whizzes past your head. Smashing into something that goes crashing to the floor. Spooks a noise out of the horses. You'd check. But you're already diving behind the safety of a barn door. Scrambling to scoop up some snow into a crudely formed ball.

...where did he go?

One moment he was darting toward you. The next, he's virtually vanished.

But he's left footprints. Little tracks that cross yours and venture toward the corner of the barn. You see him now. The tip of his hat poking around the corner. Wavering. Like he's about to burst out and pelt you with another ball.

Except you're quicker. Bursting out from your hiding spot. Nailing him in the shoulder with a ball that splatters up into his face. 

"Shit!" He's pawing at his icy cheek. Snowflakes sparkling, clinging to his stubble. 

"A snowball fight, really?" You giggle, reaching for more snow. Packing it together as quickly as you can. Racing to beat Rhett's quicker hands. 

The sound of your necklace jingling washes over his laugh, "scared yer fixin' t' lose?" 

This isn't a fight you started, but it is certainly one that you will finish. 

Except your shot misses Rhett by a mile. His retaliation narrowly brushes past your leg. He's reaching for another, and so are you. Futilely gathering up bits of ammunition. Scrambling to step away from each other. Fearing the other will charge at any moment. Snow crunching heavily beneath your feet. Powdery and kicking up to cling to your pants. 

Again, you're taking an aim at him. And this time, you don't miss. White scattering about Rhett's messy curls. A perfect headshot.

"You little—" He's making a break toward you like a bull out of a chute. So suddenly that your foot slips out from under you in your efforts to escape. Fighting against your pounding heart and the wicked brace of the wind. Snow still clutched in your gloved hand as he yells. "Come here!"

Shit. Shit. Shit. You've nowhere to go.

You're darting into the barn. Boots scuffing against the old pavement floor as you veer left into the tack room. Spurs jingle behind you. Overjoyed laughter like a haunting squeal that adds a little more fire to your step. Bee lining straight for the hay, past the saddle racks, and out the half-open side door.

Turning. Throwing the snowball right into Rhett's chest. But it's only adding fuel to the already open blaze. 

"That ain't fair!" He hollers. In the corner of your eye you can see him bending down, scooping up snow. Not even bothering to ball it up before he throws it at you. Tiny snowflakes stabbing at your eyes and cheeks. 

You yelp, pawing at your face with the back of your hand. "You don't play fair!" 

Where are you going? You have no idea because you're back in front of the barn again. Racing for the house. As if the safety of the mud room will thwart this evil attack from your husband. Feet falling into your old footprints, vying for a quicker escape.

Weight hits your back.

"Rhett!"

The world spins.

"Quit yellin' at me!"

 Your bodies are twisting in the snow. Tumbling like two children. The fall cushioned by the frosty ground but melting, seeping through your clothes with an icy vengeance. All of a sudden, you're flat on your back. Chest heaving. Gasping for frozen air as you peek up at the broad frame above.

Rhett's hair hangs in front of his face, puffs of foggy breath falling from his open mouth. Forearms shivering where they rest on either side of your head. Not quite as strong and indomitable as he was just a moment ago.

"Fine," you pant, blinking back up at him, "you win."

The corner of his lip rises. Pearly white teeth glint in the light reflecting off the snow, growing brighter as he leans down. You can see it even as your eyes fall shut; this bright presence that rivals the blinding sun, warming you with the way his lips melt against your own. 

Perfection is what it is. 

His soft inhale never grows old, has been making you dizzy from day one. Delicate at first, a gentle pressure that deepens the moment your gloved hand curls around the back of his neck. Hardly expect him to be the one who gasps into your mouth with this barely-there grunt that the wind carries to your ears.

His body is lowering atop yours with this wonderfully comforting weight that feels the equivalent of a blanket sent straight from the heavens. Your hands gliding down his chest, pressing against rippling muscle, on their way to wrapping around his waist. Pulling him closer, urging him to settle between your parted legs until there isn't a centimeter of space between you. 

For a moment, you're somewhere else. Cozied up in bed or nestled in front of a roaring fireplace. 

But then the wind is squealing in your ears, and a violent shiver is raking down your back. Suddenly aware of the melting snow, seeping through protective layers and stinging at your skin. One of your hands drops, gathering a loose handful of the powder that has seemingly swallowed up Wabang in its entirety. 

"So much for that sleigh ride," Rhett murmurs against your lips, his voice a soft vibration that warms you like sunshine. 

Your noses bump together as you lean up, so close you can almost hear the thoughts filtering through his head, "I can think of something else that may suffice." 

This close, it's easy to catch the way his eyes flicker, meeting with yours, a hint darker than they were beforehand. He's not on the same page as you, but he's certainly on the right chapter. 

Almost makes you feel bad for smacking that palm-full of snow into the side of his head. 

He yelps, pawing at his frozen cheek. Opening up space for you to roll and scramble to your feet. Darting for the ice-covered porch and through the front door. Uncaring of where your shoes land as you kick them off. 

The door squeals open. But it's not loud enough to wash over the outright giggle that bubbles out of your cowboy. 

"That!" Rhett's kicking at the heel of his boot, shoving them off his feet as quickly as he can manage. "Was mean!" 

Your feet have glued themselves to the floor. Unable to move or cover up the grin etching its way across your wind-bitten face as he steps up behind you. "But you're laughing." 

From over your shoulder, his gaze meets yours. Darker than the first time.

"Yeah," he mutters, in that deep, grumbly fashion that makes your knees weak, "'Cause 'm 'bout to do this." And before he can so much as finish his sentence, his frozen hands dart beneath your shirt. Palms pressing against your warm belly. Firm, even as you yelp. Trapped between his arms, unable to jump anywhere but back into his chest. 

"Rhett!" But you can't get away. Squirming, stumbling in his grasp. Strong enough to force your bodies to stumble forward. Not enough to break free of the frigid fingers danging up your sides. 

"Jesus, why're y' so fuckin' strong?" The only disadvantage Rhett has is the socks clinging to his feet. Unable to gain a hint of traction on this hardwood floor. Slipping, sliding around. "Y' little bull."

Speaking is beyond you. Breathless as your feet dig into the scratched wood. Pushing yourself backward, Rhett's back thunking into the wall. 

He's laughing. 

You're at the end of your rope, and he's laughing.

Scowling, you push back a little further. The soft curve of your ass pressing into his jeans, drawing those chuckles into a guttural groan that tickles down your spine. Weakening the slightest bit at the way you wriggle against him, feeling the way he twitches, hardening until he's straining against the material.

Your name falls off his lips. Hardened arms, now soft, hugging you against him, powerless to do anything else. The brim of his hat bumps against your head as he leans into you, putty in your hands.

He doesn't say a word, but the hot breath on your neck tells everything you need to hear. 

Slow, you spin, twisting in his arms until you're nose to nose. Your hand free to reach down and slip between his legs, cupping him through his jeans. Drinking in that shaky breath, the way he pushes into it, and how his eyes flutter. A pretty show, all for you. 

You know that you shouldn't be tugging on his zipper; Cecelia's van is bound to roll up the snowy driveway at any moment, with food ready to head into the oven and gifts to be opened by the tree, fresh home from their California ventures. There is no time for this, and yet your thumb is popping open his button, too-cold fingers venturing inside. 

That pretty mouth falls open. Jolting as your hand wraps around him, remaining still in that helpless sort of way while you draw him out. Until his cock is fully out, in the middle of this hallway, right by the front door. Growing harder in your grasp, only takes two slow pumps of your fist to get him all the way there. Aching. Yearning.

"Why're you so quiet all of a sudden, cowboy?" You whisper a taunt uttered so quietly that it ought to be poetry. 

His Adam's apple bobs, tongue darting out to wet his lips. But he doesn't say anything. 

No, he's quiet.

Even as you take a fistful of his jacket, haul him off the wall, and back him into the living room. A wordless dance that bumps your noses together but never lets your needy mouths meet. His hands on your hips and yours on his chest, the only sound in the room that of your necklace jingling, an echo of the sleigh ride you were supposed to have. 

Fortunately, you can think of a much, much better ride. 

The backs of his knees bump into the couch, falling backward with an unceremonious thump. Springs squealing, something nameless popping in a fashion that can't mean anything good. 

You don't care.

Neither does he. Too busy leaning forward and hooking his fingers in your waistband, gently tugging your pants down your thighs. All the while, you're unzipping your jacket, dropping it to the floor just as your legs escape the confines of all those layers. Suddenly, all too exposed in this not-so-warm house.

"C'mere," he breathes. 

And oh, you do. Knees settling on either side of his hips, his lap the perfect cushion that you settle into, his hard cock squishing between your bodies, the fabric of your sweatshirt rubbing against it. Soft mouths collide. Hungry. All taking. Rough stubble brushing against your chin, with a kind of tingling burn that you've become all too familiar with. A dizzying clash intensified by the jingling of the cheap bells around your neck.

Blindly, your hand reaches off to the side, feeling about the cushion until the texture changes, suddenly running over smooth fabric and cold bells. Light in your gasp, so nonchalant that Rhett doesn't notice what you're doing until you've slid the headband behind his ears.

"Did you just stick them damn antlers on me?" His eyes remain defiantly shut as if it will help him avoid the festive decor now perched on his head.

"I told you I had something else in mind," your reminder doesn't go without one of his grunts, bordering amusement. 

That pretty mouth opens, tongue lifting with the beginnings of a word that never makes it out of his throat. Silenced into a gasp, all at the way your hand wraps around him again. Thumb massaging directly under his flushed tip, exactly how he likes it. 

"Shouldn't the one wearin' the bells be the deer?" His complaint so weak that it hardly sounds like one at all. Head tilting back to rest against the cushion, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. His hands running between your bare thighs, not stopping until his palm cups your sex through your underwear. 

For a moment, your resolve wavers, "Do you want to wear the bells, too?" Taunt shaky. Struggling to keep that same tone. 

The glint in his eye suggests a strong, absolutely not.

You're rapidly losing ground here. For every stroke of your hand on his cock, his fingers stroke the meet of your folds, separated by that tiny bit of fabric. So close to pushing inside, fucking you nice and slow on them until you whimper for him to stop. 

The rational part of your brain expected him to pull the fabric down your legs, much like he had with your sweatpants. But that's not what he does. No, he's dipping a finger into the band and pulling it off to the side, bearing your wetness to the not-so-warm house. 

"Fuckin' drippin'," he muses, all to himself, thick fingertips stroking up to your clit, swirling gently, "'n I ain't even done nothin' to ya."

It's hard to think. Thoughts coming to a screeching halt. Only able to focus on the hammer of your heart and the delicious drag of his fingers as they nudge into your entrance. Two sliding in with surprising ease, still open and stretched from how he woke you in the middle of the night. Cock sliding between your thighs until you had reached down to ease him in, drifting in and out of sleep as he fucked you nice and soft. 

The memory is as fuzzy as a dream, the soreness your only indicator of it ever happening. Did you ever hit your peak? Did he? You don't remember. 

"Fuck," he grumbles, fingers bottoming out so easily that your vision sparkles at the edges, "did I stretch ya out that much, baby?" 

"Don't get too full of yourself, cowboy," but your threat is empty, not a shred of seriousness to be found. Even your hand can't muster the strength to squeeze him tighter than necessary, a little warning that would make him jolt.

Instead, you're stuck lazily stroking him, some repetitive movement that hardly keeps your mind off the devilish fingertips running along the inside of your dripping cunt, searching for where you're more sensitive. His thumb lazily pushing between your folds, nonchalantly nudging against your clit. 

Your breath catches. 

"There it is," Rhett's grinning, rubbing against that soft bundle of nerves in loose circles that damn near make your eyes cross, "'s that feel nice?" 

The wriggling of your hips is enough of an answer. Grinding down into him, chasing more of those deliciously thick fingers, can't think about anything else. Just him and the sickly, wet sound he's drawing out of you with every thrust. Thumb working your clit in loose tandem, so good that you can't even move your hand over his cock anymore. 

"Wanna," gulping, you try again, "wanna ride you."

His smile widens, already beginning to draw his hand away, "All y' had t' do was ask, darlin'." 

Your knees ache as you move to sit up, digging into the broken-down cushion of the couch, a poor cushioning that's remedied by the nudge of Rhett's cock against your cunt. Blunt, dripping tip dragging through your wet folds, kissing your weeping entrance. 

His palms settle on your hips, fingers tracing loose circles into your chilly skin, a soft guide that leads you down onto him. An ache blossoming as you stretch to take him. Can never seem to grow used to how thick he is. Engorged veins and dripping like a goddamn faucet, so good that you don't mind the waddle this will surely put in your step.

"Fuck," his breathing growing heavy, squeezing on your sides. Sweat already beads at his forehead, loose strands of hair sticking, a beautiful sight that ought to make you faint. 

That fat tip finally slips inside, dragging against your walls as you sink down onto his lap. Has you pulsing and fluttering around him from the fullness alone. Filling you until your chest feels too tight, panting for breath that you can't hold onto for more than a second. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, head dropping down until it knocks against his. 

Eye to eye, panting into each other's mouths in the golden light of the Christmas tree. Sinking lower and lower until your ass meets his thighs, pussy so full of him that it's almost too much to handle. 

"God," he grunts, "y' take me so goddamn good." 

The bells on his antlers jingle as he shifts his weight, leaning back to get a better look at where he disappears into you. Two thick fingers dip between your shivering thighs, feeling the space he's spread you the widest. Absolutely enthused. 

Your first movement is marked by the sharp jingle of bells. Chiming their song as you lift your body about halfway, only to sink back down. Eager to feel the caress of his cock against those spasming nerves, so good that you have to remember to shut your mouth before you begin to drool. 

It's not quite as rhythmic, but it sounds like the bells Isabella was meant to wear. Punctuating the motion of your body as you work up a comfortable pace. Leaning forward into Rhett's warm chest, your arms still looped around his neck, mouths clashing in a too-messy kiss that leaves your lips shiny. 

"My cock feel that good in you?" He's speaking into your mouth in between wet kisses. Already a thin trail of saliva connecting your tongues before they can even meet, tangling with a lewdness that ought to make a sinner blush. "Talk to me, doll."

You're not even thinking about what he's saying. Already have an answer resting at the forefront of your mind. "Always."

The cushions are digging painfully into your knees. Hasn't been meant for this kind of activity since the early 2000's. But you're powering through, desperately chasing the fullness of every meet of your hips. Sucking in your own sounds in favor of drinking in Rhett's sharp inhales, faint little noises that send a wave of heat between your legs. 

So good, so good, so good. You want more, but your thighs can't keep up. Aching worse than your overstretched sex, protesting the rise and fall that you can't get enough of. 

"Look at you," he marvels, nose bumping into yours, nudging impossibly closer to your bouncing frame. "Already outta breath 'n ya just started." 

You don't know if it's his voice or the twitch of his cock that sends a shiver up your spine, spasming involuntarily around him. Rips any shred of annoyance from your words as you pant, "Riding you isn't a walk in the park, cowboy."

His hips jerk up. Snapping into your pussy with a wet smack, downright smug as he drinks in your cry. Too sinful of a noise to echo through the halls of his childhood home. 

"'s that better?" God, you could wipe that wicked smirk right off his face. But he's doing it again. And you're helpless but to shudder and take it. Sucking in a breath just before he punches it out of your lungs. Bells jingling like a proper fucking sleigh ride.

Your head feels too heavy for your shoulders to carry, falling into the space between his neck and collar, weakly hanging on as he fucks up into you. Running your burning tongue across the protruding vein there, drinking in his breathy moan. 

But just the slight shift in your position has him striking something new. The kind of thing that makes your vision sparkle and your body spasm.

"Right there," whimpering into his ear, barely audible over your necklace, "please—Rhett!"

"Yeah?" He's trying it again, but he barely misses. Feet slipping across the wooden floor, struggling for the leverage he needs to buck up into you. Falling into weakened rolls that grind his cock in your pussy. Gentle rolling of hips that leave your nails biting into his shoulder.

All of a sudden, the room is spinning. Rhett's weight surging up to swing you to the left, your back bouncing against the ratty old couch. Impossibly remaining deep inside of you, his hips never once slipping from between your warm thighs. Necklace singing its shrill tune in your ears as he refinds his rhythm.

Now, he can hit those frazzled nerves. Drilling into it with a fervor that makes you worry about how you'll get up the stairs later. A price you're so, so willing to pay. Back arching off the cushion, legs squeezing those muscular hips as he fucks you deep. Long strokes that squelch with every inward thrust. 

"Oughta ruin this lil pussy," he's growling into your ear, a threat he's certain to follow through on if the squealing springs are anything to go by, "fuckin' droolin' 'round my dick."

Drooling is an understatement. You're drenched. A slick mess that has run down your shivering thighs, staining the front of his jeans and glistening on his cock. An obscene sight for every withdrawal of his hips, and that alone is enough to have your skin prickling. Crying high in your throat as your head thumps back against the couch, nails biting into his shoulders until you're certain the material may rip. 

You're close. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you're close, but it's not enough. No, it's not, it's not—

Rhett's rough thump presses against your throbbing clit. It's hardly even moving, and yet your mouth is falling open with a stuttered moan. You're right there. So close to the edge that your heart stutters in your chest, and your head is beginning to spin.

"This what you need, hm?" Rhett's egging you on, no doubt, can feel the way your pussy pulses around him, fluttering like a butterfly as he works you closer and closer. "Come on, sweetheart, cum 'round my cock for me." 

You don't need any further coaxing. Orgasm hitting you so hard that you've barely got time to register it. Spine arching off the couch, heels digging into Rhett's ass, squeezing him so close that he can hardly draw out of you. 

"That's it, baby, that's it," he's talking you through it, lips brushing against your cheek, but you can hardly feel it. Too wrapped up in a spiral of bliss. "Just like that, shit." 

Weak, your legs loosen, freeing him to start moving again. Jerkily thrusting into your pulsing heat, moaning low in your ear as he works himself closer and closer, and all you can do is hang on. Biting down overstimulated squeals in favor of gasping into his ear. 

"Cum in me, Rhett," you coax, shaking fingers clutching the sweaty hair at the nape of his neck. "Please."

Those deep noises spur up an octave, pitchy as he whimpers, eyes squeezing shut. He's almost there, so close that he's begun to shiver from head to toe, erratic breath fanning out against your skin. Weak, you clamp down around him. 

And that's all it takes.

Hips snapping into you one last time, cumming in you with a fractured nose, torn between a grunt and a desperate cry. Twitching deeper inside, punctuated by short little groans that nearly make your eyes roll into the back of your head. His spasming cock filling your pussy until you become vaguely aware of the new wetness. Marked from the inside out, sure to run down your thighs like a symbol of what belongs to him.

For a moment, the room is quiet—nothing but heaving breaths and indescribably faint noises, your cheeks squished against each other. Until you find the strength to tilt your head and press a kiss to his jaw. 

Even this close, it's hard to miss Rhett's smile as he leans over to reciprocate the peck, "I love you."

"I love you more," you giggle, squeezing him a little closer now as if the centimeters of space between your chests is too much. 

He could argue with you. Hell, you're certainly expecting for him to, and it seems that he gives it a moment of thought, before surrendering to the after-glow and letting you get away with it. He'll surely get you back for it soon. Start a contest you're rarely able to win.

But for right now, all you can do is snuggle into each other, his comforting weight settled on top of you. With wordless kisses and nuzzles of cold noses, his big hands roaming beneath your shirt to stroke the soft skin there, stubble scratching your cheek in the softest fashion he can manage. There's an ache blooming in your legs from being wrapped around his hips for so long, but the idea of him pulling out feels even worse. 

"'m still takin' you on a proper sleigh ride," he grumbles into your ear, some soft-spoken promise that fills your belly with frosty butterflies. 

But you don't get to formulate a response because all of a sudden, his phone is ringing. Cecelia, ten minutes out from the house, her careful voice backdropped by Royal's snoring from the passenger seat. She's wrangled a friend into plowing the quiet strip of road leading to the house, making room for the old car to crawl past. 

You're cleaned up and on the porch, before the drive is even plowed. Snug under Rhett's arm, feigning clinginess to disguise the wobble in your knees, sore between the legs, and waddling like a festive penguin. 

Nobody notices, too thrilled with the idea of presents and warm dinner to look into the finer details. Except for Rhett, that is. A smug, irritating grin plastered upon his pale face for the entire afternoon. Proud of his handiwork.

The sleigh bells were in Cecelia's trunk. Had accidentally landed there when she had taken the harness to the tack repair shop back in October, and in her rush to get everything packed for the trip, she forgot to take them out. 

As the sun begins to set and you're helping Cecelia put away the dishes, Rhett's head pops around the corner. Snowflakes clinging to his hair, nose red as can be, asking to steal you away for the rest of the afternoon. 

And outside the house stands his beloved mare. Her mane was braided, and her bells chiming proudly in that festive fashion exclusive to Christmas. She's rusty at first, taking a moment to remember what Rhett's asking of her, but she's perfect. Content to make her way down the snow-white driveway, jet black tail swishing from side to side. 

"Is this the sleigh ride you've been dying to take me on?" You giggle. Your chin propped on his shoulder, peering over at his grinning, wind-bitten face. 

"Mhm," his head tilts to rest against yours, "but I think I liked your idea a little better." 

It takes an hour longer than usual for you two to return from the barn that night.

[captainremmington-13]

A Lady Made of Snow

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own The Hunger Games franchise, the images above, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, or any of the characters in this fic other than Bellova.

SUMMARY: Coriolanus is snubbed by receiving the weakest possible tribute (or so he thinks). Bellova, who doesn’t care much about winning the Plinth Prize or saving her tribute’s life, gives him a few words of advice, despite being his lifelong academic rival.

Warnings: slight bullying??

“Hi.” 

Eighteen-year-old Coriolanus Snow approached his fellow classmates, smiling politely. He hoped that they could make pleasant conversation and avoid any petty arguments before the reaping began. He really didn’t need any additional stress.

“Finally, the star pupil,” Arachne Crane said snidely, bringing her glass to her painted lips. She leaned forward, inspecting his outfit. “That’s a snazzy shirt. What are those buttons? Tesserae?”

Coriolanus shrugged causally. “Huh. That’s why they remind me of the maid’s bathroom.”

Lysistrata Vickers glanced around the room. “Where’s your rival, Coryo? I assumed she’d be here by now.” 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she was fashionably late,” Felix chimed in. “Just like she was to this year’s orientation.”

Coriolanus nodded in acknowledgement. “I wouldn’t mind if she didn’t show up at all.” 

Someone cleared their throat behind him. The group of seniors turned to see Bellova Reginelle, looking stunning in her reaping day attire. Coriolanus usually saw her in her Academy uniform, but today, she wore a white button-down with a tight black vest over it, and a skirt that fell just above her knees. Her ebony hair, which was usually in loose curls, was swept into a high ponytail that cascaded down her back. Her sheer black thigh-high socks were paired a set of luxurious high heels that no doubt cost as much as Coriolanus’s rent, and a long silver necklace with an antique pendant hung around her slender neck. 

Bellova stepped between Coriolanus and Festus. “Hello,” she began, looking at her classmates. “I apologize for my delayed arrival, my maid misplaced my shoes. It doesn’t seem like I’ve missed much, though.”

Coriolanus looked at his friend - or enemy, depending on the day. Admittedly, she was the most beautiful girl in their class. Her dark grey eyes were stunning, her posture was perfect, and she always had her makeup done flawlessly. She never failed to turn heads while walking down the Academy halls. 

If she was more humble and less conniving, he would actually enjoy her company. 

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come,” he said. 

“I would never miss the reaping,” Bellova said, taking a glass of posca from a waiter. “Plus, this is much more important than a normal reaping, isn’t it?” 

The group nodded in agreement. Felix, who was indulging himself with food, licked his fingers clean. 

“Have you tried this lamb? It’s scandalous.” 

“Ugh,” Festus said in disgust. “Only the vulgar eat with their fingers, Felix. What, Daddy not teach you table manners?”

“Maybe he would have if he wasn’t so busy running the country.” Felix’s haughty response makes everyone scoff under their breath. Coriolanus always hated Felix’s snide remarks. They were immature and unnecessary, and reminded him that Felix lived a comfortable, sheltered life. 

“Even a monkey could eat more delicately than you, Ravinstill,” Bellova joked, making Arachne and Festus laugh. 

Felix just scowled, and quickly changed the subject. “Hey, they called us here for the Plinth Prize, right?” 

“Yes?” Bellova answered. 

“Because I heard Dr. Gaul’s in the building.” Felix scoffed. “Plinth,” he said, voice full of contempt. The group glanced towards the Plinth family, who were standing several feet away. “I mean, look at his spawn. Who would have thought that you could buy your way into the Capitol?”

“Well, you can’t buy class,” Festus added, smirking. “Did you see his mother’s outfit? Sorry, his “Ma’s.” 

Felix chuckled. Coriolanus chimed in, saying, “Dress a turnip in a ballgown, and it’ll still beg to be mashed.” 

Bellova snickered, and shoved him playfully. “She’s not wearing a ballgown, Coryo, it’s more like a hideous trench coat.”

“I was using a figure of speech, Bellova,” Coriolanus rolled his eyes. “But I agree, it’s pretty sore on the eyes.”

“Don’t do that, you two,” Arachne said pointedly. “We all know that you like him.” 

“We don’t like him, Arachne,” Coriolanus and Bellova said in unison.  

“We tolerate him,” Bellova corrected her.

“He’s district,” Coriolanus added.

“Tolerate him, just don’t encourage him,” Festus said, as Arachne mouthed ‘okay, sure’ at them. “I hear one more time how immoral these Hunger Games are, I’ll put him in the arena mys…”

He trailed off as Sejanus Plinth, the topic of the conversation, approached them, standing next to Bellova. 

“Sejanus,” Festus said, not trying to hide his disdain. “You made it to the Reaping for once.”

“And you made it to graduation, Festus. We’re both shocked,” Sejanus replied in the same manner, causing Coriolanus and Bellova to laugh. 

“Spill it. Who won the prize?” Arachne said impatiently, pursing her lips.

“Oh, no, I’m not gonna ruin my father’s big day. No one here actually likes him, but they do love his money.” Sejanus looked directly at the girl, smirking slightly. “You know what that’s like, don’t you, Arachne?”

She scoffed, clearly offended. “Funny.”

The television began playing Panem’s national anthem, signaling the students to take their assigned seats. Bellova sat down, smoothing out her skirt and crossing her legs. She saw Sejanus pull Coriolanus aside, and noticed Coriolanus’s sudden change in mood as he sat down next to her. 

“What happened?” she murmured quietly.

“I’ll tell you later,” Coriolanus snapped. 

Bellova rolled her eyes. “You are such a c-“

She was abruptly cut off by the sound of Dr. Gaul’s cackle echoing throughout Heavensbee Hall, amplified by the microphone in front of her. 

Coriolanus and Bellova sat quietly as she addressed the student body. Though Dr. Gaul was indifferent to most of the students at the Academy, they had always been given more of her attention than their peers. 

It was a blessing and a curse to be liked by Dr. Gaul. It never hurt to have the approval of a teacher, but she was off-putting and almost sadistic at times. Plus, she loved pairing her two favorite students together, which meant that Coriolanus and Bellova had an unfortunate history of arguing after High Biology. It had almost gotten physical a few times. Bellova was quick to anger and far too prideful for Coriolanus’s liking. He never laid a finger on her; the fear of being expelled was too strong for that. He did, however, contradict her at every possible turn. He took great pleasure in the muttered curses and insults hurled his way as she stormed off, causing the students around her to move away hastily.

“And now to that end,” Dr. Gaul concluded. “I am honored to introduce to you the creator of The Hunger Games themselves: Dean Casca Highbottom.”

Highbottom took a sip from his small vial, and began making his way through the middle of the student body, clearly inebriated. “Uh…” he cleared his throat. “Select students, faculty, and, of course, Dr. Gaul, I have summoned you all here today for the 10th Annual Reaping Ceremony in which we choose two children from each district to throw into the Capitol Arena to fight to the death in The Hunger Games.”

Bellova smirked. “I can’t believe they still allow him to speak in public,” she whispered to Coriolanus, making him smile slightly. 

“And here,” the dean continued, gesturing to the senior students sitting at the front of the hall. “Sit our own twenty-four top prospects all waiting to hear the results of hard study in this prestigious institution. Eager to learn who’s won that Plinth Prize, no doubt. And a golden future. However,” he said, causing Bellova’s brows to furrow. “I am here to tell you that there has been a change this year. One final assignment to prove your worth. Because… the esteemed citizens of the Capitol have grown bored of the Games and simply aren’t watching anymore. And if the Games are to continue at all, there must be an audience.” A few people chuckle. “So, Head Gamemaker Dr. Gaul has stepped in to… incentivize patriotic values with her own unique flair, starting with you. The Plinth Prize will no longer be determined by who has the best grades.”

“Excuse me?“ 

“But by who is the best mentor in The Hunger Games.”

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

The twenty-four mentors had erupted into complaints after that. After the Dean had settled them down, he read off the names of the tributes and their assigned mentors. Lucky for her, Bellova received the female tribute from District 1. But Coriolanus was humiliated by receiving the runt girl from District 12, Lucy Gray Baird. Not only was she small and seemingly malnourished, she appeared to be insane as well. 

As the Academy students filed out of Heavensbee Hall and made their way towards the cafeteria, Bellova approached Coriolanus. 

“I assume Sejanus told you about the change to the Plinth Prize conditions and that’s why you looked so upset earlier?“

Coriolanus nodded stiffly. 

“I see,” Bellova nodded. “I didn’t see it coming either.” 

Coriolanus glanced at her. “Why do you even care about the Plinth Prize, Bellova? You’re going to University regardless.”

She shrugged. “I like winning. But it’s really not crucial in this instance.” 

Coriolanus felt a pang of jealousy at her nonchalant attitude. “It is for me. And with the tribute I was assigned, failure is guaranteed.” 

Bellova frowned. “Are you sure? She made quite a spectacle of herself earlier. Almost everyone is talking about her.”

Coriolanus sighed. “It won’t do any good when she’s dead in five minutes flat in the arena.”

“Perhaps,” Bellova said. “But I know you, Coryo. You’ll do anything in your power to come out on top. It’s infuriating, honestly.”

He smirked. “Only because it results in you losing.”

Bellova pursed her lips in annoyance. “Only on rare occasions. My point is that it’s a good thing, being willing to do anything to win. If you stop doing that now, you can kiss the Plinth Prize goodbye.”

And with that, they reached the cafeteria and parted ways, Bellova’s words of advice still ringing in Coriolanus’s ears. 

……………………..……………………..……………………..…………

TAGLIST: @daenerysqueenofhearts, @squidscottjeans, @euphemiaamillais

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. I have several more chapters finished, I’m just polishing them up atm. I’ll post the second chapter sometime soon hopefully. Let me know in the comments what you think and if you’d like to be tagged!

[no1tolerateitfan]

i sit and watch you reading with your head low...

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[officialdaydreamer00]

House fire

ROLLO FLAMME — in which one can predict a student exchange program might go south real quick

COLLAB WORK with @unfictinalnightmare for [The chimes of comfort]

CONTENT — takes place after glorious masquerade, our yuusonas (hillary and irene) are yuu, silly shenanigans with hillary and irene, calm before the storm, rollo will show up next chapter :)

TAGGINGS — @cloudcountry @identity-theft-101 @xen-blank @esmerulia-chantelle @dove-da-birb @cookiesandbiscuits @vioisgoinginsane @siren-serenity @loser-jpg @axvwriter @edith-is-a-cat @thehollowwriter @taruruchi @cyanide-latte + others :3

Do reblog or comment if you enjoy my work! ^-^

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2: Calm before the storm || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6

At the crack of dawn, Hillary and Irene had to wake up early for preparations to welcome Rollo to Night Raven College. The two stood in front of the mirror, one brushing her teeth, the other brushing her hair, all the while Grim was still dozing off in the covers.

Hillary sat on the edge of the tub, brushing her long snowy hair as she narrowed her eyes at Irene. "Oi, so what's the guy like? Spill the tea, you wicked witch."

"Oh, shut it." Irene replied, still half-asleep as her hand moved the toothbrush all over her teeth.

To be honest, she didn't know what to tell Hillary about Rollo. A domestic terrorist who wanted to purge the world of magic? A clean freak who only saw NRC as dirt under his shoes?!

That would be too blunt and demeaning, and Irene didn't really like that. Unlike Hillary, she actually has tact.

Hillary mumbled something under her breath, reaching for her jewellery box to grab two accessories in a bright shade of red. One of an old headband she had used for a while, and the other was a recently bought bow, along with several other accessories.

"Which one should I pick?" She turned her head to Irene, holding up both pieces in her hands.

"Aren't you always wearing the headband on a daily basis?"

Irene asked in confusion, looking at her roommate as if she just grew a second head.

"But Aphro said something 'bout being girls, it'd be better to change from time to time, or something like that. Here, there's for you too."

Hillary said, hands pinning the red bow to the back of her hair neatly. Then she pulled out a turquoise bow, almost similar to hers, and handed it to Irene.

"Oh, was it from Galodis?" Irene held the bow in her hands, clipping the bow onto to her hair as she turned her head to check. Not bad, she thought impressed, that Aphro Galodis had a decent eye for fashion.

"Yeah, he made it with Hazel and Zelus. Grim has one, too."

Irene only clicked her tongue, deciding to overlook how the snowette just accepted things out of nowhere. After all, it was a gift from their upperclassman. Then she rushed out of the bathroom, changing her outfits to prepare to welcome their unavoidable esteemed guest.

———————————————————

"... Cold."

Hillary's red eyes stared at the falling snowflakes through the frosty windows of Ramshackle dorm.

Snow... Perhaps it was now winter back in her home country. Her family would be flying to Russia to visit her grandparents, with vodka, hot cocoa, marshmallows, the comforting flames illuminating from the living room's old fireplace... She snuggled into the wool scarf wrapped around her neck, enjoying the warth it provided...

"I... really hate it here."

Irene shakily walked out of the dorm's front door, swaddled in two thick coats yet still able to feel the cold. It was understandable, since she was from a tropical Asian country, where people can't completely deal with the biting cold, and 10 degree Celcius was already horrible to face.

Hillary sighed, pulling out another two scarves from her bag, one blue-grey and cyan with a cat charm for Grim, and the other a deep shade of sea green. She knelt down and wrapped the scarf around Grim's neck, much to his delight, then roughly threw the other into Irene's face and left without another word.

"That little...!"

Irene scowled, sending Hillary a scathing glare. Just a few days ago, she still saw the snowette knitting by the fireplace, she didn't think she'd get one herself. Irene lightly ran her thumb on the scarf, hand made meticulously and embroidered with a white owl. It was so, so pretty and warm. Irene wrapped the scarf around her neck, mumbling under her breath.

"Is this just some accidental product?"

... So much for being sworn enemies.

[bts-trans]

231114 RM's Instagram Post

dignity

Picture Translation, an excerpt from the book 'The City and Its Uncertain Walls' by Haruki Murakami: …a plain dark green waistcoat. He wasn't wearing a necktie, but he always wore clean, if slightly old-fashioned, clothes. Such commonplace middle-aged male attire could hardly be said to fit with a skirt (plus tights), but he did not seem to mind this in the slightest. And perhaps the people of the town have been witnesses of such a sight for so long that they don’t even pay attention to it anymore.

My days in Z** town passed by in uneventful fashion. I embraced my new daily routine, gradually moulding my mind and body to it. As the late summer heat came to an end, autumn deepened, and the mountains surrounding the town were beautifully coloured with various tints of autumn foliage. On my days off, I would take solitary walks along mountain paths, savouring the fine arts crafted by nature. In the midst of all this, the unavoidable sense of impending winter began to linger. Autumn in the mountains is brief.

“It will start snowing soon”, Koyasu said as he stood in front of the window before leaving, carefully watching the movement of the clouds. His somewhat small hands were firmly clasped behind his back.

“There’s this scent lingering in the air. Winter is quick to set in around here. You’d better get yourself a pair of snowshoes.”

34

On the evening of the first snowfall (it was almost the end of November), after finishing my work at the library, I went into town to buy some snowshoes. It was still just a flurry of snow, but if it were to start falling more heavily, the soft, city-style shoes I had brought with me from Tokyo would not be suitable for walking on such a snowy day.

The snow that began to fall reminded me of life in that walled city. In winter, it often snows even in that city. And in the snow, many single-horned beasts died.

But what kind of shoes did I wear in that city?

I was given shoes by the city (all my clothes and equipment were provided by the city) and I wore them every day on the winter streets. The snow was never that deep, but the surface of the roads was hard and frozen, so it was possible to slip on them…

Trans cr; Rinne & Aditi @ bts-trans © TAKE OUT WITH FULL CREDITS

[fleetingcalypso]

We were girls together.

≋ Living in the past, recounting experiences that are now part of an old carving on the altar of memory can at times be the only remedy for a lonely heart. ≋

≋ Camilla Macaulay x FEM!Reader ≋

≋ Word Count: 907 words.

≋ TW: religious (catholic) imagery.

We were girls together.

We sat close to each other in class, our feet touching and occasionally tapping each other's ankle with the tip of our shoe whenever something entertaining occurred. We lied side by side on the same bed, reading from the same book, complaining when one of us would turn the page before the other was done, occasionally she would rest her head on my chest and fall asleep listening to my heartbeat. I would trim her hair and she’d trim mine. We held each other’s hands while crossing the street, the childish gesture feeling like a sacrosanct inside joke between the two of us. We exchanged recipes, fashion tips, accessories. 

We would rest our bodies on the grass by the lakeside, her head on my lap or vice versa and we'd look up at the sky and find shapes in the clouds. Once she pointed her finger up to the heavens and said "That one looks like a knight, the other looks like a dragon," I laughed, "Perhaps there's also a princess nearby, then. Just hiding away, waiting to be rescued." She hummed in agreement though it seemed as if she had more to say, then her eyes closed. I let her nap while I moved my fingers through her hair.

We were girls together. 

When the cold came, with its freezing kiss and the gift of candid snow, she'd wrap her arms around me and I'd wrap my coat around her, swaying her from side to side as if she was but a babe needing comfort. Sometimes she'd forget her gloves and she'd place her perfect hands into mine, greedily stealing all the heat I could produce. Silly girl she was, there was no need to steal. I would have gladly warmed her up any way I could have, even by using my own body as foundation wood for a burning pyre in her honor. With eyes full of mischief she would frequently pluck the cigarettes out of my fingers and claim it as hers, expecting me for my hands to find her waist and drag her closer to me, consequentially taking back what was mine from her. 

We were girls together. 

She was the one to kiss me first. It started as a game, truthfully, to kiss each other until one put an end to it. We never did keep count of who pulled away for air first, each time, being eager as we were to get back to each other's lips. Those times where she would spend the night at my apartment are some of the most bittersweet memories I own. She would show up with the orange glow of the sunset and ask, "Can I stay with you?" And powerless as I was, I replied, "There's no need to ask." One day turned into two, into three, into four, until she often spent an entire week or more rolling around in my bed sheets and wearing my clothes. Even presently, I’m confident that the sweater I’ve been searching for far too long is still in her possession, possibly hiding out in the back of a drawer.

In the moments where she felt like she could let her guard down, a completely different girl than most would see jumped out. She would be unapologetically hilarious with risquè jokes, leaving me to question where she heard them in the first place. She would complain about Bunny from time to time, complain about her brother and his ways, complain about how she felt trapped. There’s no denying it. My beautiful, perfect girl was but a nightingale trapped inside of a rusting cage.

We were girls together.

We were two sheep in a pack of wolves, but as I was able to hide my ivory fleece disguising it as a predator’s gray fur, she was incapable of doing the same and so she was cursed by becoming the Holy Virgin Mary they all prayed to, on their bruised, bloody knees, stretching their arms up in the air to grasp at the hem of her the veil that hid her face. It doesn’t surprise me that I was her only shelter. The way she’d melt when I did so little as to link my pinky with hers, it felt like a young girl experiencing joy for the first time in her life.

“I never thought this could happen,” She whispered in my ear one night, thinking sleep had taken over me, “I love you.” Her legs were tangled with mine, we shared the same pillow and the very same air, our nightwear discarded on the floor. How I wish I had responded. I would have told her I loved her too, more than anything. I would have told her that I could be her knight, saving her from the world’s injustice. I would have asked her to run away from Vermont, maybe fly to the other side of the world and start a new life together, just two girls being together.

We were just girls together, when we were younger. Camilla Macaulay has been to this day my greatest spark, my epitome of the perfect love: it was quiet, subtle and it was enough for the both of us. After Henry died we all somewhat drifted apart, but as I stuff a wrinkled letter into a pristine envelope I pray to all the Gods out there that my moonlight goddess could return by my side.

[anjelicawrites]

Cringefail Throuple 💡

Billy gets very lonely when he’s not working and both Michael and Reader are in classes, so one weekend they take their lil puppy boyfriend to adopt a for real lil puppy to keep him company 🐶

SFW but still 18+ only under the cut

Warnings: brief mention of Billy's fear of driving, brief mention of dog fights.

Billy doesn't drive. He still has his license but doesn't own a car anymore. You and Michael know the reason and understand. (Michael, being the dickhead that he is, still can't get his head around why Billy isn't trying to force himself to drive; he keeps his mouth shut and is supportive, nonetheless, after you've threatened to stop sleeping with him, if he even thought about muttering a single word about the whole situation). Anyway, Billy doesn't drive, neither you, nor Michael own a car and hiring a taxi isn't an option, this makes the whole setup of your trip difficult, not impossible, after all, you and Michael are both geniuses, right? That's why you three are sitting on the bus, the eye mask you two have made Billy wear, discreetly covered by your old wraparound glasses.

"I can't believe you own those."

Billy hears Michael's voice coming from his left. You three are sitting on the back row seats of the bus, Billy in the middle, you two flanking him.

"It's called 'following fashion trends sometimes'. You should try it." "Goths don't follow fashion trends" "Says who? You can talk when you stop wearing grandpa trousers."

To anyone eavesdropping, this is two people that are bantering, maybe even fighting, to Billy it's his two dork lovers flirting: he knows the sex tonight is going to be a fight between you two for the upper hand, for his viewing pleasure. Not his fault this is yours and Michael's way of flirting!

You three risk missing your stop and have to rush to the exit, Billy almost stumbling on his feet, blindfolded as he is, and having to rely on you two for guidance.

"Promise me this is not some weird sex thing?" He asks, worried, when he realizes he can't hear the sounds of the city around himself anymore. "Your arse is only for our viewing pleasure." Michael murmurs in his ear, before slapping said arse. "Not now Michael!" You chide your supposedly 'genius' boyfriend. "There's no one around here." "Where's 'here'?" Billy has to ask, before you two start bickering again. "Near where we're supposed to go." You answer. "We're heading that way, it's not far."

With that, Billy can feel your hand and Michael's in his, gently guiding him to his left. The terrain under his feet is uneven, pebbles and bumps under the soles of his shoes, he can hear the wind rustling the leaves of trees he can't see: where the hell are you taking him? And why there's dogs barking all of a sudden?

"We've arrived."

Billy feels Michael's fingers on the stems, before he removes the glasses and the eye mask with a quick movement. Billy's eyes need a moment to adjust to the sudden influx of light, before his sight lands on the sign in front of him.

"Are you for real?" Comes out more chocked than expected.

He's talked with his psychologist about feeling lonely when you and Michael are in class or are studying at the library. Work helps, the small group of friends he's made since moving to Oxford is great but there are those afternoons when he feels the bite of loneliness. He's told his psychologist that he knows he should be able to deal with feeling lonely, and that's when the suggestion of adopting a pet was made.

"It doesn't have to be a big commitment." His psychologist had said. "Whilst handling one's loneliness in a healthy way is paramount, one should follow what he's feeling. You used to have a dog, innit?"

He did, it was on the screen of his now exploded mobile phone and Billy misses having the dog around, the chat he had with him, even going on a walk with him under the snow is a treasured memory.

"If you want to."

Billy's eyes land on you. You're picking your fingers nervously as you wait for his answer.

"I do."

He surprises himself by saying it out loud, but he had toyed with the idea even since talking about it with his psychologist and never tried to act upon it. Now that he's in front of the dog shelter, he knows he should have come here sooner.

"Then let's go inside. It's a long way to Oxford." "You know Michael? You don't have to be such a pain in the arse all of the time!"

Before you two can start bickering again, Billy takes your hands and drags you two inside.

You and Michael had contacted the shelter before coming and had given all the information needed to the nice volunteer who is now accompany you three in the various areas.

Michael is busy keeping you and your squeals of happiness under control and you are busy sounding like a squeaky toy, to notice immediately that Billy has stopped in front of the door of a dog.

"What's his name?" Billy asks, already on his haunches to look at the dog better.

The animal staring at him has some mutt in him and a part of his ear is missing, on top of the scars visible. The rich chocolate of his eyes hides a world of sadness Billy sometimes can see in his own.

"He is Tornado." The volunteer walks back and sits next to Billy. "He is one of our older residents. He was part of a fighting ring and was in terrible conditions when he came to us. We had to work with him and now he's the sweetest guy you could ever ask for!" She adds, hastily. "I'm taking him home. He's the one." Billy says, eyes locked with the dog in front of him. "He's up for adoption, right?"

It takes a while to finish the paperwork and Billy is vibrating in his own skin, as much as Tornado is, when he sees the leash in Billy's hand. The dog doesn't jump on him, but is wagging his tail furiously, you all are afraid he's going to harm himself and is moving so much Billy has to try a couple of times, before he can manage to leash him properly.

You three don't wait for the bus, Tornado, as well behaved as he is, wants to walk and is busy sniffing you three and and every bush on the road.

"A puppy for our puppy boyfriend. Are you happy?" Michael asks. "I am."

The sun is slowly setting, you're busy taking pictures of Tornado like he's some kind of supermodel and Billy's heart feels like its going to bursts from joy: him and Tornado are going to be the best team in town! Little he knows the dog is going to become the pub resident mascot, getting all the love and pets from each patron, like the good boy that he is.

Cringefail throuple taglist: @fan-goddess