#same with no main weapon tbh

[2ws2ls]

"Dont move in-" what if i beat you with hammers

[amxthystiine]

RAHHHH IM NOT DEAD I HAVENT BURNT OUT TRUST

Canto VII is going absolutely insane rn GOD I hate THAT stage you know the one took me a day to complete it

BUT RAHHHH IM BACK!!! SELF INSERT UPON YE

I’ve been stewing on her lore a bit and have a possible scene that could play out in my mind but ye!!

[fujii-draws]

So a comment under one of pmd2’s ost songs may or may have not rewired my brain a bit to assign certain instruments to a certain three.

[rwby-confess]

Confession #166

[starkeymeow]

❛ we make each other alive . .

does it matter if it hurts? ❜

I’M COMING, WAIT FOR ME.

PLOT you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.

CONTENT prologue, best read in dark mode, rafe cameron x reader au, blood, violence, murder, manipulation, grief, hallucinations, intense survival situations. HUNGER GAMES EEKEKEKEKEEK

main masterlist | tag list | next

you practically volunteer for death with a smile on your face.

the sky is too blue for bloodshed. but the flags flap like they know what’s coming. red, black, and concrete gray, colors that mean order. control. victory.

your boots hit the stone square in time with a hundred others. it smells like sweat, steel, and the stale echo of war. no one cries here. they only clench their jaws tighter.

the stage looms. peacekeepers gleam like statues. the man with the mic is already smiling with his perfect teeth, slick voice. the reaping bowl is silver and deep, shimmering like a trap.

they call a name. not yours. but you step forward anyway. you say it loud, “i volunteer as tribute.”

your voice cuts through the silence like a blade. cheers erupt, not for you, but for the performance. and you grin.

you take the girl’s place, step onto the stage. raise your chin like your mother told you to. and then they call the boy’s name. and that’s when the blood begins.

another boy shoves forward. bigger. older. louder. he doesn’t want to wait to die. he wants the glory, the blood, the roar of the crowd.

but the name already belongs to him. the quiet one, the one with the sharp collar and colder eyes, the one whose father whispered into the right ears.

he doesn’t speak, doesn’t ask permission, just moves. and when it’s over, the bigger boy is choking on the stage, teeth cracked like glass, blood puddling under his skull.

the real tribute stands above him, bruised, breathing like a machine, lip split open and dripping down his chin.

you watch it all. you don’t blink once. this is what you signed up for.

the man with the mic stammers something patriotic, something rehearsed, and then,

“rafe cameron and y/n y/l/n, this year’s tributes for district two!”

you reach for him. he wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist, smearing red across the curve of his hand. then he grips yours with that same hand, tight, unflinching.

you raise your arms together. blood paints the space between your fingers. the cameras catch it all.

the crowd goes fucking feral. you’re smiling like you’ve won already. he’s not smiling at all. and somehow, that’s worse.

you don’t look like heroes. you don’t look like victims. you look like monsters. and somewhere far away, on a train bound for the capitol, other tributes watch this moment play on a screen, and feel the first true pang of fear.

district two is coming. and it’s already soaked in red.

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @ariiwritess @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar @drewstarkeyzwhore @drewsephrry @annaconscience @writtenbyhollywood @yourtypicalteenagegirl @daisydark @v4mpscrms

THIS SERIES will have literally teasing psycho rafe & silent killer reader probably. i wanna make it brutal, bloody, violent, but also raw and vulnerable eventually! theyre still humans at the end of the day. there are just a few things to know:

ONE theyre obviously from district 2. rafes dad is a peacekeeper, or something related to that. for the reader its undecided tbh but u guys can give me ideas if u want!! rafes family exists but i doubt we’ll hear much from them.

TWO reader is unfortunately one of the careers who are brainwashed into training to volunteer someday and represent their district. rafe has his own similar reason that we’ll get into in this series soon!!

THREE i might put up a poll for u guys to decide whether we pull the “lovers who die together”, “lovers where one dies and the other wins”, “lovers who win together because fuck katniss & peeta i guess” cards, so the ending is entirely up to u guys!!

LET ME KNOW if u would like to be part of this tag list, i’ll take a break from shameless to rewatch or reread thg idc. im having sm ideas now that SOTR came out LOL

[petermorwood]

Hi i have a question!

I just bought myself a decoration sword replica (anduril from lord of the rings) and I've been wondering: aren't swords supposed to be balanced at the point of the hilt?

Because mine isn't, and I'm wondering if it's because of the decoration sword aspect or if i was wrong in my assumption.

I don't know a lot about sword manoeuvrability, and definitely not enough to assess which point of balance might be useful for different uses, but I've been theorising that there lies a potential answer.

I am hopeful that you can help me clear the mystery, and thank you so much in advance!

No mystery IMO - it's almost certainly because of the word you yourself used twice.

What you've got isn't a sword as much as a decoration in the shape of a sword, a specific sword from a famous movie series at that, and to the average movie fan it's far more important for a replica prop to look like what it, is rather than actually work like it.

A really expensive replica "Ghostbusters" proton pack...

...may well have all the necessary blinkenlights and even a sound system for THAT power-up noise, but 99.999% of owners won't expect it to actually tear holes in the fabric of reality.

Of course there's always that .0001%, tinkering away at the back of garages or in basement workshops. If they ever get a proton pack to work properly, we'll all know. ;->

Replica swords, axes, maces etc. are an exception to this general rule. People want them to work, though TBH "work" usually just means "flourish in a dramatic way" (which can be problematic in itself, as you'll see).

Very few take it to the point (or edge) of "take my enemies apart", and those who do have left a trail of weapon bans in their wake. Thanks for nothing.

*****

On the subject of balance, just for curiosity I checked several of my own repro swords - specifically this lot, photographed some years back when they were out taking the air...

...and rather to my surprise, because the amount of metal in the hilts varies so much, the point of balance on Every Single One is more or less the same - a generous hand's-width, say 4-ish to 5-ish inches / 11-ish to 13-ish cm, down from where the lowest element of the guard stops.

This means, of course, that the balance point on the blade is further down on the side-sword (my avatar) and basket-hilt schiavona than it is on the plain cross-hilts, but that aside, one good handspan seems to be the default distance.

Where does your Andúril replica balance? You didn't mention.

*****

Balance point aside, being "battle-ready" (the usual tag for repros intended for clangy re-enactment) really isn't a consideration for movie replicas, since most if not all aren't meant for use beyond decor, posing, cosplay etc.

Swords like these got the nickname "wall-hanger" for a reason.

Decorative replicas are certainly not for fighting with, so whether or not they balance like a real sword is immaterial. I'm sure some do, I'm equally sure most don't.

TBH, posing and cosplay shouldn't include swinging the replicas about in violent combat simulation movements, because they're usually not made like real swords. The nature of their construction (a thing called a "rat-tail tang") means there's a potential fracture point concealed within the grip.

And THAT means the stresses of sword-fighting moves, even without hitting something, might snap blade from hilt. If not noticed in time, the next dramatic swing might send the blade flying off in a dangerous unintended direction.

About 10 years ago I wrote a long illustrated post about that risk. I've seen it happen and though no harm was done, it was a hair-raising (and for one person, almost hair-parting) experience.

*****

The main questions regarding an Andúril replica (or a Braveheart, a Longclaw, a Conan Atlantean etc., etc.) are these:

"Do I think it's an accurate recreation of the movie sword?"

"Do I think it's a handsome ornament in my home?"

"Do I think it's worth what I paid for it?"

"Does owning it make me happy?"

If the answer to those questions is "Yes", then that decorative replica has fulfilled the purpose for which it was made.

Hope This Helps! :->

[kaileyrose28]

Sapphire Night's Lounge

Note.ᐟ.ᐟ.ᐟ.ᐟ: Sapphire Night's Lounge is about a you as stripper and Red Hood, obviously. Might be a little OOC, I think. Idk. Jason's probably a whore in secret, who knows.

18+ (I have to say this), this has sexual content, like seriously.

Content: Daddy kink, size kink if you squint, quick fuck, strangers, rough fucking, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it, please), possessive Jason, he's obsessed and untouched tbh.

8,097 words. Female centered sex and pronouns, second person POV oriented.

Jason pulls his red helmet over his head, the familiar hum of the internal systems activating giving him a sense of readiness. The Red Hood was back in action. 

Gotham’s underbelly had been rumbling, whispers of illicit activities centered around a seedy strip club in the East End. It was time to pay a visit. 

He’s perched on the edge of a rooftop across from the club, the neon sign flickering “Sapphire Night’s Lounge” in garnish pinks and purples. The place was a front, he was sure of it. Drugs, trafficking, maybe even weapons—something big was going down here, and he intended to find out what. 

Scanning the perimeter, he noted the bouncers at the entrance. They were big, sure, but not subtle. Typical muscle, probably packing heat but lacking in brains. Easy enough to get past, but he needed to be smarter. He opted for a back entrance, the alleyway dimly lit and reeking of garbage. He moved silently, a shadow in the night, avoiding the drunks and junkies slumped against the walls. 

The back door was locked, but a quick pick of the lock and he was inside, slipping into the dark, narrow corridor behind the main rooms. Music thumped through the walls, the heavy bass reverberating in his chest. He moved forward, every sense on high alert. He could hear muffled conversations, laughter, and the clink of glasses. 

You, or known in the club as Crimson, is an exotic dancer for the club and you were getting ready for your routine when you spotted the large—seriously large—man entering through the back door of the hallway that usually led up to the main floor. You only noticed because the changing room for the dancers is in the same area. 

You were fixing her red, lacy—slightly sheen—bralette that was tied together at the crevice of your breast, when he nearly bumped into you doing all his sneaking around. 

To keep from falling you grabbed onto his thick forearms, your hands squeezing the leather of his jacket, something solid and hard beneath. 

Her stilettos nearly gave beneath you at the sudden unbalance that came with bumping into a person. You didn’t know who this guy was, why he was wearing a concealing, red helmet, or why he was coming in through the back. 

Jason was expecting a lot of things, but being grabbed suddenly by a scantily clad woman was definitely not one of them. His muscles tensed reflexively as the woman clutched onto him for balance, your hands on his forearms sending a surprising jolt through his body. 

He was caught off guard for a moment, frozen by the unexpected encounter.

Maybe he was new security? You and the girls were having some issues with some too-handsy patrons, so maybe that's why he was here. He was giant, burly, and rather intimidating, so maybe that was it. 

Gotham had its freaks, the helmet was honestly the least of your worries.

“Security doesn’t usually loiter back here, are you lost? It’s alright if you are, I still get lost sometimes.” You step back after stabilizing your feet again, smoothing out the leather of his jacket that you accidentally creased when you grabbed onto him to keep from falling.

You placed your hands on your basically bare hips not a moment after and looked up at him—literally had to crane your head back some to look up at him—with an understanding smile on your crimson lips. 

As soon as you stabilized yourself, he looked down at you, and his breath caught in his throat. You were almost comically small compared to him, your stiletto heels bringing you to about mid-chest. 

He could feel the heat coming off you, and the scent of your perfume, something spicy and exotic, invaded his senses. Your eyes were framed with a hint of makeup, and your skin was dusted with a smattering of freckles. 

He thought you were beautiful. In a sense. One he’d never admit to. 

He mentally shook himself, regaining his focus. He couldn't let himself get distracted by a pretty face, no matter how much his libido might appreciate it. 

He was here for business, not pleasure. 

"I’m not security,” he finally replied, his voice gruff and deep. “I’m not lost either. I'm looking for someone."

You crossed your arms comfortably across your breasts as you tilted your head, thinking about what he said. Nothing could really stand out in a strip club, you’ve got naked or half naked women dancing on stages and drunk or high men throwing bills at them. 

Who knows what got on in the private rooms, well you did but you didn’t take shady sounding offers. 

So, if he wasn’t security he was probably just a patron. 

“Baby, you’re in a strip club, there's plenty of people as far as you can see.” You said with a slight shrug of your bare shoulders, freckles dotting your skin, visible along your body and face under the LED light. 

You looked over your shoulder, down the hall where it opens up to the main area where you’re meant to be. 

“How about you stick around if you can’t find your person, I’ve got a routine comin’ up.” You said, cracking a small grin as you looked back at, and up, at him. 

Most men that came here were older, sometimes even married, and often did it to ogle the naked dancers. 

Maybe make themselves feel superior to the girls because they had all the money, but this guy—he sounded younger, and was definitely a lot more of an eyeful than the old men you routinely danced for. And taller; so much taller. 

Could be fun to have someone possibly near your age watching, sue a girl for wanting a change. 

Jason's lips almost curled in a smile under his helmet at the dancer's suggestion. You weren’t wrong, there were plenty of people here, but none that he was looking for. 

But then you offered him an invitation to stay and watch, and he felt a pang of interest despite himself.

He looked down at you, taking in the way your bare arms crossed over your chest, the freckles that dusted your skin like confetti. You weren’t much like the women he'd encountered before that are often tied to these kinds of professions, and that intrigued him. 

"I could stick around." He agreed, his voice still gruff but with a hint of something else. 

He followed you out of the hallway, emerging into the main area of the club. The music was thundering, and the scent of alcohol and sweat hung heavy in the air. He stood near the edge of the stage in the shadows, watching as you prepared for your routine. 

He could feel the eyes of other men on you, but he blocked them out, focusing solely on you. There was something captivating about you, something that made it impossible to look away.

You often did stage routines that were more of a sexual art then just a dance, or at least people told you that. 

You stepped up the stage steps with a huff. You didn’t particularly like your routine, but you weren’t in charge of changing it or making that decision. So, you walked onto the stage, looking up at the seated sleazy men who held wolfish grins and whistled at you.

You got into position to start your routine, your bare leg wrapped partially around the pole in the middle of the stage, back arched enough to barely press the barest hint of belly against the cold metal, and you tilted your head back; the arch of your neck on display as you waited for the song to start. 

You could hear the whistles and calls of the men watching, like a bunch of untouched virgins seeing their first woman. 

The song starts, it was I See Red by Everybody Loves An Outlaw, her personal favorite. Your dance started slow with the beginning of the song, gradually growing more explicit as it went into the chorus. 

You’ve worked in the club for nearly 6 years with basically the same routine, it was muscle memory at this point.

Near the minute mark of the song, you dropped down onto your knees near the front end of the stage, thighs spreading as your back arches to the lyrics. 

The men sitting closest to where you were poised on the stage whistled and tossed bills at you, one very confident man leaned against the stage to slide a bill into the strap of your small bottoms. 

You slid back against the stage, your legs closing as you laid down on your back, posing yourself in a slightly obscene position. Your heels sliding up until your knees were bent and you spread your thighs, your hands slid down your chest all the way down your stomach to your thighs before your legs shut again as the song fades out. 

She posed in a final position, a sharp intake of breath escaped his lips. He wasn't used to losing control like this, to being completely consumed by a woman's presence.

Holy shit. 

He swallowed hard, you’d gone from one seductive pose to another. The guys around the stage were throwing money like crazy. It didn’t escape his notice of one overeager man slipping a bill into your bottoms. 

Jesus. He couldn’t tell if he was turned on or offended. This was full-on pornographic.

His eyes were glued to the stage. His usual cool, controlled demeanor was completely shattered by the hypnotizing sight of this minx’s routine. Somehow. 

He felt a heat rise in his chest, the contortion of your body looked sinful and divine all at once. The way you moved was like a snake, slithery and seductive, but also filled with a certain grace and power. 

He could feel the eyes of the other men around him, but for once, he didn't try to fight their gaze or hide his own. He just stood there, enthralled by the woman on stage. 

His hands clenched into fists at his side, the leather of his gloves creaking softly. He should have been focused on the mission, on why he was here, but instead, all he could think about was you. 

You sat up, giving the men sitting closest a seductive grin, all apart of your act, as you collected bills held out to you before you came back to your feet. Starting to pick up the fallen bills off the stage floor so you can leave before you start to finally walk away towards the stage stairs so the next girl can ready her routine.  

After placing your earnings safely away with the other girls, you headed back out onto the main floor, watching the other girls' routines as you walked the floor like you’re required to do after a dance. 

Some men liked to pay for lap dances, or private room dances, and those definitely paid a lot more than routine dances on stage. 

You stopped by the bar to talk to the female barkeeper that also dances sometimes, but she mostly just mixed drinks. Said she liked it better than the pole, which you can’t exactly fault her for. 

You’d find that hunk of a man after you were finished with your rounds, you were sure of it. 

He was… interesting. And you liked interesting things. 

You went back to prowling the floor, sometimes stopping to talk to men that propositioned you for private dances, which you declined mostly. 

You didn’t do private dances because they always seemed shady to you, you weren’t the ‘happy ending’ kind of stripper and that’s usually what happens in the private rooms. Not much dancing occurred back there.

He watched you move through the floor, declining most offers you got. Good girl. You had standards, and he respected that.

He leaned against the wall, still out of sight of most of the room. Part of him wanted to walk up to you, talk to you, learn more about you. 

But the more logical part of his mind reminded him that he was working, that he was here for a reason... Not to flirt with a pretty stripper.  But as the night wore on, he found himself getting more and more interested in you.

You accepted money held out to you, a crisp 100 dollar bill, as the owner of it asked for a ‘pretty little lap dance’ and you gave him a wink and grin. All a part of the act the job required. 

You walked around his chair until you stood between his legs, your hands poised on his shoulders—he was on the older side, perhaps in his 40s, and not that you minded; he just wasn’t your particular audience. 

You began the lap dance, sliding your hand down his arms, down his chest, leaning into his space before you turned sharply, dancing your ass and hips against his before you slid your hands down your legs, bending forward slowly before straightening back up and turning to face him. 

You slid your hands down his thighs as you slid down to your knees, essentially creating the illusion of crawling up his body as you straightened back up slowly. 

As You finished, you gave the man a sensual wave before walking away with a near silent sigh, rolling your eyes once your backs turned to him. 

You weren’t keen on lap dances, most of the time the guys got handy when they weren't supposed to. You strolled the floor for another few minutes, just in case.

Jason had a front-row seat to the spectacle, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to react. He just stood there, clenching his hands into fists, when you’d done your dance against that older man. 

His thoughts were a mess of conflicting feelings. Part of him was aroused, but another part was resentful, hating seeing you touch that man the way you should be touching him. 

He felt oddly possessive, which was honestly completely unlike him. There has got to be something going on, it can’t be him. No way.

He couldn’t look away, though. He followed your every move, his eyes fixated on you like a predator tracking its prey.

You had another scheduled routine coming up, though this one was a bit different. You didn’t often do ‘naked’ dances, you wouldn’t really be naked just the illusion of it, but the girl that was meant to do it called in sick and it fell onto your shoulders. 

You didn’t particularly mind, it just wasn’t your usual routine and two consecutive routines were tiring. But you weren’t going to be caught screwing over a girl in need.

But nonetheless, you walked off to the backroom to change outfits, you still had bottoms on, they were just a lot more skimpy then yours usually are. And you didn’t wear a top but put pasties over your peaks to conceal at least some of your body. 

Too much exposure could lead to the male patrons to think they had some right to reach out and touch the dancers, which isn’t allowed. 

You walked back out onto the floor after switching heels to shorter ones, and they were a dark purple instead of your signature red. You passed the girl that just finished her routine as you walked up the stage steps. 

It was a bit new to you—to have your breasts basically on display despite the pasties covering you but you didn’t really mind it as much as you thought you might’ve.

Jason's gaze darkened as he watched you walk back out onto the stage in your new outfit. The sight of your nearly bare body sent a chill through him, and he felt a wave of possessiveness wash over him again. 

He pushed down the feeling, reminding himself that he was supposed to be here on business, not to lust after a woman he just met. But it was hard, damn hard, to keep his thoughts under control. 

He could feel the stares of the other men in the room, all of whom were shamelessly ogling the curves of your body.

You stopped at the pole in the middle of the stage, positioning yourself against it, hands raised above your head holding onto the pole sensually, sliding down some so your ass was arched outward and your breasts pushed against the cold metal as you waited for the routine song to come on after introductions. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we know how much you loved her first routine—clap for her return, the mysterious Crimson!”

As the song starts, you moved slowly with the beat of it, your body slid down the pole until you were on your knees and your head tilted back, arms above your head holding the pole before you pulled yourself up. 

You lifted your body high enough off the ground, using the pole to wrap your thighs around, sliding up until you were high enough to let your upper body fall back, your legs keeping you from sliding down the pole. 

You slid your hands down your bare breasts, fingers brushing over the pasties concealing your nipples, and down the expanse of your stomach. 

You lifted back up and grabbed the pole with your hands, dropping one leg off and keeping your other hooked as you spun around the pole. 

You came back down to your feet and slid down to your knees, facing the audience of men, you walked on your hands and knees with a seductive look on your face towards the front of the stage, your eyes drift up and towards where Jason was by accident, but your eyes remain on him as you continued.

Ass arched in the air as you slowly slid down into a ‘doggy style’ position, palms flat against the stage as you pressed your chest down against the stage. 

Your hips wiggle slowly with the beat of the song before you slowly slide up again and sit back on your ass and you spread your thighs and lay down on your back as the song comes to an end. 

Holy fuck. His jaw was tight, hands clenched into fists. The way you moved… the way you fucking teased… he was grateful for the tinted visor of his helmet, because your expression had to be obvious. He shifted in his stance, glad he stayed mostly hidden because he’s suddenly very aware of how tight his tactical pants were feeling.

As you walked off the stage with your extra earnings you couldn’t help but subconsciously look about the room for him, the behemoth with the helmet concealing his face. 

You don’t know why you're so interested in him. He was watching your routine and that made you want to perform for more than just the crowd. It was a weird sensation. 

You stopped looking for him as you walked past two men, they were having an odd conversation ill-suited for a strip club. You slowed your steps, listening in as you walked past them slowly trying to be discrete about it all. 

The two men spoke in hushed tones, unaware that you were eavesdropping. “...Need to find that shipment tonight. Boss said Red Hood might be sniffing around for it.” 

You walked away as normal as you could, it sounded like something he could possibly be here for. 

You’re not stupid, you put together he’s not exactly here for good reasons. And the helmet kind of made sense now, Red Hood. She’s not sure why it hadn’t clicked right away. 

You’ve never actually come across much gossip about him, his territory is usually downtown, around Crime Alley. Midtown mostly saw the action of Robin and Red Robin.

Blurry pictures were the most you’ve ever honestly been exposed to surrounding the elusive and dangerous Red Hood.

You quickly secure your earnings in a safe place with the other girls’ earnings and you slide your red bralette back on before exiting back onto the floor to look for him, you felt like you had to find him and tell him.

When you spotted him, watching the floor and its patrons from the hall you approached quickly but not too quickly to turn eyes. 

You paused for a moment beside him, facing the hall rather than the room. “Meet me in a private dancing room.” You said it quickly and quietly. 

You looked over your shoulder, playing it off like he’s just a client paying for a private room with you as you walked past him to find an empty private room. Most are in use at this time of night, dancers with high-paying clients.

He raises an eyebrow under his helmet at your sudden appearance, and even more sudden demand and walk off. But something about the way your acting, the urgency and the secrecy, catches his attention. 

Why were you suddenly so eager to talk to him? What did you overhear that made you want to speak with him in private? 

He tried to push away the thoughts that came unbidden in his mind, the image of your body pressed up against his own for one. 

You slipped into an empty one after scouring the PR hall and looks around, spotting the usual camera that’s in all the private rooms for the dancer's safety. 

Alright, that's easy enough. You’d just have to dance like you would with any other private payer. You go over to the music panel, picking a quiet song to drown out anything you might say. 

When he entered a few moments later you peeked at the camera in the corner one more time before you guided him to the couch, making him sit down as you slid her heels off. Private dances usually took up to an hour, so the girls never usually wore their heels. 

You looked at the helmet concealing his face from you for a brief moment before you started your normal routine. 

Your hands rested on his shoulders as the song started and slid down his arms, then his chest as it continued. You leaned into his space, a bit harder to do considering his helmet but you managed. 

“I overheard two men talking,” you started off quietly, turned around and slid your hands down your legs as you bent your upper body sensually, like you usually do. 

He watches your movements, a flicker of confusion in his eyes—not that you can see, anyway. You’re acting like you’re giving a private dance, but your words suggested something way more serious. 

He leaned back against the couch, hand resting on your hip as you bent over—almost instinct to reach out. “About what?

You turned back around, feeling his gloved hand on your hip. You looked up at his concealed face as your hands slid to his thighs and you bent forward, sliding down to your knees and moving upward, giving the illusion of crawling up his body. 

Your bralette covered breasts brushing against the fabric of his tactical pants. “Something about a ‘shipment’,” you said once you were close enough to his helmet. 

Your head tilted as you slid one hand up his thigh towards his stomach and you dropped your head down his body before leaning back on your ass, both hands moving down his thighs again. 

His jaw tenses. “And?” He asks softly, trying not to get distracted by your body pressed against his legs. Your small hands sliding down his thighs like that… Jesus. “What else did they say?” He asks again, his voice deeper this time. 

You were making it really damn hard to concentrate.

You stood up to your feet, moving in and straddling his lap to keep the dance going, your eyes moving up to the camera in the corner before looking back down at him as you rolled your hips, leaning towards his helmet to continue speaking. 

“They spoke about needing to find the shipment because of some ‘Red Hood’, which I assume is you considering the red helmet.” You slid your hands up his sides, the armor-plates of his suit beneath the leather jacket odd against your palms but it wasn’t bad. 

“Smart girl,” he murmurs, caught somewhere between impressed and distracted. Fuck, you felt good in his lap. He slid his hands to your waist, more out of instinct than anything else. You’re damn good at this dance thing—a little too good. “When did they say this shipment would arrive?” 

His murmured compliment makes your lips twitch with a smile slightly. You turned in his lap as his gloved hands slid to your waist, your thighs spreading open to accommodate the wide berth of his own toned thighs. 

You arched your back against him, head laying on his shoulder as you rolled your ass against him. Usually you didn’t let patrons touch you, but he wasn’t exactly that was he? And you enjoyed it. 

“They didn’t, just a shipment, you, and their boss growin’ annoyed with you.” You said quietly, lifting one hand up to rest it against the side of his covered neck, the fabric felt thick. 

Rolling your ass against him a few more times before you’re leaning forward, hands positioned against his armored knees, back arched as you slowly undulate your hips. 

The feeling of you grinding against him is driving him crazy, especially since he can tell you’re enjoying yourself—the minx. 

Your words are music to his ears though, and the fact you’re helping him get information is even better. “Boss’ name.” He growls softly, his hands tightening slightly against your hips. 

He really had that dominant thing going for him, naturally almost. Most guys you danced for are sleazy and would probably do anything you asked. This big boy wasn’t like that, you can tell that much. 

You turned back around, settling on the spread of his thighs as you slid your hands up his upper thighs, close to his dick, and up his stomach and chest before you leaned into his space again—breasts against his sternum. 

“Just between you and me, check in on a guy named Domino, runs this place.” You said quietly, by where you assumed his ear would be beneath that helmet.

The name Domino is seared into his memory instantly. He files it away for later, his focus snapping back to the present when you leaned in close. Fuck, you smelled good. Like spice and something else… something uniquely you. “You’re a good girl, anything else?” 

You slid off his lap, slightly reluctant to leave the feel of his gloved hands on your skin. Kneeling on the ground again as your hands slowly trail down his body, inches from his dick again as they slide down the expanse of his thighs and down to his calves as you leaned in between his legs. 

You looked up at him, sliding up his body, staying on the ground though. You get as high as his sternum before you’re leaning back and running your hands down his chest and armor. 

“No, they were pretty vague and I didn’t want to linger.” You said quietly, knowing you’re helping whatever he’s seeking and that made you feel proud of finding what you did. 

He nods, satisfied with the information given. You’re incredibly helpful, and he finds himself wanting to reward you for it. His gaze drops to your kneeling form, taking in the way you looked up at him with those pretty eyes. 

“You’ve been very helpful,” He praises gruffly. “Stay out of trouble, pretty girl.” 

A small smile growing on your lips at his praise for your help, leaving you feeling a little tingly. And his reactions to your touch were enticing and definitely a change from the usual type that comes through here. 

You kept your hands on his calves, the material of his tactical pants rough against your palms. With him so close, you wondered briefly about the face that lays beneath that helmet. You brushed it away as quickly as it came. 

You stood to your feet. “Will do, big boy.” You hummed as you pressed a finger against the cold and sleek helmet concealing his face, you pushed it back so his head titles up to look at you. 

“Come watch me again sometime, year? You looked like you enjoyed it.” You teased a little, giving a grin. 

He smirks beneath the helmet, surprised and honestly a little pleased by your boldness. Nobody’s ever touched his helmet like that before, especially not while giving him something like you were. 

He lets himself imagine for a second what you might look like without all this makeup and bright lights, in normal clothes—probably fucking gorgeous. 

“Maybe I will.”

You leaned down, still slightly between his spread legs, and pressed a kiss to the top-half of the red helmet, your crimson lipstick leaving a slightly visible imprint of your lips against the shiny helmet. 

You pulled back, taking a few steps away from him as you picked your heels up off the floor. He was something else, something different to your usual and you liked it. You savored it. 

“I’ll keep my eyes on them for the rest of my shift, for you.” You said as you leaned back against the wall to slide your heels back on, tightening the strap before you stood back up properly and blew him a cheeky kiss.

“See you later, Daddy.” You crooned loud enough for the camera in the corner to hear before opening the door to the private room and leaving to go back to the main floor. 

The room is instantly colder without your body pressed against his. Jesus, you’re a damn vixen. “See you later, baby girl.” He mutters softly to the empty room. You’re smart, hot as sin, and helped him out without asking questions. 

Fuck, he’s interested. Too interested. 

You smiled to yourself as you walked down the dimly lit hallway, stomach fluttering and fuzzy with some new feeling you can’t really name. It’s not just attraction, or interest, it’s something else too. Something she wants to explore, to ravish. 

You did keep your word, you kept your eyes on the two men the whole rest of your shift. Even when you was giving short lap dances to paying patrons or walking the floor—you did get one complaint for not paying attention to the guy you were giving a dance to—they didn’t do anything suspicious, but that felt more suspicious. 

They didn’t even ask for any dances. Just sat and drank while watching the main stage routines. 

As the night wore on, he kept a close eye on the two men you’d brought to his attention. They were acting suspiciously normal, even to him—It’s like a sixth sense, reading people. Their behavior only serves to make him more suspicious. 

He decided to hang around the club until closing, sitting in a curtained booth, helmet still on, watching. 

You didn’t know how to feel about it, they didn’t seem inherently bad or criminal, but they also felt off. The vibe they gave off was murky and made you want to keep your distance. You knew your big guy was watching from somewhere as well, which made you feel a bit safer. 

But they were still a strange duo. 

You had to give some old guy a lap dance and he kept trying to grope up on your breasts; something the old ones try. You took the money and walked away right after, security approaching the old guy to lecture him on the rules. 

You approached the bar, leaning against it to slip your heels off as you talked to the bartender. 

Jason watched from where he was as you approached the bar, you looked relieved to be taking a break. The bartender seemed to know you well, chatting with you and handing you a drink. It wasn’t hard to notice the way he looked at you, with a mix of admiration and something else. 

It irritated the hell out of him. 

You’ve known the bartender for a few months, he’s still a newbie but he’s nice. A young guy, probably nineteen. You thanked him for the drink, taking it in your free hand as you stepped away from the bar. 

Your eyes scan the floor before landing on a booth with the privacy curtain closed—inside the booth you can see out, but no one can see inside. You could guess who’s behind it. 

You walked over, slipping around the curtain and settling your drink on the table. “You know, you’re kind of predictable.” You said with a playful smile, setting your heels on the floor under the table. 

He smirks beneath the helmet when his gaze lands on you sneaking into the booth, closing the curtain behind you. “Is that so?” He asks, his voice low and rough. He pats his lap invitingly. “Come here, baby girl. Let me hold you for a bit.” 

You hadn’t taken him for the touchy type, with the body armor, helmet, and sexy deep voice. But hey, you’re not complaining. 

You slid into the booth, settling on his lap easily. He’s a stranger you’re helping—a really tall, hot stranger that you can’t see the face of. You’re going absolutely insane. 

You leaned back against him, pulling a wad of wrinkled bills out of your bralette. He’s a perfect perch to sit on while you count your lap dance tips. 

“Haven’t heard much from your two guys, nothing about that shipment anymore.” You said idly as you counted your bills. 

He wraps an arm around you possessively, watching you count money earned from nearly naked lap dances. Jesus Christ. “They haven’t done anything suspicious?” He asks softly, keeping his voice low. His free hand finds your bare thigh, playing with the tiny lace shorts you’re wearing. 

You could get used to this, and somehow that feels dangerous. A stripper and a vigilante? Sounds like a goddamn book. You don't even know who he is by anything other than Red Hood and he doesn’t know you outside your stage name. 

Two personas that shouldn’t go together but he’s gravitational. 

“Not being suspicious here is basically a red flag.” You said, your lips twitching with a smile as you felt his gloved hand on your bare thigh, toying with your bottoms. You organized your bills by amount on the tabletop. 

His gloved fingers trace the lace edge of your shorts, teasingly close to where he knows you have nothing underneath. “You think they’re planning something?” He asks, trying to focus on the conversation despite the distracting urge to slip his hand under your shorts. 

You bite your bottom lip slightly, your lips curled in a smile despite it. He’s a bold, bold man. You already knew that, with the way he spoke and held himself, but he’s damn confident. 

The way his gloved fingers traced along the edge of your bottoms teasingly, all while keeping the tone of seriousness. A man of variety, it seems. 

“Probably, they looked it. Could be waiting for Domino.” You said quietly, your thighs shifting on his lap slightly as you folded your organized money up after counting it properly. 

He grunts softly at your shifting thighs, the friction making his cock stir uncomfortably beneath your ass. Focus, asshole. He taps your thigh lightly before pulling his hand away. “Domino’s a busy guy. Could be a while.” His eyes narrow slightly. 

You can feel the subtle bulge beneath your ass, although it’s just a subtle thing right now you know what a slowly growing dick feels like. You focused back on the topic when you felt his hand tap your thigh before being pulled away from you, unfortunately. 

You hummed agreeingly at his assessment, but it’s not like either of them have anything better to do. This is his job and you’ve got nothing planned after your shift but to go home, get in a hot bath, and drink wine. 

You shifted on his lap, putting the folded money in your bralette for safe keeping, of course.  

He watched as you shifted on his lap, the movement causing his dick to harden further. Fuck. He clears his throat and adjusts you slightly, trying to get more comfortable. “You gonna stay here with me, baby girl? Keep an eye on those two until Domino shows up?” 

You can feel him adjust your body slightly, your lips twitching with a stifled smile, although with how your sitting on him—back to chest—it’s not like he can see it. 

You hummed contemplatively at his question, just for show really because of course you’re going to stay here with him and keep an eye on his targets. 

His hardening dick in his tactical pants beneath your ass is much too fun to walk away now, messing with him when he’s trying to do vigilante work seems too good to pass up. 

“Don’t see why not. You like my company, daddy.” You use the name you’d used earlier, mostly to be cheeky. 

He lets out a low chuckle at your use of ‘daddy’, the sound rumbling in his chest against your back. “Baby girl, if you keep teasing me like that, you’re gonna find yourself bent over this table soon.” 

His chuckle made your stomach flutter a little, it’s a nice sound you wouldn’t mind hearing him make again. The way he tries to warn you off your teasing like it’d work is cute, but he’s threatening you with a damn good time, really. 

You leaned forward, planting your elbows on the table as you rubbed your ass side to side on him, glancing over your shoulder at him—technically his helmet, really. 

“Maybe that’s what I want.” You said playfully with a small shrug of your shoulders, grinning a little. 

He groans at your grinding, the teasing little brat. You’re purposefully trying to distract him now, he’s not stupid but he’s also not moving to stop you. Quite the opposite, really. 

“Look at that perfect fucking ass grinding on me…” He mutters to himself, one gauntleted hand moving to grab your hip, squeezing tightly. Your flesh indenting with the shape of his fingers. 

He just makes it too easy to get such good responses out of him, the sound of his ground made your skin tingle. His muttered words to himself about your ass making you smile slightly. 

You do have a great ass, rounded and fatty—the kind you can grab and squeeze handfuls of. (for the sake of the story, I’m sorry my no booty bitches)

It’s perfect for the stripper thing, really. Most men love assed. You took his hand grabbing at your hip and squeezing it as encouragement to keep going. You ground your ass down against his bulge, the rough material of his tactical pants rubbing your skin. 

He grunts as you ground against him, squeezing your hip harder as he pulls you back a little further, making you arch your back. His other hand moves to your other hip, holding you in place as he humps you slowly, the thick outline of his dick obvious against the thin fabric of your shorts. 

The one good thing about being an exotic dancer is the flexibility, your body moves easily when he pulls you back further. Your back arches and your stomach presses against the table slightly. You let out a soft noise when he starts to hump you slowly, you can feel the thick outline of his dick against you through your bottoms. 

It’s as delicious as it is arousing as fuck.

You rocked your ass back into him to meet his humping movements. Never in a million years did you think you’d ever have a vigilante rub his hard dick against your ass while he’s supposed to be working.

"Jesus Christ," He mutters softly, watching your full ass bounce back against him. His hips snap forward harder, giving you deeper thrusts. The helmet hides his expression, thank god, because you’ve got him wound up like a teen boy watching his first porno.

You groaned quietly when he starts to snap his hips harder, your ass jiggling with the rough movement. The deep thrusts he’s trying to imitate almost give an illusion that he’s fucking you without actually fucking you. 

Dry humping in a curtained booth like two teenagers wasn’t something you saw yourself doing tonight but god he makes it feel so good. 

One of your hands slid off the table and moved behind you to rest on top of his gloved hand on your hip. The front of your hips hitting the edge of the table slightly with each of his thrusts against your ass.

He grunts as you rested your hand on top of his. The heat of your touch burns through the glove he’s wearing. He pulls his hands back slightly, releasing your hips. You exhale quietly when he’s suddenly stopping, but jump a little when your shorts are pushed down, bunching around your knees, letting his dick grind directly against your bare flesh. 

"Fuck these stupid shorts." He doesn’t give you time to react or say anything before his dick is grinding directly against bare flesh, the rough material of his tactical pants a mix between bordering uncomfortable and god damn arousing as fuck. 

You dropped your head down on the table, biting your bottom lip to keep quiet. You spread your thighs open a little wider almost instinctively at the sensation.

He groans as your bare skin meets his pants, the feeling overwhelming. He grabs your hips again, lifting you slightly to press his dick against your wetness, grinding up and down against your bare pussy. He can feel how fucking wet you are through his pants, making them damp. "Fuck..."

He manhandles you like you weigh absolutely nothing, it’s surprising and unsurprising at the same time. He’s a large man, a vigilante, of course he can lift your body weight but you’re so unused to the ease of which he does it. 

Your eyes roll back when he presses his clothed dick against your wet cunt, grinding up and down against you. Your hands curl into fists on the table as your hips jerk, it was almost impossible to keep quiet. You bite your lip harder, stifling any noise that wants to come out.

He grinds against you harder, his hips slapping against your ass with each thrust. He reaches down and unbuckles his belt, unzipping his pants and pushing them down just enough to free his dick. He presses the head of his dick against your entrance, slowly pushing inside of you.

Your body tenses when he suddenly presses the head of his cock against you, pushing inside. Your knuckles are white with how tight you’ve fisted them, your cunt clenching around his dick as he bullies his way inside your soaking pussy. 

Unprepped it’s a tedious process, and he doesn’t seem like the kind of man to be patient. But your not exactly patient either. 

The pain is almost good. Tingly all the way up from the base of her spine to the top of her head.

You can’t help it, a moan left your throat despite your attempts to keep it down. You might be a stripper but you haven’t been properly laid in a while, and he feels so fucking good. 

Stretching you deliciously, inching his way inside slowly. Your hands unfurl and move behind you, you grab your ass, spreading your cheeks slightly to help him slide inside better.

"Fuck," he hisses as you spread your ass, allowing him in deeper. He grips your hips tightly, holding you in place as he starts thrusting slowly, savoring every tight inch of your slick pussy gripping his cock. The helmet hides how hard his eyes roll back at the incredible sensation.

You panted slightly, your head pressed to the table as you muffled your moans by keeping your lips closed. Breaths fanning the smooth wood of the table audibly as he thrusts slowly, letting you feel every drag of his cock against your velvety walls. 

Your fingers dig into the fatty flesh of your ass, keeping yourself spread for him. You groaned softly, your mind almost going blank at the deliciously agonizing pace he’s set. Able to savor him fucking you but god, it’s almost unbearable. 

He feels so good and he’s barely done anything but sink inside and slowly thrust.

He picks up the pace gradually, his hips slapping against your ass harder and faster with each thrust. The sound of flesh meeting flesh fills the small booth, mixing with your muffled moans. He leans forward, placing a gloved hand on the table next to your head, the other gripping your hip tightly.

Each thrust of his hips slapping against your ass harder and faster forces a moan out of your throat despite yourself. You groaned and whimpered, your ass bouncing each time he slapped his hips against it. 

One of your hands left your ass and moved up to hold onto the wrist of his hand next to your head on the table. Using it as some kind of stability as he jerked your body against the smooth wood of the table with his thrusts. 

Your eyes roll back and you moaned more consistently, your free hand grabbed his other gloved hand on her hip. “Fuck… f.. fuck.” His hard pace has your voice choking off.

"Shh, quiet," he whispers harshly, though he knows his own breathing has gotten heavier beneath the helmet. His thrusts become more forceful, hitting deeper and faster against your tight walls. He tightens his grip on your hip hard enough to leave marks, knowing you probably won't mind.

��Mmhf,” you tried to muffle your noises by bringing your hand around to your mouth, covering it. 

Your eyes are squeezed shut, stomach muscles tightening as he fucks you deep and fast. His grip on your hip is almost bruising, but fuck if it isn’t hot. 

Your hips hit the edge of the table with each of his rough inward thrusts, sweaty skin making your skin stick. The coil in your stomach tightens, building fast until it snaps. 

You moaned against your hand brokenly, your eyes rolled under your lids as you came hard and fast—seeing stars for a second. He felt the way your pussy tightened and pulsed around his dick, the sensation forced him to grit his teeth to keep from following. 

Your silent orgasm makes your body tense and jerk slightly, pushing your ass back against him harder. He growls softly, picking up the pace again to make those tight walls milk his dick.

You don’t have a moment of recovery from your orgasm, his cock continuing to drag in and out of you hard and fast. Your hand drops from your mouth to the table, your breaths being pushed out of your lungs with his thrusts, mixed with broken off moaning. 

The sensitivity feels like it went up almost unbearably, your stomach tightening and relaxing with your quick breaths and his brutal pace. “Fuck— oh, my god.” You choked the words out barely coherently, your cunt pulsing in time with your heartbeat. 

"That's it, take it," He pants, his hips snapping forward to bury himself balls deep inside you. He can feel his own orgasm building, the pressure in his gut growing more intense with each thrust. His hands grip you tighter, fingers digging into soft flesh as he chases his release.

Your lips parted in a silent moan, the sound getting caught in your throat, with the snap of his hips. You do take it, and fuck if you’re ever going to even think of doing anything else. 

Your mind blank, cunt throbbing with sensitivity. His tightening grip on your hips is almost too much, his fingers digging into the soft flesh like nothing. 

“Oh, god. Fuck, fuck— m’gonna come—“ You don’t even know if the words strung together coherently before your second orgasm hits you harder than the first. Your body shaking, moaning choked off, your cunt convulsing around him. 

His own body stiffens and jerks violently as he follows you into another climax. His dick pumps stream after stream of hot, sticky cum inside you, filling you up completely. 

He bites back a loud groan, his body shuddering as he drains his balls into your tight little cunt. "Fuck…”

He’s not sure how he’s going to explain how he let a lead get away from him to Tim. Cause he’s sure as hell not sharing this part with him. 

[luceafarul-de-dimineata]

Adendum to my last post

The angels (Lucifer as well tbh) are neurotypical caricatures as well. The more I think about it, this game seems to be about autistic people versus the powers that oppress us… neurotypicals.

Think about it, the angels are always aggressive, mean, vindictive, abusive, uncaring, prideful etc.

The reason behind the demon genocide is because angels think they are better as a species than devils and they had camps where they abused young demons and their main weapon is turning the devils into angels… like, they abuse kids that are different and they force neurodivergent people to act and look neurotypical.

The three main angels we see (the –el trio) are constantly bickering and complaining about eachother. They are all fighting on the same side for the same cause but none of them talk with eachoter about it and they thing that their ways is the best. It really seems that other than all their infatuation with Lucifer, none of them actually cares about the other or the people around them. This is in stark contrast to the devils which all care for, at the very least, the people inside their country. Even Leviathan who loves to talk about how high and mighty he is will protect the people he simingly loathes. Gabriel leaves one of his soldiers on enemy territory just to psychologicly torture him.

You can’t even say that “oh, it’s just sibling stuff” because the Paradise Lost characters are put in direct comperison with the angel brothers. “Playful teasing” in Paradise Lost is calling Gamigin a little baby boy. “Playful teasing” in Heaven is ripping out your brother’s eye because you got rejected.

This extands even to Lucifer which serves as one of the most interesting characters when we apply this reading to his story. I think Lucifer is a low support needs autistic person. He also has a lot of autistic traits, mostly his sensitivity to any stimuli (light, touch, sound etc), lack of empathy, disinterest in social rules, flat tone of voice, lack of outword emotions. BUT he’s also one of the two kings that doesn’t instantly pounce on MC, his kingdom has the most rules, he views everyone else as dumb and beneath him.

I think Lucifer is supposed to represent the type of autistic person whose symptoms aren’t instantly apperant and most people just call a lonely genius. Everyone admires him because he’s perfect, that’s bound to give anyone a complex, and he cannot find the type of pure love he desires because his whole family is neurotypical and he isn’t. When he finds himself being taken care of by Gamigin (another very interesting character in this narative) he’s annoyed. He was supposed to be doing a sacrifice for his Father, and now this… thing believes it deserves his presence. Lucifer acts mean towards Gamigin because he sees Gamigin as lesser, because he is more open with his feelings and affection, because he doesn’t have stupid social rules that nobody wants to follow, because he doesn’t sulk at Lucifer’s mean words. Because Gamigin respect for Lucifer is born out of admiration not fear.

This sort of simple life is refreshing and relaxing for Lucifer and at the end of the backstory we see that he chooses to remain with Gamigin and the devils. He says that he is not a devil nor is he an angel and makes Paradise Lost as a safe space for the people that don’t fit into either catagories.

Lucifer’s story reads as someone who has “normal” autism, the sort where they can pass well enough into neurotypical society, realising and accepting their neurodivergence with the help of a “weirder” autistic person, someone who you see and know. He might have very low empathy, but he can love and care about others even if he doesn’t fully see them as equal to him.

Gamigin is a high support autistic person that got throw out by other autistic people for being too “weird” and “demanding” and through being his authentic autistic self bagged himself the prince of the universe.

On another note...

Leviathan and Orias went to special ed classes where they got abused. Both of them age regress, are hypersexual (especially during their age regressed state), have fantasies about gruesomly replicating their abuse onto their abusers, have a hard time expressing emotions, distrust everyone, have states where they just become violent for simingly no reason, have flashbacks.

I think in this context Orias’ autopedophilia makes a lot of sense. He was never a kid, forced to grow up and mature when he was young and then abused by all the adults in his life. And now he just wants to be a little lad but also do the freaky. He has sexual feeling but desprately wants to cling to the idea that he is still a kid.

The story constantly gets better if you read it as neurotypicals vs neurodivergents.

[allswellinthiswell]

TOUCHSTARVED Updated Demo Shtuff

[SPOILERS] Anyone feeling a bit unsure about some of the changes to the demo?

Tag I'm using for this topic: #touchstarved updated demo spoilers

Honestly, idk how to feel about the changes to Leander's dialogue and personality... but I want to play the whole thing a few times before really formulating an opinion. We're naturally going to be somewhat resistant to change when it comes to things that work, and I don't want to be too biased.

For now, I guess I'll say that I really liked the new area that the main character gets to explore with Kuras... ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡) ... That was a nice change of scenery, for sure. Very beautiful drawing.

Also, the Hound backstory is gone! That's so incredibly sad! I've been designing an MC and that backstory was the best for them :(( I'm probably going to use it anyway, tbh... There was so much potential to it...

Current minor gripes:

The game continues to imply that the MC is shorter than the cast sometimes, which can be a bit eh...

I think the editor may have forgotten that the MC sleeps the entire day away after meeting Leander. There's some points where the game acts as though everything is still happening on the same day. That is, unless I'm actually blind.

If Mhin is from somewhere else, as Kuras implies in his route, but Mhin outright states that they grew up in Eridia when you first meet them in the new version, why doesn't the MC notice that when talking to Kuras? Either Mhin is lying about their origins to both the MC and Kuras, or they've told Kuras one thing and the MC another, or it's an error. Anyone else notice this?

The NECK description for that lowlife guy, man. It wasn't great before (my thighs are massive lmaooo - dude would be built like a one piece character), but I don't think it's great now, either. I honestly think they should just show that the guy is an imposing figure through other means. They continue to imply that Ais is taller, but this guy can't be?

Mhin deserved more :( I liked their intro, but... idk... I would have liked more? (Ｔ▽Ｔ)

Nvm I decided to add most of what I feel here:

I guess there is one thing I find odd about the characterization of Leander, and it's all the little moments that we've lost. Like the moment where the Bloodhounds (now Adderstones (?)) get angry at the MC for bringing up the Senobium. Leander didn't act until they looked to him for help, but in this one, he simply gets up and takes the MC outside. Hrm...

Overall, they seem to have made him more earnest and a bit more straightforward, likely to lull the player and the MC into thinking he's harmless, but after all the advertising... all that marketing basically confirming that he's a real piece of work... I dunno. I think it could've been more subtle?? Like in the previous demo?? His cheerful and flirty attitude, which is muted in the updated demo until later, is what almost got me in the previous version of the game. I wasn't completely suspicious. It kept me guessing.

Now, I just see through every gesture. That scene we get with him at the end of his route thus, and please forgive my language, freaked me the absolute fuck out. Had the game not shoved it in your face that he's a Bad Guy so much, I feel as though I wouldn't have immediately panicked when he locked the door. I'm likely to get a bad end with him because I'm so cautious now, tbh. Whoops lmao. Like, okay, anyone can get away with a few comments (the leash one was wild), and MC does question him a bit after all that manipulation, but surely a situation like THAT is bound to be more alarming to a person? Especially after so many near death experiences and meeting so many shady people? Is my preference for a slower pace, like in the other routes, making me a bit of a dingus?

There's a real good moment, though, and it's after the MC shows Leander their curse. He asks their name. Suddenly, after revealing what could be a weapon against the Senobium, you become a person of interest to him. Although, person might be a stretch. As such, I kind of understand these changes. He's the reassuring, trustworthy guy in a sea of assholes. Guy wants to isolate you as soon as possible so that you'll become reliant on him and only him, and what better way to do that than giving the MC what they so desperately crave while they incur debt after debt? I just... I wish they hadn't jumped the gun so fast?

Anyway, these are all my thoughts. Leander's route was still enjoyable for the most part haha. It really shows the kind of person he is. I haven't felt that unnerved by a character in a while!

I dunno! It's my first playthrough, so my opinion is liable to change. I'd love to hear other people's thoughts, too.

[angel-fruitcake]

do u not like top cas for some reason? just curious not tryign to be rude or anything. i prefer top cas bottom dean tbh

although i've talked about this before, i'm always more than happy to continue talking about it! 🤩

it's not that i don't like top!cas/bottom!dean. i do love that dynamic, like genuinely! it fits them very well on so many different levels. dean has spent his whole life trying to take care of others, to protect them, to give them what they need; it's instinct. dean is a caregiver, and for that reason, his guard is always up. i think the one person with which dean can ever truly let go of all control, drop his shields and simply allow himself to be taken care of for a change is castiel. it's my hc that cas is the only person dean can be vulnerable enough with to bottom for; i don't think he could do it for anyone else. and ofc cas takes immense pleasure in getting to take care of dean this way, to worship dean in the way he's always longed to do, and to be the only one permitted to do it. it's for that reason i actually think cas would canonically top more than bottom.

however! just bc dean enjoys being taken care of by cas does Not mean he wouldn't thrill in the opportunity to do the same for his angel. we also mustn't forget that dean and cas are 2 sides of the same coin, and both of them have very deeply rooted self-worth issues that prevent them from easily accepting love and care for themselves. much like with dean, it's no small feat for castiel to allow himself to be taken care of when all his long life he's only ever seen himself as a soldier, a weapon, something to be used and then discarded. he's an angel, it's not in his nature to show vulnerability or to accept care from another. so for cas to open up and let himself be truly loved and worshipped and adored by dean through bottoming— that's an ultimate display of love, trust and devotion. it's that aspect of top!dean/bottom!cas that is just as compelling to me.

tbh it's not really even about the actual physical positions they're in; it's more about the emotions involved, about giving and receiving. and this isn't always true, but typically it's easier for the character that's topping to be the one assuming the giving role.

all that being said, the main reasons i tend to specifically enjoy cas being in the bottom position are: 1) castiel is my favorite character (only very slightly above dean) and as such, i want to see him showered in so much love that he's overwhelmed and shaking with it, and 2) this specific dynamic is in extremely short supply! 💔

it's a bountiful harvest for incredible top!cas/bottom!dean fics out there, which is wonderful! i love it! i'm fed, i'm fulfilled!! however, there is a stunning and dreadful lack of top!dean/bottom!cas fics in general, and the ones that do exist are often very ooc!! (not all of them ofc, but there's a pattern unfortunately 😔)

i think a lot of people have been turned off by the idea of top!dean/bottom!cas bc they've read so many fics where dean and cas have been terribly mischaracterized in those positions. i made a post complaining about this yesterday, but many top!dean/bottom!cas fics inaccurately portray dean in a kind of toxic and heteronormative manner as the top and cas in a weak and helpless manner as the bottom, and i'm sorry but those just aren't correct representations of these characters or their relationship with each other at all.

contrary to popular belief, top/bottom ≠ dom/sub. but not only that! i think many people are under the assumption that if one character is submissive, then the other has to be dominant, but that's just not true. these rules aren't set in stone, they can be bent and played with! it doesn't always have to be traditional dom/sub— sometimes there can be nontraditional roles, like sub/not sub.

i know many people think of dean as primarily submissive in bed, and i agree! i don't think that man could ever be truly dominant in bed even if he tried. not with anyone, let alone with castiel. but! just bc cas might be in a submissive role doesn't mean dean has to be in a dominant one. he could absolutely render that angel a trembling, whimpering, quivering mess with nothing but sweet, soft and tender loving, not even a speck of dominance to be found. and even though i do believe cas would top more often, i think he deserves to lay back and let dean take the reins every so often. sometimes my ancient eldritch horror and deadly warrior of heaven deserves to be spoiled and pampered by the human man he fell in love with, as a treat 💕

^^ that particular dynamic is what we're starving for in this fandom. it's my personal favorite flavor of destiel, yet i'm always searching and almost never finding it 😭 i'm trying to start a movement here: justice for loved and cherished in-character bottom!cas 😤

[holewithoutorgans]

Hi, if the danlou/marimand parallel thing is still up...Louis and Marius both "painting" these boys they've found into beautiful and more appealing shapes, according to their own standards. Louis the capitalist rewiring Daniel's brain into a perfect worker who sticks to "the job" at the expense of his own family, while Marius the genteel white supremacist has Amadeo artistically whitewashed and tries to sculpt him into a model of Western European boyhood/exotic sex doll. Armand modeling both Amadeo and Daniel's younger self to taunt Daniel in the penthouse, because they're reflections of the same concept: a young, hungry boy who will do anything and everything to live forever.

*deviously rubs hands together* ooooo this was so good I had to go smoke a cigarette and collect my thoughts.

“I destroyed two marriages, I fucked up two daughters, but I stayed a journalist. I was never so lost I couldn't hold down a job.”

Oh I’m losing it. Louis places so much of his worth on his economic success(money was his main weapon navigating racist ass 1910s Nola). Lovers. Children. Friends. They come and go but Louis’ talent for business has stuck with him through everything. It make sense he sees Daniel’s talent for journalism and hones in on it. “I like predicting what overlooked product will flourish in time”. He specializes in low end real estate after all.

Going back to the Marius/Louis parallels:

People try to defend Marius by saying, since he’s 1000+ years old, everyone is a child to him but there’s a reason Amadeo was chosen as a teen/preteen. There is a malleability and naivety to youth that these unchanging beings are drawn too. Louis and Marius want to unburden themselves to someone who won’t really push back. Who will look up at them in awe. BUT youth also comes with saying and doing reckless/impulsive shit which frustrates Louis and Marius and triggers their violent impulses. My favorite parts of TVA are when Amadeo acts like a normal snarky teen and Marius getting irrationally upset.

“The triumphant kill for a sadist like Lestat was always a young man” (god the writing in this episode is so good it drives me crazy)

It’s all grooming really!

Louis showing Daniel his fangs feels like when middle aged guys would try to impress me with their exotic cars and convince me to go for a ride when I was 16/17 (sorry Louis you’re cooler than them I promise lmao). I look back now and I’m like wow I should’ve never gotten in those cars, but being young can blind you to a lot of danger.

Louis giving Daniel a suitcase of drugs. Marius immediately plunging Amadeo into a world of pleasure and excess. It makes their victims feel indebted to them. They naturally want to “fulfill their side of the social contract”.

The end of the San Fran interview is so funny because the wonder and amazement has worn off and Daniel realizes that Louis is kind of a pathetic loser😭😭

I could go on and on tbh but I’ll stop. Like I was about to write paragraphs about the societal understandings of homosexuality in 15th century Venice in comparison to 70s San Fran😭

“A young, hungry boy who will do anything and everything to live forever” oof ouch ow🤕

[jadeazora]

PLZA Wishlist/Hopes, gonna divvy it up between both, past, and present/future:

Both:

Obtainable AZ's Floette

At least one new Zygarde forme. Imagine if it could go beyond Complete.

An underground area based on the catacombs (doesn't have to be mass grave tho)

Hostile rogue Megas being our rampaging Noble equivalent

Bring over (at least most of) the ORAS Megas

More Kalosian Megas, or potentially re-introducing Battle Bond as a "pure variant" of it (especially since Mega Evolution was mentioned to have terrible effects on the Pokemon.)

Yveltal being a threat to the city at large at some point, with a team-up with Xerneas to corral it.

AZ getting more story importance.

Letter "A" Legendary Pokemon, perhaps based on one of the Kalos League statues?

Past:

Malva, Sycamore, Lysandre, and Diantha ancestors (I feel like Sycamore or Malva's ancestor has the highest probability of being our main villain)

I feel like it's more likely to get his Floette here? It's gonna be a hundred and something years till it returns to him, we can look after it in the meantime!

Old starters getting new regional forms a la PLA

Going more into depth about the discovery and origins of Mega Evolution.

More lore on the war from 3000 years ago.

Future:

Set maybe a couple decades after XY at most rather than the far future. (Descendants would be cool, but I'm more interested in the characters we actually know tbh.)

Sina and Dexio sharing a joint professor role since they give you the Zygarde Cube in the Alola games. They could potentially carry on that research.

Vastly expands outside of the Lumiose we had in XY, further into Kalos. (I always wanted to explore the ruins of the Ultimate Weapon.)

Villain Sycamore or Malva. Or both. Like I said when I brought this up before, I don't think Sycamore would be evil, just misguided and let his guilt get the better of him. Malva is still more of a villain, and we need more lady main villains in this series. It's only really been Lusamine and Sada (if you played Scarlet), but this girl had hella potential in XY, and it's always been super frustrating to me that she got so little screentime.

The Flare scientist girls too! The only one of them that really got any slight fleshing out was Xerosic.

Diantha gets more story importance. She's another character who got majorly shafted in XY and deserves another chance!

Kalos starters with new Megas, secondary Kanto or Hoenn starters.

Potentially canonize Lysandre's survival from Masters here. It would be neat to see him get stuck with the same immortality curse AZ has, condemning him to live in and adapt to the world he lost faith in.

What are some of the things you all want to see? 😄

[al1enpr1nce]

SKZ as LaDS Men/Myths

this post is based 10% on characteristics and 90% on who I think could pull of a cosplay of them the best. The Amsterdam show and the BW expo happened at the same time. Sue me. Men are hot. So imagine them in these outfits as you read and try not drool 🤭

Chan- Caleb: Ultimate Weapon X-02

~~~~

Starting off strong with one of my favorite comparisons and kind of the reason I started this post. Like, look at them. With the mullet especially, the look would be incredible… (no I’m not thinking about Ultimate Weapon’s ab-centric suit what on earth are you talking about 😅) Personality wise I’d like to think there’s a similarity, with them both being very protective individuals, however I’m neither a Caleb main or a Chan bias, so I’ll leave that to the audience.

Lee Know- Caleb: Farspace Colonel

~~~~

Not a lot of thought went into this one. I just think the world would be a much better place if we let Lee Know have a gun. And he’d look really good in this too.

Changbin- Sylus: Abysm Sovereign

~~~~

OH BOY I have thoughts about this one. I mean, look at that photo. That’s literally Sylus’ standard outfit in white. Also these two go really well together I feel- with the whole strong guy/really a big sweetheart type shit. And I know we’re all desperate to see him with his shirt off. Just picture him in that. You’re welcome.

Hyunjin- Rafayel: Abysswalker

~~~~

I mean LOOK AT HIM. THAT’S LITERALLY RAFAYEL. This seems like the strongest comparison out of all of them for me- like they’re both artistic and sassy, it’s a perfect match. I wonder if some people are confused why I didn’t pick GoT or LSG, but i have some other members in mind for those :)

Han- Xavier: Lumiere

~~~~

I’ll be honest, this is 90% an alien joke and 10% an ‘I want to see Han in a mask’ joke. But in reality, they’re both sweethearts with undertones of I don’t even want to know what’s going on. But Han’s not getting a real sword in his cosplay. We can’t even trust him with the Truman smoke guns.

Felix- Rafayel: Lemurian Sea God

~~~~

If anyone in this group is bound to be a mermaid, it’s my baby Felix. He would rock this haircut for sure. Or lack of cutting thereof. lol. LSG is my favorite companion atm, and so it served fitting to pair him with one of my biases 🫶 (also, yk, once again, abs. Don’t say I didn’t take fan service into consideration here.)

Seungmin- Zayne: Master of Fate

~~~~

Seungmin in the building? Seungmin in this outfit WHEN. My ult bias cosplaying my literal husband- I would die a sweet death. They’re so alike in personality too- aloof, snarky personalities with hidden sweet sides. I’ll have to ask Zayne how he feels about being manhandled though. Also, Seungmin with a ponytail. Yum. Don’t mind if I just pass out now.

(Bonus: I originally wanted to pick Dawnbreaker for Seungmin, but then I just got sad, so I switched. Not that MoF doesn’t make me sad. I wouldn’t know, I missed the rerun. 😭)

I.N.- Xavier: Lightseeker

~~~~

Now, for Jeongin, Xavier was not my first choice. It was actually Sylus- specially Catch 22s Sylus, with his love of doing weird things with his tongue. (you heard me.) however, technically not a myth, so I went with Xavier, for that cutie with inner-freak energy. I think we’d let him have a real sword though. (sorry, Han.)

~~~~

Well cuties, there’s my list. I genuinely don’t know if I’ll ever return to this thought train, so if this sparked any sort of writing prompt, drawing idea, etc. in you, jump right in! Just please show me when you’re done. 😍 (I’m itching to draw X-02 Chan tbh, but I suck at drawing.)

[obsidianstrawberrymilk]

BSD Dead Apple manga highlights!!

Kunikida is insane. "Oh yeah getting shot in the gut is no big deal dwai" and then he proceeds to run around and fight both his own Ability and Demon Snow after this. Jesus.

Kunikida's so resourceful tbh. I love watching him fight. Akutagawa's later fight with Rashoumon (where he demonstrates similar resourcefulness using the molten metal) is also cool for the same reason, because like it's one thing to be TOLD these characters are cool under pressure and smart as long as Dazai's not there to piss them off and a whole other to be shown it.

SO THIS CONFIRMS MY THEORY. I need a fight scene where Yosano detaches her limbs and uses them as weapons after she heals them omg she's so fucking badass. Side note the fact that Kenji and Yosano held up so long against their Abilities is so impressive? Like all of them are ofc but Undefeated and Thou Shalt Not Die are both like, extremely powerful. Your fighting a power that rearranged a mountain and a power that basically can't be killed. Like damn.

Lmfao Akutagawa's main priority is watching their Abilities fight each other

D A S H

I love how casually he says this lmfaoo Also LMAO AKUTAGAWA DO U HAVE SOME UNRESOLVED FEELINGS TOWARDS DAZAI OR SOMETHING?? HMM??

Confirmation Dazai fucking hates both of them. He was probably tearing his hair out internally this whole time. Literally him going "friendless behavior" at Shibusawa lmao- ALSO THE 'MEOW EXCHANGE. HE ACTUALLY MEOWED. THIS IS SO FUCKING DRY LMFAO.

Akutagawa's monologue is conveyed in a really cool way via manga adaptation... like DA has some great development for Akutagawa, Kyouka and Atsushi, but Akutagawa's in particular stands out to me because it doesn't really disprove his strength-based worldview?? He finds his own self worth through that view instead which is interesting, by overpowering his Ability instead of finding somewhere he's valued beyond it like say, Yosano.

This is also SUCH an interesting panel. "That I control Demon Snow/That I didn't want to hate her" it's like Atsushi has previously only seen Kyouka as a victim, as being controlled against her will and never wanting any of the violence she partook in when this kinda... confirms it's not all the case? DA as a whole kinda tries to break Atsushi's black and white worldview but I also think, between this and how well Akutagawa and Kyouka work together in DA, there was likely a part of Kyouka who knew she was good at killing and violence, and liked that about herself, if nothing else. The ability to not be completely helpless, even if her circumstances as a whole were not within her control.

"Are you fucking serious" he is SO DONE with Dazai's shit lmfao.

Soukoku are fucking insane. What do you MEAN you noticed Dazai's hidden message from a mention of a microscope. What do you mean you remember all your interactions with him that clearly. What do you mean-

Ohh my fucking god is that a tear in the last panel?? Oh my god did Chuuya mean he just doesn't want Dazai to stop him in Corruption. Chuuya cannot catch a fucking BREAK oh my god.

So Ango is also suicidal right?? Like sure he has a reason for saying this but also this is not a normal thing to say. He uses Chuuya's vow to kill him to try and stop Chuuya from what he sees as a suicidal mission later. Like this is not normal.

"Dazai doesn't care about the ADA!" shut the fuck up

Oh my god. This was so fucked up oh my god. Poor baby Atsushi oh my god.

The repetition of "I raised by claws" is SO chilling here omg. But I also find it so so interesting that I think Atsushi is... the only BSD character who just... wants to live. Not for other people, he definitely doesn't want to die. Like so many characters in BSD (Dazai, Yosano, Chuuya, Kunikida, Kyouka, Ango, arguably Akutagawa) are in some manner suicidal, or even the ones who aren't have reasons they life for. But Atsushi's base desire is just... he wants to live. That's where his Ability comes from. It's why he killed Shibusawa. It's so interesting.

So there are two sides to Fyodor's Ability. But he CALLS HIMSELF crime in this case?? Bc the Crime avatar is wearing what Fyodor was wearing. I've seen theories Fyodor himself is just the manifestation of his own Ability or something and tbh... that might have merit.

Tbh, I often wonder how Ango ended up working with the government. It's repeatedly mentioned how he dislikes and opposes their use of human lives as value metrics, or plans like this for the 'greater good', and yet he still does their bidding. He's still here. Even though no one listens to his oppositions. Why?

Anyway so if anyone has manga translations past Ch 13 please help I can't find any lol.

[butterflydm]

WoT 3x07 - additional thoughts

Spoilers through Knife of Dreams in the books, as well as through 3x07 in the show.

Singing the Manetheren song instead of giving a big speech was so perfect!

Shades of late book Perrin here - instead of making a deal with a Seanchan to save his wife, he made a deal with a darkfriend to save his people. I like this "deal with the devil" much better than what we got in the books, tbh. And it tracks with Perrin walking this line between war and peace, and wanting peace to win out in the end.

I am so curious about Fain's deal in the show, because it is VERY different than his deal in the books. He was definitely being affected by the dagger in s2 but now that he's away from it, he seems to be a pretty loyal darkfriend again. He's actually putting in the work to do what the Dark One/Ishamael would want (destroying the Two Rivers to try to help turn Rand dark) as opposed to the infighting that most of the Forsaken seem to be doing. Ishy really was the glue holding the side of the Shadow together.

Regarding Aram, for me, minor characters always need to be seen for what they bring to the main storyline, especially in such a short time frame as we have (similar to how I felt about the changes in Natti & Abell, and in Faile's mom in her backstory). The Tuatha'an & the Aiel served to narratively connect Rand to Perrin's storyline-- that's why Ila echoes the words from the columns, that's why Aram picks up a sword for the same reason that Lewin picked up a spear (immediate self-defense & defense of others). That's why we have Bain & Chiad connect Rand "al'Thor" to "al Thorin" from the Manetheren story that Loial tells them.

We had the Cauthon twins to connect Mat & Perrin together. We had the Tuatha'an & the Aiel to connect Rand & Perrin together.

(and, in Mat's storyline, he's actively on a quest to help Rand; and we've had nods to his friendship with Perrin in his dream where Perrin had made him a weapon)

Back when I thought Loial had died at the end of s1, I basically went - "this is heartbreaking but I understand why they might make this choice" and that is essentially how I feel now too. Loial is a lovely side character but he is not essential to any main storyline beats. The Ogier subplot can just be trimmed off. But it is heartbreaking! I love Loial! But narratively, I think it's not a bad call -- emotionally affecting but not plot breaking. This is also Loial living up to the speech that he gave the others at the end of s2 -- "we are all the heroes of another Age's legends."

Speaking of cutting off subplots, Valda's death here also implies a lot about what will or won't happen with Morgase in the future (though I've felt for a while that she's probably destined to die as opposed to escaping when she gets dethroned).

And Aram taking up blacksmithing instead of following Perrin around also cuts off a subplot -- and another one that I felt like the show might cut anyway, because it was really hard to believe that show!Perrin would ever ignore Aram spiraling the way that book!Perrin did. Show!Perrin would notice, show!Perrin would care and do something to help Aram before it got so bad.

The show continues to do a bit of 'the road not traveled' from the books - in the books, Egwene was ready to kill Renna & stopped because of Nynaeve & Elayne. Here, they didn't make it to Egwene in time, and Renna dies.

In the books, the Whitecloaks fail to help defend the Two Rivers, so Perrin doesn't go with them. Here, Dain does fulfill his end of the bargain & so Perrin also fulfills his.

It does make me feel that s4 (fingers crossed for renewal!) is potentially gonna have a lot less Lord of Chaos than people have been speculating, because Perrin was just given a plotline to fill the empty space where he is Sir Not Appearing in The Fires of Heaven.

I let the people on reddit influence me into thinking Dumai's Wells would happen s4 no matter what lol, even though I originally felt it would suit a s5 ending better. Maksim living here makes me lean towards Dumai's Wells being a s5 finale event instead (if we get the seasons, etc).

[starkeymeow]

❛ we make each other alive . .

does it matter if it hurts? ❜

I’M COMING, WAIT FOR ME.

PLOT you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.

CONTENT part fifteen, best read in dark mode, rafe cameron x reader au, caesars interview, lowk foreshadowing, rafe and reader getting closerrr blurring the lines tbh

main masterlist | series ml | tag list | previous next

it takes days. not hours, not just a few fittings. days. there are endless mornings that bleed into the evenings where you’re just standing for so long your legs go numb, your shoulders ache, and your mind starts slipping out of your own body.

you forget what you look like after a while.

you forget you ever looked like anything else.

your prep team and valis, who’s probably the only one in the room with any consistent kindness, circle around you like you’re some ancient sculpture they’ve been tasked to restore. they treat you like you’re breakable. they pluck at threads, yank your hips this way and that, lift your chin, murmur things like “panem’s rose needs to bloom, not wither.”

you don’t know what that means. they still keep calling you that, panem’s rose, even after the games. it’s probably just stuck now, probably branded, part of your skin.

it takes rounds and rounds of sketches, of fabrics being held up to your jawline, of silks being abandoned for velvets and then tossed aside again. they can’t decide who they want you to be. soft or striking. seductive or sweet. you’re both and neither at the same time, but also too tired to be anything at all.

rafe endures it all in silence beside you. you can feel how tired he is the way he leans his weight against whatever surface is closest. his jaw clenches when they ask him to stand taller. his eyes occasionally drifting toward you like are we really doing this? but he doesn’t complain. neither do you.

maybe this is what it means to be a victor.

maybe this is what you won.

in between the fittings and the wardrobe arguments, there are coaching sessions. snow’s people pair you with a voice coach, a posture coach, a “personality” coach. you sit across from enobaria and brutus while they go over strategy and image. compared to before, this time is not for battle, but for survival. for public relations.

you’re killers now, yes, but also trophies and puppets. you have to smile the right way when caesar flicks his hand dramatically and the crowd screams. you have to talk about your pain without really talking about it.

snow doesn’t want trauma. he wants triumph. he wants to show panem how its newest victors overcame everything with grace, how they made it out together.

so they give you lines, suggestions, and key words to repeat. they give you anecdotes to sprinkle in that feel natural but are completely fake. they push you to expand on your “romance,” to play into it. they want chemistry, even tears if they can get them.

and finally, the day comes.

it’s caesar’s post-games interview. you and rafe will be seen together for the first time since the arena. the entire nation will be watching.

your prep team is frantic. valis is calm but firm, adjusting and readjusting everything like a clockmaker with trembling hands. they’ve chosen your look finally, and now they’re executing it with surgical precision.

you’re standing again. the dress hugs your body like water, sleek and dark, almost mirror-shiny in some places. it’s black, of course. a color that looks more like shadow when you move. they say it’s to symbolize rebirth, power, and resilience.

but it’s the back of the dress that has everyone so excited. it’s completely open, bare from shoulder blade to base spine. you can feel the chill of the room kissing your skin every time you breathe.

valis steps closer, fixing the silver chain of your necklace. it rests right at the dip of your collarbone. “there,” she says quietly, brushing a nonexistent crease from your waist. “hold your head just like that.”

you exhale slowly, eyes locked on the mirror in front of you. you barely recognize the girl staring back.

your hair’s been pinned up into a soft twist, loose pieces curled carefully around your face, meant to look effortless even though you know it took at least three people and half a dozen pins to achieve. your makeup is bold without being loud.

you look like something out of a dream, or maybe a nightmare. honestly you’re not sure which.

valis takes a step back and tilts her head. “you’ve never looked more beautiful.”

you swallow, throat dry. “that’s a little scary.”

she smiles, not denying it. you do a small spin, still staring at your reflection. the fabric of your dress shifts like ink around your legs. then you catch a glimpse of your bare back, and you instinctively reach for it, touching your own spine as if you’re trying to make sure it’s still there.

“was the open back really necessary?” you mutter, fingers curling slightly. “it’s freezing. and it just feels . . . i don’t know. exposed.”

valis chuckles, stepping back in to check the lay of the fabric. “the back is everything,” she says, serious now. “it’s a statement. it’s freedom, mystery, strength. it’s the one part of the body that isn’t always shown, but when it is, people notice. it’s vulnerable and powerful at once.”

you blink. “ . . . so it’s cold for a reason.”

“exactly.”

you nod, not really understanding but accepting it anyway. you’re not a fashion expert. you’re not really anything anymore except what they tell you to be. so you keep looking at yourself, standing there while valis checks over the last few things.

there’s a knock at the door. someone calls out that they’ll be taking you backstage soon. valis straightens and gives you one last look.

“you ready?” she asks, quiet.

you don’t answer right away. your gaze stays fixed in the mirror, watching your own eyes, watching the way your jaw sets.

“i guess,” you whisper because it doesn’t matter if you are. the show goes on either way.

you follow someone down the long corridor, heels clicking against the marble. the lights above are too bright, but everything still feels dim. backstage always does.

the last time you were here, your name hadn’t yet become synonymous with blood.

your hands were still clean.

you were still someone’s bet.

and now, the odds are over. the game is done. and somehow you’ve made it out. but you’re still in costume, still in character.

your team leaves you with a brief nod and a gentle usher toward the exit curtain. you’re alone now, sort of. the room’s a hum of voices and shifting equipment, but it dulls as you step closer to the red exit strip. you look up at the tv monitor bolted above the arch. caesar’s already onstage, his signature grin flashing beneath layers of lights and makeup, all fake teeth and charm and fabricated warmth.

“we’ve had a very exciting few weeks here in the capitol,” caesar’s voice booms out through the speakers above, echoing just a little. “and with reconstruction efforts happening in district six, a new peacekeeper unit rollout in the districts—”

you stop listening. your chest feels too tight in the dress. the fabric presses uncomfortably over your ribs, and you’re trying to subtly tug at it without smudging anything. fingers brush beneath the seam, dragging downward. it doesn’t help.

and then you feel someone next to you. not obvious, it’s just someone’s presence.

you glance sideways and rafe’s there, standing just a step away, hands tucked loosely in the pockets of his dark suit pants, head tilted up to the screen like he’s been here the whole time, as if he’s watching tv at home, and not seconds away from being shoved in front of millions of people.

he’s dressed in black too, but it’s different. he’s more structured and sharp. something about the way the shoulders of the jacket are cut, the severity of the collar and deep, hidden buttons, it all screams military or controlled power. he’s supposed to be your protector, they said. panem’s rose and her soldier or whatever.

his hair’s tossed in his curtains, eyes rimmed subtly in something cool-toned to make the blue stand out more. he looks like a weapon.

and gorgeous.

you catch yourself looking too long and turn away again, focus back on the screen, or try to.

“you look good,” you say casually, voice low. your fingers are still fidgeting at the dress near your chest, like if you adjust it one more time, it’ll suddenly be comfortable but you know it won’t.

rafe shifts beside you. you see the motion from the corner of your eye, him straightening up slightly, tugging at one of his cuffs to roll it once. you feel his eyes fall on you briefly, his smirk soft but clearly entertained.

“so do you,” he murmurs, and it’s a little smug. you don’t look at him again.

on the screen, caesar’s still talking, dragging out the monologue in his usual way.

“tonight’s a celebration,” he declares. “a reunion, if you will. and it’s not every day panem gets a prize this sweet. now yes, folks, you know them, you love them—panem’s new golden couple!”

there’s a beat, and then thunderous applause. there’s just cheers and whistles.

your stomach flips but you try to swallow it all down. rafe exhales slowly through his nose. the monitor cuts to caesar gesturing grandly toward the left side of the stage, where the two of you will be entering.

you straighten up a little, feel your spine lengthen under the weight of everyone else’s expectations. you don’t move yet. neither does he.

you’re waiting, trying to remember the story snow told you to tell. and when the curtain finally stirs, a hand gestures forward, and you hear ‘good to go on my count’ faintly behind you before a countdown is initiated.

on one, you take the first step. you walk out like you’ve done this your whole life.

the lights are so bright you can hardly see the crowd, but you can feel the energy. it pulses through the room like it’s alive. you keep your chin lifted, pace even. the slit of your dress moves like liquid, your heels clicking smooth and sharp against the stage floor. rafe is behind you, just a step back, tall and composed, like he’s meant to escort you.

you glance at the crowd as you walk and already catch the chaos. people wear rose pins on their collars, one girl cries into a glittered handkerchief. everyone in the capitol look terrifying and unreal, as per usual.

you reach caesar first, who’s beaming at you like you’ve just solved world peace. you give him a soft kiss on the cheek, not really touching him, your arms miming a gentle hug. your smile holds steady.

“darling,” he coos, squeezing your hand before letting go. “panem’s very own rose.”

god, you’re getting really tired of hearing that.

you keep the smile on as you turn and take your seat. the fabric of your dress pulls slightly at your lower back, and you do a quick check that you’re still all in place before smoothing the hem and sitting. the chair’s lower than expected.

then rafe steps forward. when he reaches caesar, he grins and shakes his hand before caesar pulls him in for a half hug too.

“our victor-soldier,” caesar says with pride, gesturing grandly before waving him toward the seat next to you.

rafe sits. the space between you is . . . not really a space. the chairs are closer than they should be. his knee brushes yours as he settles in. you try not to tense, but your entire body reacts anyway. you shift an inch away, only to be met with the edge of the seat. nowhere to go.

caesar raises both arms and the room finally starts to settle, the applause fading into excited murmurs and wide eyes.

“ah!” caesar sighs, almost dramatically. “you two must be exhausted right now, aren’t you? i mean—victors! and not just victors, but beloved. praised. adored. what a whirlwind!”

you both laugh. you don’t mean it. but the sound plays well.

rafe tilts his head slightly, nodding once. “it’s been . . . a lot,” he says smoothly.

“but a good lot, i’m sure!” caesar quips, and the audience chuckles along. “tell me, what was going through your heads in those final moments? when it came down to just the two of you. allies turned . . . well, lovers? was it always meant to end that way?”

you glance at rafe instinctively. the cameras probably catch it. he doesn’t meet your gaze, instead focusing on caesar with a carefully constructed smile, his fingers tapping gently against his knee like he’s timing himself.

“we made a promise,” rafe says, voice low and sure. “that we’d get out together. no matter what.”

caesar hums, pleased. “and that’s something, isn’t it? to hold on to a promise in there . . . when everything else is stripped away.”

he turns to you. you straighten just enough to look attentive, even if your back’s killing you.

“was that hard for you, sweetheart?” he asks, eyes soft. “was there ever a moment where you thought . . . ‘maybe it should just be me’? i mean, you’re clever. you played quite the game. deadly, but beautiful. poetic, even. and yet, you shared your victory.”

“i knew i could win,” you say with a tilt of your head. “i trained for it my whole life. but the point wasn’t just surviving. it was surviving with him. we were stronger together. and there’s no pride in leaving someone like him behind when he’s earned it just as much as i did.”

rafe lets out a low laugh. you feel his eyes on you, and when you glance his way, he’s already looking at caesar with a crooked sort of grin that feels natural.

“we were built for this, both of us,” rafe says, shrugging a little, but it’s confident, not humble. “we came from a district where winning isn’t a hope. it’s an expectation. i wasn’t gonna die in there, and neither was she. anyone watching could see that.”

he lets the silence hang for just a second, then adds, “but when you’ve got someone like her watching your back, someone who knows the way you move, the way you fight . . . it doesn’t just make you dangerous. it makes you unbeatable.”

you don’t look at him when he says it, but you feel your jaw tighten just slightly, your breath catching as the room erupts in applause again.

“i have to ask, was it always like this? because the switch from allies to something more, was rather sudden, don’t you think?” his brow arches. “or maybe you were just very good at keeping it quiet until the right moment?”

your smile doesn’t drop, but your gaze flicks to rafe again.

“we didn’t have the luxury of showing it,” you answer this time. “not in the arena. that would’ve made us vulnerable. but it was there.”

“and maybe,” rafe adds, glancing sideways at you now, “we didn’t even realize what it was until it was just us left.”

that earns another dramatic gasp from caesar and more applause from the audience.

“you’ve given us so much to believe in, i love it!” caesar says after the crowd calms down again. “panem’s rose and her soldier. killers, yes, but lovers too. truly . . . what a story.”

you cross one leg over the other, hands folded gently in your lap, posture perfect. you feel rafe’s hand brush just close enough to suggest a romantic closeness for the camera. it’s barely a touch, but it’s noticed.

“you’ve given us hope,” caesar says warmly, now looking directly at the camera, “in a time we didn’t know we needed it. panem’s rose and her soldier. thank you. both of you.”

you smile again and you nod.

caesar eases back in his chair. “so,” he starts with a knowing tilt of his head, “what have you two been up to lately?”

you give a soft smile. rafe leans in a bit like he’s going to answer, but you beat him to it.

“honestly?” you glance out into the crowd, a little smirk forming. “sleeping, eating food that doesn’t come in foil packets, learning how to exist without . . . constantly watching your back.”

“ouu, and what about together time?” he flashes his teeth under his smirk, which makes you nervous if he’ll ever actually ask you about anything intimate. “there are rumors, now just whispers, of course, but i heard that the two of you have moved in together? is that right?”

rafe raises his eyebrows, feigning mild offense. “already checking our lease agreements, caesar?”

the crowd cracks up. even caesar throws his head back with a dramatic laugh. “i have sources!”

“yeah, well,” rafe shrugs, that relaxed half-smile tugging at his mouth, “we’re still adjusting, trying to figure out what our lives look like now. sometimes that means crashing on the same couch. sometimes it means waking up to burnt toast and a broken shower handle.”

“okay, you broke the shower handle,” you cut in, turning toward him with a pointed look.

rafe raises a hand in surrender. “mechanical error.”

“more like brute strength and zero patience.”

the audience loves it. there are roars of laughter, scattered claps, someone literally yelling, ‘marry her already!’ from somewhere in the back, which only makes your face burn hotter.

caesar wipes an imaginary tear from his eye. “i have to say, you two are deliciously entertaining. but . . .”

you shift slightly, bracing when you see him look down and furrow his brows like he’s digging deep, tapping a finger to his bottom lip as if the next thing he asks will break the world wide open.

“your families,” caesar begins, voice softer now, hands folding in his lap. “we know panem doesn’t exactly celebrate lineage the way it used to. but you both . . . you come from backgrounds that shaped you. tell us, what role did family play in the way you approached the games? and now, the aftermath?”

you go still for a moment, caught off guard. it’s a real question, not one he’s asking just for theatrics. and you see it in rafe too, how his posture straightens a little, how his mouth presses together in thought.

you go first, a bit quietly.

“for me,” you begin slowly, “i didn’t grow up with much of a name to fall back on. no legacy to live up to, no long line of anything special to remind me what i should be. but that quiet? that lack of anything special?” you look down for a moment, smoothing a line invisible on your dress. “it made me want it more. i trained for years because i wanted to prove that it doesn’t take bloodlines or spotlights to be good enough. i wanted kids like me to see it’s not about where you’re from. it’s about who you decide to be when no one’s watching.”

rafe speaks after, “and i come from a line that’s always expected more. discipline, order. my father’s a peacekeeper. he’s always been about structure and authority.” he pauses, jaw ticking once as he glances out at the crowd. “he trained me like a soldier before i could even call myself a person.”

a few murmurs ripple through the audience.

“i used to think that was all i had to be,” rafe continues. “a weapon, something sharp enough to survive. but the games . . .” he trails off, then looks at you. “the games taught me that strength isn’t just about how fast you move or how clean you fight. sometimes, it’s about how much you can feel and still stand up.”

the way he’s looking at you now, it’s like you’re something holy, like the arena didn’t break you but fucking birthed you. is he okay?

and then,

“i wouldn’t have made it through if it weren’t for her.”

the audience stills. your chest feels tight.

“she’s not just brave,” he says, eyes never leaving yours. “she’s good. the kind of good that makes you want to be better. even when you’re sure you can’t be.”

your breath catches, not enough to be obvious, but enough that you know it happened.

the crowd starts clapping again, slowly at first, then faster. someone whistles. someone cheers. someone says your name like it means something more now.

but all you can do is stare at him. because maybe you knew he was strong. maybe you even knew he was capable of softness when no one was looking. but you didn’t expect this.

you didn’t expect him to say it in front of everyone or to feel it in your throat. you turn away for a second, just to catch your breath.

but caesar, of course, eats it up. he’s grinning, hand against his chest like he’s been given a gift.

“well,” he says, laughing gently, “i was going to ask if this was real love or something cooked up by snow’s finest screenwriters . . . but i think that answers that.”

more applause, more noise, and still, that look in rafe’s eyes like he’s not acting anymore.

and you?

you don’t know what this is.

but suddenly, it feels a lot less like pretending.

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