#snow still would have ended up evil

[evermarch]

coin is to gale as dr gaul is to snow

and NO this post does not mean that gale and snow are even remotely similar other than that they were traumatized, manipulated children born to violence who both had “mentor” figures that:

• groomed them to use their gifts for destruction

• validated them in their wrongful displacement of their righteous anger at the loss of their childhoods toward vulnerable and increasingly innocent targets

• weaponized their fear of oppression to justify a worldview of violence as a means of instituting control in the name of “peace”

[rinbylin]

雁回时 The Glory ep. 18 // 30

[bigtreefest]

Cinnamon Rolls

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Steve has to decide which is the lesser of two evils: waking you up from your nap, or letting the cinnamon rolls in the oven burn.

Word count: 1,686

Content/warnings: fluff! Kissing, cooking, Steve being too perfect and sweet, tickling

A/N: hehehe, thanks to @thezombieprostitute for always indulging my thots and whims, especially regarding my love for cinnamon rolls and cinnamon roll-like men.

Comments, reblogs, and asks are especially appreciated!

Dividers by @mikeykuns

Main Masterlist

You looked over the back of the couch and towards the kitchen in the open living area of the cabin you and Steve were staying in for the weekend. Tony had insisted, of course, that the two of you take some time off and away from the city, which at this point, didn’t take much convincing, even for two people who worked themselves to the bone as much as you and Steve.

The past three weeks had been grueling, as you guided Steve and the rest of the Avengers through a mission in a South American city via coms. It was a series of sleepless nights and food rations, but worth it for the safety of the world. Both you and Steve were willing to pay that price, but afterwards, somehow Tony talked you into taking him up on his offer for alone time in his remote property upstate.

It was nice, but cold, which you would’ve complained about if you hadn’t had a personal heater in the form of your super soldier husband. The same man who was bent over the oven right now, sliding in a tray of something that he wasn’t letting you see. What you were happy to look at in the meantime, though, was that ass, somehow still so plump and prominent in a pair of flannel pajama pants that you’d hardly seen him take off since you’d gotten here. One of your favorite sights, that probably would be until the end of time, was Steve when he was relaxed and comfy. And you knew he loved to see you the same way, wearing a pair of old sweats and his Army hoodie that he’d gotten soon after joining this century.

The view earned him a cat call whistle, and when he stood and closed the oven door, you were sure the blush on his cheeks wasn’t just from the heat in the kitchen. It was nice how much you could still make him a little bashful after all this time.

You watched his eyes, full of amusement and affection as he rounded the corner of the couch to move towards where you were curled up in a blanket by the fire.

“You gonna tell me what you and those buns have got cooking, good looking?”

Steve let out a lighthearted chuckle and the corners of his eyes creased, still as beautiful as ever. He shrugged as he lifted the soft throw blanket and settled in against the armrest before gesturing for you to snuggle up to him.

“No way. It’s a surprise. You can guess once it’s done, though.”

You sighed as you laid a hand and your head on his chest, adjusting until you were comfortably laying with him, legs tangled. Steve reached for the book you had turned upside down on the coffee table to keep your page and looked over a few lines.

“The Hobbit, huh?”

You nodded, the rustling sound of his threadbare hoodie on your ear just covering his faint heartbeat.

“Yeah, Bucky lent it to me.”

Steve exhaled a laugh through his nose, a boyish grin rising on his face. “That’s the least he could do. Punk stole my copy back in the day, then gave it to some girl he never saw again after he was done.”

You smiled in response to the way he reminisced about the old days. You absolutely loved when Steve would bring up his childhood memories. They were so different from yours, yet so full of parallels. Kids will be kids, after all.

You put your chin on his chest to look up at him, met with sparkling blue eyes, reflecting the bright light that bounced off the snow outside the windows.

“Of course he did. He was a charmer, wasn’t he?”

Steve leaned down for a kiss as you stretched to meet him.

“For sure. Not as much as me, though, of course.”

You playfully rolled your eyes along with him. “Right, of course. I’m sure you were a real heartbreaker back in the day.”

Steve’s eyebrows lowered and the corners of his lips turned upward in a sarcastic smile. “Left and right.”

You placed a reverent kiss on his sternum before resettling yourself on his pec, squishier than usual from not having been to the gym in a few days. It was perfect.

You smiled to yourself. “Well, I’m glad those days are behind you.”

Steve brushed a hand up and down your back. “I’d never break your heart, you know, I’d rather work to fill it with love every day. Forever if I can.”

Steve always knew exactly what to say to have you blushing, too, even if it was unintentional. The words that spilled out of his mouth warmed you from the inside out with how sincere they always were. You patted his belly gently, “and I hope to do the same for you.”

Steve hummed before he held the book back up in his line of sight.

“Glad we’re on the same page. Speaking of which, you want me to read for you?”

You nodded again, tucking a hand up under his hoodie, warming your cold fingers against his abs. “Mmmhmmm.”

Steve cleared his throat and began, his voice a smooth, deep rumble conducted through his chest and across your body. It was one of the best sounds, one of the best feelings, to be curled up close to him and taken care of. Cherished.

The gentle cadence of his voice carried in the cozy air around the couch as your breaths began to even out. Steve sensed it as your body relaxed into his, fully softened in a light slumber. He finished the page he was on just to make sure you were fully out before marking where he stopped and placing your book back on the table. He continued lulling you to sleep gently, his blunt fingertips drawing circles between your shoulder blades. Steve basked in the sunshine of enjoyment that came from how safe he knew he made you feel.

He sat there for a second, satisfied with everything in his life. With you, everything hard he’d gone through before was worth it. Nothing could break the feeling of fullness in his heart.

And then he smelled it. The cinnamon rolls. How long ago had he put them in? He craned his neck to look at the timer on the stove. They were just past halfway done. And Steve would rather die than move you right now when you were so peaceful. He considered his options and pulled out his phone.

Tony, can you remotely turn off an oven up here?

No. What part of ‘everything’s off the network except whatever you bring up there’ did you not understand?

Steve sighed to himself. He thought Tony was joking. Could he actually have a place somewhere so disconnected? He knew there was at least a Wi-Fi router, but really? Nothing else? Tony Stark has changed.

Why? Doing something else that’s keeping you from the oven?😏

Yes. But not like that. Steve rolled his eyes and opened up a different text conversation.

Sam, can redwing open doors?

Yeah, but the door probably won’t close again. He’s got lasers. You need help?

Steve sighed again. That wouldn’t work either.

No, I’ll figure it out.

One more try. Maybe Bucky and Nat?

Hey. Either one of you close to Tony’s place in the mountains? I got a favor to ask.

No. We’re at dinner in the city. Why? Everything ok?

Steve bit his lip in contemplation.

Yeah. Nothing I can’t handle. Thanks anyway.

He locked his phone and set it on the coffee table next to your book, running a hand over his face. He could do this. Maybe he could carefully carry you to the kitchen, just to take them out, then go back to the couch? But would that disturb you too much?

Maybe he could stuff pillows into his spot and you wouldn’t even realize you were clinging to something else. Yeah. That could work.

He looked back over at the timer on the oven. It had just reached two minutes left. Okay, he was gonna do it. Just move carefully and quietly and quickly to hit the button so the timer didn’t startle you awake.

But it was too late. Before he could even move a muscle, you were stirring. Eyes still closed, your nose rose to the air, taking a deep breath of the scent that had permeated the cabin. A smile took over your face and your eyes finally fluttered open, landing on Steve. Your voice held a light rasp to it.

“Cinnamon rolls. My favorite.”

Steve nodded. “Uh huh.”

You shifted to straddle his waist, arms clinging around his torso. “Cinnamon rolls made by my favorite cinnamon roll.”

Steve laughed at the long running joke of what you always called him, moving to sit up, big hands holding you steady against him. He stood with your body wrapped around his and made it to the oven before the loud beeping started, shutting everything off and setting the tray on the counter.

“Of course, darling.”

He set you on the granite beside the stove, kissing your nose at your whine at the loss of his touch. He opened the fridge and pulled out a container of cream cheese icing he had made, setting it in your hands as he sifted through the drawers for a knife.

You took off the lid, swiping a finger through the frosting and sucking it off with a moan.

“Dang, that’s good.”

You scooped up another bit, holding it out for Steve, but when he opened his mouth, you booped it onto his nose. With a giggle, you went to kiss it off but Steve was too quick, whisking you away back to the couch.

“Ohhh, you’re gonna get it.”

Before you knew it, you were kicking and laughing so hard that your stomach hurt, surrounded in a world of love and warmth with your husband. Even though this was a short trip, every day with him felt like this on the inside.

Bonus A/N: ohhhh sweet Steeb. Gimme this cinnamon roll🥺

Taglist: @hawkeyes-queen @ronearoundblindly @mercurial-chuckles @steviebbboi @thiquefunlover63

[mihii-i]

hear me out..... mizu x fem reader, a oneshot, smut, they're already together, they are out in town as 'husband and wife' while they obtain information. The reader is a brat, Mizu literally fucks the ever living SHIT out of her. Teasing and mocking until the reader is blabbing out apologies that are barely even coherent. SHI ION KNOW WHEN STRAPS WERE MADE BUT IF YOU BUST THAT OUT I WOULD BE VERY GRATEFUL 🙏 and of course aftercare with lots of praise yk bc if ur gonna call me a slut at least kiss my face and call me ur pretty slut thank YEW

chimes of the shamisen.

Pairings: mizu x fem!reader

CW: nsfw, female reader, afab reader, wlw, let’s ignore the episode’s events and the shindo dojo shit because yay sex, freaky asf obv, but first angst bc im evil kitty, bratty ass reader, argument, mizu is lowkey at fault for it too tho, but reader is still a bitch, hardcore sesbian lex, little bit of soft stuff sprinkled because I cannot write mizu going full on rough and angy with her lover, it feels ooc she would be atleast a little sweet :(, strapon use/harigata, the strap legit came outta nowhere, horny shit god, i genuinely don’t know if this is classified as degradation but I hate degrading so hope not, crying, really fucking rough I don’t think I ever wrote something this insane, not proofread.

A/N: ugh this lowkey turned out bad cause my tea was bad but im loving the stream of mizu requests I am absolutely feral over this woman like I want to kiss and hug her in my arms while also wanting her to tear off my clothes it ain’t funny anymore I GENUINELY DONT KNOW HOW TO FEEL ABOUT WRITING EXTRA FREAKY MIZU BUT YER WELCOME. 🕯️

Blisteringly cold sweeps of wind swayed in the air in a near painful freeze as crystals of snowflakes sunk upon touching the bare skin of your hand, your tense shoulder pushed up against Mizu’s cloaked one in an attempt to seek a sliver of warmth against the stinging cold. It was currently nearing the end of the nullifying freeze of winter, spring approaching in supposedly a few weeks from now in hopes of thawing out the erected statures blanketed in a gentle white.

Both you and Mizu navigated your way through the dips and trails of each snow heaped pathway in the city, remaining side by side as you two shouldered past the hordes of people pouring in through Kyoto’s streets. Throughout your support for her during the perilous tread to find the remaining men she sought to kill, you had assumed the title of her supposed ‘wife,’ while Mizu, still under the guise of a man, displayed herself as your husband.

Honestly, it was quite difficult to fathom why you were trailing behind this bloodthirsty woman, who would snap apart the bones of any living creature she came across for the sake of her wretched revenge—pulsing through every vein in her body, like an unrest that compelled her stubborn soul to live on. You always questioned yourself as you trudged by her side, eyes frequently staring down at your own feet buried in the thick layers of snow to ponder why your heart raced for a demon presumed to have nothing but hatred oozing from any noticeable crevice of light within her.

You nudged your fingers against her palm, reaching over as your knuckles came into contact with the calloused ridges of her own. Almost in a seemingly desperate sense, your fingertips danced along her skin occasionally as if you were pleading to hold her hand, only to end up cupping your hand around nothing as she pulled away with each gesture of yours seeking her affection. Mizu subtly nodded her head toward you, tilting her chin up to meet your gaze through the orange tint of her glasses.

“Not now. Focus on getting more information regarding Heiji Shindo.”

It was getting tiring. Annoying even.

Mizu initially proposed the idea of cloaking yourselves under the cover of a husband and wife to seek information, to which you agreed. Considering the two of you had been together for quite some time, you believed that it wouldn’t hurt to cover yourself with an impenetrable front. Surely your false marriage wouldn’t get questioned considering how touchy and affectionate you were with Mizu, proudly believing that such a plan would remain the same as usual.

Unfortunately for you, it might have to be time to come to terms with the fact that her revenge mattered more than you.

All of her recent actions reflected a strict focus to the goal she had set, refusing to indulge in even the smallest of pleasures with her own ‘wife.’ You constantly strode alongside her through Kyoto’s crowded infrastructure, shielded by the overarching shadow of her kasa shrouding her face as she opened her mouth to inquire of the Shindo Dojo’s whereabouts left and right.

You couldn’t bear to see her disappointed expression whenever she was ignored or directed incorrectly, one of the residents even leading her to a pleasure house, much to her discomfort. However, nothing served to dilate the pit in your stomach more than Mizu brushing you off, rolling her shoulder past you whenever she was fixated on gathering information about some piece of shit connected to one of the white men hiding in Japan.

You knew she didn’t hate you. In fact, Mizu loved you like you were the most precious thing she had ever set her sights on. Held you and whispered in your ears that you were one of the only people that ever mattered to her, and how grateful she was to have you, all while you were hemmed in her overflowing grasp of affection. Yet, you were unable to help the twinge of discomposure swirling in your chest at how…comfortable she felt neglecting you like this.

Of course in retaliation, you began to bite back at her lack of feeling towards you ever since you reached Kyoto under the disguise, growing increasingly despondent to the words that left her mouth. The annoyance alone she was able to inflict on you in these past few days was more than enough to fuel a minuscule revenge of your own. You’d always snap back toward Mizu, words tinged with a short of sharp edge to them, & contrasting the usual gentle demeanor you often displayed for her.

Looking around the cramped lanes, you remained to Mizu’s side as her own eyes traced every inch of the vicinity, briefly tilting her glasses along the bridge of her nose to capture a clear view as darkness clouded the sky in a shrouding night. Rays of moonlight kissing the rippling bodies of water engulfing the bridge off at the end, accompanied by the muted lamps provided a faint expansion of light within such a late portion of day, some starting to die out into a smoky grey one by one.

A disappointed huff fell from Mizu’s lips at the sight of nightfall descending upon the two of you, striking a halt in the investigation that had been dragged out for the whole day. Although you’d never admit it to her, you wanted to breathe out a prolonged sigh of relief once your info gathering induction had ceased for the day, unsure of how much longer you could rasp out another word about the black market merchant.

“(Name). We’re done for today, let me know if you find a decent place to rest.”

“Shouldn’t you look for one yourself? It’s the husband’s job to provide obviously.” You muttered, loud enough for Mizu to hear as you rolled your eyes.

“This is a false front and you know it. Stop being so stuck up and just listen to me.”

“Or what? Fucking hell Mizu, is it stuck up to ask for a little attention from my girlfriend?”

The sudden announcement of your relationship’s actual title cause her eyes to shoot wide open, cocking an eyebrow in evident disrelish toward your lack of compliance.

“You know full well that we’re in the middle of something important, and you’re simply acting like an attention seeking child!” Mizu hissed under her breath, attempting to keep her voice subtle to avert any attention away from the two of you.

“I don’t care. You just brush me off like I don’t exist when you’re clearly supposed to act like my husband.”

“Quit acting so fucking bratty and maybe I’ll give you what you want after we’re done.”

“Forget it, Mizu. Can’t believe I’m in love with a demon like you.”

You could almost hear Mizu’s breath hitch in her throat, swallowing back a lump as her lips remained parted in a frown. Her eyes roamed over you in disdain, brows knitting together as her eyelids lowered into a contorted expression of annoyance and hurt.

Regret clawed at your mind as you took in Mizu’s expression, clearly not displaying a particular fixation on hurt alone, but definitely harboring a chagrin of sorts. You felt your heart ache, realizing the words you had just uttered to your lover, unable to reflect upon what you just said to the woman you supposedly loved as she turned her back to you. Was she leaving you? Right here?

You jolted up at the sight of her head tilted over her shoulder to glance back at you, a cold expression still carved onto her already wounded gaze.

“Are you coming or not?”

Clearing your throat, you managed a soundless nod in response, the crunch of your footsteps being the only thing breaking the silence fostered between the two of you. A surge of anxiety crept up within you, the bitter taste flat against your tongue from the sheer feeling along worse than raw bile. What the hell was the matter with you? You claim you love her yet you struck a blow at one of her deepest insecurities? You couldn’t even begin to comprehend how disgusted you were with yourself right now.

Your footsteps abruptly ceased their movements as soon as you noticed Mizu’s own feet, stationary and sunken in the snow as she eyed the large wooden building with a sign hammered along a plank off to its right in a messy fashion. She immediately pivoted in the direction of the paper door upfront, pressing her fingers to the wall to push it aside and make way as it disappeared the further it was slid.

Despite following suit, you had completely blanked out, mind fogged with nothing but a storm of plaguing thoughts and raw hatred for your earlier words lurching at your chest. In this very moment, you couldn’t even begin to describe the guilt gnawing at the back of your head over and over. Similarly to a demon whispering in your ear endlessly to send you spiraling into madness.

No. You don’t get to put the blame on a demon. You demeaned your beloved as an onryō despite claiming to love her. The only real demon here was you.

A swift tap dragged along your shoulder shook you out of your jaundiced trance, Mizu’s unfeeling eyes stabbing through yours as she stared you down.

“Come on. There’s a room available.”

You cocked your head in confusion, not following the series of events that followed while your mind was wandering off. A sigh pushed past her tongue as she looked over at you, an unamused look painted all over her face.

“The room. We’re staying at an inn for the night. Then we continue investigating tomorrow.”

“Oh. Okay..”

That was all you could whisper out. Even speaking to her reminded you of that pained expression etched onto her face, draining the affection thay once presided in her blue eyes.

As soon as the door to your room slid open, such a minute detail presenting itself before you twisted like a dagger to your heart, feeling it drop to your stomach like a heavy stone. The two futons situated on the floor, one each big enough to fit both you and Mizu on it, yet still having two seperate beds against the floor far apart from each other. Was this some higher power’s way of telling you that your relationship was done for?

Not wanting to be held back by spacing out again, you begrudgingly set your foot down within the confines of the room, stepping into it as you were drawn to the futon on the far left. Kneeling beside it, a somber tiredness masked your face as you stared down at the fabric, with a few slight wrinkles adorning its stretched edges. The futon was quite spacious as it was splayed out on the tatami mat, oddly comfortable as well as you ran a hand along the surface.

You paused for a moment, slowly turning a head behind your shoulder until you caught sight of Mizu in your periphery, intently transfixed on her grasping at the kasa in her hands before setting it down beside the end of her own futon, her tinted glasses following alongside her cloak in a small pile of discarded clothes—if you could even call such accessories that. The weights strapped to her arms and legs also loosened to the floor with a clank, joining the discard pile as she took in a deep breath.

Mizu almost immediately plopped herself atop the futon without so much as looking over at you, back facing you as she lay on her side with the weight of her head pressured atop her arm.

“Blow out the candle for me, will you?”

Averting your gaze from her back, you sluggishly padded over to the candle, each step you took burning your heels as you felt like you were carrying the deadweight of your own body. A quick rush of wind was expelled from your lungs as you puckered your lips to blow out the candle, the flame flickering momentarily before vanishing into a thin trail of smoke wavering in the air and stinging your nostrils.

The strong miasma of smoke you were close to began to swirl within your throat within the darkness of the room, breath hitching as your head fogged up from discomfort. Perhaps you should refrain from inhaling smoke, only idiots come close enough to purposefully take in the scent of an air that could beset your lungs.

Only idiots hurt the person they love, much less if that person has been hurt enough in their past.

Returning to your futon, you also proceeded to lay on your side facing away from Mizu, fighting back the urge to want to see her gorgeous face. You closed your eyes, albeit a bit hesitantly as you screwed them shut, wallowing the quiet, wordless atmosphere fostered in the darkness once dimly illuminated by a tiny flame.

Or rather, former silence.

Your eyes almost immediately shot open at the abrupt chime of a distant shamisen echoing miles away in the dead of night. The smooth strums continued to ring in your ears in a soothing, yet harsh melody. Strange. They often didn’t hold any kabuki theater plays this late at night. You remained perplexed at the endless melodic chimes of the shamisen, yet oddly relaxed. Unable to comprehend the reason behind such a noise drifting through the streets so late, yet enjoying the comfort it enveloped you in.

Such a shame your comfort tore away from you, this night possibly being the last night you could even lay eyes upon your lover. You were sure you’d shattered everything you had with one simple comment alone. In this moment, you were no better than the man who had betrayed her in the past.

No.

No. You could never be apart from Mizu.

She was everything to you. You were nothing but determined to repair what you had supposedly shattered, using all you had to get the pieces to snap back together as with every ounce of internal strength you could muster if that’s what it took.

You sat up in one fluid motion, weakly dragging yourself over to Mizu’s futon while swallowing back the urge to just head back and sleep, ignoring the notion that this wouldn’t make it any better. Her body rose and fell with each breath she took in her slumber, eyes shut with a weary expression even as she slept. Without hesitation, you adjusted yourself to curl up directly behind her in a spooning position of sorts, arms encircling her waist almost immediately as you pressed your nose against her nape.

Mizu only shot you a quizzical glare, blinking groggily at the sight of your arms tightly fastened around her waist.

“Your bed is over there, you know.”

“These futons are enough for two people. Besides, I want to sleep next to my husband.” You muttered against her skin, breath fluttering against her nape in a warm embrace. Her breath caught in her throat at the mention of the false title the two of you had to act on, muscles tensing up in your grasp.

“What if I kill you? I am a demon after all.” She reiterated, a bitter edge cutting a pang of anguish directly into the existing wound of guilt embedded within you. “I don’t care..” you choked out in a shaky voice, dragging your lower lip between your teeth to suppress the tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Mizu.”

…

The entire room fell silent once more, your heart threatening to burst out of your chest as soon as you felt the warm embrace of Mizu’s arms tightly curled around you, squeezing you to her chest as her face was buried within your hair.

“I shouldn’t have brushed you off like that either.”

You shook your head against her chest, a few tears rolling down your cheeks as Mizu’s expression relaxed, softening as she held you close to herself. Both of you remained in eachother’s embrace for a bit, relishing in the warmth of your wholehearted adoration. Despite the ridges that walled between you two at times, you would always come back to her. You know full well that she meant everything to you, while she reciprocated the same. She only hushed any more apologies spilling profusely from you, holding you tighter.

“Please..Mizu..let me do anything to make it up to you. Anything at all.”

You’ll never forget the sudden flare of hunger roused in her pupils as those words vibrated in her ears, bare hands outlining your body up to dig into your shoulders. Her voice came out in a quiet hum as she pursed her lips together, shaky hands fighting the ravenous desire to yank down the shoulders of your kimono right then and there.

“Anything?”

It didn't take long for you to catch onto her implication, your breath fanning in a series of shallow exhales as your torso pressed to hers with an urgent desire aflame within every drop of blood, every rushing fiber within your body screaming her name. Tilting your head up, you only rasped out a breathless plea as your lips ghosted over Mizu's, her heart pounding furiously against her chest to which you could quite literally feel from the clothed chest to chest proximity.

A palpable heat crept into the air as it fogged the atmosphere between you two, the tension fostered thick with a lustful infatuation hinted with the beauty of love itself. You couldn’t even pretend to hold yourself back, practically lunging yourself at Mizu as your lips smashed against her own, locking yourself in a passionate grasp accompanied by her hands wandering your body shamelessly as if she wanted to tear everything off without regard.

You gasped against her lips in response to her tightened hands bunching up fistfuls of your kimono silk, bundled up within her grasp as her tongue dragged along your lower lip, completely lost in the intense craving to devour you whole. Leaning back, you didn’t resist her hands tracing the darkened silhouette of your figure to slide down the shoulders of your clothing, urging her to undress you completely as you writhed in the unbearable heat your clothes trapped you in.

It didn’t take long for you to lay before her, flat against your back fully bare while your eyes lingered over Mizu’s now unclothed form as well, taking in every part of her nude body as you felt your face burn a deep crimson from the sheer beauty of the sight before your eyes. You couldn’t help but lose yourself in those gorgeous blue eyes, now heavy lidded and misted over with a covetous desire boring into your own.

Her lips found their way across your skin, kissing down your collarbone and tracing to your lower abdomen, hands snaked below your thighs as her gaze fixed on yours from below. You heard the subtle echo of your heartbeat thudding in the clearing as Mizu halted her movements for a second, seemingly having a thought interrupt her sensual touches along your body.

“Love..? Is something-“

“Hold on. I have something.” She interjected, reaching down into the discarded pile of clothing to scramble for a small—or rather large, rectangular box, fitted perfectly into her grasp as she lifted open the lid carefully. Breath hitching at the sight, your eyes flickered over to the phallic object firmly curled between her fingers, the length a nasty contrast to her earlier gentle kisses. You blinked in surprise at the fact that Mizu just- had a harigata on her, opening your mouth yet quickly snapping it shut as you didn’t exactly wanna question why she was carrying it around so casually.

You only responded to the sight with your heart throbbing in rapid beats, along in tandem with feeling a different kind of tingling fluttering between your thighs as you squeezed them shut upon seeing Mizu fasten the object around her waist.

—

“Fucking hell- you like that don’t you? You enjoy getting filled by a demon?”

Mizu hissed through her grit teeth as her hands squeezed at the flesh of your wrists, keeping them held down against the futon as her hips slammed forward into you to meet her skin against your with every fervent thrust. Your mouth hung open as your body jerked up everytime she bottomed out inside you, tear streaks coating your cheeks like a fashionable look to getting your insides wrecked by your lover.

Every wash of pleasure surged through your body as your walls accommodated to stretch out in response to the girth of her cock, clenching the velvety insides of your cunt to trap her inside, only to be met with her sliding the harigata out to drive back into you once more with a monstrous force. Eyes rolling back in bliss, you dragged your lower lip between your teeth in response to the rush of your blood igniting your body on fire, nails digging into Mizu’s back in response to the drag of her cock along your insides.

It was difficult to handle her rough movements ridging within the vice of your pussy, the tip of her faux cock circling that one spot inside you to drive you utterly insane. You were mad with lust as you clawed at Mizu for more whenever she paused, rolling your hips up with an aching need as a sinful ring of your slick, moist against the toy bounced off the walls of the room, only driving your girlfriend to drill you into the futon with a heightened arousal clouding her eyes.

Strings of incoherent cries and moans fell from your lips in a series of pathetic whimpers, wanton pants heaving your chest up and down as her cock lodged within you comfortably. Mizu grinded skin to skin with heightened desperation, using her strength to hold you down and reach that one spot that made you sob in ecstasy as she wrung you dry.

Her muscles tightened as her thrusts grew more rapid, face contorting in pleasure further on as if she was lost in it. She stared down at you as she fucked your into the futon harshly, grip tightening around your wrists and pushing you further without regard for anything but making you squirt all over the harigata. Strangely enough, her eyes shone with that same glint she harbored whenever she lusted for blood, brows furrowing as her pupils seemed transcendent and full hate, yet loving and burrowed in your pleasure.

“Say that you love it. Or are you so fucked out you can’t even let out a pathetic whimper?”

She gasped out a breathy laugh in response to your sobs, only jamming her hips further into you in a seemingly enraged manner.

“Oh? You can’t even talk? Such a shame. Here I thought you had a problem with demons bastards like me?”

She leaned her face in nose length with yours, meeting eye to eye with you as she continued rolling her hips harshly against yours.

“Say it. Say you’re sorry.”

Her girthy cock sunk into you at the command, only earning a cry ripped from your lips while you stared at the perverse sight of the dildo sheathing in and out of you sloppily, her hand moving to grasp your cheeks together and elicit a sharp cry. Mizu’s relentless thrusts spun your mind in a haze of euphoria, making you sputter out an apology despite being fucked into the mattress roughly without stopping for even a split second.

“I’m- m- mmh-!”

She rolled her eyes at the pitiful attempt, squeezing your face to look at her while she plowed into you with each powerful thrust nearly knocking the wind out of you.

“M’sorry! I’m sorry Mizu! I won’t ever- ah-! I won’t ever say that again please!”

You whined out, a smile crossing the woman’s features as she touched her forehead to yours, her thrusts keeping the same pace yet seeming far more controlled and gentle now. Mizu sighed against the crook of your neck, delicately peppering your skin to juxtapose her previously harsh and fervent movements against your poor, abused cunt. Her thumb darted down to circle your already swollen clit, hesitating momentarily before massaging the puffy bundle of nerves along with the gentle flurry of kisses along your collarbone.

It didn’t take long before Mizu’s hips plunged deep within you, her cock making one final movement before your juices ran down the dildo to dampen the futon, staining it in a darker color pooled between your trembling thighs. Unfasting the strap, she carefully withdrew herself from your pussy, setting aside the harigata as she pressed up to your limp body in an affectionate hold. Arms encompassing your heaving body, pressing kisses to the shell of your ear in acknowledgment that you did in fact do well for her, Mizu showered you with every action she could to possibly make you feel loved.

After your breathing subsided, Mizu thoughtfully rested her chin against your shoulder, humming to herself in satisfaction as you let out a shaky exhale.

“(Name)?”

“Mhm..?”

“I know we’re just putting on the whole husband and wife thing as an act but when we can…when I kill the remaining three..”

You tilted your head up, being met with a gentle kiss encompassing your body in a scorching flare of passion as she hemmed her arms around you tightly, like a promise to never let go.

“Marry me. Be my wife when everything is over. We can live away from everything. I’ll give you whatever you need- no..whatever you want.”

You were too spent to respond.

So with a smile, you manged a tender nod.



A/N: okay yall may like this but ima be fully honest…

I FUCKING HATE HOW THIS TURNED OUT SO MUCH ITS SO BAD.

IT DOESNT GIVE THE SAME VIBE AS MY USUAL MIZU FICS WHY DID I WRITE IT SO BAD FORGIVE ME

anyway my next mizu fic will actually be good trust sorry for making this ass anon 💔

[sunderwight]

Thinking about Black Widow Luo Binghe.

Hear me out -- so just like in canon, Shen Qingqiu self-destructs to save Luo Binghe, dies, and Luo Binghe steals his body to put on ice while he looks for methods to resurrect him. But unlike in canon, staving off decomposition is simply not that doable for a matter of years, even with cultivation and Luo Binghe pouring qi into the process. The qi costs are still high, so is Xin Mo, and now Binghe also needs a special artifact that can actually preserve Shen Qingqiu, but that runs on blood sacrifices.

To get the thing working, Luo Binghe feeds it a bunch of prisoners from the Water Prison. Then he starts kidnapping cultivators to drain for his own qi reserves, but that's difficult, controversial, and he can't use the same victims for the blood sacrifice afterwards. Frankly, between one thing and another it would be easier to satisfy Xin Mo with dual cultivation, and focus on finding victims for Shizun's Snow White style glass preservation coffin without having to choose between using targets for one or the other. Especially given that, if he finesses it, Luo Binghe can extend the use of his sacrifices and get more out of them with fewer deaths that way.

He's pretty sure that Shizun would want fewer deaths.

Of course, he is not a fan of the logistics of the plan itself, but he'd do worse things to one day be reunited. He consoles himself that he's building up bedroom experience for one day being with Shen Qingqiu, and that it doesn't really count because his heart's not really in it, and also if Shizun got to spend all that time in brothels then it's only fitting that Luo Binghe be his equal in this as well. It still doesn't make it pleasant for him, but it makes him able to tolerate the necessity of it.

So Luo Binghe ends up marrying a string of rich and powerful figures -- mostly the villainous single fathers and mothers and evil uncles of harem members from PIDW, rather than their daughters -- and coming up with creative ways of making all their deaths a few months into the process look like accidents. After the third one people are undeniably wary of marrying him, but there's always someone with a big enough ego to think they'll be an exception, or stupid enough to believe that it really has just been so much bad luck up to that point. It helps that the universe is predisposed to let him hit it.

When SY wakes up in the shroom body and hears about Luo Binghe's succession of marriages, he's not surprised. What he is surprised by is the bisexual graveyard of toxic dilfs and milfs that has replaced the harem.

What did he do to cause that?!

And what does Luo Binghe mean that he wants to marry his own shizun now? Is this his new method of revenge??? Binghe, you don't have to marry someone to kill them!

[obaewankenobis]

till forever falls apart; finnick odair

pairing: finnick odair x reader (female pronouns, y/n not used)

word count: 10.6k

summary: not quite friends, but not quite lovers; you and finnick odair have been living in a careful balance that always leaves the both of you wanting more. when the third quarter quell arrives, you realize it’s better to be late than never.

warnings: typical hunger games stuff like child murder, forced prostitution, etc... slight mention of like suicidal thoughts but it's brief. smut (fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v, i can't remember anything else, pretty vanilla stuff).

notes: there's kind of a lot of plot which i was nawwwt expecting. my bad if you're not into that i guess i know a lot of people look forward to the freaky stuff and it's def not my strong suit so i apologize 😭.

It was a little fucked up, the way you actually looked forward to being summoned to the Capitol.

Yes, they’d tortured your district for generations by killing children for decades upon decades. 

During your games, they starved you, maimed you, and forced you to kill other innocent children when you were just sixteen–a child by any means.

The torture hadn't stopped after the games, either. Even the nightmares were a walk in the park compared to the prostitution that awaited you in the Capitol. The looming threat of your family’s safety being compromised should you dare get any ideas of disobeying. 

So yes, it was a bit crazy to have a smile tug at the corner of your lips when a peacekeeper knocked on your door and told you President Snow had summoned you to the Capitol for the End of Victory Tour celebration. 

The smile, like always, was followed by quiet humming and a little skip in your step as you’d hurried to pack what few possessions actually mattered to you.

The reason for this temporary insanity was simple: whatever despair and destruction the Capitol had thrown at you, they’d also given you something to make up for it, even if it was purely unintentional. The apology came in the form of Finnick, another victor who’d shown you the ropes after you’d been crowned the year after him.

Being from different districts, the only time you were able to see him was when you’d both been called to the Capitol.

Gazing out the window as the station came into view, you sighed and imagined what you’d do upon arriving.

You take in the bright pinks and yellows of the stone streets, the rainbows that glittered against stained glass windows as the sun shone through them. The looming presence of snow-capped mountains provided a dramatic background and suit of armor around the Capitol, a stark contrast from the bright, bubbly city. 

For such an evil, awful place, it was breathtakingly beautiful. Your body had the same reaction it did the first time the train had screeched to a halt: completely frozen in time, so still a breath could not be squeezed from your lungs.

You hated the feelings that overcame you, of such paralyzing fear it made you weak. Hated how your fingers became so shaky it took you several attempts to button up your coat. Hated how your legs were so unsure of themselves you feared you’d collapse if you stood up too suddenly.

All of a sudden you were sixteen again, a terrified  tribute arriving in the Capitol like a lamb for slaughter.

You hated coming back here every six months at the very least — once for the Games, once for the tour, and however many times you were summoned by Capitol citizens. 

The Games were obviously hard–and so was the business you did in the Capitol–but the Victory Tours were a special form of torture. You hated looking at the winner, because they always seemed so lost and terrified, trembling like a lone leaf on a branch as the wind whistled through.

This past year had been a little different — there'd been two Victors this time, and their win sparked something in the districts that you’d never seen in your life. You didn’t hold any hope there would be long lasting change, but you were glad to see this year’s Victors weren’t alone. You wished you could’ve had that.

A gust of wind sweeps through the door as a Capitol attendant opens it, bringing you back to reality, and you force a small smile as the sunlight hits your face.

Waves of bronze hair catches your eye, and it takes everything in you not to jump from the platform and run to greet him.

He’s as beautiful as ever; the sun turning his hair a nice gold. His skin is a little paler and his hair is a little darker, given the winter months, but it’s only noticeable to you because you’ve spent hours running your fingers through it; spent days admiring the way water sluiced off his skin and glistened while he swam. 

You notice him immediately–not just because you’ve been subconsciously searching, but because he’s never greeted you at the station before. It’s then you notice dark circles under his eyes, the way they’re glassy with fatigue, and the rigidness of his posture. Your eyes narrow slightly and you open your mouth to greet him, when his arms open wide in invitation to his embrace. It’s then you know something’s really, really wrong.

Because as much as you care for Finnick, and as much as you know he cares for you, he’s never been so openly affectionate with so many people watching.

It’s part of the agreement you have; around others you’re polite, friendly even, and everything else you actually yearn for is tucked away behind closed doors.

So, when you wrap your arms around his neck, you’re hoping it's brief, because you don’t want to get used to being so close to him in public. And when you begin to pull away, you’re startled to find him gripping you close to his body, lips brushing your ear so he can whisper something without anyone else knowing or overhearing.

“I need you to meet me in my room in half an hour. It’s important. Don’t be late,” he says quietly, urgently, before suddenly releasing you. It doesn’t sound like one of your late night rendezvous, unless he’s wound really tight and that desperate for release — no, this seems far bigger than that.

When he finally leans back, you grasp his forearms and study him, searching for answers in his eyes and only being met with apprehension. 

Forcing a small smile, all you can say is, “It’s good to see you too, Finnick.”

He squeezes your hand in his own for a brief moment before disappearing, leaving you alone with two Capitol attendants who are supposed to just be carrying your bags to your quarters — but you know they’re guards in disguise, making sure you have nowhere to go.

It’s exactly twenty eight minutes later when you appear in front of Finnick’s door, a hand raised to knock when it flies open. 

He’s a little more relaxed, though you can see the tension in the ticking of his jaw and the tight grip he has on the door. Still, the corners of his mouth lift upward in a smile as his eyes land on you. “I was worried you’d be late. Y’know, you’ve never been a very punctual person.”

“I’ve never seen you so high strung before.” You shrug, “Thought I might hurry my ass up for once, in case you had a heart attack.”

He laughs, a lovely melody that makes your insides melt a little whenever you hear it, but you can tell his mind is occupied. “We should get going.”

“Yeah, about that… where exactly are we going?” You ask, though you know deep down you’d follow him anywhere. 

“You’re asking so many questions. You don’t trust me?” He asks teasingly, flashing you a smile, and you’re overwhelmed for a moment because Finnick was like the sun — golden and glowing, blindingly radiant from the smile on his lips down to the tips of his toes.

You do trust him — and as he leads you to an awaiting black car, you reassure yourself that he’s not leading you to your imminent death.

Well, maybe you were wrong. Because the words coming out of Finnick’s mouth–backed by Plutarch Heavensbee of all people–are nothing short of treasonous. And in Panem, treason is inevitably followed by death, or a fate so much worse death seems merciful.

“You’re sure she’s not going to say something?” Plutarch asks, and you think it’s because you haven't said a word since they told you about it all. About District 13, the stirrings of rebellion in the Districts, the plan to escalate into a full scale rebellion with the newest victors from 12 — Katniss and Peeta — being the face of said rebellion.

“No, we can trust her. I promise,” Finnick nudges you with his shoulder, as if urging you to confirm what he’s said.

You look around to the others in the room at the Heavensbee mansion: Beetee Latier from Three, Johanna Mason from Seven, and Haymitch Abernathy from Twelve. They don’t look nearly as surprised as you do, so you suspect you’re one of the last people to be told this news. 

“Yeah— I just… you really think it’ll work?” You cringe as your voice comes out in a dry croak.

“We won’t know unless we try,” Plutarch says, and you wonder why he’s in on whatever this is. He’s just been promoted to Head Gamemaker, and he lives in this mansion that spans the entire street and is packed to the brim with books and priceless art. Surely there’s nothing wrong with his life that would make him want to rebel. “You and Six are the only ones we haven’t talked to… and we need as much unity between the Districts as we can get.”

“Okay,” You say after a moment, willing your voice not to shake. It's less fear and more excitement at the prospect of something better in your future. 

You can hear Finnick’s audible sigh of relief, hear the soft scratch of his chair against the floor as he pushes it back, and feel the softness of his lips against your temple as he kisses you.

You wish he wouldn’t do that. Not because you’re embarrassed that anyone would see it, but because it just serves as a reminder that he’s just out of your reach. Every touch or kiss was on stolen time, and one day, the feeling you got around him would catch up to you in the most devastating way possible.

So, instinctively, you duck down in an attempt to escape him, and try not to notice the slight frown that overtakes his features.

“I’ve kept you all long enough,” Plutarch says in  dismissal, checking his watch. “The victory party is tonight, and I would hate for any of you to miss seeing the little lovebirds.”

“C’mon.” Finnick grabs your hand and tugs you to your feet. “We’ve got to get all prettied up.”

“Excuse me,” you scoff. “I’m perfect just the way I am. You on the other hand…” you look him up and down. “Well, we’d better hurry up.”

He gasps and clutches his chest like he’s been struck. You know he knows it's a joke, because there truly is nothing prettier on this earth than Finnick Odair.

The brief joy you feel when you see Finnick can only last so long.

While they’re not particularly awful, just annoying, looking into the faces of your prep team makes you nauseous. All it does is throw you back to nearly a decade ago when you were a tribute. 

And, sometimes, being constantly reminded of the horrors you endured made you wish you died in that arena. Not all the time, but sometimes.

“Arms up!” Shrills Iris, who resembles a lemon the way she’s dressed head to toe in bright yellow. You obey the command on instinct. Something cool, almost metallic, slides over your body. The dress is made of a thousand tiny silver-white jewels, each rope swishing and clicking against one another when you move. Matching jewelry weighs down your ears and neck, twinkling and making you appear to be a jewel yourself.

“All done!” The woman beams, clapping her hands together and practically shoving you out the door and towards the direction of the car waiting to drive to the President’s mansion.

You’re sure making victors attend every celebration in the Capitol brings Snow a special kind of pleasure. It’s probably the only kind of joy he ever feels in his life, looking at the miserable faces of past tributes and knowing that because of him, their bodies have either been sold to the highest bidder or withered away due to addiction — or sometimes, in the worst cases, both.

You are grateful for the chance to see the newest Victors, though. You want to be in their presence and somehow have them light a spark of hope in you.

“You were right,” a voice behind you says. You turn to see Finnick. 

“What?”

“Earlier,” he continues, his eyes briefly flitting to your dress before returning to your eyes. “You are perfect just the way you are.”

“I—” Stupidly, you can feel a hotness in your cheeks, and know he’s managed to make you blush. He always does that, finds a way to make you stumble over your own words. “Thanks. I think I was right, too.”

“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow.

“You do look so much better all dolled up,” you tease, using this as an excuse to take him all in. He, of course, looks breathtaking, which is a bit annoying because you’ve never seen him be anything less. He’s wearing a seafoam colored shirt that brings out the green in his eyes. It’s nearly see through, mostly where his muscle strains against the fabric. It gives everyone a glimpse of his body you feel honored to have seen up close, but it also makes you feel sad at how obviously he’s being objectified. His trousers are a light linen, and you frown again at how… Well, conservatively he’s dressed, despite the sheerness of the shirt.

“I haven’t seen you this covered up in years, shouldn’t you be practically naked?” You blurt out, and you’re rewarded with another laugh that makes your heart sing.

“If you want to see me naked, sweetheart, all you have to do is ask,” he grins, the tips of his teeth peeking through his lips.

“I meant,” you clear your throat and will the blush in your cheeks to subside, “Normally you’re a lot more… distracting.” Well that doesn’t sound any better now that you’ve said it out loud.

“Distracting, hmm? I’m free in…” He pretends to check the imaginary watch on his wrist. “Just a couple hours, if you are. Your place or mine?”

“Finnick,” you grit your teeth. You know he knows what you mean, and yet he still teases.

“Ye-es,” he replies in an almost sing-song voice before his expression becomes a little more serious. “I’m not supposed to take away from the lovely couple tonight. Apparently I can be a little distracting. Did you know that?” His eyes twinkle with more laughter you’re dying to hear.

“You? Distracting? Never,” you reassure him, patting his chest as you move past, trying not to notice how his eyes linger on you.

You disappear into the crowd, not only in search of a drink, but some different company. You, Finnick, and alcohol were a deadly mix you swore you’d never combine again. Luckily, there's no shortage of people holding trays of drinks, from bubbling champagne to deep red wines, and you quickly pluck a glass of rosé. 

You’re not sure how much time has passed, all you know is that you’ve just finished your third glass and are reaching for a fourth when your stomach starts rumbling. You realize then you haven't eaten since you’d been on the train. It’s not that there wasn’t any food at this party, there was, in fact, an excess, but it was so rich you were worried it would only further upset your already queasy stomach.

The voice that finally made you understand the phrase butterflies in your stomach calls your name, and you can't help but smile as you turn around and see Finnick holding a plate of shrimp drenched in a red sauce, setting it down on the bar in front of you. Your favorite. 

“Thank you!” You can’t contain yourself as you throw your arms around his neck, nearly brought to tears as you think of how delicious the shrimp would be. “I am sooo hungry.”

Finnick doesn’t even budge at the force of you throwing your weight towards him;he probably knew you were going to do that, just as he knew you hadn’t eaten. He knew you eerily well, Observing you must take up a lot of his time. “I figured you could use a break between all that wine.”

You smell the alcohol on his breath and know he's been doing his fair share of drinking, but that’s not the only indicator — the touching becomes almost second nature when he’s got enough alcohol in him. 

Although you’ve pulled away from him, his fingers curl around your waist to keep you in front of him, his thumb drawing circles on the small of your back. You can feel his chest pressed against your back, feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest as you lean into him. He’s a sturdy and comforting presence behind you. You tell yourself as you lean back that it’s to steady your feet, but you know deep down you long to feel his skin against yours, and you’re too drunk to think about the consequences of people seeing you.

“How much longer do we have to stay here?” he whispers, and you suppress a shudder at the tingles that erupt up and down your whole body, starting where his lips touched your ear.

“We haven't even seen Katniss or Peeta yet.” You hate how breathless your voice has become as his hand trails down to rest on your hip.

“I was being serious earlier, you know,” he says, and you're so close to him you can hear his heart race. Why would he be nervous to ask you to come over? It was casual, you were friends. Friends who helped each other out sometimes, but friends above everything. Being anything more terrified you.

“Really?” You pretend not to notice the pounding of his heart or the sharp intake of his breath. “Mine or yours?” It's funny to pretend either of you really have a place here — the training center’s living quarters hardly count as home.

“Mmm, we can decide later,” he says, suddenly pulling away. Cold air nips where his body once stood, and you’re thinking he’s finally come to his senses about being so handsy in public, but then he’s dragging you to the tile platform where people are dancing, and he’s sweeping you into his arms. 

The shrimp is long forgotten, as is the grumbling of your stomach. It’s too busy forming knots as you sway.

“You didn't even ask if I wanted to dance,” you smile, one hand instinctively going to Finnick’s shoulder while the other grasps one of his. His free hand rests on your lower back.

“Do you want to dance?” He drinks in the sight of you, savoring how close you’ve become.

“Yes,” your voice is barely above a whisper. The music is slow and soulful, and all you can do is stare at one another.

“Good,” he says, but you’re not sure how good this really is.

There was a reason you’d created rules for this whole… arrangement in the first place. You drew a hard line in the sand that Finnick kept trying to cross.

When Snow first told you what happened to desirable victors, you hadn’t believed him. And then, two days later, your boyfriend wound up dead. A freak accident at the power plant, they’d said, but you knew. Deep down you knew the timing was too close to be a coincidence, that Snow really did mean what he’d said about everyone you loved dying if you didn't comply.

You were terrified of the same thing happening to Finnick, so much so it was the only recurring nightmare that occupied your brain.

He’d been the one to suggest it be nothing more than just sex, though, probably for the same reasons that had held you back from asking for anything more. And, yeah, that should’ve been what you wanted, but you could admit to yourself that you were a hypocrite. For wanting all the good parts of him, but not the danger that came with it. For wanting him to be able to look past his own fears and want more from you, but not being willing to do the same. 

“When should we leave?” Your palms have grown sweaty at the unspoken desires racing through your brain, so you use it as an excuse to disentangle your arms from his body and rearrange them to clasp around the back of his neck.

To steady yourself, of course.

Now, both of his hands are on your hips and he draws you even closer so that you’re chest to chest, so close your breaths become one.

“Not yet.” His voice is soft, even pleading. “One more song.”

Upon closer inspection you find he’s tipsy, but not drunk. He’s a little looser but still of a sound mind, which is why it’s even more terrifying to look at him, because you can't think of a time where the two of you have acted like this fully sober. Neither of you are under the influence of drugs, or alcohol, or even overwhelming emotion that would make you do crazy things. Except the morning after the first time.

The sexual attraction had always been there, but the first time either of you acted on it had been after a particularly wild night that left the both of you to fill in the blanks as you woke up next to him, naked in your bed.

“I’m so sorry — so so sorry! Things got so out of control last night, it was a mistake,” you’d said hastily before he could say the same. You’d rather not be rejected when your head was pounding and you’d felt so sick. You’d clutched the sheets tight to your chest, suddenly self conscious by how bare you were.

“It doesn’t have to be,” he'd said it so casually you thought you'd misheard him at first. You probably looked as confused as you were, because he continued, “ It doesn’t have to be a mistake. I like you, I like… this,” he gestured to the two of you, and when you said nothing, he added hurriedly, “It doesn’t have to be anything. Actually, forget I even said—”

You'd cut him off with a kiss, and had fallen back against the silk sheets with the intention to burn every inch of him to memory, since you couldn’t remember the previous night and cursed yourself for it.

“Hello-ooo,” Finnick’s voice tore you back to reality. “Did you even hear what I said? The song’s over, we can leave now.”

You don’t really want to leave, but you suppose it’s for the best, so you nod and let him lead you to one of the many black cars that sit outside the President’s mansion. One designated for the tributes and victors that only drove to and from the training center. 

Finnick wishes he could read your mind, especially when you get that glazed over look in your eye, the one that signals you were in a land far away from here.

All night, he’d wanted to tell you how beautiful you looked. 

Glittery, silver eyeshadow made it look like your eyes were really sparkling when you looked at him. In a dress that was tailored to fit you just right, hugging you in all the right places and flowing down to your ankles, yet somehow leaving a tantalizing amount of bare skin exposed.

Your smile completed everything, though. The way it met your eyes when you saw him across the room… he’d do just about anything to make sure you’d smile at him like that again.

When he’d led you to the dance floor in the gardens, it’d been for his own selfish reasons. Not just that he wanted an excuse to hold you close to him, but because he knew you’d look exquisite against the night sky littered with stars. The moon bathed you in a softness that made you glitter and glow, every beam that struck your figure only further highlighting your beauty until he was certain you were from another world entirely.

He’d especially wanted to tell you how you looked then. But like the rest of the night, whenever he opened his mouth, his mouth went dry and his tongue became stuck in the back of his throat, forcing him into silence.

You might think he was the sun, but he thought you were the moon.

He looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky every night just for him.

If only you were willing to see it, instead of whatever twisted reality you’d decided was the truth.

He feels like he’s in somewhat of a daze as he leads you to the car, feels out of his body when the two of you push past his door in a tangled mess of hands and teeth and tongue. 

It’s rough and fast and everything he’s not feeling as your lips attach to different spots on his neck and suck hard enough to leave marks. When he’s sure there’s not a spot left untouched by you, he begins to return every bruising kiss you’ve left with some of his own with enough force to match. His lips detach from yours and dip down to your neck, your chest, until he’s biting at your breasts, sucking your nipple into his mouth with a hunger he hasn’t felt in so long.

He wants to feel you, taste you, hear you — he wants his whole being to be consumed by you. He removes his mouth to continue his kisses down your body, relishing in the soft moans he manages to elicit from you and committing every sound to memory, like he’s never going to get this opportunity again. He kisses between your breasts, down your stomach, and purposely skips past where he’s sure you want him most before settling his lips on your inner thighs, his kisses turning almost lazy.

He wants to continue this slow pace, like you have all the time in the world, but that’s just not how the two of you do things 

It’s not a show, or even a display of real passion — no, it’s just two pathetic people making the best out of a lousy situation, acting like physical pleasure will somehow cure the constant ache of your hearts.

He fears the sweetness he seeks from you is souring at that realization.

It’s not that he doesn’t want this. Oh no, he’s been thinking about this since the moment he saw you in that dress and measured how difficult it would be to take it off. Actually, if he was being completely honest with himself, he’d been thinking about this the moment he saw you step off the train platform.

It’s that he wants all of this and more, but he’s not sure how to go about it. It’s not like they’re being totally subtle, but if Snow found out… he’d likely use it against both of you. You’d be just another thing for Snow to hold over his head, another person for him to worry about, and Snow would probably do the same to you.

So maybe, if Finnick continued pretending this was nothing more than casual sex and you were nothing more than a good friend, Snow would be convinced too. 

“Finnick,” you’re breathless beneath him. “What’s wrong? You sort of spaced out for a sec… we can stop if you want.”

No, he doesn’t want to stop, but it’s probably the first time he’s ever been asked that. 

He shakes his head, both to answer you and to clear his head, and leans over to kiss you again. 

He’s glad you don’t press it further, not as his tongue finally laps at your clit and elicits a loud gasp from you that gives him the self satisfaction to continue.

Your fingers card through his hair and pull instinctively when he adds his fingers. Now it’s his turn to moan, and the vibrations make you shudder.

All this does is spur him on, wanting to hear the little moans and whimpers from you that he’s grown so familiar with. They only make him harder to the point where it’s almost painful, but it does nothing to slow him as he continues flicking and swirling his tongue. In fact it has the opposite effect, he only becomes more earnest and determined in his efforts.

When he adds a finger he feels a sharp tug at his roots and knows he’s doing the right things.

Since that very first night, Finnick Odair had thought you were too good to be true and too easy to slip through his fingers. So he made it his mission to commit you to memory, treating every encounter like it would be the last one. As a result, he knows every sensitive spot you have, every noise you make and what they mean.

When he gently sucks on your clit and lets his teeth graze it, he knows it’s only a matter of minutes before you become undone. Your hips buck towards him, begging for more, and he obliges with sliding in another finger.

He detaches his mouth for a second so he can soak up the memory of you like this. Your head is thrown back against the pillow and your hair strewn in every direction. A faint sheen of sweat has appeared on your face as you pant, eyes are screwed shut with pleasure.

You’re so beautiful he cursed himself for stopping, even for a moment. At that moment, he doesn’t care about his own pleasure, all he can think about when he closes his eyes and returns his mouth is the image of you.

You’re together when the theme of the Quarter Quell is announced.

The day starts out normal enough. You both have your… clients to attend to, but when Finnick walks through the doors of the apartment you’d been given to share with several other Victors who were bought by the Capitol, you can push the awfulness of the day aside to soak up as much of him as you can before one of you is sent back to your district.

When he suggests a shower, the horrors of the past few hours are washed down the drain when the hot water pours over you. It’s so hot that Finnick begins to complain that he’s starting to feel — and look — like a lobster being boiled alive.

“But now I’m cold,” you whine with your back to him, clattering your teeth together for dramatic effect.

“Really?” He’s inched closer, and suddenly you’re not shivering from the cold.

He is all consuming.

When you emerge from the shower you find your fingers pruney and the mirrors all fogged up — you've been in there far too long.

The two of you finally separate to get ready for bed, and when you finally slide into the bed next to Finnick, his arm instinctively goes around your shoulders. 

He’s flicking through different Capitol channels that are all different forms of mind numbing torture, before landing on the official news station where Snow is about to read from a card announcing the twist of the Third Quarter Quell.

“Oh! Wait, stop here, I forgot they were announcing it today,” you say.

“I don’t think it matters that much,” Finnick’s expression is sour, but he doesn’t turn the television off. “It’ll be just as difficult to mentor as any of the other Games.”

“I don’t know… I mean, I couldn’t even imagine trying to train two extra tributes,” you muse, thinking about the last Quell, and almost miss what Snow says next.

In the next moment, you almost wish you had missed it.

“...shall be reaped from the existing pool of victors.”

The two of you have vastly different reactions. Finnick immediately springs up from the bed and begins to pace, only stopping when he hears the sound of strangled sobs fighting their way past your lips. 

In an instant he’s next to you, wrapping both his arms around you and tugging you close to his chest. “It’ll be okay,” he tries to soothe, but his own voice is shaky and you suspect the embrace is meant to comfort him just as much as it is you.

I’ve wasted so much time, you realize, and the awful, choked noises you make turn into something so much worse.

You begin to weep, utterly defeated. There’s no fight left in you, and that’s why it’s worse than the short cries, or even hot, angry tears. Realizing the past nine years of torture hadn’t been worth it, and you really should have died in that arena. It would’ve been so much more merciful than whatever this was.

You’re the only living female victor from your district, there’s no hope for you. Finnick, at least, has a chance at not being reaped at all.

“We’ll figure something out,” Finnick continues. “You know… with everything that’s been going on.”

His reference, although vague, makes you think long enough that your cries have paused. Plutarch and Thirteen, you realize. Surely they would be scrambling to come up with a plan right now, because how could Katniss — their beloved Mockingjay — perform for them if she died in another arena? But saving her didn’t leave much room for the rest of you.

“You’re right,” you force out even if you don’t believe him, because you don’t want his calm demeanor to disappear. If he starts to panic you’re sure you’ll lose it completely.

“We should get to bed,” he says abruptly. “I think we’ll have somewhere to be tomorrow.”

There are three of you victors gathered around the dining table in Plutarch’s mansion with him. You, Finnick, and Beetee. You know there are more victors in on it, but you three are the only ones currently in the Capitol, and nobody wants to waste any time. When everyone else arrives for the games, whether as a mentor or tribute, they’ll be informed.

“We have a military, we have political unrest, and we have our symbol. We have everything we need to make this work. Do you know how rare this is?” Plutarch laments. “Thirteen has hovercrafts, so we’ll have a way to get you all out if we can figure out how to work around the forcefield.”

“Which is easier said than done,” Beetee adds. You’re not sure how to feel about him — he’s incredibly intelligent, that’s for sure. He’s such a genius you feel out of place in this discussion, because what could you possibly have to add when he could solve basically anything? 

He carries himself with such palpable sadness, though. His shoulders are always hunched like they’re physically weighed down with emotion, and you’ve never seen him without deep circles under his eyes.

“Can’t you just turn them off?” Finnick asks, turning to Plutarch, “You’re the head gamemaker.”

“I wish it was that easy, but it won’t work,” Plutarch shakes his head. “It’ll give Snow too much of a warning, we need it to be so sudden he’s left scrambling.”

“We have to blow it up,” Beetee squints his eyes, deep in thought. 

“Tell me what supplies you need and I’ll make sure they’re in the Cornucopia,” Plutarch promises. “But do you know how to do that? Can you figure it out?”

“It’s Beetee,” Finnick insists, “Of course he can.”

Beetee brushes off the compliment with a shake of his head. “It will require a lot…” he pauses at an odd place in the conversation, a habit of his you’ve picked up on, “... of calculations.”

“I could probably help with that,” you interject yourself into the conversation for the first time. “With the calculations, I mean. We do a lot of stuff like that at the power plants in Five.”

Plutarch breaks into a smile while Beetee nods his head slowly. “Excellent. Tell me what numbers you need, and I’ll get them for you.”

You nod earnestly, your chest swelling with a mix of emotions you haven’t felt in forever: confidence, pride, and hope. Like it isn’t just the talk of four lunatics around the dinner table, but a feasible option. A better future for Panem was being dangled above your head, just out of reach.

By the time you see Finnick again, that hope has been completely squashed in all the fuss of the week.

Right now, you’re both just tributes changing out of the ridiculous costumes you’d donned during the opening ceremony.

You’re not talking to him though, not after you saw him cozying up to Katniss Everdeen in nothing but a knotted golden net.

Rationally, you know you’re being a little ridiculous. The net isn’t his choice, it’s his stylist’s angle to get him sponsors. And he’s talking to Katniss in that awful persona he takes on when he’s in the Capitol, the personality everyone expects him to have.

Still, bile rises in your throat at the sight of them.

Trying to slip away unnoticed, though, proved to be difficult due to your illuminated costume shining bright against the evening sky. At least your stylist tried to make your outfit unique this time, dressing you up as lightning to represent Five’s industry of power. It’s still a poor imitation of Twelve’s fire costumes though, because they blow everyone else’s outfits out of the water with no competition.

You hear Finnick call your name as you hurry towards the tribute center and ignore him. You reach the elevator alone and turn around quickly, only to see Finnick standing as the doors closed on him.

Well, almost closing. A hand jutted through the elevator doors and forced them open again, revealing Finnick in all his glory — he hadn’t changed out of the net.

“Almost thought you were trying to avoid the pleasure of my company, honey.” His voice is annoyed and the nickname is not endearing but patronizing.

“Why don’t you go ask Katniss to keep you company?” You didn’t want to say anything, because really it’s irrational to think anything could be going on between him and Katniss, which just means that you look like a jealous fool and nothing else. But seeing him with someone so strong and sure of herself, the complete opposite of you, made you realize how quickly Finnick could slip through your fingers. He was so easy to lose.

“Sweetheart…” he begins, and you can tell he’s trying not to sound too amused, “The whole reason she’s in this mess is because she’s with Peeta. And… she’s seventeen. She’s a kid.”

Both good points, which only annoys you even further because it just proves you have no reason to feel the way you do. “Whatever,” you scoff, turning away from him and wondering how much longer this elevator is going to take. Please, let it be done.

It’s like someone’s answered your pleas because the door rings at the level four and it’s Finnick’s cue to steps off. “By the way,” he says over his shoulder. “I didn't know you were the jealous type. It’s cute.”

The door shuts before you have the chance to retort.

In training, it’s hard to do anything at all. The only things flashing in your mind are the faces of the tributes in your games and the tributes you failed to train. All of whom have been dead at least a year, but they haunt you just as much as they did on the first day. 

You’d gotten so close last year. Finch — a clever, redheaded girl — had made it to the final four before she’d died. It was the closest any of your tributes had gotten to victory since you’d been crowned.

She haunts you the most, the way she was little more than skin and bones by the time she died. A direct failure on your part; everyone had been rooting for the star crossed lovers or the stereotypical career from Two that they’d overlooked your tribute, no matter how hard you’d advocated for her and practically begged for sponsors.

“You alright?” Finnick sidles up beside you, holding a thick rope in his hand that’s tied suspiciously like a noose.

“Yep!” You force out a more cheery tone than you’d wished, and cringed at how sharp and on the verge of a breakdown you sounded. “I’m going to help Johanna out.”

Johanna Mason did not need help. She was throwing axes at one of the weapons stations when you popped up behind her and forced out a greeting.

She gives a little shriek and drops the axe dangerously close to her toes. “You see a girl with an axe in her hand and decide to jump her?” She seethes, “Do not do that! Or it’ll drop on your toes next time!”

Her words are furious, but you know she’s harmless at the moment. You know her well under unfortunate circumstances, from two years ago when your tributes had formed an alliance and the two of you had been forced to work alongside one another as mentors. 

Until the tribute from Seven split your tribute’s head open with an axe.

“Sorry,” you huff, picking up an axe and marveling at the weight of it. “I had to get away from Finnick. He’s been freaking me out lately.”

“Freaking you out… how?” Johanna narrows her eyes, and it's then you remember she’s in on the rebel plot to break Katniss out of the arena, and the rest of you if you were lucky.

Your eyes widen as you realize what she’s thinking. “Oh— not about that, he’s just… hovering. I don’t think I’ve spent this much time with him during the daytime since we first met.”

Johanna visibly relaxes and then rolls her eyes. “Please tell me you guys aren’t still doing that stupid friends with benefits thing. Please.”

“It’s not stupid!” You object, a little offended by the way she’s framing it. “I told you, it’s for the best… right now, at least.”

“You guys are such idiots,” she sighs, eyeing the axe in your hand. “Are you actually going to use that?”

With a shake of your head you hand it off to her carefully. “It’s just that… you know, with… Snow…” your voice drops to a whisper.

She cuts you off. “Yeah. I know.”

Oh. Yes, she does know exactly what you mean. A wave of shame overwhelms you and you open your mouth to shower her with apologies but she cuts you off.

“I don’t need you to pity me. Well—” She thinks about this for a moment and changes her mind. “Actually, if it makes you listen to what I’m gonna tell you, then yeah, poor me, all alone. Whatever. I’m telling you, you’re being a fucking idiot.”

“I am not—”

“You are!” Johanna hurls an axe at the board with so much force it breaks completely. “He likes you. It’s kind of sickening, actually, and so obvious. I mean, he’s literally staring at you right now— no, don’t look, brainless!”

“Johanna,” You begin, watching her pick up another axe. “I appreciate this tough love… aspect… whatever you have going on, but—”

“If you want to waste your last week alive pining for a guy you already have… be my guest. But don’t talk to me about it, it’s annoying.”

She’s crude, and mean, but she’s right. All the worries you have will be gone in a week. Either one of you will be dead, or you’ll be freed from the Capitol’s chains and in the safe hands of Thirteen.

“I don’t want to talk about him anymore,” you say abruptly. “How are you doing with this whole Quell thing?”

She snorts and throws another axe, her jaw tight with anger. “I don’t really want to talk about that.”

You’re starting to feel that maybe she hates you when she asks, “Have you ever thrown one of these before? I mean, probably not, judging by the way you were holding that one, but…”

“Yes, I’d love to learn!” You know that’s what she’s trying to ask. It’s her version of trying to be kind, even if it’s laced with insults and sarcasm.

A hint of a real smile appears, and you can't help but admire how pretty she is, behind all the anger.

For the next half hour, Johanna teaches you how to throw an axe, while you chit chat about mildly unimportant things. She soon gets bored of small talk and starts cursing the Capitol six ways to Sunday, and you think how nice it must be to be free about how you feel. 

Not that Johanna hasn’t paid the price for it— no, the Capitol deserves every spitting word she throws their way. You brush off her rants with nervous laughter and look around to see if anyone’s listening, because you still have your family at home, but deep down you agree. 

It’s refreshing though, to talk with a real friend who’s unafraid to speak her mind and actually understands what you’re going through. Your friends back home, however sweet, couldn’t even begin to know the half of it.

“I wish I could teach you something,” you say ruefully, wiping the beads of sweat from your forehead. “Working in power plants doesn't really prepare us for the Games.”

Johanna shrugs. “It wasn’t a trade, I was just helping you out. And… you’re the least insufferable person here, so I'd rather talk with you than anyone else.”

You’re sure it’s the kindest thing she’ll ever say to you, so all you do is grin and hand her an axe back. She catches your arm and pulls you close, like she’s going to hug you, but instead just leans in and whispers in your ear, “Don’t back out. Or I’ll actually have to kill you.”

You know what she’s talking about, and you know she’s not kidding this time.

Now it’s time to find another victim — err, friend — at a different station to continue avoiding Finnick. You spot him with Katniss, again, but to her credit she looks less than amused at whatever he’s saying. You squash the flame of jealousy beginning to burn in your stomach, because you’ve been over this with him already. That, and the fact that you don’t really have the right to be jealous in the first place.

Finnick looks up from the rope he’s fiddling with and his eyes find you, which now means you have to scramble to find a station.

You spot Cashmere at the archery station and make a beeline, relieved to see her brother is not with her, because it makes the introductions and inevitable awkward small talk a little more manageable.

“Hi,” you force out. Cashmere fixes you with an icy stare but says nothing for a long moment, she just observes. She’s terrifying, to say the least. To busy yourself you pick up a bow and fiddle with it a bit, examining the craftsmanship in an attempt to look busy.

“You shoot?” She says after a minute, her voice almost making you jump.

“Not… really…” And just like that, you’ve lost the singular ounce of interest she held for you.

You listen to the instructor as he tries to teach you how to shoot, but it's clear after the first few tries this is not your strong suit. 

You wish you’d been born into a district that gave you a natural advantage in the Games; you’d won yours by nothing more than sheer luck. Everyone who hadn’t been killed by starvation, dehydration, or mutts were too busy killing one another before they paid any attention to you.

You hear him before you see him, the soft chuckle as one of your arrows misses the target entirely. “You should take lessons from Katniss,” Finnick says lightly, but it only makes you frown.

“I’d like to see you try,” you grumble, but you don’t actually want him to try because you’re sure he’s legally required to be perfect at everything he does.

“Why don’t I show you how to throw a trident instead?” He suggests, and that's the last thing you want to do. What you want is time. Time to think about what Johanna said, if all this angst was even worth it when you’d be dead in a week. Time to think about what you actually want. 

Time, unfortunately, is a luxury a victor would never be able to afford, often wasting it locked in a prison of their own minds.

“Okay,” you concede finally. “I guess you’d be an okay teacher… I’ve heard you’re not half bad.”

The training week has come and gone, the interviews with Caesar Flickerman having been the last hurrah before they sent you all off to die. 

You tried, unconvincingly, to remind yourself of the rebel plot to break everyone out, but it did little to soothe your nerves. You suspected they didn’t let you in on everything; that much was clear by the silent communication between Finnick and Johanna.

All of these thoughts are racing through your mind and keeping you from sleeping. The pillows have been thrown around and the sheets have tangled and bunched around your legs as you toss and turn, trying to find a position that would pull you into at least a few hours of slumber.

All of your thoughts circle back to Finnick. Throughout the week you’d spent several nights in his bed, but tonight you’d both agreed you needed your rest to prepare for the day tomorrow. 

Still, you can’t worry about him any more knowing he’s just a floor below you. Throwing on a thin robe you make your way to the elevator, not exactly sure what you want but deciding your mind will be made up by the time you reach him. 

You don’t even have to raise your hand to knock, the door flies open and you’re met with sea green eyes that pierce right into yours. They’re clear of sleepiness and brighten as they land on you, so you know he’s been awake like you.

You walk past him and know he’s trailing behind you, closing the door to his bedroom once you’re both inside. “I want it to be like the first time.”

“What?” 

“You know, the first time we…” you trail off, suddenly shy, and hope he’ll fill in the blanks on his own. 

“Yeah… what about it?” Finnick’s eyebrows furrow into a slight frown, like he’s trying to remember that night, the one that’s hazy with emotions and drenched with alcohol.

“I just… I mean…” You struggle to find the words, because what about it is right. “I guess what I’m saying is I don’t want to think about the consequences.”

Not a whole truth, but enough of one. You want to be able to be with him one last time, and don’t care about the consequences because you're sure to be dead soon. 

There’s a long, drawn out pause as he looks at you. Really looks at you, like he’s staring straight into your soul. It’s so silent you’re sure he can hear the pounding of your heart as blood roars in your ears, sure he can feel the air that’s become suffocatingly thick with tension.

“Okay,” he says simply, and that’s all you need before you close the distance and kiss him.

You’ve kissed him many times before, but this one is different. You’re expecting it to be like the others, desperate and rough like you’d lose each other in a second. 

This one is slow, like you have all the time in the world. For this one night, only two things are really certain: you have Finnick, and Finnick has you. The ones that follow that first one are just as deliberate and calm, so much so that you lose track of time. While it couldn’t have been that long, it was beginning to feel like hours, any pause being reduced to nothing more than short breaks to breathe before you reconnected.

You’re so wrapped up in the feeling of his lips against yours that you don’t even notice you’re moving until the back of your legs hit the bed and you almost fall back.

He steadies you with a hand on your waist and pulls you back in for another kiss.

“Someone’s eager to get me in bed,” he mumbles against your lips with a smile.

“Am I that obvious?” You ask with a giggle, a little embarrassed at how breathless you sound.

“Nothing to be embarrassed about,” he pulls you closer until your body is flush against his and you can feel everything. “I think I’m a little more desperate.”

Yes, judging by the hardness you feel against your body, maybe he is.

This time you fall back intentionally, pulling him with you and savoring the feeling of his weight pinning you against the mattress.

You never want to stop kissing him like this. His lips are working in a way that’s so sweet and gentle you’re getting dangerously close to blurting out something you shouldn’t.

When he pulls back, propping himself up with his forearms on either side of you, you can really look at his face.

The green of his eyes are barely visible because his pupils are completely blown out, like even his eyes are desperate to get as much of you as they can. His bronze curls are beginning to stick to his forehead from the sweat beginning to dot his hairline.

The only thing that shocks you is that his cheeks are tinted a light pink, and his lips, reddened and glossy from the kissing, are pursed together in…

“Are you nervous?” You blurt out, eyes widening at the realization.

“No,” he mumbles, leaning forward to kiss you again, but you press a hand to his chest that forces him to keep your gaze.

“Why’re you nervous? We’ve done this like, a million times,” you laugh, but he’s not smiling.

Finnick’s answer surprises you so much that your own smile is instantly wiped from your face. “I just want to make sure it’s good for you. I want you to be happy… even if it’s only for a little bit.”

His tone is so earnest and anxious you’re sure you’re about to cry, because no one’s ever been this sweet to you. Except him. “Okay,” you whisper. Those funny three words are jumping in the back of your throat, and you have to swallow hard and kiss him to make sure they disappear.

Still connected by your lips, you roll over until you’re straddling him, his back propped against the headboard. You never want to stop kissing him; when his lips are on yours it’s like you’re in a whole different world. One without all the worries that weigh you down and pry you apart from him. It’s the most relief you’ve felt since your Reaping Day that you whine when his lips leave yours.

He laughs a little at your desperation, his hands sliding under your shirt and raising it above your head before tossing it aside.

Finnick makes quick work of the rest of your clothes and his own, and before you know it you’re both naked.

You’re glad he flips you over because you're a little embarrassed how wet you’ve become — not that it’d be a secret for long.

His hands slide down and gently pull your legs apart so he can settle comfortably between them.

Now it’s your turn to feel nervous, unfamiliar with the position you’re in — at eye level with one another. It’s so different from the impersonal ones you’re used to. 

When he’s behind you, you can almost be satisfied with it being just sex. You’re free to pretend it’s anyone, it doesn’t have to be Finnick.

But now, looking into his eyes and being met with a stare just as intense, you hope he can't feel your pulse skyrocketing.

Just as you feel the familiarity of one of his fingers working its way inside you, you’re hit with a force of emotion so hard it knocks the wind out of you and you have to hide a gasp. You realize, with a stab to your chest, you never want this to end, but know it will. Know you have to make this a memorable goodbye in case only one of you survives.

He makes you feel so good, knows your body so well it’s basically second nature when he pumps his fingers in and out in a way that makes you arch towards his hand, silently begging for more.

He’s just about to slide a second finger in when you know he senses the change in how you’re kissing him. It’s more like the desperate, hungry ones you're both used to. 

In a moment he’s withdrawn completely and you cry out at the loss. “Why’d you do that?” You groan.

“What’s wrong with you?” Finnick demands, holding your chin with one of his hands and forcing you to hold eye contact with him.

“Nothing, can you just get back to—”

“Bullshit.” He withdraws his body from you completely, leaving you cold and lonely as he sits back on his knees. His eyes widen as he looks at you, and you can literally see his pupils returning to their normal size. “You don't want to not worry about the consequences,” he realizes. “You’re just here to say goodbye.”

You want to protest and sit up, but he’s reading you to filth. “Finnick, I—”

“No,” he says with so much force it surprises you, squeezing his eyes shut like he’s in pain. “No, I told you we’re going to be fine, why are you acting like this is the end?”

You can recognize the edge of terror in his voice and know he’s not really mad at you. He’s panicked, because if you don’t believe his words, why should he?

“Finnick,” you say again, gently this time, and he slowly opens his eyes. You reach your hand towards his face and cup his cheek, an act so tender you can feel your own heart sinking to the bottom of your stomach. “I want to believe you. About everything. Really, I do, I just… I just want to do it right this one time.”

And it’s true. You’ve been intimate with him countless times, but they all feel so wrong compared to the rawness of tonight.

“We’re gonna be fine,” he whispers, grasping onto the hand that’s on his cheek and bringing it down to his chest. You feel his heart beating a million miles a minute, thudding so hard against his chest it might just burst free.

You nod, knowing you don’t have the strength to argue. You want tonight to be perfect, just in case it’s the last time, and you’re already missing the feeling of his lips.

Finnick seems to have lost the internal battle he’s been warring against himself, because when he surges forward to kiss you, his words are seemingly forgotten.

His kisses are still tender and steady, but an edge of desperation creeps toward the end. As if when you pull away to catch your breath, it’s the last time he’ll ever feel them.

You return to the position of before and try to fall back into the rhythm that’d been temporarily disrupted.

His fingers find their way back inside you just as his lips reconnect to yours, but this time you’re impatient. You want to be ready and able to enjoy it, but you can’t stand wasting time without him inside you, knowing you only had a few hours left together.

He seems to sense this, too, because his fingers curl inside you and send shockwaves up and down your spine. Blindly, you reach for his pants and fumble with the waistband for a moment before slipping your hand inside.

Instantly you find his cock, hard and practically jumping at your touch as you wrap your hand around it. You’re rewarded with his hips jumping towards your touch and groan that’s immediately swallowed by your kiss.

Just a simple touch has him impatient, understanding your sudden desperation. The brief whine as his lips leave yours is replaced with a moan as you feel the thickness of him pressing at your entrance.

“Wait!” You cry out, so suddenly it startles him into jumping back.

“What’s wrong?” He looks panicked, then grief stricken, like he’s done something wrong.

“Nothing, I just needed to say—” Please, just let me say it, you beg your brain. “I love you.”

Finnick’s features instantly relax and he’s back against you in an instant. The smile that’s overtaken his entire face is the brightest you’ve ever seen.

“I love you too,” he says in between kisses, “I thought I was being pretty obvious about it though.”

He doesn’t even wait for a reply before thrusting into you. Your nails dig into his shoulders and he pauses, letting you adjust for a moment.

“I think you were made for me,” He breathes, forehead dipping down to connect with yours.

“Oh come on, don’t be cheesy— ah!” He’s setting a pace that’s been like the rest of the night, slow and sweet, but you know it’s only a matter of time before you both grow impatient with it.

For a while there’s only the sounds of labored breathing and skin against skin as he thrusts into you, until your gasps and moans grow more frequent and you both know you’re getting close.

He increases the pace to something much more demanding now, not caring about the path of scratches your fingernails are making down his perfect skin, marring his perfection ever so slightly.

“Please—” You don’t even know what you’re begging for, because you know he’ll give you the release you so desperately crave. Still, with the coil wound tight at the base of your spine it’s all you can do in your sex-drunken mind.

You both come right after the other, completely in sync, there’s no hesitation when Finnick wraps his arms around you and pulls you onto his chest.

“I meant it, y’know,” you say quietly after a minute.

“Me too. All of it.”

The giddiness you feel at his words disappears at the reality of the situation. “I wish you would’ve told me sooner. We’ve wasted so much time.”

“I know,” he sighs, because that's all he can say.

Tomorrow, everything will change. Both your lives will be on the line for a greater cause, your next breath will not be guaranteed, and neither will his. But for these few sacred hours, before the first cracks of dawn seep through the curtains and drag you back to reality, you have certainty, you have contentment. 

A sigh escapes your lips, and Finnick looks down at you resting your cheek against his chest.

He hopes you can’t feel his heart accelerating when you begin to draw little patterns in his skin.

“What’s wrong?”

The look in your eyes makes him wish he hadn’t asked.

“I’m just going to miss you.”

He could protest. Could point you towards the logistics that favor both your survival, could ramble about how the rebels are going to get all of you out. How you won’t ever need to miss him because he plans on sticking to you like glue until he draws his last breath.

The little part of him that's just as scared as you are stops him from saying any of it. He’s agreed to sacrifice himself and everyone around him to ensure Katniss and Peeta make it out. He could do it without hesitation if he didn’t have to think about you.

Instead, he just presses a long kiss to your temple and pulls you impossibly closer. You think he’d burrow himself in your skin if he could.

“Me too,” is the last thing you hear before the lull of sleep, aided by the warmth and safety you feel in his arms.

You hope tomorrow never comes.

[berzahoes]

manifestation, baby! | tom blyth

summary: fans find out tom’s girlfriend has an old youtube channel where she reviewed the ballad of songbirds and snakes (and she definitely manifested her life)

an: the way i thought about this idea and quickly wrote it down so i didn’t forget it. i used to have an app that made those fake tweets but i’m just tired to make fake profiles 😭 maybe i’ll change it later idk

for the purpose of this imagine, let’s pretend tbosas book was published between 2017-2019

liked by zeglerslove, 444_bri and 35,377 others

tomblythxsnow apparently tom’s girlfriend has an old youtube channel where she reviews books and she reviewed the ballad of songbirds and snakes and she literally manifested her future 😭

lucymygf WHATTT WHATS HER CHANNEL NAME

tomblythxsnow it’s yn’s book corner. she hasn’t posted since 2019 ngl i need her to review a little life because that book destroyed me

nat76_ omg i used to watch her videos!! i’m still subscribed to her 😭 i remember only buying and reading the books she liked because i wanted to be her so bad

j4ckaszlol “if someone ever makes a movie adaptation of this book and casts someone attractive to play snow then i am sorry for the person i become” REALLLLL

graybairdsmockingjay dude the part where she said “i’m calling it now whoever plays young snow will be my boyfriend. movie studios always cast someone attractive as the younger version of a character!” MY JAW DROPPED SHE NEEDS TO TELL ME HER WAYS

“guess what rachel just sent me.” you heard tom say when he arrived to your shared apartment.

“wedding invitations?!” you gasped as you almost stood up from the sofa since you were watching reruns of criminal minds, but tom stopped you.

“no, it’s better!” tom sat beside you and showed you his phone. “why didn’t you tell me you had a youtube channel?” on his phone screen was your review of the ballad of songbirds and snakes, which had become a very popular video over the past couple of days.

you hid your face with a pillow and groaned. “don’t remind me. i just wanted to talk about my books and my family didn’t care. don’t watch it! it’s embarrassing!”

“i think it’s cute. aw look, your dog made a cameo!” he pointed at your old dog you used to have that walked into the frame.

“indi! no, come sit right here. oh . . . and she’s walking away. okay, anyways.” your younger self said in the video

“indi? why Indi?” tom asked you even though you were still hiding from embarrassment.

“after indiana jones. my dad and i loved those movies and he gifted me indi as a birthday present.” you confessed.

“love, don’t be embarrassed. i think it’s cute that you manifested your life according to the comments on instagram,” tom paused the video then cuddled up to you. “i won’t watch it if you don’t want me to.”

“it’s fine, i just didn’t think anyone would find it. we can watch it together.” you uncovered yourself and sat down properly to watch the video with tom. before he pressed the play button and together you watch your younger self review the book.

“i’ve read all the hunger games books at least four times and this one did not disappoint. but i do hope whoever ends up being cast as young snow is someone hot. i’m sorry it’s the rules! and they will be my boyfriend, i’m calling dibs.”

tom smirked at you. “if only younger you could see you now.”

“she would definitely think ‘wow, how did we pull this beautiful man?’ then be confused as to why the hunger games and fnaf is trending in 2023.”

liked by tomblyth, rachelzegler and 1,377,389 others

ynlovesbooks told ya. love you tomblyth ❤️

rachelzegler she is THAT girl

ynlovesbooks no u

everdeenx12 bestie he’s EVIL

ynlovesbooks he’s a walking red flag but my favorite color is red 😍

chamaletproblems pls tell me how you did this

ynlovesbooks i figured out who they were casting and kept him hostage until he agreed to be my bf

tomblyth true

[caramelarrowswife]

do it >:)

TRUTHLESS RESOLUTION

─── ∘°❉°∘ ───

Death comes for all, but the Truth lives on.

A/N 1: i may have had an episode while writing this! epic challenge: find out where hopelessness hit

A/N 2: this is my favourite piece of art on this entire platform, CHAT GO CHECK IT OUT

─── ∘°❉°∘ ───

Truthless Recluse made his way through the empty halls of the once grandiose Citadel, his steps barely ghosting over the ground. His face was neutral, but his mismatched eyes stood cold. The inhabitants of this castle had long since fled, their promised vows meaning nothing as their ever-stoic king slowly turned to madness alongside his lover.

Now, Dark Cacao Cookie wasn’t as stoic. He was apathetic - which was arguably worse. He knew of the horrors out there, but he didn’t try to hide it behind a mask of his own face; he just didn’t care anymore. After all, all you need to know is the Truth.. and Truthless Recluse had helped him see it.

Nothing mattered.

Memento mori, remember you must die. All is futile, all will fade… all but the cold, stone-hard Truth. The Truth stays forever, and resides in both good and evil. It’s in the past, present and future, for as long as the universe has occupants. Nothing is certain except for the fact Truth most undoubtedly is.

It was a nice thought. Dark Cacao had been having those a lot more often, now that he was alone with Truthless Recluse. Soft touches that caressed his face, even after all the blood stained on his hands.

Did he deserve it? Maybe not.. or maybe it didn’t matter, because nothing mattered.

“Dark Cacao, my dear,” Truthless Recluse said, walking up to the ex-king, who was staring out of the window. “Thinking again?”

“No,” Dark Cacao replied honestly. He was deep inside his memory palace, chasing after memories long forgotten. It was useless, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t try.. he had all the time in the world, after all.

“Good,” Truthless Recluse hummed. “You know I do so hate seeing you hurt by your thoughts.”

Dark Cacao only huffed in reply. Truthless Recluse looked to his side, but didn’t meet Dark Cacao’s eyes - literally. He had stopped caring as much about his hair, feigning to tie it up and allowing his bangs to grow out and cover his eyes.

What was there he needed to see besides the Truth, which remained even after closing his eyes?

Truthless Recluse smiled to himself, gazing out of the window at the endless snow. He had felt cold in this kingdom long ago. Dark Cacao had offered him his cloak, if he remembered correctly..

No. Not him. King Dark Cacao Cookie had given his cloak to monarch Pure Vanilla Cookie, not to Truthless Recluse.

He turned to his husband, seeing Dark Cacao’s lips pressed together tightly, his head lowered. Thinking after all, then.

“Oh, your poor soul..” Truthless Recluse sighed, cupping Dark Cacao’s cheek with one hand, his other still curled around his purposeless staff. “So lost in your thoughts.. I truly do wish you would give up on those harmful images, my dear.”

“There is something..” Dark Cacao whispered. “A fleeting memory. A boy, a baby.. it ended in betrayal, but.. not quite..”

Truthless Recluse stiffened, his hold on Dark Cacao’s face tightening.

“It did end in betrayal, Cacao. The boy betrayed you, just as all your subjects did.. he left you here,” Truthless Recluse pouted in mock sympathy. “You have me, my dear. For all of eternity. We are two halves, designed to be together. You can only trust me.. everyone else has left, after all.”

Dark Cacao was silent for a moment, before a sigh escaped his lips. It wasn’t necessarily an exhale, but more of a memory, given up by it’s owner.

“Yes..” Dark Cacao murmured. “I have you.. Only you.”

[the-avengers-not-the-nazis]

Strange human emotions

Summary: Castiel has been experiencing some rather strange emotions, especially ones that revolve around you.

Word count: 1.7k

A/n: No one really writes about Cas, and it’s a shame because him, Sam and Dean are my absolute favorite. But I hope you enjoy ;)

༺═────────────═༻

He could feel it coming up again, that same burning feeling in his chest that keeps him up deep into the night. Not that he can sleep to begin with, but still the feeling invaded his every thought as he waited for you and the brothers to wake up. 

Cas didn’t know how to explain it, these strange human emotions that he had learned over the years, he didn’t understand them. He knew the ones that you and the boys had taught him, how it helped him learn to express how he felt to others. And he was truly grateful for it. 

But, the ones that he was never taught always worried him. Like when he could feel when someone is staring at him, even though nobody is in the room with him. Or even worse when you are near, or when you touch his shoulder when you walk past him, or how about when you speak to him so beautifully that he feels his stomach churning into a weird fluttery feeling. 

There must be something wrong, Cas would conclude, pacing the bunker’s library in the dead of night. Maybe you had been taken over by a shapeshifter and this was the universes way of warning him. 

Yeah, that had to be it, but how would he tell Sam and Dean that? For Chucks sake you are one of their closest friends, how could he tell them that they would need to kill you?

No. No, he couldn’t kill you. He just needs to figure it out a bit more by morning, he couldn’t just go on a killing spree. It wouldn’t be right. 

But if you were in danger or you are the danger then he would need to speak to the brothers about this. But, how?

Cas sat across from you and Dean, Sam to his right of the booth as he stared out the fogged window. The falling snow momentarily capturing his attention, the way each flake was built uniquely different from the other. 

It amazed him how something so beautiful could end up in a world like this. 

“Hey, Happy meal.” Dean suddenly spoke up, dragging Cas away from the window. “You gonna focus, or are we gonna have to tell you while we fight the sons of a bitches?”

“I’m focused.” Cas told the older man, his hands coming to rest in his lap. 

“Mhm, yeah sure.” 

Sam cleared his throat, turning his computer to face the others as he began to explain the current case to them. “So, Sophia Cocklen had reported her husband missing, nearly a month ago. And as of three days ago both her brother and eldest son have disappeared as well.”

“Has to have something to do with the men,” you spoke up, dipping a French fry in your ketchup before popping it in your mouth. “Because Sophia’s sister, mother and two daughters hadn’t been touched at all over the past month.”

Sam nodded, clicking on another tab as some police reports popped on screen. “That’s what I thought as well, but the thing is that none of them have any bad records on there name. And…”

Sams voice seemed to drift off, running farther and farther from his ears as the same burning feeling began to arise from his chest. He glanced at you for a quick second, the way you looked at your work and took it seriously. The way your eyes seemed to have a small sparkle in them when you spoke. 

And especially the way your hair slightly fell in front of your eyes, hiding that sparkle that made his stomach erupt. It made him want to reach over the table and push it out of your way, just so he could catch another glimpse of…

You pushed your hair out of your face, halting Cas’s thoughts completely. Why was he thinking that? What were you and the boys talking about? Why did his body’s vessel feel so warm and sweaty? Was it getting hotter? What if you had turned evil? What if this was your way to slowly kill him off?

Him. Castiel, an angel of the Lord. Struck down by a woman that was more than likely possessed by a monster. 

“Cas?” You questioned, facing the angelic being who seemed to be almost in a trance. “You alright? You look like your sweaty.”

Cas pulled at the collar of his trench coat, the feeling of sweat sliding down his neck. Boy, did he hate how the human body can physically act when you don’t need it to. 

“Yes,” He told you rubbing his hands against his pants legs. “Yes I’m fine it’s just a little warm in here is all.”

“Really?” Dean asked, taking a quick sip from his lukewarm coffee. “It’s pretty cold in here to me, what about you Sam? Y/n?”

“Dean.” 

“I’m just saying, you gotta focus in, Cas. You’ve been acting real edgy for the last couple of weeks.”

“I’m fine,” Cas told him, trying not to drag the situation down the rabbit hole. “It’s probably just… allergies.” 

The boys and you shred a quick look with one another, knowing well enough that angels don’t have allergies. “Cassie?” You questioned leaning forward onto the table. “You don’t get allergies.”

Cas felt his face warm up, “That was just the first thing that came to mind.” He told you, his fingers fiddling with one another. “That’s what you all do.”

Dean smacked his lips, letting out a quick ok before continuing with his conversation. “As I was saying we need to go and search every place that these men where last seen at. And normally I would say go by ourselves to save them, but I’m not so sure what we are up against just yet. So Sam and I will head down to the bar the brother was last seen and Cas, you and Y/n can go and search the junkyard.”

Everyone agreed to Deans order, quickly finishing up their lunch before they need to head back out. Well almost everyone agreed. Cas sat there in his seat, pondering if he should pull Dean or Sam aside and ask if these feelings he is getting about you is bad or good. Because he does not want to harm others but at the same time he didn’t want to hurt you either. 

He wanted to beat his head against the table, the thoughts that raced through his mind aggravated him. But what could he do about it? Wait… you and him were going to the junkyard to search for clues of the missing family members, he himself could interrogate you there. But, how?

༺═────────────═༻

At the junkyard, you and Cas kept you voices low, barley speaking a word to one another as you inspected the place. Your flashlight shined about the place, scoping out any and all items that could appear useful for the case. 

“So, Sam said that the dad and son used to work here. Almost like a father-son business, you know?” You told him, shining the light in the angels direction, mindful not to blind him in the eye. 

He nodded, unable to stop the fluttery filling the further he walked with you. It was killing him, he wanted to ask you what you were doing, because he knew for a fact it was neither of the boys. But, at the same time he didn’t know how to bring it up. 

On one hand he could slowly bring up the topic, have a simple conversation before he would ask you. Though, on the other hand, he could just flat out ask you if you were trying to kill him. Because, that’s what it surely felt like. That you were killing him slowly and purposefully.

Cas came to a quick decision, he would hold a conversation with you then ask you. Simple as that, no harm no foul. 

“Cassie?” You asked, that soft voice of yours causing his chest to burn and his stomach to twist into knots. What the hell were you doing to him? “Are you alright-“

“Are you trying to kill me?”

You were shocked by his sudden question, his straightforward tone and seriousness catching you off guard completely. “… No?”

“It sure doesn’t seem that way.” He continued to accuse, folding his arms over his chest like he’d seen Dean do plenty of times before. “Would you care tell why you are trying to kill me?”

“But, I’m not?” You told him, voice uncertain and slightly laced with worthy. “Why would you think that?”

Cas glanced around the junkyard, almost as if the answer was somewhere written in the piles upon piles of junk. “My chest has been burning every time you come close to me, or how about when my stomach make me feel like my vessel is going to induce vomiting. When I know for a fact that I don’t eat anything to make it do so.”

You stood silently, letting the words sink deep into your skin. His chest burned? His stomach felt like he was going to throw up? Why the hell would he have thought that you were trying to kill him? It honestly just sounded like his vessel was sick, or maybe he—

You cut your thoughts short, and it suddenly clicked in your mind. A sly smile gracing your lips as you walked towards the angel. “Oh, Cassie~” You sang out, free hand coming to play with the sleeve of his trench coat. “Do you have a crush on me?”

Cas furrowed his brows, eyes dancing across your face as you came closer. “…No? At least I don’t think so.”

A chuckle left your lips, standing up on your tip toes you gave the angel a quick kiss on his check. Watching as a light blush crept upon his cheeks. “I like you too, Cassie.” You turned back to the junkyard, flashing your light at an empty bathtub and broken mattress, leaving the poor angel stuck in his spot. 

Cas lifted a hand to where you had kissed him, the ghost of your lips making his heart stutter in his chest. Damn you, he thought to himself. Damn you and these strange human emotions. 

[year2000electronics]

i think obsessive/selfish/misguided love or “harmful” love in general as an antithetical theme to gravity falls’ theme of love and family makes so much sense. if you think about it, a lot of the conflict in the show is born out of selfishness and obsessiveness and loving people as objects or means to an end. obviously, you have the big examples like gideon for mabel and giffany for soos, but every time both sets of the pines twins have butted heads, it’s usually been because of that too. just in like, a different way.

stan and mabel are both relying on dipper and ford to stay anchored to them forever to secure their happiness, and even though it’s a totally okay thought to have and dipper and ford weren’t in too much of a rush to consider their feelings, it’s a bandaid solution at best! dipper ends up NOT leaving because that’s the right thing for them but it’s not totally because the pines twins are a “set of two” who can’t be separated. it’s a decision they make mutually! mabel even says that she would be okay with dipper taking the apprenticeship, she just needed a minute to be frustrated!

and then of course you have stan and ford where stan leaving ford meant stan would lose his only friend, but even in their adult years, they clearly still love each other (ford and stan both apologizing profusely every time they land a devastating enough hit) but their selfish desire to have the other admit they’re the “villain”, to have a scapegoat to blame a whole series of factors on, overtakes them and buries that love. even as old men they’re still trying to get something out of the other before anything else (ford’s house and name, stan’s “thank you”). stan and ford want to love each other deep down so badly but this giant means to an end is in the way

you even see that sort of motif with characters like dipper and pacifica, where dipper’s crush on wendy almost always has negative results because, not only can it never be due to the age gap, but every time he tries to court her, it’s usually in the way a prize is to be won. he makes an itemized list of a process that is “guaranteed” to impress wendy, he literally brakes the laws of space time just so robbie won’t date her (as if one single snow cone is keeping him from his success), gets a job at the pool just so he can hang out with her, and jumps at the opportunity to prove robbie is evil. etc etc. and with pacifica it’s clear that her parents’ love is very transactional and conditional. if EVEN that.

so the fact that book of bill is setting up bill to be like a clingy ex to ford- more than that, it’s setting up ford to be the only human bill cares about THIS much! it feels like the ultimate way to tie bill to that theme of how love can harm as much as it can heal. like, he’s always been an obstacle to the pines’ happy ending, but this way, we see his reaction to love in his psyche play out, and you understand why he’s the opposite and obstacle to the pines. the stan twins hurt each other and it takes an entire show’s worth of growth for them to fix it. gideon hurt mabel but him letting dipper and the group into her bubble proves he’s willing to change. bill hurt ford and he throws a temper tantrum and denies everything, trying to use force to get things back to the way they were because in his own twisted way he really does love and care for ford. i’m sure even a traumatized millenia old dream demon could change but for now bill doesn’t! and that kinda makes him and ford’s relationship the perfect tie in to the themes in the show

[canarys-coal-mine]

I feel like part of the reason Apple is so brainwashed into the destiny system (besides the well incident) is that Snow probably went through a worse version of the snow white tale. Like, we know the Evil Queen has already gone outside her destiny to interfere with other stories. It wouldn't surprise me if she also made Snow's story worse for her by changing details to torment her more. So now that Snow and the Evil Queen are grown up. Both of them have children, so it makes sense that Snow would look at Raven and go: "Apple's iteration won't be as awful as mine, and she still gets the same happy ending, so she should be grateful," and how that would bleed into her parenting.

[mirixmoya]

my initial first-read thoughts for SOTR PART III: THE POSTER there will be MAJOR SPOILERS under the cut but pls enjoy :)

chapter 19;

haymitch thinking poorly about himself makes me so sad i can't believe he's gonna do that for the next 25 years

"will she be haunted by me for the rest of her life?" other way around actually!

haymitch tryna smart ass his way out of panache killing him... this man never never changes does he

chapter 20;

"i've killed someone. two someones. brutally. it was self-defense, so question, but i know i can never go back to five minutes ago." he's so young he's so sweet i could cry

"mamaw used to say you never really knew who'd swim in a flood." there is annie cresta everywhere for those with the eyes to see

mags and haymitch mental communication via sponsor gifts... haymitch and katniss mental communication via sponsor gifts... crazy stuff.

HAYMITCH AND MAYSILEE BROTHERSISTER

"my dreams are nothing i want to remember, full of people i must never forget. i visit death after death. it's a relief to be woken up." oh :(

katniss and haymitch both getting a lil deaf in their games #family

KATNISS MENTION WAHHH

"one of us has to be the worst victor in history. tear up their scripts, tear down their celebrations, set fire to the victor's village. refuse to play their game." do i believe that post-sotr is a genuine addict and a handful? yes ofc. do i think he's also keeping his promise to maysilee a little bit? also yes.

chapter 22

"just programmed to be walked all over, i guess" he's like a sad wet dog i see on the street and then worry about for the rest of my day

chapter 23;

reading these moments that were already kinda knew but also didn't really know is so surreal

MAYSILEE MY SWEET GIRL :(

"I just stare into those burning blue eyes, letting her know she's not dying alone. she's with family. she's with me." :((((((((

effie mention again!! it's so good to be alive!!

"proserpina wasn't born evil; she just had a lot of unlearning to do." the trinket sisters have this in common i fear

"it's okay to cry around mags" suzanne what if IM the one crying

chapter 24;

okay must assume at this point that The Raven references are building to something but they are still lowkey jarring for me idk

"neither of us are going home [...] these Games will have no victor" he's literally six months pregnant with katniss here.

that whole cliff sequence... chef's kiss

"I die happy." :(

chapter 25;

A WHAT SWALLOWS A WHAT

sepsis mention.

"nobody's here because everybody's dead." and this is just his life now. sick. sick to my stomach.

him always remembering to mention effie even tho she was only there for like 2 days... mhm hm okay.

he's already likening his victor's village house to a prison stfu

snow locking this traumatized teenage boy in this apartment, alone, with only shitty symbolism food, and making him watch a gory clip show of the past hunger games??? i need to kill this man immediately

LUCY GRAY MY BELOVED

EFFIE!!!!

her ass is always having to act normal while people are shooting guns about her ears i know effie just hates her fucking life.

haymitch describing himself as an animal NOOOOO

the world could literally be ending and nothing would stop these two idiots from bantering. i hate them. literally the plot of mockingjay (the movie).

"i'm going to tell everyone you dressed me." and i'm expected to believe there's NOTHING going on between them???

this exchange is affectionate asf ohmygod

effie being given direct instructions from snow? possibly from the man himself?? oh im gonna have a field day with that one

"effie, to her credit, stands by me." TEARS. TEARS IN MY EYES. THIS LITERALLY BEING THEIR RELATIONSHIP IN A NUTSHELL.

"i won't hurt you." "i know that." ARE U KIDDING

"but they really are for a greater good. the hunger games." don't worry suzanne girl i've been there too. i love to ruin a nice hayffie moment with effie saying something horrible and inhuman.

mags in a wheelchair :(

"day 5 or 6? who knows? it's just one big, big, big day." literally effie trinket #1 fan alert

corioloanus snow i will literally shoot u with a gun

chapter 26;

haymitch literally being put in a cage and dangled for capitol amusement.... i don't wanna talk about it.

"the only person who keeps an eye on me is effie trinket." cried. cried very hard

the four tributes finishing their journey together suzanne why don't YOU just shoot ME with a gun.

"you can take several things from me--my ma, my brother, my love--that are the only things worth keeping." i am gonna throw up.

HANGING TREE :(

of all the way to kill haymitch's family suzanne chose the most devastating one. uh huh okay.

it's literally so over.

the dry cistern. how many times can i threaten to kms

burdock everdeen u are so loved by me. i would also leave my nice town family for ur broke ass and then be devastated beyond reason when you die tragically.

don't even get me started on the song choice... this book is wet enough already

"no one took more care banking a fire at night." Mrs. Abernathy i loveee u. i grew up in a house heated solely by fire, this is literally my Mom, i feel like i Know her, i was literally Raised by her.

HAYDOVE REUNION #GODISGOOD

nevermind.

chapter 27;

THE NIGHTMARES :(

"that i will never love anyone ever again. nevermore. because he will make sure they end up dying horrible deaths." i will be using this in all my future hayffie mockingjay effie-in-prison angst fics thank u very much

haymitch pushing everyone away to the point of throwing ROCKS at burdock and asterid??? i know he was sick to his stomach the first time he saw katniss on that train

i can't watch this poor young boy became an alcoholic in real time i really can't :(

snow losing lucy gray in the woods vs. haymitch looking for lenore dove in the woods. i see u suzanne.

lucy gray has a headstone this is incredible news

"it's effie trinket who finds me," and i knew she would!!!!

is she the stylist or the escort now? or both??

"you are capable of imagining a different future. and maybe it won't be realized today, maybe not in our lifetime. maybe it will take generations." that's right suzanne! remind the children that katniss was not a uniquely extraordinary revolutionary, she was simply a revolutionary who came in at the right time!

epilogue;

"i have to look after my family." the sob that just left my body was genuinely concerning.

i will never use sweetheart for effie again.

"i finally told our story" :(

KATNISS GAVE HIM THE GEESE!!!

"the capitol can never take lenore dove from me again. they never really did in the first place." haydove u were so beautiful and lovely it was a pleasure to get to know u

me, a hayffie girly, closing the last page on that epilogue: yeah :) i can work with that :)

not a single intelligent thought to be found this time. only a lot of incoherently rambling. i'm so excited to re-read it all again tomorrow.

[nitewrighter]

Snow White and the Fae Co-Op

Part Two: Farcical Aquatic Ceremony

Part One

Oh jeez, you followed me out here? You're really hung up on Snow, huh? I mean that's not that surprising. Kind of part of the whole Princess-Messiah effect. Look, there's not much I can tell you about what happened immediately after. Me and my guys mind our business, when we can. But Snow did tell me about it, so if you don't mind the secondhand... did you see what I did there? Because I'm smoking? No, I'm not putting it out. You followed me out here.

Okay, so, to continue:

Snow was raised by the Evil Queen. Except not really because Evil Queen had better shit to do, probably. So Snow was raised by some well-meaning but not-super-affectionate nursemaids. Then there was a short period where she was being tutored alongside the Evil Queen's will-be-cupbearer-in-like-2-or-3 years. The pretty prince boy that Evil Queen took from Damp Kingdom. They tolerated each other.

You ever notice how kids will kind of... just awkwardly stand around each other when you put kids with like, 3 or 4 year age differences together? Like they could both be perfectly smart, normally-developed kids, but they're still weird around each other because they're at different developmental stages? Except now pepper in the fact that they're both incredibly fucked up by the fact that they're both basically political hostages. Their very existence is conditional. And Snow didn't even know how fucked she was, but growing up watching this other kid, she became very aware from a very young age, that she was in a fucked-up situation. So this other kid kind of traumatized her just by existing, but also he's the only other person who knows what she's going through. So there was this very weird 'shared resonance' between them but neither of them could really articulate it so you're basically stuck with two scared shitless kids standing next to each other and neither of them wants to talk about what they're going through because both are at very different stages for processing and articulating what they're going through.

To be honest, I don't really 'get it' but that's how Snow explained it to me. I'm still trying to figure out what she saw in the guy. He's a chickenshit. If he really cared about her, he would have come with her out here, but he didn't, and now everything's rotten and on fire. So here we are, and fuck him.

Okay getting sidetracked. You don't care about him, you care about Snow. Obviously. So, Snow grows up, and it's kind of clear, from early on, that Snow is human, but she's like... a human isotope, does that make sense? Like, yes, she is this element, but there is something more than and less than human in her, and that's kind of par for the course for someone who has been Chosen By The Deep End Fae For Nebulous, Miraculous, World-Changing Shit.

The more Snow grows up, the more Snow becomes a person, the more the Evil Queen becomes aware that there's a lot more than 'person' going on with this kid. The more she registers Snow as a threat.

And to be fair, she was right to.

Over the years the Evil Queen did try to form Snow in her own image--it couldn't be that hard, right? I mean the Fae literally jammed her heart into this fucking baby. Except... no. That's not what’s happening here. And the Fae are very very good at extremely personal 'Fuck you's,' so I need to give you an idea of what the Evil Queen is seeing in Snow.

It's very easy to hate someone you see your own weaknesses in, you see your own worst qualities reflected in someone else, except what if there was someone who was basically made in a lab to be everything you wish you were, slash everything you knew you could never be, and everyone fucking loved her for it.

The kindness you carved out of yourself years ago to survive, she has it and it makes people fawn over her and say, 'Oh the poor captive princess who's so very pretty.'

The tears that you desiccated out of yourself years ago bubble out of her like a goddamn Studio Ghibli character, and instead of the world mashing her into the dirt at that first sight of weakness like it's supposed to, it curls around her and goes, "Oh poor, poor, beautiful Princess."

The childish songs and dances and laughs and smiles that this world burned out of you are right there in her, and everyone laughs and sings and dances with her.

Everything you hated and cut out of yourself to survive lives and thrives in her, and the world cheers for it. The birds sing for it. The flowers bloom for it. The trees lower branches laden with fruit for it.

Hoof, I just made myself shudder.

But... yeah. The Evil Queen was already this Rube Goldberg machine of coping mechanisms to begin with, but seeing all that shit with Snow... I can't really fault her that it broke something in her.

And the Evil Queen still has the mirror with sight beyond sight, too, except just as ol' Mosscloak warned her, that gift is rotting in her hands.

Okay so, algorithms right? Algorithms need information input to shape themselves, BUT! It's very easy for them to get racist, right? They shape themselves to human biases. And also if it's getting a certain dataset for a certain amount of time, it will eventually train itself to do fucked up shit, because an algorithm doesn't actually reflect intelligence and reasoning and higher aspirations, it reflects human defaults, human assumptions, and human "Whatever I have to do to save effort" bullshit.

That's basically what happened with the Magic Mirror. Incredible cosmic power, incredible Fae vision and wisdom, but it was shaped more and more by human pettiness.

'oough why are you talking about tidepools and carcinization and isotopes and algorithms you're supposed to be magical and mysterious and shit.' Fuck off. I like reading. Snow taught me how to read. There hasn't been a lot to do but read.

Anyway, the information demands from the Queen basically amount to, "Tell me how Snow is my enemy" and from the Magic Mirror you basically get the Google AI results of:

Snow is totally your enemy! These are the Top 5 reasons why:

She's pretty

People like her

She's going to take everything you've ever built from you.

Cut her heart out. Kill her.

Kill her, you pussy.

Except the Queen is smart enough to know that's bullshit too, she knows that's a trap. She knows killing Snow will probably kill her too, because Snow is literally the vessel of her heart, so she hustles down to her Jury-Rigged Fuck-Fae-Deals Alchemy Witch Lab and she gets to work.

And then you smash cut to Snow, and she's a teenager now, and she's just sitting by a well like "Gee, Well, I'm just feeling real low what with this whole 'being a political prisoner for my entire childhood' thing." And this next part is boring so I'm going to skip over it--

Jeez, look, Snow always told this part better than me so it's better if--

Really? Tch--You're insatiable.

So, okay, I know the story says the evil queen dressed the Princess in rags and hid her away, but that's really more of human distortion and, unfortunately, general masses not really understanding that there's actually a very clear hierarchy in noble households.

The Evil Queen kept Snow as a Lady in Waiting, though, effectively, she was meant to be in more or less the same position as Prince Damp Kingdom as a cup-bearer and harp player: Human hood ornaments. Symbols of the Queen's conquest and power and how everything is hunky dory with her in charge.

But have you ever put together a cute outfit, and then you put a hat on the outfit, and then the hat distracts from the whole outfit and you're like, "This outfit would be complete if I was a Hat Person but I am not a Hat Person."

Snow is the Hat, but also the Evil Queen refuses to admit that she is not a Hat Person.

So I mean, all things considered Snow was pretty clean and well-kept during her stint in the palace, but of course she understood that she was in this very intense balancing act where she knew the more that people loved her, the more danger that put her in with the Queen. So she.... needed to take breaks where she could. She needed to stare down into a dark hole full of water, apparently.

Okay, so Snow is by the well right? And she's mindlessly singing into it, and she's hearing a voice harmonizing with her, and harp music playing too, but she kind of assumes its her own imagination. Snow has a... funky effect on reality, a funky relationship to it, and it kind of freaks her out. You know how judges can bang a gavel and suddenly something is law? Imagine if you could change something about the world just because you were sad about something or kind of horny for a little too long, just because you wanted something badly enough, the rules are briefly broken. Snow's broken rules before, and she doesn't trust that shit. The only other magic she's seen has been brief glimpses of the Evil Queen's mirror and her fucked up Faerie-law-circmventing alchemy, both are driven and warped by willpower, so... it's only natural that Snow fears her own.

Snow doesn't trust herself. Song is... a safer form for these things. It gives them body and ritual but lets them disperse. Keeps them contained. Look, I can't explain all the rules because I don't know all the rules. All I got is rocks singing to me, okay? But she's singing and she hears... accompaniment, and she doesn't really think anything of it because she knows her will can change her own perception, at the very least.

Also like, a shit-ton of finches have shown up, but that's fine, birds are fine, they're just hanging out.

The song she's singing is mostly just vocalizations at first, but gradually those are turning into words, those words into wants, and then theres another voice harmonizing along with her own, so equal in loneliness she thinks its an echo, rendered deeper by the distortions of the well, but then its punctuated by the pluck of harp strings, and she thinks, maybe that's just her imagination. But then she sees a shadow behind her in her reflection in the well, her singing abruptly steers into a short yelp, and she immediately throws an elbow behind herself and catches Prince Damp Kingdom hard across the face and kaboonnng his harp clatters on the ground and he's covering his nose and he's muffling a very unprincely, "Oh shit--" into his hands and Snow is saying, "Oh my god, I'm so sorry, you scared me--"

And he's still muffling his voice through his hands as he's trying to stem his bloody nose like, "No, I misread that--I didn't mean to--owww-fuck--"

And Snow's like, "Let me see."

And the Prince goes, "It's fine, I'm fine," even though you can see blood on his chin now and this is all kind of a comedy of errors of royal politeness

And Snow insists, "Let me see," and the Prince immediately drops his hands because, as I've said, Snow has that effect on people and then Snow's hands fly over her own mouth.

"Is it bad?" says the Prince, his voice already nasally from swelling.

"Um," Snow fishes a kerchief from one of her tie-on pockets, "I can--um..." she dabs his face and the kerchief is pretty much immediately sodden with his blood, and she withdraws her hand with the kerchief as he tilts his head up to stem the blood more, and he kind of catches her in the corner of his eye, the way his own blood-sodden handkerchief matches the tint of her lips and the scarlet of her hair net studded with pearls, except she's pulling this teeth-gritting wincing "Eeeee..." face. And there's a beat and she just says, "I'm so sorry," again.

"S'fine..." Prince Damp Kingdom manages as she fishes another kerchief from her other tie-on pocket and hands it to him because she's scared she broke his nose and doesn't want to touch it, "Sorry for... scaring you?"

He kind of hopes that he caught an elbow to the face because he scared her, because the alternative is she hates him, because they've both been in this messed-up situation since basically both of them were in diapers, and what the hell has he been doing about it? He's the older kid, so what the hell has he been doing to figure out how to get them both the hell out of there? The whole world's eyes have been on both of them, the poor poor beautiful Snow White, Princess-Messiah, Chosen One Who Will Liberate 3 Kingdoms From the Grasp of the Wicked Queen If She Doesn't Get Fucking Murdered First... and Prince Chickenshit of the Dishwater Hair from Damp Kingdom... who is just... standing there... with his stupid fucking cup or his stupid fucking harp and isn't doing anything to help her.

Which, like, is what I've been saying.

But Snow would tell me I'm not being fair. Snow would say, "But that's the point, even if he was the older kid, he was still a kid."

And then she would get on with the story. Again, she told this story better than me.

So Snow says to the Prince, "Yes--I--I know--I mean, I'm sorry," and then to stop them from basically falling into a feedback loop of 'sorry's' she adds, "I'm just... kind of on edge these days."

"Is there anything I can do?" he says automatically, his voice now muffled beneath hand and more-slowly-soaking-with-blood kerchief and she gives him a polite but crinkle-browed smile and he's kind of gutted in this moment because he becomes immediately aware that she came to the conclusion that He Cannot Help Her in Any Significant Way a long time ago. And that's kind of fucked up, because she's younger than him, but also she Knows Mysterious Things and the world reacts strangely to her, so that's doubly gutting. Snow is the main fucking character, she is terrible and glorious purpose, and he has no impact on her story.

But then he remembers that song, the song she was singing that drew him out here, that drew his own song out, how fucking lonely it was, so he's not going to give up.

"I mean," he backtracks, "Why are you on edge?"

And something flickers across her face because like, she's used to being this beautiful and distant thing to people. More of a concept than a person, a beautiful story of a sad princess, hands clasped together with fingers interlaced in a tower.

"Let's--Let's get your nose looked at first, okay?" she manages, before taking the elbow of his free arm. She glances at his harp clattered on the ground and picks that up, too. "Come on," and she tugs him forward and he stumbles along with her, trying to negotiate stemming the blood from his nose with the jostling of his own footsteps while trying not to fuck up his own cartilage further. The finches trail after them follow in their bickering, zippy, chaotic way.

Well, this is ash. Do you want to go in?

[marzaid]

Time travel AU where post canon Lan Qiren travels back in time to when Wei Wuxian is 4 and has just lost his parents. Lan Qiren may hate the man (now boy), but he still follows the rules strictly and will not kill. Instead, Lan Qiren finds a 4 year old Wei Wuxian cowering in an alley hiding from dogs. He protects the boy because the rules tell him that it is his duty to do so.

There is a spiteful part of him that wants to send this boy far away. However, he reconsiders when he thinks of how the Wei Wuxian in his previous life created Demonic Cultivation when left unattended. The best way to keep the boy in line, Lan Qiren figures, is to raise him himself as a ward. Keep your friends close but your enemies closer, they say.

So that is exactly what Lan Qiren does.

Wei Wuxian is brought back to the Cloud Recesses and raised as a ward alongside Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji. Lan Qiren would prefer otherwise, but he doesn't trust anyone else but himself to control Wei Wuxian.

As time goes by, Wei Wuxian proves to be the same and different to the one that Lan Qiren knew previously. He's energetic and mischievous, carefree, with a love for teasing others. Every bit as genius and inventive as Lan Qiren knew of the boy in his previous life. However, there was a strong sense of justice that he didn't notice the last time (or refused to see, but it would take years for him to admit to himself).

And Wei Wuxian thrives in a way that Lan Qiren didn't expect. He knew that Wei Wuxian was powerful and intelligent, yet he did not realize just how so. As much as the boy loved to tease and joke around, he could also be found in the Library Pavilion studying whatever random topic caught his interest. Talking everyone's ears off on what he learned or ways that certain things can be improved upon.

It infuriates Lan Qiren to no end because many times, Wei Wuxian is right. Many times, Wei Wuxian just needs guidance to find the right direction or a different perspective. Since Lan Qiren was raising him alongside his own nephews, the people that Wei Wuxian goes to the most are them: Lan Qiren, Lan Xichen, and Lan Wangji. The latter two always happy and excited to discuss the myriad topics, while the former confused as to the feelings he's having for the boy.

Lan Qiren's sister-in-law passes, and Wei Wuxian kneels next to Lan Wangji in the snow for hours silently in comfort. It's the first indication that the boy is secretly kind and compassionate (not so much if had he paid attention the last time and rid himself of clouded judgments). It's the event that causes the two boys to be inseparable. Of course Lan Qiren is worried but, he tells himself that he will not let them marry. He will not let Wei Wuxian turn into that evil man he ended up being.

Years keep going by, and Lan Qiren finds himself slowly warming up to Wei Wuxian. He's there for many important firsts (losing his teeth, golden core formation, getting his sword, etc). He will never admit that his heart squeezed when the boy accidentally calls him A-die without thinking because he's so excited about something he's learned.

Jiang Fengmian comes to the Cloud Recesses when he finds out that Weo Wuxian is there. Desperately, he tried to convince Lan Qiren to let the boy become a part of Yunmeng Jiang. But Lan Qiren is adamant in his refusal. The boy was raised there the last time and look at how he ended up! He doesn't know that this fundamentally changed Wei Wuxian's destiny. From a tragic hero given a second chance to a free boy allowed to be happy.

The Jiang sect leader mentions during this visit that Wei Wuxian owes Lan Qiren a life debt. It's something that hadn't crossed Lan Qiren's mind. Not really. He had been raising the boy selfishly to change a horrible future. Sure. However, it was against the rules and his own morals to demand a child pay reparations to be allowed to live. He has felt the same way when Lan Sizhui, his good perfect Lan Sizhui, had been adopted into the family. To Lan Qiren, it was unfathomable to demand payment from a child in such ways.

And anyway, Wei Wuxian's genius was already making itself known. If the boy invented even half of what he came up with in his previous life (Lan Qiren crossed his fingers for no Demonic Cultivation), then the Lan Sect would be paid in full from the proceeds.

Still, years continued to creep by, and Lan Qiren began to feel pride in Wei Wuxian. He followed the rules decently well, received his punishment with little protest, and had an insatiable thirst for knowledge. The boy could be seen at any given moment debating an array of topics with seniors, elders, and peers.

When Wei Wuxian started going on night hunts with Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji, the three became known as the Three Jades of Lan. Pride bloomed even more in Lan Qiren's heart. He had successfully turned Wei Wuxian into a good and polished man. What he didn't realize was that he gave structure to a boy who needed it and didn't make him feel guilty for existing.

The Wens came and tried to burn the Cloud Recesses down but didn't succeed. Between Lan Qiren, Wei Wuxian, Lan Xichen, and Lan Wangji, the wards were strengthened, and the books copied and protected. The Sunshot campaign took longer to fight because Wei Wuxian had learned long ago of the dangers to the mind and body that it caused. He had also learned that he shouldn't rip himself apart to help others. Lan Qiren had implored the boy to never try and had used the boy's love and adoration for Lan Xichen and especially Lan Wangji to convince him.

After the Sunshot campaign, Wei Wuxian comes to Lan Qiren about the innocent Wens cultivator and noncultivator alike. By this point, Lan Qiren can agree that innocent people should not die because of selfish greed and blind prejudice. There are years of trials completed by a multisect jury. The Wen sect survives but becomes a minor sect by the time the trials and reparations are completed. Under Wen Qionglin, they focus on medicine and archery.

Wen Qionglin swears brotherhood with Wei Wuxian. It doesn't surprise Lan Qiren in the least bit. Had it been a lifetime ago, it would've infuriated him yet with all these years and direct dealings with Wen Qionglin, he respects the boy. Admires the gentleness that hides a fierce strength and sense of justice. Especially admires Wen Qing, who Lan Xichen ends up falling for and marrying. Again, had it been a lifetime ago, he would've lost his mind. Now, Lan Qiren can see Wen Qing for her genius, her directness, strictness, and her advancements in medicine.

After Lan Xichen and Wen Qing marry, Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian approach Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen to ask about marriage. There is no denying them at this point because he knows that the Wei Wuxian of his previous life is nothing like this current Wei Wuxian (he is but Lan Qiren has no one to admit it to). And anyway, he knows the two will simply elope if denied.

It's several years later, when Lan Qiren finally sits Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji, and Lan Xichen down and tells them a story from a lifetime ago in a forgotten timeliness that may exist somewhere out there if you believe in multiple universes (not surprisingly Wei Wuxian does). They patiently listen as Lan Qiren details everything. There is silence for a long, unbearable moment when he's finished speaking.

Eventually, it's broken by a hug from Wei Wuxian, "Thank you, A-die, for giving me another chance in this life."

"I should be the one thanking you, A-Ying," Lan Qiren says softly, himself grateful for his second life.

[anonymousewrites]

Apple of My Eye Chapter Two

Eventual! Harry Hook x Child of Snow White! Reader

Chapter Two: Friend Like Me

Summary: (Y/N) and the VKs get along very well, even if other Auradon kids are avoiding them.

            (Y/N) grimaced as they walked towards the “Remedial Goodness 101” classroom. They wished they had known about the class before Evie, Carlos, Mal, and Jay arrived. Then they could have said, “No, that’s a terrible idea for a class because it’s demeaning and horrible and also says to their face that we think they’re stupid and already evil.”

            Unfortunately, it was done, and the VKs were stuck in the class. Fortunately, the hour was up, and (Y/N) got to save them from Fairy Godmother’s cliches and take them to their next class.

            “You find a vial of poison!” said Fairy Godmother dramatically. “Do you: A, put it in the king’s wine? B, paint it on an apple?—” Laughter from Evie, non-malicious, and the others— “Or C, turn it over to the proper authorities?”

            “Obviously paint it on an apple,” said (Y/N) as they walked into the room. “Because who is silly enough to take an apple from a stranger?” They laughed.

            Evie chuckled a little, Mal snorted, and Jay and Carlos grinned. Fairy Godmother sighed, used to (Y/N)’s humor, and put on a smile.

            “Is our time up already?” said Fairy Godmother.

            “You’re the stickler for time,” said (Y/N). “It’s time for gym for Jay and Carlos, and Evie and Mal have English with me.”

            “Alright, don’t be late,” said Fairy Godmother, waving as her students packed up to leave. “And remember to be good!”

            “I’m really sorry about that class,” said (Y/N). “I think Ben was pushed into allowing it so that everyone would relax.” They sighed. “At least it’s an easy A.”

            “Pick the least fun option is the answer key,” said Mal, smirking. She’d already figured it out.

            (Y/N) chuckled.

l

            “Welcome to our poetry class,” said (Y/N), sitting down at a table. Evie and Mal sat across from them.

            “We have to write about our feelings?” said Mal, unimpressed.

            “No, we can write about anything. Today’s a free day,” said (Y/N). “We can either read the assigned pieces—we’re currently reading about poems on nature and how some social classes look at nature positively due to their position while others look at it negatively—or we work on our own pieces. At the end of the year we’ll have a curated collection to show growth and understanding of various techniques.”

            “I’m still not going to make it…sappy,” said Mal.

            “Do spells have a cadence?” asked (Y/N).

            “Yes,” said Mal. “Obviously. Otherwise you’re just talking.”

            “So spells are poems with magic,” said (Y/N). “Try making your own spell.”

            “And it can be anything?” said Mal, considering now. She could create an evil spell to impress her mother with.

            “Preferably not a curse, I don’t think anyone would appreciate that,” said (Y/N).

            Mal hummed noncommittedly. She’d behave in front of everyone, but her mission was clear. She would make her mother proud.

            “I’m going to write about finding my prince,” sighed Evie. “And castles. And ballgowns.”

            “You’re going to love your arts elective,” said (Y/N). They smiled. “It’s design.”

            Mal could have sworn she saw hearts in Evie’s eyes and decided to erase the disgusting sight from her memory. And she pushed away the smile that twitched at the edges of her lips upon seeing her best friend so happy.

l

            “I can use any of this,” said Evie, staring at the rolls upon rolls of fabric before her.

            “Yeah,” said (Y/N) as they sketched. “And if you’re part of the design club, you can come any time during the day, not just your class.” They smiled. “Most people in this class do it to learn small DIYs, they still like their personal tailors and everything, but some people have made formal gowns and suits here, too.”

            “I’m going to make a whole new wardrobe,” said Evie, flipping open her sketchbook and getting to work.

            (Y/N) smiled.

l

            “You don’t have to work with me,” said Mal coldly as she measured the chemical they were about to combine in the flask. Chemistry required a lot of close attention.

            “You needed a partner, and everyone else here knows someone,” said (Y/N), holding the flask steady.

            “You mean no one wants to work with the Villain Kid,” said Mal, straightforward. “And you’re assigned to us.”

            “I volunteered,” said (Y/N).

            Mal paused and looked at them. “You volunteered?” She didn’t believe it.

            “Yeah,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            “Why?” demanded Mal.

            “Because I think Ben’s right,” said (Y/N). “You and all the other children born on the Isle aren’t at fault for what your parents did. You deserve freedom, a chance to live your own story.” They smiled. “So I volunteered to work on the project. I want you, Evie, Carlos, and Jay to do well here so that Ben can bring more kids over.”

            “And yet he chose the worst and the worst to start out with,” said Mal.

            “Go big or go home, right?” said (Y/N), chuckling.

            “My mom tried that by turning into a dragon, and I think she got the ‘go home’ option. She’s still not over that,” remarked Mal with a grin.

            “My mom had to create a pros and cons list for eating nectarines because they’re a cross of peaches and apples, and she’s still suspicious of all apples,” said (Y/N).

            The pair looked at each other before laughing.

l

            “How do you think things are going?” asked Ben excitedly. “I think Jay is interested in Tourney, and Carlos likes Dude!”

            “That’s great,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            “I saw Mal with Jane. Are they friends?” said Ben, a large grin on his face. “This is going so well.”

            “Slow down,” said (Y/N). “It’s only been a few days. Things are still settling for them.”

            “But it has been going well,” said Ben.

            “Well, they’ve been doing well in classes, which is good,” said (Y/N). “And Jane and Mal have hung out more.” They frowned. “Even if it is because Mal did Jane’s hair…” They were a bit hesitant around beauty magic due to the…lengths some people went with insecurities—someone trying to murder your mother over looks would make you unsure about that magic—but it was just hair, right? And it was a nice thing Mal did. “But Jane seems happier, and Mal was only hanging with the VKs and me before that, so I guess it’s a step. And Evie spends time with Doug. And Chad, unfortunately, but he’s harmless other than having a pretty face with no real brain.”

            “You spend a lot of time with them,” said Ben. “You guys seem to be real friends.”

            “Jealous?” said (Y/N), glancing at Ben. They knew he spent a lot of time checking up with Mal when he saw her.

            He coughed and turned a bit red. “Jealous? No, just concerned. I want to make sure they’re doing well.”

            “Uh-huh,” hummed (Y/N).

l

            “Mom said, ‘If a boy can’t see the beauty within, then he’s not worth it,’ ” complained Jane. “Can you believe it? What world does she live in?”

            “Auradon,” said Mal.

            “Jane, do you want a man who only wants beauty or one that loves all of you?” said (Y/N).

            Jane sighed. “All of me. But they all want beauty, too.”

            “You are beautiful, Jane,” said (Y/N). They wished their friends could see their own beauty, inside and out.

            “Says the child of Snow White, the most beautiful woman ever,” grumbled Jane.

            “Does it look like I got those genes?” said (Y/N), leaning on their hand.

            Jane huffed. “Still better than me. I got stocky fairy genes.”

            “Mal, (Y/N), what do you think?” Evie held up her latest creation, a black and blue dress.

            “It brings out your eyes,” said Mal.

            “It looks nice,” said (Y/N).

            “I know,” said Evie proudly.

            “I’ll never get a boyfriend,” bemoaned Jane.

            “Boyfriends are overrated,” said Mal.

            “How would you know, Mal? You’ve never had one,” said Evie.

            “It’s ‘cause I don’t need one, E,” retorted Mal. “They’re a waste of time.”

            Evie gasped at the mention of time. “I forgot to do Chad’s homework!”

            “And that is exactly what I mean,” said Mal.

            “Evie, you shouldn’t do it for him,” said (Y/N). “He is not worth it.” Evie was worth so much more than just her looks, and that was all Chad would look at.

            “What, is he a bad ex?” said Mal, smirking.

            “No, he’s just a shallow idiot,” said (Y/N). “Think male version of Audrey but less sharp.”

            Mal snorted at the description.

            “You always land great partners,” said Jane. “That’s why you don’t worry like I do.”

            “I’ve had two dates,” said (Y/N), shrugging. “And neither of them were right for me.”

            Evie put down Chad’s homework to grin. “Spill. Who?”

            “Princess Ariel and Prince Eric’s son and Prince Naveen and Princess Tiana’s daughter,” said (Y/N).

            “You dated two royals?” Evie sighed. “Lucky.”

            “I went out on one day with each, but neither gave me a real spark. I just felt content. I didn’t feel alive,” said (Y/N). They smiled. “I’m still waiting to find True Love.”

            “True Love, huh? If it hadn’t defeated my mom, I wouldn’t believe in it,” said Mal.

            “It is pretty rare,” admitted (Y/N). “But it would still be nice to find it.”

            Evie smiled softly. “Yeah.”

            Knock-knock.

            Lonnie, (Y/N)’s friend, knocked on the door of the room and peeked inside.

            “Hi,” she said, smiling at everyone. “I’m Lonnie. My Mom’s Mulan? No? Anyways, I love what you’ve done with Jane’s hair.” Lonnie grinned at Mal. “And I know you hate us, and, well, you’re evil—” (Y/N) frowned “—But do you think you can do mine?”

            Mal frowned. “Why would I do that for you?”

            “I’ll pay you fifty dollars,” said Lonnie.

            “Good answer.” Evie took the money. “I need to buy more material. Let’s see…I’m thinking we’ll lose the bangs, maybe some layers, and some highlights.”

            “Yeah, yeah, I want it to be cool,” said Lonnie. “Like Mal’s.”

            “The split ends, too?” said Evie. Mal glowered, and Evie just smirked and shook the money at her.

            Mal sighed, grabbed her spell book, and flipped through it. “Okay…‘Beware, foreswear, replace the old with cool hair.’ ” She drew a design in the air with her finger.

            Lonnie’s hair became a lighter brown and cascaded down her shoulders in soft curls. She touched the soft locks and looked into the mirror. Her eyes widened.

            “I know, I know,” said Evie. “It looks like a mop on your head. You know what, let’s cut it off. Layer it—”

            “No, no, no,” said Lonnie, grinning. “I love it.”

            “You do?” said Evie.

            Lonnie grabbed the edge of her skirt and ripped. Now she had a slit in her skirt. “Now I’m cool,” she said proudly.

            Jane walked up next to her and looked in the mirror. She grabbed the hem of her skirt. She tore. Then, she gasped. “What did I just do? Mom’s gonna kill me.”

            “She won’t, it’s just a skirt,” said (Y/N), waving a hand.

            “Thanks, Mal,” said Lonnie. She smiled. “I’m going to tell all the girls. Bye!” She left the room. Jane hurried out after her, already trying to figure out what to tell her mom about her skirt.

l

            (Y/N) yawned as they walked towards the dorm kitchen. They were starving, and they’d run out of fruit they’d kept in their dorm, so off to the kitchens they went. They opened the door and found a startled Mal, Evie, Carlos, and Jay staring at them from inside.

            Smiling, they walked farther in. “Hey, guys, grabbing a midnight snack, too?” They looked at the cookie batter on the table. “Looks good. Mind if I try some?” They grabbed a spoon, dipped it, and took a bite. “Mmm.”

            Evie and Mal winced, Carlos and Jay exchanged glances, and all four looked at (Y/N) expectantly.

            “Do you…feel anything?” said Evie slowly.

            “Like it’s…missing something?” said Mal.

            “You guys could add chocolate chips,” suggested (Y/N), turning to the fridge. Behind them, all the VKs let out a breath of relief that nothing had gone wrong.

            “Chocolate chips?” said Jay, furrowing his brow.

            “Some of the best treats out there,” said (Y/N), taking a bag out of the fridge. They smiled. “My mom would always add them to brownies and cookies when I was feeling down.” (Y/N) sprinkled some into the bowl, and the VKs watched the tiny pieces of chocolate mix with the batter.

            “Feeling down?” said Evie quietly.

            “Yeah,” said (Y/N), leaning on the table. “I had a tough time with insecurity growing up. When everyone in the world thinks your mom is beautiful, they make comments expecting you to be. It took me a while to learn not to compare myself to others.” They smiled as they remembered their childhood. “But my mom would always remind me of what mattered when I got down, and she’d make us sweets, put on a movie, and just hold me.” They looked up, and their face fell.

            Each of the VKs was staring at them with a strange look in their eyes. Carlos had leaned in longingly. Jay was silent, looking at his feet. Mal had furrowed her brow, confused by the idea of what (Y/N)’s mom was like. Evie stared at the cookie batter, thinking of all the times she’d been insecure and been reminded she would never be as fair as her mom but she needed to be second best at least.

            They hadn’t gotten that softness, that kindness.

            “Did I…say something?” said (Y/N) quietly. They hadn’t meant to upset them.

            Mal cleared her throat. “It’s just different where we’re from.”

            “Oh. So your parents didn’t—” (Y/N) swallowed as they watched the VKs shift and blink away their emotions. Tears burned the edges of (Y/N)’s eyes. The VKs’ parents hadn’t helped any of them deal with their insecurities and instead fed into them. “I’m sorry,” whispered (Y/N). “You deserve better.” A tear ran down their cheek.

            Mal’s eyes widened, she reached out, and she wiped the tear from (Y/N)’s cheek. (Y/N) blinked in confusion, and Mal flicked her hands dry—and the tear “happened” to fall into the bowl of batter.

            “Yeah, well, big bummer,” said Mal, clearing her throat and moving on. She was not soft. “But we have to get these in the oven, so thank you so much for coming by.”

            “Bye,” said Evie as Mal pushed (Y/N) towards the door.

            “Oh, yeah, right,” said (Y/N). They wouldn’t intrude any more after ruining the mood. “Goodnight.”

            “We’ll see you tomorrow,” said Mal.

            “Swe—Evil dreams,” said Evie.

Taglist:

@neenieweenie

@hampterfae

@american-idiot-jpg

@lunalixya

@roo024

@unholycheesesnack

@paastaboi

@lbee13

[ididdedurmom]

More evil head cannons

I have silly ideas about the gang after the event of the story, everyone lives, except Bob

PONY:

Has a thousand yard stare when he zones out

Has the loudest, most disgusting, mucus filled cough ever

Actually really good at drawing

Has drawn every member of the gang at least twice

Loves physical touch, he leans on his friends when their sitting next to him.

Actually screams during horror movies, like loud genuine screams

Loves play fighting with Darry, like full on wrestling

Steve taught him how to drive

He either walks like a ghost or stomps, there is no in between

He can play one song on the guitar, and that’s it

His legs are super strong, so his kicks hurt really bad

He would be better at track, but his smoking habits hold him back

He feels jealous of Soda and Darry because they had more time with their parents

He and Darry have matching reading glasses

SODA:

He says “I’m just a girl” anytime he gets in trouble

He has used his pretty privilege to get out of being arrested multiple times

Despite how handsome he knows he is, he still feels super insecure about his looks

He steals from the DX station constantly

He and Steve spend hours gossiping about their customers once both of their shifts are over

A dog bit him when he was a kid, now he’s deathly afraid of them

He loves physical affection, hugging him is the best way to cheer him up

Absolute candy addict

Candy is the #1 item he steals from the DX

He broke his dominant hand once, and now his handwriting is permanently ruined

He reads insanely slow and monotone when he reads out loud

He either sleeps like a rock, or wakes up from the slightest sound, there is no in between

He lives in his flannel, that thing hasn’t been washed in literal years

He suffers from middle child syndrome, he knows his brothers love him, but they don’t pay enough attention to him

DARRY:

He hates his jobs, he knows he has to go but he can’t stand them

All of his coworkers are old and they treat him like a child (which he’s kind of okay with in a way)

He loves watching cartoons but he feels like he’d be wasting his time

He sneezes like a dad

He wakes up at 4 am and works out immediately

Loves compliments and words of affection

Doing favors is his love language

He has the whitest legs ever, he’s all tan on the top and snow white on the bottom

His tan ends where his pants start

Small bits of his hair are grey, he doesn’t know

He has a fear of abandonment

He is insanely flexible for a man of his size, like he can touch the floor standing up with ease

He hit a dog with his car once and cried for 2 hours straight

He loves cuddling on the couch with his brothers, it helps him relax

He despises Curly Shepard, he’s civil with Tim, but he HATES Curly

When he comes home from his ski trips with his old friends, he actually looks his age

A woman once assumed he was Pony’s father, and it made him die inside a little

He can’t stand Mother and Fathers Day

He was mad at Steve when he found out he taught Pony how to drive

TWO-BIT:

He and Dally bond by harassing women

He has a box full of things he’s stolen

His slight alcoholism stems from his father

He let’s his sister paint his nails, and he shows them off proudly

He gets his nails painted before rumbles

He watches soap operas with his mother every night

He can play the trumpet

He has never purchased a pack of cigarettes, only stolen

He listens to metal

When he passes Johnny’s house, he has to actively stop himself from walking in and beating Johnny’s parents half to death, especially his father

Its not that he doesn’t want a job, I mean he doesn’t, it’s that he thinks he’d only mess up whenever they had him do

He constantly forgets to brush his teeth

Pop and beer are the only things he drinks, he doesn’t touch water

He religiously wears Mickey Mouse merch, you will never catch him in a plain shirt

Baby Pony and him got along really well, he was kinda like Pony’s goofy cousin

Two-Bit and Darry have been friends since they were little kids

Two has no plans for his future, and it weighs on him

He broke both of his elbows once

His teachers have kinda given up on him, they just treat him like a bother instead of a student

STEVE:

He messes up Pony’s hair every chance he gets

He uses the most hair grease out of everyone

He has had the same comb for 3 years

He constantly smells like oil

The underside of his nails are always black, no matter how much he washes his hands

He and Soda have matching scars from a shared failed attempt to climb a barb wired fence

He is terrified of the police

He and Soda make your mom jokes at each other, despite neither of them having mothers

His voice is scarily deep when he wakes up

He and Two-Bit have an inside joke no one in the gang understands

He, Soda, and Two-Bit all have matching stick and poke tattoos

He hates his father, and by extension the fathers of Johnny and Two-Bit

He and Dally don’t hang out much, but when they do they are absolute menaces

Dally and him steal cars and hub caps together

He is genuinely upset by the size of his nose

JOHNNY:

He’s dyslexic

His handwriting is atrocious

His best subject is math

He and the gang all picked out stickers to put on his crutches

He loves sleeping around his friends

His hands are rough

He can’t stand the smell of beer, unless it’s one of the gang

He and Curly hate each other for literally no reason

Pony has slowly been teaching him to read better

No matter how much grease he puts in his hair, it won’t stay back

He hates going out in public because people always look at him funny

He hates looking at his burn scars

He, Dally, and Ponyboy watch sunsets together

He either sleeps at the Cutis’s house, Two-Bit’s house, Steve’s (very rarely), or Dallas’s place.

He’s not allowed to sleep in the lot anymore

He has tons of freckles, you just can’t see them against his skin

He loves sleeping outside when he wants to

He never wants children, he’s to scared he’ll become his father

His pain tolerance is so high that sometimes he won’t even notice when he gets injured

He likes how defensive Dallas is of him, makes him feel confident

He smokes marijuana with Dally sometimes, he’s super anxious when they do though because he doesn’t want to get arrested

DALLY:

He will not talk about his feelings

The cops forced him to go to therapy, it didn’t fix anything

He is amazing at lying

The police know him by name

He hasn’t told the gang much about the past other than where he came from and that he doesn’t talk to his folks

Darry nicknamed him “Rat”

He actually feels bad when Darry yells at him

He gets sun burns very quickly

He has his own personal stench

He doesn’t want Johnny to end up like him

He cried for 3 hours straight when he found out Johnny was still alive, it is his most embarrassing moment

He chugs drinks insanely fast

He can’t read very well

He needs glasses but he thinks he’d look like a wimp if he had any

Even though he knows he could have an asthma attack from coughing to hard, he still doesn’t carry his inhaler

He was happy when he thought he was going to die

Then he woke up and had an epiphany about life, it didn’t do to much, but now he knows death isn’t the only option

He proudly shows off the burn marks on his arm

He loves pushing Johnny around in his wheelchair

He listens to outlaw music and Frank Sinatra

He loves horror movies

He toned down his bad behavior once he got out of the hospital, he’s still a dick though

That’s it or whatever. I hope you like them, I’m sorry if some of them don’t make sense. I’m just so silly. I apologize for my horrible grammar lol. Feel free to tell me some of your head cannons!! :D