#this could more accurately be called a tribute

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

Revenge, a Dish Served Colder than Snow || Young!Coriolanus Snow x Reader

GIF by @kvtnisseverdeen and divider by @firefly-graphics

A/n: I'd just like to say that this is not book or movie accurate whatsoever. Finnick is not even alive yet when Coriolanus was in his early 20s. I just really wanted to include him in this because he's hot and I love him. Also, lets just imagine he has been gone long enough that the next hunger games was about to happen.

Warnings: choking, swearing if there are others lmk

Wc:

P.t 1 P.t 2

Coriolanus Snow Masterlist

Previous

“Go fuck yourself Coriolanus,” You sneer at him as you turn around but was stopped when his hand takes a hold of your arm. “The fuck did you just say to me?” He scrunches his eyebrows, fury in his blue eyes. You shake off his grip, staring at him square on. “I said, to go fuck yourself. Or, if you find her, go fuck Lucy Gray!” You rage, spinning around and walking out of the bathroom.

Coryo stands there in utter disbelief at what had just happened moments earlier. The image of you causing a scene infront of everybody and that tribute from district 4, his hands roaming around your body shamelessly. He felt pure rage coursing through his veins as he slams his fist against the wall.

~

Coriolanus watched with curious eyes once he saw you enter the room. He hadn't seen you for a couple weeks after that day he came back and moaned out Lucy Gray's name while fucking you. Even under that masquerade mask, Snow could tell it was you.

His eyebrow quirks up when he notices a man by your side. "Who is that?" He points to the mysterious man beside you as Livia looks over to where he was pointing. A chuckle leaves her lips, "Jealous, snow?" She swirls the alcohol in her flute before taking a sip.

"That right there beside your dear y/n is none other than Finnick Odair," Livia wets her lips. "A tribute. From district 4," She continues as Coriolanus' eyes follow the two of you, Finnick's hand resting far too low on your back for his liking.

"What is a fucking tribute doing with her then?" He scoffs, leaning forward on his seat. "Has your time as peacekeeper in district 12 forgotten how much power Y/n has?" She looks at him as if he was an idiot. "She just vouched for him, convinced her daddy to let him stay with her." Liv shrugs.

Coriolanus lets out a scoff, "Are you jealous of a district boy? He is pretty handsome don't you think. A strong competitor for sure," She says before standing up and leaving Snow in his thoughts. A few minutes later, he gets up from where he was sitting and manoeuvres his body across the crowd of elitist members and other wealthy people of Panem.

"What are you doing here with him?" Snow pops a grape into his mouth as you pause your actions and look to him by your side. Of course he was going to be here. "And why do you care? Coriolanus?" You chastise, "Do not. Call me that," He mutters at you, a stern expression on his face as you smirk.

"Well, if you must know. I took a liking to the tribute and let's just say, gotten quite comfortable with each other," A smile makes it to your lips as you could see Snow visibly annoyed. "He's a fucking tribute-" "Oh isn't that rich coming from you, Snow?" You let out a laugh as you face him. "That's exactly what I thought when I questioned your intentions with Lucy-" "Y/n, don't" "And there you were. Moaning her fucking name while inside me!"

You harshly say as a couple people around pause to look at you both. Coriolanus could tell you had drunk a bit more than you could handle. "Y/n, let's talk somewhere else," He takes your hands, ready to pull you away. You yank his grip off of you.

"No! I'm not done!" Snow runs a hand down his face at your loud outburst. "I never knew that you could stoop so fucking low you know. First it was cheating so that your precious tribute would win, and then you go chase her in her district and-" You couldn't finish your sentence as Coriolanus lurches towards him, hand gripping the base of your neck as your look at him in horror.

He squeezes it enough to make you shut up and gasp slightly for air. The people around you gasp at what had just happened. "Shut the fuck up. Shut your mouth before I do something I will regret," He spat, his hand squeezing as he shakes you."Get off of her!" Finnick shouts, pulling Snow away from you as you hold onto him, your hand touching your neck.

You then push Finnick away before doing something that further fueled the fire inside Coriolanus. You bowed. Just like her. Exactly like how Lucy Gray bowed at the reaping ceremony. A few stifled laughs could be heard throughout the room as Coriolanus looks horrified. He gulps, loosening his tie as you smirk at him

Coriolanus quickly leaves the room, breathing heavily as he runs his hands through his hair. He didn’t know what took over him. But he saw red the second you mentioned Lucy Gray. He swore he never intended to harm you. But he couldn’t help it.

His pent up emotions from the past couple of weeks needing diffusing. And you were pretty darn good at pushing specific buttons within him. Coriolanus caught glimpse of your figure entering the bathroom, he follows you whilst looking around, making sure no one was around.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, tears brimming your eyes as you study your neck, already bruising from his iron like grip. You were horrified, shocked, and most of all hurt, by Coriolanus. He never once touched you with such violence and he always reassured you that he would never hurt you and here you were. Crying in the bathroom stalls.

Even after the events that occurred when he came back, you couldn’t stop thinking about Coryo. You just couldn’t help yourself. He was your first everything. You lean your hands on the counter as you drop your head, tears cascading down your cheeks.

Coriolanus immediately heard your cries the minute he’s close to the bathroom door. He pauses. Leans his ear against the door and lets out sigh before entering. His entrance caught you by surprise as you stumble back upon seeing his tall figure.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you.” He says, sadness and guilt laced in his tone as he looks at you in sympathy, his eyes flickering your neck where he caused damage. You refused to meet his eyes as you turn your head to the side.

“But you should know better than to publicly humiliate me infront of everyone-“ A loud scoff emits your lips as you turn to him. “Go fuck yourself Coriolanus,” You sneer at him as you turn around but was stopped when his hand takes a hold of your arm. “The fuck did you just say to me?” He scrunches his eyebrows, fury in his blue eyes. You shake off his grip, staring at him square on. “I said, to go fuck yourself. Or, if you find her, go fuck Lucy Gray!” You rage, spinning around and walking out of the bathroom.

Coryo stands there in utter disbelief at what had just happened moments earlier. The image of you causing a scene infront of everybody and that tribute from district 4, his hands roaming around your body shamelessly. He felt pure rage coursing through his veins as he slams his fist against the wall.

Before you walk through the door, you stop and turn to face him. His expression angry, his hands were bawled up into fists, the wall beside him had a whole where he punctured it with his hand. “Don’t ever try talking to me again, Coriolanus. I mean it. Or I’ll do something you’ll regret.” You conclude before turning back around and walking away.

Coriolanus Snow knew without a doubt that you were capable of so many things that would hurt him, and his reputation. And he did not need further damage. So he listened. Regret seeped into him every single day as he left you alone. He would always watch you from afar though, he loved you, there was no denying.

What occurred that day with Lucy Gray was a mistake, a mistake he wished he could take back more than anything.

Taglist: @valenftcrush @ghostlycrystobalove @esquivelbianca @duds31 @threeinchminimum @shadowsepiphany @novacaneformybrain @crazylokonugget @unclecrunkle @darkqweenn @marihoneywk @beckinator7 @stelleduarte @1950schick @celineandtulips

[darlingdekarios]

hibernate.

rating: explicit. 18+ only. length: 6,152 content: Arthur Morgan x f!reader, animal hunting mentions, cannon-accurate outlaw behavior, cowboy meet cute, Arthur Morgan is a simp, snowed in, fluff, smut [v fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, cockwarming], kink(s) [spit as lube]

it was like fate insisted on the two of you colliding.

The first time you’d met Arthur Morgan was a lovely March night in New Hanover, opportunities abound as the hustle and bustle of life was at its highest point of the year, the weather the most tolerable for moving about. Returning from an evening of fishing now that the water wasn’t frozen in some areas and sketching birds by the river when he stumbled across a lone figure boarding train – well after midnight. He followed on horseback under the cover of trees in anticipation, joined by your own horse shortly after. He followed alongside with a hold of the strange horse’s reins until the train came to a stop. 

He'd strained to hear you, considered boarding after you to clean up any straggling guards – it wasn’t his business, so he didn’t – but curiosity held him close. When the sound of police approaching quickly began you emerged to the top of the train, looking around desperately for your horse. Temporarily frozen when the moonlight caught your face and confirmed to the man that you were a woman, he recovered just in time to spring into action.

It had been Arthur who had led your horse to you and instructed you to follow. It was Arthur’s path that led you away from the law and eventually far enough away to be free of their hunting.

“Are you some kinda lunatic, lady?” he questioned when the two of you slowed side-by-side under the cover of thick trees, his face hard-set and stern. “You coulda gotten yourself tossed away for a long time back there.”

“I didn’t, though,” you laughed, and despite the feeling that burned in him that he couldn’t quite place as anger or worry Arthur’s stomach flipped at the sound and the way your laugh reached your eyes. You adjusted your hat with a playful smile on your lips, keeping the reins to your horse in one hand. 

“Thanks to me,” he asserted, the stress causing him to light up a cigarette and adjust his hat. His eyes caught your gaze and you held it, appreciating his handsome features for a moment as your smile twisted wider.

“I would’ve figured it out, cowboy – you can be sure of that.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’ve seen your face on ‘wanted’ posters, Mr. Morgan,” you proclaimed, tone proud as you called him on his identity. He took another drag from his cigarette before leaning forward comfortably in his saddle, outstretching a hand toward you. 

“Arthur,” he offered, amusement flashing across his features when you shook his hand firmly. “And I’ve seen yours, too. What is it they call you…?”

“The Panther,” you replied, that proud tone ever-present in your voice. “A nice tribute to my best hunt.”

His poker face was too well-trained to reveal that he was impressed – that he was intrigued.

“Well next time you go thinkin’ of doing something so goddamn stupid like rob a train at midnight alone,” he began, gruff voice filled with frustration as he attempted to present his unamused façade. “You could invoke that particular nickname and be a little more subtle.”

The second time was just as circumstantial. It was July – the heat sweltering, the air sticky, the fireflies sparkling in fields at night. You’d been riding for days, hunting gators in the swamps for weeks and now headed back to a more familiar area where you felt more at home. Just past Emerald Ranch you’d spotted him on the road ahead – his hat unmistakable and burned into your mind, his horse giving away his identity to anyone who knew it. 

There was no questioning if he’d want your company – you didn’t even give it a thought. Instead, you’d hastened your own horse to catch up with him.

“Where ya headed, cowboy?” you questioned as you approached from behind, adjusting your hat back on your head to offer more of your face to him. Your voice immediately sent a shiver down his spine, the barely-there smile crossing his features unmissed by you.

Four months trying to remember your face and voice hadn’t done it any justice.

“Valentine,” he replied, slowing his horse’s stride to match yours. The two of you set a lazy pace, in no real hurry to get anywhere. “You following me now, cat?”

“Like I ain’t got better things to do, Mr. Morgan?” you joked, nose scrunching as you smiled. The Summer sun had done beautiful things for your color, he noted. “Give you $50 and shine your guns if you can beat me there.”

“Are you tryin’ to race me?” he questioned with a subtle laugh, raising an eyebrow in your direction.

“Won’t be much of a race, cowboy.”

He let out a real, genuine, albeit short laugh at that. The sound filled the air around you, made birds vacate trees. Your heart soared away alongside them.

“And what is it you want if you win?”

“A nice bottle of whisky,” you replied after a brief moment of thought, reaching your hand to rub your horse’s neck gently. Arthur had forgotten how gentle your hands were with everything they touched – the rediscovery lighting up his mind. “And a hot meal at your camp.”

“Can’t promise the gang’ll let you eat at camp without drinking, too.”

“Which is why I asked for a bottle of whisky,” you remarked, that shit-eating grin he was starting to love spreading on your face again. “Do we have a deal?”

“Hope your horse is fast enough to back up that mouth of yours,” he quipped back, intentionally antagonizing you as he started to pick up the speed slightly. “Or that you’ve got plenty of gun oil.”

You shot forward then, the dust of the road kicking up behind you as you left Arthur behind on a road you both knew well. In reality he could’ve caught you – could’ve even won if he’d pushed his horse hard enough – but the sound of your laughter in the cool evening air was reason enough to lose. 

It wasn’t a surprise when you crossed over into the town first.

“You cheated,” he argued as he approached, allowing his horse to slow to a reasonable speed for being around other people. “Got a head start. Doesn’t count.”

“You’re just a sore loser.”

“Maybe I am,” he replied, reaching up to remove his hat to resituate his wind-blown hair. You were momentarily transfixed on his fingers running through the strands that looked soft – maybe in need of a wash but soft nonetheless – but quickly wished he’d left it messy. “Weren’t mean you didn’t get a head start, cat.”

“Oh, like a couple steps mattered,” you entered an easy banter with him, just like the two of you had done in the Spring. He’d missed it – hadn’t realized how much he had until then. “Coulda given you a five-minute head start and still would’ve beat you and that slowpoke horse you ride.”

“Anybody ever tell you you’re difficult?” 

“Heard it a couple times,” there was that smile again – the nose crinkling one. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep his thoughts to himself with you smiling that way – at him. You jumped down from your stallion and hitched him with ease, feeding the massive animal a small snack in appreciation of his efforts. “I can compromise. I buy the whisky, but I still get a hot meal at your camp.”

He pondered your proposal only briefly before nodding, letting out an affirmative huff in agreeance. “I’ll meet you at the butcher when you’re done.”

You gave your horse a gentle pat and nodded, turning back to meet his gaze. “Sell that fox pelt I have up on Scratch, will ya?”

Easy. Simple. Honest. Sensible. Arthur loved having you around camp that night – and the night after when you’d been convinced to stay again by the women – though it was hardly just them that enjoyed your company. You’d made easy companions in the camp with your sharp tongue and ability to hold your alcohol. You had plenty of stories to share with Arthur’s chosen family – each one of them genuinely interesting to the gang.

Everyone knew the fact Arthur had brought you around meant you were a good person. The beauty was a bonus, he’d been informed in privacy. He’d only told Sean to shut his mouth in response. Arthur slept by the fire that night so you could sleep in his cot, and if anyone else in the gang saw the way he’d sat up for at least an hour with his eyes transfixed on your sleeping figure in his bed. 

It was Fall, October to be exact, the next time he heard from you – this time you had taken fate into your own hands to seek out his company. He was certain he’d never be able to dispose the letter you’d penned and sent to his camp.

Dear Arthur, Kinda strange to call you “dear”, huh?  Anyway, I have a job comin’ up in Saint Denis that involves me boarding a train quite late at night and remembering our conversation earlier this year I thought I may ask you to join.  Job is planned for the night of October 18, the Saturday after next. I’ll meet you the Friday before at the saloon in Van Horn if you plan on joining me.  I do hope you join me.  Hope that gang of yours isn’t being too rough on you. 

He arrived in Van Horn a day early and rented himself a room – and a bath – so he was prepared for the meeting. He was in the saloon before you, his chest clenching as you walked in through the swinging doors. 

You’d taken a page from his book and clearly bathed recently as well, and you were dressed for the first time in front of him in feminine attire. The sight of you in a skirt shouldn’t have affected him the way it did – it was embarrassing for a man his age. It didn’t prevent the pressure building at his waist, nor did it stop him from speaking his mind.

“You had to wear that damn skirt, didn’t ya?” he questioned when you joined him, a smile spreading across your face. It was hardly a gentlemanly way to greet you, but then again, he was hardly a gentleman. “Knew what you were doin’ puttin’ that on with me coming in today…”

“You complained so much about the pants last time I figured I’d save myself the headache,” you replied, sliding into a chair next to him and crossing your legs for emphasis. “You don’t like it?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, kitten,” he’d practically purred – a new tone between the two of you. There was no denying that you wanted to hear it more, and you nearly chose to forget the real reason you were now sitting beside him. 

“I need to look the part tomorrow for the job,” you replied quickly, eager to squash the tension now building between the two of you, unwilling to allow the job to go forgotten. There was too much money at stake. “Have to board a real nice train when it leaves out of Saint Denis tomorrow night. There’s a safe onboard I’d like to get my hands into.”

“Can’t just rob it the old-fashioned way?”

“Someone didn’t like the last time I did that,” you teased, feeling pleased with the smile it earned. “Figured I’d board and crack the safe.”

“Why you need me then?”

“Need someone to play my husband and keep watch while I’m workin’ on the safe.”

“Your husband,” he huffed out with another laugh, a brief shake to his head. The term had always been silly to him, just as silly as the idea of marriage was to you as a whole, really – and yet, there was no denying the clench in both of your chests at the mere thought. The imaginary suggestion manifested in brief images of domesticity, the vision of you sleeping in his cot in July flashing in his mind. 

You didn’t miss the slight redness to his cheeks, he didn’t miss how your smile fluttered into something laced with affection. For all your joking demeanor, it was still clear that there was some secretive sincerity beneath the surface – that you cared for Arthur. And on Arthur’s part, well…he wouldn’t ride across the country to work for just anyone.

“Yes,” you replied when you’d pulled yourself from the depths of his eyes. “A woman travelling with her husband is far less likely to draw attention than if I were alone.”

You thought there would be some protest, though if you’d seen even a fraction of the thoughts Arthur had conjured up in the preceding months you’d never have to question it. To you what seemed to be him conceding was actually the outlaw taking a step he’d long considered taking with you the next chance he got. 

Arthur just wanted to spend time with you – there were probably very few things he’d say no to right now in regard to you. He wouldn’t go admitting that out loud anytime soon either. 

“Fine, I’ll go along with your little plan. Only so you don’t go gettin’ yourself arrested.”

“Great!” you exclaimed, the brightness that covered your face blinding but serving as confirmation that he was making the right choice. The money he was sure to get would be a bonus, too. “I got you a wedding ring. Looks like it’ll fit. You can sell it when the job’s done, as a thank you.”

“You get it off a dead body?”

“He didn’t need it anymore.”

There was that goddamn feeling in his chest again. 

This was the fourth time destiny had crossed your path with Arthur Morgan’s. 

Now, the ring still lay in the outside pouch of his satchel, the cool metal brushing against the tips of his calloused fingers often daily in a physical reminder of you. Today, feeling the pull of being apart from you for four months now and into the new year, he’d been clutching the metal in his gloved hands as he led his horse through the far North. Seeking the solitary bliss of being alone in the mountains for the winter, he had opted to simply ride and camp, sketching in his journal and enjoying the snow dusted scenery. Arthur’s plan was soon thwarted as a snowstorm began to roll in.

He'd been riding along the same worn path to make his way down the mountain when he noticed horse tracks leading into the thick forest – a horse, by the look of it, with no reemergence to be seen. Opting to do the honorable thing, Arthur pursued the trail, weaving through trees atop his own horse until he came to a small clearing where you were setting predator bait.

He didn’t know the kind of words to describe the way he felt seeing you right in front of him.

“Are you some kinda lunatic, cat?” 

If he had a way with words, he’d tell you that your smile was brighter than the sun itself – fleeting shooting stars, the North Star when he’s lost. 

“That’s not the first time you’ve asked me that question, Mister Morgan,” you replied, standing up and patting your horse as your gaze remained transfixed on him now. Even at this distance you could see the blue in his coat had electrified his eyes, the tone a perfect match for the world around you. You found it hard to form any further rebuttal. 

“Won’t be the last either, given you’re doing something fucking crazy every time I see you,” he teased, finally giving into the natural ease he felt with you. The light air between the two of you had finally lulled him into a sense of comfort around you – he was willing to admit he was concerned, in his own way. “There’s a storm rollin’ in. You trying to freeze to death?”

“Trying to hunt a white wolf,” you replied, glancing back at the bait you’d just set and adjusting the bow you held in your hands, an arrow already grasped between two fingers. 

Fuckin’ hell, Arthur thought. ‘Course that’s what you’re out here doing.

“You ain’t gonna be hunting much of anything when you turn into an icicle,” he replied, hopeful that you would understand his taunting was coming from a place of concern – not control. “You got Scratch nearby?”

“I suppose you’re right,” you smiled, slipping the arrow back into the quiver on your back and whistling to call your horse back to you. You mounted up on the animal easily, Arthur taking the moment to appreciate how languid your movements were – how graceful. His eyes lingered at your waist for a moment longer than was decent.

“If I remember right there’s a cabin just up the road. Been empty the last few times I rode by,” he explained, his words offering more than just a place to shield from the freeze. 

Arthur wanted to spend time with you. You’d truly have to be a lunatic to think otherwise.

“Lead the way, cowboy.”

The snow picked up as the two of you rode side-by-side, both of your horses slowing as the powder piled up, creating heavier footsteps. While Arthur spoke to his horse beside you to soothe her through the storm, you could feel his eyes consistently on you despite the painful whip of flakes against his unshielded cheeks.

What could have been a short ride in the summer extended in the weather, and by the time the cabin approached view you had begun to shiver – something Arthur took note of. When he climbed from his horse he unrolled the blanket on the back of his saddle, passing it up to you before grabbing his shotgun. 

“I’ll check inside, you try not to shiver s’much you fall off your horse.”

He disappeared into the cabin, your mind focusing on the sounds of him moving about rather the piling snow that was sure to trap you for days. Keeping yourself wrapped in his blanket provided the additional comfort of his lingering scent, and you found yourself clutching the fabric tighter and tighter as the moments passed.

“This’ll be fine ‘til the storm’s passed,” he announced as he exited through the doors, voice raised so you could hear him over the wind. “You go on in while I get some firewood and hitch the horses.”

“I can help, you know,” you offered, eyebrows pulling together to communicate your frustration. 

“Would you stop your arguing for once and go inside out of this shit?”

By the time Arthur made his way in from the storm you’d used what wood remained in the cabin to start a fire, the flames warming the air around it quickly. The mattress was considerably dirty and out of the question, so you were validated in the decision to carry in your bedrolls and blankets, having set them up comfortably in front of the fire. 

His heavy boots sounded on the floor as he approached where you sat on the floor from behind, and while you couldn’t see him, you could feel his eyes on you. 

“Already got a fire going?”

“Uh huh,” you replied, noting the subtle shake to his voice. Arthur was strong, but he was human, and he was cold. The fact that he not only was willing to but insisted on suffering for you caused a knot to form in your stomach. “Got some whisky if you need help warming up.”

He simply grunted affirmatively in reply, setting the stack of wood carefully to the side and picking out the driest pieces to tend the fire with now. You tempted to hand the bottle out to him, the liquid going ignored as he began to peel off layer by layer, tossing the soaked clothing to the side lazily with little regard for how they ended up. Normally you’d have stood to hang the clothes, but you found yourself spellbound by the way Arthur’s muscles flexed with each movement under the simple wet damp button up shirt – the last remaining layer.

When he was somewhat comfortable, he turned to face you, eyes flashing with amusement as he took the bottle from your fingers. You were certain your mouth was hanging open and he’d caught you. At the moment, you could hardly bring yourself to care.

Hours passed as the two of you got warm and caught up over the last few weeks. You sat opposite one another, both wrapped in your own blankets and full of enough whisky to ignore the storm outside – to ignore everything but one another. Arthur hadn’t missed that most of your clothes lie neatly folded atop the countertop. The thought was repeating in his mind – the heavy question of what exactly remained under the blanket haunting him. 

He couldn’t be blamed for not being a good listener. 

“Arthur, are you even listenin’ to me?”

“Not a fuckin’ word,” he replied with one more small swig of whisky from the bottle, setting it well out of the way to the side. “Stop fuckin’ doin’ that if you want me to listen.”

“Doing what?”

You knew damn well what.

“Lookin’ at me like you want me to come crawl on top of you.”

Why on Earth would you ever stop doing that? 

“No.”

Your mouth was going to drive him to insanity one day. He wasn’t going to do a single thing about it.

“Did you just tell me ‘No’?” 

“Yeah, Arthur, I surely did,” you replied, quick and agile as you were on your feet. He was beginning to think you may only talk to hm this way, and that thought alone was enough to make him want to reach out to you. “Hoping you take the hint.”

The blanket he’d been using for himself was discarded to the side, your words finally snapping the thin thread of control that remained in him. He extended one arm outward toward the floor to support himself, outstretching his legs to be situated in a more comfortable position before his eyes found yours again. 

“Come on over here,” his invitation came thick as molasses and dripping just as sweet, his free hand patting his right thigh to give his words deeper meaning. “Bring the blanket.”

Arthur had finally figured out how to get you to stop arguing and basked in the glory of the moment as you crawled to him carefully, finding a comfortable seat in his lap as you straddled his thighs. He savored the view as you wrapped your arms around his neck, encompassing you both with the blanket, your face illuminated by the golden glow of the well-tended fire – beautiful, warm, inviting. 

He was more than happy to finally accept. 

“Are you gonna kiss me, Arthur?”

He knew you were trying to sound resolute as you always did – firm and demanding and impossible to deny. While those things lingered – he doubted they could ever truly be gone from you – what really laced your words was the quietest of whines. He sat up fully, bringing his torso closer to yours and grasping your hips in both hands, all the while your heart beating faster and faster in anticipation.

When you opened your mouth to let your protest be known again, he took his opportunity to claim your lips in a long-awaited kiss, the feeling of his lips caressing yours sucking the air from your chest immediately. He opted to slide his hands to your lower back to bring you in closer, pressing your chests together as he kissed you hungrily. Touch starved and overwhelmed by the feeling of you returning his kiss with soft lips he sought more of your skin, sliding his hands up the back of the loose blouse you remained in. 

“Clothes are still wet,” he grumbled against your lips, displeased by the cool touch to your skin that remained. You scrambled to reinitiate the kiss, your lips catching his bottom lip as a whine slipped through your lips. A quiet chuckle rumbled through his chest as he nuzzled your cheek with his nose. 

“Take them off, then,” you breathed out, bowing your head to press a delicate kiss to his neck. His own breath caught, arms wrapping tighter around you – almost too tight, almost too crushing. You made no move to stop him as you began to test the best places to leave your kisses, spurring him to release his hold on you to start peeling the last layers from both of you. 

Your lips brushed against the shell of his ear when all that remained were intimate coverings, a shaky groan rolling through his chest. His hands engulfed you, sliding up your torso until he cupped your breasts, dipping his head to claim your lips again. 

That kiss was hungry – starved – clumsy in ways that screamed of desperation. His thumbs rubbed over your nipples lightly, a smile evident on his lips despite the fact he continued to kiss you as a moan slipped from your throat. It spiraled from there, both of your hands exploring, your fingers the best thing he’d felt against his skin in a long time. As the pressure built heavier at your waist his hands trailed lower, one stopping to grasp your waist, the other slipping into the waistband of your underwear. 

He'd never heard music that sounded as good as the sound of the moan that left you as his thick fingers swiped through your wet folds, an appreciative hum shaking in his throat as you burrowed your face in his neck. 

“You’re already soaked for me, darlin’,” he rasped, his voice getting lower and lower with each word. He began to sink his index finger into you, grasping your hip tighter in his other hand. “Fuckin’ tight, too. Hell.”

“Arthur…”

“Aw, hush,” he cooed, turning his head to press a kiss to your temple as he curled his finger inside you, pulling a quiet whimper from you. “No point tryin’ to talk right now, darlin’ – just lemme take care of ya.”

He could take his sweet time, Arthur Morgan. He was a patient man, especially when it came to you, and never more-so than now as he began to work his finger in and out of your clenching heat. He added a second finger soon, pressing the heel of his hand to your clit to give you more pressure, which you gladly accepted by rocking your hips into it. 

As he pumped his fingers into you he began to trail kisses lower, the kisses growing heavier and wetter the further down he went. By the time he nipped at your hip with his teeth lightly you were breathless, eyes squeezed shut as you lost yourself to pleasure. He kissed across your waistline as he pulled your underwear down, smiling against your skin lightly when you kicked them free with frustrated fervor. 

Nothing up to this point compared to the feeling of Arthur sliding his tongue from his fingers to your clit, giving the sensitive bundle of nerves a soft suck. He repeated the motion as you struggled to even moan, your hands grasping at the blankets now on the floor beneath you as you tried to rock your hips into his face desperately.

“Easy, now,” Arthur reprimanded with quiet reverence behind his words, turning his head to press a kiss to your inner thigh softly. “I’m takin’ my time with you, don’t rush me.”

You finally opened your eyes, ready to give him an earful about being a tease, only to be frozen once again faced with the sight of Arthur, golden illuminated by the fire and somehow still wearing his hat tipped back on his head. You maintained eye contact with him as you reached forward with your hands, removing the hat with one hand and placing it on your own head as your fingers ran through his hair, giving a soft tug at the end. 

The growl vibrated through him and you as he connected his lips to your clit, pumping his fingers into you and connecting the tips, curling them skillfully to rub against the sensitive patch deep within you as he sucked your clit. All the while he maintained eye contact, even when he removed his mouth from you with one final flick of his tongue, just as he removed his fingers from you. 

“Arthur…” you whimpered in protest, tugging his hair again to try to bring him back to your needy core.

“Hush,” he instructed tenderly, slipping his hands under your ass and grasping firmly to lift your waist from the floor. He soaked in the view of your glistening folds at this angle and tested how it looked to watch one of his fingers slip into you before removing it, licking his lips again. “You are a pretty little thing, ain’t ya?”

Your reply was sucked from your chest and altered into a cry of pleasure as he spit on your folds, smearing the liquid around before connecting his thumb to your clit, rubbing a figure eight. Supporting your raised hips still with one hand he continued to rub your clit, now using his tongue to fuck into you rather than his fingers, tasting you how he’d wanted to for nearly a year now.

The pressure continued to build and boil, eventually reaching a point of eruption – all the usual signs there with your shaking thighs, shorter and desperate breaths, your nails scratching against his temple as you gripped whatever you could. Arthur figured it was a previously unknown bonus to him keeping his hair a little on the longer side. He groaned to encourage you, switching his movements to pump his fingers into you again, circling your clit with his tongue until you became incendiary, your first orgasm washing through you with white hot heat.

He continued to lap at your folds as you came, removing his tongue from you occasionally only to kiss your thighs and mutter tender praises as you came back down to your body. When you had some sense about yourself, he was crawling back up you, pressing kisses to your stomach and breasts before he reached your lips, offering you a taste of your own honey sweet pleasure on his tongue.

When the adoration filled amorous kiss ended so Arthur could breathe you began to trail kisses down his neck again, following a trail to his chest before his index finger caught under your chin, lifting you back up to him, cerulean eyes questioning.

“Your turn,” you offered, slipping one of your hands into the waistband of his underwear and wrapping your fingers around his throbbing cock slowly. Running your finger over the velvet head you smeared the pre-spend leaking already, biting at your swollen bottom lip when he moaned. 

“Not tonight, sweet thing,” he declined, his hesitation clear in his voice. You began to rub him gently – slowly – too damn slow – causing his eyes to roll back briefly. “You wrap these lips around me, and I won’t last long enough t’ fuck you.”

“Please.”

You didn’t truly know what you were begging for – for him to test himself and allow you to take his already throbbing cock into your mouth or for him to follow through on that promise to fuck you. Luckily, Arthur seemed to know exactly what your words were asking for – what you needed. 

He reached to remove your hand from his cock gently, freeing himself of his underwear before he gently moved you to your side, lying beside you with his back to the fire to shield you from getting too much heat, to ensure you didn’t get hurt. One arm wrapped around your waist while the other slid to cup your cheek in his hand, bringing you in closer to him as he kissed you again. 

As much fun as he’d been having teasing, he was done with the games now, and could no longer find the patience. He reached to lift your leg around his waist before grasping his cock, rubbing against your still-soaked entrance for a moment to gather some lubrication before he sank into you. Inch by inch disappeared into your velvet channel, the kiss practically halting as you gasped. He leaned his forehead against yours instead, grasping your waist gently as he continued to slip into you.

“Atta fuckin’ girl,” he breathed out. The large hand that still cupped your cheek slipped downward to rest against your neck instead, his fingertips digging into your skin in attempt to steady himself, to savor your pulse beneath his touch. “Takin’ me so good. You doin’ okay?”

You nodded as you stared into his eyes, pupils blown wide and mouth hanging open already at the feeling of him stretching you, almost too full but not something you’d be willing to give up anytime soon. When he’d fully seated himself within you, his cock buried to the hilt he released a shaky groan of his own, his eyes briefly closing as he savored the feeling of being wrapped up in you.

“Goddamn you’re tight,” he groaned out, pressing several light kisses to your lips before grinding his hips into yours slightly. “Shoulda crawled ‘tween your legs months ago.”

“Would…ah…woulda let you,” you managed to reply, pressing your lips to his in an unabashedly salacious kiss, already perfecting how to slot your lips against his in a way that left him craving more. He couldn’t hold back his movements any longer and began to pump into you repeatedly, setting a wanton and quick pace that somehow managed to remain tender and reverent.

He could only be tender for so long, desperation and months of waiting and yearning building in him. His movements began to get sloppy sooner than he’d have liked, though he felt better when your walls began to flutter and clench around him, your thigh shaking around his hip slightly. He picked up his pace to a much more relentless one, driving his cock into you and into your spongy cervix repeatedly as his grunts became more frequent, pressing kisses to your neck now.

“Want you to finish while I’m inside you,” he instructed, though there was something so subtly desperate behind his words – a quiet beg that only someone who knew him would recognize. “Think you can do that for me, darlin’?”

You nodded before leaning your head back again, quiet cries leaving your lips as he connected his thumb to your clit again, immediately choosing a relentless pace to rub in circles. You were almost certain you’d do anything he asked and soon enough you were pushed over the edge again, your walls clenching him so tight he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to remove himself. He did his best to continue pumping into you roughly now as he sought his own release, certain you wouldn’t be able to walk tomorrow. Like you’d need to, anyway. 

“F-fill me up, Arthur,” you begged unexpectedly through your euphoria, and he didn’t need anything else to convince him. With only a few more bruising thrusts he stilled inside you as he emptied his seed in hot ropes into you, groaning loudly as he lazily leaned his forehead to yours again, his own eyes screwed shut.

He didn’t remove himself from you when you’d both ridden your orgasms, instead holding you close and reaching to cover the two of you in one of the blankets that was on the floor. He wrapped his arms around you tightly to hold you closer to him, slipping one of his legs between yours for additional comfort and warmth. Still semi-hard with plenty of stamina to offer you couldn’t ignore the feeling of him seated in you still, buried as deep as possible as he brushed his nose against yours. 

“Be a whole lot warmer this way,” he offered, giving a subtle move of his hips to emphasize the meaning behind his words. He pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose before reaching upward to kiss your forehead, leaving his lips resting there. He was right – you did finally feel warm.

“Mm,” was all you could reply, laying your head against his shoulders and closing your eyes, burrowing your face into his neck. He smiled as you managed to press lazy kisses into his neck before wrapping your arms around him as well. 

“Think I’ll keep you here all winter,” he offered after several blissful moments, his head leaning to rest on the top of yours as his own eyes closed. He pressed one final kiss to your temple before succumbing to the comfort of you fully.

“Always knew you were a big teddy bear, Arthur,” you teased. How you managed to run your mouth still after he’d fucked you right was beyond him – but it was also probably a reason he’d want to keep fucking you.

“We’ll call it hibernation, then.”

masterlist. red dead redemption masterlist.

[ervotica]

hey babes, since we both have a raging crush on cato could u do something where a guy is harassing you and he comes to ur rescue 😍 (cliché ik but like he would be so hot doing it, we love a protective man) 

pairing: cato hadley x fem!reader

warnings: cato is possessive and hot, the district 6 boy is a jerk (idk if this is accurate to canon at all but idc sue me)

hunger games masterlist

You're watching Cato practice throwing spears with Marvel on the first day of training. You observe the way his biceps flex, pushing the veins out of his arms as he lifts the weapon over his shoulder and puts his weight behind the throw- you really do pity the ones who will be on the receiving end of him in the coming weeks.

You glance down, twisting a knife between your fingers, watching enraptured as it glides through your digits and light bounces from the metallic blade, throwing a myriad of whites and blues across the other weapons hung on the walls.

You don't hear the boy sneak up behind you, his broad hands coming to rest on your waist in a place he most definitely should not be touching; your elbow drives back into him instinctually as you spin to face him, and you pin him to the wall by your forearm. It's the boy from District 6 - Jason, you recall. He's seemed to be keeping a low profile until now, until his disdain towards Cato has seemed to reignite in a bout of fury. And, well, he has to take it out on someone.

"What do you think you're doing?"

He hums noncommittally.

"I think they call this making alliances, sweetheart," Jason says, grinning crudely. Your blood is running hot, rushing in your ears as you push against his neck with your arm and bare your teeth.

"You call me sweetheart again and I'll cut your eyes out. I don't care where we are," you spit, stepping back. "Leave me alone."

His hand bunches into the back of your t-shirt as you start to retreat and he yanks you backwards; your back hits the wall with a loud thump and you hiss, kicking out at him as he presses his chest to yours and rakes his eyes over every inch of your body.

"You don't wanna do this," you laugh, a smirk creeping onto your face that you just can't hold back as you let him hold you there and wait.

"Why's that? I don't see anyone else around," he murmurs, his face so close you can feel his hot breath. "Just you and me."

You raise your eyebrows before you're tilting your head and screaming over his shoulder.

"Cato! Cato!"

Cato's head snaps up and he thrusts the spear he was using into Marvel's hands; he's across the training room floor before you can even shriek his name again.

Jason doesn’t have time to as much as step back before Cato is behind him, chest heaving in a barely concealed fury, pale face flushed and ready for another fight. Jason is lifted seemingly out of thin air by only the back of his neck and he starts to thrash as he’s tossed across the hard training room floor.

“Are you stupid?” he seethes. “She told you to leave her alone! You’ve just sealed your fate, you’re the first one I’m coming after when we get to that arena.”

You creep up next to him, leaning coyly against Cato’s shoulder as you stare down at the District 6 boy.

“I told you. You shouldn’t have done that,” you tease. Cato's thick arm comes up and over your shoulders protectively as he holds him to the floor with his boot clad foot.

"Come on," Cato says. "We're leaving."

His grip is like iron around your hand, his knuckles white as the blood drains from them. You can feel the anger rolling off of him in waves - shoulders squared, jaw ticking.

He drags you all the way back to the tribute quarters, slamming the door closed behind the pair of you and spinning on his heel to pace the length of the room.

"Cato, c'mon," you murmur. "He's just an asshole. He can be the first one we kill in there."

"It's more than that," he groans. "Why does he think he can come and talk to you like that? That prick has overstepped more than once."

"I know." You tug him back towards you and cradle the side of his neck; he's hot, and his pulse thrums under your touch. "It doesn't matter anymore, he's a prick and we'll get rid of him."

"Okay," Cato whispers, leaning down to brush his nose against your own. You hum and push out the creases in his forehead where his brow has knit. His eyes soften at the gesture, and you smile in response, scrunching your nose as he rubs his cheek against yours. He grumbles.

"Stop being so pretty, I'm trying to focus here."

You laugh and wrap your arms fully around his shoulders and neck, reaching up on your tiptoes to slot your lips between his. His muscles, coiled tight and tense, start to relax at your touch. He presses into you, deepening the kiss, hungry for you. He's consumed by it, by the possessiveness he feels over you, by the rage that Jason laid a hand on you at all. You lose yourself in it: in his smell and his touch and how he feels against you enveloping your senses. Reluctantly, you pull away and grin at him, knuckles brushing his sharp cheekbone.

"C'mon, we gotta start making a plan for the games. I'll put Jason first on the list."

[beybaldes]

one single thread of gold tied me to you

sejanus plinth x gn!reader

masterlist

summary: Sejanus Plinth sits on the steps of the academy with you by his side. Things may be bad, but there are worse places you could be

warnings: NO relation between reader and snow I might die if I see another fic where reader is his twin (not that they aren’t good fics, they are so good!!! I just don’t look like him at all 😭😭😭 free me), little angst but mostly fluff, ONE use of y/n, hehehehehe i posses evil powers

an: okay I know Ive not posted in like forever but I saw BOSBAS and fell in LOVE 🥲 technically spoilers and won’t be 100% book/movie accurate im going with straight vibes for this one :D enjoy!!

Sejanus Plinth was never meant to cross your path, let alone take violent root in your heart. In every other universe he never left district two and you never bumped into him on the playground at 8 years old, wondering where on earth he must have come from. There wasn’t such a thing as a ‘new kid’ in the capital, and yet, you had found one.

Or rather, he’d found you. You’d been chasing Arachne Crane around the playground in a game of tag, too focused on trying to catch her and not focused enough on the tree root that stuck out of the ground in front of you. There’d been no time to react, but sweet, gentle, wonderful Sejanus Plinth had caught you by the arm, his grip so firm you’d had his fingerprints bruised into your skin for weeks after. But he’d saved you from scraping your knee against the ground, and he held you up until you’d steadied yourself, and then he’d walked away without a word. Arachne had disappeared from your sight and you were suddenly infatuated with the mass of brown curls that were walking to the far side of the playground; you felt as though you had no choice but to chase after him instead.

Shivering at the thought that in another life you’d befriended the likes of Felix Ravenstill or Festus Creed instead, you reached out for Sejanus’s hand between the tables the mentors were made to sit at to watch the games. Surprisingly, he was receptive to your touch, tightly interlocking your fingers and hoping it would provide him with more comfort then you both knew it ever could.

As Lucretius "Lucky" Flickerman, the capitals weatherman, began to introduce the game to viewers watching from the comfort of their homes, Sejanus’s grip on your hand only got tighter, his hands beginning to tremble slightly as the screen at the front of the grand room began to show the tributes entering the area. As images of the tributes being pushed, dragged and shoved into their starting places crossed the screen, your thumb ran across the back of his hand, hoping you could make the shaking of his clammy palm against yours stop.

Slowly the cameras in the arena moved their focus from the tributes waiting for the games to start, and instead zoomed in on Marcus, hung by his bloodied hands on the fallen debris caused by the rebel attack.

“Oh my God.” Gasping the words out, you couldn’t tear your eyes from the sight, and you would’ve held onto Sejanus’s hand tighter if you were still holding it. Instead his hand was torn from yours as he stood among the other mentors, flinging his desk and device across the room with a rage you’d never seen in him before.

“You’re monsters!” He cried, hands scrunched into fists by his side, tears filling his eyes as he addressed the room before him. Peers, Sejanus didn’t dare call them friends, and teachers alike stood in silence, refusing to feed into his outrage and refusing to speak against the regime they had been raised in. Though some of them had never known anything different then a life with the hunger games, it didn’t take anything more then a heart in your chest to know how wrong it was. Even if Sejanus hadn’t known Marcus from his time in district 2, he was the same age as him, he had a family and friends back home hoping he would return to them, he was a living, breathing person who shouldn’t have had to fight for his life because his name was drawn from a hat. “All of you!”

Sejanus stormed out of the room, and you would’ve been hot on his heels if Coriolanus hadn’t grabbed you, holding you to your seat. “Just wait.” You didn’t understand at first, furious that Coriolanus would try and stop you from going after Sejanus to see if he was okay, but as he silently pointed at Mr Flickerman, you understood. Following Sejanus should wait ten seconds while Lucky counted down to the official beginning of the Hunger games and you could sneak away unnoticed. While you were never particularly fond of Coriolanus Snow, you could appreciate his brain and how it ticked.

When the ten long seconds were finally up, you sprung from your seat, a whispered thank you to Coriolanus as you snuck around the outside of the seated mentors, all of whom were enamoured with the screen. As you left the building in search of Sejanus, you briefly worried he’d be nowhere to be found, having run far away from the academy in hope he could escape everything. However, he’d been quite easy to find, hunched over himself on the steps of the academy, his arms wrapped around his knees and curled into himself as his shoulders jumped with strained breaths. A part of you prayed you’d never have to see him like this again.

“Sejanus?” His head snapped to face you, furiously wiping away the frustrated tears that had rolled down his cheeks and forcing something that tried to be a smile on his face. A frown pulled on your lips as your met his eyes, quickly crossing the steps until you were beside him. “Oh, Sejanus.”

“Did you see what they did to him?” His voice trembled as he spoke, hiccuping in breathes as he tried to tell you what he was thinking, tried to nullify the crippling ache in his chest. With the escape of a whimper from the back of his throat, your hands came to cup his face, caressing his cheeks and simultaneously wiping away any tears that crossed your path. “What they’re doing to all of them?”

“I know, I know.” You cooed, knowing there was nothing you could do to change things. All you could do right now was make your Sejanus feel better, though you worried even your best wouldn’t be enough. “It is wrong and cruel, so, so cruel, and one day people will see just how right you are.”

“They won’t.” He scoffed, his eyes turning to stare at where his shoes met the ground, avoiding your gaze. “They think that this is life, that this is how things are. And no one else sees an issue with that, at least not here in the Capital.”

One of your hands turned Sejanus to face you, not allowing him to look away as you spoke, while the other fervently soothed his curls away from his face, hoping a combination of the two could begin to make him feel better.

“Thousands of people will have seen your outrage at the games tonight, and if even one of them has been affected by it, then you will have made a change.” Sejanus’s features softened as you spoke, and while you knew his boiling rage was only reducing to a simmer, and that at the end of the day it would still be inside of him, you knew that he was allowing himself to get through this moment with your help. “Rome was not built in one night. Change will come, it just takes time.”

Silence didn’t have the chance to settle. “Why are you so nice to me?” That surprised you. It didn’t seem like a question that needed answering and it didn’t seem like something Sejanus would ever ask you. It felt too obvious. “No one in the capital has ever accepted me as one of them, and yet, my own district won’t recognise me as theirs either. Most of the people at the academy don’t even acknowledge me, and sometimes I feel like Coryo only tolerates me, but you? You are nice to me, like now. You didn’t have to come out here, you chose to. Why?”

Strangely, you’d never been so scared. You couldn’t help but think that you’d said or done something to make Sejanus think that your friendship towards him was fake or conditional, but it couldn’t be further from it. How did you put into words how much you loved him for him, without saying it just like that? Plain and simple?

“You are kind, Sejanus. You don’t see a lot of that around here. From the very first day I met you you have been nothing but kind - not only to me but everyone around you, even when they didn’t deserve it.” Your hand against his hair had moved back down to his cheek, the gentle caress of your thumb against the apple of his cheek turning more and more loving with every word you spoke. “You bring your Ma’s sweets to share, even when they’re the ones you really like, you recite your favourite books to me just because you want to talk and you know I’ll listen, you stop me from going home with scrapped knees and grazed hands everyday, and-“

It was like you’d suddenly become dangerously aware of how close the two of you had got, not only physically on the steps of the academy, but in your friendship over the years. Maybe more then a friendship if either of you were brave enough to say it. You couldn’t breathe and you couldn’t think about anything but his lips against yours. Removing your hands from his face and placing them neatly in your lap, you tore your gaze from his face and looked to the sunsetting sky. “Sejanus plinth, it seems I have grown quite fond of you.”

Sejanus placed two fingers beneath your chin, turning your face to make you look at him, like you had done just minutes ago. “I have grown irreversibly fond of you, y/n y/l/n.”

As Sejanus leaned closer to you, and you tilted you head so your nose would slot perfectly against his, a crowd of mentors came out of the academy, causing the two of you to jump apart. Sejanus looked more disappointed than you think you’d be able to get him to admit, and he stood from the steps almost instantly. “I have to go.”

If you’d been any less dazed by the almost kiss shared between the two of you, you’d have chased after him once more, but you found yourself frozen on the steps of the academy. Sejanus was going to kiss you. Maybe, if you were lucky, you’d find the two of you in such a position once again and maybe that time your lips would actually meet.

A part of you is certain you don’t even know the boy exists in any other universe. And yet, you find that you would plead before the Gods themselves to have the fortune of knowing him in every one.

An: thank you for reading!! Would anyone want a part 2 about Sejanus going in to the arena and reader and Coriolanus teaming up to get him out? I might write it anyway lol but please give me feed back and let me know what you thought!! Mwah <333

part 2: I swam a lake of fire, I’d have walked across the floor of any sea out now!!

[tomoeakatsuki]

So, there's a thing I've noticed about Karl Urban's Leonard McCoy.

But it's better starting from the beginning.

I found this gif from the third film, and I've noticed that Bones wears a ring - but since when? And he wears it even in the other film? It's a mistake?

The answer is yes, and no.

(Probably some screenshots won't be so easy to see, sorry for that)

Star Trek 2009

At the start of the film, when he's a broken man and a cadet he doesn't wear any rings.

Or, until he wears the red uniform. Because right after he puts on the classic blue uniform in which we see him like for always.

He starts wearing this silver ring, flat on top, and wears it until the end of the movie.

Star Trek: into darkness

Again, at the start of the film he doesn't wear any rings, most because of the disguise he's wearing, I think.

(It can be seen here, but I assure you he isn't wearing any rings)

Then, when he's again in his blue uniform, he wears it again, but this time a different type of ring.

This like, all flat? I don't really know what it's called. Sometimes more silver, sometimes almost black, it depends on the light.

Star Trek: Beyond

Here, from the beginning he wears the ring.

(I know the photo is dark, but zooming on the hand you'll see the reflection of the low light on the ring)

And, he wears for the rest of the film.

And at the end, when we have that much bro moment between him, Jim and Spock? Well.

It's hard to say because his hands are not shown (the typical close up shot) or it's his other hand, which he uses to hold his drink and we have a full picture, his hand is in his pocket. So yeah, I can't really say if he's wearing a ring or not.

But he wears a necklace, never seen before.

It can't only be a coincidence, but something planned.

A theory is that Karl Urban decided to make a tribute to DeForest Kelley (the original Bones), who usually wore a ring on his pinkie all the time. That ring was his mother's wedding ring, and after her death he used to always wear it because it was his only memory of her - this thing has given quite a few problems in the production of the first film, because Gene Roddenberry wanted him to remove it but the answer he received was "Or me and the ring, or neither."

But honestly, I think it's only a part of it. Yeah you do it for an accurate reproduction, but. Why doesn't he wear it every time? And why at the end there's that necklace (that thinking about it he could have always worn it under the uniform, but at the beginning of the first film he doesn't wear a necklace)?

I have only questions, not answers.

To boldly go, pals.

[brawlingdiscontent]

Something that I haven’t seen a lot of people commenting on but that I think is so brilliant is Interview with the Vampire’s conflation of vampirism and queerness in the first couple of episodes (related to a long history of art and literature connecting these concepts metaphorically).

In 1.1, we see Louis react to vampirism AS IF it is queerness. When Lestat first wields his vampiric powers Louis is surprisingly unphased, referring to them as “tricks” and persistently asking how he accomplishes them, with Lestat demurring. We can read this exchange as calling on a well-established trope of queerness being metaphorically tied to secrecy (including through being closeted). When Lestat whips out these powers during dinner (pun intended), Louis chides him, “Don’t do that shit here—not with my family,” in a way that feels like he's saying “it’s fine with me but don’t be queer in front of them.” Later, Lestat’s ‘petit coup’ counts as their first sexual encounter. They start making out, but the only climax that we see occur between the two of them is via the blood-drinking. And the way that Louis reacts afterwards, shying away from the intimacy of the act, feels much more accurate to internalized homophobia post-gay sex (which they arguably didn’t technically have), than being bitten on the neck and having one's blood sucked. This conflation carries into Louis’ confession that “the Devil is in New Orleans,” which we can read dually as Louis finally having suspicions about the killing-people part, and as referring to Lestat’s queerness—as seen particularly in the line “I laid down with a man. I laid down with the Devil.” 

We also see this play out in 1.2 in how Louis is shown to be newly a vampire AND newly queer/out as queer. Louis’ mother reads the signs of his vampirism as queerness, noting him “getting his nails done,” and the sunglasses to hide his vampiric eyes as, “some fashion men like him do.” We see this outward projection also with the tractor salesman. Upon first setting foot in the townhouse he says “just to be clear here, gents, we are here to talk about farm equipment” (i.e. 'no gay funny business'), and then, when Louis bites him, yells—’I knew it! I knew you—‘ even though biting someone’s neck to drink their blood is arguably not an ordinary part of queer courtship (someone correct me if I’m wrong here, small sample size).

The final piece of this delicious pie comes when the show explicitly addresses this conflation between vampirism and queerness in the conversation between Louis and Daniel in 1.2: Louis: …Death, rebirth, coming out, homicide… Daniel: …you robbed a daughter of her father… how’s sexuality play in that? Louis: It’s a complicated question, Daniel. 

I ADORE that show crosses over here from what is usually a metaphorical equivalence into the actual. Queerness isn’t just a metaphor for vampirism: they are ontologically indistinguishable! Which lends them both a refreshing kind of substance. It feels like such a fitting tribute to a long history of queer authors/artists who could only hint. And it’s not just speaking to vampirism specifically. The show takes in a whole tradition that configures queerness as monstrous and unnatural, including a homophobic/queerphobic norm/mainstream, and queer folks appropriating this metaphor in insider ways, and screams back, “YES, AND?” in full Romantic/gothic glory!

(It also creates this really interesting tension in the show going forwards in a number of ways, with Louis denying he’s a killer/his vampiric nature, Lestat interpreting Louis' rejection of vampirism as a rejection of him, etc.)

[wrongcaitlyn]

okay fuck so i got an anon ask for solangelo fic recs and then i made a draft on my phone but then deleted it bc i wanted to type it out on my computer but then that deleted the ask too so!! hopefully this reaches the anon i apologize deeply for losing your ask😭

but anyway. SOLANGELO FIC RECS. ALWAYS. ANYTIME. I HAVE SO MANY

so first of all if you wanna check out my ao3 i have a bunch of recs in my bookmarks (57 solangelo ones im pretty sure)

but here are some of my favs

i'm put in awe (of something so flawed and free) by CordeliaRose (@cordelia---rose)

archaeologist!Nico & trauma surgeon!Will AU. this fic is. ohmgyod. nico's internal dialogue is just absolutely perfect in this fic and i laughed so hard and god it was just so beautifully written?? but also solangelo are literally so cute. like. ahglskdf. i gotta reread this actually but anyway (also anything by this author, absolutely hilarious, such good writing)

dumb, dumb love by thegoldenappleofdiscord

five times nico and will are dumb and in love, and the one time they are totally 100% dead serious. i love a good outsider's pov, and this fic is just gorgeous. it's a bunch of different perspectives into solangelo, and it's pure fluff, and it's got some of my favorite solangelo quotes (like, when i read fanfic i screenshot parts i rlly like and i practically screenshotted this entire fic), and their characterization is just so so accurate they're so so in love

paris by ethannku (@ethannku)

Nico has a travel YouTube channel. And a crush on one Will Solace. i'm such a sucker for socmed au's and this one is done SO so well. my all time favorite. and it's sequel too!! the formatting i am in awe of, but other than that, it's just a really good time and i just love all the little details. i've reread this too many times to count and was SO excited when a sequel was published, and i can only hope that there's more to the au in the future!! (also this author writes incredible solangelo fics and even more valgrace fics which i recently just bingeread and are soo good)

Perfect Places by buoyantsaturn (@buoyantsaturn)

“My name’s Will,” he started - so far so good - but then continued, “and I guess my favorite food to cook would be, um, frozen pizza.” Was Nico only attracted to idiots? this one's fucking hilarious. i can't even put it to words like their dynamic in this fic is so funny and yet so cute and nico is honestly just like. shocked that will is somehow still alive?? will's a safety hazard. but also piper and jason in this fic are so funny too, it's honestly just such a good, fun read (and, once again, this author's incredible. read everything by them)

I Can't Help It If You Look Like an Angel by the_oncoming_stormaggedon (@lordstormageddidnt)

Will Solace is a pre-med student whose friends run a true crime podcast called "Nothing to See Here". Nico di Angelo, despite not realizing he's a missing person, is the subject of one of the episodes. They meet by chance in a random bar, and shenanigans ensue. i mean, if it's got a taylor swift title, i'm already sold. and then it's part of a series called "Hey Stephen is a solangelo song and i will die on that hill" which is the realest thing ever?? but ASIDE from that, i could honestly rec this entire series (+ the other series it's a part of, "Nothing to See Here" which is all part of the same au) and also everything by this author - it's hilarious, i just love the premise, and the writing is so good!! and hey stephen is a solangelo song, thereby reinforcing my "fearless is will's favorite album ever of all time and i will die on this hill" argument

Even When the Music's Gone by the_oncoming_stormaggedon

It's the 74th Annual Hunger Games, and Nico and Will are the last two tributes alive. haha this is pure angst. just gutwrenching angst. love a good hunger games au and some MCD!

can i handle the seasons of my life? by buoyantsaturn

“I think that most people your age finished high school, and whether they knew what they wanted to do with the rest of their life or not, they went to college. That was their version of ditching everything they knew in order to find themselves. Maybe it’s time for you to stop taking advice from other kids who grew up the same way you did, and take it from someone who used to be normal.”  FAME AU FAME AU FAME AU FAME AU i mean, not REALLY about the fame aspect of it, but i still love it so so much. will's essentially a nepo baby turned not-nepo-baby turned college student and nico's naomi's driver, and there's even... there's EVEN A VERY BRIEFLY IMPLIED POLLEN. yeah they're relationship is just so cute in this and i love the au and i love how it's written and ugh i need more fame au's in my life

so it turns out teachers don't live at school by RegretfullyRegretful (@marbleheavy)

Nico's TA and students are determined to figure out something, anything about him. Of course, it would all just be a lot easier if they asked. Either way, Professor di Angelo is decidedly a lonely hermit. (Someone should really tell his husband and baby that) this was one of the first solangelo fics i ever read, and it's just. so. funny. another outsider's pov bc i love it, and just... the assumptions abt nico, the fluff of solangelo, and then their story of how they got together is so...ahhsdlkjs this author is just a master at tooth-rotting fluff go read everything they write

my lover's the sunlight by demigodbeautiies

Figure Skater Nico di Angelo has a run in with Ice Hockey Player Will Solace. It doesn't go too smoothly, but then again - when does it ever? OLYMPICS AU. FAME(ISH) AU. IM OBSESSED THIS IS WRITTEN SO WELL and like... the very brief part where it feels a lot like a fame au like i just i'm obsessed can you tell. the writing is just beautiful in this, i love nico's internal dialogue, and... i mean, it's an olympics au. ofc its perfect

The Stolen God by TsarinaTorment (@tsarinatorment)

Python is defeated. The prophecies are restored, and Nero has fallen. Apollo has not been seen since. His trials are over; why isn’t he back on Olympus? okay so. this is a bit of a longer fic. and it's a post-toa, pjoxmcga crossover, and it's not *entirely* focused on solangelo - but when i tell you that this fic, if i weren't reading it on ao3, i would truly and full-heartedly believe was a real life published novel - i am NOT LYING. i rec'd this to my friend right after i read it bc i was just like so so obsessed with it and it's literally just. the plot?? is insane. i'm in awe of the author, bc this isn't even the only novel-length fic that they've written with an insane plot too (their fic Eclipse is also phenomenal, but it's more focused on apollo and hades so i didn't rec it here) there's some fierrochase here, lester being lester, and some very very very cute solangelo! and meg! i think sometimes you read a fic and you're like "oh, shit, that could be a novel, and i would think it's better than some actual novels i've read" and this is one of them

(Please Don't Let Me) Fade Alone by TsarinaTorment

Please. Don't let me. the summary's really short here so it's basically that will gets very very very injured and then apollo saves him (rip, i'm sorry, i suck at summaries) once again this isn't necessarily nico focused... it's much more will & apollo. this author writes the absolute best stuff for the apollo cabin, genuinely, if you love will/cabin 7/apollo PLEASE read everything they've ever written but this is just so angsty and the hurt/comfort is so real and goddd it's so good

he was seen on occasion (pacing the rocks, staring out at the midnight sea) by stargirltv

Nico di Angelo is a completely normal eighteen year old. He attends high school, has a socially acceptable amount of friends for a social outcast and has been in a relationship for the past four years with the guy he’s pretty sure he’s going to marry. He also happens to be the world's biggest bedroom pop artist, ‘Hell’s Angel’, with a fan base that will stop at nothing to uncover his true identity and a Father that continually pushes him to be better. His boyfriend freaking out under every single one of his tweets is making it a bit easier for them to figure it out. so. fame au. y'all already know the premise of this is just absolutely hilarious and the interview?? the posts?? will just being will and i absolutely love his characterization?? and the friend group?? this is one of the funniest things ever but also just written so well anddddd yes yes yes it's a fame au POPSTAR NICO RIGHTS except he's not *really* a popstar in this one but like close enough oh AND it's a taylor swift title??? like this fic was made for me basically

okay that was MUCH longer than intended but i hope you enjoy some of the fics on here!! pls let me know if y'all ever want more recs i read literally so many fics - and if you guys ever want to give me any recs, feel free to do so! as of today, i have read *checks fic tracker bc i'm obsessive and need to keep track of everything* about 7.3 million words of fanfic this year. and that's actually less than normal (for me)

also if anyone reads patrochilles please read this fic it's literally been in my head nonstop for the past few weeks since i've read it and it's one of the best things i've ever read and like holyshit if you read patrochilles read it read it read it

[tulipe-rose]

Tiny theory that has so many plot holes and possibly makes no sense cuz I'm bored:

We all know the theory of Elise getting her personality from Yosano, and her hair type from Dazai, right? No? Well now you do, so I wanted to add a little part of my own onto it.

Elise is designed to look like a western looking girl, right? Well, I have a feeling that it has something to do with Higuchi, or maybe Higuchi's mother.

My theory is: Mōri knew Higuchi's mother–who could've been potentially a foreigner–on a personal level, might have even loved her, but she was forced into marriage with the some rich man. There was no helping it, so he let her go with grace.

Higuchi's mom dies during child birth (she was giving birth to Higuchi's sister, not Higuchi herself), and her Dad gets assassinated way later, like by the time Higuchi is 12 or even a bit older. That should be concurrent with Mōri's rise to the boss position, when his position is slightly more stable. The guy was a neglectful alcoholic, and was only going to lead the family to ruin. The kids that looked so painfully similar to their mother were suffering, so Mōri wasn't above, or more accurately couldn't help but leave him to rot. He becomes Higuchi's, and her sister's benefactor, gives them a new surname to keep the assassins off their back, and visits sometimes with gifts and makes sure they have all the basic necessities that a kid should have, he even lets them go to school.

He keeps both of them away from the underworld for as long as he could in tribute to their late mother. He was heavily against having Higuchi recruited into the Mafia, but she was so heavily insisting on joining for a reason he cannot stop after she found out he was the boss (read: Akutagawa).

He decided to make her hate the Mafia, to convince her to leave, even if it meant being hard on her. He was possibly trying to convince her, and those around her, that as long as she was a Mafioso, she'd be a target for assassination in an indirect, kind of “I never said that, they just jumped to that conclusion.” way. He was being the bad guy to make sure she was out of the Mafia. He was kind of indirectly convincing her into believing she wasn't suitable, or even useful for and to the Mafia.

I'm pretty sure Asagiri was still figuring out Mōri's character, but something that stuck with me is that Mōri might have a personal grudge against Akutagawa; he might've figured out that he was the reason Higuchi stayed in the Mafia, so he assumed that if Akutagawa was out of the picture in a way Higuchi could never save him, she'll have nothing left in the Mafia, and would decide to leave soon. This could be a secondary explanation, aside from the one we got in the manga, as to why he gave Akutagawa up so easily despite his worth to the Mafia, even going as far as to call him a 'liability'. However, Mōri didn't put Higuchi's determination into account, and Akutagawa ended up surviving.

The 'Mōri dislikes Akutagawa' theory could be debunked if someone brings up the drama CD, but like, pookie. Higuchi was going to take him to take care of his health somewhere either way, so I bet Mōri sent Chūya along with them to make sure that Higuchi doesn't have to be the one to bathe Akutagawa (inner protective father instincts are seeing the light of day, oh crap.). Also I guess Mōri eventually decided to leave Akutagawa to live out the rest of his days for Higuchi's sake, he was going to die anyway, and his reckless streak could serve to quicken that.

I feel like Mōri's treatment towards Higuchi in the manga definitely mellowed out later as Asagiri started to figure Mōri out better, and you can even see Higuchi being one of the first to come to his aid in the cannibalism arc. He would only call someone he trusted enough to see him in such a vulnerable position.

Along with that, just look at how freaking worried she is for him, if my insensible theory has any credibility, she knew this guy as the first decent father figure in her life, she definitely has feelings of attachment towards Mōri.

In wan, their shenanigans are so family coded. In her Mayoi beach card, Mori and Elise were standing behind her (they look like when your extended family turns up for events instead of your actual parents) while she was playing beach volleyball; with the way he looked all he had left was to wear "I'm not a stepdad, I'm the DAD THAT STEPPED UP" shirt istg. Chūya is there to make sure everyone retains their skin's health (except him). He looks happy though so it's alright, a tan would look good on him. Come to think of it, I feel like Chūya is always around whenever Higuchi is there, especially in wan... Could it be that Mōri instructed him to keep a closer eye on Higuchi...? To ensure her safety like some sort of bodyguard (when ironically she is the one who is supposed to be Akutagawa's bodyguard)...? Yk what I should probably stop before I come up with more conspiracy theories. At this rate I will be arrested for brain rotting too hard.

Bonus: Elise drew this, and Higuchi looks the prettiest out of them all, and the only one actually smiling, which could reflect just how much Mōri cares about her deep down. If this theory has any flicker of credibility, then beast would be a wormwhole to try and explore DJDJJDJ.

[oxittocin]

whatever this is (nico robin x reader)

nico robin masterlist

i'm not a writer, just a nico robin simp. this is but an unworthy tribute.

cw: gn!reader, an exploration of the [nico robin x reader] relational development across arabasta, skypiea and enies lobby arcs, with the god/devil motifs.

i. Post-Arabasta

Sanji had a terrible habit of leaving his cigarettes around. It is kind of a miracle that his pockets continue to contain a never-ending cigarette supply. You spot a half-burnt cigarette lying on the deck for the fifth time this week and swiftly picked it up. Didn’t want litter on Merry.

“Should I start calling you Janitor-San?” A hint of playfulness in her voice as Robin looks up from the book she’s holding.

You cleared your throat with a flourish.

“You can call me Mr. Prince.” Cigarette between the index and middle finger, you cooly placed it between your lips, pretending to take a drag in the best Sanji impression you could muster. Wiggling your eyebrows and pretending to exhale sweet smoke into the cool air, you asked Robin, “Are you lost? I need to call God and tell him I’ve found his missing angel.”

Expecting to hear Robin’s gorgeous, gorgeous laughter, you mentally gave yourself a pat on the back for a job well done on an exquisitely accurate Sanji impression.

Or so, you thought.

A long moment passed before you saw the tiniest trace of amusement grace her features. Still, the silence that followed had already pushed you down a rabbit hole of self-consciousness and embarrassment. Involuntary flashbacks of Robin nonchalantly breaking necks with merely a flick of her palms had you panicking. What kind of idiocy had possessed you to freely joke around her like this? Stupid cigarette. Stupid Sanji.

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust her. It just always felt like she was keeping you at arm’s length. A careful distance, a wariness masked by gentle smiles, a tentative friendship that rendered you a bumbling idiot. You didn’t know how to act around her when in this state of incongruence.

It felt like an eternity had passed when she finally responded.

“Ah, an angel.” She simply stated, turning her attention back to her book.

Now, cue the internal screaming, cursing yourself over and over again, wishing you could just jump off the ship and disappear. Face flushed red with embarrassment, it was no surprise that you missed it when she said, “Lucifer was an angel too.”

Ah, it must have been odd for someone so closely associated with the name of the Devil, to be called an angel.

ii. Post-Skypiea

Sure, God Enel did wipe out a whole lot of folks but the real bulldozer was the Moonlight Party afterwards. Leaving behind a sea of wasted idiots - including the majority of the Strawhats - you winced at your throbbing headache as you shuffled to sit beside Robin, who seems to be the only one sober enough for a conversation.

“What a God, huh?” You offered her a friendly smile.

“It seems you might have jinxed us with your Sanji impression, with wanting to call God and all.” She retorted.

“Well, eh, I’ve never believed in God,” you say with a shrug of your shoulders. A pause, before you continue, “I believe in you, though.”

Throughout the events that unfolded in Skypiea, you had grown much more comfortable around Robin. She remains a mystery in more ways than one, but she has saved your hide countless times over that you feel safe around her.

“Another attempt at a pick up line, I see.” She teased.

“No, I mean it.” You admit. It must be the sentimentality that arose from the quietness of the night or the atmosphere under the full moon that had given you an ounce of courage to be sincere.

“Even if I were the devil incarnate?” She asked. In the dimness of the night, you couldn’t quite make out her expression. You weren’t sure if she were joking or not, but there was a quiet desperation in her tone that you couldn’t quite comprehend.

A pause.

“I’d still think you were cool.” You say softly to her, not sure if that was the answer she wanted to hear. You hope that it was enough anyway, because you meant it. You liked her, regardless. You hope she knows that, but the silence that ensued lasts a little longer and tells you that she probably doesn’t.

iii. Post-Enies Lobby

“It's divine intervention, you know that right?" That was the first thing you said to her after the ordeal that was Enies Lobby. A couple of pirates against the Marines' stronghold is practically a suicide mission after all. If not for heaven's will, then how else?

"And would God really save the Devil's Child?" She asked, amused by your interpretation of the events that had unfolded. A twinkle of playfulness in her eyes as she challenged your theory.

"God made me to never leave you alone."

A promise you intend to keep.

[obislittleone]

The Winner Takes It All

Episode 12

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Tribute(OC)!Reader

Chapter Warnings: this might be the saddest one... or maybe I'm delusional and it can only get worse from here. Anyways, death, canon typical violence, drowning, my sweet baby Lukas is trying his best as always... oh yeah a hUGE AMOUNT OF ANGST

Chapter Summary: This is the endgame, there are four tributes remaining. Who will live, and who will die? The choice has never been up to the tributes.

Word Count: 3.8k

my live action cinderella dress (movie accurate) is finally done so expect me to have a lot more editing time. I will also probably have more writing time so expect some endings to unfinished series.

“He had f-feelings for me?” Lukas was dumbfounded. The poor kid didn’t even get to tell you. He tried to speak, opened his mouth to do so, but froze upon not knowing what he could possibly say in response. Maybe just start with the truth.  “He did,” his head fell when the words finally escaped. “I’m sorry, he wanted to tell you.”

You’d been silent. Not quiet, but absolutely silent. Lukas didn’t try to make you be anything else… but he did have to keep you moving. It wasn’t much later in the day, but the sun was already setting. The minimal amounts of light only being shown through the small openings of the tree canopy. It was harder to tell where you were going. Nothing looked the same as it did yesterday, or the day before. You could swear you’d walked through here to get to the stream, but the path had somewhat changed along the way. 

As drowned in your thoughts as you’d been right after it happened, your entire body, including your brain, had been numbed to Rodey’s death. His blood was still on your hands. Figuratively and literally. You didn’t stare at it too long, forgetting to let your gaze linger on anything except the path ahead, and Lukas, who was three steps in front of you. 

You both were half of the remaining tributes. It was a miracle you both had made it this far, but now that the numbers had dwindled, there were two other tributes left who were hunting the both of you. It was better to keep moving than to sit like a duck and let one of them take their victory. 

The longer you went without finding the stream, your need for freshwater had grown exponentially. It was strange how the past few days it would rain for hours, but now that you actually needed water it ceased to exist… in a literal rainforest. That was the peak behavior of a game maker, to play sinisterly. 

“We can stop here for now. Maybe if I can get up one of these trees I’ll be able to spot the stream again.” 

You barely minded what he was saying, giving a small nod to at least show you heard him. You didn’t care much to speak anymore, not even to the person who you felt the most patience from. He was doing fine without the constant dialogue of the days before, and you knew he’d be fine without it till the end. He was going to win, there was no doubt in your mind. You’d thought that perhaps it could be him or Rodey, but Rodey died saving you. Now you would do the same for Lukas, whenever the situation finally came. 

You sat down, back against a tree trunk and head dropped forward, eyes making an instant connection with the dried blood on your body. Even if you scrubbed at yourself for hours, there was no chance you could get rid of it all. You have the blood of two allies on your hands, now. That’s as many as you’re willing to have. 

Lukas had set down his pack, starting to climb the roots and knots of the tree’s enormous base, when a tiny parachute descended straight towards him. You looked up when you heard the familiar sound it made, watching it fall into the boy’s hands. 

“Head’s up,” he called, tossing you one of two canteens full of water. You took it gratefully, beginning to drink up as much as you could take. 

Lukas smiled before looking down to the note included. 

Talk to her for me, tell her it’s not her fault. - F

He sighed, trying to come up with any ideas on what he could possibly say. There’s no way to know if she’ll even be open to a conversation. There’s no indicator that she even wants to speak at all. But this is a sponsor that keeps them from having to exhaust their resources, and Finnick asked for something simple in return. He doesn’t understand why Finnick is so dead set on coddling you in this arena. It’s not like things are going to get any better from here. It’s an absolute fact that the time can only become worse, until everyone meets their end but one. 

But against his logic, and against what his brain is telling him, his gut wants to follow his mentor’s instructions… So he does. 

He sits beside you at the base of the tree, his own canteen in hand and his pack in the other. 

“Listen, I know you don’t wanna talk about it,” he assumed, given the fact that you’ve literally said nothing since it happened. “But what happened, it wasn’t your fault. You know that, right?” 

You reasoned with the scene over in your head, and the only way it didn’t end the same way is if he didn’t choose to jump in front of you. It was hard to think about, because you feel responsible. He wouldn’t have jumped if you weren’t there. But if you weren’t there, she’d only have him to charge at. It all ends the same every time. He was faster than you, braver than you. He would have stepped time and again, and you couldn’t stop him. 

“He s-saved me. It was f-for me.”

“I know.”

You closed your canteen and let it roll out of your hands and onto the ground next to you, curling your legs to your chest and trying to comfort yourself. You really didn’t want to talk about it, but if he was adamant for you to do so, it was going to be on your terms. 

He seemed to be stumbling for more words, and only came across some having rambled a thought from his head. 

“I wish he’d never told you…”

“T-told me what?”

He hadn’t caught onto the fact that you had no idea what he was talking about. So like a dumbass, he kept going. 

“About his feelings for you. I told him a few days ago it could only hurt you. Then again I also told him it was a good idea so I guess we were both stupid,” his rambling of a response made your eyes widen in both shock and anger. 

“He had f-feelings for me?”

Lukas was dumbfounded. The poor kid didn’t even get to tell you. He tried to speak, opened his mouth to do so, but froze upon not knowing what he could possibly say in response. Maybe just start with the truth. 

“He did,” his head fell when the words finally escaped. “I’m sorry, he wanted to tell you.”

For some reason, this information didn’t hurt you as much as it should. Instead, it angered you. How could he possibly have been so stupid to sacrifice himself in the name of feelings for someone he’d only recently met? How could he have given up a possible win, just to show his devotion. Had it been an instinctual move of protection, you could have accepted it… but no. 

“I s-should be dead r-right now. All these p-people around me, dropping l-like flies. And I’m still h-here.”

“Don’t say things like that. Look, I get it. You feel responsible…”

You nodded, because yes, you absolutely did. Your ally’s blood is on your hands, and no matter how many times you scrub it away, it will always be there. 

“But I feel responsible for you. I’d rather it be any of them than you, understand?” He finished off, his look of seriousness piercing yours of confused emotion. Sadness, anger, guilt. Probably more, but you can’t identify them.

You nodded, but his words didn’t make you feel any better. If anything it just made things worse. He was still trying to protect you, and you couldn’t stand losing one more ally. Especially not him. He had to be the one to make it out of here. You’d been thinking about it so much more the past several hours, now that only four remain. You’ve only gotten this far because of your allies, but now they are almost gone. It’s on the verge of every man for himself, but you know Lukas won’t let you die on your own. If it comes down to the two of you, you have every intention of throwing yourself from the top of a tree so he can go home. You don’t think you’ll survive the other two tributes, however. 

“You’re g-going to win, y’know.”

He sighed, looking at the ground and shrugging. Maybe they are true, the things that you say. He just hopes they aren’t. 

“I’m not so sure anymore. If I were a gambling man, I’d have to put money on you.”

“Well then it’s a g-good thing you don’t gamble,” you smiled, trying to expel every other feeling you had, and only hold onto one emotion at a time. The air was light, just around the two of you. Old friends, fighting for their lives, but they can still make the other smile, or laugh. It’s simply what friends can do. 

Lukas hopes that he doesn’t leave this arena without you. He is praying to anyone that can hear his thoughts that if he watches you die, he’ll die too. It’s not like he has anything to go back to, anyway. 

“Promise m-me something, for when you get h-home?” You asked, his curiosity piqued. “Promise me that you’ll take care of m-my family. My brother, make sure he d-doesn’t ever have his name in the bowl more than it h-has to be.”

He smiled. He hadn’t even thought about his own family, his mother. Probably because he didn’t consider her to be so, anymore. 

“I promise, if I get out of here, I will.”

“T-thank you, Lukas.” 

He leaned against you, his head resting on the tree while your own head was on his shoulder. You’d be perfectly content with dying if you could just drift away like this. Everything now was peaceful, and you’d left no stones unturned. Your family would be taken care of if Lukas lived, you know he’s good on his word. You know that having spoken with him, and even sitting here with him now, you will have resolved everything with him. There’s nothing else you need to know… except-

“Lukas?”

“Yeah?”

“W-why did you volunteer?”

He took a deep inhale beside you, then went stiff as the reasoning coursed through his mind. He could lie and say it was an impulsive mistake. He could come up with literally a million other things that would sound plausible for any kid on why they would do something so stupid. But he wasn’t any kid, and you weren’t just some bystander. You were his best friend. Either of you could die any moment, so he wanted to make sure you got nothing but the truth. 

“The morning of the reaping, my mom and I had that argument,” he recalled. You nodded along, remembering the scene vividly. He hadn’t been himself until he’d gotten on a boat. The water always seemed to calm him down. “I’d been feeling better after work, but I went home to shower and get dressed.”

He stopped for a moment, his brow furrowing as he tried to bring it all back into recollection. The nasty look on his mother’s face, the way she swore at him and spewed her insanity. Thinking back to it now, him volunteering is just what she wanted. It would have been better to refuse volunteering out of spite. 

“She told me I would never measure up to my father, and that there was no point in trying. When I asked her what she wanted from me, she told me she wished I had died in his place.”

Your hand immediately found his in a tight and reassuring grip when you heard this. It was just like his mother to go off and say some shit like that. Something that would scar him the rest of his life and force him to go immeasurable lengths, and for what?

“I told her I would volunteer if she wanted me dead so badly. She said I might as well, because it would be the only way to bring some pride back to our family. The sad thing is, I didn’t regret it until they called your name…”

“I’m s-so sorry,” you whispered to him, barely heard above the humming and buzzing of the rainforest. You clung to him, hoping that this could bring the smallest semblance of comfort in a place that exudes horror and danger. He clung right back to you, being still in your embrace as it was one of normalcy. He wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to hug you, or look at you, or talk to you. Even simply being in your presence wasn’t something he was going to take for granted, because he knew that soon, he would never be able to again, whichever way it went. 

-

The day continued on, and the sun was setting much faster than you would ever anticipate. Probably because it wasn’t a real sun, and any glimpse of normalcy was non-lasting. It couldn’t be, because there had to be reminders that this was not the wilderness, and you were not safe. You would die any second. There were only four tributes remaining. You could imagine that things were getting tense back in the capitol. You couldn’t imagine the kid from eleven had garnered much of a fan base with Lukas being the prized tribute this year. You doubted the girl from one was getting any special attention, either. Not that they needed it. Estelle was most definitely the most qualified remaining tribute, a career who has trained for this moment all her life… but still, you’re sure Lukas will win it from her. 

While walking in the marshy rainforest, you’re quickly reminded how easily this game can end. 

You hear a branch snap a bit down the trail behind you, and you freeze. 

“Lukas…” you whisper, drawing the knife from your hip. 

He heard another branch, and turned his head, the boy named Brock from eleven quickly approaching, with Estelle on his heels. Whether or not she was chasing him, no one could be sure, but they both had a determined look in their eye, and all it took was one word for you to bolt ahead like lightning. 

“Run.”

The branches below you snapped in half, the pressure of your rapid footsteps was intense enough to squash any animal or snake that dared slither into your path. 

You could hear Lukas’ hard breath intake, as he was passing you every few seconds, then trailing a step behind, only to look back and make sure they weren’t gaining too quickly… except for they were. This was going to end in a face off, whether you liked it or not. You couldn’t run forever, and it was just a matter of time. You were ready to die, and you would protect Lukas. 

You tripped over your steps, holding your hand out to stop Lukas in his tracks before he fell. 

Well, at least you’d found the waterfall. The only downside is, you were at the top of it, having run onto a ledge that was at least a thirty foot drop into deep waters, raging from the pressure of the falls. There was no way you were making that jump without drowning. You’d probably have a heart attack on the way down and die before hitting the water. 

“W-what do we do?” You turned to your counterpart, and he whipped his head back at the two approaching tributes. 

“We’ve gotcha, now!” Estelle could be heard shouting, the sound getting far too close for comfort. It was now evident that they had been teamed up on this effort. “Nowhere to run!”

Lukas yanked your arm, pulling you beside him. 

“Do you trust me?” he asked sincerely, the look in his eyes made you scared, like he was thinking irrationally, and he was… but it was all he could come up with. 

“Yes,” you nodded, but grabbed his hand which was still on your arm. “Lukas?” 

He didn’t even hesitate. He didn’t answer your call of his name. He didn’t even give you a second to understand what the hell he was about to do. He just did it. 

Within a moment, gravity became your enemy, and you went flying backwards off the edge of the cliffside, arms and legs flailing as you screamed all the way down into the waters. You sucked in a quick breath before being  fully submerged, hammered down by the constant onslaught of heavy water. 

Lukas took off, running away while the others were distracted by your fall into the depths. He ran towards the forest again, trying to jump logs and dodge trees, anything that could make their path to him harder. 

Brock was still looking over the edge, having been surprised by the play of events. 

“Let’s go, we can’t let him get far,” Estelle pulled him by the shoulder, turning him to the rainforest patches again.

“What about the girl?” 

Estelle scoffed, “We’ll hear a cannon in a few minutes, she can’t swim.” 

And with that, they took off.

Immediately being in water, the panic set into your mind. You were clawing around, trying to make it out, reaching out for anything that you could use to pull yourself up… but with the pressure beating down over you, you sank deeper, and deeper, with no savior to jump in after you, now. This was it. This was the moment you had to choose. 

Live, or Die.

Last time you chose to die, but there was nothing on the line. Lukas is on the line now. He is the only person you swore you were going to protect in this arena, and you had to find a way out of here if that was going to happen. 

You tried to quiet your mind, to forget the past and just how much you hated being in this water. You were ignoring just how badly your arms ache while attempting to paddle to the surface. You forgot it all and remembered the boy you’ve known since childhood. You remembered all the times he stood up for you against the kids mocking your stutter. You remembered just how much he’s done for you and is still doing for you… and suddenly, your head breaks through the surface, and you’re able to crawl into the small cavern behind the waterfall. 

You start heaving breaths, rapidly letting the air tear through your lungs, now that they had access to air in the first place. You smiled to yourself once you were able to get high enough on the rocks to stand. You survived. You’d been dealt a hand that was completely out of your favor and you managed to climb out and breathe the air around you. 

Your excitement was immediately cut off when you heard a cannon sound. 

You didn’t waste a minute in climbing the rocks as fast as you could, albeit a little clumsy from having wet hands and shoes. Your mind raced, and you hoped that your heart pounding would be eased, and you would be wrong about your suspicions. 

“No, n-no,” you shook your head, running into the rainforest and looking around frantically. You took several turns, and couldn’t see anything or anyone, but you had your knife drawn anyway. You were practically panting by now, the heaviness in your breath never dwindling. 

The minute you came to a clearing, your eyes falling on the person in front of you, your eyes watered with tears. 

“Lukas,” you slid down to your knees next to his limp frame, pulling him into your lap to hold him. “Wake up. W-wake up, Lukas, I’m h-here.” 

He didn’t budge, but as you rocked him, you were able to see the source of this tragedy, the trail of blood, streaming from his chest and over his body in gushes. It was all over your hands, and it was all over your arms. It was all over you. You were covered in his blood, just like you were covered in Rodey’s dried blood. You’d let another ally sacrifice themselves for you. You swore you wouldn’t. 

This wasn’t just another ally, and this wasn’t just a tribute you’d met a week ago. This was the best friend you’d ever had. The person who grew up alongside you into a wonderful man. He was the person who comforted you when you felt too embarrassed to go to a family member. He was the boy who’d complimented you when no other boy would dare. He was the one who brought you shells every morning from his walk to the docks. And now he is the boy who’s blood you are covered in, crying over miserably. 

You can’t bring yourself to part with him, to let him go. You know if you do, something different will become of you. Something you have never been before. So you don’t. You cling to him, and you cry, and you let the thunder that begins to rumble above you reflect your emotion. It’s been a day since it’s rained in this rainforest, but even still, the rain doesn’t pour, it only trickles slightly. Enough to remind you that despite this loss, and despite the fact that you will never be the same, you are still in this arena, and there is only one way out. 

You raise your head, and hear another sound of a cannon. You look around, but there is no sign of movement or of other tributes. 

There’s only one left, and despite what you’ve said since the moment you entered this God forsaken place, despite your morals, and despite these tributes not being your real enemy, there is only one thing on your mind, and you will not rest until you’ve attained it…

As you move to stand, you roll Lukas’ body on his back, placing his hands over his chest to be at rest. You hate that this is how his story ends. You want to bury him, you want to give him a proper memorial, but you know this arena will be scrapped by the capitol for next year’s use, and this spot will be desecrated soon after you arrange it. So you’ve decided you will raise a memorial of him back home, when you arrive there. 

Your tears are still running hot, but there’s a new fire under them that hadn’t been there before. There’s an anger you’ve never felt before. There’s a glint in your eyes that will not be satisfied.

You turn your head at the familiar sound of an incoming parachute, the contents of the container seem to be large, as there’s an entire box being lowered in. You watch it fall to the ground, in disbelief at the sheer size of it alone. It comes up to about your knees, and you wonder, what could Finnick have sent me?

You flick open the top, and immediately see the contents of the inside. Rope, lots and lots of rope. Several carabiners are included that could be used for rock climbing, but you know, and he knows, that’s not what you have in mind. 

You pick up the note, two little wet spots appearing from the tears in your eyes, and the rain from above. 

Show no Mercy… - F

-

tags(open): @thepassionatereader @i-voluntears @secretsicanthideanymore @mystargirl-interlude @c4ttheart @lilibrn

[mari-on-dragonspine]

Each Seventh Wave

} HONKAI STARRAIL

} smut! ( warning for minors: consume at your own risk!)

} fem-bodied OC/MC (you) x IL DAN HENG!; NOT LORE ACCURATE; MC looks like Stelle Trailblazer!

} do let me know if some tags are missing!

Side note: @prinzessin-writings this is for you 💕 Hope y'all enjoy TvT

" Only the special ones become dragons ."

That's what he had been told his entire life prior to his rebirth– one of the few pieces of information he was given too. And it was true, not everyone could reincarnate in such a graceful form -  the ultimate powerful form blessed by the moon and shaped by the sea waves. The form he had learned to conceal and hate for his past sins, even though he was still his former self to pay a tribute to his home: the obscure depths of the ocean. But as he laid his emerald green gems upon you, his whole vision of the universe shifted. You were but a human - and one of those who live only enough  to taste life itself - however you were the perfect balance of beauty and perfection in his eyes. All that is to be adored  and all that is to be feared, all the rains and droughts, the thousand winds and breathless deserts lived inside of you. You were an exotic galaxy to him, a universe full of wonders, the immensity of the ocean condensed in one body and sealed with golden eyes. He didn't even notice how he was staring at you until you turned to meet his gaze. Time stopped flowing and all sounds were as if they were stolen from the whole world - the truths of life and death, revealed in one instant. But what were you doing in such a lonely place? Were you really but a mere vision? He was lost swimming in this intricate maze of thoughts before you gasped. You had been seen by none other than the high elder? of the Vidyadharas. But you couldn't have known at the time. You never saw one like him before. He was tall and gorgeous, his whole aura emitting calming yet fearsome? energies. He was dangerous but collected, just like an exotic creature. The more you tried to avert your eyes, the more you couldn't. You both were enraptured by the powerful connection of your souls. 

-So.. You're a fish or what? - 

That's what you said, at first. 

A fish? 

Normally he would never have reacted to such a nonsensical question.. However as his sharp senses felt your fear and surprise around him, he couldn't help but feel relaxed and… Amused? A quiet smile cracked on his lips, enlightening his face just long enough for you to see through his apparent seriousness. 

-What you aren't? Then…a mermaid? But you're no maid. Like, you're definitely a man. So a merman? No? - 

The more you tried and the further you strode(? from the truth, the more he couldn't help to smile. More and more, until he cracked down into a faint laugh. He couldn't remember the last time he laughed, he wasn't even sure if he ever did. 

As you were trying correctly with "dragon" this time, he leaned a bit closer, his head tilting a slight bit to let you watch carefully his horns. Everyone on the Luofu knew about the Vidyadhara. But you look just as puzzled as you were before. In fact, you were not from there at all. You just happened to be in that time and place, looking at him as he was emerging from the sea, holding your breath as the water his lean fingers caressed looked solid and smooth as silk, moving closer as pearls streamed down his cupped palms just like a precious waterfall of jewelry. And you were at least discovered. Clueless as you were about his intentions, you touched one of the colorful horns that adorned his head just like a crown. It felt strangely warm and smooth at the touch. You could have sworn that they twitched in shock, just like the eyes of the charming stranger called Dan Heng, who still didn't reveal his name. 

-What.. What are you doing?-, he stammered, trying with all his might to get ahold of his loud heartbeat.

-I… shouldn't have touched them? You seemed quite ok with approaching me in the first place.- 

Your amber eyes twinkled as you leaned closer to him in response, your breath now tickling his cherry red lips, teasing their owner. He held his breath as you smiled with gentle malice. Maybe you still had a chance of getting away with stealing conces in the forbidden land of the "never dying". He gasped, as if he was drowning in the intensity of that moment and before you both knew it, your lips came together just like magnets attract each other, your tongues dancing in perfect harmony as both of your hands went for each other's clothes. You were but strangers, however your souls didn't need an explanation. 

You got struck by his beauty from the very first glance and he was hypnotized by your puzzled yet bold aura, your fair traits and silver hair.  You both were but fireflies spiraling down the burning light of passion for each other. 

-Hmn… It's…is it.. Really? - 

He was trying to be rational and snap out of this dangerous dance, but it was way too late for that. You wouldn't let him, not now that your pearlescent skin was exposed and could feel the warmth of his fit body, twitching with Lust and desire. You shushed him with a moan full of expectation, your fingers tracing the fine borders of his mouth. You were in for it and he was too. There was no point denying that. Your mischievous tongue licked his whimpers away, as your hand was now well planted under his long, dark hair, your legs tight around his slutty waist and your intimacy pressed against his. 

-Ah… don't… Don't say anything. Just… Take me now. Mr horny horns… - 

It was such a silly thing to say, but your sweet smell and sensual aura couldn't spoil the mood. You let him go berserk on your body, biting your breasts with his sharp canines and thrusting his intimacy in you over and over, emptying the beach around you of its natural lapping as you replaced it with moans of pleasure and more, switching poses over and over. You were such an awesome queen on top of your dragon, watching him blush as you pulled his hair to hear his highest pitches and even hurting him to the point of him begging for your "mercy". It was all just a game of pleasure for the both of you, a dangerous game but oh so entertaining. You wished for it to never end, but all good times never last. The sun slowly went down, just like Dan Heng's eyelids as you were kissing them. You followed a meticulous route for it: eyelids first, then the tip of his small nose, the corner of his bright ruby lips and his slender neck, now rose in brushes. You were still on top of him, one hand tapping your spine lightly, as the other was placed unmoved on your butt. You both were dirty in body fluids and gasping for air, but you were satisfied and free. 

But you both still didn't know what tomorrow would bring. 

-We.. Will meet again right?-

You asked in a faint voice, right into his hear before slowly going for his earlobe, sucking on it lightly but still enough sensually to feel his body react under yours, that responded with a small movement, as if wanting to start your love routine again. 

-Yes. - there was no space for hesitation. His voice was firm and mature, as he slowly turned his head to kiss your forehead. - No matter where you go, I will find you. Your heart chose mine and now is yours forever to wish for-

-But… But you don't even know my name.. Or who I am.. - 

He shook his head, now shushing you back, in the same, lustful way of yours. 

-It's ok. I will find you. Tell me not your name or anything else. It's our destiny. -

And as he slowly introduced you to the profound secrets of the stars and waters and you both talked and laughed and loved each other, the morning rose upon the ivory coast. But none of you were to be found there. The proof of a fated encounter washed away by waters and winds, but the memory of it forever preserved on your bodies and minds. Yes, your encounter felt but a vision, but the sands of time were already running towards your next one. Five.. Six… the seventh wave gently brushed the sand off the shore. Nothing more was left by that time, nothing more but memories. 

[wittlesissyb4by]

The White Rabbit - Chapter 1: Persephone

Finding a needle in a haystack. A diamond in the rough. A four-leaf clover. A unicorn. Waldo.

Whatever idiom or cliche you’d like to use, none of them can accurately portray how difficult it is to find a good, competent online dominatrix.

Let me rephrase.

It is damn near impossible to find an online domme that doesn’t want to drain you of every cent in your bank account, and if you do? It’s a bot…that also wants to drain you of every cent in your bank account.

That didn’t stop me from trying, though. 

I traipsed every site I could think of. Fetlife, Reddit, Twitter, 4chan. Begging, pleading for someone to “use this sissy in any way you see fit.” I commented “wish this was me” under every single Tumblr post about sissies getting humiliated in hopes that it would somehow yield a strong, dominant, willing woman to my inbox. I even put an ad on Craigslist. 

In all my attempts, the only thing I got was creepy messages from dudes, and bots. LOTS of bots.

The only thing I’d had even moderate success on was Kik. I wouldn’t even call it success, really. More like a handful of messages every now and then from girls interested in seeing me in panties. My cock would be so hard, the g-string I was wearing looked more like a slingshot. But things rarely took off from there. 

They either wanted too little from me, outrighted ghosted me, or wanted too much from me.

I know, I sound hypocritical. What do I mean, ‘too much’? Right? Turns out, I’m not willing to spoon feed myself my own shit for someone else’s amusement. Everyone has their limits.

But then, just when I’d abandoned all hope, along came Persephone.

“Hello,” her first message said, what everyone said when they first messaged. Could anything be more boring and uninspiring to a conversation?

But she wasn’t done.

“I found your *adorable* blog on Tumblr and just had to message you.”

Okay, so it’s a bot. Or a findom. One of the two. But usually phishers will have a stereotypical profile picture of some bimbo or a MILF that they ripped from the internet. Persephone’s, however, was a hand drawn image of, well, Persephone. Or at least what I thought was Persephone, I hadn’t really brushed up on my Greek Mythology. Or was it Norse Mythology? Whatever it was, the picture was of a bronze-skinned woman with leaves and flowers going through her auburn hair. She was clutching skulls in her left hand, and eating what looked like a pomegranate in the other. 

“Just tell me how much your tribute is.” I shot back coldly.

It took several seconds for her to reply. Usually bots had an automated response that would give their list of demands (in poorly written english) as well as a price tag. 

“Tribute? What’s a tribute?” she eventually said. “I just want to see you in panties.”

I was skeptical, but let’s be honest, any submissive sissy would already be intrigued by the prospect at this point.

I quickly found my lacy pair of pink ones, my favorite.

“Cute!” she replied after I sent her a picture of the panties just beneath my shirt. “But now take the rest of your clothes off so that you’re only wearing those.”

Again, I still had my reservations, but that didn’t stop me. I positioned my phone on the dresser. Trying to get just the right angle and distance to show off my body, without showing my face. I definitely didn’t trust whatever this was enough to put even a modicum of my identity out there. 

I wasn’t in great shape by any means, but I wasn’t overweight either. ‘Flabby’ would probably describe it best.  It occurred to me just then that I should start going to the gym. It took me several attempts to get a shot I was happy with. I quickly uploaded it to the chat and hit send. A part of me was worried that if I didn’t go fast enough, I would end up losing her. 

“You’re such a pretty sissy!” She replied shortly after. It was oddly comforting. I felt validated. “Do you have anything in black?

This was really happening, not only was someone showing interest in me, but they haven’t even asked for money yet. 

I got out my black g-string. In my angst to get it on I pulled up a little too far and flossed my crack a bit. It singed from the friction, but I ignored it. Tucking my erection into the waistband so it was held upwards. 

“Hahaha! That one makes you look super slutty! And look how happy your clitty is! What other colors do you have?”

I spent the next half an hour going through the various pairs of panties I’d accrued over the years, modeling each and every one of them for her. Persephone was just the right amount of encouraging, dominating, and wicked. 

“Your tushy looks great in that one.”

“I bet I could make your cheeks that same shade of red.”

“Wiggle that butt and tell me you’re a sissy slut!”

My body was shaking. No, more like shivering. It had to be because I was naked and cold. Or was it? There was an icy chill flowing through my veins. A pressing weight from the intensity of the thrill. Like when you ride a roller coaster. You know you’re probably safe, but that doesn’t stop you from getting paranoid, panicky, and excited all at the same time. I could feel my heart thumping through my chest. 

“Are you ready to wet your panties?” She eventually asked. 

There it was. For some reason things always had to escalate into toilet stuff. I know beggars can’t be choosers when it comes to getting dominated, but I really wish I wasn’t so picky. 

“I’d rather not piss myself 😔” I told her. 

I hoped she’d understand, I hoped she’d be lenient, I hoped I didn’t scare her away. 

It took a long time for her to respond, or maybe it just felt like it did. But eventually my phone pinged. 

“Not piss yourself, silly. I was asking if you wanted to wet them with cummies. Even though it looks like you’re already halfway there with your pre-leakies 😏”

My face flushed in embarrassment even though she wasn’t even there. It was just words, but it still had an effect on me. How could someone without a face and a voice still make me feel so small? It was intoxicating. 

“Touch your itty bitty clitty for me, sissy.”

She was so poignant, so forward without sounding demanding, like I was comforted but under her thumb all at the same time. 

I reached into my panties. I’d be lying if I said it was the first time since we started chatting. My cock had been screaming to be touched since the first or second message. I obliged it several times while being careful not to go too far. I didn’t want this scene to end. But now I had permission. 

I reached into my panties and wrapped my hand around my cock. It wasn’t the biggest, maybe 4  and a half inches, 5 on a good day. Right now it felt like I was pushing 6. I had to stop because I was getting too excited. I sent her the video, doing my best not to touch myself again and cum too soon.

“I’m sorry…” she said after I sent her a 30 second video of me slowly stroking. I was confused, until she said “is that how someone in panties is supposed to be touching themselves??”

Ok. I was still confused. 

“How should I do it, Miss?”

“Call me Goddess.” She replied. “And you should do it like most girls do when they play with themselves: one finger, on the sensitive part of your clitty. Do NOT stroke.”

I flushed again. This was so humiliating, but I was achingly erect. I propped my clit—err—cock up into my waistband again. It was enough for the head to stick up just above it. I dipped my finger into my mouth and wet it with saliva to lubricate it. Not that I needed to. As soon as I touched the frenulum at the bottom part of my penis, I noticed it was covered with precum. 

I aimed my phone at myself, seeing how pathetic I looked on the screen as I started swirling my finger back and forth along the tiny, sensitive line. 

I released a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I heard a pitiful, high-pitched sigh escape my lips. It wasn’t a lot of stimulation, but apparently I didn’t need much. I felt the urge to cum again.

I had to stop myself. I didn’t want to go yet. I wanted to stay in this headspace forever. I scanned through the video real fast to make sure I didn’t accidentally show my face, then hit send. 

“God you’re so fucking pathetic! Lol. Such a horny sissy! I can hear you making little girly moans! But I want them to be louder. I want you moaning like a fucking whore while you beg me to let you cum in your sissy panties!”

I didn’t have to embellish much, just had to stop suppressing the sounds I wanted to make, and bring them up an octave so they were a higher pitch. 

“You’re doing so good, baby girl!” She teased after I sent her another 30 seconds of me moaning and whimpering. Normally I would be a bit put off by being called a baby, but nothing could stop me now. 

“Please let me cum, Goddess! Please!” I squeaked. I had two fingers rubbing my clitty as I anxiously awaited her reply. 

“You can cum. But I want you repeating ‘I'm a sissy making stickies in my panties’ the whole time. And I want to see your face while you do it.”

I gulped. My cock retreated a bit at that last sentence. I hardly knew this girl. I couldn’t even be sure she was a girl. And what would she do with a video like that? What I'm doing is far from illegal, but it’s still not something I would like being spread around. 

“Do I have to show my face?” I asked. 

“Yes.” She replied, “but only if you’re comfortable… and only if you want to cum 😉”

‘Only if you’re comfortable.’ For some reason, that made me feel better, like she had my best interest at heart, but still maintained a firm grip on my psyche. 

I did want to cum. Probably more than ever. But I didn’t want to put my face out there. I never had before, was this the time to start?

Yes. The horny devil on my shoulder told me instantly. I didn’t even hear the angel, no idea where that guy was right now. 

I sighed as I opened my camera again. Pulling my arm back a little further than normal so as to allow my face to join the rest of my splayed out body on the floor. My cheeks were a bright red, whether from embarrassment or being more horny than I've probably ever been in my life, I couldn’t be sure. 

“I’m a sissy making stickies in my panties” I said as I fingered my clitty. It was weird saying something out loud, basically to yourself, in an empty apartment. 

“I’m a sissy making stickies in my panties!” I had to close my eyes because I didn’t want to see how pathetic I looked on the screen. Unfortunately, there was no way for me to stop myself from hearing it. 

“I’m a s-sissy,” my legs were shaking, I could feel the pressure building like a volcano about to erupt, “m-making st-stickies in my…my…PANTIES!!”

I practically shouted the last word as my clit erupted into the soft, silky material. It just kept going. Spurt after hot, sticky spurt of jizz into my red panties. They were now a darker shade of crimson as the wetness spread through them. It was probably one of the biggest loads I’ve ever made, but the fabric itself was terrible at absorbing any excess. It was all sloshy and gushy inside, and the creamy load made its way all the way down the thin line to my taint and crack. 

My libido evaporated and was replaced by a bit of shame. But even with my post-nut clarity, I was blinded by the power Persephone held over me. I wanted to impress her. I wanted to please her. 

“Thank you for letting me make cummies in my panties, Goddess” I said before hitting stop on the video. 

If there was ever a time to go back on my word about showing my face, it would be now. I didn’t have to send it. I could just move right on and she would never be the wiser. She would probably forget about me and move on to some other sissy to play with. 

But that realization hit with a pang of jealousy. I wanted to be the one she played with. I wanted to be the one she called a slut and even a ‘baby girl’. 

Women like this didn’t come around often, or like…ever.  I didn’t want to lose my chance with her. 

The angel on my shoulder finally appeared. “You just met her an hour ago.” it said, “you actually haven’t even met her yet. Who knows what she could do? Who knows if she’s even a ‘she’?”

Valid points, all of them. But even without my horniness intact, the devil was winning.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” he said. “Opportunities like this don’t come often. If you let her get away, you’ll be kicking yourself.”

After several seconds of deliberation, I made my decision:

I hit send.

I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?

It was the waiting game that was torture. The message indicated that it had been read. She was probably watching it now. But after several minutes, the length of the video had passed. If she was watching it, she had to have finished by now. What was she doing?

Then the screen changed. Persephone is typing…

“Good job, sissy slut! You sure made quite the mess! Now it’s time for me to upload it everywhere and send it to all your friends!”

Fuck! 

God damn it! 

Oh god oh god oh god…

How could I be so stupid??

I knew. I knew she would do this! I should have fucking listened to myself. That little inkling of doubt and reason. The one you realize was there only after you fuck something up. 

What will my friends think when they see me gushing into panties? What will my Mom think??

My phone pinged again.

“Just kidding!” it read, “Oh how I WISH I could have seen your face!! 😂” 

The gravity was turned off in the building. All the crushing weight had been lifted. I didn’t even know what to say, I was just happy I could breathe again.

“You got me…haha 😅” 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if I made you do something *else* in your panties too 😉” 

I didn’t exactly know what she meant by that. But I didn’t question it. I was just happy to have her still talking to me. 

“Well I’m off to bed, sissy. And in case you haven’t guessed: You will be sleeping in your gushy panties all night. Sweet dreams!”

To be continued…

I just released Chapter 5 of this story over on Subscribestar. Things are starting to pick up if you'd like to continue reading!

[mariana-oconnor]

The Empty House pt 1

Now, in the hour of our greatest need, a hero rises to answer the call. Our dear friend John Watson provides food for our reading appetites and bravely returns to write the tales of his dearly departed* partner, Sherlock Holmes.

*all facts correct at time of writing

You may be forgiven for assuming that my silence indicated that ‘The Final Problem’ truly was the end of my association with Sherlock Holmes, and indeed of the man himself. The passage of time and many subsequent tellings of the tale has not diminished me joy in saying that it was not so.

WHAT??!

No, seriously though, the fact that Letters from Watson is going with the conceit that Watson knew when he sent the email that Holmes wasn't dead and then just went radio silent for three weeks is fucking hilarious. It's what Holmes would have wanted. I mean, he's not dead, but even so. I love the dramatic bitch energy here.

It was in the spring of the year 1894

I feel like this is as definite and accurate a date as we're ever going to get in these stories.

Also, I have definitely read this one before, multiple times. Partially for my own enjoyment when I was younger, but also during my Sherlock fandom phase where I needed to verify some original canon so I could mutate it terribly for my own personal amusement.

I definitely remember whodunnit and how this time, but I'm not sure if that's actually going to be the mystery.

Only now, at the end of nearly ten years,

So this is a story set in 1894, written in 1903, read by us in 2023.

I should have considered it my first duty to have done so had I not been barred by a positive prohibition from his own lips, which was only withdrawn upon the third of last month.

So Holmes stayed 'dead' officially for 13 years? I mean, I guess this is also sort of ACD saying 'please stop sending me death threats. Here it is. He was never really dead. I surrender I surrender.'

As I read the evidence at the inquest, which led up to a verdict of wilful murder against some person or persons unknown

Totally read this wrong at first as though the murder was against the person or persons unknown. 'We know a murder has taken place, but we don't know who, or even if it was only one person or multiple. But it was definitely murder.' But no, it's the verdict that's against them, not the murder.

There were points about this strange business which would, I was sure, have specially appealed to him, and the efforts of the police would have been supplemented, or more probably anticipated, by the trained observation and the alert mind of the first criminal agent in Europe.

It is pretty tragic to think of Watson reading the paper and sighing to himself as he thinks of how Holmes could have helped. But then also casually throwing shade at the police officers, also in tribute to Holmes' memory.

Adair's mother had returned from Australia to undergo the operation for cataract

Health tourism has a long and varied history. In a time before aeroplanes that's a long way to go and a long time to take for surgery. Did Australia really not have any opthalmologists worth their salt at this time? I mean, I don't know how good even the surgeons in London would have been with that sort of surgery, it's a little more finesse than amputations and they had enough difficulty with them. Got to assume that if you're going to take that long travelling for the surgery, there's got to be a reasonable improvement in your chances for survival.

OK, wow, the history of cataract surgery is long and I do not advise you to look it up if you are in any way squeamish about or squicked out by eye stuff. But apparently the earliest cataract surgeries known are in the 5th century BC, although modern surgery methods didn't seem to really get good until around the 1950s. Basically yes, infection was very possible and her vision would never be the same again.

That was very educational and quite unpleasant.

Ronald Adair was fond of cards, playing continually, but never for such stakes as would hurt him. He was a member of the Baldwin, the Cavendish, and the Bagatelle card clubs. It was shown that after dinner on the day of his death he had played a rubber of whist at the latter club.

I know it says that he never played for stakes that would hurt him, but I feel like being a member of three different clubs is a sign of something. Also, the fact that he recently broke up with his fiancee really needs to be relevant later because I cannot imagine why it would be included if not. At least as a red herring.

Mr. Murray, Sir John Hardy, and Colonel Moran

I wonder which of them is important? Clearly it must be Mr Murray. Absolutely could not be Colonel Moran, who is a colonel and therefore a respectable member of society who would never be associated with any crimes.

I stg ACD had some sort of beef with a colonel at some point in time. That's the only possible explanation. OTHER RANKS ARE AVAILABLE.

She had lit a fire there, and as it smoked she had opened the window.

They need their chimneys checked. Where are the chimney sweeps? I was under the impression that Victorian London was full of chimney sweeps. Was I lied to? Shove a small child up that chimney at once!

The door was locked on the inside, and no answer could be got to their cries and knocking. Help was obtained and the door forced. The unfortunate young man was found lying near the table. His head had been horribly mutilated by an expanding revolver bullet, but no weapon of any sort was to be found in the room.

Locked room mystery! Locked room mystery! Locked room mystery!

The window is open, but this is the second floor, and it's worth noting for any American readers, that in the UK the second floor is one higher than you think. We have ground floor, first floor, then second floor. So that's a pretty high window to reach.

(Unless there was already a small child lying in wait up the chimney...)

A minute examination of the circumstances served only to make the case more complex. In the first place, no reason could be given why the young man should have fastened the door upon the inside.

Sometimes people just lock doors. I automatically lock doors behind me sometimes. My brain is just like 'ooh, lock!' I made my flatmate at university think I hated her because I used to lock myself into my room, but I just... be like that.

There was the possibility that the murderer had done this and had afterwards escaped by the window. The drop was at least twenty feet, however, and a bed of crocuses in full bloom lay beneath. Neither the flowers nor the earth showed any sign of having been disturbed, nor were there any marks upon the narrow strip of grass which separated the house from the road.

So I know how this goes, but I feel there is a very real alternative solution to this puzzle that involves a circus troupe, an archer and a tightrope walker. Not sure how they'd get the tightrope back, but that can be sorted out in editing.

Again, Park Lane is a frequented thoroughfare, and there is a cab-stand within a hundred yards of the house.

Fine, people would probably notice the tightrope walking clown...

^ This guy could do it, is all I'm saying. (Although he would definitely use more than one bullet...)

since, as I have said, young Adair was not known to have any enemy, and no attempt had been made to remove the money or valuables in the room.

No one who gambles that much and consistently wins can be entirely enemy-free, that seems unlikely.

As I did so I struck against an elderly deformed man, who had been behind me, and I knocked down several books which he was carrying. [...] With a snarl of contempt he turned upon his heel, and I saw his curved back and white side-whiskers disappear among the throng.

Oh hai, Holmes. I'm not 100% that this is Holmes but lbr, this is Holmes. The snarl of contempt and abrupt about turn is totally to conceal his identity. Also I want to read The Origins of Tree Worship is it a real book? I feel like it has the potential to be the basis for a decent fantasy book.

but the window was entirely inaccessible, since there was no water-pipe or anything which could help the most active man to climb it.

I had not been in my study five minutes when the maid entered to say that a person desired to see me.

Drum roll please

I moved my head to look at the cabinet behind me. When I turned again Sherlock Holmes was standing smiling at me across my study table.

Certainly a grey mist swirled before my eyes, and when it cleared I found my collar-ends undone and the tingling after-taste of brandy upon my lips. Holmes was bending over my chair, his flask in his hand.

This surprise reveal brought to you by:

Brandy!

If Brandy doesn't save you, at least you'll die drunk!

“My dear Watson,” said the well-remembered voice, “I owe you a thousand apologies. I had no idea that you would be so affected.”

No.

Shit.

Sherlock.

Yeah, totally unbelievable that your bff who has thought you were dead for two years and probably blames himself at least somewhat for falling for the obvious ruse and leaving you alone on the cliffside to face your demise, might POSSIBLY be A LITTLE BIT affected by YOU RISING FROM THE DEAD BEFORE HIS EYES.

You are such a dramatic little chaos gremlin and it's great, but a truly spectacular lack of forethought here.

"Now, my dear fellow, in the matter of these explanations we have, if I may ask for your co-operation, a hard and dangerous night's work in front of us. Perhaps it would be better if I gave you an account of the whole situation when that work is finished.”

Casually rolls back into town, greets bff. 'Like, I could tell you how come I'm not dead, but instead we could both risk our lives first... what do you think?'

"I had no serious difficulty in getting out of it, for the very simple reason that I never was in it.”

A cliffhanger - literally??

Disappointed we only got two synonyms for the falls though: "awful abyss" and "dreadful chasm" I was hoping for some other ones. "merciless maw", "terrible void", "cruel crevasse", "fell fall", "godawful gap". Hopefully some more can be shoehorned into the next bit.

[iwantoseeafrigatebird]

the orkney trip

part 5

Day 5

Visiting the local sights of Kirkwall then take the afternoon ferry to Westray. I decided to do one north isle (westray) and then one south isle (that is, Hoy).

John Rae, they really love him up here. He's also not the only one there with a Franklin expedition connection. A lady called Catherine Wishart was buried there who was the widow of Thomas Work commemorated here, who was an AB aboard Erebus.

Gotta be one of the most impressive cathedral I've ever been to, someone was painting in there and played a bit of music on the piano that's perfect for the atmosphere. Interesting church bells. The inscriptions of the graves were interesting to read, such as:

"At even and at the cockcrowing, at midnight and in the morning, the master of the house knocks, for death who spares none has but lately carried off from one and the same house young people, people of advanced age and people of middle age"

"oh death how harsh, how grevious are thy laws, if there were no death how happy everyone would be. death waits us all, the hour none knows"

or my favourite here: "Death hastens, no flight avails to pay the tribute of mortality... But more I lament the loss of time, material damage everyone can make good, none can make good the loss of time"

Baikie is also here, the explorer of the Niger.

Onward to Westray. A very informative heritage centre they have, with the bones of a sperm whale laid out in the yard. Inside was also a wall full of graffiti from a hundred years ago interred here from a barn where people used to gather for dances and things. The graffiti is very nautical, with names, fairly accurate drawings of ships (two of which were in fact identified) and even mathmatical calculations. The type of historical graffiti in Orkney is another fun subject, from the persian script "I sat here for two nights and learnt patience" inscribed onto the dwarfie stane on Hoy in the 19th century, the westray graffiti, the viking graffiti im maeshowe saying "this is the highest the graffiti in this house". to the pecking marks in the magnus cathedral perhaps being medieval pilgrims marking their visits. One of them examples that humans never really change.

Swapping auks is the funniest thing.

Westray is insane. They have a whole ass castle and just let you poke around. I went near the closing of the day and inside was very dark. The kitchen felt like a cavern and the ceiling could not be seen. When I stepped inside I also disturbed the pigeons on the top floor, I was seriously spooked by this.

Beautiful spiral staircases. The main staircase was what, two metres wide? Here are the two smaller ones, one of which leads up into the unfinished top floor.

Camping on Westray is bit of a problem, as they said that the island is basically a working farm (mostly cows). Cycling uphill in Orkney also means that you spend a lot of time looking at cows looking at you. On one particularly long slope, there were two cows standing in two fields separated by the road, one black one white, they stared at me as I was struggling up creeping forward while peddling furiously. Then they *exchanged a glance* that seemed to have communicated a thousand human words and returned to looking at me. I have never felt being so mocked and judged by lady bovines.

So I asked the old lady at the desk of the heritage centre if she might know some wild camping spot, who recommended me the kelping green (a flat grassy area where the kelp harvesting industry once thrived) and said that if I can't find no place to fall I can camp on her land by the ruin of a house. She came from the westside and lived on the island all her life. I asked her about camping on the westside cross kirk which is now a ruin but with a functional graveyard, i read online that someone camped there once. She said oh I should really see the kirk again since I'm very connected to it, but I rarely go that way now, I married and moved away. She proceeded to point to me her current address, which was about three miles as crows fly. I decided that camping in a kirkyard would be fun, and I would like to camp in a different place every night and it would be great if it's by the sea. So on I went and cycled to the old kirk.

The trail to the cross kirk, although marked out prominently on the map in their tourist information sheet, is practically nonexistent if you approach from the southside, which I did. It's a stripe of horrendously overgrown coastal grassland skirting the enclosed grazing land on the right and a rocky beach on the left, the trail is where the grass grows slightly shorter than the rest. I had to leave my bike, get half of the stuff and go sound out the kirkyard, then double back for my tent and the other half of stuff. (I felt very much like a victorian sailor doing this, had to do the same thing in the morning so that was 6 trips along that stripe of land, which in the morning was turned into a grassy ditch filled with dew and my boots were soaked).

the ruin. there was a bit of a roof left over the chapel where the altar perhaps once was, I sat up my mattress in there and had dinner. Also read the little book of local stories I bought from the heritage centre. Thing is, there're ghost stories in there... especially one about unbaptised infant without a name haunting people as they can't go to heaven. And there's a child's grave near where I set up my tent. Considering the kirkyard was in use since the 11th/12th century until the present day, I was probably sleeping on bodies. It was unexpectedly the warmest and most comfortable night of sleep i had, although I am a superstitious person and apologised profusely when I hammered the pegs into the ground and gave one of the grave a cookie in the chinese tradition. Played music late into the night, i don't care about battery i care about not thinking about seeing an unbaptised infant floating around.

About hedghogs. I told someone this and I don't want to repeat myself.

... And just the day before I camped on a graveyard huh. In the graveyard I dreamt of seeing layers and layers of bones being buried beneath me but nothing eerie.

the heavens and my ancestors i thank you. yes I did invoke my grandfather's spirit and asked him to protect me from spirits.

the moon that night was silver, it was in fact the mid autumn festival in china which i forgot about completely. By folk tradition it was supposed to be the day when the moon is to be the fullest and brightest. I was going to cut a round piece off my pemmican and make a pemmican mooncake but i couldn't be too bothered. i mean... a cookie is round.

[lovingclare]

I saw someone commenting on how interesting it would be to see the point of view of one of the Capitolians in Sunrise on The Reaping, showing the character's development in realizing that these so-called "district animals" are human beings like you and me and them too; people whose basic human rights were stripped from them just because they were born in the wrong place, who are paying for crimes they didn't even commit. I really like this idea, but I have another opinion.

How much more interesting would it be to see the point of view of someone from District 12 again? To hear from the mouth (and thoughts) of a resident of there what the situation was like forty years after the only winner disappeared into the forest as if it were nothing more than a story that remains alive in songs and memories. I wonder how much more impactful it would be to see this from the point of view of Haymitch's younger brother, maybe even his girlfriend. To hear their names, their ages, their stories, their dreams and desires, all coming straight from their mouths. Walking the squalid streets again, revisiting the illegal market (and maybe the forest, where that Everdeen boy goes to get fresh meat), seeing up close the violence of the Peacekeepers against those who are just trying to survive. And, in the middle of all this, the bloodiest Games you've ever seen take place, with your boyfriend or brother or son inside. Twice the tributes, twice the violence.

Not only that, but we've already had a direct point of view of tributes inside the arena in the trilogy, then a mentor's point of view, and now we get the chance to see someone's point of view in the District. We can feel their fear, their hope, their despair, their anger, everything. We hear them fervently wishing that person would win and be able to go home—and then the guilt that comes with knowing that dozens of other families will mourn their losses, and that the Capitol's goal will be fulfilled, one way or another. After all, what right do you have to want only your love to come home? Doesn't everyone else want the same? A dignified and full life without the threat of starvation and death hanging over their heads? What makes a tribute “more worthy” of winning than the others? They’re just kids, all of them, without exception. They’re not the enemy. Capitol is.

And after your love returns from that place, if he survives, you’ll still have to deal with the fact that he’s not the same anymore. That a part of him died there and can’t be recovered. That all the tributes died there, but one of them still has a beating heart and more money in his pockets than he could ever spend and a deep and irreversible trauma that will never be fully healed.

I think it would be wonderful to have someone from the District’s perspective, showing us how brutal the survivors become, and how even after they leave the arena, they never really get off that train. To see firsthand how much this would impact the families, above all. They, the Abernathys, and the others who died—we know that Maysilee Donner’s sister never recovered from the shock of losing her, but what about the other two tributes from the 12th? Did they have any family? Friends? Did they have anyone who cared?How brutal it would be if the chapters alternated—the girl in the District and the tribute in the arena, one subject to Capitol propaganda and the other a survivor in all senses—until Haymitch was the one narrating everything, because his girl, his brother, and his mother were killed exactly two weeks after his return home, all because of that “harmless” trick of his with the force field.

That, my friends, is the tragedy and violence with which the victors are treated even after they… you know… won. For having survived, actually.

I really like TBOSAS for telling it from the younger Snow’s point of view, with wonderfully accurate details about elitism and classism without ever taking the responsibility off Snow’s shoulders. I loved how it was all handled. But we've left the Capitol in the spotlight for too long—we've seen the tributes, the mentors, and now it's time to meet the families. It's time to hand over the spotlight to some of the other major victims they've managed to claim.

[the-wardens-torch]

FFXIVwrite2024: Quarry

Prompt #12, entry #6

Masterpost so far

((Ugh. Too many words, not enough happening. Takes place after some stuff that happened last FFXIVwrite.))

He couldn't recall the last time he'd been so quiet, or so alone. Or the last time he'd paid such close attention to everything around him, or, more accurately, the absence on anything around him. It had probably been the last time he'd gone hunting, but he'd never been much of a hunter anyway. He also wasn't exactly sure what he was hunting. Ordinarily when one said they were "hunting a dream," it meant something like quitting mercenary work to open a cake shop or to join the Songbirds or to win 10 million gil at the Gold Saucer. But in his case, his quarry was… actually a dream.

It was the strangest place he had ever been, by a longshot, and as his father had predicted, there had been very few security measures installed to keep him from entering it. Now that there was no money in it, the various political factions of Eorzea had left the place largely deserted, relying on its foreboding atmosphere and collective aura of grief to keep it free of troublemakers. The only thing that had been built here was an arena for those adventurers who preferred to fight each other rather than monsters. It seemed like an inappropriate tribute to what had perhaps been the ultimate showdown between man and monster.

There were no trees to rustle, or even a breeze to rustle them. No sand or soil to mark the tracks of animals, not that there were any. Since he'd been here, the only other life he'd seen was a few vultures high overhead, hoping in vain to find the same bounty that had littered the land in years past. He'd only hiked a few malms, but his feet were already sore just from the hard, jagged terrain that he could feel even through his best pair of traveler's boots. If he had been barefoot, his feet would be as torn as if he'd been walking on volcanic glass. Which, in a way, was what the ground was, if a volcano had spewed forth pure malevolent aether instead of lava. At times he could see through it for a few ilms, but mostly it was just a tangle of corpse-like purple, lurid orange and other colors that didn't belong on a healthy landscape.

The air was dry and stale, yet it had a cloying, clingy property, like the humidity of a Cieldalaes night before a storm, or the breath of a febrile patient in a hospital bed. It carried no smells save a bit of sharp, tangy ozone or a sort of burnt sand smell he couldn't quite put his finger on.

Every so often, he would pass a cast off weapon or bit of armor, corroded by time, rust and impure aether… A garlean revolver here, a Lominsan cutlass there, even a few makeshift clubs and swords once wielded by people who had no business fighting here but couldn't stand idly by. He might even have seen the Wood Wailer spear formerly wielded by his chocobo's original owner before he had perished. He had been halfway across the world when this pace had earned its infamous reputation, when Menphina's Hound had come roaring down from the sky and vomited up a being of catastrophic chaos and destruction. Years ago, he would never have thought to come here with Eorzea's entire host of grand companies, let alone by himself. But his dreams had called him here.

He had come to Carteneau, to hunt the ghost of Bahamut.

((All desciption, no action. Tired and having a flareup of self-doubt, don't mind me.))