#very hard to think of any of my Victors being into this at all

[thevalicemultiverse]

Hey VD...... I found this piece of fanart someone did and....... Let's just say it makes me nauseous just looking at it.....🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢

Victor: [pause] I...on a technical level, that's very well done. On an emotional level, I think I'm screaming.

[st4rrth0ughts]

Aventurine character study that I spewed at my friend posted here bc I despise whoever portrays him as a useless blonde 24/7 horny twink as his canon self (i will throttle you through the fuckin screen)

A/n: I think the 2.1 trailer is helping me regain my writing motivation, expect inbox asks from Jan- Feb to be coming out soon :)

WRITTEN BEFORE 2.1 This post will contain leaks, 2.0 Trailblaze quest spoilers, world quest spoilers, Aven's slave life in canon, disgusting people saying Aven's a sex slave, under the cut! Please proceed with caution if any of these trigger you. Thank you, and enjoy my yap session on one of the best characters in this game.

Aventurine's story is much more than just looking and acting like the typical rich blonde playboy, as much as he gives off those vibes. Looking at his child self in the 2.1 trailer compared to all of his current models, its very obvious that many, many things happened that caused all the light to poof from his eyes.

First, his homeland, Sigonia. Aventurine's home planet's is uninhabited, and perhaps even destroyed completely. Aventurine is the last of his kind left. His parents, his sister, his possible friends and relatives, hell, even all the people he doesn't know have all perished. The IPC took him in, I presume, but most definitely not out of kindness. In fact, it may not matter that Aventurine is one of the Ten Stonehearts, he is not a person to the company. He is just a asset, a piece for them to dispose if he fucks up.

In the 1.4? Belobog quest where Topaz goes to Bronya about Belobog's massive debt to the IPC, and at the end, we get our first crumbs of Aventurine's character. A important thing to note in this dialogue between the two of them is that he asks Topaz to the project manager on his project in Penacony, because if he knows better than everyone that if he fails to get Penacony back into the IPC's grasp, he'll die. There's no way around it, unless he gets someone he has a somewhat close bond with, Topaz, to lighten his fall.

The tattoo on his neck, is a symbol of his slavery to the IPC. How he's bound to them. How no matter how hard he runs or hides, he will never escape their grasp. In fact, he knows damn well, if anyone gets wind of this alongside his Sigonian history (Sigonians are notorious for being wolves in sheep's clothing, bad people in most eyes'), it is very well possible that his rivals and enemies will use his past to their advantage. Thats why he freely shows it to the world. So that no one can dig it up and use it against him, because how do you use something that he so freely proclaims to everyone he meets?

Aventurine is a man who gambles as well. Not just simply gambling for the thrill of it or his earnings. He says it himself, he sees the world, life itself, as a gamble. High reward, high stakes. Even going back to his conversation with Topaz, its only shown on how he tells her he warned her about taking Belobog as her project because it was high risk, but low return. Aventurine wants the best outcome not just for himself, but because if he doesn't get a good outcome, the IPC has no use for him.

Aventurine is a man who knows how to get what he wants. he knows how to take risks, get out of high stake scenarios with him being the winner. Its obvious in his lightcone, 'Final Victor', his conversation with Dr. ratio in the Penacony 2.0 Trailblaze quest, and his conversation with Himeko and Welt about giving up his room for the Trailblazer. He's confident, cocky, if you will. But for good reason.

In the lightcone, its implied it doesn't matter for Aventurine dies or lives. He will always be the winner. Every move is calculated, precise, carried out with clockwork precision and most importantly, planned so well that whether you like it or not, you're letting him win. He manages to get the Nameless, the widely regarded faction, in his debt. He knows damn well how to play his cards. It is extremely impressive. But he is the Aventurine of Stratagems. He knows what he wants and needs, and he will go any length to get it.

The lightcone, again, also shows just how far Aventurine risks, just for him to gain Dr. Ratio as a asset for him to benefit from. He could have gone any route, but what does he go for? Thats right, Russian goddamn roulette. Just for the (I assume) slim chance of Dr. Ratio's trust, or at the very least, cooperation. "I will always be the final victor." I am repeating, but just bear with me here, this just solidifies the fact he is confident in his skills. He doesn't flinch at all when he shoots 3 blank rounds right into his heart, even though there's the 1/6 chance he'll die. He takes risks. Its his character. He doesn't have anything or anyone, much less his own life, left to loose.

The lightcone is also not 'haha funny gay story', as much as it is funny, i wont lie, the memes are fun to look at, but it is not that. Its a story where Aventurine's suicidal tendency shows through, perhaps not so clearly, but its very much there if you look past the story and read into it. Again, Russian roulette, he could have gone for anything else, like a contract or smth, but he knows he has to go through extremes, and this just solidifies the fact of how Aventurine will do anything for assets and trust in him, so his plans can come to fruition.

Aventurine's personality is complicated, like a intricate, deceiving web of lies and emotional barriers to keep him safe. He hides behind the facade of smiles and is unreadable, and his past is all but cheery. A slave, (not a sex slave, twitter+Tiktok users need their brain fucking reworked i will cry) a man branded by the IPC, bound to the till his death is what Aventurine is. The IPC is ruthless, evident from multiple world quests, such as the Aurum Street Alley quest, Belobog's debt quest, Chadwick's quest in Penacony, paints them as bad people, a bad organization in general. Hell, even though Topaz isnt like the assholes we've seen, she's far from an angel herself.

Aventurine has gone through many things to have lost the sparkle in his eyes. Take Childe/Tartaglia from Genshin Impact for example, whom fell into the abyss for months, seen all the horrors of it, had to learn to fend for himself because I'm very sure Skirk did not care for him in a healthy sense. We can either assume Aventurine been through something on the same level during his younger days or perhaps, worse.

And no, he is not Dr. Ratio or Sunday's sex slave, I'm looking at a certain artist on Twitter (fuck off I'm not calling it X), its disgusting. Whoever genuinely enjoys sex slave Aventurine is sick in the damn head, no he would not enjoy that kind of Roleplay, as much as i am downbad and indeed filthy with some of my fics with him.

Aventurine doesn't have anyone he can truly call a friend, ship him with Dr. ratio, Sunday, Boothill (yes, its a thing), Caelus/ Stelle, whoever, but in the end, you cannot say he (as of 2.0, this may change) has any true friends he can trust, not even just a bit. Bonds he forms are transactional, maybe not too much on Dr. Ratio (as evidenced by his dejected his looks after Ratio leaves, either from the insult or bc he truly though Ratio cared) and perhaps on the Astral Express's part, but his bond with Sunday? Yeah, its transactional, 101% unless it changes in 2.1.

All in all, Aventurine is my favourite character, i have never wanted to read, write, understand, watch, hell, I've never wanted to farm and pull for a character as much as him. He is a complex, heavy and deep character that I do not believe many can grasp upon properly when writing stories, headcannons or even smut/nsfw works with him in it (shoutout to those who does tho, I love y'all <3).

Draw or write his fanon self, make him a himbo, tsundere, a rich man who's just a playboy, or a blonde with a pretty face, but you cannot say that is him in canon. I may despise some fanon interpretations, but fuck those who merge fanon and canon. He will never be any of the fanon interpretations i mentioned above, and he never will be in canon. Hoyoverse put their whole soul into this man, i can see it, and its brain damaging on how so many people fetishize his past and water him down.

In speculation of 2.1 and 2.2, if Aventurine does live (he prob will, its unlikely he'll be killed before release, Tingyun is a exception because she released before her death), maybe he'll learn how to start to open himself up again, start to fully trust, starting with Trailblazer as his first true friend. Its cliche, typical protag power bullshit, but it will no doubt, be a huge step in shaping Aventurine back into the man he could have been if his planet wasn't enslaved.

Conclusion: He deserves better, both in- game and how the fandom treats him. I love him, he's my adorable pookie wookie shmookie <33

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

If it’s alright, I have a question about Vil and Epel’s relationship. I understand that the accent changing plot line is just a cultural politeness thing that didn’t carry over outside of Japan, but the other parts of changing Epel’s behavior don’t quite make sense.

Why exactly is Epel being forced to call macarons his favorite food? And act very soft-spoken? I can’t see how these fit in with the politeness aspect of the table manners, no abrasive language, etc. It just doesn’t give a very good impression, especially in combination with the unfortunate implication of giving Epel a Southern accent for the “change your accent” plot point.

Before I get to responding to the questions posed by this ask, allow me to explain for those who may not be familiar with this controversy! This is so we can all go into reading this post from the same starting point.

I've made titles to denote the explanation of background knowledge and to denote responding to the questions actually asked to me! If you're already familiar with the Vil-Epel-accent debacle then feel free to skip the first section!

Disclaimer: I’m speaking on these concepts as I personally understand them. However, I am not a native Japanese speaker so I’d advise that you consult additional resources with a better understanding of the language and culture. Two resources I enjoy are Yuurei and MysteryShopTLs, who have both also addressed Epel’s accent and how it was localized.

The Accent, EN vs JP

It’s well-known that Epel is a character with a heavy accent who has been explicitly told by Vil, his dorm leader, to alter the way he speaks. In EN, Epel speaks with what appears to be a southern (as in, “from the southern United States”) accent. Therefore, when Vil tells him to stop speaking in the accent, it feels as though Vil is shaming him for his southern roots and culture. This has also led to fans (especially of the EN-only sphere) thinking that Vil believes Epel’s accent is “unrefined” and “makes him sound uncouth/uneducated”, which is why Vil tells Epel to cover it up. I have even received asks conveying as much in the past (here is one example).

In the original JP, Epel speaks in a way that does not closely resemble any real-world Japanese dialect but rather a blend of them. If you ask a native Japanese speaker, they would likely tell you that it is difficult to understand what Epel is saying and that it sounds as though he is speaking rudely or too casually. People could genuinely take offense to the accent because it can be mistaken as something else entirely. This is obviously very different than the real-world accent (which many people can still understand and wouldn’t perceive as rude) that Epel was localized to have. The decision to give him a southern accent, then, does not completely carry over its original JP connotations into EN.

What remains the same in both EN and JP is the reason Vil provides for telling Epel to adjust the way he communicates. As he says in EN, “Speak properly" to which Epel immediately assumes the command comes from a place of elitism/classism and Vil thinking Epel's manner of speaking is beneath him. Vil responds with, "Stop misinterpreting my instructions. I have nothing against your home or its dialect. What I object to is your attitude. Being proud of your home is all well and good, but there is a time and a place for that. The way you address your superiors is entirely unacceptable." (Keep in mind that before this, Epel was the one instigating a fight with Vil and subsequently got his ass whooped for disrespecting an upperclassman. As the victor, he declares that Epel must do as he says--that's the "culture" of NRC. The weak obey the strong, so if Epel wants to do whatever he wants, then Vil challenges him to beat Epel in a fight. Until then, the loser must obey the winner. Epel agrees to these conditions.) This may be a little hard for western English speakers to wrap their heads around, but MANY Asian countries, Japan included, run on a hierarchical system which is embedded even into their languages. Japanese, for example, has honorifics to denote the relationship between the speaker and the listener, as well as variations on the same word depending on the context ("boku", "ore", "watashi", "atashi", etc. are all valid ways to refer to oneself, "onii-san", "onii-sama", "aniki", "kyodai", etc. are all ways to refer to a brother, whether blood-related or not). In some cases, it's considered rude to call others by their first name unless you know them well, and even then it's not common to see a first name without an honorific. This is not as strictly adhered to in English, which is perhaps where a cultural disconnect occurs. What Vil is referring to in his instructions to Epel is what is known in the world of linguistics as "code switching", or changing how one communicates to suit the situation. Part of code switching is changing one's "register", or the level of formality you use. So for example, I could use a colloquial/casual register when I speak with my friends, but I may shift to a more polite and formal register when I speak with my professors, a boss, or an older relative. Vil, then, is critiquing Epel for not speaking politely to his seniors (something which is expected in Japanese culture, but not expected among those in similar grade levels in western cultures).

In the Harveston Sledathon event, we get to venture to Epel's hometown and hear how the locals speak. Indeed, we get more instances of people who speak in the same way Epel does. It's the Harveston dialect, which is so distinctive that it basically sounds like a whole different language. (There are also languages like this in real life; consider Mandarin and Cantonese; technically they are both "Chinese" but Mandarin and Cantonese speakers would not be able to comprehend one another even if they use the same written language). However, it's notable that Marja (Epel's grandmother) and the mayor of Harveston are able to code switch flawlessly into a more standardized tongue. They explain that this is a skill they have developed because it helps in communicating with tourists/visitors to the village and for whenever they travel to the nearby city to sell their wares. This reinforces Vil's point that there is a "time and place" for certain ways of speaking, which Epel needs to consider.

Macarons and Soft-Spokeness

Accent thing aside, some English-speaking fans take issue with Vil's stern treatment of Epel, particularly in instances in which Vil seems to be exerting significant control over his underclassman's behaviors. (Japanese-speaking fans largely do not hold the same sentiment.) Examples of this include Vil forcing Epel to state that his favorite food is macarons, as well as making Epel present as soft-spoken even when he's just among his peers. I will now be addressing both of these points. TO BE CLEAR, I am NOT trying to defend Vil but rather I'm just going to speculate about why the circumstances are the way that they are and/or why perceptions of his attitude may differ.

Starting with macarons! It is stated in Epel's official profile and by Epel himself in his Birthday Boy vignettes that his favorite food is yakiniku (Japanese grilled meat). However, macarons are also listed as his favorite food, and this is notable because he's the only character with two foods listed instead of just one. In the aforementioned Birthday Boy vignettes, Epel is quick to qualify his love of meats with, "Well, I do have one thing I like even more. It's, ah, macarons." When asked what he likes about them, he says, "They're... cute. And sweet! And they come in lots of different flavors." His voice here sounds hesitant, so it's not clear whether he's being entirely honest or not. He even admits in a whisper that, "[Macarons] are not very filling, but still." Epel again complains about macarons being good but not very filling when he has some in the City of Flowers/Fleur City. To this, Azul asks, "Why do you look so unimpressed, Epel? I thought macarons were your favorite food. [...] But was my intel mistaken? Would you prefer something with a stronger flavor profile?" Epel insists he is fine, and Azul responds with, "Excellent, then my intel bears out." This creates some confusion over whether Epel actually likes macarons or not. I doubt that the information Azul has on others is inaccurate. Plus, Epel states of his own free will to the player (who is interviewing him) that he also likes macarons. This leads me to believe that while Epel doesn't outright hate macarons, he does like them alright (but still prefers grilled meat more). The only thing he seems to have an issue with is how unsubstantial macarons are as a food item.

Now... why does Vil make him state that macarons are his favorite food instead of grilled meat? It's sort of touched on in Epel's Ceremonial Robes vignettes. In them, Vil chides Epel for his poor table manners and asks him to state his favorite food. Epel responds with grilled meat/barbeque, which earns him a smack from his dorm leader. (Vil actually smacks Epel multiple times in these vignettes as punishment, which ended up being another source of ire in the English-speaking part of the fandom; such a thing is more common in Asia and its media, so it's not seen as too outrageous in Japan.) "Do my ears deceive me?" Vil says. "I could've sworn I heard a word unfit to be spoken in this noble dorm. I will ask you again. As a student of Pomefiore–a dorm founded upon the tenacity of the Fairest Queen–what is your favorite food?" From this dialogue, it can be surmised that Vil's reasoning for drilling the macarons in as Epel's favorite food is because it is something that is more befitting of the regal "image" of the Fairest Queen and the dorm made in her honor. Vil seems to regard grilled meat as an inelegant food which does not suit the Fairest Queen nor Pomefiore.

The second thing the asker brought up is Epel's soft-spokeness. I guess I'm a little confused by this??? Soft-spokeness is a part of being polite; it ties back to volume control (ie "indoor voice" being softer than "outdoor voice"). I also don't recall a specific instance of Vil chastising Epel for NOT being soft-spoken at all times. He allows Epel to be loud sometimes and raises his voice himself. I feel like volume is not something that Vil harps on as much as other things like cursing or speaking politely to the correct authority figures (unless, of course, volume is important to the level of politeness required for the current conversation). I could be wrong on this though, so please let me know if you know of any specific instances of Vil being mad about Epel speaking loudly that I may have missed! What I do find odd is how... consistently (?) Epel tries to keep polite even when Vil is not around to monitor him. When Vil and Epel first met, Vil makes it clear that there is a "time and place" for Epel's accent, and it's not when addressing seniors. So... by the logic, shouldn't Vil be okay with Epel acting more relaxed or rowdy around first years or more casual settings in general? Why does Epel need to maintain the facade of being polite even when not in the presence of his superiors? Why does Epel seem to even act fearful about word of his misbehavior/rudeness getting back to his dorm leader and even make others swear they won't divulge the incidents to Vil?

One theory I'll propose is the entirety of book 5. Vil was insistent then on having Epel in the NRC Tribe. He wanted to weaponize Epel's cuteness, which he believed could compete with his long-time rival, Neige. This probably fed into Vil's demands for Epel to appear and act dainty and innocent, traits which Neige effortlessly possesses. Vil literally even refers to Epel as his "Poison Apple" that will help him defeat Neige. After book 5, Vil seems to have eased up on his rigidity. However, I will caution that this explanation may or may not align well with vignettes and/or event stories, which do not always work in a cohesive timeline with the main story.

Perhaps a more all-encompassing explanation is... this is probably because Vil is just very strict about how his dorm members present themselves at all times, since they are expansions of Pomefiore and of himself as the leader. Both the macarons and Epel's attitude are reflections of the dorm he (a celebrity who is very aware of the public eyes on him + his reputation) is affiliated with, and Vil won't have them poorly represented. He is the dorm leader, so he has the "right" to rule and impose his ideals as he sees fit. It's a similar situation to Riddle forcing the Heartslabyul students to follow silly, nonsensical rules (because they're tradition) or risk a scolding or a beheading. And again, Epel is following along because (as established in book 5), he has agreed to submit to Vil’s orders until he beats Vil in combat.

At the end of the day, I don't think Epel being forced to call macarons his favorite food is a huge deal. Is anything that big lost in claiming you like something that isn't your actual favorite food? It's not like Vil is forcing Epel to claim he likes eating something that would actually harm him (like, if Epel had an almond allergy or something).

What's more dubious is how VIl governs Epel's attitude and temperament at seemingly all times (to the point of eliciting some apprehension from Epel). Given the most generous reading, maybe it's Vil's way of teaching Epel maturity and how to keep his voice down since Epel had zero of it and acted loudly brazen when he first enrolled. It doesn't help Epel if he's quiet and well-mannered in very limited social situations; it has to be "generalized" or expand to other scenarios for Vil's lessons to truly be instilled in him. (Like... what would happen if Vil DIDN'T hold Epel in check? His classmates would not be able to understand Epel's speech, and he might get into trouble by picking fights with others.) This is a life skill that Epel lacks, unlike his grandma and the Harveston mayor, and Vil's teaching it to him via "tough love" (though whether you approve of his methods or not is up to interpretation). Recall that Vil also teaches Epel to embrace femininity as its own strength and to disregard outdated gender norms--this could be considered another "lesson". I doubt that anything Vil imposes is done maliciously, but rather comes from a place of wanting others to be better and to shine their brightest, even if that path is difficult or painful. Epel, as the rebel in this circumstance, of course does not enjoy being told what to do and misbehaves in small ways. There’s a limit on how much he can misbehave though, as it would hurt his pride to be reminded of his failure to one-up Vil. He's like a kid that doesn't want to be caught cussing or acting out by his parent. It can be seen as immaturity and an unwillingness to change or to grow up, but it can also be seen as someone who wants to freely be able to express themselves or to be their "truest" self. Epel is rowdy and headstrong, and it's difficult for him to repress these parts of himself. Given the least generous reading, Vil is oppressing and stifling Epel in many ways that extend beyond what his dorm leader position should reasonably allow him to do. In fact, a popular fan translation for book 5 is "The Beautiful Oppressor", as Vil is frequently shown limiting the liberties of his NRC Tribe members during their training arc, not just Epel's.

Which is the truth here? Why do those in the English side of the fandom decry Vil's actions and side with Epel whereas the Japanese side see little issue with this?

I wager that this predominantly comes down to, again, cultural differences. Many English-speaking fans are based in the west (particularly the USA and Canada, where the EN servers first launched), places which emphasize individuality and self-expression. Of course they would be more likely to take Epel's side, as he's the one trying to be himself and stand out in his own way. Meanwhile collectivism--an ideology which stresses conformity with a group--dominates in the east. They are more likely to see no problems with Vil's actions because, to them, he is acting in the ways he is to "guide" Epel and show him how to best "fit in" with Pomefiore and at NRC. I believe the whole "being soft-spoken" thing also ties back to cultural differences; speaking loudly is something else that can be considered rude in Japan, so it's entirely possible that Vil encouraging Epel to be soft-spoken is another element of politeness that did not translate well to English (as the western world tends to be much louder and more animated in their conversations).

What it boils down to is that the way Vil and Epel's relationship was written did not work well for a western audience, whose values and perspective is VERY different from the original audience TWST had. It appeals far more to a Japanese fanbase than a western one, and has resulted in many misunderstandings or anger about Vil's character because of this.

I'm not sure if I managed to adequately explain everything, but I hope that this at least helps you to see from a different perspective!!

[morganwrites12672]

🩰, haymitch’s daughter!reader x Finnick O’Dair

My 800 follower celebration is still going on through March 1st!

Finnick Odair x Abernathy!Reader

Summary: You attend a Capitol party!

Genre: 99% fluff

Warnings/Tags: Finnick Odair x reader (romantically), established relationship, Abernathy!reader, female!reader, Haymitch Abernathy x Reader (Platonic), sweetness, a few kisses, nothing super explicit, a few curse words, mention of prostitution, finnicks work, few sentences about THG

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Finnick finally found you in the crowd of crazily dressed capitol assholes. The party was begining to get extremely suffocating and he needed to find you.

"Hello darling," he whispered in your ear before sneaking off with you to a bare corner. His eyes quickly dart around the room looking for an escape.

"Left," you whisper and he sees the door you were referring to. God, these stupid parties got old very fast. Especially after years of them.

Finnick grabs your hand and carefully navigates the way to the door, without getting caught up in any unruly conversations.

You both reach the door way and sneak into the hallway. You rest your head against the nearest wall and finnick wraps his arm around you. He presses a kiss to your forehead before resting his forehead against yours.

You both sit in silence, listening to the others breathing and heartbeat, for what fells like eternity. He finally pulls away and you place a quick kiss to his lips.

He smiles before giving you a proper kiss. His lips crash onto yours, the excitement of sneaking away from the party combined with the wine you had oth been sipping, makes every sloppy move feel eletric.

His lips move in sync with yours as his tongue begins to find it's way into your mouth. He finally breaks the kiss and you lean back.

"And then we get to do all of these again tomorrow night," finnick complains. These parties did suck. I mean, who wants to hang out with rich dickheads that think prostituting teenagers is acceptable?

The answer is no in their right mind.

"Hey, don't worry. It will all be over soon," you remind him. Sure, the parties were held almost every few days, but there was a small loophole.

You and finnick were both victors. The 74th Hunger Games would be starting soon. You would be training district twelve, and he would be training district four.

In a few weeks the both of you would have very few parties to attend. The only downside was, well, everything you would be doing.

Training kids for their certain death was hard. If you weren't being forced to prance around and sleep with every rich asshole who had the money, you were helping aid the Capitol in murdering innocent children. It was great.

"At least we will be together a little bit," finnick says with a smile before kissing you again. When everything was wrong, finnick could count on you to make it all right.

His lips moved in syc with yours. The buzz of the alcohol and the adrenaline from kissing him made you forget everything. His tongu-

"I don't like seeing your tongue down my daughter's throat," Your dad says, clearing his throat. Finnick jumps at the man's voice and moves a few steps away.

"Much better," Your dad says before drunkenly stumbling off. He had coping mechanisms all right. There was a reason you helped train the kids. Your dad hates that you had to participate.

"Let's go suffocate," Finnick jokes as he grabs your hand and leads you back into the party. Everything was wrong, but a few right things could make you forget it.

Even if it's just for a few minutes.

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Requests are open! Reblogs and feedback are always enjoyed!

[raeofsunrise]

hey!! can i request finnick enamored with a reader who plays hard to get? and she’s desirable like finnick and they met in the capitol after snow tried to push the image of them being king and queen with equal levels of desirability? thanks!

showing my cards ☆ finnick odair x f. reader

summary: never would you let someone like finnick odair into your life, but finnick odair was an exception.

warnings: mentions of sex trafficking, finnick’s trafficking, no use of y/n, poorly written dialogue, capitol issues, first meeting cliche, reader’s hard to get, mentions of alcohol, i dont know if i love this or hate it

1k words

~・☆・~

you’d never liked it easy. whether it was intentional or not, you always found a way to make things harder then they had to be. maybe it was your upbringing, maybe it was just the way you were, but you never found the right person.

even as queen of panem.

it wasn’t anyone’s fault, truly. growing up was about survival. the games and everything after that was about survival. but god, how you wished that you could love someone.

it wasn’t like your life was incomplete without love, but you’d never found that someone to love. it was never…right. always some downside to the person.

it didn’t help that you changed your mind right as someone’s hand found their way into yours, or someone’s lips found their way to your lips. you wanted to live in it, to revel in the feeling of passion someone was giving to you, but it never clicked. and you hated it. it made you feel uncertain.

you never let that uncertainty show though. that’s how you got your title: “the poker faced jewel of panem. never letting her real feelings thorough. so misleading. so mystical. so hard to get.

and you played along. better to let them think you’re a person who leads another on because of no particular reason than to let them see through your facade you’d put on for so many years.

unfortunately, wittiness and mysteriousness can also earn you another title; desirable. and no urge is too nauseating to fulfill in the capitol.

parties, where the drinks tasted like a perfume your stylist had selected for you that evening. dinners, where even outside of a camera’s view, you had to entertain. to put on a performance.

it was at one of these parties, though, where you’d been invited with no certain reason why. the only other victor at this party was the only one in the capitol who was as beloved as you.

it had been four years after your “victory” in the hunger games, so you knew everyone fairly well. you just never got around to introducing yourself to finnick odair. seemed odd enough too, seeing as you were neighbors in district four. he was rarely home, though. a situation you knew all too well.

you decided tonight could be the night. as good as any other capitol party. you waited for when he finally got out of the grasp of a very handsy customer, who looked like she’d been downing glass after glass of alcohol.

you turned around, preparing yourself to walk up to him, only to turn around and be met with the sight of eyes that could make the waters part.

and for a split second, it felt like this was how you were supposed to live. in each other’s presence.

you decided to speak first. “hello, odair.” you say.

“looking for some fresh air tonight?” he asks, walking towards the entrance of the building.

strangely, you already felt comfort in his foreign presence. feelings of an unknown name started to bubble up, and you couldn’t allow that to happen.

“why? trying to get me alone so you can dazzle me into dating you?” you reply, having absolutely no idea where the cold undertone came from.

finnick knew of your repuation, but he also knew that every victor has their role. whether it be the crazy one, or the one with nothing to lose. it was something he knew all too well. but still, hearing your sarcastic remarks and replies made his heart flutter a little more each time. so he kept pushing.

he put a hand on his chest, feigning injury. “ouch,” he says. “seems like someone’s enjoying the party.”

you let out a scoff. “yes, absolutely ecstatic about my being here.” you say, walking ahead of him and outside.

you make your way to a sort of balcony, overlooking a garden in the gorgeous front yard of someone’s mansion. you pitied the person that would have to clean up after this.

finnick walks up next to you, leaning his arms against the railing, mirroring you.

“what is the queen of panem thinking about?” he says, sarcasm and humor delicately laced into his voice.

you turn your head to look at him. you were about to speak, but the sight that was in front of you was jarring.

you knew finnick was gorgeous. it was a known fact throughout panem. but cameras did not do him justice. you never understood why he needed all the fancy lighting the capitol provided. the moonlight cascading down his face and drawing out his features was certainly enough for you, you thought.

remembering the question he had asked god knows how long ago, you brought yourself back to reality. “she thinks about why finnick odair is asking what she thinks about.” you say, turning your head away from him and looking down.

he laughs. “touché.” he says, trailing off.

you can’t help but let out a small laugh. you don’t know why, there’s just something so intimate about the whole interaction.

you decide it’s your turn to ask a question. “how’re you enjoying the party?” you ask.

“party? could’ve sworn it was a funeral with how many people there look like they could’ve witnessed the rebellion.” he says, earning a laugh from you.

finnick swears that making you laugh within the first ten minutes of your meeting is one of his biggest accomplishments. he’d been enamored with you since he’d heard your laugh that night.

you’ve never known what it’s felt like to have someone go this far without making you change your mind, so you let the conversation happen.

you’ve heard of finnick’s reputation. his alleged personality, his habits. you’d never let someone like finnick into your life. but finnick himself could slide.

maybe, just maybe, you’d show your cards for finnick odair.

hii!! really hope you like what i did with the request! i tried to put in every component but i may’ve gone a bit astray! please leave feedback it’s greatly appreciated ☆

[mwoolf-art]

UNDER THE SAME ROOF

Kabru x Reader

Part 1

CW: NSFW/Soft Smut, MDNI

Notes: This started out as a ramble, sent it to a friend so I could get her opinions and this is technically the first fic I post anywhere that isn't a Discord server with my friends, so enjoy.

You two are friends, not really close at the beginning at least until you accidentally caught him stressing about something when he was alone and he thought nobody would see him unmasking and he was mortified when he saw you there and he would try really hard to both make you change your mind on that slip up he had and make sure you wouldn't go around talking about how you saw him losing it over him losing control over a situation he had planned out until you took him to a secluded place to talk things out and laugh about how silly it is for him to believe that you would think any less of him for catching him like that (not like it didn't make you feel more interested seeing more to him than just the perfectly nice pretty boy facade he puts up daily,) naturally he starts feeling more safe around you and you started to see more of him in your life.

And then you essentially had him move into your place with the intention of looking out for him after noticing his bad habits of not taking proper care of himself and it gradually made you worry about him and his own health, even if he tried to refuse at first but he gave in upon seeing how serious you were about it, you helped him move his own things and very verbally said "Damn, you live like this?" Upon seeing the disaster that is his place, he was definitely not staring daggers at you after hearing that.

From then on it's difficult for him to not be a part of your life and become acquainted with every single one of your friends or him taking you to hang out with his friends more frequently than before, and with the two of you naturally coexisting under the same roof also meant you arguing with him about his tendency to not pick up after himself and making sure he remembers to eat, while he scolds you over your bad sleeping patterns which ends with you laughing over how stupid the argument is because that's the reason you two are now roommates after all.

Just friends and roommates, nothing more, nothing less. With the two of you occasionally having silly little brawls that usually end with him pinning you down on the couch, but never go far from that and always end with the two of you just having a hearty laugh. (Not like Kabru has thought about just flat out taking you right then and there and make you writhe under him and memorize every single reaction you have over every little touch and tease.)

And the two of you will more often than not cuddle while watching movies or just enjoying a silent moment together. (Not like you have fantasized about having his mouth against yours and have his curls under your hands only to separate from the kiss and see him completely dazed and breathing heavily.)

Nope, absolutely nothing more than pure platonic friendship, there's nothing going on between the two of you.

Neither of you would get upset seeing someone else flirt with the other; Neither of you wanted to possessively get close to the other to keep that third person away from what you both thought was a simple good friend. You were just close friends who happened to know each other's weaker sides, darker thoughts and less appealing traits.

This was just another moment where the two of you were just jokingly wrestling each other after a small discussion over Kabru forgetting to have breakfast again and you not getting enough rest again, with the result being one of the occasions where you ended up being the one pinning him on the couch.

"Not fair, the back of my knee bumped against the couch." He complained while you laughed triumphantly on top of him.

"If it makes you feel better, you managed to drag me down with you... But I'm still the one on top and the victor!" You laughed again.

Which proved to be the wrong move since he now had entangled one of your legs with his and was firmly holding you against his chest,  "which still shows that without a slight disadvantage you would have lost, like always."

You writhed against him trying to free yourself from his tight snake like hold. "Hey! You sore loser let me go!" "You're not getting away without getting some rest first I can get something to eat later."

Yep, there was no getting away from this even if you tried to complain he would refuse to move unless you took a nap on top of him... not like you minded being this close to him and being held by him like this. The only thing to do was accept your defeat and close your eyes and before you knew it you were completely out with him following not long after.

The sun had already started to set when Kabru opened his eyes, your weight on top of him reminded him of what had transpired before he had fallen asleep, his eyes lazily traversing the structure of your sleeping face while one of the hands he was using to keep you in a tight embrace lifts up to gently caress the top your head.

It was much easier to have you like this while he did his best denying anything he may or may not feel for you, the person who took a single glance to his real self and didn't think any less of him, even if he thought it was funny how you thought he was being silly for trying to hide his more unpleasant side while you would obviously hold back your very own frustrated reactions. Like when you lost in a game against one of your friends, he could tell how much you wanted to stomp and roll around and cry tears of blood but you pretended to be happy for them winning, "sore loser" he chuckled to himself. Sure he was familiar with your reactions he still had a lot to figure out when it came to you in specific, which it's why he specifically memorized how you would act when you were genuinely upset or overwhelmingly happy, how you would kick your feet while reading your favorite books, how you would look like a scared deer when you were caught of guard, or how you would move around while deep in thought, or how you would look at him when he talked about a new person you had never even heard of.

He was in too deep when it came to you.

His mind kept going until it was abruptly stopped by soft noises and slight movement coming from you. Were you awake? No, you were still deep in slumber. He moved the leg he had tangled up against yours.

A soft moan.

His eyes widened as realization set in.

His leg was pressing against you...

More specifically his leg was pressing against your crotch and you were moving against it in your sleep. You were getting off on him in your sleep and he didn't know what to do, he could just let you continue and revel in the sweet noises you were making while occasionally moving his leg so you could get what your asleep self was seeking and take care of himself in the bathroom after waking you up. But he fears that would mean he was taking advantage of you in your sleep and it might lead to you breaking up your ties with him and not feeling safe around him.

He couldn't let that happen, he would hate himself for that. He had to wake you up and take the brunt of the embarrassment later.

"Hey," he shook you gently trying to wake you up, but your soft moans and whimpers continued to sound and dance in his ears while the friction of your body against his was making him start to get aroused.

"Hey, y/n wake up" he said a bit louder while still trying to get you to wake up. Your movements were starting to get a bit more erratic.

"Hey seriously, wake up!" your eyes slightly open fighting off sleep in a complete dazed with a blushed aroused face.

"Kabru...?"

Gods he wanted to have that face immortalized in his brain just to be able to recall it later for himself.

The flushed darkening look on his face was slow to register in your mind, why was he embarrassed? No, worried? You two were getting a lot closer just a moment ago...

The feeling of drowsy sleepiness slowly letting you go while your mind was starting to take in what was going on. He's worried about something... This is not a dream?

Your body finally came to a halt as you finally registered what was going on.

You were getting off to him in your sleep and having less than friendly dreams involving him and he was trying to wake you up.

Your face doesn't fail to show how mortified you were over the things your asleep self was doing just a moment ago becoming a raging red as you got off from him.

"Kabru-! I'm-"

You could not muster up the words you needed to apologize to him, what could you say to make up for this?

The only thing that you could do was to get up and run away to your room and try to hide from the embarrassment you were feeling in that moment.

This was it, the friendship you held so dear to your heart completely destroyed by your own stupid horny fantasies, while all Kabru could do was to lay on the couch and hide his face with his own hands trying to process everything that just happened and miss the weight of your body against his.

[arotheosis]

It’s all Whirred Up (NSBU Swap AU concept)

Essentially I started thinking about what it might be like if the action heroes were the ones in the real world, and the video world characters were the action heroes. I tried my best to switch things up so it feels different enough, although I’m still a little unsure about some character roles.

Will I ever actually sit down and write this properly? Who knows

In an old strip mall in Lake Elsinore sits one of the last remaining video rental stores in the country: Slater’s Video Superstore.

With the rise of streaming and digital media, however, the store is on its last legs. Its last week in fact, and its employees prepare to close down and find a new road to take in life.

Steven “King” Skin is a Princeton student with a bright future in politics. He’s nearing the end of his gap year, and wondering whether he really wants to go back to school after all. He works on the finances of the video store.

As he almost mindlessly balances the the store’s financial spreadsheets, he watches on one of the video store screens: Liv Skyler, master thief. Her name is whispered amongst criminal circles like a legend, because she can steal without even leaving a single trace behind.

Victor Ethanol is a young man with a dream of pursuing Formula 1 racing, but working several odd jobs to provide for his family. He does occasional maintanance/ plumbing work for the businesses in the strip mall, including the video store, which he visits frequently.

Trying to get him to take a break from working so hard, his brother Shaun asks if he wants to watch a movie. The movie’s protagonist? One Wendell Morris, former biker gang member who has become an informant for several underground organizations. He’s the black sheep of the Morris family, and their falling out is shrouded in mystery.

G13 is a young hacker who got caught attempting to access classified files, and was sentenced to community service. He’s supposed to be cleaning trash around the strip mall, but he mostly stays inside the video store using the crusty old public computer they have, since he’s no longer allowed to use any at home.

While attempting to bypass the many blocks on that ancient desktop computer, he sees a trailer for an old movie. It depicts Usha Rao, more commonly known by both her allies and enemies as Grandmother. She’s the head of a widespread criminal organization, and despite her sweet seeming appearance is someone to be feared. She’s been alive longer than anyone knows, she’s seen everything and knows everything, so if you mess with her family you cannot escape her wrath.

Working over by the more adult section of the store, is Jack Manhattan. After suffering through a grueling divorce with his wife and losing custody of his two children, his life is essentially at a standstill. He is very vocal about how much he prefers not being tied down, and talks about having many partners, but it’s clear that in reality he is not dealing with the separation well and is very lonely.

Unable to even look at the more unsavory content in front of him without thinking about the love he lost, he switches the channel only to see a movie starring crime investigator Paula Donvalson. While many overlook her based on her wild and sporadic personality, the crazy deductions she makes are more often than not entirely on the money, and the FBI begrudgingly hires her for many of their cases.

Jennifer Drips is a woman who does not stay in one place for far too long. Drifting quickly from town to town, she never sets up roots, but leaves a trail of lovers behind her. She is currently staying in a crappy apartment near Lake Elsinore, and working at the video store for some extra cash before she moves on.

On a screen behind her as she’s packing up the store’s inventory, plays a movie led by Russel Feelds, a mechanic developing gadgets for every organization under the sun. A self described lone wolf, he has no loyalty to any side, as long as you can pay his prices.

Greg Stocks is a wealthy man who owns nearly every storefront in the strip mall, except for the video store. He heads in every day attempting to make an offer that Slater will accept, but even as the store is close to shutting down, the video store owner remains stubborn.

Walking by the front of the store he sees, on one of the display TVs, a film about a man known only as Dang. Dang is the world’s deadliest assassin, and his methods are all just as strange as the man himself. After every kill he leaves behind his calling card, the word “rashab”. No one has deciphered its meaning yet.

[rosiecqtt]

Jealousy, Jealousy

Summary; Your back in the capital for the 75 annual Hunger Games waiting for the opening parade ceremony to begin when one of the victors, namely the male from four, comes over to talk to you which sparks certain emotions in Peeta.

Notes; Okay so I’m thinking of maybe perhaps writing a rewrite fic for the Hunger Games because, like a lot of others, I am once again in my Peeta Mellark phase. This is a little snippet from that said potential fic. Read it and let me know if you’d be interested in more? Let me know if you think its lacking anything or has too much, any feed back would be great. 

Word Count; 3.3k

Warnings; It is the Hunger games, so mentions of violence and death. It gets a little spicy at the very end, Kissing and hickeys mostly.

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The last several days had seemed like a blur, and now here I was. Back in the capital dressed in an elegant costume waiting to be paraded for all of Panem to see, literally. Cinna had walked me to the elevator, but he had more things to attend to before it started so he had left me to travel down alone.

The elevator all too quickly arrived at the ground floor of the Remake Center, which houses the huge gathering place for the tributes and their chariots before the opening ceremonies. I'm hoping to find Peeta or Haymitch, or both, but they haven't arrived yet. So I once again find myself alone.

Unlike last year, when all the tributes were practically glued to their chariots, the scene is very social. The victors, both this year's tributes and their mentors, are standing around in small groups, talking. 

Of course, they all know one another and I don't know anyone, and I'm not really the sort of person to go around introducing myself. Back in twelve, I was often teased in school for not being more social, but eventually, I grew to not mind so much. 

 Instead of mingling and trying to find allies, I just stroke the neck of one of my horses and try not to be noticed. 

It doesn't work.

 The crunching hits my ear before I even know he's beside me, and when I turn my head, Finnick Odair's famous sea-green eyes are only inches from mine. He pops a sugar cube in his mouth and leans against my horse.

 “Hello, Y/n,” he says, as if we've known each other for years, when in fact we've never met. 

“Hello, Finnick,” I say, just as casually, although I'm feeling uncomfortable at his closeness, especially since he's got so much bare skin exposed.

 “Want a sugar cube?” he says, offering his hand, which is piled high. 

“They're supposed to be for the horses, but who cares? They've got years to eat sugar, whereas you and I ... well, if we see something sweet, we better grab it quick.” he says with a flirty wink.

Finnick Odair is something of a living legend in Panem. He won the Sixty-fifth Hunger Games when he was only fourteen. So besides Peeta and I, he is one of the youngest victors. He was from district four and was a Career, so the odds of him winning again, were in his favor. I had to admit that he certainly was extraordinarily beautiful. He was very tall, probably six foot two. He has a very athletic build, with golden skin and bronze-colored hair, and those incredible eyes.

I find it hard to form an argument against how beautiful he is. But I can honestly say he's never been someone I would want to be with. Maybe he's too pretty, or maybe he's too easy to get, or maybe it's really that he'd just be too easy to lose.

 “No, thanks,” I finally say, refusing his offer of the sugar. 

“I'd love to borrow your outfit sometime, though,” I say attempting to tease him as my eyes scan his elaborate outfit. 

He's draped in a golden net that's strategically knotted at his groin so that he can't technically be called naked, but he's about as close as you can get. I'm sure his stylist thinks the more of Finnick the audience sees, the better. 

“And you're absolutely terrifying me in that getup. What happened to the pretty little-girl dresses?” he asks. He wets his lips just ever so slightly with his tongue. Probably this drives most people crazy, and I can’t deny that it didn’t raise a blush to my cheeks.

 “I outgrew them,” I say simply looking back at the horses. 

Finnick leans closer to me and takes the collar of my outfit and runs it between his fingers. I look up at his face my eyes watching him closely, trying to calculate his next move.

“It's too bad about this Quell thing. You could have made out like a bandit in the Capitol. Jewels, money, anything you wanted.”

 “I-I don't like jewels, and I have more money than I need.” I stutter out flustered at his close proximity.

I clear my throat and take a step back “What do you spend all yours on, anyway, Finnick?” I say. 

“Oh, I haven't dealt in anything as common as money for years,” says Finnick.

 “Then how do they pay you for the pleasure of your company?” I ask, genuine curiosity seeping into my voice. 

 “With secrets,” he says softly with a charming smirk. He tips his head in so his lips are almost in contact with mine and my face grows hot. 

“What about you, girl on fire? Do you have any secrets worth my time?”.

 “No, I, uh I’m an open book,” I whisper back. “Everybody seems to know my secrets before I know them myself.” I lie hoping he will back off. He smiles. 

“Unfortunately, I think that's true.” His eyes flicker off to the side and I find myself letting out a breath.

 “Peeta is coming. Sorry, you have to cancel your wedding. I know how devastating that must be for you.” He tosses another sugar cube in his mouth and saunters off as anger fills my chest.

 ‘How dare he’. I think bitterly to myself. Did everyone truly think that I was simply faking my love and adoration for Peeta? Did I really come across like I was some horrible bitch using Peeta to make myself look good? A wave of sadness washed over me and I started to question if maybe everyone is right. 

 Peeta's walking up beside me snapped me out of my thoughts. He’s dressed in an outfit identical to mine and my blush returns full force as my eyes scan his body.

 “What did Finnick Odair want?” he asks, a strange tone to his voice. I turn to face him, a frown evident on my face.

 “He offered me sugar and wanted to know all my secrets,” I say.

 Peeta laughs. “Ugh. Not really.” 

“Really,” I say with an anxious laugh.

Peeta hums in response, watching as Finnick walks up to some other victor he seemed to know. He clenched his jaw tightly and looked back over to me. I thought it was strange but chose to not comment on it as the parade music began signaling for everyone to mount their chariots. 

“Shall we?” He says turning to me and stretching out a hand to help me into the chariot. 

I smile and gratefully accept it, climbing up and pulling him up after me. “Hold still,” I say, as I reach up to straighten his crown. He smiles down at me, and I return it glad that I don’t have to be here alone.

“Have you seen your suit turned on?” I ask him as I step back to make sure the crown is perfectly straight. “We're going to be fabulous again.”, I said teasingly, mocking the strange capital accent.

 “Absolutely we are”, he said with the same one. “But Portia says we're to be very above it all. No waving or anything,” he says more seriously. I nod, Cinna having said something similar.

“Where are they, anyway?” I asked eyeing the other chariots, they had set our costumes ablaze at last year's chariot ride but they were nowhere to be found.

“Maybe we better go ahead and switch ourselves on,” Peeta suggests noticing the panic growing on my face. 

So we do, and as we begin to glow, I can see people pointing at us and chattering, and I know that like last year we are going to be the talk of the opening ceremonies.

 When we’re almost out the door I crane my head around once again looking for them, but neither Portia nor Cinna, are anywhere in sight. 

With a frown, I look up into Peeta’s blue eyes that no amount of dramatic makeup can make truly deadly, and remember how, just a year ago, I thought he was prepared to kill me. I spent most of my entire time running away from him during the game, when in the end he was pretending to hate me all along so that he could protect me, which then created our start-crossed lover's story. I smile at him warmly and grab his hand without a second thought.

 We will go into this as one this time.

The voice of the crowd rises into one universal scream as we roll into the fading evening light, but neither one of us reacts. 

I simply fix my eyes on a point far in the distance and pretend there is no audience, no hysteria. But I can't stop myself from catching glimpses of us on the huge screens along the route, and we are not just beautiful, we are dark and powerful.

 We are the star-crossed lovers from District 12, who suffered so much and enjoyed so little of the rewards of our victory. We do not seek the fans' favor, grace them with our smiles, or catch their kisses. 

We are unforgiving. And I love it. Last year I craved the attention of the audience, knowing deep down that they loved Peeta more than me. I was desperate to gain the fan's attention in order to save myself. But not this time. This time I don’t care because I know I won’t win, nor do I care if they want me to. Peeta is the one who should have more fans. This time he will be the only one going home in the end. 

As we curve around the loop I hold Peeta’s hand tighter. I try to keep my gaze forward, not wanting to meet the faces of the other tributes, but I find it hard to not glance at all the others in front of us. Thankfully the ride goes by quickly and soon I find myself back in the training center but I dare not move until the doors close behind us. It seems Peeta thought the same thing because as the doors do finally close we both let out a long breath. 

Not letting go of my hand Peeta helps me off the chariot then jumps down beside me and together we walk towards our newly appeared stylists. Cinna and Porta are waiting on the far end of the room seeming very pleased with our display during our ride.

Haymitch has made an appearance as well, only he's not standing with them, he's over with the tributes of District 11. I see him nod in our direction and then they follow him over to greet us. 

I know Chaff by sight because I've spent years watching him pass a bottle back and forth with Haymitch on television. He's dark skinned, about six feet tall, and one of his arms ends in a stump because he lost his hand in the Games he won thirty years ago. I'm sure they offered him some artificial replacement like they did Peeta when they had to amputate his lower leg, but I guess he didn't take it. 

The woman, Seeder, looks almost like she could be from the Seam, with her olive skin and straight black hair streaked with silver. Only her golden brown eyes mark her as from another district. She must be around sixty, but she still looks strong, and there's no sign she's turned to liquor or morphling or any other chemical form of escape over the years.

 Before either of us says a word, she embraces me. I know somehow it must be because of Rue and Thresh. Before I can stop myself, I whisper, “The families?” 

“They're alive,” she says back softly, understanding what I meant before letting me go with a soft smile. 

Chaff throws his good arm around me and gives me a big kiss right on the mouth. My eyes grow wide and I jerk back, startled, while he and Haymitch laugh. Peeta watched Chaff with a clenched jaw, giving him the same strange look he gave Finnik earlier. 

I open my mouth to say something about it to him but the Capitol attendants are firmly directing us toward the elevators. I get the distinct feeling they're not comfortable with the camaraderie among the victors, who couldn't seem to care less. 

As I walk toward the elevators, my hand still latched tightly with Peeta's, someone else rustles up to my side. A girl pulls off a headdress of leafy branches and tosses it behind her without bothering to look where it falls. 

Johanna Mason. From District 7 Lumber and paper, thus the tree. She won by very convincingly portraying herself as weak and helpless so that she would be ignored. Then she demonstrated a wicked ability to murder. I admired her greatly and in the games last year many people assumed that I was following in her footsteps with my meek attitude. But unlike Johanna I was not as skilled at killing, just the hiding and playing dumb bit. 

She ruffles up her spiky hair and rolls her wide-set brown eyes. “Isn't my costume awful? My stylist's the biggest idiot in the Capitol. Our tributes have been trees for forty years under her. Wish I’d gotten Cinna. You look fantastic.” She says with a wink. 

My face flushes and I feel Peeta’s grip on my hand tighten further and I find myself growing increasingly curious as to why. 

While we wait for the elevators, Johanna unzips the rest of her tree, letting it drop to the floor, and then kicks it away in disgust. Except for her forest green slippers, she doesn't have on a stitch of clothing and my face grows hot at the realization.

 “That's better,” she says plainly, very unbothered at the fact that she was naked and surrounded by people. 

We end up on the same elevator with her, and she spends the whole ride to the seventh floor chatting to Peeta about his paintings while the light of his still-glowing costume reflects off her bare breasts. When she leaves, I let out a breath I didn’t know I had been holding and. I watched as the doors close behind Chaff and Seeder, leaving us alone.

We both remain silent for a moment before he looks over at me with a smirk. 

“What?” I ask nervously turning to face him as we step out on our floor.

 “It's you, Y/n. Can't you see?” he says.

 “What's me?” I say confused. 

“Why they're all acting like this. Finnick with his sugar cubes and Chaff kissing you and that whole thing with Johanna stripping down.” He tries to take on a more serious tone, trying to mask the one he's had since Finnick had spoken to her, but he was unsuccessful 

“They're playing with you because you're so ... you know.” 

“No, I don't know,” I say. And I really have no idea what he's talking about.

 “It's like when you wouldn't look at me naked in the arena even though I was half dead. You're so ... pure,” he says finally. I blush, my face turning red again at the implication. “No, I am not!” I exclaim. 

“Yeah, but ... I mean, for the Capitol, you're pure,” he says, firmly. ”And honestly, it's very attractive." He said 

I paused at that, glad that he was behind me, and could not see the blush that seemed to darken my face. I felt his warm hands wrap around my waist as I tried to think of something to say to defend myself.

“I know we are engaged, but no one seems to understand that you are mine, Y/n” Peeta says softly, resting his head on my shoulder as he holds me against him. 

“They don’t respect that you are mine, and I don’t know how to show them that you are”. He said. “But I can show you,” he whispers seductively into my ear. "Yeah?" I ask softly, not trusting myself to be able to say anything else at this moment. 

“Oh yeah, will you let me do that sugar cube?” He asks gently, teasing me with that nickname. I know he was alluding to Finnicks offerings and I couldn’t help the amused smile that fell on my face. I remained still as his hands moved across my waist only to stop and rest on my hips. 

I nervously chew on my bottom lip and nod softly, growing both excited and nervous to see what he had planned. Suddenly his behavior since my encounter with Finnick all made sense. He. was. Jealous. Soft, affectionate, and kind Peeta, my Peeta, was jealous, and it was oddly very attractive. I felt a soft, wet kiss on my neck that snapped me out of my thoughts.

 “I need an answer sweetheart,” he said placing another kiss on the opposite side of my neck.  suck in a deep breath and lean further into him, “Yes”, I say breathlessly and I feel him smirk against my skin. 

 He kisses my neck once again, and I melt into his embrace. He pulls away and looks into my eyes, his pupils were dilated and his breathing was heavy.  “Hold tight then,” He says seductively before spinning me around. I gasp at his sudden movements and cling to him as he backs me up against the wall in his room and pins me to the door with his hips. I gasp and he takes that as an opportunity to kiss me deeply, letting his tongue explore my mouth. I soon find myself pressing back against him and matching his hungry kisses that seem to devour me. 

I wrap my arms around his shoulders and he holds my waist tightly, pushing himself closer to me and I can’t stop the moan that leaves my lips. “Peeta”, I say breathlessly as his mouth leaves mine and he opts to kiss my neck. 

He hums in response and moves his hand up to my neck to where the buttons of my top sit. He starts to undo them, and I let him. Once unbuttoned he pulls it down my arms and rids me of it, leaving me in just my bra and pants. He stares at me for a moment, his eyes taking me in before he moves in closer. His lips press against mine, sending a jolt of electricity through my body. I let myself get lost in the moment, in the sensations he's making me feel. I feel my body melting into him and I reach my hands up into his blonde hair, tangling my fingers in it to ground myself.

He slowly kissed down my neck, nipping and sucking as he went. Dark red and purple marks decorated my skin as he went, successfully marking me ask his. Usually, he was gentle and sweet and though this wasn’t the first time they had kissed, it certainly seemed like the most intimate and hungry. 

He spent what seemed to be hours littering my chest and neck with his marks, successfully marking me as his, and he probably would have continued if Effie, Hamitch, and the others hadn’t gotten back and called for them. 

Pouting I looked up at Peeta, my eyes glassy and my pupils just as dilated as his. He chuckled softly and gave one last kiss to my swollen lips before resting his forehead against mine. 

“Hopefully now you’ll remember and understand that you’re mine Y/n,” Peeta said.  I smiled at him my heart racing in my chest as I looked up into his blue eyes. I nodded as I whispered, "I do." He leaned in and kissed me one last time before disappearing into his bathroom to quickly change. I stood against the door for another moment trying to process what had happened. 

After several seconds I laughed to myself, “Wow”, I whispered to myself as I looked around his room for something I could change into myself so as to not seem suspicious to everyone else. “Just wow”. I whispered shaking my head. My nickname in the Capital was the Girl on Fire, but it seemed like I wasn’t the only one who burning. 

[countrycrackheads]

Run for Your Life

Bowers Gang x Reader

Summary: fem!reader is being hunted down after discovering who’s been making the kids in town go missing

TW: Murder, blood, implied rape, violence, weapons, death, some small gore I suck at writing. Don't expect this to be amazing. note: as I finish writing this I realize how much I despise dark themes. oh well, I already wrote it. Also, yeah the title is stupid. It's okay.

“: ̗̀➛did you really think we would just let you off the hook so easily?‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ”

Seeing them shove that body into the quarry was the beginning of the end.

Perhaps it wouldn't have been if you had simply made a break for it as soon as you saw it, but how could you? Seeing the mutilated body of Chase Foreman was quite the sight to see, a sight so mesmerizing that your feet had cemented themselves to the ground. Any will to run or scream was paralyzed as your mind screamed at you to escape.

It was only after Belch Huggins had thrown Chase’s body off the edge of the cliff that you found the strength to turn around. But when you did, you were immediately slammed to the ground by Patrick Hockstetter’s hard chest.

"Didn't your parents teach you it's rude to spy?"

Patrick's sarcastic, shrill laughter of joy rang through your ears as he kneeled down beside your body, his knee pressing between your thighs. A large rotting Cheshire grin was on display before your very eyes, the smell of cigarettes assaulting your senses.

Your mouth opened pathetically, ready to sputter out any excuse to spare your life as tears threatened to spill out. Patrick, however, wordlessly put his fingers to your lips, softly shushing you in an oddly soothing way—as soothing as someone like him could sound.

"Don't fret, little bitch. I'll make sure to finish you off quickly. But what's the harm in a little fun?"

His dimly lit face turned up, looking behind her. The moonlight revealed the dirt and blood smeared across his face, casting a sinister glow on the deranged psychopath. Panicked footsteps crunched against dirt and gravel. A shadow came over Patrick and his grin vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

"Just make this quick, Hockstetter." It was Belch Huggins' worried voice coming from behind her. The crunching of dirt and gravel signaled a third presence.

"What's the fun in making this one quick?" Victor Criss mused as he knelt down behind you. He leaned over your shoulder before abruptly gripping your neck, pulling you back into his chest as he observed your face. A choked sob escaped your lips as you gasped for air, while his fingers tightened around you. "She's a looker. Got a pretty mouth too..." Victor trailed off, his tone filled with dark intent. Another shrill giggle came from Patrick as he climbed on top of your body, watching your eyes roll back into your skull.

"I like the way you're thinking, Vic." Patrick suddenly tore Victor's hand off of you, making the blonde grunt in irritation "But if I'm gonna fuck her, I want her to be awake." He looked down at you with that same grin, grabbing your jaw as you pathetically gasped for air. "Isn't that right, little bitch? You better look me in my eyes when I'm inside you."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Henry stood over the boys, watching with disinterest as Patrick eye-fucked the witness to their crime.

"Yeah, yeah." Patrick brushed off Henry's comment. "You're one to talk, Bowers. All high mighty 'cause you never stick it into our girls, huh?"

Henry's eyes trained on Patrick as his nostrils flared. His hands jutted out, lifting Patrick off of you by his collar. "Don't fucking talk to me that way, you goddamn pervert. One more word and I'm making you the next kid on a poster."

Patrick only grinned at Henry's empty threats. "You wouldn't dare get your pretty little hands dirty. That's my job." He had made it a point to get in Henry's face, enjoying how Henry's eyebrow would twitch in irritation. If there was one thing Patrick was good at, it was getting under Henry's skin. His comments had challenged Henry's masculinity, and for this crime, Patrick would pay the price.

It had all happened in mere seconds. Patrick’s body was slammed down, his head violently bouncing off the ground before hitting cold earth. Gasping sharply, he tried to recover the breath Henry had knocked out of him. Henry loomed over Patrick, straddling him with clenched fists. Patrick’s defiant laughter rang in the tense silence, his breath ragged as he laughed at Henry’s pathetic attempt.

Without hesitation, Belch lunged forward, ripping Henry off, while Victor rushed to Patrick’s side. Despite their lack of genuine concern for each other, the gang all understood their unspoken rule: no turning on each other.

Henry kicked and flailed like an enraged toddler as Belch manhandled him. "Get off of me! I ain't gonna hurt 'em!" He shouted, shoving Belch away and kicking dirt in Patrick's direction. The dirt hit Victor in the face, causing the blonde to sputter, spitting out any dirt that got into his mouth.

"What the fuck?" Victor complained, wiping his mouth repeatedly. The blood on his long-sleeve had now smeared across his lips, a stark contrast between his pale skin and the crimson streaks. Henry's rage had moved from Patrick to Victor, sneering at the smaller blonde.

On that cold earth, you laid there motionless, watching the boys through your peripherals. You felt a strange sense of joy when Patrick was thrown to the floor, and an even greater relief washed over you when the boys left you behind to break up the cat-fight. Your body was flooded with fear and adrenaline, and your mind went into overdrive, thrust into a survival mode you had never felt before.

Without a second thought, you pushed yourself off the ground, sprinting into the woods surrounding the quarry. Your absence hadn't gone unnoticed, and as soon as you made it into the woods, shouting ensued. Twigs and leaves crunched under your feet, drowning out the sounds of the boys chasing after you.

The boys you had known since childhood—whom you watched grow up as you went from playing with toys together to wanting to play together—were now hounding you like rabid wolves.

As you ran, a gunshot went off. You flinched violently, causing the bullet to only graze your flesh. Instinctively, your hand shot up to grasp your barely bleeding cheek in shock. "What the fuck!?" you screamed, your legs pumping faster.

Glancing over your shoulder, you noticed the distance in between you and the boys widened, giving you the advantage momentarily. Ducking under thick foliage, you followed a mini trail that would lead you to the barrens. With limited light, you ran blindly through dense woods. Branches and logs snapped against your face, pulling at your clothes, and threatening to trip you as you raced forward.

The shouting continued to follow you, except now it had split. Wicked voices bellowed at you from the surrounding trees, and with the dim light you could hardly tell what was coming from where. Your head tilted up, trying to gauge the sky from the trees, but it was entirely pitch black aside from the twinkling of stars and a melancholy moon.

"I'm coming to get you, little bitch!"

This time the voice was right beside you. Whipping your head to the right, you saw Patrick Hockstetter running, a wild grin on his face as he tried to swoop in closer, weaving through trees to get on your path. You swerved to the left, only to be greeted once more.

"You can't run forever, slut!"

It was Victor Criss this time, his baggy clothing whipping through the wind as he grasped a knife tightly in his right hand. He was weaving in towards you, both boys working together to trap you in between them. Your legs were aching and sweat drenched every inch of your body, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop.

Victor swiped his knife at you, nicking you in the stomach. A gut-wrenching scream followed as you felt the blade run across your tender flesh. Your hand immediately pressed itself against the bleeding wound, trying to stem the flow. Patrick's laughter drowned out your screams, his voice filled with eagerness as he closed in on you. His arms reached out, desperately trying to latch on.

“Fucking grab her already!” Henry’s voice roared from behind Patrick, filled with a frenzied intensity. His eyes locked onto you like a mad bull. He drew the pistol from his belt, aiming it in your direction. Fueled by a surge of adrenaline, your cramping legs pushed harder, desperately propelling you forward.

The bullet darted out, intent on killing. You instinctively shut your eyes but it never came. Victor's body collapsed on your left, abandoned as the group continued the chase.

"Fuck!" Belch wailed, maneuvering past Victor's corpse.

"Nice aim, moron!" Patrick taunted Henry with another shrill giggle. Henry only roared out in frustration. Your eyes were wide, body racked with fear and oddly enough, guilt. But you kept on going anyway, better Victor than you.

With ringing ears, you weaved through dense foliage and never-ending trees, feeling as though you were in a relentless loop. The constant barrage of Patrick’s taunts and Henry’s angry roars only added to your despair. You wanted to give up. To just collapse like Victor had on the cold earth and rest. God, death just seemed so tempting.

Something you feared for years suddenly seemed so desirable. And wrapped up in these thoughts of sweet death, you had hardly taken notice that Belch Huggins had swung his axe at you, lodging itself into your shoulder blade.

"Fuck!" You bellowed as the blade was pulled back. Your left arm dangled pathetically, blood oozing out as tendons strung your arm to your body. Immense pain took over and you collapsed, screaming as you cradled your arm.

The three boys stalked towards you, watching you intensely. Your sobs echoed through the trees, birds scattering out of trees hearing your screams of agony.

"Fuck, just kill me already!" You pleaded, tears streaming down your face. Belch solemnly crouched down beside you, a look of guilt on his face.

"Don’t take this personally…" he mumbled, glancing down at your bloody arm. Your eyes locked onto his, and you whimpered softly. Despite the situation, you couldn’t help but remember Belch’s kindness from long ago—how he had always been a big sweetheart, even back in kindergarten when you’d share a nap blanket. What happened to that kind soul?

Your eyes lowered to your arm, bile creeping up your throat until you couldn't help but pathetically keel over and vomit. Henry scowled, letting out an annoyed scoff while he panted heavily.

"Good going, tubby." Patrick sneered at Belch. "I can't enjoy her rockin' body when her arm is all fucked up. That's why we wait to cut them up after I've already dumped my load." The psychopath scoffed at this inconvenience, disregarding your dying body as just another dumpsite.

"Shut the fuck up," Belch mumbled, shooting a glare at Patrick. His attention moved back towards you, noticing how you were starting to fade away. He removed his flannel, gingerly put it over your body. He especially was trying to cover your arm. "I really didn't mean for this to happen," he whispered as he covered you.

Henry scoffed, "Don't tell me you're sweet on a dying girl."

Patrick snickered, nudging Belch. "The guilt getting you again, big guy?" His taunting laughter filled your ears.

Your eyes slowly rolled up to stare at the burly axe-wielding bully. With a small scoff, you groaned softly again. "Just fucking kill me..."

"If it's what you want," Henry grumbled, beyond annoyed that he had to run for so long. "Fuck, that's what we've been trying to do this entire time. Dumb bitch." He cocked his gun, aiming it at your head.

"Any last words?" Patrick cooed, his eyes glinting with a twisted excitement. His gaze darted back and forth between you and the gun, a dark smile stretching across his face. The anticipation in his voice was almost palpable.

You forced a sneer, even as your vision blurred to white.

"Yeah, fuck you," you rasped, your voice trembling.

The gunshot rang out, its echo a brutal punctuation to the silence that followed.

[anodymalion]

ok I am in fact using this as an excuse to make a long post about this thank you thank you asjksdjfaljdf

---

Interpreting Yuri as asexual is my very very favorite type of headcanon, which is one that 1. is compellingly coded in the source material (even if that wasn't the creator's intent), 2. is thematically relevant to what the piece of media is Trying To Do as a whole, and 3. just means a lot to me, personally, because I said so.

Coded in the source material

Yuri’s short program is “eros”, aka desire (you can interpret what “eros” means in various ways, but YOI itself explicitly refers to sexual love, at least in the English translations). Yuri struggles with this. Hard. He can’t come up with an answer when asked what eros means to him. His big revelatory moment about desire is that it’s how he feels about wanting to eat his favorite food (omg… boy). Even as the season goes on and the way he views the Eros program changes, the program doesn’t ever really embody the idea of eros as sexuality or romance (which was how the other characters expect him to interpret it) but rather as a desire to keep Victor in his life.

Like look. I’m obviously not going to say that the creator intended any kind of ace subtext to be there. I kind of doubt it was her intent. But goddamn is the subtext there.

2. Thematic relevance

The central theme throughout YOI is “love”, and especially loving people in a way that inspires you both to be your best selves: Yuri learning that the people in his life truly love and support him; Victor finding someone who makes him feel joy about skating again.

Like, Yuri’s whole skating theme for the Grand Prix is literally about him exploring what love looks like to him, even when it takes a form that other people don’t totally understand. Viewing all this through a lens of him being ace is really compelling. It adds depth to the idea of learning how to express the way you feel love even when it looks different than what other people expect. I think it’s a really delicious layer that adds even more nuance to what the show is getting at.

Besides, it’s an interesting way of viewing the criticism of the show that occurred for it not being 100% explicit about them being a couple (aka people getting mad because the kiss in ep 7 is blocked by Victor’s arm lmaooo). Like, ok, did you see the ending scene of ep 9? Did you see ep 10??? They definitely, definitely love each other, in whatever way that means for them. Their relationship takes a form that’s pretty different than the other way people in the show are going about romantic relationships, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t real for them. That is very much in line with the main themes of the show.

3. Means a lot to me

In the final scene of the penultimate episode, Yuri tells Victor that they should end their coaching relationship after the Grand Prix ends. This is because he thinks he’s holding Victor back, that Victor would be happier being free to go back to skating on his own instead of being Yuri’s coach. When I watched this (and, I’ll be honest, this is completely me projecting here) I REALLY interpreted this as an ace thing. I think it’s pretty easy to internalize the idea when you’re asexual that you just won’t be… enough, for other people. In my case I ended up a strong impulse to self-sabotage relationships because I would rather be the one to end things than to let someone else tell me that who I am as a person is fundamentally lacking. Yuri destroying a connection he desperately wants because he thinks there’s something about him that is holding Victor back from a life he’d be truly happy with? Oh yeah. I can fucking relate to that.

Also: YOI came out in 2016, which was the absolute peak of hostility to ace people I was seeing on this site. It was bad here. At the same time Tumblr was going wild over this show. Everyone was watching it. Seeing a whole site of people absolutely adore a character I very deeply in my heart believed to be ace? Extremely vindicating.

---

In conclusion Yuri is asexual because it is fun and interesting that way, and also because of this:

[nica-my-beloved]

This is just my impression so far on the MCs of Ikemen Series. I have seen posts about Ikemen MC not having enough spite, dumb, damsel and distress etc etc....and to some point I do agree with it. Even I made a post about MCs being overly positive. But at the same time I feel like this is done on purpose from the writers' part.

Let's just say it, the MCs are not really that relatable even though they try to make it look like that. MCs in these games are very kind-hearted for no reason, overly positive and lack basic common sense. For example, take this scene from Harry's story event:

Harry did mention to her before this that he can detect if a person is lying or not when he makes eye-contact. In the scene mentioned above, a person with common sense can easily tell that Harry lost on purpose. But for some reason Kate thought he lost because she was able deceived him. It is only later that Harry told her and Kate looked genuinely surprised. I don't think Kate is dumb. But I feel like the writers think we players are not that smart enough to distinguish between Harry's lies and truth. It makes me laugh some times.

I just honestly feel like MCs are portrayed this way so that we players could understand the game and its characters better. Like Paimon from genshin, who repeats everything in baby terms so that we could understand what we have to do (even if her screechy noise is annoying). MCs here are played by us, so when male characters has a plan that they don't reveal, MCs try to find out what their plan is so that we could understand. That's it. MCs are here just simplify the story to make us understand the character's better. They'll only ask the male characters what's needed to know right now and not anything extra. If it where a realistic MCs, she would ask more logical questions like:

Is Victor also cursed?

If Crown consists of only 'cursed' people and Victor went around to search these people, are there any 'cursed' people out there who rejected his request?

More questions on their abilities like: Can Harry still detect lies if someone closes their eye? Can Elbert trigger sad memories if a person doesn't have a sad memory? etc etc...

But we don't see Kate asking these questions.

I feel like the reason why we feel sometimes frustrated when MCs act in a certain way is because these MCs are not at all realistic. I'll never believe that someone with common sense did not try to run away after watching a murder happen. I'll never believe that someone with common sense falling into easy traps. Like this one scene from Silvio's story where, Silvio's daddy visits Rhodolite because his lost son is found and he also wants to know if Rhodolite King is dead blah blah blah...you guys know that story (I assume). Emma has to choose the next King without Silvio's dad knowing and they wait for Sariel's call. A servant comes to Emma's room to call both her and Rio. This servant itself is sus because Emma clearly states that she hasn't seen that servant before. When I read this, I immediately knew it was red flag. But even so, Emma and Rio ignores the red flag and goes with the servant and what do you know? They get kidnapped. The scene was very predictable. But it's so frustrating because, realistically speaking I think normal people would feel a little bit suspicious about the person given the situation. Maybe even question the servant. That's why I'm saying...I do feel MCs are not realistic enough. I don't think anyone is overly-kindhearted to the point that they would accept insults from the male leads and be like "I'm going to prove myself to you!". Normal people would just be like "fuck off!" and won't listen to their insults. No one is so dumb it fall into easy traps and no normal person is like "I will work hard to get to know them better." Majority of the people are way smarter and way selfish (not in a bad way though!). Many people have attitude, not everyone are kind to strangers. That's why MCs are not realistic, so there is no use in comparing MC to your personality or your intelligence. They are just tools for explaining the story in a simplified way and moving the plot forward. Because like I said, if Emma and Rio didn't go with the servant and get kidnapped, Silvio's story wouldn't move forward.

That's all. This no hate, this is just how I felt after reading quite amount of stories both in-game and on tumblr. MC's don't have much background because the writers don't really put too much thought about their personality. MCs are basically last on their lists. They just make sure that she's an adult, working woman (doing some odd jobs like a flowershop lady or something, because I've never seen a CEO MC), and they are very kind for some reason. They don't have family (except for Emma), they don't have a story, they don't have anything that impacts their personality. At least it would have been nice to see why a MC is so kind-hearted would be nice. But otome games' main selling points are the male leads. The male leads falls for MC's purity in their dark world.

[allastoredeer]

I just had to agree, that a huge Alastor fight scene is really all I want for season 2!

During "Stayed Gone", Valentino mentions a time that Alastor almost beat Vox, which implies that he narrowly lost in a fight between them.

He was badly injured in the fight with Adam, and had to retreat.

By the rule of three, it would be so poetic and amazing, if we got a fight scene where he doesn't back down, but continues to fight with everything he has, and emerges the unquestioned victor, wiping the smiles off the Vee's faces for good.

Bonus points if he actually accepts help from his found family, in the form of backup and helping him heal afterwards. He's so stuck on being a lone wolf (well, deer...), that him slowly learning to trust others would be such delicious character growth!

Actually, the way I interpreted Valentino saying that Alastor "almost beat Vox," is that during their fight Alastor was about to beat him. Like, if it continued, Vox was 100% going to lose. But the battle didn't see an actual end, with an actual victor, because, in my headcanon/theory, Vox was forced to retreat.

If Vox won, even narrowly, I don't think he would've been nearly as defensive or annoyed at Valentino for bringing it up. If the fight ended with Alastor retreating (or even losing), Vox would've milked the shit out of that. He would never let Alastor live that down. Hell, if the fight was recorded in any way, he'd be playing that shit on loop.

I think with Vox losing, it'd make him simultaneously eager for a rematch, but also nervous to fight Alastor head-on again considering he nearly lost (which might also explain why they never came face-to-face in season one. They only interacted from a distance, through their different mediums), and why he was SO happy when Alastor lost during the Extermination. He was living vicariously through Adam during that fight (Adams victory was HIS victory) because Alastor finally got a taste of the humiliation and defeat Vox felt all those years ago (and STILL feels, even now).

And considering all of that, I will go FERAL if there's a fight with all the Vees versus Alastor. I want to see what they can do. There are different ways to be powerful out side of strength and magical ability (see Rosie who's not physically or magically as strong as the other Overlords), so I want to see what Valentino and Velvette can do in a fight or on an intellectual level. The brains and the brawn (and whatever Valentino is.) I would laugh so hard if Valentino is actually the muscle of the Vee's. He's got very few braincells, but he can lift 2x his own weight, all they got to do is point him in the right direction. He's all muscle.

And I want that fight to be a close one too. In fact, if Alastor LOSES in that fight, my god, would that be such an angsty, complicated, even more humbling experience for him. Vox would be fucking THRIVING. He would be reveling. He finally beat the Radio Demon. He finally beat Alastor (and the complicated emotions. GOD the emotions that they'll both have during and after that)

But I also don't want Alastor to lose T.T He's my fav, and he already been so thoroughly humbled once, I think I'd collapse if he lost again. BUT if he were on the cusp of losing, got his second wind, and ultimately came out the victory, I would be screaming, jumping out of my seat, frothing at the mouth. I fucking LOVE that shit.

And super, serious 100% extra bonus points he gets help from his found family in the form of back-up or patching him up afterward. I think that would be amazing character growth for him. I WANT IT SO BAD ANON WHY DID YOU MAKE MY OBESSION AND YEARNING GROW I AM NOT A VERY BIG PERSON YOU'RE LITERALLY GOING TO MAKE ME EXPLODE WITH ALL THESE EMOTIONS

[iambicpentameterhamster]

Every umbrella academy character ranked

Prior to Season 4 coming this year, thought I'd share my character rank with you for the first 3 seasons all together. (Spoilers ahead)

#33- Marcus, Jayme, Alphonso and Fei

Painfully insignificant and underdeveloped. Their only character traits being "spoiled and a bit evil" made them EXTREMELY captivating villians...

#32- Christopher

Only higher because I find the idea of someone carrying around a cube on a stick onset really funny.

#31- Sparrow Ben

Hard to watch honestly, especially in comparison to his lovely counterpart Umbrella Ben.

In general, the Sparrows were terrible and pointless characters, and clearly the writers knew this because most were killed off pretty quickly. All except for Sparrow Ben, which just meant we had to suffer watching him for even longer.

#30- Viktor

This is a controversial choice. He is tolerable in season 1, but then just becomes a moochy emo sod who is boring to watch. I don't know if it's the acting, script or both, but he’s just such a meek and flavourless character who is PARTICULARLY bad in season 3 when he jeopardises his whole family and is repeatedly selfish and has a victim complex.

#29- Luther

He caused the apocalypse in season one and you can't convince me otherwise. Got some alamaba shit going on with Allison...

There are so many reasons I hate Luther. He's a self-centred man child who couldn't care less about his siblings and their feelings, showing zero empathy to Klaus or Vanya, for example. He only shows respect and kindness when he is attracted to the person (As shown when seasons 1 and 2 he is only nice to Allison, then completely ignores her when he moves on to Sloane) or when they pose as an authority figure to him. All he does is whine and feel sorry for himself.

What's that? You lived in the apocalypse all alone for 40 years? You are addicted to drugs and lost the love of your life in a war? You have a power you can't control and a lifetime of rejection? WELL LUTHER WENT TO THE MOON

#28- Carl Cooper

Hated him as a character but he was a menacing villian which I can respect

#27- Harlan

Couldn't care less about him, only there for plot convenience and Victor's arc pretty much

#26- Sloane

An improvement from Luther's literal sibling. Further evidence that Luther will simply fall for any woman who gives a flying fuck about the moon.

Personality: attracted to Luther

#25- Pogo

Basil exposition of the first series

#24- Detective Patch

Barely remember her

#23- The Swedes

They were kind of goofy as villians but there was some good acting and they posed a real threat. Cute moments with the cats. In general, alright, but they could have easily been replaced plot wise with something more interesting.

#22- Cha Cha

Lack of character development for me. I think she deserved to be fleshed out more, I don't think it's fair that only her partner got to be a three-dimensional being. What are her motivations? Who is she underneath it all?

But overall i liked the acting and she was a good villian.

#21- That hotel worker from season 3

He's barely a character but I liked his sass so he's on the list.

#20- Reggie (Reginald Hargreeves)

He is supposed to be the main antagonist/villian of the show, yet The Handler stole his spotlight. He's a bit too stereotypically evil and asshole-ish for me, basically twiddling his moustache and stroking a cat in a dark corner the entire show. The delivery is too blunt and that doesn't help to build the tension and mystery surrounding him as much, but if he were more complicated and cryptic in his personality it would be more effective.

This is very nit picky and overall Reggie is fine. He has some hilarious moments with Klaus in season 3 and I am genuinely intrigued about the unanswered questions surrounding him.

#19- Elliott

He wasn't a particularly important or central character but I enjoyed it when he was on screen and he played his role convincingly. He was a good comic relief in some scenes, and when he died (spoiler alert) the reactions from other characters were realistic and quite impactful. I felt for him throughout, which is impressive for less significant characters and he had a lot of depth relative to the size of his role.

#18- Destiny's children

Not a singular character, but I LOVED Destiny's children. It fit Klaus's character perfectly to have a cult and led to some of the funnies moments in the series.

#17- Dave

From the very limited moments we see with this character, a lot of personality and emotion was communicated, and I feel like we got a big sense of the character. That is down to the brilliant acting from both of Dave's actors and from Robert Sheehan that really sold this character with so little screen time.

Anyway please come back to life Dave! Death doesn't look good on you!

#16- Agnes (Donut woman)

Very sweet and I wish her all the best in life.

#15- Sissy

BRILLIANTLY acted and impactful. Stole every scene between her and Vanya.

Also, she looks EXACTLY like Sheldon's mum in young sheldon...

#14- Herb and Dot

I want to put them both in my pocket and protect them from harm.

#13- Kenny's mum

Again, barely present but I love her. She's a queen. I would go to a rave with Kenny's Mum.

#12- Stan

I love Stan, and he's a big part of Diego and Lila's character development and motivations. I hope they adopt Stan and live happily ever after.

But yeah, great one-liners from Stan.

#11- Grace

Very well acted and haunting.

Top 10 *drumroll please*

#10- Harold Jenkins (Lenoard Peabody)

Again, quite a controversial placement, but I stand by my decision. The acting and delivery of Harold Jenkins as a villain is possibly the best in the whole show. I was totally convinced Lenoard was a nice guy and I was rooting for him and Vanya, until he started dropping hints and slowly revealing his true self and losing the facade and its... it's chefs kiss. So realistic. The actor deserves an award and a standing ovation.

The writers also deserve a pat on the back for this one because he has a convincing motivation and backstory, and the dialogue is DELICIOUS when it comes to Lenoard. He is a truly menacing villain without being overtly scary and powerful and dangerous.

#9- Ray

Charismatic, gentlemanly, empathetic, loving, trusting, supportive... Ray is THE IDEAL MAN. I'm a little bit in love with Ray so I don't blame Allison.

HUGE step up from Luther, for sure.

#8- Umbrella Ben

I would have liked to see more of his character, but I liked what I did see. He loves his siblings and shows it. He is selfless and sacrifices his own existence for Vanya, he is blunt with Klaus because he cares and wants him to improve. Of course, he and Klaus are also a hilarious duo.

#7- Hazel

One of the most touching arcs that offers an insightful message about what life is for, and about Love. Beautifully acted, a very real and lovable character who probably resonates with many in some ways. Hazel is adorable and i miss him in later seasons.

#6- The Handler

I LOVE THE HANDLER MORE THAN WORDS CAN EXPLAIN!!! Funny, playful, entertaining, uexpected and whimsical and yet simultaneously dark and menacing, AMAZING villian that stole EVERY SINGLE SCENE she was in. Kate Walsh was the perfect choice for the role and she played it to perfection.

A bit of trivia about the role, The Handler was originally written for a man, and when Kate Walsh got the role she insisted they didn't change the script (which, let's be honest, they would have.) She put a wonderful spin on it and it's just perfect, I wouldn't change a thing. I would 100% watch a spinoff all about the handler. Season 3 was worse than the previous two thanks to them killing her off (amongst other questionable plot choices)

#5- Allison

Allison was the only character who knew what they were doing, and honestly, if everyone just listened to Allison, there would be no apocalypse. Her storyline losing both Claire and Ray and her powers driving her crazy with power breaks my heart but is well portrayed and impactful.

She's charismatic, clever, strong, and kind. I love Allison and I think most of us do.

#4- Diego

He's stupid but in an endearing way, I find him to be so entertaining and funny, and the actor's face is like an open book. He's not show-stopping but his consistent presence just sets the mood and allows others to act off of him, while he really sells it with his expressions. He's like the rock of the show.

#3- Lila

Lila. Mi amor. Mon amour. Amore mio. Meine Leibe.

#2- Five

For several reasons:

A) He is the daddy here, Luther!!

B) That should be the only reason you need

Seriously, though, I was SUPER impressed with Aidan Gallagher and his incredible screen presence, especially at such a young age. He really embodies the character. Five is the face of the Umbrella Acadamy, and is undoubtedly the most iconic character. 10/10, two thumbs up, absolutely BRILLIANT.

#1- Klaus

No justification necessary.

[efingart]

Hey E! idkifishouldaskhereorinyourcodaccount BUT I’ll ask anyway. I’ve noticed you post a lot about Frank Woods, what made Woods be THE favorite character for you?

Hey no worries, I'm not exactly the most organized so it doesn't make a difference to me!

Oh my god where do I start? I'm going to try so hard to hold back because I will just tell you everything I like about him and this will take me even longer to write 😅

Frank falls into the unwanted child trope a bit. Not confirmed by Activision, but close enough and it is a trope that I find myself drawn to. The idea that he was a runaway, his home life must have been bad enough that the streets were better. Born right at the start of the Great Depression so his early life was never going to be easy. But he must have been resourceful and smart enough to survive. Another quality I like in my faves. It's interesting to think about that piece of his history that we will probably never get in any detail in canon. But that's ok, I'm happy to fill in the gaps with my own headcanons and fics.

Frank was then able to pick himself off the streets and enlist (his options were so limited, but he must have made the best choice for himself at the time.) Become such a standout that he was recruited into the CIA. And there, despite being a "self-reliant loner" he developed close friendships with Mason and Bowman. (as an aside, it is always funny when people hc he's an extrovert when he's very much not)

It's clear he cares for them deeply, even at the expense of his own well being as seen in 'Payback.' I do think he was still reeling from Bowman's death and that's why he acted with such reckless disregard for his own life. (But that's headcanon)

The way he reacts when anyone else is hurt or in danger, it's always them first him second, even in the middle of a firefight (redirecting Mason's attention to the pilot in 'Victor Charlie,' the kid on the PBR in 'Crash Site', the nurse during 'Suffer With Me' in BO2, multiple examples).

Then the way he treats Bell. I think he's the first person to deliver Bell a genuine compliment in the game (if you're a good shot). He knows his people and if I could ever get the damn sound bite again of him saying to Bell that he'd bet they'd like five minutes with the supercomputer to work again I'd link it here. How does he know Bell is such a nerd if he doesn't give a damn about his team?

He and Mason are the only ones who actually treat Bell as a member of the team. And that endeared me to him before I even knew about the plot twist.

And of course, the pain of Black Ops 2. He's just fucking dragged through the ringer isn't he? Everything, the shipping container, watching his entire team die, his tragic mistakes and how he reflects them as an old man. I really love that we get to see him as an old man. See him removed from his experiences in the 80s section of BO2. It's so interesting.

I mean even while he's still managing fresh life-changing injuries he still rallies for a kid who needs him. And he must have done a good job raising David because the kid turned out just fine in the end.

I probably could think of a half dozen more specific examples, his outrage at Project Greenlight for one: "Thousands dying in a flash and you're talking about fucking infrastructure."

Or how he has David's childhood drawings hung up in his room at the Vault.

I'm sure I'll have a dozen more after Black Ops 6 comes out if they deliver on the promised emotional journey storyline for Frank. (God, I'm so unbelievably happy he's in BO6.)

TL;DR

Frank is a complicated person. He has had it rough but doesn't wallow in self-pity. He's a smart and capable leader. He's imperfect. He knows how and when to keep things light. He takes care of his people. He rallies when he's most needed even if it's at his own expense. On the shallow end of things? He's hot, he's got great fashion sense.

Sorry, it took me a bit to get this all out. I think again I was trying to balance the urge to just dump every thought and feeling I have vs trying to be a bit more thoughtful about it. Also just cross-referencing things from the games to make sure I remembered them correctly. I'm sure there's a lot I left out. I'm planning on playing through 1, CW, & 2 again before BO6 comes out so I'm sure I'll have more thoughts to share. 😅

I genuinely appreciate you asking me about this, I love talking about Frank. Thank you so so much.

[folkookie97]

❝ at least for tonight ❞ — KTH

— SUMMARY: ❝ You're the new Victor of the Hunger Games. You survived, you're still alive. But at what cost? Your boyfriend – and also your Mentor – broke the one promise he shouldn't have to. ❞

— PAIRING: mentor!Taehyung x female tribute!reader

— TYPE: angst | hunger games!au, dystopia!au

— WORD COUNT: 720

— WARNINGS/TAGS: Hunger Games Setting, ambiguous/open ending, established relationship, implied/referenced character death, POV Second Person, survivor guilt, slightly PTSD, Sad!Taehyung, i wrote this while listening to Come in With the Rain (Taylor Swift)

— NOTES¹: Tributes receive Mentors who can contribute (or may not) to their win. And their Mentors are generally Victors from previous Hunger Games editions. You and Taehyung are the same age. You were dating even before his name was drawn in another Reaping, when he became a Victor. And a few years later he was your Mentor too.

— NOTES²: I wrote this inspired by one of my own old Everlark oneshots, but I changed 90% of the plot loool. Anyway, if you like it, maybe I can write more Hunger Games AU or at least develop more on this one (and make it a series in the future...)

— RELEASE DATE: March 05, 2024

— CROSSPOSTING: ao3

You never liked storms. However, the situation had been getting worse in recent months, when rainy days like that brought lots of thunder with them. Noisy thunder. Noises that resembled explosions.

And a premeditated explosion in the Arena was what killed your younger brother in the last Games. Wasn't it? At least that's what you had the displeasure of seeing several times during that stupid Victory Tour. Rewatching the same death over and over again.

Rewatching your little brother's death.

The clock struck 4:56 A.M, but the storm prevented you from closing your eyes or even thinking about trying to sleep. Fear ached in your body. Fear of falling asleep and having more nightmares about your brother. Or about Taehyung too. Just like almost every night since you and him returned to Victors' Village.

You tossed and turned on the bed, trying hard to withstand your torment. Searching for efforts to stop the screams from leaving your throat.

And it was then that your heard the first knock on the entrance door.

At first, you thought it was a hallucination, some consequence after so many nightmares. So when you noticed that everything around you remained the same, you imagined that it could be just a bird hurt by the rain.

However, the second knock came. Stronger than the previous one and more hopeless too.

Maybe the wisest thing to do would be to curl up in your blankets again. But your impulsiveness managed to overcome all your logical and rational thoughts. Wisdom and emotional intelligence wasn't something you had in a long time since since you became the winner of the Hunger Games' recent edition.

When the third knock sounded, you was already standing in front of the door. Heart racing, your eyes squinting and your eyebrows furrowed.

"Darling?" The sight in front of you also seemed like a hallucination. A much more striking hallucination than that knock door. "You okay?"

"Taehyung?" His name fell from your lips without any effort, even though your hadn't said it in a few weeks. "Why are you here?"

God! You mentally cursed yourself for saying such words, the sentence coming out harsher than you expected. So, not knowing how to apologize and being tormented by the boy's sad look in your direction, you opened the door a little wider and allowed him to enter.

Taehyung thanked you quietly as he entered your living room, his clothes soaked and his squeaky boots getting messy all the way.

"What happened? Why you get rained on just to come here? It's dangerous! You could get sick!"

You felt your hands start sweating while Taehyung bit his lip and looked at the floor.

"I wanted to know if you were okay. The storm is very heavy today and I know it brings you more nightmares." The boy had some tears in his eyes when he looked at you, sneezing once at the end of the sentence and bringing a flash of pain to your heart. "Darling, I'm so sorry."

Feeling sorry was something very all-encompassing. What was he sorry for? Your brother's death? Your nightmares? Being the mentor to the "siblings tributes" and choosing attract more sponsors for you, his girlfriend, than your brother? Even though you had begged Taehyung after the Reaping to focus on letting you die.

You never wanted to be a Victor. It was your little brother who deserved it and who he should be. And maybe he would have been, if you hadn't fallen in love with Taehyung before his own Games' victory.

Yeah, you two had a lot to talk about. And Taehyung really had a lot to apologize for. But deep down you knew you couldn't kick him out of your house in the rain.

You sighed, approaching Taehyung with slow steps, touching his arm and giving him a light caress. "Go take a shower to warm up. I still have some of your clothes in my new closet."

Taehyung's eyes widened and his cheeks flushed. "You want me to spend the night here? Are you sure?"

"Not really. I still hate you for not keeping your promises. Maybe I'll hate you forever. But we both need each other at least for tonight..."

A sad smile emerged on his lips after he sighed. "Yeah... At least for tonight."

[johannestevans]

Powder and Feathers

Hey, do you like fucked up fallen angels?

Do you like even more fucked up fallen angels than the first fallen angel, who are transmasc manipulative French bastards who love to do both murder and assassination? In the mood for a dark romance, perhaps, where said angel fixates on just some guy and decides to bring him home and obsess over him forever? Do you like cats, also?

Do you like on and off toxic and supportive sibling relationships? Do you love complicated and completely hypocritical relationships with the Catholic Church? Do you love revolutionaries that tell lies?

Do you love cuckoldry and self esteem issues? Do you love when rape victims can't separate the sense of being seen as desirable from their sense of self? Do you love t r a u m a ?

Did you by any chance read Victor Hugo's Les Misérables and internalise way too much of it?

If the answer to any or all of the above is yes, I think you might really like my serial, Powder and Feathers, which is about all that shit and more, and you can read it online for free!

Rated E, M/M. WIP. It seems to Aimé Deverell that there is very little point to life, except for what pleasures can be enjoyed before the grave. Life is short - thank God - but at least there's enough in the world to dull the senses in the meantime. That philosophy shatters like glass when he meets Jean-Pierre, an angel.

Read on Ao3 (free) / / Read on WorldAnvil (free) / / Read on Medium (paid)

First chapter here:

When the Great Fall happens, it happens all at once.

It does not feel like falling: instead, it is as if the very world comes up to meet it at speed, launched with impossible speed, and when its feet (feet! feet!) are struck from beneath by the awful ground, it screams. For the first time in its existence (for before now, it has never lived) the angel feels pain.

Many new experiences happen in one rush, in one singular moment: it fills lungs, which it never had before, and feels the cold air rush down a new throat to inflate them, feels it sting; it feels the desperate soak of the rain on its skin, trickling down its body and flattening the feathers of its wings; it screams, and it is chilled to find that the noise that comes forth is just that, just noise.

Corporeality cloaks its body in a new skin, made of flesh and bone and hair and blood, and it screams, and screams, and screams.

The rain comes down from the heavens in heavy, steel-grey sheets, buffeting its fresh skin, and it comes down so heavily and so hard that every drop stings. The new flesh is delicate, and the bruises ache as they bloom to the surface, staining the pale expanse: it is gasping, its two arms (two arms!) clutched about its naked chest (a chest, filled to the brim with treasures, two lungs, a heart, a heart!), and its two wings (blessed normality!) curve inward to shield it, even as it drops to its knees in the grass and the mud.

It is alone on the hillside, and it aches, for it has never been alone before: it has only ever been one amidst legions, one amidst an ordered unit, and here, in the grass, upon the earth, the loneliness takes its heart (a heart, though, really! what next? what next?) and cleaves it in two, pours salt into its veins, and its sobs are guttural and heaving, wrenched from its throat.

Time passes.

It has never experienced time before, time as a thing that moves, time as a river that washes over its shivering skin, and it has never experienced such cold as this, cold that eats beneath its flesh, burrows into its bones, the only bare semblance of warmth coming in the tears that eke out from beneath its eyelids, so hot on its cheeks it thinks it will burn, it will burn—

It does not burn.

Exhaustion overtakes it, and it falls still in the mud, the filth clinging sticky to its skin, forming as sludge in its feathers.

When the rain stops, and the sun rises, it does not stir.

***

JEAN-PIERRE

“Jean,” said a low voice, and Jean-Pierre stirred slightly, raising his head. His mouth was dry, and waking brought him once again to the sickening ebb and flow of the water beneath the damned vessel they were on. His sleep had been fitful, rolling over and over without any space to do so, and he’d barely been asleep for what seemed like a few heavy, black moments before he was being poked at. “Jean, wake up.”

“I’m awake,” Jean-Pierre mumbled, sitting forward, and he felt Asmodeus’ hand cup his cheek as he tugged him forward, out of the awkward bunk Jean-Pierre had been crammed into. “Why did you wake me up?” He sounded tired and plaintive, he knew, but Asmodeus was not deterred: he met Jean-Pierre’s gaze and smiled. “I haven’t slept in—”

“We’re here,” Asmodeus said softly, and Jean-Pierre stumbled in his haste to get out of the bunk.

His clothes were rumpled and he was still in his shoes, falling over himself on unsteady feet, and as the ship rocked beneath their feet on the back of a small swell, he felt himself gag, and hid his mouth against the crook of his elbow.

“I have your case,” Asmodeus said. “Colm is already on deck.”

“He would be,” Jean-Pierre muttered, and Asmodeus clucked his tongue in disapproval, but still he smiled: he always smiled, did Jean-Pierre’s brother. Jean-Pierre thought at times that it was the coldest smile on Earth.

The journey from their cabin – a small recess upon the damnable ship where Jean-Pierre had spent the entirety of their journey from New York, staring into space and vomiting in turns – up to the ship’s upper deck was excruciating, and Jean-Pierre walked with a heavy haze of nausea wrapped around him like a cowl. His stomach was empty of anything but bile: therefore, it was only bile that he tipped down the side of the ship when he reached the deck’s side and vomited.

“Jean-Pierre,” said Asmodeus, but Colm was already behind him, and Jean-Pierre grunted as Colm put his arms around Jean-Pierre’s waist and tipped him over his shoulder, carrying him to the gangplank that led from the ship.

Perhaps he should have been embarrassed, but he wasn’t, not really: he fisted his hands in the fabric of Colm’s shirt and pressed his face against the hard flesh of his brother’s shoulder as Colm moved quickly with him. The nausea lingered even once they were settled on the safe, sturdy ground of the dock, and as they waited for Asmodeus to join them – Colm had swiftly bypassed a great queue of people, smiling and waving them down as he passed. They had been charmed by him. Traditionally, people were very charmed by Colm.

“Here,” Colm said softly, and pressed a bottle into Jean-Pierre’s hand, the plastic cool against his fingers and moist with condensation. Jean-Pierre drank from it heavily, half-collapsed as he was on top of Asmodeus’ antique chest, his knees up in line with his chin, and leaning into Colm’s side.

Colm was warm, heavy, solid, and Jean-Pierre leaned his sweated brow against the hard line of his waist without shame for the people that turned to glance at them as they passed on the dock. Asmodeus’ trunk was a huge thing, easily big enough for all three of them to sit on if they wanted to, but for now Jean-Pierre settled on it himself with Colm stood beside him, holding his own case – a leather case, vintage as Asmodeus’ own, though by decades instead of centuries.

They both seemed quite apart from Jean-Pierre’s own luggage, which was a cheap white plastic affair, and looked quite silly held in one of Asmodeus’ massive hands.

Asmodeus was tall, strapping, handsome: possessed of squared shoulders and a narrow waist, dark skin and finely-chiselled features, he rather resembled a model at the worst of times, but now, descending the gangplank from the ship in the Dublin sunshine, wearing a tight grey suit and a pink shirt open at the neck, he looked ever more so.

Jean-Pierre’s polypropylene suitcase could only detract so much.

“Feel better?” Colm asked softly.

“Mm,” Jean-Pierre hummed. “Just— hungry.”

“You’ve barely eaten in two weeks,” Colm murmured. “I’m not surprised you’re hungry. We’ll get something to eat before we go find the house.”

Jean-Pierre nodded his head, pressing his face into his hands, his elbows against his knees, and stayed like that as Asmodeus stepped toward them. No matter that he was on solid ground, he still felt very much like it was moving underneath him, and he wondered if the nausea would ever cease.

“Better?” asked Asmodeus, and he reached out to touch Jean-Pierre’s hair, touching it where it had come loose from its sweat-soaked bun. Jean-Pierre grunted a sound that was neither an affirmative or a negative, but took the elastic Asmodeus offered him, and reached up to tie it back. “You’re alright, Jean-Pierre. We’re here. No more sailing. Let’s go eat something.”

“I’ve no appetite,” Jean-Pierre mumbled.

“Here,” said Colm.

“Wait, no, don’t, you don’t have to—” Jean-Pierre exhaled a breath without meaning to as Colm brushed his knuckles against his cheek, and he felt the nausea, the unsteadiness, the desperate sickness, drain entirely from his body. With the next breath he took in, though still tired, he felt reenergised.

Colm looked quite pale.

“You needn’t have done that,” said Jean-Pierre. “I am no child, unable to withstand the weight of my own feeling.”

“You need to eat,” said Colm, green about his gills as he coughed against the back of his hand, his throat bobbing as he swallowed back the visible urge to vomit. “Let’s go.”

“There’s a taxi waiting for us,” said Asmodeus, smiling his cold smile, and Jean-Pierre couldn’t help but feel a desperate affection for both of his brothers as he stood to his feet, putting one arm on Colm’s shoulder and squeezing even while Asmodeus gestured toward him. “Take your luggage, will you? It doesn’t suit me.”

“I know,” Jean-Pierre murmured, smiling slightly despite himself, and he took the case Asmodeus pushed into his hands.

***

“What is it?”

“I found him out by the wheat field—”

“What is it?”

“He looked so… I couldn’t leave him, Maman, I couldn’t—"

The voices were heard through new ears, and the owner of them stayed very, very still, digesting the sound, the physicality, of all it now was. It could feel it: each sound exiting a throat, moving forth with a breath to fill its sails, and the sound expanding outward, stopping where it reached the dirt ground and the thickly padded hay, but bouncing where it hit the hard wood of the building wall. Sound: this was sound.

Sound, before now, had been but a theory, a concept: sound, now, was real.

Before now, a voice was a Voice, and such things as words came imparted heavy in the very mind, understanding instantaneous. Communication happened to other beings: angels Knew, for that was their purpose.

Now, it Knew nothing, and knew even less, and it heard the soft whimper that came from between its dry lips, hissing over its dry tongue. The sound was pathetic, lowly, and it tasted its shame, felt it ring within its body.

It lifts its head, feels the pain that suffuses its very form, and it exhales, staring forward.

“My God,” whispered the human before it, and it watched distantly as the human moved its hands, two fingers tracing a line from its forehead down to its chest, and then from shoulder to shoulder. What it meant, the angel could not possibly know, and it stared down at its own hand, which was caked with mud. The skin was red-raw beneath its blanket of muck, and the hand, as he regarded it, shivered.

“Come,” said the voice of the other one, which was lower, and it felt the touch against its cheek, and it cried out, keened. The touch was so warm, and more than that, it was the touch of life, a soul under that warm skin, a soul— “Oh, hey, hey,” the voice said, and it said it in the angel’s ear, for the angel was wrapped tight around its body, sobbing against the speaker’s chest.

“Jules—”

“He’s fine, he’s fine,” Jules said, and the angel desperately curled its wings around them, pressed its face closer to the breast of the one called Jules, but it was not the same: it was used to being in amongst the natural graces of a thousand angels, a hundred thousand, and this was but one human soul, just one. “He barely weighs anything,” he said, and when the angel felt the pang of sympathy, the new emotion all but knocked it down, its knees buckling. “Oh, hey,” Jules said, and his hands alighted firm on the angel’s waist, gripping it to keep it upright, draped as it was about his neck. “Alright, here…”

The angel didn’t let go as the human Jules gently pushed it backward, bringing it down to sit upon the hay again, and it heaved in gasps of air, feeling the instinct although the practice was new, and it looked, for the first time, at his face.

Jules was a human: a man, perhaps approaching thirty years of age. His cheeks were dusky and tanned with hard work in the sun, and his hair was long and messily cut, drawn back from his face, tied at his neck and put back behind his ears. His nose had been broken before, the angel thought: it had seen humans with crooked noses, like this one, but never from down here, beneath the firmament, only from Heaven.

It had never been to Earth before.

It reached up, touching Jules’ cheek with its palm, feeling the heat, feeling the regular flow of his blood in his veins, and it shuddered in an uncertain breath. Jules had deep brown eyes, and it could see in their depths concern, concern and sympathy, and curiosity… The emotions flooded over it like a wave, and it closed its own eyes, gripping tightly at Jules’ shoulder. Their bodies were flush together, and the angel could not stand to pull away, but it heard the noise of the other human, and it looked at her.

She was older, it thought. It saw in her face the same dusky skin, the same shape in the mouth, and it felt the similarity in her blood, and his blood. This was Jules’ mother…

It remembered the first of them, Eve, remembered her heavy with child, and holding the first of them against her breast…

It looked to Jules, and Jules smiled at it. It was a small smile, and it watched his lips curve up to form it.

It hesitated. It felt the face wrapped around it, felt it, and it forced its mouth to move, feeling the strange pull of unfamiliar muscles (muscles! muscles! it had never needed muscles before!), at its cheeks, at its lips…

Jules’ smile deepened, and his gaze came from the angel’s face to its wings, which are… They had feathers, now, and the wings sprouted from between its shoulder blades, expanding outward. It had never had feathers, or shoulders, before, never, it never… The feathers were a golden-brown, and Jules reached up, his fingers brushing against the soft down, and the angel gasped at the strange touch, the strange sensation.

“It could be dangerous,” the mother said. It could feel the anxiety radiating from her, and it leaned closer to the other, feeling his quiet confidence, his warmth. This emotion, this too was new: pleasure.

“I don’t think he is,” Jules said softly, fingers still brushing through the feathers, and the angel’s eyes fluttered closed, its face falling against the human’s breast once more, its nose pressed as tight as it could be against the rough wool of its vestments, its fingers gripping tightly at the fabric. “He’s just frightened, and scared. What happened?”

It didn’t respond, not until Jules’ fingers came away from its wing, and instead touched against its chin, pushing it up to look at him. It stared into Jules’ eyes, into his beseeching expression.

“Can you talk?” he asked quietly, not unkindly.

It had never talked before. It knew only the Word, knew instructions, had put forward messages, but it had never wrapped lips and teeth and a tongue about its speech, and made it audible. But the human Jules had asked it, and were it silent, that would be a lie, would it not? It could talk, it thought: it had a tongue, and lips, and a larynx, and a voice…

“Yes,” it said. The sound was soft and mellifluous, though slightly hoarse, and it made Jules smile again, wider this time. It liked that smile. It liked! Liked! “Fell,” it said. “Was…”

It trailed off.

To Fall was the great punishment: to Fall was to err, and be found judged.

“Did nothing,” it said, overtaken in its own perplexity.

Twin confusion radiated from Jules and the mother alike, and it closed its eyes, the emotion uncomfortable where it touched its consciousness.

“What are you?” Jules asked. His hand, once more, trailed through its feathers, pressing into the down this time, and it clung to him tightly, not daring to let go. His voice was full of wonder: so too was his heart, and the wonderment made it think of blessed creation. It kept its eyes closed, clutching all the harder at this human, at this man, at this soul. It felt such sorrow it could scarcely stand it, and it felt as if it weighed it down.

“Fallen,” it said again, its voice dull even to its own ears. “Fallen.”

"Oh," Jules said, as if he understood, although he could not, he mustn't: his hand curled in the angel's hair (hair? hair!), clutched at it, and drew it closer. He felt the angel's sorrow, it thought, and took such pity on it, such pity. "I'm sorry," he murmured, and the angel didn’t hear as he went on, talking to the woman, the mother, perhaps talking to the angel itself. It heard nothing but the slow beat of the heart beneath its ear, and without really meaning to, the tears a hot and sudden streak on its cheeks, it began to weep.

***

JEAN-PIERRE

“… a roast and a pint of milk,” said the waitress, who was named Rosetta, although she was wearing Sandra’s name badge ever since Sandra had gone to work in the med supply factory to keep guys from looking her up on Facebook, and set the plate and pint glass in front of Colm, who gave her a winning smile. She smiled back, even though she didn’t usually smile at men, didn’t really want to encourage them – she didn’t know why she felt like he was safe, why he was alright, but for some reason, she felt that he was.

Jean-Pierre reached up and rubbed carefully at the edge of his temple, trying to work away the threatening headache building there. Two weeks in a cruise ship’s cabin had left him isolated from people, who all felt their feelings so very loudly, so openly, and all at once, in a half-full restaurant in the early afternoon, it was overwhelming, now.

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything else?” Rosetta asked Jean-Pierre. “We do have other vegan options, if it’s that.”

Jean-Pierre looked at the rosiness in her cheeks, the set of her mouth, her wide eyes. He had evidently been looking at her for too long, because he felt the wave of uncertainty come from her, and then he heard Asmodeus say, as if through a wall of water, “He’s okay. Thank you, Miss.”

Rosetta nodded, walking back toward the till, and Jean-Pierre stared down at the fruit platter spread out in front of him on the table: melon, pineapple, strawberries, blackberries, blueberries, oranges, even a few pieces of starfruit.

“Do you think if I ask, they’ll have dragon fruit?” Jean-Pierre asked.

“We walked past twenty-two restaurants before we saw one with a fruit platter,” Asmodeus said mildly, taking a sip of his tea. “So I doubt it.”

Jean-Pierre picked up a piece of starfruit, putting it in his mouth and chewing, feeling the acid sweetness burst on his tongue, and although they both did their best to hide their relief, he could see some of the tension go out of Asmodeus’ shoulders, and see Colm’s clenched jaw relax.

“Vegan options,” Jean-Pierre said mildly.

“Dublin’s very cosmopolitan these days,” Colm murmured, giving him an easy smile, and Jean-Pierre smiled back before he focused himself on his food. The nausea had passed quickly, once Colm had taken it for himself, and he ate with gusto, albeit a gusto Jean-Pierre tried his best to tune out, as he did the slightly overpowering smell of the gravy.

Asmodeus had just ordered a salad, like he usually did when given the option, and Jean-Pierre watched him pick through for the cherry tomatoes, spearing them with his fork and dousing them in the vinaigrette before he ate them, one after the other, before he’d eat the rest.

Colm, on the other hand, ate from his plate in a clockwise motion, taking a morsel from each section as he went around it: a piece of beef, then some carrots, then broccoli, then potato, then Yorkshire pudding, then back to the beef… One could set a clock by the way Colm ate from his plate.

He felt the emotion swell in his chest, a deep and warm affection for the two men beside him. Colm said, in an idle tone, “We love you too, Jean.”

Jean-Pierre smiled, but his nose wrinkled as Colm picked up his pint glass and began swallowing down mouthful after mouthful of thick, white milk.

“I don’t know how you can do that,” Jean-Pierre muttered.

“We don’t all have your delicate constitution,” said Colm cheerfully.

Asmodeus reached out, plucking a grape from the side of Jean-Pierre’s platter.

“Hey!”

“It’s a sharing platter, Jean-Pierre,” rumbled Asmodeus, but as payment, he offered Jean-Pierre his fork, speared with the last of the cherry tomatoes, and Jean-Pierre laughed as he took it.

***

The angel shivered as Jules gently dragged the cloth over its skin, scrubbing at the flesh before he rinsed the cloth once more. The water was brown with muck by the time his work was complete, and he was swift about dragging the towel over its skin to dry it.

“Good that you didn’t get your feathers dirty,” he said quietly. The mother – Marguerite – had gone back inside, and they were alone inside a small hay barn. It could hear the sound of animals, now that it listened for them, and felt their signatures behind the wooden partition: two cows, each lain down to sleep for the night. “Are you in pain?”

“Do not know,” it said, because it was true.

Jules gave it a long, long look, and then he gently set the towel aside, reaching out and touching its feathers once more, absently, like he could scarcely stop himself. Immediately, it was forward again, in the human’s lap, its face buried in his neck, and it heard him sigh softly.

“Can you put these away?” he asked.

“Don’t understand,” it said.

“These,” Jules said, and his fingers carded through soft plumage on each side, making the angel sigh, its wings fluttering with quiet satisfaction. “Can you hide them?” It thought about this for some time. Hiding. Nothing hid, once upon a time: the animals of the world lived in harmony, and Eve and Adam hid nothing, for they had no shame.

So much had changed, since then, and yet for the angel, then and now were so recently just a matter of perspective, the direction in which one pointed one’s gaze.

Hide them.

It felt its wings, drawing them inward, folding against its back, and then, a little more. It was difficult to describe the sensation, precisely, but it felt them fold in tighter, inward, and then there was nothing, just a blank expanse of rain-bruised skin. Jules’ hands slid over the bare flesh, feeling the blades of its shoulders, the back of its neck, and it clutched all the tighter at him.

“Do you have a name?” he asked.

“No,” it said. “We don’t have names.”

“There are names,” Jules said slowly, cautiously. “Michael, Raphael, Gabriel…”

It was still. How to explain? Could it explain?

“Not…” It stopped. It had never been an individual before, and it felt as if it had been cleaved away from its natural place, strangely empty when it drew away from the human’s breast, and it did not want to draw away. “Not me,” it said. The very word felt like a blasphemy, but what more did blasphemy matter anymore?

It could not Fall a second time.

“You need one,” Jules said.

“Why?”

“Because everyone has a name.”

“Not… me.”

“You need to,” the human said, and he reached up, gently drawing his fingers through the angel’s hair. It leaned into the touch, its eyes fluttering closed once more, and it felt the thumb that gently played against its scalp, the warmth of hard-worked, calloused fingers, a scarred palm.

“Where… is this?” it asked.

“Outside Chartres,” the human said. “France. Did you fall from Heaven?”

It said nothing, but its fingers gripped, without its permission, tighter at the human’s blouse.

“What… year?” it asked. It knew how time worked, it thought. Seconds into minutes, minutes into hours, hours into days, and days… into the rest. It knew them. But—

“1732,” Jules said. Once, it Knew. The dates coincided with events, and there were so many different calendars, so many different philosophies of time, but it used to know what events coincided with what dates, and yet its mind was but a blank expanse, so empty, cut off as it is from the body of knowledge of the Host. It Knew…

But it didn’t, anymore.

“You choose it,” it said.

“I can’t choose it,” Jules said, sounding almost scandalised, and it felt the shift in its face as its brow furrows of its own accord.

“Why not?”

“Because— Because it’s your name.” That stung. The your, in the singular, the dreadful singular, the individual: it was just one, now, instead of legion. How could this be natural, be normal, to be but one body, one mind, one… soul? A soul! What a dreadful thing to be cursed with!

“You name one another all the time,” it said tightly, wishing it could crawl into its own skin and be hidden there. “Heard about it. You give one another names, and assignations, and diminutives, even.”

Jules stared down at it, apparently struck dumb by this retort.  “But—”

“You say I need a name, but now you will not choose one. Make your decision one way or the other.” There is a moment’s pause, and then Jules let out a low, rich sound, breathless and quiet. It leaned back slightly to look at his face, at the smile dragging at his lips, at his teeth. It liked that sound: laughter, it was laughter. “You laugh at… me,” it said, feeling its lips twist into a frown.

“You’re stubborn as an ass,” Jules replied.

“Oh.”

“Jean,” he decided. “Or… No, Pierre. Or— I can’t choose. There are too many names, all of them too common!”

“Jean-Pierre,” it said.

“That’s too common.”

“You said needed a name.”

Jules sighed, and again, it felt that trickle of warm indulgence, of fondness, the emotion that played soft over its skin. It ached, it thought: it could feel the shift of bruises beneath the flesh, the blood seeping beneath the tender skin…

“As an ass,” he said again. “Alright, Jean-Pierre: that’s that. How old are you?”

It considered this question. “Debatable,” it said.

“How can it be debatable?”

“Humans debate,” it said.

Jules sighed, still smiling. “Yes, but they don’t debate age: age is a matter of facts, one way or the other. You are the age that you are.”

“Oh.”

“So, how old are you?”

“Unknown.”

Again, the laughter.

“How old do I… appear?” it asked.

“Late twenties,” Jules said, after a moment’s thought.

“Very well,” Jean-Pierre replied. “Then I am late twenties.”

“No,” Jules said. “You need to pick a year, and a date you were born.”

“Why?” it asked defeatedly, astonished by the petulance in its own voice. It had never felt like this before: quietly defiant and… annoyed. It was annoyed, irritated. There was a heaviness at its eyes, and even as it mused on the thought, it felt its mouth open unbidden, feels strange, thick air pass from its throat through its mouth. Immediately, it frowned in perplexity.

“That was a yawn,” Jules said.

“Am tired?”

“Yes, I expect so.”

“Oh.”

“Come,” Jules said, and Jean-Pierre disobeyed. Was this what disobedience felt like? It felt good. Perhaps it did deserve to Fall.

It lingered in the hay as Jules rose to his feet, and Jules frowned down at it, his eyebrows furrowing. It looked up at him, unmoving, its mouth set in a thin, loose line. “Fine,” Jules said, and then he bent, and lifted.

Jean-Pierre let out a noise of surprise as arms came beneath its legs and its back, lifting it with ease from the hay bale and taking it outside, into the stinging cold of the early morning air, still dark, still with moisture thick in it. The black night was beginning to give way to red on the horizon. It did not struggle, however, as Jules brought it under the low stoop and into another building that adjoined the first, a house – a cottage.

“Jules,” said Marguerite. “Wh— Oh.” She stared at Jean-Pierre for a long moment, her mouth fallen open, and it felt confusion, fear, uncertainty, and then a curious calm. It was as if it was all smoothed away in her mind, and it stared at her for a long moment, not entirely comprehending as she crossed her arms over her chest, and nodded toward the wooden slats to the edge of the room, where a dog, wiry and brown and thick with fur, tapped its tail against the sheepskin beneath it.

Jules carried the angel to the bed, putting it down there, and he reached for a blanket, throwing it over its body.

“No—” it protested as the human draws away, feeling the dreadful cold, the dreadful loneliness, of the cleaved-in-two feeling set into place again.

“Lie down,” Jules said, and he patted the wooden board beside the angel’s breast. The dog wriggled forward, curling against its side. It was not the same as Jules, but still, life burst beneath its skin, and Jean-Pierre came closer, wrapping one arm about the animal and pressing its nose against the back of its furry neck. It didn’t smell like Jules did, like sweat and hay and wheat. It smelled different: this was how dogs smelled. “This is Anicroche,” Jules said. “She’ll keep you warm.”

It held the dog, felt her tail wag against its calf beneath the blanket, felt her warmth, and it pressed its head against her fur, feeling its softness against his skin.

“Where are you going?” it asked miserably.

“To work,” Jules replied. “There is labour that needs completing.”

“For how long?”

“Would you know how long how long was, if I told you?”

It paused a moment. The hand touched its hair once more, and it sighed, not opening its eyes. “No,” it muttered.

“Soon,” Jules said, and stood to his feet. It felt him draw further away, heard him talk in hushed tones with Marguerite, felt the separation as the two souls exited the cottage, and went outside. The dog remained.

The dog’s heart beat faster than Jules’ had, and her mind was a flurry of short bursts of emotion: new thing, curious, love, warm, friend, food?, food want, new thing, warm, warm—

It sighed, and it felt the dog’s mind begin to slow as she wriggled close against its chest, seeking its warmth. The angel allowed it, and it felt the dog’s drowsiness, felt her mind drift and slow…

This was sleep.

***

JEAN-PIERRE

Jean-Pierre heard the click of the door as Colm stepped out from the café, and heard his growl of irritation. “Christ, Jean, how old are you?”

“As old as you are,” Jean-Pierre mumbled against Asmodeus’ neck. “To the day.”

“You’re seriously going to carry him the whole way?” Colm demanded.

“It doesn’t bother me,” said Asmodeus, his tone easy, smooth, and mild: Jean-Pierre’s legs were wrapped around his middle and his arms around his neck, and one of Asmodeus’ hand kept a steadying grip under Jean-Pierre’s thigh, keeping him in place as they walked along. “The house is scarce twenty minutes’ walk from here.”

“You spoil him,” snapped Colm.

“I spoil both of you,” was Asmodeus’ reply, and Jean-Pierre heard Colm’s sound of frustration, but did not feel the wave of it, because Asmodeus drowned it out.

Asmodeus was not like humans or other angels, nor like anyone else besides: he was a pit of lacking feeling, a great, black spot on what might be called the radar of Colm and Jean-Pierre’s empathies, and in this blackness, now, Jean-Pierre felt comfort beyond measure, for it drowned out the cacophony of the rest of the world.

Pressed against this nothingness, being as it was a void that Jean-Pierre called brother, and loved beyond measure, he slept.

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