#'what counts as crossing a picket line'

[weirdisnowthenewcool]

I feel like people are tryna apply a moral absolutist framework to the strike and strike action when striking is first and foremost, about impact

[ofstormsandwolves]

question for usa followers (i guess). how accurate/reliable is the national enquirer? because i saw an issue of it in a store here in the uk claiming that some actors have crossed the picket lines regarding the strike because their productions have interim agreements and like... are they at all reliable? are they stirring the pot?

i did a quick google and while they seem about as moral as any other tabloid (which is. not very) i'm not clear on what the general consensus is? like, are they generally considered to be not worth the time?

[mickandmusings]

third times the charm

pairing: tyler owens x f!reader

word count: 3.8k

summary: life has a funny way of putting people in your path, and ultimately making them part of your life. but what happens when the one person you never want to see stumbles in over and over again, a disastrous tornado tearing up your path of moving on?

aka: the two times tyler owens enters and, consequently, leaves, your life at the wrong time, and the one time he comes at the perfect moment and finally stays.

warnings: reader is described in a feminine manner; why are we ignoring his bull rider trope? cause i'm not babes xx; angsty mainly, but fluff too; lovers to enemies back to lovers (sorry); this author knows nothing about tornadoes or weather so sorry

shoutout to megan moroney and her banger new album where this title and idea come from :)

-

i.

"What do you mean you're leaving?!"

Tyler shuts the tailgate of his red pick-up with a loud slam, the cowboy hat on his head nearly flying off with the force. Y/N stood just a few feet away, her arms crossed over her torso as her chest heaved in short, shaking breaths. The sunlight hits her just right, and the gold chain around her neck glimmers in the sunlight. It catches Tyler's attention from the corner of his eye-it had been burned into his mind from the moment he'd bought it with a chunk of his earnings from last year's rodeo. The chain was delicate, simple, but the charm had been the main appeal: it was gold, the same shade as the chain, but in the center of the small heart shaped pendant sat a capital 'T'. She'd worn it since he'd given it to her for a birthday present, and it had been the center piece of even their most intimate moments-her bare beneath him with only the glittering jewelry adorning her as he had her unraveling under his touch. Even the thought of it had heat traveling up Tyler's neck, and he swallowed down the feeling, along with all of the guilt bubbling to the surface.

"I'm leavin', simple as that."

"Ty, I-I don't understand. You get bucked off one time and you're giving up?! You've been riding since we were kids, I-"

He turns to her, emerald eyes blazing with an emotion he couldn't put a label on.

"I didn't just get 'bucked off', I almost got my head trampled in case you forgot!" His voice is laced with anger. He's not angry with her, he's angry with himself. After a series of unfortunate injuries in last month's local rodeo, Tyler knew he couldn't ride again, it would kill him. He'd spent the last few weeks in physical therapy and doctor's offices just to make sure the damn bull hadn't left behind more than scars.

It was better this way, he could leave his town behind, and forget about the deep, gut-twisting feeling of failure that sat like acid in his stomach. But leaving his hometown also meant leaving her.

Tyler had fallen for Y/N their junior year of high school, and they'd rarely been seen without one another ever since then. She was sweet and shy to his brash and confident, his biggest supporter-always sitting in the stands for all of his rides-whether he was the talk of the town or stumbling home, his shotgun rider, and the girl who wore his heart (literally and figuratively) on a chain around her neck. Looking at her now, with tears lining under her gorgeous eyes, he wanted to just forget all of his plans and pull her into his arms. He wanted to reassure her that he'd stay here, that he'd give her the life that he'd promised her-apple pie and babies, the perfect picket-fence life she deserved.

"Tyler, you-you can't be serious! W-What about your parents, your plans, hell, Tyler, what about me?!" Her shoulders now moved as she let out shuddering breaths, eyebrows furrowed as she grew frustrated. "Tyler Owens you promised me, you promised me a farmhouse, and a wrap-around porch, a-and babies! And now you're just gonna take off to God-knows-where to what? Storm chase?"

She stops and lets out a dry chuckle. She'd been 'chasing' with him before, vivid memories of him scaring her shitless chasing tornadoes in his truck, only to 'apologize' to her by making love in the backseat after the storm had passed. Through their time together, she, too, had grown to love the storms. Y/N took her camera into the storms with them, more than ready to capture the freakishly beautiful moments of pure disaster before it struck. She'd stand in the pouring rain next to him, laughing as wind whipped hair around her face. He'd snap a picture of her with her own camera that she'd set aside and she'd roll her eyes. They'd been happy, bonded by a mutual love of mother nature's chaos and one another. Now, she turns her back to face him, shaking her head as her bottom lip trembles.

"Ya know, I should've listened to everyone who told me to stay away from you in high school, that you'd just hurt me. I didn't believe them, not one bit, because I know you. You're running because you're scared. You don't have to run, Ty. You've never run from your fears, for God's sake you ride them! What the hell are you thinking?!"

Tears stream down her face, and Tyler feels his resolve slipping. He hadn't thought it through, not really, and now as she stands in front of him, he realizes he's only hurting her more and more. He needed an out, he needed to skip town, no matter who it hurt.

"I'm thinking that I'm a fuckin' failure at everything, no matter what I try! The only thing I'm good at is storms, chasin' them, getting close enough to see something! I fail at everything, Y/N/N, and if I stay, I'll just fail you, too. Over and over."

"Tyler, you've never failed me," she brings her hands to either side of his face, her thumb brushing a cut that still hadn't scarred over from his fall. Her eyes were blurry and her hands trembled. "Please, stay." Her voice was hardly a whisper, pleading desperately.

"You know I can't."

She nodded solemnly, wiping tears so she could take a final look into his eyes. She gave no warning when she launched her arms around his neck, all but hanging onto him like a child. He hugged her tighter than he ever had, and when she let go, he placed a final heated goodbye kiss on her lips. Y/N looks at him, her brain screaming pleas to make him stay, but she simply kisses his cheek before speaking.

"C-call me when you get there?"

He takes one last glance at her, taking her in completely, as if trying to memorize her. His eyes land on the jewelry adorning the spot just below her collarbone, the gold shining in the sunset, knowing he'd never see it on her again-if he ever even saw her again.

"You'll be the first person I call, baby."

Y/N's call never came.

She spent the summer miserable, but refused to take off the gold chain she hid under shirts. It burned her skin in a metaphorical sense, but she ignored it, just like the heartbreak that had festered into deep resentment for Tyler Owens. She'd decided to take off to the local university for a clean start, somewhere new, somewhere his ghost wouldn't haunt her. Things had begun to look up, and she found herself smiling again. The morning before her first day of classes, she almost took the chain off, but couldn't bring herself to do so.

When she spotted his tall figure sitting a row ahead of her in her Intro to Meteorology class, she pretended not to know who he was. It was only fair, he'd done the same to her. For a reason that neither of them could vocalize, they begin to hate one another. Without knowing it, Tyler had become the storm that had sparked her into chasing after danger forever, the one that had left destruction so fatal she wasn't sure if she'd ever recover.

-

ii.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Y/N rolls her eyes and nearly throws her laptop across her dorm room when she looks down at her field partner pairing. The name in bold stares back at her like some sick joke.

Tyler Owens.

She shuts her laptop with a force that could shatter glass and slams her face into her pillow to let out a scream that could have easily been heard four counties over. The universe had to hate her.

With one glance at her watch, she hops from her bed and packs her duffel, her camera slung around her other shoulder. After silently praying that this storm takes her away in one quick swoop, she opens the door to her room and stumbles down the stairs to the lobby, where he was waiting for her outside the double doors. She can already feel her skin flaming with anger when she catches sight of his towering frame, baseball cap thrown backwards over his head.

"'Bout fuckin' time sweetheart, thought the storm would pass before we even got out there!"

"Oh, kiss my ass, Owens."

She rolls her eyes and climbs into the red truck she had once been a permanent fixture in, feeling almost like nothing had changed since the last time she'd crawled into the passenger side. She had half a mind to let down the driver's side visor to see if her picture still sat inside it, but Tyler climbs in the second she thinks about it. The half hour drive is uncomfortable, silent, and laced with tension so thick both halves of the couple begin to wonder if the air supply is getting thin. But as the storm approaches, both of their eyes are locked on the massive twisting figure just ahead of them. Y/N reaches for her camera, focusing the lens as best as she can through the windshield of the truck. She sighs when the view is less than satisfactory. Without much thought, she begins to move the window crank on the door to let down the window.

"What the hell are you doin'?" Tyler's voice breaks their silence.

"What does it look like, Owens? Getting a better shot." Her body hangs halfway out the window, camera leaning out the window as she moves the lens and clicks.

"Get your ass in the truck, I'm not payin' your hospital bills when you fall out and I run over you."

She rolls her eyes and ignores him, almost her entire body hanging out the window.

"Okay, okay, get in the truck, I'll get you closer, Jesus."

She pulls herself back into the truck and rolls the window back up as Tyler moves forward down the muddy path, closer to the storm now building ahead. The wind and rain grow more intense, shaking even the bulky vehicle that could easily withstand even the most treacherous of conditions. The spiraling tunnel only moves at a more pummeling speed, and Y/N's sharp shout fills the air.

"Stop the truck!"

He hits the brake and before the truck even stops, Y/N's rolling out of the passenger side, camera raised as she captures a monster of a storm. Tyler finds himself silent, momentarily distracted-her hair blowing with the force of the wind, the smile drawn across her face, and the long sleeve button down she'd been wearing was slipping down her shoulders, exposing her tank top and-wait-he raises an eyebrow, his heart stopping. Against her neck sat a gold chain he knew too well. It stops him completely in his tracks, shocked that she still wore his initial around her neck. The sound of a roaring train pulls him from his thoughts and sends him leaning out his own door.

"Y/N," he's shouting over the loud winds. "GET YOUR ASS IN THE TRUCK!"

The barrel of wind only gets closer, the fierceness of wind making Tyler's heart race. The girl outside his truck, however, only smiles wider, raising her camera for another shot of the approaching storm.

"I'M FINE, TYLER. WIND'S NOT EVEN THAT BAD!"

Tyler huffs as his voice, raspy from yelling, shouts again.

"THAT WASN'T A REQUEST, SWEETHEART. GET YOUR ASS IN THIS TRUCK!"

She ignores his shouts, only squinting her eyes at the horizon as the wind picks up another notch, making the shirt now halfway down on her arms blow like a flag in the wind. Tyler gives her a minute to comply, hoping this was just a momentary phase of her being stubborn. After five minutes, Tyler cursed and stomped out of the truck over to her. He says nothing, picking her up over his shoulder.

"TYLER! WHAT THE FUCK?! PUT ME DOWN, ASSHOLE!"

He doesn't give in to her retorts, simply swinging her door open and shoving her into the passenger seat. He gets into his driver's side and slings his arm on her headrest, turning to back the truck around.

"What the hell is wrong with you?! Do you have some sort of sick kink where you get off on ruining my life? I had a perfect shot, it-"

"You had a perfect shot of getting sucked into a tornado is what you had, Y/N. You're gonna get yourself killed gettin' that fuckin' close!"

"Like you would care." Her voice isn't even a mumble, and Tyler hardly hears her over the sounds of the storm.

It sends a jab of pain through his heart he doesn't expect, and instead of saying anything, he lets her stew in anger in his passenger seat. When he drops her off at her dorm, she agrees to email him her half of the project, and a week later he receives it.

He opens the email to find exactly what he imagines, the most spectacular shots of a storm he's ever seen. After the report and photos are submitted, the two never speak to one another again. They both graduate under the same Arkansas sun, but lead different lives in the same area of the country. Y/N swears she sees his truck pass her every time she goes out to shoot, and he sees her in every girl that stands in a field with a camera.

Y/N would never admit that she has a burner account subscribed to his livestreams, or that she laughed and smiled as she watched him hoop and holler with his ragtag group of friends, memories of the chases they once went on filling her mind more fondly than painfully these days. And if she had one of the red and white shirts with his stupid cartoon face plastered against it, well, no one would ever know.

When Boone and the rest of his crew would stop for food and rest breaks, if Tyler saw her name plastered in a newspaper or magazine, he'd put it on the counter next to his plethora of snacks. He'd never admit he'd cut her articles out of them and kept them in a small scrapbook that lived in his glovebox, right next to the picture of her that once lived in his visor-only because a magazine cut-out clip of her lived there now, her smiling with a massive twin barrel storm behind her, the gold chain peeking from the shirt was wearing.

-

iii.

"Ty, man, this one's a beaut! She's unreal!"

Boone's voice filled Tyler's ears from the passenger seat, but as Tyler looked out at the horizon, his attention was far from the brunette that sat next to him. He saw her car before he saw her-the same rink-dink, decked out, black Subaru she'd had in college, meaning she was here on her own, not for business.

His green eyes darted to the field across from where it was parked, spotting her instantly as she stood in the tall grass, hair blowing as she brought her camera to her face, crouching down to get the perfect shot. She shook her head when she pulled back from it, enjoying the sight in front of her.

Tyler puts the truck in park and all but barrels out of the door, his boots taking him towards her, but not nearly fast enough.

"Jesus, who's that? And why's she got Ty all in a tizzy?" Boone leans over to Lilly, who gives him an incredulous look.

"That's Y/N Y/L/N, she's a storm photographer, apparently he's got some fan girl crush on her or somethin', he keeps her work in a binder."

"Holy shit! Tyler knows the Y/N Y/L/N?"

Tyler would've blushed and denied Lilly's statement vehemently, but he was too far away to hear. Instead, the whipping winds and the sound of Y/N's delightful laughter filled his ears.

"She's a beaut, huh?" Tyler's voice carries over the noise, falling on Y/N's ears. She takes a breath and turns to face him for the first time in years. She nods slowly.

"Yeah, she's gorgeous. Got some great shots."

Her throat feels dry as his eyes peer down at her. She finally braves a look up at him.

"Um, I'm not studying it or anything, just bored, really. I'll let you and your crew have her."

She gives him a small smile, but he notes it's genuine as she caps the lens on her camera.

"It was good to see you, Ty. Good luck."

"Y/N, wait. I-I need to ask you somethin'."

She pauses her steps, turning back to face the man in front of her. For a split second, he looks just like the younger version that had left her all those years ago-the hat, the belt buckle, but none of that same all consuming fear.

"Sure, go ahead."

"Why do you still wear it? I saw you, that time in college, and when you did that shoot outside of Kansas City, the picture they published of you, it-you can see it real clear."

Y/N stills, pushing back hair that's blowing in the wind as she looks at him. She could say a multitude of things-how she wore it because she'd gotten so used to always wearing it. That she wore it because she wanted to hold onto him the only way she could. She could lie and say that she used it as a good luck charm. None of them would be the truth, and she was sick of lying to him, so she simply told the truth.

"Well, all the best chasers, they carry their first storm with them, right?"

She pauses, realizing how vague that was.

"What I mean is, without you taking me through my first storm I never would've done this. I was terrified of them, and you and that stupid red truck of yours showed me how beautiful they can be, and now I capture their beauty for a living. I never would've had any of this without you, so-"

She shrugs, giving him a small chuckle. The silence suffocates as he looks at her.

"Tyler listen-"

"If you're gonna apologize, don't. I'm the one that should apologize, I left you all those years ago. That was real shitty of me, and I didn't give you a warnin' or a reason why. So, I'm sorry, for all of it."

She nods, giving him a smile. The quiet floods between them again, and she pushes back her hair again before she speaks.

"I-I watch your videos, y-your livestreams. You're still crazy, but it reminds me of when we used to chase, and you'd scare me to death, and then you'd, uh, 'apologize' for it and, sometimes it's like I'm there with you."

He laughs with her.

"I-I've got every newspaper and magazine clippin' you've ever been in. You're pictures they're-breathtakin', it feels like you're standin' in the field right there next to you. I guess that's just because I used to be and memories, ya know?"

She nodded, giving him a sweet smile, one that sends his heart racing. They both turn their attention to the horizon where the storm seems relatively calm, at least by their standards.

"Uh, Y/N? I'm sorry, I promised you somethin' all those years ago, and I never made good on it. I think about that a lot, and-just-I'm sorry."

"I forgave you a long time ago, Ty, we were kids." She pauses, tilting her head as she looks at the storm brewing. "Besides, I don't think I'm cut out for that life anymore, I like life on the road. I mean, where else do you get moments like this? The storms back home are wonders, but nothing like this."

"I agree with you there," he chuckles. His heart pounds, and the words slip out of his mouth before he can stop them. "I miss you though."

She cuts her eyes to his own, as if waiting for him to explain himself.

"You were my original chasin' partner, ya know? Plus, when things got scary, you never flinched, not really. This reporter I've got now? God help us all, can't stand much more than a strong wind."

Y/N laughs loudly before she shakes her head.

"Well, you might be in luck. I hate working for that magazine, I really, really do." She turns to face him, camera pulled close to her chest. "The Tornado Wranglers hiring? I'm looking for a job. I have a portfolio if you need it, references too."

Her statement is laced with sarcasm.

Tyler finds himself laughing now, a wide smile plastered across his face.

"I'm familiar with your work, have it on good graces that you're just what we're lookin' for. Lucky for you, we've always got room for one more, that is, if you'll have us. I gotta warn you, those over there are a handful."

"If they're anything like you, I'm likely to fall in love with them instantly."

Y/N doesn't register the words stumbling out of her mouth until they'd already filled the air between them. Without a word, Tyler grabs her hand, pulling her in closer than people who have a history like theirs should. His calloused fingers reach out to the gold pendant lying on her neck, moving it back and forth between its fingers. It had withstood their time apart-it was scratched and a little weather-worn, but, then again, so were they.

"The clasp broke about a year ago, the rest is all original. Pure gold, willing to sell it for a good offer. The guy at the pawn tried to undersell me, I know what I've got."

Tyler's chest warms, that sarcastic, witty humor he'd missed back in full force.

"Do you take alternate forms of payment?" He pulls her in by her waist with a cocky grin.

"Depends, Owens, what did you have in mind?"

He cocks his eyebrow, giving her a sort of contemplative look as his hands rest on the small of her back, hers around his neck.

"Well, I still owe you about-," He lifts his hand from around her and pretends to count on his fingers. "A billion apologies, we could chase this stunner of a storm, drop these characters back off at the motel, find us an empty field, and I could apologize like I used to...maybe?"

She shakes her head and pulls him in for a heated kiss. They're both smiling so hard its hardly a kiss, but the feelings are there.

"You've got yourself a deal, but I'm keeping the necklace."

"Wouldn't have it any other way, baby." He kisses her head, pulling her back towards his group of friends, who were now whistling at the pair, obviously catching the interaction. "Fair warning, after he finds out just who you are, Boone's likely to fall in love with you."

She raises her eyebrow, pulling away and heading towards the motley crew ahead of her.

"Guess you'll just have to chase me next."

-

taglist:

@fraaaaankiiiiieee

[master-gatherer]

Are you going to the struck studios for a studio tour? And thereby crossing by the picketing writers and actors who are marching outside with signs outlining their demands?

If the answer is "no" you are not crossing the picket line

[hkblack]

Hi folks. There seems to be a lot of confusion about what we as fans can and can't do with the striking happening. So I made a flowchart.

Let me make this SUPER DUPER EXTRA CLEAR. Unless an AMPTP studio reaches out and says "We would like to give you X (money/swag/whatever) to create content for us" (that would include writing or acting in anyway on your part) you will NOT be crossing a picket line.

Cosplay, fanart, fanfic, going feral, sharing marketing posts, watching your favorite show, getting your friends to watch your favorite show, etc does not count.

It is ONLY scabbing if you are getting REIMBURSED by the STUDIO.

Please take this flowchart, repost it, spread it everywhere!

The studios benefit from us being confused. The studios benefit from us not promoting and not watching and cancelling our subscriptions. The unions, the actors, the writers, they all benefit from us promoting in their absence, they get paid when we watch the shows, we bolster their argument when we boost the shows numbers. If we make the media popular and successful the studios have to meet the writers and actors at the table, and the writers and actors will be in the position of power.

[clonehub]

SAG officially considers cosplays of current/past media as crossing the picket line as it can be seen as supporting the studios they're currently striking against.

(link is to a series of tweets, which include the original poster of the screenshot directly asking SAG-AFTRA what the rules are for paid/influencer cosplayers who want to support the strike)

EDIT 2 (first edit in tags): the tweet in the OP has been deleted, so I'll be shutting down reblogs on this post just so people don't take the link as a solid source when it no longer exists. For context, the original link was from a content creator who'd emailed SAG-AFTRA about guidance surrounding promos, contracts, and influencers. The response from SAG-Aftra likely wasn't 100% detailed because things were still being figured out. As for more detailed questions such as what counts as an influencer and other really specific questions I've seen in the tags, that's not something I know. Maybe emailing SAG-AFTRA themselves will help, although I can't be sure.

If the original email or the FAQ were confusing to you, it's likely that it's because both were phrased in a way that would be understandable to people who'd be likely to scab, ie influencers under specific circumstances. It's not really geared toward the lay person (which is what the FAQ will make clear by their frequent use of "influencer").

Again, the notes (and frankly the original link itself) have some that this is about influencers specifically. I missed that keyword in the OP (typo). I need people to stop acting like I'm willfully fearmongering and spreading misinformation. I read the full thread. I read the entire FAQ. It's on you if you do neither. At the time of my reading the thread, the FAQ either hadn't been released yet or had just come out. I also need people to stop bringing up Neil Gaiman's Tumblr post when SAG-AFTRA has their own Official FAQ on their strike site.

For the FAQ, it's here. It's about influencers, both union and non-union. Iirc the non-union FAQ has some ways to help that non-influencers can also engage in, like using a hashtag or generally raising awareness.

If you have any questions, please please please direct them to official members of SAG-AFTRA. Email Fran Drescher herself if you somehow can. Regardless, support the WGA SAG-AFTRA strike.

[elfroot-and-laurels]

I'm looking into whether or not Dragon Age: The Veilguard is included in the games currently being struck as part of the Interactive Media (Video Game) strike. So far, there are no results for the production ID (1845910), the old code name (Joplin), or the new code name (Morrison) on their search page.

The production ID is, according to the SAG-AFTRA site for the strike, the most accurate way to check if a game is struck or not. It's possible that Veilguard falls outside the strike order, but it's also possible that the publicly listed production ID is inaccurate, or that the full code name is different than those we know.

It is also important to note that the union itself recommends that you consider the strike not in terms of companies necessarily (though EA is one of the companies listed), but in terms of individual games, as some games have interim agreements that mark them outside the scope of the strike (hence why they have this search tool in the first place).

As far as what counts as crossing the picket line as a fan, a content creator, a streamer, etc, most of it seems to be pretty standard. No paid promotion, no official collabs, etc. Streaming and playing struck games evidently is just fine, as is creating free or personal content. There is a lack of clarity at the moment over whether or not buying struck games is considered crossing the picket line. I have only seen one source mention this, and cannot find any definites on the website made for the strike. If anyone has any clearer info, it is welcomed. If any rules of what constitutes the picket line change during the course of the strike, those updates are also welcome.

Solidarity forever gamers✌️

[ultralightpoe]

High Infidelity - Coriolanus Snow

Authors Note: Yup. I wrote for him. Hate me for it. (This was also the first time I wrote him so it’s not the best characterization, but hey. It’s been sitting in my drafts foreverrrrrr)

Word Count: 5642

Warnings: Prostitution. Lmao. And really bad writing so be prepared for that.

Apart of the Midnights Album Event

My MAIN Masterlist is here!

(Thank you for the gif @youremyvioleta )

Enjoy!

Lock broken, slur spoken

Wound open, game token

I didn't know you were keeping count

Rain soaking, blind hoping

You said I was freeloading

I didn't know you were keeping count

-

Your mother had always warned you away from him, warning you of the terrible terrible things that came from his family, she used to sit you at the table and plead with you to stay as far away from Coriolanus Snow as you could.

“Everything with that family ends with bloodshed.” She had warned you, telling you to stay away.

You hadn’t, and you never would….. well at least you never thought you would.

You had grown up with Coryo, known eachother since you were just children and had survived a war together. Had gone through starvation together. Back then you hadn’t understood why your mother was so afraid of him, this was the boy that had shared a can of beans with you when you had nothing. And now that the Capitol was back you were still as thick as thieves.

“I’m sorry.” You rush out, staring at your best friend right now, tears sliding your cheeks. “I don’t understand Coryo.”

It had been months since you last saw him, his hair was shorter and whiter now, and his face set into a grim glare. But it was the eyes that were different, they were cold and dark, just making eye contact made you shutter.

You had rushed to the train station to pick him up, an expensive flower in your hand and a wide smile. That had promptly been wiped away the second he got off the train and snapped at you.

The words fuzzed a bit, but it was something along the lines of “I’m warning you to stay away from my family, you freeloading wretch.”

“Do I really need to repeat myself?” The smile he gives you is anything but warm. “What? Now that I’m back you want to tag along all the time? Steal my family's fortune and pretend you’re not a starving leech?”

“Starving Leech? When have I ever taken anything from you?” You bite back, hands curling into fists.

“I can give you an entire list of everything you have taken from my family.” He laughs. “And I promise you that there will be no more favors.”

“You….. I hadn’t realized helping eachother from not starving was a favor. You ate from my table to need I remind you.” You snap, a heat crossing your skin, casting eyes towards a pair of on lookers.

You didn’t have time for this, you had a shift at the med wing.

You said as much to him, enjoying the way his eyes narrowed as he finally took in your medical garb. “We’ll talk later.” He scoffs, and you walk off after that, set on never talking to him again.

-

High infidelity

Put on your records and regret me

I bent the truth too far tonight

I was dancing around, dancing around it

High infidelity

Put on your headphones and burn my city

Your picket fence is sharp as knives

I was dancing around, dancing around it

-

It was nothing but sobs the night your mother passed away, cuddled on the floor of Coryos floor with his arms wrapped around you, trying to keep quiet just in case his grandmother woke up.

She hated tears, always thought them a sign of weakness.

“Shhh.” Coryo whispers, petting your hair back. “It will be okay.”

“What will I do?” You sob, feeling like your chest was caving in. “How will I survive?”

“We’ll find a way.” He whispers, using the pad of his thumb to rub the tears from your cheeks. “I’m sure Tigris can get you a job, and you can move in here if you need. Just take a moment-“

“I can’t. I can’t breathe.” You panic, hand snapping to his jacket as if he could keep you planted to the earth, your breathing ragged panting as your vision begins to blur.

“No. No.” He breathes, fingers snatching your jaw to make you look at him, digging into your skin. “Focus. Breathe. You’re stronger than this. Take. A. Breath.”

You listen, breathing in the same time he does, deep and open, breathing out when he does. Your nerves calm a bit, and you close your eyes as the tears keep falling. He pushes your head until it is laying on his chest. “Your mother just died. Don’t focus on the future, just let the pain settle. You’re safe here. I promise.”

And so you did, letting the sobs free as he held you all night.

-

Do you really want to know where I was April 29th?

Do I really have to chart the constellations in his eyes?

-

“Did….. did you see her?” Tigris asks, keeping close to the doorframe of his room, hugging her arms close to herself as she watches him work at his desk.

He feels himself tense, spine stiffening so much a wave of pain passed over him, doing his best to seem natural about it all. “She will not be coming around anymore if that is what you want to ask.”

He would make sure of it, he would make sure no one took from him or his family ever again. Not that bitch from 12, not Highbottom and not….. you. You whose face filled his brain with sunlight and warmth, you who made his chest melt and hands shake from nerves.

He loved you, always had.

But that couldn’t be anymore. He was set for a pristine life now, he could not let his weakness get in the way. He already risked it more than he should have.

“She missed you. A lot.” Tigris sighs, moving a little closer. “And she…. Well she helped us scrap together money for care packages and rent.”

“I’m sure there was something she could get from it. Don’t worry.” Even as he says it his gut clenches. He didn’t believe it for a second, but this needed to be done.

“She….. Coryo she-“ Tigris seems to stutter over the words, closing her eyes as if just thinking about it dragged her into a wave of pain. He tries not to laugh because what did she have to hurt about? Living the plush life here as he fought for them in 12, fought for them in the games. Risked his life to make sure that girl survived.

“She. What?”

“She….. well once she found out we were short on rent and she had nothing to offer she…. Slept with someone…… for us.”

“How would whoring herself out help us?” He already knew, his heart beating through his chest as his hands began to shake, clenching them into fists so it wouldn’t show. He was going to be sick.

You wouldn’t have. No.

“For money. She made us-“

“GET. OUT.” He sneers, standing quickly. “Get out right now.” He watches his cousin dash from the room with tears sliding down her face, his own kings constricting at the news.

You couldn’t have. You couldn’t have.

Regret laces through his stomach, your face flickering through his mind. Of course you would. You would do anything for him and his family.

-

Storm coming, good husband

Bad omen

Dragged my feet right down the aisle

At the house lonely, good money

I'd pay if you'd just know me

Seemed like the right thing at the time

-

It had been a fools dream long ago that you would marry for love, nothing but a dream of a child that didn’t know better, hadn't let the world destroy her yet.

Now, you knew better. Staring at your soon to be husband, Festus Creed, with a small smile playing at your lips. You were trying to make it seem like you actually loved him, like you actually cared what he was saying as cameras flashed at you both. The light of it blinded you a bit, and you tried not to flinch while he merely laughed and gripped your hand tighter.

He saved your ass and the Snow’s asses. Playing pretty little fucking wife is a small price to pay. You remind yourself when he kisses your cheek. Just pretend. Smile and pretend.

You had sold yourself to Festus in the months that Coryo…. Coriolanus was gone. When you were barely making ends meet and his cousin and grandmother weren’t making it. You had known that Tigris sometimes sold herself to people that wouldn’t really know her last name, but she hadn’t ever been able to get the primary houses due to her family's nobility.

You could.

So, you offered yourself to Creed, a classmate of Coriolanus’ and one that he had warned you to stay away from. “A viper wearing human skin.” How ironic how things turned around.

You tried not thinking about Snow at all, tried to get his face out of your mind, but every time you got close to winning against your memory, he somehow managed to pop up. Every. Single. Time.

It had been months since that initial argument the day he returned. You had been a fool who planned on confessing your love to him, planning on asking him to marry you. Then he called you a gluttonous leech, and Festus proposed a week later. It should be history.

And yet, right on cue, you spot a light blonde head of hair making his way through the crowd quickly as you and your fiancé stand quickly, the crowd of cameras dispersing at the engagement party resumes its flow.

You tried not to sneer about the sheer amount of money these people threw at everything. Just a couple months ago you had been starving, and now you can only watch as dozens of tables were set up with ludicrously decorated desserts that wouldn’t actually be eaten. “Never eat the food in front of them. Makes us look bad.” Festus has told you before your first party with all of them.

“Might I go to the restroom really quick?” You ask him, trying to move around with his arm tightly wrapped around you.

“Of course.” He smiles, giving your hip a tight squeeze before his eyebrows pinch together. “Let’s greet Snow first. I’m sure your old best friend would love to see you.”

Wish I could say the same. You bite back the remark on the tip of your tongue with a pleasant smile, allowing Festus to lead you to where your old friend was finally cutting through people. He had a grim look on his face, he always did these days, and if you didn’t know better you would assume he was upset.

“Snow.” Festus smiles, “glad you can make it. I know game keeping has been keeping your attention these days.”

Something in your stomach clenches at the words, no matter how many times people spoke of it you still could not believe that he was helping with the games.

You feel his stare in the side of your head, but you keep your eyes firmly on Festus, playing with his hair a bit as you play the role of lovestruck girl. Festus glows at this, eyes lighting up as he looks at you.

Whether or not he knows you’re using him as an excuse you can’t possibly care, he likes that you’re rubbing it in Snows face all the same.

“How could I miss this…. Joyous occasion?” Every word is clipped, and you try not to roll your eyes. “It’s wonderful that you’re family is able to take the young medic in.”

You know the underlying meaning beneath the words, snapping to glare at him. A smirk slides onto his lips as his eyes spark with excitement, it takes you a minute bro realize you had just fallen into a trap he laid out. To get you to look at him.

“Well I’m no freeloader.” You bite out. “I’ll obviously keep working in the hospital.”

Festus barks out a laugh at this, hand tightening on your hip as his other moves to hold his stomach, pure humor on his face. “Oh darling. How outrageously funny that was.”

“How was that funny?” You ask, blanching a bit.

“You’re not going to work! How would that make my family look?” Festus laughs, leaning to kiss your lips. You try to kiss back, something tightening in your throat as a sharp sting begins to form in your eyes. Do not cry. Do not cry.

“I’m going to go grab a drink. Keep our friend entertained will you?” Festus smiles, squeezing your hip once more before moving to walk away, leaving you with Coriolanus.

You risk one look to him, already seeing that he was staring right at you, and take a small sip from the Champagne in the flute as you think about how to get away. You decide on “I do hope you enjoy the party. I’m going to make my way to the ladies room.”

And for a second you think you’re brilliant, turning on your heel to walk away quickly but he is fast, taking three easy steps and cutting into your path.

“I was hoping we could talk.”

“We just did.”

“Did we?”

“What do you call that whole conversation with my fiancé if not talking?” You put on an airy smile, and fear freezes at you at the sheer anger in his gaze. Panic settles in, and you stand straighter, choosing to play offense. “Besides. You’re the one that warned me to stay away. What was it you said? ‘Or suffer the consequences’, wasn't it?”

His eyes shutter but otherwise he does a good job of playing calm, using one hand to pull imaginary lint off his jacket. “I believe so. But maybe I’ve decided I was wrong.”

“You weren’t wrong.” You snipe. “I was a freeloading wretch and now I’m not. Problem handled. We can go our separate ways and never speak again-“

“Festus was the one that paid you, wasn’t he?” His voice is low, but his eyes are screaming at you as he leans closer. “To help pay for rent. It was Festus.”

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.” You did. And he knew it, which was answer enough.

“I’m sorry you-“but you’re gone, dashing to find the bathroom.

-

You know there's many different ways that you can kill the one you love

The slowest way is never loving them enough

Do you really want to know where I was April 29th?

Do I really have to tell you how he brought me back to life?

-

The door to the Snow Mansion caught a little, letting some of the winter air in with you, your teeth chattering as you did your best to shut it. Managing to push all your body weight into the door to finally get it closed before you puffed hot air into your palms, the sack you carried heavy in your hand as you hear someone call your name.

Then he’s there, surrounding you in what little warmth he had, arms wrapped around you as you try to ease the shivers.

“Come in. We are burning some of mothers old romance novels for warmth.” He smiles, grabbing your hand and leading you to the fireplace where there were indeed pages from novels burning quickly.

“I brought this-“ you smile, holding up the bag of the goodies you managed to smuggle out of work. “It was someone’s anniversary and they had tables of food. I grabbed what I could before they threw it all out.”

A smile breaks out across his face as his cousin and grandmother both gasp and move to surround you. Before you know it you are all huddled close to the fire, eating quickly to try and ease the hunger, Coryo sitting close to you.

Once all the food is gone his grandmother retires to bed and Tigris goes to heat up water, leaving you with Coryo by the dying fire.

“I…. I always imagined small family dinners. Always wanted it for my own family, eating close together rather than a large table.” You admit, pulling your legs close to yourself. “Never did I imagine this though.”

“One day I’m going to get us out of this.” He mumbles, one hand reaching to hold onto one of your own. “And we will have that.”

There was that feeling of happiness rising in your chest as you looked at his determined face, leaning to kiss the corner of his lips softly. “I look forward to it.” And you believed he could make it happen, you truly did.

-

High infidelity

Put on your records and regret me

I bent the truth too far tonight

I was dancing around, dancing around it

-

You could learn to love him, you were sure of it. Somehow someway you would fall in love with my Festus, provide him a child that would inherit his families vast fortune and you would see to it that your kid never had to worry about starving.

You would rake yourself over coals before letting your child do any of what you had to do.

Like right now, fake moans filtering from your lips as Festus had his way with you on a random desk in a study room you did not recognize. Not that it was surprising, this family liked their secrets.

Once he was done he smiled at you, kissing you quickly as he fixed his pants and tucked in his shirt. “Fix yourself up. We have an engagement party to get back to.”

And with that he was gone from the room, leaving you to fix the skirt and sink to the floor, using the side of the large oak desk to lean on.

The sound of the door opening barely draws your attention, sighing out as you stare at the bookshelf, trying to piece your nerves back together as you always did after Festus.

“Are you alright?” The tone was a mix between your old friends comforting voice and the new Snows voice, and you tried not to roll your eyes.

“I’m fine.” You snap, your spine stiff. “Go back to the party.”

“I should be saying that to you.” He mumbles, moving closer and sliding to sit next to you. “It is your party after all.”

“Yeah? Is it?” You mumble, scooting over slightly to get away from him. He merely follows you, sliding right next to you once more.

Before you can yell at him he is holding out a cloth napkin, filled with those crème cookies that filled the tables out there. Macarons, Festus had called them. But you hadn’t had one. Rich people liked to starve.

“Come on. We both know you want one.” He smiles.

“Does it have poison?” You snipe, remembering the reason he had been sent away in the first place. He had given that Lucy girl an advantage in the games. Poison.

“No, not for you.” He smiles, like you hadn’t just completely tried to chase him off. Then he grabs one and shoves the entire thing in his mouth, making a small laugh slip from you before you bite it down, rolling your eyes. “Do you remember my 13th birthday?”

“No.” Yes.

He had stolen sandwiches from his school lunch and you had somehow managed to steal chocolate chip cookies from some party you had been working at. You ate together in the park, huddled by a tree so no one would see you, whispering all the things you wanted to see in the world.

“It was by far one of the best birthdays I had ever had.”

“One of?”

“Well my favorite birthday was the one before the war. I got so many gifts my parents made me a playroom.” He smiles.

You try not to let the words sting, what were measly cookies to a playroom. That was the life he belonged in. Luxury.

“You won’t be working then?” He asks after a moment of silence. “I always thought you liked being a medic.”

“I haven’t been an actual medic for long.” You sneer, you had only earned the honor while he was gone. Before that you simply volunteered every morning before your actual job, taking lessons whenever you could scrounge up money.

“A short lived career then.”

“What do you want me to say? My husband won’t allow me to work then I won’t work. It’s simple.”

“I would need my wife to work.” He shrugs.

“Why? You wouldn’t want a freeloader?”

“No. I would be running for president of Panem. And I believe that a medic for a wife would help my votes.” He states bluntly, eyes catching yours as your own widen.

“I’m sorry?” But he doesn’t respond, instead he holds out that damned napkin of cookies again. And you snatch one quickly, turning away the slightest bit to eat it.

“You’ll think about it?” He asks, eyes never leaving you.

“Think about it? There is nothing to think about.” You laugh, wiping sugar from the corner of your mouth before using the desk to help you stand and stepping over him.

Before you could fully escape his hands snatch your calf, pulling you down until you unceremoniously fall into his lap. “I told you to stay away from Festus. His family is not-….. he won’t give you what you want.”

“He’s paying my rent Snow. I’m just fine.”

“What happened to family dinners? Or the 6 kids running around.”

“I can have that with him.”

“Can you?” He lets you go then, knowing his words hit the mark when your face falls.

You leave the study, trying to pretend things are fine for the rest of the day, but his words cling to you like a skin of a snake.

-

High infidelity

Put on your headphones and burn my city

Your picket fence is sharp as knives

I was dancing around, dancing around it

-

You would have loved the atmosphere of District 12’s underground space, the dancing and music, laughter falling through your ears and the best of their dancing jolting down your spine with every stomp and clap.

Though he never understood your fascination with the districts back then, during the games he was beginning to understand slowly, and seeing this he could.

“Let’s go get a drink.” Sejanus laughs, pushing him to the bar as he imagines you twirling through, stomping and clapping at the right times.

It’s that night, drunk and a bit out of it that he lets the words he had been holding back for years slip. Sejanus had been grousing on and on about how he knew Snow was a good guy by the fact that his closest companion had been a young student healer rather than a Capitol clone and Snow tried not to bristle as how easy Sejanus laughed off your history.

You had worked for everything, and yet the man in front of him made it seem like you had chosen the healer life out of pity, rather than your hardwork and dedication.

Then the words slipped, “She’s a rare one and that’s why I love her.”

His friends eyes widen, and so does snow, both breathing in for a second before a wave of laughter fills them as Lucy’s voice fills the room.

-

Do you really want to know where I was April 29th?

Do I really have to chart the constellations in his eyes?

You know there's many different ways that you can kill the one you love

The slowest way is never loving them enough

-

It had taken you 10 minutes to sneak out of the Creed mansion, and another 15 to walk to Snow mansion where he had asked to meet you.

He being Coriolanus, through a telegram sent directly to you earlier in the day.

The door sticks a little, just like it used to, but the rest of the place had been professionally cleaned and you kept to the front rug in the entrance so as to not drag mud in.

“What are you doing?” He asks, coming around the corner to look at you in the entrance. “I’m in here, let’s go.”

He doesn’t wait to see your panic at the clean floors, so you rush to take off your shoes before tiptoeing to the main sitting room he was in.

“You said it was urgent.” You mumble, looking around at all the papers strewn about. Some designs of outfits and dresses, some of creatures and set ups. “What is all this?”

“This, my dear, is the 11th annual hunger games.” He smiles, and you try not to shudder at how easy he says dear.

“Oh I see, you’ll be making the tributes wear extravagant gowns in the arena then?” You hold up a sketch of what looks to be an evening gown designed for district 3.

“Tigris will be styling and dressing them before the games now.” He explains, moving closer to you. “For if they wish to be performers then we shall let them. Give them all a fighting chance.”

“Like Lucy?”

He doesn’t answer, instead moving to pick up another sketch. “And now, once they are in the arena they will all wear the same uniform.”

“They won’t die in their own clothes?”

“They’ll die at the Capitol wills it.” He sneers, taking a second to regain his composure. “But this isn’t why I have brought you here today.”

“Okay….” He grabs your hand, pulling you to the desk and showing you plans and sketches. “I need your medical advice.”

“For?”

“For a poisonous sea creature.” You rear back at that, but he is quick to snatch your hand. “I just need to know how to prolong the death.”

“I’m not helping-“

“Please. I need you.” He admits, his hand still on you. “I always need you.”

“Coryo-“ it’s the first time you’ve called him that in forever, and he can’t help but rush to you, pressing his lips to yours quickly.

You kiss back, although your common sense is screaming at you to stop. And soon enough the kiss is deepening, and he’s shoving all the documents off the table to place you upon it, making quick work of stripping you down while trying to keep his lips to you at all times.

And you were ashamed to admit you found pleasure for the first time that night, allowing him to pull that pleasure from you over and over and over.

-

High infidelity

Put on your records and regret meeting me

I bent the truth too far tonight

I was dancing around, dancing around it

-

“He’s a mad man….” Festus mumbles, hand clenched on your knee. “A mad genius but a madman.”

He was right of course, you could do nothing but blink as the games unfolded before you, surrounded by his peers and coworkers as they all cheered and booed at the tributes.

You couldn’t pay attention, the gore beginning to get to you as well as the fact that Coryo kept glaring over at you and Festus from his podium in the center, eyes narrowing as a sneer coated his mouth.

You hated these moments, when you were anxious about the affair and when Festus was in the same room with the two of you. Don’t do anything stupid, you silently plead.

But when has Coryo ever played stupid? No. Everything he did was smart, three moves ahead.

“How about a wager?” He smiles to his friends, and you bite your lip. That scheming look not good.

“Yeah?” Festus smiles. “My moneys on district 2. Girl.”

Vivi, was her name. She had 2 sisters at home and was playing viciously. She would not win though, she had been bitten by a snake with slow killing venom, you would know since you helped Coryo make it.

“No. Money is far too boring.” Coryo smiles, ever the Capitol player. “How about we wager…… the healer.”

Festus freezes, hand tightening on your thigh in a searing grip that you know has Coryo seething under his calm exterior, those blue eyes lighting with a challenge. He hated when Festus was rough, which was more often than not.

Coryo preferred to be…. Rough in the sheets and gentle every other moment.

“You want my fiancé? Don’t you have whores for that?” Festus laughs, but there is no humor behind it.

“I don’t want a whore. I want a wife.” Coryo smiles, holding out his hand. “District 4, Mags.”

People begin whispering and smiling at the challenge, and you realize why Coryo had been talking too loud then, because Festus would look weak to back away now.

Festus risks a look to you, narrowing on your shocked look before taking Coryos hand. When the blonde walks away your fiancé leans in, “we will be discussing this later.”

After he won, if he won. He would make your life hell.

-

High infidelity

Put on your headphones and burn my city

Your picket fence is sharp as knives

I was dancing around, dancing around it

-

“Your mood swings make my head spin,” you admit, laying on the mattress lazily as Coryo sits leaning on the headboard, tracing his finger across your exposed back. “One moment you’re rutting into me like you hate me, the next your murmuring love sonnets.”

“Do the Creeds actually have money?” He murmurs, fingers dancing across your ribs. “Or are they pretending just as I had been for awhile?”

“They have money, loads and loads of it. So much that they burnt some of it for fun the other day to see how long it took to burn.” You mumble, keeping your eyes closed.

“Then why do you still look starving?” He asks, moving closer to curl around you.

“Because they only eat one meal a day, and it’s more of….. well they don’t like gluttonous people.”

“Surviving is gluttonous?”

“The rich have never made sense.” You admonish. “They starve themselves to prove they can, no sugar or dairy. No this or that. They don’t know hunger like we did.”

“I thought you were marrying him to stop that hunger.” He mutters, a bit of anger in it.

“I also have a roof over my head and warmth. There is more to it.” You sigh, not wanting this to be another argument as it was every week. “There’s nothing we can do Coryo. I get married after the games.”

“They talk about you like you’re a pet.”

“To them I am.”

-

Oh, there's many different ways that you can kill the one you love

And it's never enough, it's never enough

-

“So this is what he does now?” Festus sneers, whipping his tie off as he storms into his room, dragging you in with him.

The games would last another night it seemed, and Snow sent everyone out as he was getting ready for the big finish.

“He is making it all one big game. Placing wagers and gambling. It’s bullshit!” You try not to roll your eyes at his outburst since he had been all about it before Coryo called him out.

But apparently you still somehow rolled your eyes and his face falls into pure rage as he begins charging for you. Fear coats your system as his hand latches around your neck, cutting off oxygen.

Before it could get worse there is a knock on the door.

“YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS!” His little sister calls, turning on his screen to reveal the games, where many of the players are fighting a very large creature in the body of water.

“What is that?” Festus gasps.

“A sea monster.” You breathe out, watching with a small amount of excitement mixed with disgust as Mags plunges her spear into its eye.

-

Lock broken, slur spoken

Wound open, game token

I didn't know you were keeping count

Rain soaking, blind hoping

You said I was freeloading

I didn't know you were keeping count

But oh, you were keeping count

-

You married him on April 29th, a year later he ran for president and to no one's surprise he won.

You became First Lady of panem. And would of course bear tons of children.

He kept his promise, eating close together every night, making sure all his kids were well fed and never knew the hunger you both did. And when your youngest was blasted in the tabloids for her ‘pudginess’ Coryo made sure to send the writer and his family to District 7 and the very next year the oldest daughter of the family was chosen in the reaping.

You lived in constant disgust and amazement, the battle never ending.

You helped him come up with ideas for creatures and implemented healing and medicine into the games to at least give some of those kids a fighting chance.

“Remember when I warned you to stay away?” He asks one night, watching you from his spot on the bed as you get air at the window.

“Quite vividly.” You laugh, breathing in the night scent in his shirt as he lay naked save for a sheet. “Said I was a freeloader.”

“I was trying to push you away.”

“Gathered that.” You nod, watching him extend a hand before shuffling across the floor and climbing across the bed until you reach his hands where he pulled you in for a warm kiss.

“You are a freeloader.” He teases, his lips still against yours. “You owe me so much.”

“Oh do I?” You laugh.

“Yeah! You owe me a can of beans, never got paid back for that.” He smiles and you can’t help but laugh.

“I’ll go get the dirtiest can of beans, expired, and it will be just like old times.”

Before he can say anything else you are pushing to kiss him again, falling into his warmth with a hum and letting him drag you under the sheet.

(Yeah. It stayed in the draft because I never quite liked how the story worked….. something always seemed off. I rewrote this 10 times back then, but since I am releasing my old drafts this baby is out now. )

[readyforevolution]

Mississippi Goddamn

Lyrics by Nina Simone

The name of this tune is Mississippi Goddam

And I mean every word of it

Alabama's gotten me so upset

Tennessee made me lose my rest

And everybody knows about Mississippi Goddam

Alabama's gotten me so upset

Tennessee made me lose my rest

And everybody knows about Mississippi Goddam

Can't you see it? Can't you feel it?

It's all in the air

I can't stand the pressure much longer

Somebody say a prayer

Alabama's gotten me so upset

Tennessee made me lose my rest

And everybody knows about Mississippi Goddam

This is a show tune

But the show hasn't been written for it, yet

Hound dogs on my trail

School children sitting in jail

Black cat cross my path

I think everyday's gonna be my last

Lord, have mercy on this land of mine

We all gonna get it in due time

I don't belong here, I don't belong there

I've even stopped believing in prayer

Don't tell me, I tell you

Me and my people just about due

I've been there so I know

They keep on saying, "Go slow!"

But that's just the trouble, do it slow

Washing the windows, do it slow

Picking the cotton, do it slow

You're just plain rotten, do it slow

You're too damn lazy, do it slow

The thinking's crazy, do it slow

Where am I going? What am I doing?

I don't know, I don't know

Just try to do your very best

Stand up be counted with all the rest

For everybody knows about Mississippi Goddam

I bet you thought I was kiddin'

Picket lines, school boy cots

They try to say it's a communist plot

All I want is equality

For my sister, my brother, my people and me

Yes, you lied to me all these years

You told me to wash and clean my ears

And talk real fine just like a lady

And you'd stop calling me Sister Sadie

Oh, but this whole country is full of lies

You're all gonna die and die like flies

I don't trust you any more

You keep on saying, "Go slow! Go slow!"

But that's just the trouble, do it slow

Desegregation, do it slow

Mass participation, do it slow

Reunification, do it slow

Do things gradually, do it slow

But bring more tragedy, do it slow

Why don't you see it? Why don't you feel it?

I don't know, I don't know

You don't have to live next to me

Just give me my equality

Everybody knows about Mississippi

Everybody knows about Alabama

Everybody knows about Mississippi Goddam

That's it!

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for following you (this account) immediately?

Does this count as crossing a picket line? We should be supporting the reddit blackouts 100% for a number of reasons, but i do enjoy r/aita

now though, youre here! sorta? the vibes!

does this make me a scab? aita?

Fear not, this account is unassociated with reddit in any way, shape, or form! Also, the reddit blackout is a protest (not a strike, so no picket lines) because reddit's owners are currently doing something very very stupid.

Basically, what's happening is they've decided to charge a frankly unreasonable amount to access their API, making a bunch of very useful apps that people rely on unable to keep running. Many of the most popular subreddits (although notably NOT the original AITA) have decided to go private to send a message that this is not acceptable and hey, you're destroying your site, you realize that?

In the wake of that, it seems like a lot of (particularly left-leaning and queer) redditors have decided to head over here instead! So I decided hey, why not, AITA seems like a fun thing to have on tumblr--and so far it has been! But I can't wait til we get into real bone-stealing witch territory

[faerygardens]

SAG and WGA members have repeatedly said that you, as fans, shouldn’t protest streaming services and new releases because fans continuing to show interest in new releases both gets them paid and puts pressure on the AMPTP to sit down and make a deal so idk where y’all got “don’t create or interact with fan content of any kind in any way”, the closest to this that I’ve seen is the cosplay rule*, which is for INFLUENCERS who are under the SAG influencer agreement or may want to be in the future, not fans with hobbies (in fact, in the Variety article that specifies the cosplay rule, they specifically say if you’re not in SAG or a future union influencer to “go right ahead”)

*I could not find the cosplay rule anywhere on the SAG-AFTRA strike official website but it appears to be an expansion on this point in the FAQ for Influencers section:

The cosplay addition to this rule seems to stem from this Variety article as well as screenshots of an email exchange between a twitter user and the strike’s official email address

I highly recommend you get your information regarding the strike and what counts as crossing the picket line directly from the SAG-AFTRA strike website as well as directly from the WGA strike website (I suggest reading the FAQs a couple times) or by submitting any questions you may have to the strike’s official email or phone number— sagaftrastrike@sagaftra.org or 877-8-STRIKE (877-878-7453)— as opposed to listening to strangers online as there is a lot of misinformation going around right now

[one-highfalutin-sonuva-gun]

Newsie: Stumbler

Stumbler (not to be confused with Tumbler) is a scabber. He wears a dark cap, a brown vest over a dark grey shirt and pastel yellow pants.

Not much about his life is known before he crossed the picket line. He first appears as a full-fledge scab debuting alongside Jack the Scabber.

Stumbler rarely sleeps. He's no snoozer. He's still counting sheep when he has to get up and sell the papes.

Due to his insomnia he lacks coordination which makes him stumble around.

It also causes him a lot of anxiety and confusion. "What do we do now?!"

Stumbler shows up at the end, wearing an outfit just like Racetrack (that he spent his scabbing money on), hoping no one will recognise him. All is going to plan, until he feels Snoddy's hand on his shoulder...

[georgiapeach30513]

When I Hear Your Name, Part 2

Summary:  How did Steve know?

Pairings:  Bucky Barnes X Reader

Rating:  explicit

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, dark, smut, unprotected sex, PIV sex, marking, creampie, cheating, voyeurism, obsessive behavior, threats, implied kidnapping, 18+ ONLY

Word Count:  2.4K

Previous

Steve Rogers Masterlist

A/N:  My entry for @the-slumberparty Week 2 Blast From the Past Challenge.  My random generator theme was ‘Descent into Madness’ and the setting was ‘Military’.  

First Line generator gave me:  “He didn’t want to go out on such a night, but...”

He didn’t want to go out on such a night, but since Steve had returned he wasn’t the same.  You were no longer the same.  You stayed with Steve day and night, and he just sat there.  He didn’t speak to you.  Barely ate or drank.  Steve was just there.  When you had called Bucky to meet you at a local bar, he couldn’t deny you.  He had seen you becoming more withdrawn from life.  

Before you and Steve were the life of the party.  Always giggling, cutting up, usually singing at the top of your lungs, but not anymore.  It was sad how war can change a person.  And sometimes that person brought that back with them, and they changed the people around them as well.  It wasn’t fair, but it was true.

Bucky could see you with your head hung down low immediately.  All alone in a darkened corner with a glass of a dark amber liquid, and Steve’s choice of beer in a bottle on the table.  He wasn’t there.  Bucky knew he wasn’t there.  You just couldn’t stop ordering for him.  It was second nature at this point.

With a deep breath, Bucky walks up to your table, offering a quick peck to the top of your head before sitting opposite of you.  His finger traces circles on the table, while he raises a hand to the bartender.  Bucky didn’t have to order, his order never changed, and a glass of beer would be set in front of him shortly.

“Moonbeam?” You sniffle at the sound of Steve’s nickname for you.  It had been so long since you had heard it.  Steve didn’t talk, definitely didn’t say your name.  Bucky changes and whispers your name, but you shake your head no.

“No, I like hearing that name,” you finally look up at him, and he feels the utmost pity.  Your eyes were rimmed in bright red, and the veins were prominent.  You hadn’t been sleeping.  Your face was more gaunt than he remembered.  You were becoming Steve.  “You know we once had these big dreams.  We were going to get married and have kids.  Have our house with the white picket fence, and a dog.  Now…I’m never getting him back, am I Buck?”

“I can’t answer that.  I wish I could.  I know how much Steve loved you, and your plans for the future,” your face turns up in pain as tears start streaming down your cheeks.  It was but distant memories of laying in the bed naming the children you hadn’t had yet.  “He’s never going to stop loving you.”

“He’s not even Steve anymore.  He’s…he’s a shell.  He’s not even there.  He’s…Bucky, I don’t know what I’m going to do.  I can’t live like this.  I haven’t been touched since he left.  I forgot what it feels like,” with one solid move Bucky’s hand slides across the table, and he rubs the top of yours, and a fresh wave of tears start when you place your other hand on top of his.  It felt good.  Similar and different all at the same time.  Warm and loving.

“Come on,” Bucky stands out of the booth, holding out a hand.  

“What?”

“We’re going to dance,” it was innocent enough.  Standing up, you follow him to the dance floor, and he doesn't hesitate to wrap his arm around you.  Holding your other hand with yours, and you lay your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his beating heart.  It was soothing.  Steve barely wanted you to touch him.  You had been so alone.  

Bucky was so smooth with his moves.  Guiding you, while you sink more into his embrace.  Clinging to his shirt, when you lift up off his chest.  Staring up at him when he gives you a soft kiss to your forehead.

He wasn’t Steve, but the kiss didn’t seem forced or crossing any boundaries.  It wasn’t until he was jerking his head away from you that you realized you had offered a kiss of your own.  This one was on his lips, “Moonbeam,” his voice was just as haggard as your own.  Bucky loved Steve as well, and this was also affecting him.

“Bucky, he doesn’t touch me anymore.  I need,” you can’t finish your sentence as you pull his head down.  Standing on your tippy toes you give him a lingering peck.  Becoming breathless and heated with every second.  Stopping to see his own pupils were blown wide with lust.  “Touch me.”

Bucky grabs onto your hand, racing you out of the bar.  He only lived a block away.  The two of you were in the elevator no more than a second when he was pulling you back to him.  The taste of his lips was desperate and needy, and you just wanted to feel something real with someone you did love and care for.  

Pulling you into his apartment you become a tornado of hands and clothes.  You didn’t even know who was struggling to undress the other more.  A trail of discarded fabric led the way into his bedroom, and you were clinging onto every part of him.  Grabbing him into your body, you needed to feel his entire weight over you.  Needed to feel the passion of love once more.  

Bucky had you laid on the bed quickly.  His tip runs through your folds, and the two of you stare at each other.  Holding onto whatever reserve you had left.  Giving each other the chance to back out, but when you nod your head yes, he dips his cock down until it breeches your entrance.  There was nothing sweet about this moment; it was needy.

With one hand grasping onto the bed frame and the other pulling you closer for a heated and sloppy kiss, he rails into you with a severe speed.  You were going to remember the way he felt inside of you for a month.  This couldn’t happen again.  It shouldn’t.  This was going to need to last you for a lifetime.  

His thrusts were so demanding and sharp you yip with every pound into you.  Your fingers dig into his back because the pleasure was too much.  It was delicious and sinful all at the same time.  Your greedy little cunt was sucking him back in and soaking his thick shaft.  Juices spilling out onto his bed while he moans along with you.  

Your squelching pussy was downright vulgar, and even your pornographic mewls of his name.  Bucky’s name.  Steve was never uttered out of your lips.  You wanted this just as much as Bucky had wondered what you felt like.  No wonder Steve was obsessed with you, he had never felt anything more delectable.  Your body was molding to his.  You were taking every inch of him so well.

He twists his body without pulling out of you.  Letting you take your frustrations out on him.  Your head tilted back and looking up at the ceiling, screaming out your pleasure to the heavens, and fucking the pain away.  It had been too long since you had felt this good.  You forgot what it felt like for someone to hold onto you as well.  His hands grip tight to your waist as you bounce yourself over him.  He was leaving bruises and you didn’t care.  You needed a reminder of hands on your skin.

His voice was a symphonic melody to your ears.  He was vocal.  There were no words, just deep breathing, sighs of relief, grunts, and the sweetest whimpers.  You were making a mess on his stomach and Bucky was obsessed.  He could do this everyday for the rest of his life, and he knew he shouldn’t want this at all.  You were his best friend’s girl.  He couldn’t help it that you were in need of a good fucking.  Could help that your body was begging for this relief.  He just had to tell himself that he was doing you and Steve a favor.  You were going to find someone, and at least Bucky wouldn’t hurt you.

You press your hands on Bucky’s chest as you ride him.  Squeaking out how you were about to come, and so was he.  You were clenching down around him, and it was becoming too much.  “Bucky!  I’m…I’m gonna…gonna — oh fuck,” your leg starts quivering, and he spurts his seed so deep in your womb.

Your chest heaves as you try and steady your breathing, but it shocked Bucky to see you start to drift down lower.  Laying on top of him.  “Bucky, hold me.  Tell me you love me.”

“You know I do.”

“Tell me like you mean it.  Please.”

“I love you, Moonbeam,” you could almost pretend that it was Steve again.  His hands were so gentle as he caressed your back.  You believed him.  Not the made up Steve in your head, you believed Bucky.

——

“We promised we would never mention it again,” you almost growl as Bucky corners you in the kitchen.  “Steve is in the bed.”

“He’s always in the fucking bed!”

“Lower your voice,” you hold your breath as you listen for any movement from Steve.  “He can’t know.  He wouldn’t…you know he couldn’t handle it.”

“He hasn’t been handling anything since he’s been home.  Why are you doing this to yourself?  He needs help, and you can’t give him the help that he needs,” Steve sits up in the bed, hearing you and Bucky causes something to stir in him.  

Walking out the bedroom softly, he listens to every word, every inflection.  “Moonbeam,” he didn’t call you that.  That was Steve’s name for you.  “Please, look at me,” don’t you do it.  Don’t you dare look at him.  

He views the two of you around the corner, relaxing in the shadows when he grits his teeth.  You were staring up at Bucky owlishly.  A hand on his hip, while his hand cups your cheek.  Bucky’s thumb runs over your lips, and Steve wants to vomit.  “I would do anything for you.  You know that.”

“Then, please, just forget it ever happened,” Steve knew it.  He could smell Bucky on you when you came home.  You didn’t even look at him as you gathered your clothes for a shower.  Didn’t kiss him like you usually did.  And when he stood at the bathroom door he watched you scouring your body, trying to remove the remnants of Bucky Barnes.  You left your soiled panties on the floor.  The essence of Bucky staining them, and he hated both of you.  You were both liars, and this was proof.

“I need to see you again.”

“No.  No you don’t.”

“He’s never coming back,” it was a lie.  He was right there watching your cheating ass.  Did Bucky make you do this?  Has Bucky been waiting all these years for a chance to ooze his way in?  “Moonbeam, you can’t live like this.”

“I can’t lose him,” ahh, the tears.  This was all Bucky’s doing.  You were just an innocent party.  He should have known.  “He can never know,” but Steve did know.  He was watching it.  

“Shh,” Bucky whispers, his hand cupping your mound.  “One more time,” Steve hated him, but couldn’t look away.  Bucky lifts you up on the counter, rucking up your dress, “On or off?”

“On,” you whimper, letting his slide over your panties.  Bucky takes out his cock, giving it a few pumps in his fist, before he sinks into your warmth.  Holding there while the two of you listen.  “No one knows.”

“Of course not,” he whispers into your ear, drawing himself out of you before he pushes back in.  Bucky moves quickly rutting into you while you bite on your lip trying not to make a sound.  It didn’t matter, Steve was watching in real time the debauchery.  He knew you were a dirty little whore, but you were supposed to be his dirty little whore.  Instead you were letting Bucky fuck you, and in Steve’s house.

He had you growing weak, wrapping your legs around his waist.  You were disgusting.  That was his pussy, and one day he would show the both of you just who you belonged to.  He didn’t care how long it took.  He could play the long game.  Could bide his time until it was right.  

Your body leans back a little bit further, and a mewl slips out.  But Bucky didn’t care anymore.  He was so close.  So close he could almost taste your pleasure on his tongue.  He was pounding into you, and Steve didn’t know just how much your body could actually take.  If he wasn’t so pissed off, he would find this to be hauntingly beautiful.  

Bucky starts pulling out of you, ready to pump his spend on your stomach, but you push him back in.  “Don’t you dare stop,” Bucky whines out your name, “I want to feel you,” one more drive into you, and he and you both come so hard that you’re left speechless.  “No one knows.”

But Steve knew.

——

It was now or never.  You couldn’t live this double life.  Not anymore.  There was nothing to pretend anymore.  Your infidelity was as clear as those two pink lines on a stick that just now determined your future.  You couldn’t stay with Steve anymore.  You and your baby didn’t deserve it.  Couldn’t stay with Bucky knowing he would never leave Steve.  You had but one choice, and that was to leave the both of them forever.  Go back home, and begin your new life.

Bucky would make an excellent father with someone that wasn’t you.  It was so wrong, and you knew it, but your hands were tied.  You didn’t know what else to do.  You didn’t even want Bucky to be there when you told Steve goodbye.  You couldn’t look in those silvery blue eyes and tell him a lie, so you said nothing.  

You would do nothing.  You would be a single mother, and you were okay with that.  Okay with kissing this life goodbye.  You and your child deserve better.  You just hoped that one day they both would understand.  But deep down you know they never would.  

“Goodbye, Steve,” you say softly, turning your key in the ignition.  “Bye, Bucky, thank you,” they never would hear those words.  A single tear falls down your face as you pull out onto the road.  “It’s time for us to go backwards, baby Barnes…uh, you’re going to be getting my last name.  I’m sorry to say your daddy will never know you.  But Bucky knew the risks.”

Bucky certainly knew the risks now.  Tied up in a chair while Steve slaps him hard across the face, “I will bring her back.  And you will be the one listening to me give her pleasure.  Just wait and see, traitor.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @sstan-hoe @softsatnin @missusbarnes-rogers @peaches1958 @seitmai @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @donutloverxo @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @bambamwolf87 @harrysthiccthighss​  @navybrat817​ @darkficsyouneveraskedfor

[bananonbinary]

i keep seeing a lot of weird shit about the strike and what counts as "crossing a picket line," but like. it seems pretty straight forward. if you're not part of the union, you don't have to stop talking about or watching shows. even professional critics and journalists are still allowed to talk about stuff. literally the only people they are banning from all this are members of the union, and paid influencers who work with or might want to work with the union as paid influencers in the future. random ass fans will not help the strike by refusing to write some coffee shop au or dressing as the winter soldier or w/e. they want money and material support, not ideological purity.

[wingedkiare]

There are a lot of entertainment influencers (the ones who aren't really reviewers, but make a lot of video content and sometimes includes going to premieres as guests) who are suddenly trying to navigate what does and doesn't count as crossing a picket line. I've seen one woman decide she isn't publicly reviewing anything at all or doing content about anything new until the strikes are over. She'll still buy tickets, but no free promotion from her. I've seen some people talk about existing contracts and trying to finish what was signed before stepping back (which is valid. Contracts shouldn't be fucked with). And I've seen one guy who made a skit where he answers questions about what he plans to do (all in a glib tone, while he says he's changing nothing). He then spent the next day on TikTok Live defending this, and I'm sure he'll do his typical "I've learned so much video in the next 6 hours." (People have pointed out that he isn't just doing promotion, he's gotten VO and host work, so he absolutely would be killing his future)

SAG-AFTRA hasn't clarified what counts as crossing the picket line (they have more important things to worry about), and so it's wise to be cautious at this point in time to avoid screwing up your future.

Because if they feel you cross that picket line, that's it.

And studios are absolutely going to expand what they use influencers for, now that they won't have actors to send to premieres or interviews. So, just be careful. Update: Multiple people have asked SAG-AFTRA about influencers who aren't in the union who want to avoid being blacklisted. SAG has said fulfilling existing contracts isn't scabbing (since those have penalties if you break them), but if you pick up NEW contracts to promote from struck companies, it would count as scabbing. One video also said that you should email SAGAFTRAstrike@sagaftra.org if you are a non-union member seeking clarity about an opportunity.

Get your information from SAG-AFTRA and WGA directly, or, in the case of the two people I've linked videos from... people who have a track record of sharing good information. Franchesca Ramsey is a writer, actor and content creator who's been speaking about the strike since WGA started picketing. Clara (thatclarified on TikTok) has also been sharing great and informative strike tea since the start of the WGA strike. Solidarity with unions on strike SHOULD come with a little personal discomfort.

[thebaebushka]

I wish that SAG-AFTRA was as good as WGA at trying to give guidelines to social media & influencers guidance as to what to avoid to support strikers. I know they don't feel community with us, but it would still be nice to know what counts as crossing picket lines.