#Mud Paws wc

[lemnnshark]

"Mud Paws is a tom with pale brown fur, and black rings of fur around his four black paws."

[shallowbreeze]

Mud Paws

Mud Paws is a tom with pale brown fur, and black rings of fur around his four black paws

[marmosetpaw]

[exocynraku]

mud paws, mouse ear

[norrisradio]

PEACH RING PROMISES

LINE BY LINE ᝰ.ᐟ “I know a place / It's somewhere I go when I need to remember your face / We get married in our heads / Something to do while we try to recall how we met” - The 1975, About You

ᝰ PAIRING: oscar piastri x f!reader | ᝰ WC: 1.1K ᝰ GENRE: established relationship, oscar is in love, there is a little baby cousin involved ᝰ INCOMING RADIO: this has been gathering dust in my wips for like. a week now but was then locked and loaded for an oscar miami win // not beta-read. we die like men ꨄ requested by @estellaelysian !

Some people go to church; you go to the treehouse. 

It sits crooked at the edge of the Piastri property line, half-swallowed by jasmine vines and the hum of summer. The planks are sun-bleached and splintering, nailed together with the blind optimism that only dads and four-year-olds share. But it’s still standing – stubborn, quiet, familiar – like the memory of a face you’ll never forget. 

Today, it overlooks a backyard choked with folding chairs and sunburnt uncles, picnic blankets and toddlers sugar-high on too many juice boxes. The barbeque is in full swing – OScar’s mum’s at the grill, his dad’s holding court with a beer in one hand and a story in the other, and someone’s blasting Seven Nation Army from a portable speaker (you swear you see Oscar roll his eyes when some of his family members start changing the lyrics to include his name).

You had just finished your second helping of potato salad when Theo, Oscar’s five-year-old cousin and self-appointed general of the under-five army, came barreling toward the two of you like a missile in Paw Patrol socks. 

“Hide and seek!” he declared, panting, cheeks red. “You’re it!” 

Oscar looked up from your shared plate, looking deeply betrayed. “Why am I always it?” 

“Because you’re tall!” Theo whined, tugging at his hand. “And you never play with me.” 

Which was a bold accusation, considering Oscar had spent the morning pushing him around on a plastic trike and pretending to be a race car announcer. Still, Oscar hesitated – eyeing the shady comfort of the patio – until you leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

“Come on,” you murmured, soft and smug. “Don’t make me count.” 

So he sighed, knelt down, and covered his eyes with a dramatic groan. “One…. two…. three…” 

You slipped away, giggling, weaving past lawn chairs and coolers and sticky-fingered children until you reached the edge of the yard, ducking beneath the canopy of trees. 

And now, here you are. 

The treehouse looks almost shy, peeking out between branches. The ladder’s still rickety, the walls still wonky, but it holds you like it remembers you. You climb inside and sit cross-legged on the floorboards, brushing dust from the heart you once drew into the wood with a rock. Your initials, backwards and misshapen, look like you carved them yesterday. 

You got married here once – four years old, caked in mud, with Hattie (barely out of pull-ups, in a bright orange tutu) acting as both officiant and chief witness. You gave Oscar a peach ring. He cried when you ate it thirty minutes later. 

You kissed his cheek with grass-stained lips and told him he was silly. “We don’t need a ring,” you’d said, wiping his nose with the hem of your shirt. “We love each other. That’s the proof.” 

You don’t hear the ladder creak, but you know it’s him before he speaks. 

“Hiya,” Oscar says, ducking into the doorway like a hippo trying to fit into a china shop. His grin is crooked. Warm. His curls are longer now, haloing his face like he’s been touched by sunlight. 

“How’d you find me?” 

“Our wedding venue,” he says drily, brushing a leaf from your hair. “Bit of a cop-out though. You didn’t even try.” 

You scoff and whip a twig at him. It bounces harmlessly off his shoulder. “You weren’t even counting properly,” you reply. “Hattie taught you better than that.” 

He folds himself beside you like an accordion, limbs gangly, knees knocking into yours. “God,” he mutters, glancing around. “We were tiny.” 

“You still are,” your chirp. That earns you a pinch to your side. You shriek and nearly kick out a support beam. 

When the air settles, you rest your chin on your knee and say, “If we get married-”

“When we get married,” he correct instantly, poking your ribs. 

You roll your eyes but the corners of your mouth betray you. “Fine. When we get married, have you thought about the venue?”

He hums thoughtfully, shifting to lie down with his head in your lap. You card your fingers through his curls, watching them spring back into place. They curve around his ears, golden at the tips, soft as they were when he was four and you made him cry. 

“What’s wrong with the venue of our first wedding?” he asks, cracking one eye open. “I’ve heard great things about the officiant. Real prodigy.” 

You snort. “She also tried to eat a snail halfway through the vows.” 

“A creative soul.” 

Before you can respond, the hatch slams open. 

“You FORGOT about me, Oz!” Theo screeches, hauling himself into the treehouse with all the righteous fury of a betrayed war general. 

Oscar barely has time to yelp before Theo flops into your lap like a royal cat, shoving Oscar’s head out of the way with a chubby hand. 

“I was winning,” Oscar insists, pressing loud, dramatic kisses to his cousin’s sticky curls and apologizing like it’s the end of the world. You laugh until your sides ache. 

Eventually, Oscar untangles himself and groans, cracking every joint like he’s been in a clown car. “There’s only so much cramping a man can take,” he says, grabbing Theo under the arms and turning back to you with an outstretched hand. 

You take it. 

The descent is careful – Theo held like a football, your hand snug in his. Your feet hit the grass and the smell of charcoal and sunscreen floods your lungs. 

“You guys would be a good mommy and daddy,” Theo announces suddenly, chin tilted up, tone as casual as if he were commenting on the weather. 

Oscar throws a cheeky wink at you over his head. You groan and shake your head, the laugh bubbling up anyways. 

“BUT!” Theo says quickly, yanking your hand to pull you closer like he’s about to reveal state secrets. “Maisie told me mommies and daddies have to be married. Are you guys MARRIED?” 

“Yes,” Oscar says immediately, just as you snap, “No!” 

“Oscar!” you slap his chest, scandalized. 

“What?” he shrugs, entirely unbothered, not even trying to hide the smile. “Feels true.” 

Theo frowns. “Where are your rings? Married people have rings.” 

Oscar reaches for your hand and you swat it away, faking disgust. He smirks. “We don’t need them,” he says easily. “We’re in love.”

His cousin accepts this with a sage nod only toddlers can pull off, then wriggles free and barrels across the yard, lungs at full capacity. 

“MUM! MUM! OSCAR IS MARRIED! THEY’RE MARRIED! I SAW! THEY SAID!” 

You groan, hiding your face in his shoulder. “He’s going to tell your entire family.” 

Oscar just grins, stepping behind you to wrap his arms around your shoulders. “It’s already happened once,” he says, brushing a kiss to your temple. “And it’s going to happen again. Isn’t it?” 

You don’t answer – not out loud. But your fingers find his where they rest over your heart, and you hold them there. 

[rainychaoloveshack]

hiiii i stumbled across ur blog like a couple days ago and. ive been so obsessed with all ur posts theyre so yummy!!! (ESPECIALLY UR BOOM??? ik u mentioned u werent all that familar with him but,,, that one oneshot had me salivating oml)

anyways could i maybe ask for a sonic x reader where they give him a bath bc he's stinky 🤧 just modern/game is fine smile

ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ ☂︎ ⋆ ﾟ 𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞. 𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐠.

sonic had a nice adventure outside. unfortunately, remnants of said adventure were brought into your home. its bath time.

⋆°•☁︎ content . sonic x gn!reader, fluff, sort of shitpost-esque writing but i still did take it seriously i swear anon

☂︎ wc. 1.1k ☂︎ a/n. hueheh this request had me giggling. silly dirty ass mf 😭😭😭 i was messing around during it huehehe this is your reminder to not take me too seriously sometimes 😋still pretty short but i hope you like it ^^ def not my best work but i hope you like it regardless ^^'

likes, reblogs, and especially comments are extremely appreciated!!! (i like chatting to you guys!)

“You know I can take a simple bath by myself, right?” Sonic growls, watching you kneel down and check the water's temperature for him with your forefinger. Not too hot, not too cold. “Plus, I already took a shower. The dirt’s gone already. No need for a bath, right?” Now why is he acting like that bathtub is going to kill him? 

“Could’ve gotten it all out if you hadn’t pulled me out the shower.” He mutters. “If you had wanted me to take a bath at all, you should’ve said that bef-” You frown, interrupting his rambling by knocking on the side of the bathtub with your fingers in a way that’s telling him to hurry up and get in. You can still smell the mud on him.

And it’s not bad to take precautions. Plus, if the shower didn’t get every single spec of dirt out of his quills, the bath will. Having even one spec of dirt come back inside the house after Sonic’s grand entrance of mud-filled footsteps, and right after you had to clean said mess, might just make you go crazy.

“I already said I was sorry...” He trails off, peering into the tub before taking a step back. You mutter a short curse his way and tug him by his arm, refusing to take no for an answer.

Sonic winces slightly at the volume of the water in the tub but lets out a sigh once he sees your stern expression. “Oh, alright…” He grumbles, spitting out soft curses about his distaste for water as he slips off his gloves, following with his socks right after.

… Paw-beans.

“Hmm?” Sonic’s ear flicks at your small murmuring, turning your way just as he’s about to step into the bath. “You say something?”

You shake your head, trying to make him forget your small slip-up, and urge him into the tub with a small shove. The moment his foot enters the water, you can visibly see a shiver tremble through his body.

“Eugh.” Despite his little complaints, he takes another step in the bubbly water, slowly settling himself into it with unpleasant grumbling, the water reaching up to his chin. “Make it fast. Being submerged in water for too long makes me uneasy…”

Like him? Make it as fast as ‘Sonic speed’, some might say?

His head snaps in your direction, opening his mouth to say something back to your crude teasing, but it closes instantly as you cup water into your hands and pour it over his head, watching it run off his quills and back into the bath.

That shut him up quickly. 

And so it begins.

The water runs down and seeps into his fur, then drips off once it gets too soaked, mixing with the bubbly suds already present. You rub his ear in a slow motion, cupping water up from the bath and pouring it over to get any extra dirt out. So far so surprisingly good; the baths running fairly clear, besides the small bit of dirt or so. Maybe he did get all the dirt out after all? Or maybe it was just his shoes that were the problem? No, then you wouldn’t have seen all those specs of black and brown in his fur. What, did he roll down a hill or-

“Hey, be careful with my quills!” Sonic’s body flinches as you accidentally prod and pull too deeply during your thoughts. “Can’t you be a little more gentle? The bath’s been clear for the past half hour.” He clarifies. “At this point, I’m not sure if you’re still trying to get any dirt out, or if you just like pampering me.”

Oh. Well damn.

Your hand lowers from his head, and it dawns upon you that yes, for once Sonic is actually right about your behavior, and the embarrassment washes over your figure, staggering your motions as you go to unplug the drain, but he stops you with a small kick of his foot at your hand.

“I didn’t say you had to stop.” Sonic mutters, before putting on his best ‘I deserve the world’ act a spoiled child would have towards everyone else. “I’m actually enjoying the attention!” He puffs his chest out, trying to put on a smug face for you, but a splash of water in his face turns that smugness to irritation, shaking his head around like a dog would their body as water flings in every direction possible. You hold your hands up in front of your face, your soaking wet hands dripping onto your lap and the bathroom floor as you shield yourself from the blue blurs little water assault. Ugh. Looks like he’s getting a kick out of your annoyance.

“It’s not so bad.” Sonic says plainly, flexing his fingers in the water in front of him, before adjusting himself to rest his arms on the tub’s edge, resting his head down to let your preen and run your fingers through his quills, forgetting to scrub through them at all. “You know, I wouldn’t mind if you pampered me like this more often.” Sonic reaches over and drags a soggy, wet, finger across your arm, leaving small water droplets on your skin as he moves it up towards your hand, currently resting on your lap as the other one rubs against his shoulder briefly. “Think I deserve it a little, ya’ know?” He shimmies his shoulders a bit, yet his tail wags all the same under the water, eager for your answer, even if you give him a plain ‘no’.

Well, if he could be more aware of himself and clean up after his little escapades, you would. But for now, the punishment bath it is. Though, with the way he was acting at first, someone might’ve thought he was taking a small dunk in acid.

Sonic doesn’t utter a word at your own little joke, but he shakes his head disapprovingly, glaring at you for a few seconds as his eyes flick over you up and down, then he relaxes. “You’re gonna help me dry off after this too, right?” He chirps, and you shake your head, already firm in the belief that you deserve some rest after cleaning up the house. Not to mention the other house chores you’ve already done today.

“Aw man...” Sonic says softly, before growling under his breath in your direction, ears pinning down, obviously in a joking manner, and he flicks some water in your direction off his fingertips, splashing onto your shirt and lap. “You can’t just take me a bath and then chicken out once we’re almost at the finish line! Come on.” Another flick of water comes flying your way, this time hitting you in the face, and you scowl, cupping up some water in your palm to splash it back at him.

“Aw, hey, come on!” His tone of voice makes it sound like a complaint, but his expression is the complete opposite; a fat grin spreads across his muzzle and another small splash of water makes its way to you, soaking your shirt. Oh, so that's how it is?

“What? What’re you gonna do about it?”

Stupid hedgehog. Sometimes it’s a mystery how you haven’t gone crazy by now from all his antics.

… Oh well; time to fetch that towel.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

.⋆｡Of The Wilds｡⋆.

Robb Stark x plus size reader

Robb forgets his roots, his wife guides him back

Warnings: Robb lives au, fluff, smut but not greatly described, mention of war and arranged marriage, public sex WC: 1.3k

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

The change in the air was thick, like a blanket of fog settling over Winterfell. And with it came the responsibility of winter. Robb had seen his father bear this burden and now it was his to carry. Stoke up the stores of dried meats from the autumn hunts, ensure the battlements were armed, the townsfolk had adequate wood for their hearths, and make sure that what remained of his family would be warm and fed for what he was expecting to be the longest winter the North had experienced since his forefathers. At least he would not have to journey to what remained of the wall.

He constantly questioned if he was doing things correctly, if he was doing enough. The cold nipped at his soul, a warning of what was to come and what would happen if he failed. Jon and Sana offered their help but Robb refused. He wanted them to recover and enjoy the last freedom they would get until the snows slowed and the sun returned. 

“You’re going to work yourself to death before winter is really here.” 

“I will rest when everything is done.” He replied, earning him an indigent huff. 

“You are being stubborn, my king.” His quill stopped. He could almost feel your smirk.

“I am doing my duty, there’s a difference.” The smell of lavender invaded his senses as you curled yourself around his shoulders, as did the hint of wine upon your breath. Your soft hands delved into the cut of his shirt, seeking out the warmth of his body so shamelessly it made a longing begin to stir in his gut.

Your lips fit perfectly into the crook of his neck, kissing softly at the small scar right by his pulse. “What about your duty as a husband?” He suppressed a shiver when your touch travelled lower.

“I would say that I fulfilled that this morning.” Your nails dug into his stomach and Robb couldn’t help but release a groan. You smiled against his skin, pressing your soft body as close as you could to your husband’s back.

“That was yesterday my love, dawn will break soon. You need to get out of this room, for my sake at least.” You pulled back, keeping contact with his skin until the tips of your fingers rested at the nape of his neck. Suddenly, the chill of the room seemed much colder. Robb finally turned to face you.

The horizon was lined with a pale pink, illuminating your figure just so that he could see the outline of your curves through your night dress. Your eyes were bleary with exhaustion but your smile was just as bright as it had ever been. Just as it had been on your wedding day; in the mud of a field in the South, right before his army stormed King’s Landing. Something throbbed in his chest.

“Come.” You ordered, holding out a hand for him to take. He slipped from his seat and the warmth returned to his bones. The halls of Winterfell were still sleeping as you led him down past the tapestries and stones. Robb knew he should turn you down, that he still had so much left to do but the feeling of your hand in his, the way that you moved, all he wanted to do was drag you into bed and make due on his promises. 

Robb’s brows pulled together as you guided him towards the narrow staircase he knew led outside. “And where are you taking me, wife?” You just looked back at him and smiled.

It was colder at the bottom of the stairs, little flakes of snow drifted in from where the heavy wooden door had been propped open by a familiar paw. Robb could’ve scoffed as you pulled the door open the rest of the way, revealing the light grey fur of what was supposed to be his loyal companion.

“I thought I had ordered that he was to remain in the kennels at night.” Greywind’s tail thumped against the snow as you stroked the top of his great head, almost looking sheepish.

“You said that yes but you seem to forget that I am queen, and more importantly, he is a very good boy.” The direwolf stood and walked off into the snow, glancing back at you a couple times as he followed the path to the Godswood. Robb looked at you just in time to see you pull two fur cloaks from behind a wood pile.

“How long have you been planning this?” He asked, taking the offered cloak from your hand with a playful scowl. 

The fur wrapped around your shoulders, concealing your body from Robb’s hungry gaze. He shook off the snowflakes from his curls and followed suit. “How do you think I got everyone to leave you alone today?” 

“Sansa.” He answered, now acutely aware of how his little sister had been steadily stealing some of his duties for the past week. Your fingers tangled with his once more.

The dark silhouettes of the trees called to him, a wolf’s howl that he was compelled to return. And though the sky was growing lighter, there was no colour that accompanied the sun, leaving the King and Queen of the North wandering the still landscape as if in a dream. Greywind vanished between the branches and trunks, his footsteps creating a trail for them to follow. 

Robb was grateful that his wife remained silent as you walked, as much as he loved you and worshipped you, you were a symptom of what rested upon his shoulders. Your marriage, while now carved from love, was originally from duty— your father had an army and you had support. Your children would be princes and princesses, the legacy of your house would be carved into stone rather than paper.

Your touch kept him grounded, your voice the sound of reason, your smile the guiding light through the storm of politics and war. He let you pull him through the woods until the familiar sight of the Godswood revealed itself to you.

You came to a stop at the base of the great tree, where Greywind was already waiting for you both, his blue eyes observing you with a human understanding. The snow shifted as you turned to Robb. “What are we doing here so early in the morn?”

“You’ve forgotten yourself, Robb Stark. You have conquered Westeros, paved the path for a new, fair dynasty. You’ve defeated the strongest and most well-armed army that has ever existed using only your wits and your charm.” Your grip on his hand tightened and you stepped closer. Your breath fogged up between you. “You became Warden of the North, then King. You helped the right woman regain her throne while giving freedom to your people.”

Your cold hand cupped his jaw, stroking the stubble that he let grow far longer than he should’ve. “But above all of that; you are a Stark. A wolf, a man who upholds his vows. You were forged from the winter and ice yet you blaze like dragon fire for those you love and I find myself so lucky that I get to be one of those rare few. So, we are here to remind you of just who you are.”

The kiss began slowly, your lips brushing against his but when Robb grabbed your wide hip with a crushing grip heat exploded within you. His tongue licked at your bottom lip as you both sank to your knees. You planted a hand upon his shoulder, encouraging him to lay back but Robb refused to budge, instead he gently laid you down, the fur keeping the snow from freezing your body.

Your legs parted, letting your husband nestle his hips against yours. You undid the ties of his trousers with an adeptness that betrayed your desperation. “So needy my love? One might think you enjoy being taken in the snow like an animal.”

“Like a wolf.” You moaned back, letting out a gasp as he breached you. Pleasure shot up his spine. 

Robb rut into you like a dog, desperate, wild, right. It felt so raw but he couldn’t stop, he wouldn’t, because you were right. This was who he is. You pulled him closer, your lips fitting to his ear.

“My wolf.” Your cries vanished into the dawn.

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[silentium-symphony]

Starved (Link x Reader) SMUT

(a/n) link smut link smut link smut li--shot this is very NSFW, so minors please do not interact.

click here for a completely accidental sequel... ;)

cw: afab!reader, wife!reader being a silly lil goose (an Anser gooficia if you will), a nice homecooked meal :), teasing heh, quickly followed by--oh fuck oh shit wait what the fu, link gets rough, also he’s got a DIRTY MOUTH—loosely had wild in mind but i think any of the chain can work here (except for wind ofc), cute nicknames, breeding kink towards the end shhh

wc: 3.7k

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

Link's eyes blurred in and out, battling the heavy droplets that hammered his lashes. The foreign meadows that wrapped him and Epona had begun rolling into familiar hills, which sent a flicker of warmth in his shivering chest.

He was almost there. Almost home.

Thoughts of his beloved wife wanting waiting for him spurred him forward. He clicked his tongue and Epona hastened her pace. Link stroked his loyal steed’s muscular neck with love and gratefulness, making a mental note that she was due for a buffet of freshly-picked apples when they get back. He cooed in her ear, laughing at the lighthearted (albeit very tired) whinny he got in response.

The dim glimmer of a house dotted the horizon. As far as his mind was concerned he was already home, wrapping you up in his rain-logged arms and deluging you with kisses and promises to make up for lost time. If he thought hard enough, he could smell that familiar meat and veggie stew you know he loves so much and feel your hands run up his back with heated gasps through his hair by the fireplace, drying him of the rain.

And he was starving. Gods, he needed real food. It had been pouring nonstop for the past few days, and he hadn't eaten a proper meal since the last town he visited (how many days has it been?). If he had to snack on one more apple he was gonna lose it (though Epona would disagree).

The steady steed clopped up the hill, hooves sinking into the mud and slick as she dutifully carried her rider up the steep slope. Her neck whipped back and forth, almost sallying herself to keep going. She saw a familiar roof come into view as well as her (sadly empty) trough. No matter. He would surely fix her a good meal before retiring her for the night.

Link could barely withold his excitement as the top of his door peaked past the hill. He steered Epona into her stable, dismounted, and carefully removed her tack, pressing appreciative nuzzles into her neck. She pawed the ground, motioning at her trough and Link supplied her with an extra hefty helping of dry hay.

Your ears perked up at the high-pitched whinny from outside and you immediately looked out your window. A thick curtain of droplets racing down the glass obscured your vision. You sighed, turning your attention to the ladle lazily mixing the stew. The strong, hearty aroma of the thick, bubbling concoction got you recounting the time you presented the meal to your then-lover Link. You've joked that this is the dish that convinced him to marry you (though he denies such a thing, stating that he would have married you regardless). You smiled desolately at the distant memory and focused your eyes on a log that had collapsed in the fire.

Four knocks broke the silence and your body stiffened. You slowly turned towards the door, hands sweating and heart catapulting to your throat. Could it be...?

Four knocks rang louder this time and you felt your body flinging to the oaken barrier. Your taut fingers knotted around the door handle and you cracked it open.

"Link!!!"

You crashed into each other, gripping each other like a sweet, fleeting dream. You buried your face in his chest, not caring that the soaked fabric was clinging to your skin.

“I’ve missed you…” You looked up to meet soft, adoring eyes and you reached up to sink a deep kiss onto his lips. He almost staggered backward, feeling his knees turn to jelly from the sensation. The ache from countless nights of merely remembering this feeling dissipated instantly and he wrapped you closer to him.

The clamor of violent bubbling ripped your attention from your beloved as you saw the contents of the pot begin to boil over.

"Agh! No!" You slipped from his arms and attended to your sobbing stew, wiping its tears away with your apron and stirring it quickly. Link stepped in, basking in the warmth and the smells of home. He missed this. He missed you.

As much as he wanted to just collapse into your arms or on the couch, he stayed in place, not wanting to tarnish the recently cleaned floors. He had been married to you long enough to know what the floors looked like when cleaned, and how much you hated the muddy footprints he would accidentally leave behind. So he waited, feasting his eyes on your swaying figure.

You took the pot off the fire and set it down on the dining table. You looked up.

"What're you doing over there? Come here!"

He hesitated, cautious eyes flitting to the floor and his little island of a doormat. You laughed, heart warming at the level of care he had for your domestic efforts. How did you get so lucky?

You ran to get the fluffiest towel you owned and threw it over his head, lightly scrunching and ruffling his locks into the fabric. You didn't comment on the blush spreading on his cheeks or the stiff shuffle he had to do to hide the growth in his pants, instead allowing a small, knowing smirk to grace your lips.

Despite your ardent adoration for your husband, you hated how long he had to be away from home. While not his fault by any means, you couldn't help the growing desire to... tease him as 'punishment' for all the cold, lonely nights you spent in your shared bed.

Your hands found the hem of his shirt and in one smooth motion threw it over his head and onto the floor (noting to clean it up later). He gasped, his mind barely processing what just happened as you wrapped the towel behind his back and pulled him closer to you. You rubbed his sides, patted his torso, and traced the V-shaped outline that led down his groin. He shivered, barely holding back a whine, and blue eyes met your doe ones hungrily. You knew what you were doing. You knew exactly what you were doing.

An innocent smile splayed your lips as your hands lowered, gripping the elastic of his pants and tugging slightly downwards. An audible noise left his mouth and a hand flew to cover your fingers--not to stop you, but just out of sheer shock. You stepped back, lips still pulled into an oblivious lil' grin.

"Be right back. I'm gonna grab you a new pair of pants."

You skipped away from your steaming husband, leaving him half naked and with thoughts of you writhing underneath him, begging for sweet release that brought him happiness.

:)

Still feigning faux naïveté, you handed him a pair of warm, dry pants and pulled out his favorite chair. You turned around, oh so conveniently remembering to grab the bowls and spoons and such from the cupboard (just long enough for your husband to change clothes). The "suck-pop" of wet feet leaving wetter boots and the shuffle of moving fabric ceased, signaling that it was safe for you to turn around. You placed a bowl, a spoon, a handkerchief, and a mug of water at your respective places on the table. You accessorized the pot of stew with a basket of freshly baked bread; you finally sat down and clasped your hands in thanks to Hylia for bringing your husband back safe and sound.

You immediately dug in, one of you much more voracious than the other. You amusedly slid the handkerchief closer to the occupied Link, whose cheeks were packed with meat and bread. He eyed you thankfully and lightly tapped his mouth of stains, swallowing and sighing contentedly.

"When was the last time you had eaten?" You asked, just now noticing his slightly hollowed cheeks.

His refusal to meet your gaze wrought your stomach with worry.

"Link..." You sighed, reaching for and rubbing his wrist. "My love, you can't skip meals like that..."

"It had been a few days since I last checked into an inn," he started, "and the rain has kept me from getting a fire going."

"What about the snacks I packed for you?"

He slipped an empty sack onto the table, a scatter of crumbs proof to be the last remnants of the previously plentiful cornucopia. A pitying look tinged your features and you squeezed his hand.

"That's okay, love. So long as you're here, I'll cook whatever you want!"

A wicked idea crossed his mind, contrasting the affectionate smile he flashed you.

"Thank you, (F/N). Actually, I have been craving something... sweet lately. Is there anything quick you can whip up?"

"Hm... Something sweet and qui-- Oh! That could work!"

You hurriedly finished the rest of your bowl's contents and immediately went to work on a recipe your friends recently told you about.

"A couple days ago, my friends were telling me about this thing called a 'mug cake.' It's exactly how it sounds--it's a cake in a mug!" You were so excited over the sugary innovation that you hadn't noticed the tall figure sauntering over to you. "Let me see if I can find the recipe... I know I wrote it down somewhere..."

A pair of arms snaked about you and rubbed shallow circles into your hips, eliciting a breathy gasp from your mouth. His nose buried itself into your hair, filling his lungs with your scent. He picked up traces of tonight’s dinner but it combined so pleasantly with your natural, sugary scent. He gently pressed your body against the countertop. Skillful hands prodded your inner thigh as his face fell to your neck, nibbling the soft flesh and drawing the cutest mewls out of you.

"I know what you were doing earlier." His voice reverberated against your neck, sorting your thoughts into a hazy mess. "And I am to return your teasing tenfold."

The hand on your thigh slipped in between your legs, dragging his fingertips along the edges of your undergarments. Your goosebumps tickled his chin and you threw your head back, a needy whine leaving your quivering form. He slotted his tented heat between you, slowly, lightly, teasingly thumbing the wet spot that had begun to stain your underwear.

You grinded your hips against his fingerpad, the rubbing of wet fabric and his fingers rocking your mind with unspeakable pleasures.

"I've hardly done anything to you and you're already so wet for me..." He purred, hands reaching for your chest. "Now, be a good girl and spread your legs."

You blindly followed his simple command, shuffling your legs to allow better access for his hand. His digits continued their sinful ministrations, your sloppy cunt filling the kitchen with lewd noises. His other hand cupped your breasts, his palm sinking, digging into the soft flesh. Your mouth opened to let out a gasp, quickly turning into a yelp when Link began sucking not so gently on your neck. He teethed and tongued the same spot until you felt your poor skin bruise under his treatment; content, he'd move on to repeat the same wicked treatment until he was absolutely satisfied with how beautifully red your skin had turned.

"L-Link..."

"Shhh... Let me pleasure you tonight."

Tears had begun spilling out of your eyes, which he hungrily kissed away. You turned your head, locking his lips into a messy, needy kiss. A hot wetness dragged across your bottom lip, demanding entrance into your wet cavern. The tip of your tongue went to meet his but he had already slipped into your mouth; he pressed his lips deeper into yours. More. He needs more. He pinched your cheeks to open your mouth and he pulled away to watch the saliva trail connecting your tongues snap.

Hooded, lust-fogged eyes met his and his heart quickened. Your vacant, dazed, sloppy expression told him that your brain had turned to mush long ago and you were now his for the taking.

An arm slipped behind your knees and hoisted you up bridal style. You lazily wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down and you up to imprint his lips with another kiss. This one was more tender, lips expertly moving together with the knowledge of what needed to be done to pull the longest, poutiest whine out of you. He turned around for his back to push the bedroom door open, snapping it shut with his hips and gingerly setting you on the freshly washed downy bedsheets.

He climbed atop you on all fours, taking a moment to get drunk on the sight before him. Eyes staring blankly, starvingly at him, silky (H/C) trusses splayed this way and that, a faint hint of cleavage with each haggard breath--Gods, the things he's gonna do to you tonight.

"Show me," he panted, "how you've been pleasuring yourself while I was away."

Your cheeks snapped into a deep crimson, playing his filthy request over and over in your head. A quick bite to a perked, clothed nipple pulled you out of your thoughts and a sweet mix of pleasure and pain got you screaming his name.

"I'm done waiting. Touch yourself."

Like the obedient lamb you were, your hand dragged along the surface of your clothes (which he made quick work of, tearing it off you) until your fingers felt the familiar heat between your legs. You dragged your middle finger up your slit, flicking the engorged bud at the top. You sucked in a sharp breath and rubbed your clit in circular motions. You kept your eyes trained on his, not leaving them for a second lest he disappear and leave you to act on all your sinful thoughts alone. Despite your attempts to keep them on him, your eyes rolled to the back of your head and a dirty moan left your shaking form.

"That noise... Keep making it." He whispered absently, his hands fumbling to get the rest of his clothes off him. He assisted in taking off whatever was left on you (which wasn't much, most of which was settled and ripped on the floor). In a few short moments you were both clad in nothing but the other's gaze and the bluish glow of the moon at its peak.

"Oh, (F/N)..." He lowered his face and pushed his forehead tenderly against yours. "(F/N)..."

A lustful growl ripped out of his throat and your lips were once again caught with his. Your non-busy hand tangled itself in feathery gold, pulling on his locks as your other hand quickened. A firm grasp on your wrist pulled you away from your cunt and towards his throbbing dick.

"Rub your slick all over me."

Your hand pumped the hot, twitching thing rhythmically while his other hand went to replace what he had taken. You both let out a high-pitched sigh, enraptured in the others' hand.

One, two, three fingers effortlessly slipped into your entrance and you gasped, your upper body shooting upwards. A conveniently placed thumb jammed against your sensitive bud, sending shockwaves throughout your whole body. A husky chuckle rasped out of him as he matched his pacing with your pumping hand. Your eyelids flew shut, waves of pleasure crashing and thrashing your mind about.

"Don't close your eyes, sweet girl," he cooed, "look at me."

"Mm... B-But Link..."

A tight pinch around your clit sent you screaming.

"Look at me."

You cracked your eyes open just enough to see your husband's wrecked, panting, smiling expression.

"Yes... Look at me..." His thrusts quickened. "Look at me while I make a mess of you."

You felt that familiar knot tighten in your gut and your back arched, unknowingly rubbing your nipples against his. How could you feel such a small thing when your husband was practically fisting you at this point? Your husband, on the other hand, hissed at the contact, a shot of electricity shooting through his body that left his fingers tingling. He knew you were close. He knew you were so painfully close.

So why in Hylia's name did he suddenly stop?

"N-No... No, please, Link..." You begged, tears freely flowing down your cheeks. "Please, please, please just let me--"

"Don't you remember what I told you?" He hummed into your ear. "That I would return your teasing tenfold?"

"Link..." You whined; if it were any other day he would have given into those needy, pleading eyes.

But not today.

He wasn't done with you yet.

He waited for you to come down from your high, all the while relishing in your broken sobs for him to keep going as he thought about what else he could do to break you.

"Wrap your legs around me... Good girl..."

He positioned himself in between your legs and rubbed the tip of his cock against your entrance, mixing beads of precum with your juices.

"Now, what would you like me to do?" His innocently batting lashes juxtaposed the very not innocent position he was in.

"Link, just..." You rasped, your throat aching from all the gasping and screaming you've done. "Please..."

"Please, what? I'm afraid I won't know unless you tell me."

"Please..." You thickly swallowed. "Please put your throbbing cock inside my tight, hot cunt."

You slur out, your dazy state anesthetizing the embarrassment you felt. Link's eyes widened, evidently in disbelief that such a filthy sentence could leave your lips. He licked his mouth dryly, knowing that if he teased you any further you might make him come undone.

"Since you asked so nicely," he prodded your entrance and slipped just the tip in, "I suppose I have no choice but to do as you say."

With a quick snap of his hips, his entire length was in you. You screamed his name and threw your arms around his neck; a rush of colors exploded behind your eyelids as you squeezed his waist tighter. Your tight, wet walls barely had time to adjust to his size before he was mercilessly pounding you into the mattress. Your weak sobs mixed with pleasure-stricken screams as you dug your nails into his back, scarring the flesh with your love scratches.

He hissed at the deliciously painful sensation and cradled your head, using it to move further, faster, deeper into you. Your eyes floated to the ceiling which was the only thing grounding you to this reality as your mind slipped in and out of conscious thought. Hands moved from your head to your waist, lifting them slightly at just the right angle--

"Ah! Link!”

There it was.

It was all over for you the moment you let his name slip out of your mouth. He rammed himself against your sweet spot harder harder harder harder and you were completely, utterly at the mercy of your sex-starved husband.

"Gods, it's so good... You feel so good, (F/N)..."

His eyes met yours and it was filled to the brim with tender, nurturing love. You had no fucking idea how he could look so gentle while currently rearranging your organs. His lips brushed your tears away and swept your temple as his pace quickened and breathing turned haggard.

"My (F/N)... My sweet, sweet girl... My star, my goddess, my love..."

His love-garnered nicknames had your heart exploding in your chest and you were crying for a completely different reason.

"My darling, you look so beautiful... you feel so beautiful..."

His adoring eyes and quivering whispers worshipped your body, his temple, and the way it squeezed him so tightly.

"You're so good to me... So, so good to me..." His face lowered to nip the spot where your shoulder met your neck. "I'm so lucky to call you mine..."

The familiar, tight feeling from earlier gnarled your lower abdomen, begging for release so badly it hurt. You cast your eyes to Link's face, glistening with sweat and wrecked with pleasure. His eyes weren't even open anymore, completely lost in the sensations of being inside you.

"Link, f-faster--ah, don't stop, please don't stop...!"

"You want to cum, my goddess? Huh? You want to cum for me?"

His pace was the quickest, most erratic it's been. He's close too.

"Yes! Let me cum! Let me cum, please!"

Neither of you can stand much more.

"Mm! Say it..." He growled. "Say that you love me.”

"Link! I love you! I l-love--"

Thick ropes of cum shot inside you, painting your wet walls a pretty white. Feeling him fill you up was all you needed for the knot to come undone and for a wave of light to crash into you. Your head throbbed and throbbed, the ache and rush of blood filling your head dully adding to your pleasure. Your body twitched under him, squirming as it wracked with a high you've never experienced before. Link heaved a sigh, riding wave after wave of pleasure. Moving even slightly would get him seizing again, so he hovered over your body unmoving for a long time. He felt his seed slip out of your cunt despite his dick still plugging your entrance; a pleasant chill ran down his spine, an image of you round with his child permeating his thoughts.

A wicked idea crossed his mind, contrasting the affectionate smile he flashed you.

"Don't fall asleep just yet, dove," With hands still wrapped around your waist, he flipped you over and put you on all fours. "I'm not done with you yet."

♤♢ ~ bonus scene ~ ♡♧

Link pressed a soft kiss to your temple, cooing praises into your ear that rang with his and your pleasured screams. Not that you could hear it--you were passed the fuck out. A light yellow curtain broke the soft blue sky of morning and he smiled, thinking of all the things you could do together to make up for lost time. Maybe you can show him that “mug cake” thing. It does sound interesting.

You shifted in your sleep and mumbled incoherencies to no one in particular. Link paused, careful to not interrupt your precious sleep and waited patiently for you to settle. Once you did, his hands went back to caressing your cheek and playing with your hair. Now that he was back, he was gonna spoil you absolutely rotten.

[ilguna]

22 from prompt list 2 with Finnick please? Reader is taken by the Capitol after the Quarter Quell?

☼ anything for her (Finnick Odair) ☼

warnings; swearing, mentions of sex trafficking and prostitution, death, death mention, bomb mention, torture mention, a noose mention.

wc; 4.3k

notes; 22. "They won't take you away from me ever again."

--

“How did you meet Peeta?” Cressida asks Katniss.

She’s currently sitting on top of a fallen marble pillar, a result of the bombing that took place four days ago. Finnick, as well as many others, stand in the crater together, watching the Mockingjay. She has one hand in her lap, the other rubs the smooth rock while she thinks.

Katniss takes a breath, readying herself, and then breathes it out. “When I met Peeta, I was eleven years old, and I was almost dead.” She starts, before going on to tell the story of the awful day. She tells the camera that she had been trying to sell her younger sister’s baby clothes in the rain because they had been starving. 

By the time the market had closed, the hunting jacket that Katniss was wearing had been soaked through. She’d been shaking so badly that she dropped the clothes entirely, straight into a mud puddle, but instead of retrieving it, she left it there, afraid that if she bent over, she wouldn’t stand up again.

She didn’t want to go home, so she continued to stumble through the muddy streets of District Twelve, until she found herself behind the shops that served the rich. She explains that the merchants lived above their businesses, so she was basically in their backyards. She recalls seeing the garden beds not yet planted, a goat or two in a pen, and one wet dog tied to a post, hunched over.

At that moment, she decided that she’d tried to search the trash bins because they were fair game. She was hoping to find scrap, something that no one else would want except for her family. Unfortunately, all the bins had just been emptied. She still tried, going from shop to shop.

When she had gotten to the baker’s—Peeta’s family’s bakery—she was stuck. The smell of the bread was dizzying, the glow of the oven peeked out from beneath the kitchen door, and the heat held her there just long enough. Then the rain brought her back, she lifted the trash lid, and found nothing.

Peeta’s mother, the baker’s wife, appeared to tell her to move on, threatening to call the Peacekeepers. She told Katniss that she was sick of brats from the Seam pawing through her trash. And despite how ugly the words that came from her were, she had no defense.

She went to leave, but noticed him. Peeta. He was standing behind his mother, and Katniss recognized him from school, knew he was in her grade, yet couldn’t recall his name. He spent his time with the town kids, there was no reason for her to know who he was.

Katniss didn’t go far, only to sit behind the pen that held their pig, leaning against the far side of a strong apple tree. The realization that she would go home empty handed again had finally hit her. With this, she felt sick, sliding down the tree to sit on the roots.

Katniss’s voice is low when she speaks, “‘Let them call the Peacekeepers and take us to the community home,’ I thought, ‘Or better yet, let me die right here in the rain’.” 

She pauses for a second, and then says that she heard a commotion in the bakery, the wife suddenly screaming, the sound of a blow. She thought that it was his mother coming out to drive her away, but it was Peeta. In his arms, he held two large loaves of bread with crusts that were scorched black.

“His mother was yelling, ‘Feed it to the pig, you stupid creature! WHy not? No one decent will buy burned bread!’.”

Peeta began to rip off chunks of the burned bread to toss them into the trough. His mother had been standing over his shoulder until the front bakery bell rang, which called her to the shop to help the customer. 

Katniss says that Peeta never glanced in her direction, but her eyes were on him. They were glued to the red mark that stood out against his skin on his cheekbone. While she began to wonder what she hit him with, he took one glance back at the bakery, returned to looking at the pigs, and then tossed a loaf toward Katniss. The second one quickly followed.

Without a word, Peeta went back inside of the bakery, closing the door behind him.

Katniss was stunned for a long moment, unsure if he’d actually meant to toss them at her feet. When she realized that he must’ve, she shoved them beneath her shirt, pulled the hunting jacket tightly around her body, and walked away before anyone could come forth as a witness. She says that the heat of the bread had burned her skin, but she wasn’t going to let them go.

The loaves had cooled by the time she got home, the insides still being warm. She made her mother and sister sit at the table while she cut off the burnt part. From there, they ate an entire loaf, slice by slice. 

“We had never even spoken. The first time I ever talked to Peeta was on the train to the Games.” Katniss finishes.

“But he was already in love with you.” Cressida says,

“I guess so.” Katniss has a small smile on her face.

"How are you doing with the separation?”

“Not well.” She admits, “I know at any moment Snow could kill him. Especially since he warned Thirteen about the bombing. It’s a terrible thing to live with. But because of what they’re putting him through, I don’t have any reservations anymore. About doing whatever it takes to destroy the Capitol. I’m finally free.” She tilts her head back, looking at the sky. At the same time, a hawk soars above. 

She continues, “President Snow once admitted to me that the Capitol was fragile. At the time, I didn’t know what he meant. It was hard to see clearly because I was so afraid. Now I’m not. The Capitol’s fragile because it depends on the districts for everything. Food, energy, even the Peacekeepers that police us. If we declare our freedom, the Capitol collapses. President Snow, thanks to you, I’m officially declaring mine today.”

Cressida holds up a hand, the recording stops. Katniss gets to her feet, brushing the debris from her butt while the camera crew regroups. When she glances in Finnick’s way, he gives her an encouraging smile.

A few feet away, Plutarch Heavensbee has a crease between his eyebrows, eyes staring at a chunk of the concrete a few feet away, gears turning in his head. While Katniss’s story about how she first encountered Peeta was sweet, it wasn’t captivating enough. At least to him. He needs a story that will keep the Capitol citizens glued to the television screen for every second.

His eyes physically light up, head rising. His eyes land on Finnick first, beckoning him over, and then Haymitch. Finnick starts forward, pulling his hands out of his pockets, but never letting go of the rope that keeps him occupied. He runs his thumb over the worn fibers, eyebrows raising.

“We need more.” Plutarch says as soon as they’re in earshot. His attention is set on Haymitch. “A story with more,” He motions with his hands. Finnick gets what he’s trying to say, he wants grand. Something that will have the Capitol scrambling. “I was wondering if you had anything like that.”

Haymitch’s face screws in. “What are you suggesting?”

“Something that the Capitol hasn’t heard of before. Your Games weren’t rerun the same way the others were. No one knows the full story.” Plutarch is trying to lay it on gently, but it’s fairly obvious what he’s asking for.

Haymitch’s stare becomes hard, eyes narrowing. “I’m not doing that.”

“Not even to save Peeta?”

“No.” 

Now Plutarch looks at Finnick. “I know you have some to tell, or at least one that will work.”

“He doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to do.” Haymitch says.

“This will help to get (Y/n) out of the Capitol.” Plutarch emphasizes. “Not everyone knows what happens to the victors following their win. Only the elite has access to information like that. If it gets out, then this will have the Capitol scrambling to silence us.”

Finnick can feel the blood run from his face and begin to pool at his feet. He knows what Plutarch is asking for. He wants Finnick to open up about what had been happening to him for years. What he was instructed to do as soon as he turned sixteen, and what he carried on doing from then on.

His forced prostitution—the sex trafficking. It’s not something that Finnick talks about openly whenever he wants. In fact, he takes care to hide it as much as possible, to make it a minor factor of his life. As if it’s not as big of a deal as everyone makes it out to be.

Because of it, he purposely adopted the persona that everyone sees. It worked out in his favor, not even Mags knew what was happening to him. It wasn’t until he started to date his sweet girlfriend, you did the mask begin to fall apart. He had to tell you what was happening to him to keep you from thinking that he was cheating on you. 

For four years he had bottled that detail inside of him, and as soon as he spoke it out loud, the glass shattered. He couldn’t reel in the uncontrollable tears that overcame him, as you tried to console him. At the end of the night, he was sure he’d scared you off. But you came around the next morning, never speaking about his darkest secret until he brought it up himself.

It became easier to talk about the more you listened. It didn’t feel like a hot iron was burning inside of his body each time he thought about it anymore. When he was sure that he had passed the first hurdle, he finally told Mags. From then on, he was able to live with it a little easier because he finally had the support he needed.

That doesn’t mean it made it any easier to do. It was like a knife was being held to his throat. President Snow could destroy his life if he wanted to. One toe out of line and his family would be gone.

What Finnick never took into consideration was that he could turn it around to be a weapon of his own. Right now. He can expose Snow the same way he stripped Finnick down to his bare bones. And it would be a way to help his girlfriend, to bring her back to him.

“Okay.” Finnick slowly nods. “I’ve got one.”

Plutarch raises his eyebrows, holding a hand out to the pillar as a way to direct him over. “Good, good.”

Finnick moves to sit in the same spot where Katniss had been moments prior. The camera crew notices this, Cressida watches as Plutarch draws closer, telling them that it’s his turn to speak.

“You don’t have to do this.” Haymitch tells Finnick.

“Yes, I do. If it will help her.” Finnick balls the rope up in his hand. “I’m ready.”

The crew takes a moment to find the right lightning for Finnick, adjusting several times until it’s up to Cressida’s liking. When it’s perfect, she counts down from five, but Finnick doesn’t start speaking until the red light on the camera comes to life.

Regret hits Finnick like a truck.

This is for (Y/n), he reminds himself, this is to bring her home.

“President Snow used to… sell me… my body, that is.” Finnick starts slowly, wanting to get this right. He watches as Cressida stiffens where she stands. “I wasn’t the only one. If a victor is considered desirable, the president gives them as a reward or allows people to buy them for an exorbitant amount of money. If you refuse, he kills someone you love. So you do it.”

He presses his lips together, eyes wandering away. This confession does not feel the same way it did when he told you and Mags. Then, it was shameful. Now, there’s a drive of power behind it. And Finnick’s in control.

“I wasn’t the only one, but I was the most popular.” He looks at the camera. “And perhaps the most defenseless, because the people I loved were so defenseless. To make themselves feel better, my patrons would make presents of money or jewelry, but I found a much more valuable form of payment.

“Secrets.” He hisses the S, “And this is where you’re going to want to stay tuned, President Snow, because so very many of them were about you. But let’s begin with some of the others.”

There’s a ghost of a smile on his face as he goes over his experiences in detail so vividly that it’s impossible to think he made it up on his own. He tells stories of abnormal sexual preferences, betrayals of the heart, endless greed, and power plays that ended in blood.

They were drunk and high secrets that had been murmured in the dead of night. 

Finnick had been bought and sold for eight years, which he will never be able to get back. The innocence was stolen from him, and this is Finnick beginning his revenge. The longer he speaks, the more confident he grows. When he started, he didn’t want to list names, but once one slips, the rest begin to tumble from his mouth, followed by their offense.

Finnick knows he’s heading in the right direction when he watches Cressida’s eyes widen with every important name spoken. He knows how the Capitol works. All it takes is a bad tattoo or the wrong haircut, and a person’s reputation is temporarily tarnished as it’s passed around like a plague. 

What will come of accusations of incest, back-stabbing, blackmail and arson?

What will become of their leader? “And now, on to our good President Coriolanus Snow. Such a young man when he rose to power. Such a clever one to keep it. How, you must ask yourself, did he do it? One word. That’s all you really need to know. Poison.” Finnick emphasizes.

He starts from the beginning, using the pieces he put together throughout the years to paint a picture for those who will be listening. He points out every mysterious death that had happened surrounding Snow. Mainly his adversaries, but sometimes even his allies who appeared as threats in his eyes.

Figures that had died suddenly or slowly. Blamed on bad seafood, silent viruses, or overlooked weakness in the aorta. Snow would drink from a poisoned cup himself to deflect suspicion. Antidotes don’t always work. That’s why there’s a rumor on why the smell of roses is so strong. It’s to cover the metallic scent of blood from blisters in his mouth that will never heal.

They say that Snow has a list and no one knows who will be next.

Even when it’s clear to Finnick that there’s nothing else to tell, he has to be the one to say, “Cut.”

The camera crew hardly murmurs a goodbye before they’re scurrying inside to edit the material to weaponize it. Plutarch places a hand on Finnick’s shoulder, giving him a solemn nod. There were a few surprised reactions that came from Plutarch, himself. Despite the fact that he’d been a Gamemaker for years and might have known half of those facts.

“Thank you.” 

Finnick stands from the marble pillar. “Anything for (Y/n). Anything.”

“In that case, do you have any other stories to tell that might help with propo’s?” Plutarch begins to direct him to the door to go back inside of the bunker.

“I’d have to think about it.” Finnick says.

With their little quest being done, there’s nothing left for him to do besides wait for the volunteers to come back with the prisoners. Finnick spends his time with Katniss, as they move from place to place. They start in Special Defense, tying knots, chatting quietly. They push their lunch around their plates, appetite absent.

Together, they go to bother Beetee in the shooting range, where he’s shown a trident he’s never seen before. He learns how to properly wield a bow, albeit terribly, just to be able to send explosive arrows at the target. 

With how dangerous the mission is, no communication is allowed to or from the rescue team. In the evening, Katniss and Finnick gather back in Special Defense, standing on the far side of the room away from the screens and computer, watching as Beetee and his team go hack through. His usual twitchy demeanor is completely replaced by determination.

He uses as much of Katniss’s interview as he can, but it’s Finnick’s confession that is the main show. Beetee remarks that their counter-attacks are weak, they aren’t trying to silence the rebels as much as he thought they would. Still, for the next hour, they battle back and forth. With the Capitol trying to wall off the interview with the afternoon newscast or blacking out the feed altogether.

The black out fails, as the rebel team takes control of the feed and manages to control it for almost the entire attack on Snow.

“Let it go!” Beetee declares, throwing up his hands. He reaches to wipe the sweat from his face with a nearby cloth. “If they’re not out of there by now, they’re all dead.” He spins around in the chair to face Finnick and Katniss. “It was a good plan, though. Did Plutarch show it to you?”

No, he did not. So Beetee wheels in front of them to take them to another room, where the plan is fleshed out in full. With the victors being held prisoner underground, they had to get creative. They’ve used knockout gas distributed by the ventilation system, a power failure, the detonation of a bomb in a government building several miles away, and now the disruption of the broadcast.

Finnick and Katniss find the entire plan hard to follow, but Finnick gets the gist of it. With so many failures happening at once, that means the Capitol will be strung out and they’ll have to tackle each task one at a time. He’s just hoping that this was enough to give the rebels time to get the victors out of the prison without being shot down.

“It’s good news you found the plan hard to follow.” Beetee adjusts his glasses. “Because then our enemies will, too.”

“Like your electricity trap in the arena?” Katniss asks.

“Exactly. And see how well that worked out?”

There’s nothing else to do but wait, and this becomes glaringly obvious when they’re not let back into Command. They choose to stay in Special Defense, moving to the hummingbird room to wait for an update. 

It’s torture. 

Finnick tries to tie knots, going down the list of the ones he knows in alphabetical order. It’s a lot, yet not quite enough at the same time. He goes down the list five times before the dark thoughts begin to creep in. What if the rescue team failed, and no one’s coming back?

Haymitch comes in briefly to tell them that there’s no news, and then he leaves. About an hour later, dinner is served, but both of them deny having it brought up to them. Katniss begins to bleed from her knots, wiping the maroon liquid on her jumpsuit, continuing to tie her noose.

Finnick can’t go down the list again, otherwise he’ll go crazy. So, he stuffs the rope into his pocket and hunches over on the bench, teeth grit. Katniss begins to hum a tune, holding up her noose in the air to look at it, before dropping it down onto the bench.

“Did you love (Y/n) right away, Finnick?” She asks.

“No.” Finnick murmurs, because it’s the truth. 

When you first won the Hunger Games, you were fifteen years old. By then, he was already seventeen. He’d already had two years of experience regarding Capitol abuse. And all he could see in you was the exact same fate. This is why he took special care to keep a distance between you two.

With you being so young and naive—absolutely no clue that your actions could have consequences—you did what you thought was right. You were sweet, you were kind to everyone you met before and after your Games. You took every compliment with grace and took your time to return with one, even if it wasn’t heartfelt.

That doesn’t mean you weren’t smart, because you are. Enough to the point where you managed to trick the Gamemakers into giving you a higher score than you deserved, getting you sponsors. In the arena, you found out how to maintain the appearance that you knew what you were doing. Despite the fact that it was obvious to every other person from the districts that you were clueless.

And you were pretty. You are pretty, beautiful, gorgeous, every adjective under the sun. If Finnick could see it, the Capitol could see it. He heard your name mentioned almost every time he met with a client, and yet, you were never pulled aside by President Snow.

Finnick would like to say that he wasn’t jealous of you, but he was. Which became loathing, that only grew worse with time. You knew that he didn’t like you, and instead of taking the hint and leaving him alone, you purposely got close. You got to know him, his habits, his feelings. 

He hated it in the beginning, but the truth is that Finnick was lonely and he felt misunderstood by everyone because of the rumors. You never let judgement get in the way, you never let Finnick hurt your feelings. And you respected his boundaries. Whether he liked it or not, you were growing on him.

In the course of a year and a half, he went from considering you a pest to one of his closest friends. He was able to let down his guard. Before he knew it, he had feelings for you. Which he was sure weren’t reciprocated, but you surprised him. Ever since, you’ve been by his side. 

Which is why this doesn’t feel right. 

“She crept up on me.” Finnick tells Katniss.

It must be midnight when Haymitch finally pushes open the door. “They’re back. We’re wanted in the hospital.” Katniss opens her mouth to speak, Haymitch doesn’t give her the opportunity. “That’s all I know.”

She’s back, a voice whispers.

Finnick is frozen where he stands, staring at Haymitch with wide eyes. Katniss takes a step toward the door, but when he doesn’t move with her, she reaches back to grab his hand. Finnick lets her lead him through Special Defense, into the elevator, and on to the hospital wing.

As soon as they step foot through the doors, she lets go. The hospital is in chaos, with orders being shouted back and forth, the wounded volunteers being wheeled across the floor. Immediately, they’re sideswiped by a gurney holding an unconscious woman with a shaved head.

Finnick recognizes her, it’s Johanna. Her skin is blemished with bruises and oozing scabs, a price to pay for being a rebel. For not telling the Capitol what they’d wanted to know about the plan.

Is this how (Y/n) will look? The thought lights an intense fire in his stomach, and even worse, fear begins to creep up. Did they hurt you?

“Gale.” Katniss says, gravitating toward her friend. He’s stripped down to the wait to allow the doctors to work at his shoulder, pulling out shrapnel. There’s sweat dripping down his face. Katniss doesn’t make it further than three steps before she’s shut out entirely.

“Finnick!” A shrill voice calls—your shrill voice calls.

Finnick’s head whips in the direction, feet starting even without a certain direction. He finds you, throwing off a sheet, revealing that your delicate skin has been compromised with cuts. They must not bother you, because you’re on your feet, a wide smile spread across your face, arms out to him.

“(Y/n).” He breathes, picking up speed.

His body slams into yours, arms wrapping around your body to lift you in the air. He can feel your fingertips running through his hair, nails lightly scratching his scalp as you pull him closer. Finnick presses his cheek into your collarbone, feeling your kisses against his temple.

A swarm of butterflies escapes the cage in his chest when he hears your laughter, but they die quickly when he feels you begin to shake with sobs. Finnick lets you back down, allowing your feet to touch the white tile, yet he doesn’t let go. His heart squeezes when you look at him with tear-filled eyes, bottom lip wobbling.

“I’ve got you, honey.” He murmurs, brushing the hair from your face.

You’ve got a tight grip on the front of his jumpsuit. His eyes lock on your discolored knuckles, a sign that you must’ve gotten into a fight while you were being kept prisoner in the Capitol. His face screws.

“I was afraid I wasn’t going to see you again.” You admit with a wavering voice. “It was getting bad, Finnick.”

“I’d never let that happen, babe.” He whispers. “They won’t take you away from me ever again. I won’t let them.”

“I know.” A tear escapes, running down your skin. 

Finnick’s quick to wipe it away.

--

this was part of my 3k celebration!!

[self-shipping-doll13]

#2 - Warmth | Claws

Spooktober prompt: Warmth | Claws

Wc: 1433

My cloak fastened securely around my neck, I pushed open the great wooden doors, and the Springtime sun’s warmth fell upon my face, gentle as a kiss.

The air I breathed in was fragrant with the scent of loamy soil, freshly tilled and ready for new growth. Winter’s snow had melted away in the change of the season, and tufts of grass bordered the mud I trod on. After last night’s rains, it had moistened into a damp, sucking slush that gave way under my boot.

As I passed by the central hub of the town, I saw the Spring wagons had rolled in and set up shop, drawing in crowds of haggling people. Stalls that sold cheap foraged greens were in abundance: garlic, leeks, radishes, sorrel, dandelion leaves, nettles, and other assorted herbs were in store. Old women traded spools of wool and woven baskets, hardy men showed off leatherworking tools, and young children held out bouquets of colourful wildflowers, tugging shyly at my skirts before fleeing to beg to other strangers. Sheep bleated in pens in the markets, leaning over their rickety fence enclosures in search of pats.

Still, It was calving and lambing season, and most kept their livestock near and dear, to usher in the babies that would grow up into fully formed repayments.

These were not the only newborns causing a ruckus. Near the outskirts of the city, a farmer’s mouser had recently given birth to a litter of a dozen squalling kittens. But there were too many for him to keep himself, he’d reasoned, so it was more profitable to trade or sell them off. Cats were kept to cull the rodents that plagued the crops and the grain stores. But more than that, I thought they made for excellent companions. More than once, I’d felt my ankles rubbed by slinky feline bodies, stooped low, and found those clever yellow eyes pleading for treats.

And so when I invited myself into the light-dappled stable, the recovered mother cat - a pretty striped girl by the name of some foreign fruit - was perched on a wooden fence, bathing herself leisurely. The time for her motherhood had almost ended, and she was ready to go back to her life as an independent woman. I tickled her under her soft white chin as I walked past.

Her kittens were all playing or sleeping together in a cosy little nook filled with hay. Their small, fuzzy bodies were a blur of motion, all batting paws and pointed, twitching tails. For a while I just stopped to take joy in their clumsy tumblings, until I was confronted by a ruddy-faced man with a wooden pitchfork in his hand.

After a brief negotiation, they were placed in my arms.

Both were a cool, silvery grey. One was almost blue. Four honey-coloured eyes stared wide up at me, and stirrings of protection, nurturing, rose up within.

They were still bundled up the folds in my cloak when I swept past the leather divider that separated our chambers from the Great Hall. My cheeks stung from the nipping cold, and must’ve been ruby-red. Ivar was drinking from a horn of mead on a chair by the pit when he raised his brows at my hurried entry. “So these are the cats I’ve been hearing so much about,” he sighed in a long-suffering, affectionate sort of way.

“Yes, here they are.” I lifted them out and put them each standing upright on their paws. They found themselves in the swaddle of an old blanket.

“Huh. They’re… Small.” Ivar said, and leaned forward, squinting, as if he didn’t quite expect them to be.

“They’re supposed to grow up quickly,” I replied, tossing off my cloak. “So they’ll be big soon.”

The kittens were looking around themselves at this huge new world and timidly shivering. The bluer one was silent, and had stopped crying to his mother for milk long ago. The other, a silvery little cloud, was more boisterous and hardy, shouting out in a tiny voice.

We’d made an agreement months prior, when the babies were very recently born. I had been lucky enough to witness it, to observe this blessing from the gods, this miracle of life. The number was too many for the tired mother cat to cope with, and one other patchy female had been introduced so the stragglers might latch on and suckle. Charmed, I had argued my case to take in some of the kittens late one Wintry evening, when the sun had sunken far below the horizon, as slow and ponderous as liquid amber.

“And what are you going to do with a dozen cats?”

“Not all of them,” I clarified, twirling a double-pronged wooden fork in my hand. I was stuffed from Yol, trying to figure out if I could manage another mouthful.

Ivar snorted. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

“Maybe… Two?” I suggested, a bit slyly, and then explained my reasoning: “So they can keep each other company, and keep me company when you’re away.”

For a moment he thought. He shifted, and the table, suspended by chains from the rafters, shifted with him. Carving up a portion of meat, he suddenly acquiesced. “Two, hm? Two it is, then.”

I trailed off a little, having expected more resistance. “That’s it? Like that?”

“Just keep them off the bed,” Ivar said, chewing his pork leisurely. “I’m not sharing it with a bunch of cats.”

I was unable to keep the grin off my face. With a sudden, girlish burst of delight - one I rarely had the chance to convey until recently - I shot up from my seat and rounded the meal table to shower him in kisses. The iron links shuddered, the whole table wobbling. Ivar was enticed by my unguarded cheerfulness, reserved for his eyes only, and pulled me tightly against him as I settled smugly into his lap.

“Huh,” he accepted the morsel of cheese, listening to my impassioned rant; pushing my luck, mayhaps. “Like Bygul and Trjegul. who pull the chariot of Freyja.”

“Yes, like them,” I said happily.

He’d liked the idea quite well after that.

Presently I watched over the kittens. The quiet one was easy to pacify, his sweet eyes drooping as I rubbed his blue head with the pad of my finger. While he fell soundly asleep in his makeshift nursery, the other rebelled. Soon he broke away from me and was flouncing bravely over to Ivar, who held his mead in his mouth in confusion for a moment before swallowing.

“Are you,” Ivar started. “Coming to me?”

With a kind of uncertain amusement, he stretched out an unusually peace-making hand. In an instant, the kitten backed away warily. Ivar looked almost insulted.

I chuckled at the exchange. “He’s thinking you’re a giant, but he doesn’t want to fight you just yet.”

“Nonsense. He’s going to, whether he wants it or not.”

Ivar discarded the horn, pushing himself off his chair, and stopped at a fair distance to rest on his forearms. He watched curiously, which made me glad. I’d hoped that Ivar would grow to enjoy them, at least passingly, and not find them to be nuisances. But he seemed to be more receptive to the idea than I’d thought.

The kitten was slinking his furry body into the drape of our bedsheets, his tail quivering into a brush. “Where’s he going?” I asked, but received no answer. Ivar was smirking in that mischievous way. Shuffling over, I saw the kitten had dug his claws into the furs like he was climbing a mountain with icepicks, looking unsure, and I began to fret. “Careful, he’s going to fall—“

“Let him, let him,” Ivar waved me off, and brought himself closer to observe him. I held out a hand below the kitten’s rump anyway. Cats in the stories all landed on the pads of their paws, but this baby seemed so tiny and fragile. The ground underneath was hard wood, not laden with soft pelts like the main area was.

But to my relief, the kitten clambered up the fabric quite confidently once he found his courage. I blushed in at how much I’d fretted, just seconds ago. He was sniffing at our bedding, pressing his small paws into the plush furs as if kneading dough. Not in danger at all.

We both sat together in equally as awkward positions, and then, the unspoken words between us: this is not doing a very good job of keeping him off the bed.

Ivar quickly lifted him off by the scruff of his neck.

Dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

[newtid]

my favourite guy mudpaw as a little kity.... haven't posted heem here before but he's an OC of mine in a little WC RP group!! You can check out his toyhou.se profile here https://toyhou.se/20228131.mud-paw and he's also on art fight! https://artfight.net/character/3362118.mudpaw

[kikinom]

If we were wcs you'd be a fat tomcat who's got fur shaped like a moustache, and I'd be a smaller lithe cat-- blackish fur, specks of sliver and mud, and haunting eyes -- and you'd be my secret mate that I visit every so often to get herbs from (your garden always has what my clan needs, you insist I take it all and I say I can't, I have to leave some to grow back). And I try to get you to come to my clan sometime ("Everyone wants to meet you, I promise. It's safe, I'll keep you safe." but you tell me you like your house folk and don't want to worry them, so instead I keep visiting and sometimes we curl up together the sun and share tongue (wc talk for grooming each other usually during noon), and I tell you about clan life, and I try to understand kitty pet life. I tell you about Tigerclan and Lionclan ("Back when big cats used to roam the forest...") and I tell you about the newest kits, and our apprentices working so hard, and I tell you my worries, and you try to get me to eat your wet food (you saved it, just for me. I never have the heart to say it's against the warrior code. I say I'm full, every time. Say I've eaten and it would be rude to eat a meal I can't share with my clan mates).

I say see you later every time I leave. Touch noses with you, and link my tail with yours before I hop the fence and stalk away. I always look back because I know you watch me walk through the forest. I can feel your eyes watching me.

During leafbare, winter, I visit less. You're out less often too. I jump the fence, and sometimes I think to neow at the door. Instead, I just leave my paw prints where we cuddle and hope to see you next time.

When I dream, or I try to talk to Starclan, I ask them to let me walk the stars to find you. I know I'm not supposed to walk with a paw in each world, but I love him very much. I'm loyal to my clan. He's just a friend, I can have friends from other clans, what makes him so different?

And when spring blooms, I run to your garden, and I think this is what Thunderclan cats feel, so high in the trees, as I wail to you and jump, and butt my head against you and purr so loudly, because you're here again, and we can be together, and maybe this year, you'll just visit the camp. The waters warm, I won't let you fall in! Come visit. Have fish. We're the best hunters for fish

[atdwarriorsau]

AtD Names

A full list of used prefixes and suffixes in AtD. They will be ordered in amount of use and alphabetical. Beside the names is which clan uses the name more. 'Equal' means a tie. Names with asterisks are not used in wc canon.

One word kittypet/loner names count as prefixes. Tribe names are two words, first word prefix, second word suffix. Paw and Kit are only for cats who died with those names. For clan leaders, they count towards Star as well as their warrior suffix.

PREFIXES

Common:

Snow- (5 uses, Shadowclan)

Apple- (4 uses, Riverclan)

Dawn- (4 uses, Riverclan)

Holly- (4 uses, Thunderclan)

Petal- (4 uses, Riverclan)

Rain- (4 uses, Riverclan)

Red- (4 uses, Equal)

Running- (4 uses, Equal)

Stone- (4 uses, Riverclan)

White- (4 uses, Thunderclan)

Willow- (4 uses, Riverclan)

Uncommon:

Birch- (3 uses, Thunderclan)

Brindle- (3 uses, Thunderclan)

Cloud/less- (3 uses, Equal)

Dark- (3 uses, Equal)

Ember- (3 uses, Equal)

Feather- (3 uses, Equal)

Gorse- (3 uses, Windclan)

Grey- (3 uses, Riverclan)

Hawk- (3 uses, Equal)

Honey- (3 uses, Thunderclan)

Ice- (3 uses, Equal)

Leaf- (3 uses, Equal)

Mint- (3 uses, Equal)

Moss/y- (3 uses, Riverclan)

Night- (3 uses, Equal)

Oak- (3 uses, Equal)

Owl- (3 uses, Windclan)

Raven- (3 uses, Thunderclan)

Shell- (3 uses, Riverclan)

Shrew- (3 uses, Equal)

Sky- (3 uses, Skyclan)

Smoke/y- (3 uses, Shadowclan)

Spider- (3 uses, Skyclan)

Storm/ie- (3 uses, Equal)

Swift- (3 uses, Equal)

Thistle- (3 uses, Windclan)

Rare:

Ash- (2 uses)

Berry- (2 uses)

Black- (2 uses)

Blaz(e)/ing- (2 uses)

Blue- (2 uses)

Boulder- (2 uses)

Bramble- (2 uses)

Bright- (2 uses)

Bumbl(e)/ing- (2 uses)

Cherry- (2 uses)

Cinder- (2 uses)

Clover- (2 uses)

Crow- (2 uses)

Curl/y- (2 uses)

Dapple- (2 uses)

Dove- (2 uses)

Eagle- (2 uses)

Echo- (2 uses)

Fallow- (2 uses)

Fern- (2 uses)

Fire- (2 uses)

Fox- (2 uses)

Flower- (2 uses)

Flutter/ing- (2 uses)

Freckle- (2 uses)

Frost- (2 uses)

Hare- (2 uses)

Hazel- (2 uses)

Hop- (2 uses)

Ivy- (2 uses)

Lark- (2 uses)

Leopard- (2 uses)

Lion- (2 uses)

Maple- (2 uses)

Marigold- (2 uses)

Minnow- (2 uses)

Mist/y- (2 uses)

Mole- (2 uses)

Moon- (2 uses)

Mud- (2 uses)

One- (2 uses)

Pebble- (2 uses)

Pike- (2 uses)

Pine- (2 uses)

Plum- (2 uses)

Pounce- (2 uses)

Rabbit- (2 uses)

Reed- (2 uses)

Robin- (2 uses)

Rose- (2 uses)

Rowan- (2 uses)

Rush- (2 uses)

Sand- (2 uses)

Sedge- (2 uses)

Silver- (2 uses)

Snake- (2 uses)

Sorrel- (2 uses)

Sparrow- (2 uses)

Squirrel- (2 uses)

Sun- (2 uses)

Sweet- (2 uses)

Tall- (2 uses)

Tawny- (2 uses)

Tiger- (2 uses)

Toad- (2 uses)

Violet- (2 uses)

Suffixes

Common:

-star (42 uses, Shadowclan)

-tail (28 uses, Thunderclan)

-fur (24 uses, Thunderclan)

-claw (18 uses, Shadowclan)

-paw (17 uses, Shadowclan)

-foot (16 uses, Windclan)

-heart (16 uses, Riverclan)

-whisker (16 uses, Windclan

-pelt (15 uses, Equal)

-kit (14 uses, Thunderclan)

-cloud (12 uses, Thunderclan)

-flower (12 uses, Equal)

-wing (12 uses, Thunderclan)

Uncommon:

-nose (10 uses, Shadowclan)

-storm (8 uses, Thunderclan)

-shine (7 uses, Equal)

-feather (6 uses, Skyclan)

-face (5 uses, Thunderclan)

-fang (5 uses, Shadowclan)

-flight (5 uses, Thunderclan)

-lea(f/ves) (5 uses, Shadowclan)

-sky (5 uses, Riverclan)

-song (5 uses, Equal)

-stream (5 uses, Riverclan)

Rare:

-frost (4 uses, Thunderclan)

-moon (4 uses, Equal)

-spring (4 uses, Riverclan)

-stone (4 uses, Windclan)

-stripe (4 uses, Thunderclan)

-tuft (4 uses, Equal)

-berry (3 uses, Shadowclan)

-bird (3 uses, Equal)

-dawn (3 uses, Riverclan)

-dust (3 uses, Equal)

-eye/s (3 uses, Shadowclan)

-fall (3 uses, Thunderclan)

-fern (3 uses, Thunderclan)

-light (3 uses, Riverclan)

-mist (3 uses, Riverclan)

-petal/s (3 uses, Thunderclan)

-pool (3 uses, Equal)

-step (3 uses, Equal)

-strike (3 uses, Equal)

-talon (3 uses, Equal)

-tooth (3 uses, Riverclan)

-water (3 uses, Shadowclan)

-bark (2 uses)

-bloom (2 uses)

-breeze (2 uses)

-brook (2 uses)

-ear (2 uses)

-leap (2 uses)

-patch (2 uses)

-river (2 uses)

-scar (2 uses)

-shade (2 uses)

-shadow (2 uses)

-skip (2 uses)

-speck (2 uses)

-spot/s (2 uses)

-stem (2 uses)

-swoop (2 uses)

-thorn (2 uses)

-wish (2 uses)

[scaryfangirl2001]

Comparing and Cuddling (fanfic, 322 WC)

@flufftober

Opal, holding her loyal dog Winn-Dixie, and Fern, with her beloved pig Wilbur, seek shelter from the rain under a large oak tree. The pitter-patter of raindrops on the leaves above provides a soothing backdrop to their conversation. As they wait for the rain to ease, they decide to compare their pets' unique paw characteristics.

"Fern, look at Winn-Dixie's paws. They're big and strong, perfect for our adventures!"

She holds up Winn-Dixie's paw, revealing a large, calloused pad. The scruffy terrier mix tries to lick his owner's face. Fern nods, her blonde hair bobbing.

Fern smiles, "True, Opal. But see Wilbur's paws? They're small and sturdy, great for mud-rooting. And look at his hooves — so unique!"

Just then, Cindy Lou appears behind them, holding the leash of a small brown retriever, Max. "Hey, Opal, Fern! Can I join you? Playing in the rain is so fun!"

Opal and Fern exchange a glance. "Sorry, Cindy Lou," Opal says gently, "but we're comparing our pets, and Max isn't yours, right? You're just dog-sitting."

Cindy Lou's face falls, and she looks down at Max, who gazes up at her adoringly. "Oh, yeah. I forgot. I'm just taking care of him for a while."

Fern smiles sympathetically. "It's okay, Cindy Lou. You can still sit with us, but we can't compare Max's paws since he's not your pet."

Cindy Lou nods, looking disappointed but happy to be included. She sits beside Opal and Fern, their pets snuggling beside them. They sit as the rain patters, and the older girls eventually stop comparing their pets.

"Maybe one day, you'll get your own pet," Fern says, "and maybe it'll have special paws like Winn-Dixie or Wilbur."

She nods, "Yeah, I guess so."

"Hey, Max loves you," Opal points out. "Your future pet will love you too. You'll be a great pet owner, Cindy."

Cindy thanks the girls and cuddles Max as the conversation shifts to trick-or-treating and costumes.

[antfur]

Mud Paws

a character can't be described having darker colored paws/legs without me hitting them w my pointifcation beam <33

[exocynraku]

Do you have a fave bg cat..? :0c if so I'd like you to draw em? If not, uhhhh Hailstar of riverclan?

mud paws :) i also really like mouse ear, but i couldnt figure out how to draw him