#Reap the Wild Wind

[whydotheheathenrage]

Enjoy the wild wind. RIP

[my-chaos-radio]

Release: September 17, 1982

Lyrics:

Reap the wild wind

A finger points to show a scene. (Take my hand. Take my hand.)

Another face where mine had been. (Take my hand. Take my hand.)

Another footstep where I once walked. (Take my hand)

Take it all.

Reap the wild wind.

You take my hand and give me your friendship.

I'll take my time and send you my slow reply.

Give me an inch and I'll make the best of it.

Take all you want and leave all the rest to die.

A footprint haunts an empty floor. (Take my hand. Take my hand.)

A fading coat that I once wore. (Take my hand. Take my hand.)

Oh, desolation where I once lived.

I have seen in times gone by.

I have felt a different shadow on the wall,

A stranglehold on a certain feeling.

Reap the wild wind.

You take my hand and give me your friendship.

I'll take my time and send you my slow reply.

Give me an inch and I'll make the best of it.

Take all you want and leave all the rest to die.

Reap the wild wind.

You take my hand and give me your friendship.

I'll take my time and send you my slow reply.

Give me an inch and I'll make the best of it.

Take all you want and leave all the rest to die.

Songwriter:

Christopher Thomas Allen / Midge Ure / Warren Reginald Cann / William Currie

SongFacts:

👉📖

Homepage:

Ultravox

[kingofthewilderwest]

I'm always trying to remind myself that I traded mastery for breadth.

[jennamoran]

And Domhnall, famed even in the west, has passed; his grey, war-weary son rules now

Governs a land of teeming beasts and rich black soil Where his vegetables grow;

Ei-eye ei-eye oh

And wandering that place, a thick-tusked boar With thunder-bearing feet,

Gimlet eye, and ancient tread; A monstrous rooting sound

Precedes it; echoes, through that shaded realm; And follows, where that great beast goes;

Ei-eye ei-eye oh

Ah! Domhnall, famed even in the west, has passed! His grey, war-weary son rules now

O’er fields of grain and forests wild Where twisted ranks of brambles grow;

Ei-eye ei-eye oh

And writhing in some jewel-like pond a drake Lifts up its head, and snaps its jaws,

And shakes the earth; and rumbling quake Precedes and follows as it goes;

Ei-eye ei-eye oh.

And monstrous rooting sounds still ring Out here, and there, and everywhere;

Past Domhnall’s grave, across rich land Where yet his willow-bent and stiff-limbed son endures

To reap; to rule; to, of the fates of beasts and men, dispose;

Ei-eye ei-eye oh

The sun has set. Domhnall has passed. His grey, war-weary son rules now

A land of sprawling hills; great-walled paddocks Wherein his silvered cattle low

And groan, to fill the moon-touched air. —there is no end to them

But where night’s grieving edge bears down And silent, eerie deepness grows:

Ei-eye ei-eye oh.

In the dusty wind, the sound of boar fades out.

The drake’s last call rings out, and falls Away; and so it goes:

Ei-eye ei-eye oh.

The light is lost. Domhnall has passed His grey, war-weary son rules now O’er field and drake and boar and cow (with bludgeon, boar-spear, gun, and plough)

And brambled chair to be his throne:

Ah! Ei-eye ei-eye oh.

[mangle-my-mind]

hey could you explain who jack fairy is im stupid and cant figure out why hes such a big character in the fandom

Omg yes absolutely! Thanks for the ask Anon!

Jack Fairy is the fictional originator of glam rock in the VG universe. He's the one who discovers Oscar Wilde's pin (aka the gay alien sex brooch) as a child. The pin is meant to represent an "instinctive need to camp it up", or owning queerness authentically. As an adult, Jack is considered a "true original", the one who inspires the rest of the glam scene.

Jack Fairy is technically a minor character in the film in terms of screentime, but he's very important to the narrative itself. He's at the Sombrero club when Brian and Mandy meet, and where Brian steals the emerald pin from him. While Brian has a meteoric rise, partially on the strength of stealing from/being inspired by Jack, it's implied that Jack never sees that same level of fame. Later, he's living in Berlin and finds Curt there after Curt and Brian break up. The two of them make an album together a la Bowie and Iggy. At the end of the film, Jack performs at the Death of Glitter concert, closing the chapter on the scene which he originated. That's also the pivotal show where Mandy and Curt have a moment, Brian shows up and leaves, and Arthur and Curt get it on on the roof.

I can't speak on behalf of all of fandom, but some of the reasons Jack Fairy is so beloved to me are:

He's one of the most authentic characters in the film. MUCH more authentic than Brian ever is. We see Jack making art out of his pain from childhood. We recognize his constant struggle and need to express himself truly.

He doesn't get the flowers he deserves, which is typical to first movers in pretty much any art form. He's the one who paved the way for glam to flourish, and others stand on his shoulders and claim the accolades.

He falls victim to Brian's ruthless theft multiple times over. (Sorry not sorry, I'm a Brian hater). The pin, the Sombrero club, Mandy, the glitter entourage, his music (I have a headcanon that "2HB" is a Jack Fairy song that Brian covers), etc. I wrote a fic about this concept specifically if you're interested!

He basically helps Curt get over Brian. This is more of a personal headcanon, but at this point I am in too deep to think otherwise. The fact that Curt meets Jack and then they make an album and put on a concert together is an incredible story in and of itself (and as a matter of fact I wrote that too!)

I think in general, smaller characters with a lot of space for exploration are the most fun ones to latch onto in fandom. Jack's storyline has so much potential for further analysis/art/etc. But more specifically to Jack, he is someone deeply rooted in their authenticity who doesn't get to reap the rewards of being himself, compared to those who reap the rewards of putting on an elaborate image (cough cough Brian). It's a tragic arc, which is always fun to fawn over.

Todd Haynes obviously has some great things to say about Jack Fairy, and I made a post last year pulling that together:

I'd also love to tag in Number One Jack Fairy Fan @silverfactory - maybe you have anything you'd like to add?

Sorry that this is so long-winded! I got overly excited :p

[withonly-sweetheart]

Reap What You Sow

part one

You've been reaped, and your partner is not the man you want to be spending a bloodbath with. But what if he's nothing like what you expected?

a/n: for the anon that's waited SO patiently for it... im still working on figuring out ur identity but im a bit slow... so.... i hope u like it i had to reread the book for this and WEUIORWPDOSWEIOR i have trauma from thg trust me

tw: major character deaths (if you can guess who ily <3) mentions of blood, gore, illnesses, blah blah all that stuff yk

wc: 7.8k

part two here!!

legacy, what is a legacy?

planting seeds in a garden,

one you’ll never get to see.

Autumn always brought the whispering winds, a tapestry of gold and crimson spinning through the forest, leaves dancing down from their lofty trees, becoming carpets of color rustling with ease.

Everyone sleeps in late today, wanting to spend as much time huddled with their family before the threat looming over you finally comes back to bite you.

The air grows crisp, a bite of cool delight, as you trudge through the fresh foliage, feet shuffling through the leaves fluttering onto your hunting boots. The last thing you need is to scare away potential game with your loud footsteps.

In the woods is the one place where your facade can fall, where you can shout all your frustrations at the lake below you, calming down as you stare down at it, blurred by your dangling legs. The ledge has always been precariously unstable, but anything to kill time before the Reaping.

Leaning back on your palms, you glance up at the sun searing your face, burning through your dark tunics that help camouflage you during hunts. You can’t consider yourself a good hunter, but at least what you bring in keeps your family from starving.

You strip the nearby bushes of their leaves, their raspberries, the leaves that you had once cultivated with your mother when she was still around. Although it wasn’t allowed, you both made a habit of sneaking into the forest after all the Peacekeepers had finished their patrols to check on your garden. 

You never told her, but you could never resist plucking a few unripe berries from their steadily growing stems, now grown wild and untamed. The taste of the young, still growing fruit from your childhood still lingers in your mind, and over six years later, make it near impossible for you to enjoy the sweetness of the ripe raspberries now.

A melodious chirp breaks through your thoughts, and you twist over your shoulder to see a familiar mockingjay approaching. Its vibrant blue and gray feathers shimmer in the dappled sunlight as it hops closer, a curious glint in its round, beady eyes. With a gentle nudge, you offer it a ripe berry, watching as it eagerly pecks at the fruit, savoring the succulent juices with delicate precision.

“You’re chipper today, aren’t you?” you ask it, keeping your voice light. Just as you expect, the muttation tweets back in the same tone, as if repeating your words back to you.

Only, coming from such a free, unshackled spirit, it means nothing.

<><><><>

The nicer part of your district is in the area shadowed by the forest, where none of the residents dare to step foot into what they deem unsafe. If only they knew the danger of hunger.

You pass the bakery, catching the eye of the baker’s son, uninterested, casting shadows on his face as he glances down at his mother’s feet. Her shouts are audible through the thin glass showcasing the elegantly decorated cakes.

You don’t know the boy, but you feel pity for him. Not once in the years following your mother’s death has your father raised his voice at you. He has resigned to heavy sighs of disappointment, which sting more than angry words, you’ll admit.

You stand before the same house in the Victor’s Village, the nicest houses of the entire district, crammed into one courtyard. Most of the houses are empty due to there only being two Victors in the history of the Games; Haymitch Abernathy, a drunken man you don’t socialize with, and Leon’s older brother, whose name you aren’t bothered or inclined to learn.

You raise your hand to knock but pause, praying he doesn't answer, that he’s not home, and that his mother, a much kinder, forgiving woman, comes to the door. After an agonizing moment, the door creaks open and, just your luck, his imposing form fills the frame above.

The first thing you notice is the red, blaring welt resting calmly on his face. You faintly wonder what happened before realizing that you don’t care. Neither does he, apparently.

“Back to grovel, little bird?” he sneers. 

“Actually, maybe I’ll just head to Haymitch,” you reply, making a show of the flimsy basket holding multiple, freshly snared rabbits. “He might have a use for fresh meat.”

You don’t miss the way Leon immediately clears his throat, leaning against the doorframe. “I suppose we could make a deal.”

Eventually you’re satisfied with the amount of money in your hands, and Leon looks equally ravished as he nods to you politely before closing the door in your face. You catch his eyes darting to your lips just as it creaks shut fully.

Whatever’s wrong with him shouldn’t bother you, right?

So why does it?

<><><><>

Chris raises an eyebrow at the offering. You nudge it towards him, and a smile slowly spreads across his face, overtaking his expression.

“It’s taken quite a while, huh?” he teases.

“You know how much it means to me,” you cheese. “And I want you to have it, just in case…”

“You’re not getting reaped,” he says, as if he’s already predicted who will be safe, like he knows. “Your name isn’t even in there that many times.”

You nod, face warm. "Just in case."

His grin fades. "Don't say that. Your name is drawn just a few times."

"Still a chance," you mutter grimly. "24 slips is 24 too many."

Chris takes your hands in his. "Listen to me. I survived, didn't I? You're stronger than any tribute here. You'll come back and we'll hunt together, I promise it."

His steady gaze gives you strength. You force a smile. "Okay. And may the odds..."

Your hunting partner, close friend, embraces you. "The odds don't matter. You do. Stay strong - I'll see you after."

Of course, the odds seem to be planting themselves directly against you. But you don’t mention that as you walk to the square, shoulder to shoulder, trusting Chris enough to watch your siblings as your father makes low conversation with the other miners.

<><><><>

The odds definitely hate you.

When they call your name, no one moves. You can feel the girl next to you stiffen, as if sensing your breath cut short, hand brushing against yours as you weave your way through the perfectly aligned rows of sixteen year old kids, kids that you went to school with.

If it were any other reaping, you would’ve looked down at them with scorn, glaring at them with a scowl, because no one wants to die, but no one volunteered for you. But the Quarter Quell brings with it new surprises, one being that the tributes reaped may not be replaced.

You suppose you should be glad it isn’t one of your siblings, because where you stand a chance, they would die immediately. Admitting this to yourself is how you temper your own fate. On the other hand, the other twist the Quell brings is that if you die in the Games, guess who also suffers?

Your family is publicly executed. You wish a slow and painful death to whoever thought of that, to President Snow, for picking it. Watching the competitions every year was something you could never stomach, choosing instead to cower in the other room, hands planted against your ears to block out the sickening screams of the dying tributes on screen.

"May the odds be ever in your favor," Effie says with a grin far too jovial for the situation, and you know that its her job to encourage you, but they ring hollow given what lies ahead. 

As you walk toward the stage, your breathing comes quick and shallow. A boy with dark hair catches your gaze, his expression as grim as yours. "It will be over soon," he murmurs, though you're not sure if he means the reaping or your life.

Reaching the steps, you turn to face the crowd, fists clenched. The escort swirls the strips of paper in the empty fish bowl, as if this is simply a game to her. She pinches one between her fingers and drags it out slowly before unfurling it and reading aloud the name.

“Leon Kennedy,” she declares. 

Of course getting reaped isn’t the last of your misfortunes. Although you don’t directly know him, you know what he’s capable of. He climbs on stage beside you, jaw working as if chewing over angry words. 

"No use raging at them now," you mutter under your breath.

Leon barks a short, bitter laugh. "I guess you're right. Small comfort, that." 

You don’t speak after that, settling into tense silence as your escort waits for the applause that never comes. The depressing gazes of all your loved ones, the people you know, and the people who don’t know you exist, proves to be too much, so you shift your eyes to the ground, pointed at your toes.

There is one more pair of eyes that land on you, eyes that you don’t wish to meet. But when Effie requests for the “lucky kids” to shake hands, you force yourself to drag your gaze from the ground, up his slender legs, the tendon that stretches when he looks down at you, challenging you silently, to his fingertips outstretched, waiting for your hand.

And when you finally shake on it, you remember just who he is to you.

Leon.

<><><><><>

You freeze in your movements, cradling the assortment of berries closer to your chest, the handkerchief tickling your chin. Pale, icy eyes trail down your body, sizing you up, searing everywhere they grace.

You know him, but he doesn’t know you. You’ve seen him, one of the nicer looking kids at your school, always well groomed, arriving to class on time and getting only the best grades.

But no one is perfect, and his flaws are in his arrogance, which doesn’t get any better when all the girls fawn over him, tripping over one another to catch even a flit of his eyes. What would they think now, of him watching you, a poor, peasant girl. You have to hold back a smile at the faint thought passing your mind.  

“Well,” he remarks, unable to hold back the smirk that tugs at his lips, “looks like I’ve finally caught the little bird pecking at my garden, hm?” You flush madly. So he has noticed the previous times you’ve snuck through the fence, collecting his family’s plants. 

"I…I meant no harm," you say meekly, lowering your gaze. "I was only gathering bits of food to help feed my poor family." Playing the pity card is a new low, even for you, but the consequences of mistakes ring through the square often, burned in your eyes, the whine of a leather whip, the sound it makes when it meets tender flesh.

"Hmm, is that so?" he considers, stroking his chin, grinning. "Maybe I’ll let it go, just this once. But you’ll have to pay up."

“I have no money,” you say quietly. “I… cannot pay you, at least not right now. Please, just two weeks-”

He cuts you off with a wave of his hand, eyes fixing on your trembling lips. "A kiss, sweet bird, and I'll let your theft go. What do you say?”

Perhaps you’ll suffice to get whipped. Anything over that.

“No,” you say firmly, stepping away, further into the sanctuary of the forest. “I won’t do that.”

“So you won’t mind if I tell the Peacekeepers?” he muses.

“I only took a little!” you plead.

“And I’m not asking for much in return, am I?”

You hesitate, torn between duty and danger. But survival demands sacrifice. Holding back a troubled, irritated groan, you allow him to step closer, lift your chin and capture your mouth with his own, firm but fleeting.

"Now fly home to your nest, little birdie,” he taunts as he breaks away from him, wiping your lips frantically, trying to get rid of the sweet taste of fresh bread and butter that mingled from his tongue to yours.

Does he kiss everyone like this? So hard, fast, as if he’s trying to consume you whole? You feel pity for all the girls he’s left behind with broken hearts, like lost puppies following him everywhere. 

The last thing you expect is to be longing for it again, reaching for the feeling of being held like that, of being wanted, desirable. And you find that nowhere else but with him.

Of course, that feeling only dims slightly when the Peacekeepers knock at your door the next day, pretending to lecture you about theft, but there are no consequences, surprisingly. You suspect it must be because half of your best customers are the officials, the ones meant to enforce the rules, since everyone in the area is desperate for meat.

You did what he asked.

He ratted you out, either way.

So why can’t you stop thinking about him?

<><><><>

Your father’s weary face is what greets you first in the velvet setting of the Justice Building, before flurrying footsteps escape the guard’s clutches and long, thin arms wrap around you, tears immediately staining the flimsy fabric of your tunic.

“I’m so sorry, dear,” he whispers to you, and as the twins reluctantly pull away so he can gather you in his arms, embracing you to what, horrifyingly, feels like the last time you’ll inhale his musty, familiar coal scent that lingers everywhere in the house.

“Chris will bring you food,” you instruct as soon as he meets your eyes, stepping away. “Don’t turn it down. When I get back-”

“When?” he muses, a sad light twinkling in his aged eyes. “You’re this confident?”

“You heard them!” you hiss, exasperated. “I have to come back. They’ll kill you if I don’t.”

“Don’t worry about us,” he insists. “I’ve already planned everything out.”

“What does that even mean?” If it were anyone else, you would’ve missed the subtle flit of his eyes to the Peacekeepers standing to attention behind you, listening in to your conversation. You realize there is something he cannot say with them here.

So you soften your face, cradle the twins into one last hug and use that as an excuse to pull him back in. Your father’s voice is so soft you can barely make out what he’s saying over the twins’ sobbing.

“District 13, we’re going to find them.”

“They’re dead,” you murmur. 

“If you come back, you know where to find us,” he says, adorning a sweet, solemn smile on his face as he withdraws, adjusting the collar of your tunic where it slants to one side. “Do you understand?”

The way he’s speaking makes it clear that he could be talking about anything now, so you attempt to match his expression, keeping your tone light. “Yes, Father. I’ll try my best.”

He pats your shoulder, nodding. “I know you will, my girl.”

When they call that time’s up, you ignore the twins’ protests and kiss them both on their cheeks, waving goodbye to their tear streaked, chubby faces, trying to imprint the image in your head forever.

The next person that comes in is someone you don’t expect. It’s Claire, the younger Redfield sibling; your hunting partner rarely discusses his little sister, so you don’t know her aside from seeing her during classes.

She offers no meager response, no subtle greeting, only grips your hands tightly, entwining your fingers with her own, pulling you closer. “Well? What’s your strategy?”

“I’m sorry?”

“For the Games?”

“I mean, I have to train hard-”

“No.”

“No?” You frown at her command, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“There’s only one thing that you have to do,” she explains. “It’s how Leon’s brother won the Games way back when.”

“And that is…?” you prompt.

Her eyes are steely, unforgiving. “Keep Leon alive. The rest will come later.”

You’re frozen into a shock for about a second before you harshly release her hands, rough with years of hard labor, stepping away from her. “Excuse me?”

“You have to fool him into believing that you want an alliance!” she grumbles. “And I don’t think I can take any more of Chris’s groveling if you die.”

“Chris doesn’t grovel.” A corner of her lip quirks up.

“You don’t live with him,” she retorts, albeit gently. “Listen, don’t get yourself killed out there. You’re a smart girl. I know you can win.”

And she’s grinning and gone, a shitload of emotions dumped onto you, and a new outlook on the Games, and your potential partner. You’ve seen that method multiple times from the Victors, however convincing, and you nod to yourself.

You've got a winning shot if you have him, you know that.

You let a lazy smile overtake your face.

Well, at least until you kill him.

<><><><>

Of all the people in the Capitol, your stylist, by far, has been your favorite.

Your hands tremble as Cinna leads you to your prep team. Effie assured you this is his first year as a stylist, and he has "big ideas" to make an impression.

"Everything will be alright," he says gently, meeting your fearful eyes in the mirror. His deft hands make quick work of transforming you into someone else, someone you don’t recognize.

As your raw nerves are plucked and primed, Cinna talks soothingly of his plans. "The fire theme is overdone. I want to show you not as a beast to fear, but as a symbol of hope that cannot be extinguished."

Looking in the mirror, you gasp - you’re swathed elegantly in a flowing carbon-fiber gown that resembles burning coal embers. Wings of delicate gold wire sprout from your shoulder blades like a phoenix rising.

"Cinna, it's...incredible," you breathe.

He smiles warmly. "Panem will remember you, but not as a killer. You’re going to be our dream."

Your old fear returns as you reach the chariot. But seeing Cinna’s admiring grin from across the stable, you stand tall, finding courage in his vision.

And then Leon approaches, flanked by his stylist and prep team. They beam at you, drinking in your matching outfits, which you don’t remember agreeing to. But even you can’t disagree that you stand out from the starkly contrasting duos of tributes. 

Your heart pounds as the chariot ride nears. Catching you tense up, your panicked expression, Cinna tilts your head up with his finger. 

"Chin up, girl on fire.” He exhales. “Own who you are."

You climb up the ivory steps, paintings of flames licking the side of the chariot, spreading onto the horses’ flanks, matching the design on your perfectly trimmed, crescent shaped nails.

“Girl on fire, hm?” Leon says jokingly, although his voice is quiet. Neither of you have interacted since the Reaping, and it feels strange to be talking to a man that once held your life in his beautiful, beautiful hands.

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” you mutter as the chariot lurches forward, unused to the sudden jolt of movement that doesn’t require you to use your legs.

“Seriously?” You lift your head just enough to catch Leon giving you a concerned look, just as the new day’s rays hit his face, bathing his skin in an ethereal glow. You don’t expect him to tug you upright as the crowd gets a glimpse of you, entwining your fingers tight with his.

The way he clutches your hand makes you smile, drunk on a feeling you shouldn’t have, so you use your free hand to wave. The roar shakes you to your core - but it's not hatred, it's adoration. You’ve stunned them all. You beam at the cheering colors.

You test out blowing a kiss to one part of the crowd, where you see a little girl jump and scream for your attention, and everyone reaches out as if they can grab it, holding it close to their chests, as if there’s something caught in the space between their fingers and palm.

It gives you a sense of unmatched power, knowing that everyone is looking at you, that the Careers are definitely glaring at you, because they are so used to getting all the attention that now that you are captivating everything with the golden, flaming arches unfurling from your back, they aren’t pleased.

For once, you’re glad that you have Leon to grip, eyes flickering from the firelight of your wings, dancing down his simple, elegant suit that seems to blend with the darkness and reflect the flames.

You realize that his hand has gone white, so you move to release your grip, but he pulls you back, a pleading look mingling with the fireflies blinking in his waning eyes.

“Please,” he whispers. “I might fall off.”

You laugh softly, but the cameras don’t miss anything. You both have been getting a significant amount of screen time compared to the other tributes, so when you finish your rounds, waving up at President Snow, the distaste curling your tongue disappears when Leon hops down and offers you his hand.

You accept it gratefully, cameras lingering on you both before switching to another duo. While Cinna gently removes the flaming wings, smiling proudly, Leon twists to grin at you, so genuine you could fool yourself into thinking that everything that comes out of his mouth is true.

“You’re pretty cute when you’re on fire,” he says simply. “You should wear gold more often.”

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” you say before you can stop yourself. And then you remind yourself of what Claire said - he’ll be planning to kill you. You have to kill him before he can get to you.

So because whatever you sow, you must reap, you lean closer, knowing all the tributes are glowering at you, the attention undoubtedly set directly on you, distributed unevenly. You cup his cheek gently, deliberately, enjoying the flash of confusion rushing through his eyes.

And you peck a soft kiss to his jawline.

<><><><>

Just like the opening ceremonies, your training uniforms correlate with one another’s perfectly - looking out of place with everyone else wearing totally different things.

"Remember, these next days will determine your survival," Haymitch says as we enter the Training Center.

You steel yourself, knowing the horrors that await below. But seeing Leon’s steady, calm gaze as you descend among the other tributes, sizing each other up like prey, you realize that there’s nothing to doubt.

Rather than cower, you both stand tall and match strides, sticking with each other through every station. Of course, there are things that Leon is better at than you lack in, and vice versa. But instead of tripping you up, he helps you through it, just as you return the favor by explaining how to properly tie a knot, identify edible plants and start a fire.

No one will doubt your alliance. If anything, you wish for people to join your team, however temporary. But there is only a shadow trailing you everywhere, a boy that reminds you of your little brother, with his square, soft jawline and wide, innocent eyes.

He can’t be older than nine, so you take pity on him and keep your voice louder so he can overhear. Against all odds, you don’t want him to die.

Just like you don’t want Leon to die. You catch yourself watching him more and more, oftentimes keeping an eye on him while he stretches, admiring the tight coils of his body, so perfectly sculpted, like a statue from marble.

He must feel you looking, because he cranes his neck to spot you peering at him, then chuckles as you rush to finish your double knot from rope.

Leon doesn’t miss any chances to make snarky comments, whether it be during spear throwing, or the twenty minutes spared for lunch. 

But you never underestimate how dangerous he can be. Glimmer gives you the barest definition of a sneer, and within moments, with just a flick of his wrist, a knife sails past the tribute's throat. 

Her expression, plastered with shock, shows her thoughts.

Message received.

Slowly but surely, day by day, you earn everyone’s respect, however hesitant or however grudgingly, but you never miss the way they whisper as you stroll past, conversing with one another about which activity you’re going to excel at today.

“So, tell me.” Haymitch leans back in the dinner chair, hands resting on his stomach as the hazy look in his eyes fades away, the effects of the wine he had thirty minutes ago wearing off. “What can you do?”

“She’s the hunter.” Leon shrugs. “I can’t do much.”

“You carry around all that coal,” you point out. You’ve watched him from the forest, where he wheels the barrows filled with heavy, dusty blocks of coal back and forth, a fine layer of coal dust settling over his skin.

“Of course. My greatest weapon,” he deadpans. “Coal.”

“I meant your strength,” you grumble. “Be optimistic, can you?”

“You’re telling me.” Leon chuckles.

“Enough bickering,” Haymitch groans. “So, hunter, what’s your special gift?”

“I can… uh… well…”

“You’re not making this easy for me, are you?” Haymitch shakes his head, massaging the bridge of his nose. “Can’t you use a bow?”

You shake your head.

“Knives? Daggers? Spears?”

“Leon can use a knife,” you add. 

“Real helpful,” Haymitch drones. “Okay, here’s what’s about to happen. Leon, you’re going to teach her how to use a knife. And she’ll teach you to hunt. Deal?”

You’re pretty sure that’s what you’ve been doing, but for the last day of training, you agree to at least try your mentor’s advice.

Which is how you find yourself in this situation.

You sneak a glance back at Leon, who seems occupied, so you turn your attention back to the knife, gingerly picking it up and trying to mime a stabbing motion on an invisible target. Your face flushes crimson when you hear some restrained laughter behind you.

"Shut up!" you cross your arms and pout, turning away from him. "You’re supposed to be teaching me, not laughing at me."

You hear footsteps behind you, and before you can look over your shoulder, he's crossed the room and is standing against you, his arms encasing yours and fingers gracefully planting themselves against the hilt of the knife.

You glance up at him, but he clicks his tongue.

"Eyes down here, birdie," he says, and his low voice in your ear sends flames shooting from where his fingers meet yours and up your spine, straight to your head. Your chest twists as you suddenly have a name for the fire that ignites in the pit of your stomach, unmistakable and blunt against everything else fighting for a spot in your head. "Hold it like this."

"Got it," you mumble, your voice coming out even quieter than expected. Your pulse thrums under his, blond hair brushing the side of your cheek, azure eyes darting from you to the knife.

Leon abruptly pulls away, and you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. He takes an edged breath, and your heart slows. You palm the knife in your hand, turning to face him and twisting it through your fingers slowly.

"Careful," he murmurs. "You might cut yourself."

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you attempt dryly. 

Neither of you laugh.

<><><><><>

It irks you, to say the least, that none of the Gamemakers are paying attention to you. They’d rather make small talk about how divine the feast spread out in front of them is, or what they’ll be doing over the weekend, and it pisses you off.

So you reckon that to get their attention, you’ll need to show them you’re worth watching.

Their obliviousness makes you smile inwardly as you will your heartbeat to slow as you stalk towards the jovial crowd, drawing closer with each steady breath. Under cover of noise and distracted chatter, you were gaining.

The group is joking about how no one has impressed them yet. You’re about to change that. You crawl the final length on hands and knees, careful touch mapping the terrain so each advancement felt natural. Upwind, you find cover behind a silk curtain draped over a table and readied yourself. When laughter rises loudest, you strike.

Your arms wrap tight around a target, not quite caring who it is, twisted in an inescapable hold, your other hand covering their mouth to muffle their cries. The rest of the Gamemakers gape at you as you release the woman in your grasp.

She stumbles away, collapsing to her knees, gasping for air. The other examiners stare in both amazement and fear, searching your eyes soundlessly. 

“Thank you for your consideration? May I be excused?” Without waiting for an answer, you bow slightly.

And you take a step back, letting the shadows accentuate your face, saluting with a grin before melting back into the shadows, feeling worse about yourself than you were before.

You don’t expect the smile on Haymitch’s face, nor the slight amusement on Effie’s when they exchange a look as you explain your story.

“Well,” Leon says with a huff. “Now mine sounds boring.”

“You let your anger get the best of you,” Haymitch deduces, nodding. “Good. We can use some spirit.”

“But you said I needed to compose myself.”

“You’re forgetting something.”

“What?”

Haymitch leans back, a faraway look coming over him as if recalling another time, another Games. "We’re both still human. It’s in our nature to best those looking down on us.”

There seems to be an underlying meaning to what he says, but you don’t bother trying to figure out what it is. Instead, you tilt your head at Leon, gesturing for him to continue.

“How’d you do?” you ask politely.

“Not bad,” he admits. “Nothing showy like you. I just did what I did to Glimmer.”

“Immediate 12,” you say, shaking your head in fake remorse. “You exposed yourself to her, too.”

“But she’s pretty dumb,” Leon argues. “I think she’ll be out quick.”

He’s not wrong, you can say that much. There’s definitely competition, you know that, but there are certain tributes you know you don't need to stress over.

Leon admitting to his inferior performance startles you. He's changing, adapting to the game of puppetry they're slowly starting to implement onto you, preparing you for the games.

And you keep your eyes forward.

<><><><><>

In the room, stylists twist Leon's hair into elaborate patterns that fall over his eyes, casting shadows over his pale blue irises. He gives you a crooked smile with the side of his face as a makeup artist dabs his cheekbones with powder.

Leon's wearing a sweater that matches yours, except unlike you, he looks like he's been attending private school over the summer, spending his days playing polo and betting on horse races, a luxury only District 1 has.

You don't understand why Leon needs makeup. He already looks fine, but you suppose "fine" won't suffice for the Capitol’s games. You realize you’re glaring at him and quickly look away.

"Alright, let's go over this," Haymitch drawls, standing near the edge of the couch you’re sitting on. "You need to make it seem like you've been close friends with him, kept in touch for a long time."

"Got it," you say, slightly bitter. "Why couldn't you do this?"

"Because I’m not your mother."

"Aren’t you mentoring us?”

"That depends on how today goes," Haymitch says, but a small smile has crept onto his face. He shakes his head and glances down at you, eyes flitting to the complex camera system. "Do what you need to. Remember what's at stake here."

You nod and mimic the action before he walks away. Someone shoos all of Leon's artists away, sending them scrambling like a school of fish. And they’ve called your names, the district interviews being set with both tributes. In what world they assumed this would help the kids about to die to open up, you couldn’t imagine.

You see none of this confusion reflected in the preppy interviewer, Caesar Flickerman who is sitting near you, smiling eerily.

"So, you two, you look cozy over there," he says, waggling his eyebrows in a way that makes you want to throw up. "Let’s hear a little about you two, huh?" He turns, wide eyes boring into you.

Your intro is somewhat unsteady, the way he’s worded the question throwing you off. "Well, uh… we’re…”

"We've been friends for a long time," Leon finishes for you, leaning back in his chair and spreading his legs. It sends warning bells ringing in your head, the informal posture, but you only hear the crowd swooning, so maybe it has something to do with his charming personality. He smiles warmly at the camera and the interviewer's own only grows.

"You’ve been friends since your childhood, yes?” he asks, directing a pen towards the both of you.

"Uh..." Leon's eyes cut to you.

"Yes," you say for him. "We've pretty much known each other for our entire lives."

"Mhm, yup," Leon affirms.

"Now, here's the biggest question on everyone's mind," he says, leaning forward in her seat. "Your story, from what I can tell, has its rocky start, but from what we can see on the cameras, something is blossoming between you. I mean, you both got an 11! Something doesn’t seem quite right.” As if on cue, scripted, the audience laughs. Caesar waggles his eyebrows cartoonishly. “Care to explain?" He lets out a boyish giggle.

"I'm... sorry?" Leon tilts his head, and by the confused look in his eyes you see he doesn't understand the full length of what the man said.

"I understand what you're implying," you begin, “but-”

"Wait, what, you do?" Leon turns to you, raising an eyebrow. "What does he mean?"

"Go ahead. Tell him what I mean," he says, long, curved eyelashes fluttering. He waves the camera over and you feel the gazes of what feels like the entirety of Panem on you.

It's Leon. He'll laugh at the implication and wave it off. He’s just some guy. You don’t care what he thinks, do you?

"He, along with the rest of whoever 'everyone' is, thinks we're together." The room holds its breath, Leon's expression unchanging. Then he smiles.

"Are we?"

"No, stupid."

"Women," he says, scoffing and turning to look at the other side. The camera zooms in on his face, and you can see a smile creep onto the side of his face.

"Leon has very readable emotions," you say, immediately getting his attention. He snaps back to you, eyes meeting yours in a challenging glare. You sit forward and he copies your movements, his glare cast downward as yours is cast upward. Your faces are so close that your noses could be touching.

"My lovely partner, as you can see, has visible reactions to everything I do. I guess I'm just too handsome for her to leave alone," he says smugly, a smirk curving his lips.

"Fuck off, you self-absorbed prick."

Leon leans forward. "Wow, are we giving them something to talk about?"

You meet his gaze without flinching. "No.”

He smiles strangely. "Your readable reaction says otherwise."

Your temper flashes. "Don't flatter yourself. I couldn't care less.”

“So, you two, hm?” Caesar Flickerman interrupts, glancing at you both, raising an eyebrow inquisitively, most likely trying to change the subject. “I didn’t expect that, now did I?”

“Neither did I,” Leon mumbles, trying to make it seem like a joke with a quirk of his mouth. “But here we are.”

Since you’re not responding, the interviewer keeps the questions to Leon, who responds with as much wit as he can muster.

“You should be proud to call such a…” Caesar struggles to grasp the right word for your personality. “Fierce young lady, your partner.”

“She isn’t my partner,” Leon replies casually.

“Then who does she belong to?” Caesar leans in, propping his head on his elbow. The fact you’re being objectified by this man, while you sit right in front of him, makes you want to lean over and punch him, crack that chiseled jaw, but Leon just scoffs.

“No one. She’s her own girl.”

You stare up at Leon, who looks back down at you from the side of his eye, slanting to meet your height. Something about that comment feels both complementary and insulting, as if he can’t decide on his opinion of you.

Maybe he’s trying to make up for what he said earlier. Or maybe he doesn’t care. You’ll admit that it bothers you slightly, the fact that he’s so unbothered by everything and that anything he says doesn’t pass you.

Then, finally, your interview is over, the buzzer ringing in your ears.

“That seems about all the time we have, folks.”

You don't know what to expect, but it's not the roar of protests that greet you as you stand and exit the stage, seething but as formal as you can manage.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Haymitch doesn't look any happier than you feel, but you dismiss it with a shrug.

“They could perceive it as…” Cinna shakes his head. “Trouble in paradise?”

“What part of this situation is even close to paradise?” You blanch. 

“The food?” Flavius suggests, voice as close to a helpful chirp during a quiet hunt, doing nothing to quash the anger that sears the back of your neck.

“Wait, seriously, listen to me-”

“The last thing I’m doing is listening to you, Leon,” you hiss. You turn back to your mentor, hands brushing.

"You both are excused," Haymitch mutters at your expression.

<><><><>

But something doesn’t sit right with you, so you storm over to Leon’s room, knocking rapidly.

A loose white shirt hangs low beneath his hips, covering his thighs and presumably shorts. He opens the door with blurry eyes, rubbing them, blinking down at you, tilting his head in confusion. “Need something, sweetheart?”

You scowl at the pet name and push your way past him. He gets the idea and closes the door behind you, locking it before turning to face you. His fingers tangle his already tousled mess of golden hair as he exhales slowly.

“What… happened back there?” you ask tentatively. 

“Haymitch… he wants us to play the romance card.”

A beat of silence passes. “Even if not one, but both of us die?”

“I guess it brings in more sponsors?” Leon shrugs helplessly, yawning, mouth stretching into an ‘o’. “Is that all you have to say?”

“What you said back there, did you mean it?” Leon arches an eyebrow. “About me… being… my own person?”

“I mean, yeah?” He cups the back of his neck and stretches, flexing his bicep. “It’s not like we’re complete strangers.”

“Of course not,” you mumble. “How could I ever forget?”

Leon chuckles. “Don’t tell me you still haven’t gotten over that.”

“Might be simple to you,” you say, “but I could’ve died.”

“Because I kissed you?”

“Because you ratted me out!”

Leon shakes his head. “That’s where you messed up. I didn’t say anything.”

You pause. Everything that you’ve assumed about him over the past six years, judging his character because of the strong belief he put your life in danger, seems to vanish. “You didn’t?”

“That was my brother. He saw us.”

“He did?” you exclaim.

“You didn’t think you were the only one to suffer the consequences, did you?” He attempts to keep his tone airy, but there’s something heavy behind it. Immediately, your mind goes to the morning of the Reaping, to the red on his face, to the close bond between the baker’s wife and Leon’s mother, and you make the connection.

“Oh, shit, Leon,” you murmur. “I’m so sorry.”

“Still want to be coached separately?”

Your lips twist into a grimace. “That’s not what this is about.”

The only response you receive is a small shrug. “Anyways, there’s nothing you could’ve done about it.” His eyes sparkle with unshed tears, but he keeps his voice steady. “I hope you know that even if you hadn’t… you know, kissed me, I wouldn’t have said anything.”

He ducks his head, not wanting to see your hesitant nod.

“I’m not a bad guy,” he says quietly, as if trying to convince himself. “It’s just… all anyone would talk to me about was my brother, the second Victor of District 12. There was no one for me.

“And you came into my life, just… there, and you were separate from the life that I had, all adoration for my brother. You gave me attention.”

“But what are we?” you press, more insistent. “I can’t play a game with you like that. I need to hear it straight.”

"You know what we are," Leon says, meeting your gaze. His eyes, however much they've darkened over the years, are still his, full of confusion. There's something different now, though. There's something guarding them, some kind of emotional barrier to keep from showing too much. Something he’s keeping.

"I used to think I did," you say. "But I don't think I do anymore."

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means.”

"I don't know." Leon mumbles. "How am I supposed to know? You don't fucking tell me anything, and it’s been almost a decade." His feet shuffle on the floor.

"A decade?" You laugh dryly. "Well, we are getting pretty damn close to that milestone, aren't we?"

Leon’s eyes flash dangerously. “You know it isn't that simple.”

“But it is,” you retort. "You don’t care.”

Leon leans in closer, voice dropping to a fierce whisper. “If you think I don't care, then you’re more naive than I thought. You have no idea what was really at stake.”

You match his tone, eyes glittering. “Enlighten me then. Go on, tell me how much you care."

"Why can't you just-

You lift your chin defiantly. “Just what, Leon?”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. “Get out.”

“You know what?” You brush past him, feeling his eyes linger on your back as you open the door. You don’t spare him another glance. “I think I will.”

<><><><>

The gong sounds and you launch from your metal circle, sprinting toward the Cornucopia with the others. Adrenaline surges through my veins as you spot a backpack and dagger nearby.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see one of the boys tackle another to the ground. A sickening crunch and the cannon fires - the first death in mere seconds.

Grabbing the supplies you were eyeing, you spin to flee but freeze in horror. Two Careers have Leon pinned, knives flashing as he fights like a cornered animal. Without thought, you whip your new dagger at the nearest attacker. It sinks hilt-deep in their neck with a wet thunk.

There is only a moment of shock before Leon retaliates, slashing at the second boy. Before long, they’re both crumpled on the ground as Leon picks through their freshly deceased bodies.

Your eyes meet amid the screams and clashing steel. For an instant, understanding passes between you blood-soaked survivors. Then you nod, turn, and run as fast as you can from the massacre, finding safety from the pounding of boots.

You rush into the thickening forest as more cannons boom, signaling the end of the initial slaughter. None pursue you further into the shadows of the trees. You slump against a trunk, chest heaving.

And yet your thoughts wander to how Leon is faring, to the crestfallen look on his face that surely must adorn his expression, because you could’ve allied with one another.

But you know it’s best this way.

There can only be one winner, after all.

<><><><>

You’ve had your eye on her since you woke up. She’s too loud to miss, like a clumsy deer separated from its family. She crashes into everything, making a racket, and she risks giving away your location, too.

So you track her.

Your footsteps are light, albeit not completely quiet. Still, your victim, the girl from District 5, has not noticed, and you adapt to the shadows, moving as one with them, as if you’re truly just back on a hunt in District 12.

How proud would Chris be of you? He would finally accept your hunting tread, finally praise you, stop teasing you for scaring away potential game. You long for his comforting presence here, but he is not here, and the one person who is…

Well, the person who just happens to be one of your next targets.

But for now, you watch the girl that stalks towards another clearing. She waits, cautiously glancing around every two seconds, wasting precious time. You’re just about to take another step towards her when you notice the subtle change, unmissable to your trained eyes; the shift of colors in one specific area.

The leaves are brighter, less natural, as if placed there intentionally. You do not say a word as the girl fails to see the thin strings glinting sunlight in her way, sharp and silent, waiting for her. One at her feet trips her, and before she can catch herself, the strings slice into her skin. She lies there, whimpering, held up by the threads, before the one pressing at her stomach finally cuts through.

She tumbles down, dripping crimson. A moan passes her lips, pained, like an injured animal, but somehow, she manages to take a breath and twist her body around, craning her neck to assess the damage.

For a second, it seems as though all is okay. And then the lower half of her body slips down, and crumples a few inches away from her. Her entire digestive system, coated in glistening blood, splays out in front of her, slumping into the dead leaves.

From this angle, you can see her open her mouth to scream, but only a gurgle comes out as her mouth fills with blood. She catches sight of her bow, the one she wore to the interview, the one you had noticed her clutching dearly to her chest, lying on near her fingertips, and she strains to grab it.

Something snaps in her neck and she twitches for a moment before going still. Everything goes silent, as if nature itself is witnessing this moment.

The beautiful girl whose clumsiness was her downfall, whose name I never knew lies on the ground, a horrible, gruesome sight left of the woman who was once a daughter, a sister, a friend. She does not move again.

But the shadows around her do. And from those same shadows I hide in emerge the Careers, brutish, beefy boys that I had not paid much attention to at training, because you were too busy looking at that little brat.

You wonder which one of them has the brains to set up such a complicated, subtle trap, so cleverly placed that you might’ve missed it if she hadn’t already died. Just as you resolve to watch them cackle at the poor, dead girl, you notice another figure slip from the shadows.

And once they step into the sunlight, dappling their face in aligned patterns, you almost drop your knife onto the ground.

The boy standing there is someone you don't expect.

Leon.

[dualumina]

A Quick Full Guide for getting Gold in

Lowland Shore: Harvest Shore Salmon Run!

~~~

Update! So it's been brought to our attention that the race event, has a significantly longer timer to achieve gold than the adventure does, assuming you show up right before the race starts.

It's possible this is a bug, so it might be patched out in the coming future. It's also possible that Anet will change the gold requirements to be less strict (we've never heard of this happening before, but who knows.)

Either way, at the time of editing this (September 7th 2024) the below guide still applies for the adventure!

Further update: The latest GW2 update actually added extra time to qualify for Gold, so you may not need all the expensive gear to achieve it. If you're still struggling, pre-booning will still offer a decent headstart, even if some class traits might not work in fish form.

Best of luck out there, fellow salmon! 🐟

Before even starting the race, you'll need the right stuff to have a chance of succeeding.

Equipment:

Get at least 1 or 2 of Bowl of Orrian Truffle and Meat Stew

Equip 6 Superior Runes of Speed

Equip a Relic of Speed

Build:

There are several things you'll want on your build to make your life as painless as possible.

Adrenaline Regeneration

Vigor Source

Movement Speed Increase

Pre-Race Boons

The main boons you want to give yourself are Swiftness, Vigor, Quickness/Alacrity, and Superspeed. Other boons may or may not be necessary depending on your class.

As you may have noticed, this is all stuff available on an Engineer (Mechanist with Tools and Alchemy trait lines). Because that's the class we decided to first try this race on.

Thankfully we're feeling generous, so here are the best builds for all other 8 classes. Usually there's only a few critical things you need in each case, so if something isn't specified, just pick whatever.

Mesmer:

Dueling > Mental Gymnastics Chronomancer > Time Marches On Signet of Inspiration, Well of Action, Time Warp Focus (Temporal Curtain)

Elementalist:

Water > Soothing Disruption Air > Zephyr's Speed > One With Air Weaver > Woven Stride Ether Renewal, Unravel (Water), Cleansing Fire, Signet of Air Staff (Air > Windborne Speed)

Necromancer:

Blood Magic > Banshee's Wail Soul Reaping > Speed of Shadows > Eternal Life Harbinger > Twisted Medicine > Deathly Haste Spectral Recall, Signet of the Locust, Elixir of Anguish Warhorn (Locust Swarm)

Revenant:

Retribution > Enduring Recovery > Unwavering Avoidance Invocation > Rapid Flow Herald > Core Value > Draconic Echo Legendary Dragon Stance (activate and consume all skills, starting with Facet of Chaos)

Guardian:

Honor > Vigorous Precision > Purity of Body Virtues > Absolute Resolve > Power of the Virtuous Firebrand > Archivist of Whispers > Swift Scholar > Stalwart Speed > Loremaster Mantra of Potence, Advance!, Signet of Mercy, Feel My Wrath! Tome of Resolve (Chapter 3)

Warrior:

Defence > Last Stand Discipline > Warrior's Sprint > Doubled Standards Bladesworn > Swift As the Wind Combat Stimulant, Signet of Stamina, Banner of Tactics, Frenzy, Signet of Rage Warhorn

Ranger:

Wilderness Survival > Natural Vigor Skirmishing > Tail Wind > Primal Reflexes Soulbeast > Live Fast > Essence of Speed > Leader of the Pack Water Spirit, Signet of the Hunt, Quickening Zephyr, Griffon Stance, Strength of the Pact! Warhorn (Call of the Wild)

Thief:

Acrobatics > Expeditious Dodger > Feline Grace Daredevil > Physical Supremacy > Unhindered Combatant Haste, Signet of Shadows

(Thief is weirdly low on options it seems)

Okay and of course Engineer was already covered earlier

Race:

So you've got your gear, your build, and now onto the race itself. First off, here's what you need to know about your skills that aren't obvious at a glance.

Dash!

This skill works noticeably differently depending on where you're located. When you're in deep water, the skill works just fine. On land, it's similar enough to not worth mentioning. But if you're on the water's surface, to the point that your skills aren't listed, for the love of every god don't use the dash! You will get no benefit except wasting your stamina.

If you don't see your skills just don't press 'em!

Flop!

Flop is the most versatile skill at your disposal, and has drastically different effects for different situations. If you're in deep water, then using flop will yeet you to the water's surface. This can be handy for needing to get up to checkpoints in shallower water quickly. If you're already at the water's surface, then you'll go straight up... usually. This race is a bit finicky at times. If you're on flat land, you'll also go straight up. Thankfully it's pretty consistent. However if you're on an upwards slope, or close enough to one, then you will go up it at record speed.

A prime flop location

Glub

Glub :3

Now go out there and get glubbin'!

[tearsonthemoons]

Talk to me - part one

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄༻✦༺⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･

Warning: (none) pure fluff.

Pairing: Finnick Odair x chubby reader

promt: You've always liked finnick odair, even before his reaping. while running into him while headed to the district market, you discover just how intense he makes you feel. (Multiple part story with a thick plot line.)

Finnick Odair, every girl in every districts boy crush, including mine.

My unfair advantage came with my look, I wasn't exactly what people would see as beautiful, quite the opposite of sex appeal. Though now it really is hard to be considered something appealing to the capital's eyes, or a handsome boy in our district. Finnick couldn't relate, he’s what every boy wants to look like and what every girl wants to get their hands on.

I had fallen victim of his charm.

I was a tough girl though, I never let boys get in the way. Then again, I’ve never ran into a situation where i needed to try and prevent this either.

I have never been chased by a boy, never desired. I'm not a capital jewel, or even a pretty district girl. Somehow even being short of food, my body seemed bigger than the average girl in my district, or any district. I have larger arms, wider hips, and my thighs weren't small by any means either, I never do feel ashamed of my body, It's not like i'll be showing it off to anyone.

"Y/n?" I heard my mother call, interrupting my thoughts. I'm sure she was just planning to send to into the town to sell off her pearls for something to put on the table. I was already lacing up my boots in preparation for the 3 miles of walking i'd have to do.

I walk down the hall and greet my tired mother with a small peck on the cheek. "On it." I say pushing through our faulty door and heading my usual direction into the town.

With each step I took through the forest on the patchy trial, Finnick was in my mind, Though he had won the hunger games for our district at only 14, he’s never failed to come back home from his capitol "duties", Were older now though, no longer teenagers, he has more freedom of where he calls home. I never knew finnick well enough to talk about him in depth, unless it was about his alluring looks anyways. In school he was typically pulling pranks on other students and teachers, but he never did get in trouble, It was probably his manners, he was always kind, despite being a little wild.

I remember being 12 years old, walking this same path home, only I had company, with this kind boy, finnick, no particular reason, he just happened to be talking my ear off the whole time, whether it was about fish he could catch, or how he liked the color of my hair. I enjoyed his presence, He only did walk with me a few more time after that, I wasn't too cooperative to the talking part, I never even told him my true name, "What's your name then?" he said, I smiled, and that was all. Then all of a sudden I was "Bugs".

I sure it was because of my beetle charm, but he never did specify why he had called me this.

By the time these thoughts had consumed my mind, I was a but over halfway there, passing my old school already, each step crushed with the sounds of leafs. It was chilly out, the wind was blowing my hair in my face, I was thankful for the scarf my mother made me wear on my way. The crunching of the leafs were soothing my ears. Until I began to hear the crunches follow behind me. Who was there? was I being followed? robbed? I came to a quick turn expecting to be frightened, but to my surprise, the blonde headed boy who was in my thoughts all this time was following behind me.

what was finnick doing here?

I headed a bit towards him, a friendly smile was on his face, or maybe a devious smirk, I really couldn't tell. "Hey there." he said taking steps closer to me, I was able to identify his smile, it was devious.

I almost didn't respond to him like I didn't all those years ago, but his greeting was to alluring to avoid. My heart nearly left my chest, "Hi" I said with a smile back. All I could manage to get out was that before I turned around keeping myself on my same path to my destination, still being slightly ahead of him.

I heard him speed up a bit to walk beside me, his tall and broad frame next to me was enough to understand why so many girls wanted him. Handsome is all I can say. "Headed to town?" he said turning his body to mine, still keeping the same pace as before. a smile on his face as he looked at me. "Yes, trading pearls for my mother." I said holding out the pretty pearl in my hand for him to see. It was strange having finnick odair, capitals charmer walking with me into the town, but then again, we've called the same place home for years, it's not like he's lost or anything.

"Pretty pearls you got their Bug." he said with a slight giggling placing the pearl back into my hand, I stopped in my tracks realizing he had recognized me. Why did he recognize me? Some random girl that ignored him on his way home from school? It wasn't adding up and I tried to piece it together shooting him a puzzled look. "You remember me?" I said with a near stutter in my voice, furrowing my brows a bit more as he shared a chuckle out loud, his smile lines complimenting his oddly white teeth.

"Hmm" he said turning to walk again, "How could I forget that pretty hair." he said with another laugh, It was almost sarcastic. even if he was being sarcastic, at least he remembered me, because he's been stuck in my mind since I first formed my crush on him at only 12. I turn and continue to walk with him, a few moments of silence and crunching leafs consume my ears. I was waiting for him to talk to me again, or think of something I could say to him, but it was just quite, aside from his little whistle he kept repeating.

"I'm going to donate my fish to the market today, join me?" he said as we took our last few steps into the town, It was a relief he had invited me, though I had things to do, I'm sure a few more minutes in the towns wouldn't uphold my mother's dinner plan to much. besides, what harm could a nice even with Finnick do?

I can't help but smile a bit, bringing his face to look at mine. "Why not." I say following him further. Surely a few more minutes with him wouldn't delay my mother's dinner plans to terribly.

We make our final approaching steps reaching an old ladies market, she typically trade shiny goods for meats, but Finnick wasn't trading, just offering. "Here you are lilith." he said placing what seemed to be a small bag of trouts in front of the old lady, her hands were shaking as she pulled out a shiny locket from her pocket. I had recognized this jewel, She's always had it on displayed, offered to me for food a few times, I was never able to take no matter how pretty I thought it was. I looked back at finnick, a smile on his face as he shook his head at the old woman, for a second I forgot that finnick probably had endless supplies of these pretty lockets. "For free lilith, Keep it." he said closing the locket in her hands, the woman shook her head back at him in response. "Take it dear, there's no harm." she said trying to hand it to him, my eyes were obviously glued to the pretty necklace, but I was distracted enough to see him actually take it from the woman though, I looked over at him, his eyes were darting back and forth from the necklace to my neck.

"Okay lilith, but only for the lady." He said kissing her hand and sharing a soft smile with her. I could feel the warmth of my face forming a pink color on my cheeks, I looked at him not only being so nice to this woman, but receiving me a necklace I've wanted for years. I smile at him as we leave the old women's booth.

"For you." he said holding the necklace up, dangling in front of my eyes, I drank in its golden beauty. "Thank you Finnick." I said gently grabbing it from him, my fingers tracing over the flower detail on the necklace capsule, it was almost shiney enough to see my reflection in it. He had his hands behind his back now, watching me admire it.

"Here, let me." he said taking the necklace back in his hand and walking behind me. I could feel my stomach form knots, tight ones, seeing him disappear behind me, I pulled my longish hair up in my hands, allowing his to go around my neck, gently picking up the other end of the necklace, his hand faintly touching the crook of my neck, It was enough to send shivers now my spine. I could feel his warm breath on the back of my neck now, I wonder if he could see the goosebumps on my neck. the locket fell down over my scarf, It was beautiful. Finnick was back in front of me with a smile, hands on the base of the locket. "Pretty, isn't it?" he said looking back up at me.

I could tell the seconds of my delayed response nearly made it obvious how I was feeling, his lips being slightly parted and his eyes wide in expression made me want to kiss him. I've never wanted to kiss a boy this way before. I couldn't say anything, just stare. A cough came through his throat interrupting my thoughts. "Here." he said unraveling my scarf from my neck gently, my hair fell onto my shoulders, the necklace falling down decently low, resting right above my chest. "Very pretty." he said smiling quickly before turning away from my face walking towards the direction of another booth, me tagging along. Was he talking about the necklace alone? or the necklace on me? was all that was running through my mind. my scarf was still in his hands, him holding onto it for me. I was swooning, my eyes trying their best to not stare at him.

When we arrive at the booth, I pick up some bread to eat for dinner, the pearl didn't get too much, but this would still feed us. We walk toward the path we took to get here, not saying anything since his compliment to the necklace he got me. I start to walk down the path and notice hes standing still not trying to follow.

"This is where I'm off." he said smiling down at me. A disappointment filled me, Even in silence, I liked spending time with him. "You aren't coming?" I said causing his smile to fade a bit. "Not today." he said slightly defeated. I smile at him, "Thank you." I said with another almost stutter in my voice. "I've always wanted this necklace, thank you finnick." I said, I wanted to give him a hug, something was drawing me to him, but I just sat there not being able to. "I'm glad you like it." he said, his soft laugh teasing at my heart again. We both smile at this, I know I looked like a love smitten fool at this point, like all those pretty district girl would look at him even if he were to just walk by.

"Bye now." I said turning away and walking down the path a few steps more.

"Bye!" he shouted a bit so I would hear him, the smile on my face growing bigger than it has all day, now that I was hidden from his frontal few, I had nothing to try and hide. The walk home was slow and boring, finnicks pretty smile and warm eyes on my mind all the way until I walked through my wooden door.

"You're back late" my mom said receiving the bread from my hands and putting it down on our dining table. The smile hadn't left my face just yet, leaving her to notice it. "What's that about?" she said with a soft grin, nuding my shoulder.

"Nothing important, just ran into an old friend." I said sitting down at the dining table with her, cutting the bread with the knife I had stored away in my jeans.

"Just a friend." I whispered, her eyes on my locket. "Your friend sure does like you if he happened to get you that expensive necklace, that thing could get us all kinds of bread and meat." She said pulling the necklace into her cold hands.

I stopped chewing to look at her again, "Well, this one's not for sale." I said pulling it from her hands, gently holding it in mine. "hm." left her lips, I could tell by the suspicion in her eye's that she might have figured out it wasn't someone I wanted to call a friend.

"We'll seen then." she said smiling while getting up from her chair. "You do need to go back tomorrow anyways." she said.

I didn't respond, only a sense of excitement filling my gut, maybe I would see him again.

Maybe I could truly thank him.

Word count: 3.3k 

[nishimura-writes]

Coriolanus x Reader Echoes of Fate: PART 1

Paring: Coriolanus x Reader

Warning: Slow burn... REALLY SLOW BURN

Summary: In a surprising turn of events, you find yourself teamed up with Coriolanus Snow as a mentor for Lucy Gray. Although you seek change, your immediate task is to ensure her victory. As you and Snow strive for Lucy's safety, you both embark on a journey of understanding each other, for better or worse…

WORD COUNT: 1.8k

A/N: Before we delve into the story, I'd like to clarify a couple of things. Some parts of the narrative will be drawn from the original book, but I've incorporated elements from the 2023 movie adaptation of "The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes" by Suzanne Collins. It's important to note that all the characters in this story belong to Suzanne Collins, except for you—the reader. Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading.

In the winding corridors of the Academy, a place where every whisper seemed to tell a secret, you stood alone. All around you, students moved through the halls, each wrapped up in their own thoughts. The grand staircase, the heart of the Academy, was alive with students, each lost in their private world, as varied and unpredictable as leaves swirling in a wild autumn wind. 

Your eyes found Sejanus Plinth. In a crowd dressed mostly in uniform shades, he stood out sharply, his curly hair and tanned skin as distinctive as a bold stroke of colour on a plain canvas. 

Today was the day of the Reaping, a day that always felt heavy with fate and uncertainty. The Academy was filled with a quiet tension, the event casting a long shadow over everyone's thoughts. It wasn’t just another day; it was a moment that could change everything. 

You walked up to Sejanus, taking his arm to pull him aside, barely noticing the curious looks from others. Today, more than ever, you needed a familiar face, someone who stood out from the rest.

“Plinth, a pleasure as always,” you began with practised ease. “I trust you're faring well in these trying times?”

His reply was cut short by your wandering gaze, your mind elsewhere, haunted by the looming spectre of the Reaping. The hall buzzed with activity, a stark contrast to the solemnity of the districts.

Sejanus' eyes softened, a gesture of understanding. He knew you well, you were afraid. Since defending him from bullies, he had become like a brother to you, a beacon of warmth in the cold Capitol.

You glance around the room, your eyes darting in search of something, anything, to distract you from the weight of the day ahead. With a deep sigh, you fold your arms, unconsciously nibbling on your lip. 

The hall buzzes with a mix of faculty, students, and numerous Games officials, who aren't needed for today's initial broadcast. Their formal attire stands in stark contrast to the simpler garb of the district folk. For them, it's a day of grandeur, a significant day to shape the future of Panem.

 "I suppose I had to get away. For a moment," you murmur.

"Are you alright?" Sejanus questions, his voice is soft, laced with concern, his eyes searching yours for the truth that lies beneath. 

You pause, questioning yourself. Are you really alright? The honest answer would be no, but all you manage is a nod and a forced smile.

 "Yes, dear Plinth. Everything's fine."

 He looks at you, his eyes searching for the truth. 

"You’re not fine."

 "I'm managing just fine," You assert, clinging to a semblance of composure. 

You're trying to convince both him and yourself, while Sejanus gently probes for your vulnerability. You scan the room, landing on the entrance. Your gaze shifts, seeking a distraction, and finds one as Coriolanus Snow enters the room. 

“Look, there’s Snow,” you note, a hint of distraction in your voice.

 Sejanus, ever the mediator, remarks with a hint of curiosity, 

"I've always wondered why you and Snow don't talk much. Both of you are such good friends of mine." 

Your eyes flicker with a mix of confusion and contemplation. Why would Coriolanus Snow, of all people, engage in conversation with you? Such an association could only render him more vulnerable, particularly given his existing friendship with the gentle-hearted Sejanus.

“I've never seen the point in conversing with him. We're both preoccupied with more pressing matters,” you replied dismissively, though Sejanus seemed unconvinced.

Nevertheless, Sejanus, undeterred, gently steers you towards Snow. 

"Corio, you remember [Y/N] [L/N], don’t you?"

 Snow’s eyes, deep blue and piercing, lock onto yours for a fleeting moment before shifting to Sejanus.

"Of course, we’ve met. But our separate commitments have kept us from further acquaintance. Always a pleasure, Ms. [L/N]." 

His words, polite and well-spoken, stirred a complex whirl of emotions deep within you, leaving you with an unsettling mix of curiosity and doubt. They strangely mirror what you had said earlier, almost as if he's unknowingly echoing your thoughts. But the idea that he might have overheard you seems far-fetched. It's probably just a quirky twist of fate, two minds landing on the same note without intention.

You nod, your thoughts a tangled web as you ponder the hidden layers behind his courteous facade. His words, sweet on the surface, felt empty underneath. 

Memories from last year fluttered in your mind, about the time you mistook Tigris for being more than just his cousin. It seemed like a silly mix-up now, especially since you hadn't been thinking clearly that night.

 "Likewise, Snow," you reply, maintaining a cautious tone. 

Snow and Sejanus soon delve into their own discussion, leaving you feeling somewhat lonely. From a distance, you observed them, their shared laughter and knowing glances weaving an invisible barrier, a poignant reminder of the closeness you longed for more but couldn't reach. 

The way Snow's eyes lit up at something Sejanus said, the comfortable ease with which Sejanus responded – it was a dance of friendship you could only watch from the sidelines.

Sejanus, ever observant, caught the fleeting look of longing on your face. His eyes met yours across the distance, offering a sympathetic smile, but even this small gesture couldn't bridge the gap. 

The ringing of a bell signalled the gathering of students near the dais. Your heart pounded with a mix of fear and resolve. You found your seat beside Sejanus, with Coriolanus close by, and a special section reserved for the mentors.

The mentor section fills up, and the room falls into a hushed anticipation as Dean Casca Highbottom, the mastermind behind the Hunger Games, clumsily commences the mentorship announcements.

“Ho there,” he slurred, brandishing a crumpled paper. “We shall commence with the assignments. Listen closely, if you please.” 

His announcement of the pairings provoked a spectrum of reactions—frowns, gasps, excitement, and despair echoed through the hall. When Sejanus’ name was called, his expression turned sorrowful, his distaste for the Games no secret. 

The final announcement caused confusion. 

“And last, for District Twelve's girl... she shall be mentored by both Coriolanus Snow and [Y/N] [L/N].”

 Perplexed, you speak out, your voice tinged with disbelief.

 "Sir, there seems to be some error." 

Snow's gaze meets yours, reflecting your bewilderment.

Highbottom, adjusting the nonexistent glasses perched on his nose, dismissed your concerns. 

“No errors here. Consider yourselves fortunate.”

A sudden realisation hit you - this must be your father's doing. The thought left a bitter taste in your mouth. Teaming up with Snow, a star student at the academy, was a smart move for the tribute's survival. Yet, it felt like a chess piece moved by unseen hands. Snow's sharp mind was an asset, but your motives for victory weren't the same. This forced partnership was like a well-crafted play where each actor had their own hidden script.

The room falls into a heavy silence, with murmurs and chatter from the audience gradually dying down as they all turn their attention to the broadcast featuring Lucy Gray Baird.

 A sense of scrutiny washes over you, and you look to your right, locking eyes with none other than Coriolanus Snow. His expression tells a story of deep disappointment. You can't help but admire his composure, which stands in stark contrast to how most honour students might react, with tantrums and chaos.

 Lucy Gray, a character of intrigue, has undoubtedly left a lasting impression. Her audacious act of placing a lizard in the girl's dress speaks volumes of her bravery, and her distinctive attire stands out prominently among the others.

 "She's like a circus performer," one of the girls comments, a sentiment that finds agreement among the other mentors.

 You shake your head, considering the possibilities. Perhaps she is, but you hold onto the hope that there is more to her than meets the eye.

 On the screen, a Peacekeeper's hand rises, marking Lucy Gray's cheek with a cruel stroke. Her trembling form and teary eyes showcase the harsh realities of the districts, serving as a stark reminder of the injustice they face. 

Just as it seems Lucy Gray is on the brink of yielding to her tears, a voice, young and ethereal, emerges from the crowd, singing a haunting melody that seems to transcend the silence of the square. 

Lucy Gray herself joins in, her voice blending seamlessly with the singer's. 

You are captivated, as is the entire audience. The girl's singing feels like a beacon of hope in the midst of despair. It strikes you that this unexpected turn of events could potentially sway the audience to support your tribute. You make a mental note to discuss it with Snow later, realising the profound impact it might have on the unfolding drama.

As the reaping came to an end, the tantalising aroma of the evening buffet wove its way through the air, creating a tapestry of enticing scents that promised a sensory feast. Snow sat with himself, savouring each bite from the array of food. Perhaps each taste served as a contemplative pause in the midst of the evening's heavy surroundings. 

“May I join you?” you inquired, approaching his table.

He nodded, allowing you to sit. “Regarding Lucy Gray, she’s quite the character. Her time is lamentably short, wouldn’t you agree?”

He looks up from his food, deliberately setting down his utensils with a thoughtful expression. “She’ll survive, by any means necessary.” he affirms with determination. 

Nodding, you lift a fork loaded with creamed onions to your mouth, savouring the taste while musing about Snow's icy demeanour, which seemed to reflect his very name. 

"How do you propose we do it, Snow?" 

He pauses for a moment, his expression thoughtful, as if carefully assembling his thoughts. Finally, he speaks. 

"We'll assess the situation in the arena, but I do have a plan before that. Of course, we'll need the tributes' cooperation. We must speak with her."

 You blink in disbelief. 

"You're suggesting we meet her?" Your voice trembles slightly, though you keep it low enough not to draw attention.

"Yes," Snow whispers, glancing around cautiously to ensure no prying ears or eyes are nearby. His gaze returns to yours, laced with a touch of concern. "Please, lower your voice." 

"Okay," you concede, a knot of unease tightening in your chest. "Okay," you repeat, your heart pounding with apprehension. 

Across the table, Corionlaus reaches out to take your hand, the distance between you feeling strangely intimate. His touch catches you off guard, sending a ripple of surprise through you, mingled with an inexplicable sense of familiarity.

 "We'll be alright. Everything will work out. I promise," he reassures, and you nod, willing to accept his word. 

You take that promise to heart.

PART 2 II MASTERLIST

[gay-dorito-dust]

Adam had a mission to get to but unfortunately for him, there was a pivotal part of his attire that was missing; his vibrant red cape.

The golden god couldn’t for the life of him seem to find it anywhere he was most likely to leave it, once again was he was forced to retracing his steps but even further back this time. When he still couldn’t find his red cape anywhere, that’s when he decided to enlist your help in finding his lost belonging because if there was anyone he could go to in times like these, it’d be you without a shadow of a doubt.

‘Y/n. Thank goodness I found you, have you by any chance seen my…cape.’ Adam’s words trailed off when he teleported into your room, only to catch a good eye full of how the familiar red fabric draped across your shoulders like a blanket, swamping you almost entirely with it’s ill fitting, looked suspiciously like the cape he was searching high and low for.

‘Your cape?’ You asked, tugging the fabric closer towards you, almost hesitant to depart from it. ‘Can’t say I have.’

‘I can see it draped over your shoulders.’ Adam retorts. The feeling of seeing you so snug in his cape made the golden being feel things, warm things, and things that were borderline possessive.

‘What? Why would I have your cape that’s a wild assumption Warlock. I’m no cape stealer.’ You replied stubbornly despite knowing that you were caught red handed.

‘Y/n.’ Adam starts and you watch him hold out his hand expectedly. ‘Give me my cape back.’

‘What’s the magic word.’ You said and Adam’s brows furrowed in genuine confusion. ‘Magic word?’ He repeats as though the words were foreign to him. ‘There’s a magic word I need to recite in order to get my cape back?’

‘Yeah, there is and it’s please but you ain’t getting it unless you catch me first.’ You were about to leap to your feet and start the chase when a gust of wind picked up and suddenly you were held under Adam’s arm as his red cape was held under his other arm.

‘Does this count as me successfully capturing you?’ Adam asked innocently as you pouted at the lack of warmth. ‘Damn you Warlock, damn you.’ Was all you said.

‘You put yourself in this situation y/n and thus must reap the consequences of your actions but if you wanted to use my cape as a blanket in the first place.’ Adam started. ‘You could’ve just asked without feeling the need to steal it.’

‘I’ll keep that in mind.’ You responded, still a little down from loosing so soon but happy at the same time that Adam was willing you give you his cape in the future. You were also quite glad he didn’t ask why you took it in the first place, as you wouldn’t be quite sure how to explain the negative impact of his departures had on you; So your secret was safe for the time being.

‘Though I do have one question, why did you steal it in the first place?’ Adam then asked.

Never mind.

[alitheamateur]

Field Day

Two in a row?! Look at me go 💁🏻‍♀️

You thought the division championship would be the highlight of your night? Not if Joe B has anything to say about it…

*filth filth filth. run, little babies.*

@balanceingrace in grace, the KWEEN she is, saved the day with this pic porn ^ AND title ♥️

Another division championship under his belt, and your man was flying high. Joe was a conquerer. He fed on being the defeater in any & every situation, and when he was lucky enough to do so, you reaped the benefits.

Some Family had filtered out, media was finalizing all their comments, & a few of the closest teammates that had lingered around in an easy celebration had started to pack their duffles for home. With a home win like this one, stadium celebrations were a golden luxury. No rush off to the tarmac & having to celebrate over FaceTimes with wives or parents. All the loved ones were at arms length for hugs & champagne spritzes.

You loved to see Joe on top of the world. Exasperated redness in his cheeks, half form a chilly wind blowing into his helmet, the other half a flush from the thrill & liquor.

“Always my lucky charm,” he glided across the room to compliment you with a kiss.

He’d removed his game gear, clad now in his newest ‘champs’ tee and a pair of loose black shorts. A white hat was shifted backwards on his head, sandy curls flipping from beneath it. He was a sight in every positive meaning of the word.

“And always happy to be”, you grinned, receiving his sneaky tongue excitedly into your mouth. He wasn’t one to display such affectionate exchanges in public usually, but these wins made him bold. That masculine boldness that swelled you with the nastiest kind of arousal, the mystery of what he’d do next taunting the gape of your legs.

His parents approached with their goodbyes & congratulatory hugs, yet, you wondered why Joe showed no evidence of packing his belongings to leave.

With only a few cleaning staff members still buried in the mess of a massive celebration had by all, there were some stray coaches left headed to their cars.

“You ready to head out, babe? I’m sure a lot of the traffic has cleared out by now.”

He dropped his head, trying to hide a bitten back smile & wild eyes.

“C’mon. There’s something I’ve gotta do before we get out of here.”

Eerily aware of the cunning cadence behind his words, you took his offered hand & obliged to head back towards the now hauntingly empty stadium.

All the lights had been killed, only the backlight of a scoreboard cast shadows upon you. He slowed at the tunnels exit, appearing to bask momentarily. Rightfully so.

“You trust me?” He grinned with a squeeze to your hand, waiting response behind hooded, buzzed eyes.

“I did before you asked me that…” you chuckled harmlessly.

He steered you farther in the center of the echoing emptiness, the grip around your hand noticeably tightening. There was a faint sound of a humming light lingering, but otherwise it seemed Joey’s heartbeat was thumping over the loud speaker.

He planted his feet, coming to a wobbly stop, and you noticed him fidgeting with the chain of his necklace hidden inside his shirt.

“All of this,” he gestured, “means absolutely nothing without you in the picture. I’d walk away from every fucking bit of it right this moment if you asked me to, as long as you’re holding my hand.”

A quiver fell upon your lip as you noticed a mist fall over his icy eyes. Joe was a sure man, in everything he did. Decisive & steady always. Almost arrogantly outgoing in all his decisions. This Joe, was different.

“You’re the only thing I want to see when my eyes open, and the only thing that makes all this bullshit worth while at the end of the day. All I want, is you.”

You stifled an audible gasp when he fell to a knee, pulling his chain loose into his hand & carefully dropping a ring into his palm. A delicate band held the hearty weight of an oval diamond.

“The only thing to make this day end perfectly, is for you to say yes.” He waited, as if you’d even have to give one minuscule thought to an answer. “Will you marry me?”

With a whooping, resounding ‘yes’, you drug Joe to his feet, pouncing him with smothering kisses and the tightest hugs you could muster.

“I love you, so, so much. SO much!” If a squeal could rupture an eardrum, you were certain poor Joe would be a victim in that moment. Although fully satisfied with the relationship you had with him, truthfully, had this moment never arrived, you weren’t sure it would be much bother.

As you returned his elated kisses, you could almost feel a palatable energy shift in the atmosphere around the two of you. His hands began to roam wildly over your worthy curves, barely breaking your mouths to gasp for fresh air. No question he could feel the impassioned heat igniting inside your jeans, grinding up against his belly where he held you tight.

“Damn it, baby,” he graveled as you sucked a tender spot just below his ear.

“Take me home, fiancé.” You dared, securing a handful of his hardness in the palm of your hand.

“Oh, fuck that. I’m having you right this fucking second.” Joe slung you over his shoulder as if you’d been weightless, & carried you easily to the bench still sprinkled with the leftovers of confetti, massaging you behind unzipped black jeans.

“Wet & ready, just how I like it.” He pointed, pulling your pants loose to lay your bare ass on the cool metal bench.

“So I get a reward now?” You playfully encouraged him, knowing just how to stir him up.

“You better fucking believe it. But first, daddy gets his.” His glorious face slinked to your center, Joe feasting his eyes upon the one thing better than any trophy football had to offer.

The man simply chowed. Engulfed his greedy tongue with your every ounce of flavor, lapping away until you became almost tender to his touch.

Arising from the blissful wreckage he’d left your mound, his lips pink with rash and slick, a sheen of your honey left in the small patch of beard he was trying out these days.

“As much as I’d love to drink you fucking dry, I need to be inside you.”

Agreeing with his wishes, you guided him to sit beneath you before he protested.

“Uh-uh. I’ve got to plow the absolute fuck out of you, beautiful. Lie down.”

Ever the eager beaver, you flattened your back to the rough turf, but changed your mind in a brief instance, and positioned on all fours, peeking over your shoulder with a welcomed glint in your eye.

“Plow away, champ.” The cool air introduced itself to the dampness trickling down your thighs before Joe caught one last treat on his thumb.

“Don’t have to fucking ask me twice.”

With no need to ready himself, Joey worked his thick cock inside of you. Inch by inch by inch. By inch…

You could feel the burn of abrasive turf burning the flesh of your knees as Joe bucked & rutted you ruthlessly back in forth. He tattooed the flesh of your bare bottom with his substantial, callused hand before leaning to find the shell of your ear.

“Wanna bet I can make you say it?”

Your mind, fuck-dazed & foggy delayed a moment in comprehending his proposition.

“Bring. It… Burrow,” you dared between broken moans.

He snaked to find your swollen, soft flower, very well acquainted as every inch of your flesh belonged to him. He tickled your clit, fingers calculated, indulging himself with a pert bit to your ribs, not daring leave a blemish on your milky skin. Your vision turned black but you blinked back the eruption, drawing blood from your tongue to stifle back the very words he was holding you ransom for. But, oh, how the mighty fall, and you burst with admonitions only Joe would ever hear.

“King. Of the fucking. North.” Your orgasm blasted through every cell of your body salaciously.

Knowing there was no willpower left for Joe to muster after finally hearing those damn words fall from your near drooling lips, you pushed your hips back into him, matching his every thrust, insatiable for the friction of his bulge.

“King of the fucking North, baby.” He consented as he emptied himself inside your gripping lips.

He eased you over, assisting in wrapping your hips back into your bottoms, a hellish, sexy smile relentless on display.

“Try not to look so satisfied, you little shit.”

“Oh, come on. I’m sorry. Now, let’s get your fine ass home to celebrate.” Joe cradled you in his broad arms.

“Wait. I thought we just did that?”

“Oh; we did. But, that was for the game. This’ll be a celebration for you agreeing to be my hot shit wife.”

The appetite on this one…

[mors3-exists-dot-com]

Befit For The Lonely (TBOSAS Oneshot)

((AN:// I love TBOSAS, and have recently seen the movie. One addition I really loved is the dynamic the movie gave to Lamina and Treech, and it gave me the idea of what if they were friendly back in District 7. Apologies for any grammatical mistakes)) TBOSAS SPOILER WARNING

A chill blew through the arena, the night sky empty and starless, and Lamina wished she had a coat. She curled her body inwards. Who knew a July in the capitol could have such colder evenings? Lamina rested her head on her knees, squinting into the darkened arena. No one. Perhaps they were all asleep, waiting for the morning sun. Well, Lamina hoped that, at least.

Who was left?, she wondered. Some of the tributes died before entering the arena, and about six more were killed in the blood bath. Lamina tapped the handle of her ax as a name came to her head.

Mizzen. Coral. Reaper. Wovey. Tanner. Lucy Gray. Treech.

Treech.

She quietly scoffed to herself. Treech, working with Coral, Mizzen, and Tanner. Treech, the boy who had wrapped his arms around her when Brandy was shot, pulling her to safety. Who held her hand on the train as they traveled to the Capitol. Who she considers a friend. Her stomach dropped with slight shake of her head. No. Considered. Now alone on the beam, it felt ironically fitting how the clarity shone on her.

They weren’t close. No, no. They were friends of friends. Acquaintances from the lumberyard who met because of a lover’s tryst. She smiled ruefully, thinking to the days where their two friends, Treech and herself would sneak into an alcove in the midst of the woods and sit on thick branches, feasting on wild plants and whatever scraps they brought from their homes. Her friend would cling to his friend’s arm, talking to each other like no one else existed. Like Treech and her were trees themselves. She would catch his eye, and they'd share a smile. They thought their friends were overly affectionate in a near silly manner. Lamina an Treech didn’t talk much, but they found themselves confiding with each other when there was no one around. Lamina would confide in him about her dreams, and he would do the same in turn.

Lamina’s eyes stung, but her eyes remained dry, her tears gone. The words they had shared, the friendship they were beginning to form faded like leaves in the wind, if there was even one to begin with. It made their promise in the zoo seem fruitless. Though, perhaps they had always been fruitless. Treech hadn’t said a word to her when they were reaped. He hadn’t said many words at all until they reached the zoo. A chill like this night had been in the air. Treech was resting on the ground, his back just touching hers as they tried to sleep. Lamina’s eyes filled with a few tears, but she wasn’t. She knew one of them wouldn’t make it out alive.

“Treech…we’ll make sure we get home. Can we do that?” she whispered.

Cicadas filled her ears, waiting for his response. She wondered if he was asleep. Or she had said something wrong. Lamina had felt her anxiety curl inside when he responded.

“Yeah, we’ll make it home. You and me.” Treech whispered softly.

Lamina had smiled then, now she waits for tears that weren’t coming. Treech was off with the strong hands, accepting Coral’s offer and killing tributes left and right. And Lamina? She waits high on the beam, alone and trying to survive the night.

How befitting for the lonely.

[maudeboggins]

Paulette Goddard and Susan Hayward in Reap the Wild Wind (1942)

[the-owl-tree]

Winding up in the hospital for like half a year with a Warriors arc ongoing then coming back to the fandom sure is wild 😭 Did Squirrelflight actually become Squirrelstar? Did Frostpaw get spayed?? what's going on with these xenophobe cats. help

well you see before all that parsnipflower had opened the dark rift between the worlds, the immense celestial power that was one kept in chains between the border of starclan and the dark forest was unleashed onto the world of the clans giving them each comprehension of all animal knowledge on earth. roachskitter very quickly to harness the dark arts now given onto them, manifesting in them becoming the ultimate dark angel of the clans and reaping justice across all those who have wronged them. book six had bearsnuffle emerge from the celestial storm that had raged on for the arc, bearing the divine power of starclan and the ability to cleave through anything with their new found power. the arc ended with all three trapping the powers within themselves and, to ensure they never release onto the mortal plain again, are locked in a neverending fight within the storms in the sky.

also sorry to hear about the hospital thing!! hope ur doing better now!

[screaming-universe]

just a random short list of buddie fics that are AUs based on books/movies, and that I like a lot 🧡

my sun, my moon, my guiding star by diazs (75k, rated general audiences), aka The Martian AU  

Astronauts Diaz, Han, Panikkar, and Wilson were all safely able to reach the Mars Ascent Vehicle and perform an emergency launch at 7:28 a.m. central time thanks to Commander Nash's quick action. Unfortunately, during the evacuation, Astronaut Evan Buckley was killed when he was struck by debris. Commander Nash and the rest of his team are now heading home… but Evan Buckley is dead.

to the waters and the wild by june_nights (@beecauseevan) (64k, rated teen and up audiences), aka The Scorpio Races AU 

The stranger turns. His eyes meet Eddie's and Eddie's breath catches in his lungs. The seagulls, the chattering tourists, the wind, it all fades away. Across the harbor, the man smiles. Eddie feels that smile in his toes. Someone bumps into him, breaking the spell. Eddie takes a deep breath. The salty harbor air fills his lungs. He doesn't allow himself to look back at the ferry. He doesn't allow himself to wonder about that man. He's a tourist and he's here in the middle of October. He wants to ride in the Races, and that means Eddie will stay far, far away. Or: The Scorpio Races are Thisby's oldest, most beloved and deadliest tradition. Three years ago, when tragedy forced him to give up riding for good, Eddie swore he would never look back. It turns out life may have other plans for him.

Hymn to the Sea by @sevensoulmates (52k, rated explicit), aka Titanic AU

It was the unsinkable ship of dreams to everyone else. To Eddie, it was a slave ship, taking him and his son back to America in chains.

even when you’re sleeping keep your eyes open by @spaceprincessem, aka The Hunger Games AU, a series:

you and i’ll be safe and sound (51k, rated teen and up audiences)

“Our second tribute from District Twelve is Evan Buckley.” Eddie’s eyes snap up and he’s pretty fucking sure his heart stops beating all together. If he lets his eyes flutter close he can feel the patter of rain, harsh and ice cold, against his skin. The way the air saturates with the smell of burnt bread. He can see the shape of a boy thrown out into the mud, hands cradling something precious in his hand. The way that bundle was placed in Eddie’s own, shaking palms as a voice whispered, I’m so sorry I can’t do more before he was gone. But Eddie doesn’t let his eyes close. He watches as Evan Buckley — Buck, please just call me Buck — ascends the stairs to take his place next to Eddie. Not you. Please. Anyone, but you. [or the buddie hunger games au]

but when it’s over i’m still awake (52k, rated teen and up audiences)

Eddie doesn’t have to guess which name will stand alone on Reaping Day. He’s going back into the arena. Eddie doesn’t hesitate as he takes off out of the house at full speed. If his family is calling after him then he can’t hear a single word. Not with the blood roaring in his ears and the desperate urge to run run run pumping thunderously in his veins. He needs to get out of here. Out of District Twelve. Out of Panem. Out of his skin and this body doomed to go back to the one place he was supposed to be safe from. He doesn’t want to go back into the arena. He survived. He got out. He’s a fucking victor. But, of course, who is ever really safe in a place like this? [or the buddie catching fire au]

[exeggcute]

(synthpop anon) to be more specific i'm looking for more stuff in the vein of depeche mode, new order, pet shop boys, soft cell, etc. the type i can best describe as "fun music with jaded lyrics". speaking of yaz(oo) i already really like upstairs at eric's!

hmmm. I worry that I might not have the best recs for you then because I'm one of those people who doesn't pay THAT much attention to lyrics... it took me a full decade to realize that tryouts for the human race is a song about sperm. sung from the perspective of a sperm lol. I just hear a moroder synth line and black out

so forgive me if any of these are (1) songs/bands you already know or (2) don't quite fit the ticket, but let me try to suggest some stuff based on vibes...

sparks, actually. I still haven't listened to most of their 80s discography (one of these days...) but I adore no 1 in heaven, which is 100% synthpop, and kimono my house, which isn't. but those boys are insane lyricists so if you like fun music about crazy shit you're in the right place.

if you already like yaz (I specifically said yazoo in my last response in case you hadn't heard of em, since when you google "yaz" the first thing that comes up is the birth control pill... but as a yank I admittedly never call them yazoo lol) then you know that vince clarke is a fucking legend. and as one half of erasure I think some of erasure's lesser-known hits fit the bill. love to hate you, who needs love like that, oh l'amour...

bronski beat for more gay synthpop. oh shit marc almond is here?

I only know a handful of devo songs, so if you want better recs you'd need to ask my dad lol, but i like love without anger and freedom of choice

XTC!!!

prefab sprout has some bangers across the board but the king of rock and roll is a song about a washed-up music star with thomas dolby in the production seat. so pretty much exactly what you're looking for.

tears for fears? broken, change, mothers talk... plus the US mix of mothers talk that I mostly don't like but I adore the intro (it's not that you're not goooood enough... it's just that we can make you bet-taaah...)

OMD is good. check out dazzle ships

midge-ure era ultravox is maybe too on the nose. literally dancing with tears in my eyes, lol. plus reap the wild wind, the thin wall, and of course vienna

not necessarily jaded lyrics but aztec camera is really moody and good. I love high land, hard rain (and this extended version of walk out to winter...)

jaded but not synthpop: the english beat. seriously, hear me out

it's less synthpop-y than some of this other stuff, but these gary numan solo albums are my fave: dance and I, assassin

if you don't already like japan you gotta go listen to gentlemen take polaroids front to back. then try titles by mick karn

some random one-offs: happy hour; promises, promises; the politics of dancing

and then, of course, the all time legend