#a break from our regularly scheduled programming

[the-californicationist]

Goldfish (SanSan AU) - 1/8

Sansa grabs a drink with her sister after winning her court case over the murder of Ramsay Bolton. A judge decides there is not enough evidence to claim she trained those hounds to eat him alive. At the bar, Sansa runs into the only hound she couldn’t tame: Sandor Clegane.

Warnings: descriptions of abuse, canon-mentioned abuse and domestic violence, mention of ramsay bolton, modern au, oral and vaginal sex

Sansa’s lawyer sat stoically beside her as Judge Ryker read out the verdict. In the case of first degree murder of Mr. Ramsay Bolton, Sansa Stark was not guilty. In the case of his manslaughter, she was also not guilty. The jury claimed that there was no evidence which showed that Ms. Stark exhibited prior control over the hounds of Winterfell manor, nor could they find any substantial evidence that she would be able to restrain a man as strong as Mr. Bolton without evidence of a struggle. His death was an accident.

A loud strike of the gavel made Sansa jump slightly in her stiff seat. Case closed.

“You’re free to go, Ms. Stark. May the Gods be merciful to you on your journey home,” her lawyer shook her hand and left her there, staring down at the dark, wooden table.

The eldest remaining Stark stayed seated for some time. Her pale hands lay clasped together as if still cuffed, unmoving. She breathed in deeply, but it was ragged at the end. As she tried to reach for that full gasp of oxygen, Sansa was halted by a small sob. She shuddered, not crying, yet still in some sort of ugly pain. A sick feeling ravaged her from her chest and into her throat. She breathed in again, pressing her feet so hard down into the bottoms of her patent leather pumps that her toes began to burn with pain. She wished, fleetingly, that her feet would kindle, and that she could catch fire, searing herself in the flames and consuming this goddamn wooden table for fuel, choking on her own soot and smoke. Suffocating in her own blaze. So much of her had already been licked away by others’ embers; maybe there was no tinder left to ignite? Just ash.

Everyone in the courtroom had almost filed out. A small hand caught her arm, shaking her from her internal inferno.

“Sans,” Arya said, “Let’s go. I parked out back.”

Sansa followed her sister dutifully. Arya was dressed up, if it could be called that. She wore black from head to toe; leather boots, men’s cargo trousers, a knit tunic, and a long, woolen pea coat. The younger Stark girl did not own makeup, nor would she wear any, and her hair was shorn into a buzz cut. Her skin was tanned, but clear, and her hands were shoved deep into her pockets, defensively. Sansa hadn’t seen her in more than four months, but she was glad she was with her now. She had even been kind enough to let her stay at her place while Sansa went through the last part of the trial.

Sansa climbed into the passenger side of Arya’s sporty little Mazda. Her sister eyed her, hesitantly, from the driver’s seat, round aviators sliding down her nose as she checked the parking garage for signage.

“So, where to?” Arya asked, genuinely unsure if Sansa would know.

Sansa sighed,

“I need a drink.”

Arya smiled,

“I know just the place.”

They had driven all the way to the northernmost point of the city; most people didn’t even consider it to still be London. Arya’s place that she knew so well was called The Wildling, and it was a true dive. Sansa didn’t care. As long as someone gave her a neat scotch and a chair, she would deal with whatever nonsense followed with it.

The bar was large, masculine, and smoky. It was filled with darts and pool, and it wasn’t the sort of spot to host hen parties. The walls were concrete block, painted back, and the floor was whatever material existed between dirt and tile. Sansa’s heels made a crispy noise as her soles walked over the stickiness of the floor. Heavy metal rattled through the building. Sansa expected to be overwhelmed by the sensory overload, but she didn’t really feel anything at all anymore. Ramsay had made sure of that.

The barkeep waved at Arya and came over to serve her. Arya turned to her sister,

“You want the usual?”

Sansa nodded. Arya knew what she drank these days. It was always hard liquor, and it was nearly impossible for her to order anything but scotch. Ramsay had been a gin drinker, Tyrion had been a wino, and Joffrey had preferred vodka, of course. Sansa hated the bloating that came with beer, so whisky it was.

Drink secured, Sansa sat down at a small table facing a window. She watched Arya for a moment to see if she would join her, but she had gotten stuck into a conversation with the bar staff. Sansa turned back to staring into the blackness of the night, admiring the wet gleam of the cobblestones in the street outside, and wishing she had made different choices.

Suddenly, the roar of a motorbike ripped her from her thoughts. It sped toward the bar, only to pull into a space right in front of Sansa’s viewpoint. Its rider, a staggeringly large man, killed the engine and stepped down from the dark machine, ruthlessly kicking the peg into place. He was dressed in black leather pants that strained against his muscular legs. His broad back was covered in a matching moto jacket, no patches. His helmet hid his entire face with a black visor, and the only identifying symbol was a small, silver dog painted on the side near where his jaw would lie, its mouth wide and snarling. As an icy cold realization ran down her spine, Sansa stared out the window and gazed up at a form she had not seen for a long time. It was the Hound.

[heartmender]

tan lines

please read this VERY good johndave fanfic by my bestie @voloth !!

[everykiba]

Happy birthday Kiba & Akamaru!!!

from naruto official on twitter

[basiatlu]

Fun fact: I obsessively drew Pokémon for 8 months thinking I could easily draw 151+ sticker designs in a reasonable amount of time

[abirddogmoment]

Something unique to Rory out of all my dogs so far is how she needs dedicated focused attention during the day. At least once a day I have to put aside what I'm doing and give her my full attention in the form of full body pets, snuggles, or smooches. I call this Rory Appreciation Time and it is extremely cute.

[robobrainmurdermysterytheatre]

I've been waiting to confirm an official fundraiser for this before posting, and this one appears to be legitimate. Please consider helping Briana Boston's legal fund here: https://gofund.me/0dc5a077

Briana Boston is the woman who had a medical claim denied and ended her call with Blue Cross Blue Shield by allegedly saying “Delay, deny, depose. You people are next," echoing the words on the bullet casings found at the scene of the shooting of United Healthcare CEO Brian Johnson.

I have worked in customer service for about 15 years, but for those of you who haven't, it's not uncommon to deal with people making threats and employers, let alone police, do not typically respond in any fashion. If you have an especially shitty employer, threats will get the customer what they want. Best case scenario your employer denies them service. The words weren't even a direct threat!

Make no mistake - this is a politically motivated arrest designed to strike fear into people speaking out in support of the movement that has begun in the wake of Thompson's killing.

Her arrest is a wholehearted slap in the face to every person who has been legitimately and personally threatened only to be told by law enforcement it's "freedom of speech," and there's nothing they can do. This happens on a regular basis, sometimes up until the point that the aggressor ends up making good on their threats.

If you are financially able, please show some solidarity and donate to her legal fund. Even if you can't, please reblog this so it gets in front of the people who can or post the link to your own blog to boost it. I wanna see the same energy everyone had for Luigi for Briana as well!

[got-no-skill]

If they didn't have the money for 30 tumblr badges they wouldn't like him so much

actually this is bc you bought 30 tumblr badges. if you didn’t buy 30 tumblr badges this wouldn’t have happened to him

[luce-speaks]

Layle and Keiss Break into a Train

little bit of Final Fantasy The Crystal Chronicles The Crystal Bearers fic!!! i’ve been playing this game with @local-eldritch​ and i’m totally sold on the characters :D so enjoy some shenanigans from them!!

[mmpookie]

taking a break from our regularly scheduled program for mizi and (her very alive gf) sua from alien stage!

[spacebubblehomebase]

📻🍎 I know Alastor's Shadow conveys his true feelings at times, but what if his random background music does too? XD Meanwhile, Luci's just there to give our deer friend a little smooch! 🥰💕✨️

Also I am proud to announce that I'm officially on break from school. Which means it's back to your regularly not scheduled programming of #HHStargazersAU content from me! Please look forward to it! Because I'm just as excited to share my Chaggie & Radioapple story to you all once again! =D -Bubbly💙

[roscolate]

UGHHHHHHH MY HEART HURTSSSSS 😭😭😢😢

BGM - Family - Super Mario Galaxy

ACT 1

ACT 2

ACT 3 - 1 <<< 12 / 13 / ⚡️

HOOOOOOOO BOY Did this take FOREVER. UGHHH this is what I get for trying to wrap up the Peach scene SNKWSNKANSKKKM

I felt so evil making this scene HUEHUEHUE. Feels good. Feel free to listen to the BGM for EXTRA EMOTIONAL DAMAGE.

The image with Luigi letting go of Lumalee was inspired by @roposhipin and their drawing of Geno!

[the-californicationist]

Goldfish (SanSan AU) - 7/8

Warnings: descriptions of abuse, canon-mentioned abuse and domestic violence, mention of ramsay bolton, modern au, oral and vaginal sex

Arya’s car was still gone when Sandor pulled into their driveway. Sansa suspected she was staying with Gendry, the on-again-off-again boyfriend, and she hoped it would be a while until her return. Emboldened by Sandor’s petrol station promises, she stepped off of the bike and handed him back his helmet. Then, the question she was going to ask came out as more of a command,

“Come upstairs.”

Sandor’s face read shock and amusement, charmed by her sudden forcefulness. She laughed at herself, just as surprised, and tried to cover up her tracks,

“I mean, if you want to, you can come up. Do you want to?”

“Do I want to come up?” He was still straddling the bike, but he pulled her to him by her waist, forcing her to part her legs to allow his knee to press between her thighs. 

“Yeah,” she played with the hem of his shirt, “to my room.”

His voice was a low whisper now, suggestive and dripping with intent,

“Do you want me to come up to your room, little bird?”

She nodded, kissing him chastely, biting her bottom lip.

“I need to hear you tell me. Say it, and I’ll obey,” his whisper was a dark threat now. 

“Come upstairs. To my room,” she said. All the forcefulness returned, this time on purpose.

“Aye,” his thick, northern accent felt like her favorite coat, all warm and familiar. He rose from the bike and stood over her, rubbing the side of her neck, running a large hand beneath her jaw, making her feel boneless. 

She fumbled with the door, mentally cursing Arya for her paranoia, then sheepishly thankful to have a sister who cared so much. He followed her through the house, uninterested in the tour, simply trailing behind her heels, ready to be commanded again. 

“And this is my room, for now, at least,” Sansa explained as she swung open the door. Other than a king mattress and a borrowed IKEA frame, there wasn’t much to see. At the end of her marriage, she hadn’t been allowed to buy things. Anything she did buy would have been burned. There was no point. It made her feel even further from normal than she already was. 

As if shaking her out of her thoughts, Sandor shut the door behind his back with a click, and leaned against it, waiting. His eyes never left her face, studying her, trying to anticipate her needs. Patient. 

She turned toward him fully, her back to the bed, and untied the bow at her neck again. One button. Another. Another. She hesitated. He was watching her like a hawk, and the air around them was so still that they could have felt a ghost walk between them. 

“Still don’t want me to see?” His finger went up under her chin, lifting her face from her button-pulling. His thumb ran softly across her mouth. 

She yanked the shirt off her shoulders, looking him dead in the eyes. He didn’t explore. He saw, but he didn’t need to look. 

He kissed her, hard. She snaked her hands around his waist, finding the skin beneath his shirt and feeling his smoldering warmth. Then, he stopped, very abruptly. Waiting again. Her most compliant soldier. 

Matching her intensity, he shucked off the heavy moto jacket onto her floor and stretched his shirt over his head to follow it. She looked. 

She had seen him shirtless before. She was fifteen, left alone while Joff went out with friends, sulking around his house, haunting the hallways and empty mansion rooms. She’d gone down to the basement; the second galley kitchen was a lot less intimidating than Circe’s state-of-the-art, stainless monstrosity, and she was always hungry. A small gym lay between the door and the kitchen, and Sandor had been there, fighting a heavy bag. His punches had been so loud, popping against the bag in a ferocious pattern. She could see his uncovered muscles, strangely large when her mind compared him with Joff's frail form. The Hound's thick flesh was pulling against his big bones as he struck, trembling from the force as each punch found its mark. He hadn’t heard her come in, and she had been so unsure of how to approach that she just stood there, watching him work, sweat running in little lines around his neck and down his back. Then he’d noticed her in the tall mirror against the wall. She remembered how he had stared into her face, not donning his rehearsed, deferred expression when Joff was around, usually finding her shoes easier to look at than her eyes. But not then. Then, he had put his hands on his hips, struggling to catch a breath, face flushed pink from his exertion, abs expanding and contracting in an animalistic rhythm, bearing his gaze down into her, looking at her like he was starving and she was his meal. 

He was softer, now, and bigger. His muscles had grown considerably over the last decade, and he looked impossibly heavy. No longer was he the sinewy, underfed mongrel snarling under a lion’s paw. He was well-fed. Healthy. Ready to take down any big cat. The muscles leading up into his neck fascinated her. Big, rope-like cords, growing high out of his prominent, round shoulders, making his body appear like a shield, broad and impenetrable. 

There were scars on him, too. She hadn’t noticed any back then, other than the scorched mask spilling messily down his neck and chest. Now, his fire-marks were joined by violent blemishes like closed-over punctures, obvious stitches, and a collection of purpled, keloid tears. Fighting wounds. His own war story unfolded before her for her appraisal. She put her hand on his chest, feeling his thick hair and brushing her fingertips across it. He trembled beneath her touch like she had burned him, gooseflesh spread up his arms and along his neck. Testing the waters, she leaned in, her own bare breasts making contact with his stomach, and she felt her nipples graze his skin before pressing into his abs. Her mouth landed on his sternum, softly planting a long kiss there, almost reverently. He let out the breath he had been holding onto. 

“You can look,” She whispered into his chest, staring up at him.

She took two slow steps back toward the bed and sat on its edge. He knelt before her, not pausing to explore despite her invitation, one knee digging into the hardwood, the other finding space between her legs. Sandor was so tall that he matched her seated height. He began to kiss her again, skipping her mouth and going right for her neck, his hands planted firmly on either side of her hip. He moved lower, holding her around her ribs then, sucking at the sides of her breasts, taking big, long licks over her nipples. His warm breath caressed the wet swaths of skin, heightening her sensations there. 

With a big, calloused hand, he rubbed across her stomach, moving around her ribs roughly, squeezing her, making indentions in the skin, leaving flushed streaks behind. He tugged at her gently, pulling her body to his mouth with strong movements, shaping her breasts in his hands. He spent his time discovering what made her eyes flutter, or not. Then, he pulled his mouth away, placing his hands back at her sides, and although he was breathing heavily, she could tell he was waiting for her again. 

She smiled, a hint of sadness at the edges of it, her speech staggered and choppy,

“I should have gone with you. At Blackwater Lake. Joff’s lake house. After the fire. If I had left with you, none of this would have happened.”

“I shouldn’t have left you there. It was my mistake, not yours, little bird. Mine.”

[residentwordsofaffirmationdealer]

tracking barbara gordon's skillset as oracle:

she provides directory assistance for several international and intergalactic teams of superheroes (the birds of prey, justice league of america, the outsiders, and she has worked with the titans before).

she is the primary hacker and information network source for many of these heroes.

she helps provide mercy ops (disaster relief and humanitarian efforts) globally.

she is able to hack into the white house cameras.

she hacks into the united states air force routinely to use their memory capabilities.

she is seen as a pentagon level threat.

she writes her own code for scanning new satellite images for human habitations and anomalies.

she's accessed air force rockets no one is supposed to know about and overridden them to fire them.

she has a team of drones ready for surveillance.

she's put her own security systems on arkham asylum.

she hacks into information databases from federal complexes and assembles blueprints and guard schedules so she can send her agents to break into them.

she sets a government complex on fire (she says it is a small and contained fire.)

she also sets the clock tower on fire to force batman to not do murder/suicide.

she hacks into cia debriefing transcripts to obtain information.

she controls a large portion of the world's internet and power grids.

she also is the reason why many world leaders are in power.

she has access to the bank accounts of several supervillains, whom she toys with (specifically for blockbuster, she regularly steals millions of dollars from his accounts in a way that he cannot track who is stealing it and where it is going -- she's stolen 3 million, 17 million, 6 million, twenty million and also a hundred million from him).

she can also hack alien drones.

she can control traffic.

she has several booby-traps in the clock tower for potential assaulters. she also a device to monitor movement of people around it, in case batman decides to show up.

cited panels down below!

"she's the four-one-one for the jla, she the database for the g.c. ex-p.d. she runs mercy ops around the world." nightwing (1996) #38

"you have cameras in the white house?" "don't be silly. the white house has cameras in the white house. i've just tapped into them." nightwing (1996) #66

"i mean, someone hacks into our system and routinely uses our [united states air force] memory capabilities!" "i know!" "often." birds of prey #1 (1999)

"i run a database and search engine for a select few free-land crimefighters." birds of prey: manhunt (1996)

"we scan the most recent images for anomalies. things that don't belong." "where'd you get a program for that?" "i wrote my own code for that one." birds of prey (1999) #3

"they've accessed whitehorse, sir." "whitehorse? no one's supposed to know about that!" birds of prey (1999) #9

"and oracle? we're going to need eyes on several places at once." "i think we can manage that." detective comics (1937) #1077

"they've accessed whitehorse. what's the chance of them arming it?" "all clear?" "oh yeah." "fire!" birds of prey (1999) #9

"[arkham's] security is good, but piecemeal. i installed my own system there after the last breakout." infinite crisis special: villains united (2006)

"batgirl -- that incident a couple months back? when those government agents caught your face on tape? i found out where they're keeping it. it's a federal complex in virginia. i've sent you blueprints, guard schedules -- everything you'll need to break in." batgirl (2000) #17

"where did you get that kind of information?" "they traded another prisoner last month. i hacked into his cia debriefing transcript." birds of prey (1999) #9

"kat, do you have any idea... any notion at all, of how much of the planet's entire internet i control? how many power grids? how many world leaders owe me their positions?" birds of prey #1 (1999)

"i transferred all the funds in her cayman islands account to another offshore account. if she doesn't get the paintings to me in the next forty-eight hours, that money's going to my favorite charities." birds of prey: catwoman/oracle (2003)

"where do you get current [satellite] shots of rheelasia?" "that's my secret, you little netnik." birds of prey (1999) #3

"but the asborbascons were created using languages long dead even on my planet. they are uncrackable." "yes. the absorbascons are uncrackable. but the alien drones aren't." convergence: nightwing/oracle (2015)

"do you have that kind of cash?" "no. but i know someone who does." "there's been a... discrepancy, mr. desmond." "in plain english, mr. vogel." "at one point, three million was electronically transferred from your numbered accounts in the caicos to a bank account in hasaragua. from there to karocco, then yemen, then split between banks in senegal and manila. and then... my hardware couldn't keep up." birds of prey (1999) #3

"seventeen million from your account in the caymans. six from santa prisca. twenty from rheelasia. and a hundred million plus from other holdings of yours around the world, mr. desmond. and where it all goes? nobody knows." birds of prey (1999) #18

"they're taking your cash from impregnable accounts and transferring it electronically to their own." "and you can't find the source?" "there's subsequent transfers performed at lightning speed. the money's split up, rerouted in and out of various banks in an eyeblink. even i can't keep up with whoever this is." birds of prey (1999) #18

"let me handle the traffic." birds of prey (1999) #58

"all of you. keep your hands where i can see 'em." "not a problem. malory. ripken. peppermint." nightwing (1996) #39

[everykiba]

kiba and akamaru icons from naruto official twitter!

[sanguineterrain]

Your writing is so damn good, you execute every request perfectly 😭

Could you maybe write something where Dick's insecure partner wants to break up with him because their self-image is getting worse cause they feel they can't catch up to the Golden Boy reputation, superheroes, billionaires and so on?

hi, thanks for the request! I hope I did it justice :) a brief interlude from jaytodd before we return to our regularly scheduled program lol

dick grayson x gn!reader. low self esteem, an almost breakup, reader feeling insecure, threatened, sad. happy ending! 2.1k words

****

You've been tugging at your outfit for ten minutes. At this rate, you'll have to concede that this is as good as it's going to get.

"My love, you almost ready?"

You sigh and watch your reflection fold its arms.

"Yeah," you say softly. "'M ready."

The door opens. Your heart swoops.

Dick is beautiful, as usual. Your boyfriend can do a lot, including fill a suit. Both your and his outfits were tailor-made because that's one of the perks of being the son of a billionaire.

Over and over, you'd insisted you could wear off-the-rack, and over and over, Dick had said that was silly, that Bruce wouldn't mind.

And it's true that what you're wearing flatters you better than anything from Macy's or Marshall's would've. But you know it won't help tonight. Not in a room full of Gotham's elite.

"Just as I suspected," Dick says, immediately draping his arms over your hips. "You're gonna steal the show tonight."

He's lying.

That voice in your head has gotten louder recently, and you don't know how to turn it off.

You kiss him instead of responding. Dick enthusiastically reciprocates, always delighted when you touch him. You used to think it would be enough.

But ever since you found out that not only are you dating a billionaire philanthropist with a face that makes angels weep, but that said guy is also arguably the most beloved hero in Gotham, maybe second only to the Batman (who's his freaking dad?!), you've begun to have doubts.

You pull back. Dick's tie perfectly sets off his eyes. They're bright as they look at you.

"Everything okay?" he asks, brushing your cheek with his thumb.

"Uh-huh," you say, trying to smile. "Just nervous."

“Hey, it's alright. I'll be by your side all night. I'll save you from any and all small talk, promise." He winks. "And we can duck out early, get hot chocolate from that place you like. They won't care."

Dick's always doing that. Always catering to you. You're just some nobody who happened to stumble into the best relationship you’ve ever had with a golden god.

Dick never reminds you of that. That he could do better. He doesn't have to—you know it all on your own.

You swallow. “Okay. If you're sure. I... I would like to leave early, Gray."

“‘Course, baby,” Dick says, attaching his cuff links. "Anything you want."

You turn back to the mirror, wondering if you can reinvent your personality before you go and remind everyone what a mistake Dick Grayson has made in choosing you. 

****

The party is tasteful, though a little stuffy. You're only here because Dick is going to give a speech, and he asked you to come support him. And while you know it's better for him to go without you so you won't dull his shine, it seems Dick hasn't quite figured that out.  

You hold onto Dick’s arm as he makes his usual rounds. Dick doesn't enjoy these events, you know that, but he's fluid in his interactions. There is no doubt he’s Bruce Wayne’s prodigy. With his suit, his hair, his easy posture, Dick is almost unrecognizable from when you woke up with him this morning. 

He's in his element. All you can do is peer in and watch. 

Dick leans in and slips a hand around your waist after the fourth interaction with a donor. A donor who, again, acted like Dick may as well have been dragging around a coat rack with how intently they ignored you. Not that you give a shit about what the one percent have to say about you, except sometimes they say a lot of mean things, things you're pretty sure they don't let Dick overhear, and sometimes you start wondering if Dick is the only person who can't see truth in what they say, and sometimes—

“Hey.” Dick leans in to talk in your ear. He's warm and solid. You wish that was a comfort. “You okay?”

You're exhausted. 

“Uh-hmm.”

He is going to wake up one of these days and realize he can have it so much better. 

Dick moves like he's about to say more, pull you closer and permeate your senses with his gold.

“Dickie!” 

Sweet, tinkling laughter echoes across the room. The crowd parts for this new woman, an obvious socialite, dressed to the nines and gorgeous. 

Her dress matches Dick's tie. You feel sick.

When she reaches you two, she wastes no time grabbing Dick and kissing his cheek. He extricates himself from her, like he's done a million times before with everyone else who thinks they're entitled to a piece of Dick Grayson. He shoots you an apologetic look. You look away.

“My God, it’s been what, ten years?” she says. Then she sees you. “Oh! Where are my manners? I’m Caroline Banesbury, Duchess of Middlesworth. I heard the Dickie Grayson was going to be here, and I had to come.”

“Been a while,” Dick says, smiling blandly. “How are you, Caroline?”

“Spectacular! Father just bought another castle. You should come and see it sometime.” She plucks a flute of champagne off of a passing tray and smiles behind the rim of the glass. 

“Dick and I go way back,” she says, gaze roving over him. “I hear you're transforming Blüdhaven. Taking a page out of Bruce's book, hm? You always had a big heart, Dickie.” 

She grabs his arm and links it with hers. You sigh and take a sip of your own drink. You half-wish Poison Ivy would come in and gas the room or something.

Dick clears his throat and maneuvers out of her grip once more, letting go of her with a light pat. He returns to you, snugly holding your shoulders.

"This is my partner," he says about you.

Caroline hums, looking over you. "I see. Pleasure."

You nod. She turns back to Dick.

“If I can be of any help to your project, you let me know,” she adds, glancing down at where her empty arm now hangs at her side. “Anything.” 

“That's generous of you, Carrie.” 

Dick and I go way back.

Oh. Right. You're stupid. They've dated. 

“We should have dinner,” she continues. “Catch up. I'm dying to know what Gotham's darling has been up to.”

“I feel sick,” you announce. 

Dick and Caroline turn to you. Caroline looks perplexed, like you've just said you like to chew concrete. 

“Oh, I'm sorry to hear that,” she says, hardly sparing you a glance. "Perhaps you ought to lie down."

You feel Dick's eyes on you. If you don't leave soon, he'll know you're lying. Possibly the worst part about dating Batman's protégé.

Suddenly, leaving this hall is the most important thing you've ever had to do. You feel like you'll die if you don't.

Your feet start moving.

"Baby—"

Anyway, this is Caroline's chance. She can swoop in with her trust fund and while you think Dick can do way better than her—he can always do better—anyone is better than you. For Dick Grayson, who has been a master acrobat since he was a child, son of Batman, leader of the Titans, indubitably intelligent, capable, beautiful, the best goddamn guy you'll ever know—

You've lost your way. You're out of the gala, away from duchesses and doom. And you meant to get your coat but this hall that Bruce rented is enormous. You've no idea where you are. But you're alone.

Bruce must've known too, how unfit you are for his son. And why wouldn't he tell Dick? Unless Dick ignored him, because Dick, for all his smarts, is stupidly in love with you, thinks you're where he should put his heart, is certain you won't fumble and drop it.

Warm, callused fingers catch your wrist and you remember, suddenly, Dick telling you once, after you'd nearly stumbled into the street, that he'd never let you fall.

You meet his eyes. Why does he look at you like that? Who gave him the right to look at you like-like you—as if you could ever deserve—

"Hey," he says, squeezes your hand. "Hey, hey. What's going on?"

Dick Grayson is not a trusting man but he trusts you and good God, you're about to break him.

"I need to break up with you," you blurt.

"What?" he breathes. "What—why would you say that?"

You wish he'd give you the slip he gave everyone in that room, gently separate your arm from his hand. You never learned how to evade Dick's touch.

"Because it's true. Dick, please understand—"

"No, I'm trying to understand. Because yesterday—no, tonight, you were fine—"

"No, Dick, I wasn't fine! I haven't been fine in months!"

You wrench your arm away. He looks like you slapped him.

"You know anybody I talk to in there means nothing, right? You know that, honey." He's pleading.

You curl your fist into your eye. "It's more than that, Gray."

"Then tell me what the problem is," he says desperately. "Tell me and we'll fix it. I promise we can fix it."

"You can't!" you say, voice cracking. "You can't fix me."

Dick shakes his head. "I don't—"

"Why can't you let me break up with you with a little bit of dignity?" you ask. "Do you have to be better at this too?"

"I don't want to break up," he says, tugging at a handful of his hair. "This doesn't make sense. We're happy. You're happy, aren't you? Don't I make you happy?"

"Of course," you choke out. "Of course you make me happy. But you don't see I'm bad for you. You're wonderful and perfect and golden, Dick. And I'm a stain. I need to be scrubbed away."

"Wh—that's not true!"

"Everywhere we go, people see me with you and are immediately confused. I'm not a superhero, I'm not royalty, I'm not a socialite, and yet somehow I've managed to snag Gotham's darling. This is a mistake. I'm trying to do you a favor and wake you up!"

Dick's face is hard with anger. How could you have thought this would be easy?

"I don't need to be woken up! What is it that makes you think I have no agency over the people I choose to spend time with? Everyone I meet thinks they're entitled to touch me, demand me. Everyone but you. You, the person I chose to love, who I love everyday. Do you think you pulled the wool over my eyes and you're snapping me out of it? Is that what you really think?"

And isn't this the most puzzling thing? That he's not sad or gently accepting; Dick is mad.

"I just—" He runs a hand through his hair. "I don't mean to yell, but really, I can't bear it if you see me as some god on a pedestal, unattainable and inhuman, like everyone else sees me. I love you on purpose."

"You're so accomplished, though," you say weakly. "You're..." You wave your hand over him. "You're fucking Nightwing, D. You were Robin, you have superheroes for friends, Batman for a parent, you're beloved by, like, all of Jersey—"

"My love, you know those are just parts of me. You see all of me. You know me. And that's not a one-way privilege, okay? I'm so damn lucky to know you, to love you, to be with you, to fight with you. To fight for you. Knowing you isn't something I take for granted."

"But I'm boring," you say, tears spilling over. "Jesus Christ, Dick, I'm plain and untalented, barely a dime to my name, so painfully ordinary that—"

"Listen to me," he says, taking your face in his hands. "Flying around or shooting lasers out of your eyes, sure, it's cool, and it's helpful for taking down an alien dictator. But I don't need you to do any of that, honey. I don't need nor want you to be anyone but you. I wasn't tricked or swindled into loving you. We caught each other halfway, just like we were meant to."

You let him pull you into his arms, let him press your tear stains to his silk pocket square, let his hair fall around you.

His embrace is solid, firm, but when he inhales, his shoulders shake.

"Do you—" He swallows, throat against yours. "Do you still want to break up?"

His heart beats against your cheek.

"I'm just afraid you'll get tired of me," you whisper. "Bored. Annoyed."

"I won't," he whispers. "You're the least boring person ever. It's never boring to be loved."

You squeeze your eyes shut. Dick's warmth encloses you.

"No, I don't want to break up. I'm sorry."

He holds you tighter, and you realize you never had to match Dick's tie. Not when you've got his heart.

[undertheorangetree]

In The Woods Somewhere

Summary- Coriolanus does not intend on returning to the Capitol alone.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ DUBCON Female reader. TBOSAS spoilers technically. Reader is essentially Lucy Gray. Porn with plot. Toxic relationship. Possessive Coriolanus. Chasing. Biting. Restraint. Choking. Edging. Overstimulation. Fingering. Cunnilingus. P in V sex.

Author’s Note- Happy holidays! This is not our regularly scheduled programming but I have Hunger Games/Tom Blyth brain rot so here’s this monster. Please heed the warnings and link to the full fic on AO3 below

She knows the moment he looks up at her, rifle clutched in his hands, that he will not be coming north with her. Not anymore, not now that he has the one thing tying him to this place well in hand.

She isn't a fool. She knows that his feelings for her played only a small role in his agreeing to come with her but she had been willing to overlook that. When he had cupped her face in his hand and swore that he would join her, that they would escape Panem- and their collective noose- together, she had seen the hesitation there. Coryo was not a man built for nature, no more than he was built for the districts, but she loves him and so she had ignored it. Twisted it into something romantic and noble in her head, that he would give up all this, that he would leave behind everything for her. He had promised her earnestly and she had taken him at his word.

But with the look on his face now, some potent mix of elation and relief washing over him like a wave, she knows she never stood a chance.

"It's the gun," he says, and she hates the tone he uses. The way he almost breathes the words, the way he looks up at her with the ghost of a smile on his face. Had she had doubts about what the guns would inspire in him, the look on his face is enough to prove her right.

"The one you fired at Mayfair," she says with a nod, crossing her arms over her chest. It feels almost protective now, as if she can safeguard her breaking heart. "Spruce must have known about this place too. I guess it's not as secret as I thought. We hide that and you're free."

"No more loose ends."

The way he says it, his hands tightening on the barrel as he looks down at the rifle, makes her blood run cold. This is all he wanted, nothing short of a dream come true. She doesn't like it, her reaction just as much as his own, and she fights to push passed it. Tells herself that there is nothing wrong here, not really, that he is entitled to some semblance of excitement, but she can feel that unease gnawing at her gut. It feels like an omen. A warning.

She grins, hoping to seem more at ease than she truly is, and feels her nose scrunch up teasingly as she says, "Besides me."

It's the wrong thing to do. Immediately, he goes rigid, eyes darting up to look at her and she sees the distrust there, akin to a beaten dog. It wouldn't be as startling as it is if not for their conversation in the woods not even an hour before. He is willing to kill if backed far enough into a corner and is that not what she has just done? Reminded him of the power she held over him with this knowledge? Backed him into a corner? And just like that beaten dog, she can see that he is only a moment away from snapping at her with pearly white teeth.

"You wouldn't... tell anyone?"

She feels her eyebrows draw together, all attempt at joking gone. It hurts a little, what seems to be a complete lack of faith in her, and it's almost surprising. Almost. "Course not."

But would she? She doesn’t really know now. The fact that he believes she could, as if she could exchange his freedom for her own, feels like the final nail in the coffin. She could forgive his dislike of the idea of heading north, the relief on his face when he saw the guns. But what he said in the woods- three’s enough for me- and his distrust of her now… she doesn’t think she’s safe with him. All their talk of trust, of how he agreed it was worth more than love, thrown to the wind all for the sake of a duffle bag full of rifles. Because just as easily as those gun could buy her freedom, they could secure his own too. One small step toward returning to his life back in the Capitol. He was going to leave before killing Mayfair, she knew that. And if there’s no weapon linking him to the crime, he could. Because no matter how badly she wants to believe he wants a life with her, she thinks he wants his old one back that much more.

And she isn’t sure just what he is willing to sacrifice to get rid of all those loose ends.

She feels herself smile again, moving on autopilot to fetch the knife she knows is on the shelf near the door. It doesn’t reach her eyes but she isn’t looking at him, gripping the handle of the knife a little too tightly. “I think I’m gonna go dig up some katniss. There’s a good patch down by the lake, don’t know when we’ll come across it again.”

His suspicion only grows at that, lips parted and head tilted in question, and she knows she needs to go. Though his finger has not yet shifted toward the trigger, it hasn’t moved away from it either. He has been a Peacekeeper for no more than two months, but that was more than enough time to pick up all he needed to know about firing a gun. Even if his aim is shoddy, it wouldn’t take much effort to aim in her general direction and hold down on a trigger. She had said it herself, she is the only one left who knew the truth about Mayfair’s death- her murder. If he wanted to go back to the Capitol, he needed to be damn sure there wasn’t a chance of his time here coming back to haunt him. As it is now, she is the only thing standing between him and the Snow penthouse.

“Thought you said they weren’t ready yet,” he protests, that uncertainty still more than apparent.

She prays her smile doesn’t look as forced as it feels when her eyes flick up to look at his handsome face, doing what she can to seem nonchalant. “The world changes awful fast.”

She pulls the door open, the rain pounding against the porch outside, when he calls her name. Her grip on the knife tightens a hair more before she’s turning back to look at him, keeping her eyes wide and innocent as she tilts her head in question. She knows she hesitated, knows he caught her if the look on his face is anything to go by, but rather than let her panic consume her, she focuses on his eyes. The beautiful, brilliant blue of his eyes. That may be the thing she misses most about him, after all this.

“It’s still raining.”

As if a little rain is enough to stop her from saving her own life.

“Well, I’m not made out of sugar,” she grins, taking one last look at him before shutting the door, placing some kind of barrier between them.

Read the rest here :)