#and like ! three new winners ! with coins !

[beingsuneone]

Sunset & Vine

PART ONE | PART TWO

SYNOPSIS: one year was all you had, and the winners of the previous hunger games. You didn’t know them that well, but they were still youre only friends. Now you’re thrown back into the Games with some new confusing feelings.

FANDOM: The Hunger Games

PAIRING(S): Peeta Mallark x Victor!Reader

RATING: G

CHARACTERS MENTIONED: Peeta Mellark, Katniss Everdeen, Haymitch Abernathy, Coriolanus Snow, Johanna Mason, Finnick Odair, Effie Trinket, President Coin, Gale Hawthorne

GENRE/AU: Dystopia, Angst, a very small amount of comfort,

WORD COUNT: 5.2k

WARNINGS: Katniss is slightly OOC, Canon divergent in some ways but not others, CATCHING FIRE AND MOCKINGJAY SPOILERS, Reader won the 74th hunger games and Peeta and Katniss won the 73rd.

A/N: Jjj, I’ve really got to stop writing stories with ending like this. Lemme know if you want part two. FYI!!! Changed a few words that completely changed the context and set up for the next part.

DEDICATIONS: Peeta my beloved

CREDITS: Taylor Swift for the name (Gorgeous - Taylor Swift)

It’s a woman, standing with her back to you— she has similar hair to yours and an almost protective stance to her. A haze of colour surrounds her… oranges, purples and yellows swirled into an indescribable but beautiful mess.

Peeta Mellark may be a fellow victor, and he may be one of your neighbours, but you know nothing about him. Except for this beautiful painting that he gifted you.

She wears a dress that flows in some sort of assumed breeze, and has a hand tentatively braced in her hair; there’s something so familiar about this scene that you can’t place— something familiar about the woman in particular.

You can’t place it.

You run your fingers along the small note that Peeta had left with the painting, hovering over the loopy cursive of his signature; it’s the same on the painting but it’s too beautiful to touch like that.

Last year, you won the seventy-fourth annual hunger games, and became a legend for getting district twelve two wins in a row— right alongside Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, Who won the seventy-third hunger games.

Thank god the months of parading you around were over and you could settle happily into your gigantic house by yourself.

Well, happily might be an over statement— you had no family, and certainly no friends… unless Haymitch counts but you don’t think he does.

So this painting feels extra special— a warmth in an otherwise cold and unfamiliar home.

“Where should I put it?” Muttering to yourself, you mentally scan the layout of your house; you’d want it to be in a place where you could see it often, but also somewhere where any house guest would be able to see it… yeah. House guests.

After shaking your head uselessly, you settle on hanging it in the entryway. For sure people would see it there.

You’d been putting off doing this for a couple of days, just because you hadn’t had a whole lot of energy to do anything but sit in a chair and half-read a novel.

So, after a few minutes of fiddling and messy calculations, the painting is hung in the entryway.

You take one last glance at the swirling coloured background once more, and then turn away, leaving the comfort and fantasy behind.

……

Victors are supposed to have immunity, they’re supposed to be done with the games for the rest of their miserable, trauma ridden lives.

But the seventy-fifth hunger games brings back all of the worst parts of last year— you know that out of the three other victors, you’re the female they want to get picked. You’re the easy decision, the loner that nobody cares about.

You know the Capitol loves Peeta and Katniss far too much, and you, not enough.

This, stacked on top of everything else the Capitol has put you through… it’s too much.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when there’s a knock at your door.

“Hello?” You say as you open it; Peeta Mellark is standing there with his lip turned down just slightly, his eyes center behind you for a moment before his face softens and lightens.

“Hey. You got the painting.” A smile melts onto his face, and you swear he looks… beyond words when he smiles.

After a long moment of silence, you clear your throat. “What brings you here…?” You stammer awkwardly, cringing at your choice of words.

He sort of— laughs? Chuckles? at you. “We’re talking strategy for the Quarter Quell and we figured we should include you.” His face falls again, and he looks like he’s holding something back.

Your back straightens. “The Quarter Quell isn’t for another few months—”

He nods slowly. “But we’re going to have to do the pre-tour… and they’re pulling names in just a couple weeks.”

The band around his ring finger gleams brightly in the sun, which sends some sort of jealous feeling rolling through you.

You shake your head because you don’t know Peeta Mellark, and, even if he is gorgeous, you don’t get crushes on people you don’t know.

Plus he’s in love and engaged to Katniss Everdeen, even if you did know him well enough to develop a crush.

He glances down, and then quickly yanks the ring off. “It’s, uh— just for the camera’s.” Then he gestures to the painting behind you. “That’s you, you know. I know you’ve never worn a dress like that, but I saw a screencap of you in The Games and inspiration just kind of… hit me.” he trails off at the end and fiddles with the ring in his hand.

“It’s… me?” You say slowly. “We barely know each other, why would you paint me?”

He takes a small breath. “You’re really beautiful, Y/n, I’ve always thought so.”

A breath hitches but you genuinely can’t discern if it’s him or you over the roaring of blood in your ears.

“So…” he starts again. “If you want to join us, we’re heading over to Haymitch’s now.”

“Okay.” You say, sounding more winded than you did before; you stare at him for a few more moments before you step out of the front door and shut it.

You walk silently beside him, trying not to take in his messy blonde hair or pretty blue eyes—and also, failing miserably—

Just as you reach Haymitch’s doorstep, you stop and tug on Peeta’s sleeve to get his attention. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, Peeta.”

He looks down at you, the air around you charged with some kind of something that you can’t name, and just as he’s about to reach over to you, the door swings open.

“Why are you guys just standing out here?” Katniss says with her nose scrunched, she eyes you up and then eyes Peeta up in a similar fashion.

At least it wasn’t exclusively you.

Both your heads snap toward her, while Peeta smoothly comes up with a reason. “Y/n was feeling nervous, I was just trying to help calm her nerves.”

Haymitch raises an eyebrow from behind Katniss, and gives Peeta a look.

“Hey, Sweetheart.” He says, as Katniss steps aside and lets the two of you in. There’s a tenderness to his voice that you hadn’t realized you missed so much.

“Hi.” The three of you shuffle into what you think was once a living room but it’s chillingly messy in Haymitch’s house.

“Couldn’t we have done this at someone else’s house?” Peeta says, eying the empty bottles on the floor.

“No.” Katniss shakes her head, shooting Haymitch a glare. “Because everytime we have to talk to him, we have to wake him up with a bucket of water.”

You snort. “I’m sorry— a bucket of water?”

Haymitch cuts in. “Why do you think my hair’s wet? I definitely didn’t take a shower.” There's a water stain that makes his shirt sag, and you wonder how you didn’t notice before. Haymitch clears his throat. “Moving on; if it’s Katniss and Peeta then we can still milk the whole star-crossed lover thing— if it’s me or Y/n… that won’t work.”

“Y/n shouldn’t go.” Peeta interjects; you’re taken aback by it.

You fidget with the hem of your shirt. “I really thought I was the best person to go.” You pause, looking up at the three of them. “It’s not like there’s anyone here that will care if I don’t come home.”

Haymitch gives Peeta a scrutinizing look. “Look, Lover-boy, we know you have a crush but that isn’t enough for Katniss to volunteer herself if Y/n gets picked.”

Peeta looks to you and then back to Haymitch. “Katniss and I are the Capitol’s favourite couple right now, if we went we’d probably be much better off in terms of sponsors and parachutes.”

“And you don’t want her to go.” Haymitch gestures in yours and Katniss’s direction.

Peeta sighs but doesn’t deny it. It makes sense that he wouldn’t want his fiancé to go back to the Games.

“Peeta is right,” Katniss starts, “but, Haymitch, if you get picked… Peeta should stay. Either way.”

Peeta shakes his head. “No. I’m not staying.”

You cut in. “There’s no good reason why I should stay.” You’re basically the only clear answer; if you get picked you’ll go, and, if Katniss is picked, you’ll go. “I won’t.”

Now all three of them are staring at you. “If I get picked, Katniss can’t volunteer and if she gets picked, you can’t stop me from volunteering.”

Katniss huffs. “You can’t stop me from volunteering either.”

Really, you could all argue this for hours.

…..

The four of you had never come to a conclusion, and now it’s the day of the Reaping.

Effie stands uncomfortably at the bowl; she doesn’t seem happy about having to pull your names, despite her chipper facade.

“The female tribute for District Twelve is…” she says, digging around in the two slips of paper in the bowl. She finally pulls one out and reluctantly reads it out. “Y/n L/n.” She almost sighs your name.

Katniss’s fingers twitch nervously, like she wants to say something but you shoot her the strongest glare you can muster.

She doesn’t volunteer, and you’re glad for it.

You walk up to the stage, head held high; you know this is the start of the end of your life, so you might as well act more confident than you truly are.

Effie looks at you sadly once you’re settled behind her, and then turns back to the audience. “And… the male tribute for District Twelve is,” she spends another five minutes routing through the two names. “Haymitch Abernathy.” This time her sigh is one of relief.

But the relief does not last long.

“I volunteer!” Peeta says, stepping forward; Haymitch grabs his arm and says something too quiet to hear, and Peeta says something back. His face is full of determination as everyone watches him walk up the stage and stand next to you.

Everyone in your little group wears a look of defeat. Even you.

Only one of you can go home, and you’re going to do your damn best to make sure it’s Peeta Mellark.

…..

“I’m not ready for this.” You say quietly, as you walk down the corridor to your bedrooms on the train. “It’s hardly been a year, Peeta.”

He nods solemnly, not looking at you as you arrive at your door. His is just across the hall.

Peeta gently takes your hand in his and squeezes. “I know. It’s too soon.” He looks angry. “We were never supposed to have to do this again.” He drops your hand before you can reciprocate in any sort of way.

You do feel a little less nauseous though.

“It‘s okay.” You whisper, twitching your fingers and slapping it onto the doorknob. “It’ll be okay.”

Peeta’s eyes rove over you in a scrutinizing manner as though he’s trying to figure some meaning behind your words, but there isn’t one to figure.

Just that it will be okay. Peeta will, if you really just be specific. Peeta will return home, happy and safe.

Ready to live his life with the woman he loves… Katniss.

And you will fade into false glory and distant memory.

…..

“Finnick, Right?” You fidget with your fingers in front of you; Finnick Odair was an attractive man who oozed with confidence and smooth words.

“Want a sugar cube?” He asks slyly, holding one out to you. “They're supposed to be for the horses but— we’re going to die anyway, it won’t matter after that.”

You nod carefully. “Of course, because that would obviously matter if we weren’t already set for death.” You still take the sugar cube from his hand and pop it in your mouth.

You almost gag from it. Pure sugar was… a lot. “Ugh. That’s disgusting.”

Finnick chuckles. “But liberating.”

You shake your head but a smile still spreads across your face. “Liberating indeed, Finnick Odair. My last act of rebellion is eating a sugar cube.”

“Devastating, really. To the Capitol, I mean.” He smiles easily at you, before someone catches his attention and he saunters off.

Claudius Templesmith stood not far from you, crooning about something with one of the older tributes.

The older man— Betee, you think— stood, looking indifferent but also invested in Claudius’s ramblings and unnecessary questions.

You were dreading the questions he’d ask you during your second round of interviews.

The last time was time enough for you.

“What’d he want?” Peeta asks, walking up behind you and pulling your attention away from the other party-goers.

“Oh, you know,” you say flippantly, “sugarcubes, secrets, and sarcasm.”

Peeta’s eyebrows furrow in confusion but the smile remains on his face. “Sounds like an interesting conversation.” He extends his arm to you. “Shall we?”

You sigh. “Not like we have much choice.”

….

“I’d give anything to know what’s going on inside your head.” Peeta says softly, fidgeting with the rope in his hands. You’d both decided that learning how to tie some knots would be beneficial.

You chuff, an awkward laugh. “What do you mean?”

His fingers work steadily, and somewhat clumsily, with the rope; there’s something alluring about how sure he can be with his hands.

It makes you think of the painting in your house— the one that you’ll never see again— how patient he must’ve been to complete such a beautiful piece, how still and sure of himself.

“What are you thinking right now, Y/n?” He looks up at you, with those beautiful blue eyes of his.

You shrug. “I was thinking about…” you trail off, because you absolutely cannot say that you were thinking about his hands. A half-truth will have to do. “Your painting. How I’ll never see it again.”

Hip lips pull into a frown. “You’ll see it again, I’m going to make sure of it.”

Sighing deeply, you stand. “You’re the one who has to go home, Peeta, not me.” He opens his mouth to speak but you cut him off. “It has to be you.”

….

You don’t have the time to argue about it for the next couple of days, you hardly even see each other.

Now, Cinna is preparing you for the arena. You know that everything he gave was meant for Katniss, he had obviously expected it to be her, or that he wouldn’t style you.

He hadn’t been your stylist, but yours had opted out of this year’s games, claiming it was too painful to watch you go back in.

You hadn’t liked her much the first time around, wanted to change you too much in ways that you most definitely did not like.

Cinna, though, you liked him. Though this would be the last time you saw him.

You were dressed in whatever mandatory suit that they designed for this game, a skin tight suit that looked like you were about to go scuba diving.

“It’s time.” Cinna says, glancing back to the tube at the back of the room. You turn back to it.

“Thank you, Cinna.” You say, bowing your head for him. “It was nice getting to know you.”

He smiles half-heartedly. “It was a pleasure, Y/n.”

You exchange a final goodbye and step into the tube. The sixth second countdown begins as the tube starts to ascend.

It's all water, just water and water and water in a large circle around them. There was also thin sand bars that connected the tubes and the Cornucopia, but you knew you wouldn’t be braving that.

Peeta stands three tubes down, with a morphling, a Career and Johanna between you two.

Twenty seconds.

You stare at him desperately, hoping he’ll stick to the plan and swim towards you; you catch his eyes and he smiles reassuringly. It’s not a genuine smile but it still calms you all the same.

Ten seconds.

You ball your fists, clenching hard.

Nine.

Eight.

God, it’s going to be difficult to get out of the water.

Seven.

Six.

You’re not the strongest swimmer, maybe you should go to the Cornucopia.

Five.

Four.

And it’s a long way to swim, even for someone who does know how. Only experienced swimmers, like Finnick, would have an easy time of it.

Three.

Two.

Then, it occurs to you, maybe those sandbars go all the way to the shore; if you get to the Cornucopia, Grab, well, anything, and then flee via the sandbars, you just might be okay.

One.

The pads everyone stands on recede into the water and dumps everyone straight in.

It makes you realize that most of your competitors do not know how to swim.

Peeta is just barely floating thanks to the bright purple belt that had been strapped around all your waists.

You know how to swim at least a little bit , so you unbuckle yours and swim over to him; once it inflates fully, you give it to him and try to drag him towards the sandbars.

It dawns on you all over again that Peeta is a tall guy, and he’s not exactly small either.

He’s strong and his weight definitely shows that; he tries to keep himself afloat but ends up making it worse.

Eventually, you make it over there, and he pulls himself up onto the loose sand; it takes a bit of effort because it’s slippery and keeps moving under your weight.

It’s barely stable enough to be a viable option. Just barely.

You leave him there for a minute and swim to the cornucopia. There's fighting going on on its small platform, but you just snag a small waterproof bag that sits a few yards away; a knife comes flying in your direction, and knicks your face.

The salt of the water stings as it mingles with blood.

When you spin back towards Peeta, he’s struggling and Finnick is approaching him.

You race back as fast as you can.

Finnick already has some pretty gnarly weapons strapped to him.

You’re about to draw the knife on him when shakes his head. “Relax, Y/n, I’m saving his ass.” Then he lifts a hand out of the water and flashes some sort of bracelet at you.

It’s the alliance bracelets that Haymitch had mentioned.

Oh.

“I-”you start, but you never really had a sentence to begin with.

You just lag silently behind as Finnick helps Peeta to the shore. The closer you get to the shore, the wider the sandbars get, and the sturdier they are as well.

Until they're eventually higher than the water, and wide enough for both Peeta and yourself to walk side by side.

You collapse onto the sand when you finally reach the shore and stay there for only a second.

That’s all you have before the three of you are up and running into the forest in front of you.

….

When Peeta’s heart stops, you're sure that yours does too— you’re sure that, as you stand there in a state while Finnick tries to resuscitate Peeta, you’re also unresponsive and silent. Dead.

True enough, in a way.

The longer you stare at Peeta’s face, still twisted in pain from the shock, the more you feel like dropping to the ground and sobbing.

You tried to imagine the way he painted with camouflage training stuff, drawing intricate designs onto both his and one of the morhpling’s arms.

It had washed off by the next morning but you had spent the whole night longing to touch it, run your fingers along his arm, trace the shapes and swirls.

Beyond the paintings, you recalled his magnetic smile and the way he always made you feel safe and calm, the steady air that he radiated.

You weren’t ready for him to die, he was the one who was supposed to win this, after all. You had resolved that Peeta Mellark was going to be the winner of the 75th Hunger Games and you were going to do whatever you needed to to make that happen. You were even prepared to turn into somebody you weren’t, just to make sure Peeta went home. Or at least, you thought you could if you had to come to it.

But now, you’re ready to give up. Finnick or Johanna could win— and they should. Literally anyone else but you. Everyone who had a life now that Peeta is gone.

You’re just about to collapse to the ground when Peeta starts to cough erratically, and he manages to sit straight up.

“Peeta!” You cry as you fall to the ground next to him, and wrap your arms around his neck. He seems disoriented for a moment before he hugs you back, right. “I really thought you were gone.”

He gently strokes your back, as you fuss over him, double checking that he’s okay and checking his burn.

…..

You hear a loud sickening crack from somewhere else in the arena that makes everyone but Johanna and Finnick jump. You feel Peeta’s hand wrap around you protectively and pull you closer to him in the single instant that you’re all reacting to the noise.

It takes a few delayed seconds before each one of you realizes that it’s just the lightning in 12, before you realize just how having Peeta’s hands on you makes you feel.

His fingers slip from your waist, brushing softly as they fall away and leaving you feeling just slightly feral.

You pull yourself away, and dig your nails into your thigh to ground yourself. Getting used to this clock thing was going to be agonizing.

You’re waiting patiently as the lot of you— You, Peeta, Finnick, Johanna and Beetee— come up with a plan to take down the force field and take out the Careers at the same time.

You can barely focus on the conversation because you itch to have Peeta’s hands on you again, to feel his fingers against your skin again.

In fact there’s so many things you’d like to say and do with Peeta that you know you will never have the chance to; not to mention that he is in love with someone else and would never be interested in any of those things with you anyways.

You’re pretty sure you’d been staring at Peeta but you only notice because Finnick shoots a look at you— you can’t tell exactly what he’s thinking but it must be something about that.

You try to zone back into the plan.

….

Trying to trap the careers failed miserably, and the person most experienced with a bow was you, but only thanks to Katniss’s training.

Everything was a blur as the force field came down; chaos, fire everywhere— you couldn’t see or hear Peeta.

You worried about him and you laid pathetically on the ground, half out of your mind. You wondered if he was having trouble with his prosthetic leg, or having run from Enobaria or one of the other careers. You wondered if he’d make it out okay, even though it was obvious you wouldn’t.

You wondered and worried for what felt like forever until an airship appeared above you.

Great. You thought, the Capitol has come to torture you and everyone you’ve ever loved until the couldnt anymore and all of you was nothing more than a shell of a person. Until the only option was avox or death.

You can’t move, or fight it as the giant claw, scoops you up.

All that effort and you still managed to condem each and everyone of you to torture.

…..

“Relax, Y/n!” Haymitch snaps, as Finnick restrains you.

Katniss sits on the other side of the table, looking just as devastated as you.

“What do you mean, you didn’t get Peeta? You can’t just leave him there, they’ll hurt him worse than any of us could ever imagine!” You say, still struggling to get away from Finnick.

Katniss actually argues in your favour. “I did say I would only do this thing if you got both her and Peeta.”

Plutarch, the game maker shakes his head redundantly. “Peeta and Johanna were just to far away for us to locate before the Capitols airships came; I’m sorry, we’ll get them back eventually.”

Finnick finally lets you go once you’ve calmed down. He has a solemn look on his face. “I’m sure they’ve got Annie too. We need to save them as soon as possible.”

….

As soon as possible turns into several weeks, several heartbreakingly, agonizingly long weeks.

You can’t help but think about Peeta every moment of every day . You imagine all the terrible things Snow is doing to him, you wish it was you in his place.

Peeta was the one person who never deserved any of this, over anyone else. You and Katniss had been willing to do whatever you needed to to survive, you’d done things maybe you weren’t particularly proud of. But Peeta? He had never let the Games change him.

He had always been the same.

Safe, steady, comfortable, strong.

You don’t even have any hope that they’re showing him any mercy.

They aren’t.

You know now, you know by the way that last interview they aired went— how he was struck just as the cameras shut off, how your heart broke when you looked into his eyes, when you saw just how much they’d hurt him already.

You were just about ready to burst into Coin’s office and tell her that you were getting Peeta now, regardless of the consequences to Thirteen.

Gale and Katniss were fighting a lot lately, tension was heavy between them; and not in a good way. You didn’t know Gale well, but the comments he made about Peeta made your skin crawl and your hands itch to throw a few punches.

Actually they were arguing now, about Peeta, and you were listening.

Gale’s head snaps to you randomly and he barks at you; “and you! Why the hell are you so invested in Bread Boy?”

You startle for a moment, but then narrow your eyes. “What do you mean why am I invested? He’s my— friend.” You say, sounding unsure even to yourself.

Katniss huffs. “I mean, come on, Gale, you know that our relationship has been fake from the start and we—” she gestures between the two of them. “—we’re friends, Gale, we always have been.”

He scoffs, and says something else in a bitter tone but all you can hear is Katniss’s words replaying over and over in your brain.

Our relationship has been fake from the start.

“Shut up for a second!” You snap at Gale, and turn back to Katniss. “Your relationship was fake the whole time? Yours and Peeta’?” You almost feel like an asshole for asking, just in case it is real; but so many things Peeta has done and said make so much more sense recontextualized like this.

Like when he said their rings were ‘just for ten cameras.’ Or when he told you he always thought you were beautiful. Or even the way he tried so hard to convince not to go back into the games.

Both of their faces fall flat, Katniss’s in disbelief. “You didn’t know?” She says.

You shake your head slowly. “No, I-” you stop yourself because you're at a loss for words.

“Y/n, we didn’t try to hide it from you, how did you not know? Even Haymitch said right in front of you that Peeta had a crush on you!”

You deadpan once again. You had blatantly misread everybody’s words in that conversation. “I just assumed that was about you!” You stare at each other for a second longer before you stand up abruptly. “I have to go.”

There was a lot of thinking you had to do and then a lot of planning— and a bit of yelling too.

…..

You were deemed too invested in the mission to actually go on it, and Finnick was too distressed over Annie to be allowed.

So you had been sitting together in silence; the silence was comfortable but the insane amounts of stress running through your veins was enough to make the tension in the air as sharp as a knife. Not between each other but to any other person.

Especially since Gale was allowed to go on the mission, and you felt that was entirely unfair— Gale doesn’t even like Peeta.

It had turned into a whole day of waiting, and only twenty minutes ago, they had returned with Johanna, Peeta and Annie.

The anxiety had grown tenfold when you were both informed you weren’t allowed to see them yet.

Now, you’re standing outside the door where Annie was resting, watching her through the one way window.

Finnick’s eyes are filled with so many you can only pick out one or two; you wonder if your eyes will look similar when you enter Peeta’s room.

You wish him luck and watch as he enters the room; Annie looks like she screams his name and then jumps him. He holds her up, looking like it’s the happiest moment of his life.

Watching them makes you much more excited to see Peeta, although you're not sure it will be quite that exuberant of a reunion.

You walk a couple doors down, glancing in the windows as you do; but you stop when you see Katniss and Johanna in one of the rooms before Peeta’s.

Why in the world is Katniss in the Hospital? What happened?

You push open the door gently, and Katniss doesn’t stir— you take note of the morphling drip in her arm, that must be keeping her knocked out.

You see Johanna is also asleep, her head is shaved and she has the worst tortured expression on, even though she looks to be sleeping soundfully— physically, anyways.

If she’s looking that bad, you can’t help but wonder about Peeta. You’re always wondering about him.

You don’t want to disturb either of their healing so you quickly leave the room, shutting the door as quietly and calmly as you can.

Finally, as you walk out, you spot the guards in front of Peeta’s door; you think it’s a little strange, considering neither Johanna nor Annie had security at the door but you walk towards the door anyways.

The guards hold out a hand as you approach.

“Restricted access, you can’t go in there.” The guard says, almost heartlessly.

Just as he finishes speaking, the door opens and Haymitch steps out and away. You would look through the window but the blinds are down.

“I’m sorry, Sweetheart, you can’t see him.” Haymitch takes your arm and leads you back down the hallway. “The Capitol… they tortured him so bad he—” Haymitch stops, and looks away for a second before looking back. “He tried to strangle Katniss, and kept yelling about how Katniss was a liar. He’s not himself right now.”

So much for your heartfelt reunion.

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[silentmagi]

Rising Star

Hello everyone, I hope that everyone’s enjoying the story and that you’ve all been well since last time. I thank all of you who take the time to read and vote for these updates. I would love to hear any feedback or reviews you may have.

Last time, we were voting on what the next steps were. The winners were Translate and the getting new books from the stables, and I’m going to try and combine these. Let’s see where the story takes us.

An effort was made to translate the tome, the words in a nigh forgotten language and she could translate it, but for the fact that she didn’t have her own linguistic notes, or a book to help her understand the rules of grammar and syntax, she was having trouble parsing the right inflections and meanings of the words she was trying to translate.

Looking at the window, she found that it had been two hours since she started, and she had only gotten roughly half the page partially figured out. Letting out an annoyed sigh, she picked up the page again, found her notes, and promptly found that she had made three mistakes within the first few notes.

Determining that the translations were a lost cause, she packed up her books, leaving the one for private reading on the bed for later. Surely, Luna was a lady of culture and wouldn’t judge her for such reading materials.

On second thought, hiding it inside her bag for later would be best.

With her reading materials secured, she returned to the quest for more knowledge. Navigating the stairs, she found the back entrance to the stables unguarded, and the two lads that had helped her earlier absconded, perhaps to a scheduled break or other tasks around the inn. No matter, taking the key from her pouch, she opened the stall. Snooping around, she made sure that the book to be translated when they got to the library was separate from the others, with the spell creation notes next to it. Pulling out a few books, she flipped through the first pages, finding more written in the translated text, so they were added with the black book.

Finally, she unearthed the scrolls, and grabbed several of them, looping a length of cord around them so she could more easily hold onto them. Her stomach was reminding her of the hours since she ate, and she turned to head back in, ensuring the tarp was in place and the stall was locked behind her.

Pausing long enough to give Edmond a handful of oats and a scratch between the ears, she smiled at the placid horse. “Rest well, it’s a long road before the next time you get a proper stall like this,” she offered, trying to bolster her own spirits by spoiling him.

Getting a wuffling noise and him turning towards the water trough, she decided to take her own advice and enjoy the civilization that was being afforded her right now. 

Getting inside, the innkeeper approached her, giving her a broad smile as he came near. “Hello lass, settled in alright? Will you be wanting to eat down here or should I have one of the lads bring up a serving of the special?”

“If you could have it brought up, that’d be great, thank you,” she answered before looking at Luna out the front door thoughtfully. “Perhaps have her plate stay warm until she comes in. I don’t know if she’ll be up to playing for the inn tonight after her show in the town square.”

“Can do, the mayor’s covering that, and will you be wanting a dri-” he began, cutting off as she placed a coins in his hand.

“Wine, something red if you have it, if there’s any change, keep it, if it’s not enough, let me know. I’ll take the bottle.”

“Certainly, if you’re sure, we have a nice local one that’s a few years old. Great flavor, and a decent nose, afraid I can’t tell you more than that.”

“That sounds delightful, please send them up, I will be working in the room, so just knock and I’ll respond.”

With that the pair parted ways, and she found herself back in the room, settling in to work on the scrolls. It felt good to have things going her way, making progress, and being able to study and research again.

[spnfanficpond]

Weekly Pond Newsletter

We are coming up on the most depressing day of the year, January 21st. The holidays are over, there are no (US) work holidays for another three months or so, and the weather is just blech. (It's cold up north and hot down south and only those lucky enough to live somewhere temperate all year round are happy.) How about sending us your fic recs and getting entered into a drawing for amazing prizes? Also, every so often we ask for fic recs in our Discord server in exchange for unique prizes not listed on the usual prize list. Right now, you could win a Gotham Knights Season One Court of Owls coin from Stands just for dropping links to GK/SPN crossover fics, or AU fics where Cas is a lawyer. It's so easy! The deadline is 4pm Sunday Eastern US/Canada time!

Old Business:

November/December Angel Fish Awards - The post went up and the raffle winner was notified! Click here for a slew of awesome fic recs!

SPNFanFicPond Fic Highlight - We highlighted a Sastiel AU fic this past week! Click here to check it out!

SPN Rewatch: Fanfic Edition - We had another great chat yesterday about episodes 1.13 Route 666 and 1.14 Nightmare. The Archive masterpost and episode docs have been updated, but the theme docs have not. It's on Admin Michelle's to-do list!

#TweetFicTues prompts -

New Business:

Martin Luther King Jr Day - Monday is a holiday in the US! Enjoy your day off and drop some fic recs on us!

Fishing For Treasures - Next weekend is FFT weekend here at the Pond and we're celebrating Underappreciated Fics! Drop a link to your most underappreciated fics, or someone else's, in our #fishing-for-treasures channel in the Discord server, or submit a link to the blog here with a note telling us it's for FFT. The deadline is Friday night at midnight Eastern US/Canada time!

Manta Ray in the Discord server - Admin Michelle will be hanging out in the Discord server next weekend! Want to ask about Pond events? Give suggestions for things we could be doing? Want her to run some sprints for prizes? Let her know during her chat next weekend!

Anonymous Suggestion Box - Got an idea or suggestion for the Pond, but you're afraid to say anything in person? Submit it through our anonymous suggestion box! It's a Google form, so it doesn't send us any information about you, and you can write as much or as little as you want. We're here for you, so tell us what you want!

(Divider by @glygriffe!)

That's all for this week! To see all Pond events, and also other SPN-related things like conventions and online concerts, check out our Google calendar! Click here for a static view in Eastern US/Canada time (desktop only, no mobile app access, sadly), and click here to add our calendar to your own Google calendar! We try to keep it as up-to-date as possible. If there's something you want to see on the calendar that's not there (maybe a convention we missed, cast birthdays, or something similar), send us an ASK and let us know!

Hope you have a great week! - From your Admins and Manta Rays, @manawhaat, @mrswhozeewhatsis, @mariekoukie6661, @thoughtslikeaminefield, @spencereliotwinchester and @heavenssexiestangel!

[the-lady-writes-what]

KINKTOBER 2023

Y'all remember that poll I made last month? This is for the winner of that poll: Shouta Aizawa

Dark/Medieval-ish Fantasy AU

Vampire AU. Also, he's a highwayman (robber who hung out on the roads and stole from travelers) cuz I want to

Also, also, thanks to pop culture osmosis, I have consumed a little too much Baldur's Gate III content for somebody who hasn't played the game...yet, so there's a little inspiration from Astarion throw in there. As a treat

Content: knife play, blood drinking (duh), biting (again, duh), praise, oral (giving), use of "good girl", cum play, cowgirl, missionary, "kidnapping" (except not really)

FYI, long post (sorry)

*Cutpurse: thief or pickpocket

🔞NSFW Content Below! 18+ Only! Minors DNI!🔞

The closing of summer and the beginning of the end of another yet started with drizzle. It was a cold, gray morn on the eve before All Hallows. And you, the local tavern wench, have to work into the wee hours of the morning before getting up the next day to do it all over again. You gathered coins from the bar and stuffed them into your apron. Beer flowing from the caskets they were drawn from into deep mugs. It took all of your will power not to spit into the drink of the man who made it an unhappy habit for you to squeeze your ass when you passed. Over the last several months, you learned how to dodge his sweaty, grubby hands. It took a lot less effort when he eventually, inevitably got so drunk he couldn't even recognize his own hand if he held it in front of his face.

You carried a tray of ale to the table waiting across the tavern while the bard hired for the evening played a dull tune on his lute. You walked to the table without incident, but left without a tip. You smiled but the moment your back was turned, your face turned sour like you just swallowed a lemon. 'Oh, you should be so lucky to have a job and not starve to death' or 'Be grateful' were words you heard time and time again. They were usually spoken by folks who had more coin than you did. You scrounged and saved every copper to get yourself out of this one-pony town to find better employment. A governess for the child of rich lord or a seamstress's apprentice? Anything would be better than dodging meaty paws and washing beers stains out of your aprons every other night. Reeking of ale and pipe smoke when one comes home from work was not the ideal lifestyle, certainly not yours.

As you crossed back over to the bar, you heard the local gossip. A few months ago, the hottest gossip was about the local cleric's daughter getting entangled with a cutpurse*. As of late, the news was not so bawdy.

"Drained of blood they say. Not a drop left in the horse..." Whispered one patron, not wanting to frighten the others.

"I heard that all the goats and chickens died over three weeks in the village two miles east of here," said another.

"The Dark Hand was spotted in that area about that time. Pinched a pearl choker from the duchess and left her stranded. Stole BOTH her horses from her carriage. Knocked the driver unconscious. Nobody thought the fellow would live."

The Dark Hand was a name growing more popular each night. He was much more entertaining than listening to hearing tales of bloodletting and dead goats. Nobody saw his face or knew his name. He wore a mask and cloak. Who knows who gave him the moniker, the Dark Hand, but the name stuck. The highwayman lurked on moonless nights on the highways and byways and forested roads for victims to steal from. The strange thing was that he left most of his victims alive, save for one or two foolish men who did not expect a thief to be so adept at fencing. However, he almost always stole the horse, presumably to buy him time and evade authorities.

"What you think the Dark Hand is bleeding goats and chickens when he's not stealing horses?" A patron laughed.

"I'm just sayin' it's an odd coincidence that the animals died, all drained of blood, and that's the last spot the Dark Hand was seen..."

The patron's voice faded and melted into the crowd as you walked away. You returned to the bar and washed mugs in between serving drinks. When you finally had the time, you dumped the coins that weighed your apron down into the large iron box hidden inside the bar counter.

Each passing hour slugged by. Drunkards were carried home by their comrades while others slinked off to their cots and carriages. One by one, two by two, and three by three, they stumbled, lurched, and fumbled their way out the door. The tavern became quiet like a grave as all the souls left to wander the night. With a rag, you cleaned the bar counter to the best of your abilities, but there was no removing the stains and the smells without a little bit of magic which you did not possess. The tavern keeper, the owner, sauntered downstairs from his chambers on the floor above. He played little part in the goings-on of the business he owned, choosing to coop himself up and day-drink and gamble and doddle with a prostitute. Your boss only ventured downstairs when the tavern was emptied and there was no work for him to do besides count the box's contents and pay you.

While he counted the money, you busied yourself with picking up after the patrons. You grabbed forgotten and discarded mugs from every surface. Many patrons dropped their mugs and never picked them off the floor, much to your displeasure. From the corner of your eye, you spotted the bard looking sadly into his tin cup. He packed his things and left without a goodbye. Only until you had an armload of mugs did your employer look up. He curled his finger, bidding you to come to the bar. You dumped your load into the enormous sink of dirty dishwater. When you turned to the bar, the tavern keeper gave you ten copper and a silver. You glanced at the pile of coins he began stashing into a bag.

"Where's the rest of it?" You asked.

"The rest of what?" He cinched the leather bag closed.

"My money? This can't be all that I've earned today. I've been here since noon."

"You dropped a customer's drink this afternoon. I took it outta your pay," said he.

Your jaw dropped. A single wasn't equivalent to half your pay for working ten hours. Your brows furrowed into an angry V-shape.

"I can take the silver away. I could take the copper and leave you with nothin'. Take your pay and go home. I'm tired."

"Tired? You've set foot downstairs twice all day, including right now! I spilled one drink. ONE. I'm doing the job of five people, and you're cutting my pay in half because of one drink? You weren't even here to see it. How could you have possibly known that happened?"

"I got sources." He got up close and personal. Too close and too personal. You could smell his fetid breath. "And I suggest ya keep your pretty mouth shut, missy. I can replace ya like that." He snapped his fingers.

"And where do you think that'll leave you? I'm the only one who's stuck around for longer than a few weeks. You don't even a cook anymore. Who's going to pour drinks? Who's going to wipe up the bar and tables? Who's going to mop the floors or tidy up the rooms? I need you far less than you think I do."

"Tell me where'd you go then? Hm? Take up a job at the fish market? Peddle some flowers? You got looks, I'll be honest. You could make more on your back," said he.

You grabbed your money from the bar and struck him. He was stunned for just a second. His cheek bore a red mark the size and shape of your hand. You scurried away before he could get within reach of you. The tavern keep had always been slow. You could outrun him with relative ease. You turned your head back at the last moment as you stepped onto the tavern's thresh hold.

"Don't expect me to be here tomorrow night, bastard!" You shouted.

In the whirl of emotions, you'd forgotten your one and only cloak. Oh well. You can buy a cheap one at the market. A wool blanket would do in a pinch if necessary. However, with winter fast approaching, you didn't have much time to think about those things. You needed to stay warm if this winter was going to be same as last years, cold, frozen, and wet.

You trekked alone in the dark. You tucked your fistful of coins into your apron with no other place to stash your money. Looking at you, a tavern wench without a purse or cloak, you weren't a thief's target. The wind blew at the back of your neck, causing the hair to stand on end. Candles flickered in windows until they were snuffed out. The cobblestone streets before and behind you were dark. Still, you needed to get home. Your feet and legs ached and you needed to be up in the morning to find a new job.

Alone with nothing but your arms to keep you warm, you pushed further along. Even late at night, you knew the path well enough to not even need a lantern, though having one might bring more comfort. You hugged yourself to stave off the cold, but your fingers grew numb from the biting night wind. You rushed down the cobbles in the hopes of getting home sooner where you could at least get a fire going and sleep near the hearth.

The words of the tavern patron's kept you distracted. All that talk of highwaymen and animals bled to death kept you on your toes. You looked behind you and paused to look before passing every alley. You peeked inside but found only piles of rubbish. You crossed the bleak alley.

You were so close to home now. Just a little further and you could lock yourself indoors until sunrise.

Your little hut appeared in the midst of others. The sign above the blacksmith's swung above his door. You sprinted forward, safety and warmth so very close at hand. You were going to kiss the door before you unlocked it. Your hand seized the key from around your neck and slipped it off. You carried it in your fist as you made a beeline for your hovel's door.

You did not see the outstretched hand in the alley. Your eyes were too focused on your front door. You screamed as the hand captured your arm as you walked past the dark alley by your house. A hand clapped over your mouth before the sound could alert your neighbors. A strong arm wrapped around your middle and dragged you deep into the alley. You kicked and thrashed. All your efforts did was make your captor squeeze harder. You gasped for air as you were pressed against them.

In a flash, your back hit the nearest wall. The icy-cold sting of a knife pricked at your neck. A quick glance down made your worse fear come true. Glinting in the moonlight was a knife to your throat. You looked up. Half of their face was covered in a black mask. Red eyes glared out of the holes made for the eyes. Now that you could see the features, your captor was distinctly male. The shape of him gave it away, broad shoulders, thick neck, and stubble growing beneath his mask. He wore all black. Tight in his leather gloved fist was the glinting sharp knife whose point aimed for your artery.

"Do not scream again, do you understand? If you scream or call for help, I will slit your throat. Nod if you understand me."

The timber of his voice made you shiver. You had to admit it, the sound of it made a low fire start to burn in your lower belly. You nodded.

"Good girl." The man did not lower the knife. "Where do you live?"

"T-The house over there. I was...I was just heading home. Please don't kill me. I have nothing you can steal that's worth any value."

"I know you don't, but you do have something I want. Daybreak is coming and if you allow me to hide in your cellar, no harm will come to you."

"I-I have no cellar." You lied. There was one, but you weren't about to let a man who held a knife to your throat into your house.

The tip of his knife dug into your flesh. Blood rushed to the surface from the pinprick the knife made. You whimpered as the knife dug in.

"I can smell a lie. This will all be over if you open your cellar to me. I'll be gone by sunrise anyway. I don't want to slit the throat of a pretty girl, so don't make me do it," said he.

The knife, the black clothes, the red eyes. All these things you heard before. These were the descriptions of the Dark Hand. You shivered as you took his visage in. In spite of the mask, from what you could see of his face was quite handsome.

"Alright, alright. Y-You can hide in my cellar. I don't want any trouble," you said.

"Good." He withdrew the knife. The man stepped back and gestured for you to show the way.

Your legs trembled beneath your skirts. You led the man to your house only two dozen steps away. The key in your fist turned the lock, opening the door for the both of you. Perhaps in hindsight, you could have ran inside and locked the door before he could follow behind, but for whatever reason, you didn't. The man trailed after you into your hut. One space held your kitchen, dining room, and bedroom. There was a rocking chair by the fire and a loft for storage. A chair held your washing basin and your privy was the outhouse behind the hut. The stairs to the cellar were behind a door in the corner.

The man let you lock the door behind him. You lit a candle. You stepped towards the cellar's entrance. The man moved in the corner of your eye, not to follow you, but towards the fireplace. You turned to watch him creep in the dark as if he's lived here all his life and knew where everything was. You watched him sweep ash from the hearth and stack new logs. He threw a burning phosphorus match into the fireplace and soon it crackled. The man stoked the fire until it he was assured that his absence would not cause it to snuff itself out.

"T-Thank you." It felt odd to show gratitude towards the man who held you at knife point and threatened to kill you if you didn't let him inside your house. It was equally strange for him to go out of his way to warm your hut with a new fire. He wouldn't have been able to use it to his benefit if he was hiding in the cellar.

"A little gift for your cooperation," said he.

In the glow of the fire, you saw him better. Mud-covered boots and a heavy cloak stood before the fire. His whole frame was draped in black. Even his hair was the color of coal. The pale color of his skin stood out the most against all of the darkness he wore like a hat.

"I...I know who you are." You managed to say. Your tongue cleaved to the roof of your mouth.

"Then you should know better than speak a word to anyone."

You walked a bit closer. The man did not move. Where did all this daring come from? You crept a little closer towards him. The Dark Hand's eyes followed your every step. Each time you flinched, you captured the detail in his mind. You stared at him just as he stared at you.

"You're much more handsome than the stories say," you said.

"There's a lot that the stories don't tell."

"Are you on the run?" You asked.

"Almost caught. But I will be out of your hair next sunset. Don't bother locking the cellar door and alerting the authorities by the way. I have my ways of escaping, and then the next time we meet you won't be so fortunate."

"The cellar door doesn't lock anyway. It's been busted since I moved in."

"Awfully dangerous thing to say to a stranger," said the Dark Hand.

"Awfully dangerous thing to do to let a man who had a knife to my throat stay in my house," you said.

"Are you going to stand there all evening or show me the way?"

You gestured your head towards the back door. "I trust you can see. The cellar is just beyond the door. Watch your step. The last stair is broken."

"You should sleep," said the Dark Hand.

"With a highwayman in my cellar? I don't think so. I wouldn't be able to sleep if I tried with you down there."

The Dark Hand narrowed his eyes at you. He scrutinized your face before shaking his head.

"Your dark circles are worse than mine."

"May I see?"

His indifferent eyes turned into a glare.

"Can't blame me for being curious."

"You know what they say about curiosity."

"Curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back," you said.

"Oh really?"

The Dark Hand turned and flashed fangs. Not blunt human teeth. Fangs.

You gasped and stepped away from him only for the Dark Hand to saunter over to you.

"You're a vampire. T-That explains all those dead goats," you said dumbly.

"I got a little carried away." He reached up and took off his mask. "This mask is pointless now I suppose."

You stared at his face. He was handsome, but there was plenty to mar him. A scar under his right eye, dark shadows, and a thin red ring surrounding both eyes made him look sullen. If you saw him in broad daylight, you would swear he was just another haggard traveler.

"Wait, wait, before you decide to drain me, let me give you a counteroffer!"

He stopped to your surprise.

"A counteroffer?"

"You...You need a place to hide for now, right? You must also need fresh blood to survive. I can provide both and maybe more if when you leave this town, and I know you will,...take me with you."

Your heart hammered. It felt like your rib cage rattled with every thump and throb of your heart pumping blood. You felt your pulse quicken in your throat.

"You...You want to come with me? As what a servant?"

"Literally anything would be better than staying in this place. Look at all this! Do you think I'm spoiled here? I just quit my bloody job at the tavern. I want to leave this place and never look back. You need somewhere to hide and get a meal once in a while. So...So before you decide on killing me to guarantee silence, think about my offer. Please?"

The Dark Hand looked around your hut.

"It is a bit cramped and squalid. It's a wonder you have a cellar at all."

He closed the rest of the gap between you. His gloved hand cupped your chin and tilted your head. His blood-colored eyes scanned your face.

"Up close, you are easy on the eyes. I could always use an extra pair of human hands to help me in the daylight. Very well, clever human. You get to live another day."

"Do you...Do you need to feed now? Is that why your eyes are red?" You asked.

"And where do you expect to find an animal I can feed from at this time of night?"

"Animal? You don't feed from..."

"Humans? Not for the last half century. Are you offering yourself?"

"Yes."

The word burst out of your mouth without you bidding. You stared at his rugged yet handsome face. He was not the image of a perfect, well-groomed, posh vampire, but he was all the more attractive because of it. The Dark Hand stared back.

"Eager?" He quirked a dark brow.

"P-Perhaps..."

The Dark Hand leaned his head towards you. He inhaled sharply the smell of your skin from the crook of your neck. You felt his cold breath ghost across your flesh as he sighed.

"Very tempting. I can smell your excitement. I feel your blood racing to the surface, calling to me. And you have such a delicate, pretty neck. I almost hate to ruin it," said he.

"You can smell that?" You gasped.

"Yes. I also smelled the hint of arousal when I had my knife to your throat. Do you like dangerous men? If I put my hand under your skirts, will your cunt be soaking wet for me?"

"You go too far, sir!"

"Sir?" He laughed. "Nobody's called me that in a long time."

"Oh? What else have you been called?"

"Shouta," the Dark Hand Answered.

"Shouta." You tested the name on your lips.

"It's been a very long time since I last felt the touch of a person who wasn't trying to jab a stake through my chest. And judging by how fast your heart is pounding, it's been a while for you too. Shall we remedy that?"

"Please!" You whined.

Your fate was sealed when the Dark Hand Shouta sealed his lips on yours. You unfastened his cloak. It fell away and your hands were free to wander his chest and shoulders. Muscles rippled through the shirt his wore. Likewise, Shouta untied your apron. However, he was too impatient to unlace your bodice. He produced the knife from his belt and slit the ties from top to bottom. You protested but the words fell on deaf ears. His hands cut the ties to your skirt too.

"I'll buy you more." He husked against your neck.

You shivered in just your shift. Shouta kissed your cheek. His lips trailed down your throat and down to your collar bone. He pressed his lips to the top of your breast. You squealed with no small amount of delight mixed with surprise when he hefted you unto his shoulder. Shouta carried you off to the straw-filled bed. Shouta saddled himself to straddle your hips. He slowly, oh-so-slowly, removed his belt. He plucked a small leather satchel that had been hanging on his hip. Before tossing the purse away, Shouta produced a necklace of pearls.

"Are those...the duchess's pearls?" You asked. What was he going to do with those?

"Didn't fight to keep them either." Shouta closed the necklace around your throat. "They look better on you anyway."

He kissed you again, this time with more passion. Shouta let you tug at his shirt until it came loose from his doe skin breeches. He broke from the kiss only to take off his shirt and throw it somewhere in the dark. By the firelight, you marveled at his marble torso, pale and sturdy. His body was scarred. All of them old, weaving a tale of fights and battles long before he became one of the undead.

You reached down to touch him down there. You stroked his cock through his leather breeches. Shouta let out a hiss through his teeth.

"Don't fucking tease me, woman."

"Do you trust me?" You asked.

"That should be your question."

You rolled your eyes. "Just lie down for me, alright?"

Shouta kicked off his boots. He rolled over on your bed. You fiddled with the hem of his breeches before slowly pulling them down. Inch by inch. Shouta lifted his hips to help you tug them off. His cock didn't spring to life right away. You didn't expect him to since he was...you know, vampire. He twitched and then you touched him. Your hand felt so warm against his skin. You stroked his cock, slowly warming him up, in more ways than one.

You slid down his body and settled between his legs. Your tongue swept along the shaft of him. You enjoyed the slow hiss that came out of him as you did so. You teased him some more, reveling in the sounds he made before wrapping your lips around the tip. You sucked and drew him deeper into your mouth. Shouta let your head bob up and down and stroke what you couldn't fit. His body relaxed under the sensations you were providing. Shouta cradled the back of your neck.

"Fuck...Where'd you learn to do that?"

You brought him to completion and swallowed the tide of cum down your throat. You missed a droplet of cum on the corner of your lips when you released him. Shouta swiped it up with his finger and put it inside your mouth. You licked his finger clean before straddling him.

Shouta sat up and seated his cock deep within you. He kissed your cheek, making his way to your neck. His lips lingered right above your pulse point. His arms felt like timbers as he wrapped them around your waist. He held you tight as he fangs sank into your flesh.

You gasped, of course. It was not the awful maw of a beast or the deadly bite of a viper. A vampire's kiss stung all the same. It was like two icy pinpricks stabbing your neck. You felt Shouta draw the blood from your veins. A little bit of your essence flowed in him.

His cock buried to the hilt twitched. The flaccid member grew hard as Shouta sucked your blood. Pulsing life and activity returned. Soon, he was thrusting up into. Shouta pulled away from your neck. His cool tongue lapped up the drops of blood from the little puncture wounds. You felt a tingle and the puncture marks healed themselves. You touched your neck in amazement.

"What?"

"We can't have you walking around with a sign that says 'A vampire was here,' can we?" Said Shouta.

You looped your arms around his neck. You moved your hips in time with his. An ache, a need, started to fill you. You thrust your hips back at him, faster, going faster. Your tiny hut reverberated with the sounds of you fucking. It had been so long, too long. Shouta filled you up, stretched you, and played with that bundle of nerves between your legs that every other man ignored. His fingers were rough to the touch but oh-so gentle when he played with you. You kissed and you tasted your own blood on his lips.

Your wetness spread everywhere. All over your thighs and his. Shouta's face scrunched up like a hungry animal. In a flash, he had you on your back. He pushed your legs onto his shoulders as he rammed harder into your soaking cunt. His thrusts turned bestial. He was a demon of lust taking his fill of you. Silver fangs glimmered in the red-orange light of the fireplace. Shouta licked his fangs before sinking them into your breasts. He drew blood there though not enough to drain you. He bit to taste more of your flesh and blood. As his craving grew stronger, so did his fucking you.

The bed frame creaked and moaned. It threatened to break asunder beneath your bodies. Shouta fucked you into the mattress so hard that he ripped the seams. Straw spilled out the sides of your shitty mattress.

You try to reach for Shouta, touch him, drag your nails down his back. You manage to get a hold of his arms. His hard muscles twitched under your touch. Your blunt nails scratch him as he pounded into you.

"You're getting tighter." Shouta growled. "You're so close, aren't you?"

"Yes!"

"Then come. Come for me."

Shouta's eyes bore into yours. He folded your body into a mating press. His thrusts grew more erratic, desperate for release. He played with your clit faster. Your legs stretched on his shoulders, spreading out and wide. Shouta kissed you on the mouth to stifle the scream that would have woken your neighbors if they heard. You moaned into the kiss as the base of your spine tingled and exploded with pleasureful fireworks. Shouta followed behind. He buried himself deep. Rather than warmth growing in your belly, there was...nothing. Not cold or hot, just nothing. You certainly felt his cum paint your insides. Felt it seep out of you but there was no warmth, no life.

Shouta pulled away. He withdrew his cock slowly. You lay on the bed limp as a rag doll. Perhaps he played with you too rough. Shouta shoved on his breeches and walked barefoot to the other side of the hut. He grabbed a washcloth and dipped it in the tepid water in the washbasin sitting on the chair. When he returned, Shouta cleaned you up.

"You shouldn't worry. As a vampire, you won't get pregnant from this. My cum is....not viable." Shouta explained.

"Good to know," you said.

A certain tavern owner marched down the lane. He headed for a hovel a few blocks away from his business. He never thought the uppity woman would hold true to her word. Crickets chirped, owls hooted, and stars shined. Customers lined up at his tavern, but there was no one to cook the food, stoke the fires, or pour beers. He passed the blacksmith's house, the kiln cold as death.

He pounded on the woman's door. He shouted and raved in the street. Even when the neighbors poked their heads out to complain of him, he would not quit. He banged his fist on the door.

All the windows of the hut were cold and dark. Not even a candle sputtered. The tavern keep yanked on the door handle. The door opened.

It did not occur to him that entering looked more suspicious than waiting and banging on the door. The door swung open like an invitation. How could he not go in? The tavern keep crossed the threshold.

Shadows were cast all around the hut. From what he could discern, the place was left in disarray. Furniture turned over, boxes and baskets emptied and then discarded, and bed sheets torn to shreds. He checked the fireplace. Cold as ice. Nobody's touched it in hours. The candles were much the same. He lit a lantern and checked the cellar. Nothing but cobwebs and unused wine racks from the previous owner. He scowled as he couldn't even pinch a bottle as there were none to steal.

He checked the small garden. Still no one to be seen. It seemed as though something very bad happened to the tavern wench he hired. He would not suspect that she sat beside a highwayman in a covered wagon they stole and raced off into the night.

[sanfangirl-cynicalromantic]

All's Fair In Love And Dragon Racing

Happy @httydhiccstridweek everyone! When I saw the alternate prompt 'dragon racing' I just had to do something with it.

Summary:

The Archipelago hosted a prestigious Dragon Race every year. Astrid Hofferson, beloved celebrity and champion of the game, is determined to secure her position this year as the best, and nothing - not underhand tricks, bribery, or irritating rivals - will stop her.

This year was Berk’s turn to host the games. The spectacle of Astrid Hofferson and Hiccup Haddock going at each other in the last dragon race had become the most famous part of the dragon races, much to Astrid’s chagrin.

She was the goddamned champion of the game, one of the best. But of course Hiccup Haddock had to be the other best.

She supposed she hated him so much because she had worked so hard to be the best, but then the stupid heir could just waltz in late on his stupid Night Fury and win the game effortlessly because, yay, an extremely rare dragon had chosen to bond with him and that made him better than anyone else.

This year, though, this year, for sure. She was going to stand on that podium with Stormfly and smirk at the chief as he handed her the prize instead of his son. He could croon all he liked now, but he’d be singing a very different tune soon.

Hiccup Haddock didn't know what was coming for him.

Hiccup and Astrid are The Hidden World age, so 21.

Read on AO3

Dragon racing had become unprecedentedly popular in the few short years it had become an official sport.

They had been mostly at peace with dragons for years. A wild dragon was treated like a wild boar or bear, just a little more dangerous, but plenty of dragons had also sought out Vikings to bond with. They only chose the most worthy, so being bonded was a great honor, and of course, the stronger the dragon, the more glory to the one who was worthy of their bond. Bonded dragons were basically dragons that could be tamed once they had chosen their person. Of course, it was up to the bonded human to train their dragon and adhere to the laws, but the Vikings of the Archipelago and Beyond had found many ways to incorporate dragons in their day to day tasks.

But dragons were not meant to work without play, and after a few disastrous attempts at hosting a Regatta with dragons (those with sea dragons were banned due to cheating and apparently most dragons got seasick), a new game had sprung.

It had started as a small competition when rounding up the sheep, but then the chief’s family had taken the idea, added a few rules and bonuses, and all of a sudden Dragon Racing had become the Archipelago and Beyond’s favorite pastime.

Now, every year a tribe hosted the games, providing various prizes for the competition, a racetrack (the more difficult and flamboyant the better), and used the event to show off their own prosperity and boost their own economy, because it had truly become a business. Merchants flocked to the host’s island and eagerly paid fees to gain access to customers in a spending, indulgent mood. All the attendees paid for boarding, docking for their ships and or dragons, and seats for the dragon races. Bets, of course, were placed on how many points certain riders would score, and who the winner would be. Mead was distributed liberally, and fans would spend a ridiculous amount of coin on various costumes, face paint, or even woven banners to display their support to their favorite rider. 

Aside from the economic benefits, it also served as a lighthearted precursor to the Thing later that year, as different tribes approached each other with various treaties, alliances, and overall ass-kissing while they bonded over the mead and games. Her father hadn’t been present for an entire game for three years, as he handled the bargaining on behalf of her clan, and the best contracts were those signed during the games.

Astrid had become a bit of a celebrity in the game, and while she cared little about the fuss of performing or speaking to admirers and more for the thrill of the game, she had to admit that it was the merchandise sales and not the prize money that allowed her family to live as comfortably as they did. So she saved her stories to tell Father at the end of the day, and wore what Mother told her to and smiled when she was exhausted after the games but was still in public. As someone so well known for her performance, the pressure to win was always exceptionally high.

This year was Berk’s turn to host the games, and the chief could proudly show off the project Gobber the blacksmith had been working on for the past few years. Berk was a big island, but with the steady increase in population and dragon bonds, it would have been far too crowded to host multiple other tribes. Plus, there was always the issue when someone’s fields or house that was part of the racetrack got damaged and they demanded extravagant compensation, so Gobber had come up with the brilliant idea to dedicate an entire smallish island to the task. Chief Stoick had readily approved, and now the island was ready. She had never been to that specific island herself, but judging by her chief’s practically giddy manner, she bet it was spectacular.

She climbed the deck and found her way to the mast, trying to see the island as they came closer. Stormfly, her beloved dragon, was still on Berk, and an attendant would fly her over to the new island that night, as her girl got restless if she was forced to stand in a stall for too long. Sadly, Astrid had been forced to come along without her, as her mother had deemed her presence important the first day of the games even if she did not officially participate or even attend. Colorful painted wooden roosts rose proudly from the island. Flocks of dragons were already circling, looking for a place to land. She looked keenly past the dragon stables and tried to guess what the racetrack looked like. There were still trees covering the island, would there be a section where they had to fly around trees? Stormfly and her had been practicing such maneuvers all year.

The stands, she noted, reached all around the island, were built not on the land itself, but extensions over the ocean, and reached around the entire island except for the large stretch of land dedicated to the boats. The island wasn’t big enough to inhabit and live in the same way Berk was, but it was sizable enough that there was enough lodging, meals, and seats for  at least ten tribes across and even outside the Archipelago. A good deal of the island’s lumber had been lost, although there was still  a forest pathway, Astrid had overheard. The seats were situated over the water in hopes of dousing any wayward fire that might ever hit the wood. Plus, it made that insignificant trash the audience inevitably dropped simply be swept away and save them the hassle of cleaning up as much. The wooden pillars were multicolored with various banners and crests hanging from them, connected to large decks or bridges that the traders walked along, calling out their wares and performing various tricks to catch the eye of a bored spectator.

The docks were already teaming with Vikings bargaining and haggling and the poor council members walking around with their clipboards yelling at the top of their lungs. Fishlegs Ingerman, a young man around her age, was an apprentice who had quickly risen up in the council’s ranks. He gave her a nod of acknowledgement and checked something on his clipboard.

“Ah, Mrs. Hofferson. Astrid,” he greeted them. “It says here you’ve booked lodging on the south side of the island, a luxury stall in the stables, and a docking spot for two boats?” He looked at their one boat and absence of a certain Deadly Nadder with a raised eyebrow.

“My husband and our dragon will be arriving tomorrow or maybe even later tonight,” Astrid’s mother clarified.

“I see,” Fishlegs smiled. I’ll tell the next shift to keep an eye out for him.” Her mother thanked him and handed him a large pouch of coins. He peered into it and nodded after a moment.

“Here is your key,” he handed Astrid’s mother said key. “And here are the documents for your stable and boat reservations. Let me just sign them -” he reached into the pouch belted across his middle for a quill. “And there!” he finished, signing the documents with a flourish. “The lodges are down that way,” he pointed. “And should you appreciate a map, Hoark is at the Hall handing them out.

“Thank you,” Astrid’s mother said gratefully. Astrid smiled as thanks as well and patted Meatlug, Fishlegs’ loyal Gronckle affectionately. His face lit up at the acknowledgement of his dragon.

“Good luck in the Dragon Games, Astrid,” he wished her.

“Thanks,” Astrid replied.

When the Grimborn tribe hosted the Dragon Races four years ago, it had been hailed the most successful race, in terms of profit, aesthetic, and entertainment. That had been the year Astrid had irrevocably gone head to head with a certain heir to her tribe, and their rivalry had gone down in history. Astrid and Haddock had always stood out as some of the best dragon riders, but in their earlier years they had just been considered talented, not prodigies. They also commonly raced in different sections, as Astrid preferred the early morning races and Haddock was always tardy, so he participated in the afternoon set. Until Viggo Grimborn had suggested top flyers of the sections compete against each other in one final, dramatic race. Haddock, who had won the races easily without any true competition, had suddenly been given a run for his money, and Astrid, who was determined to win as easily as she had all the other games with her superior flying, was outraged to find someone who could best her so infuriatingly easily. She and Stormfly worked completely in sync but Haddock and his dragon - they were like extensions of each other with no care of where one ended and the other began. He could just swoop in and steal her target and she wouldn’t have even seen him creeping up on her! She had quickly lost her temper and their trash talking had become as entertaining as the actual flying stunts themselves. The other players had quickly realized they had no chance of winning against the two so they had settled for egging the bickering on.

That had also been the year that brought about the vulgarity restrictions.

Viggo Grimborn had been hailed a genius, and the spectacle of Astrid Hofferson and Hiccup Haddock going at each other in the last dragon race of the event had become the most famous part of the dragon races, much to Astrid’s chagrin.

As she looked around at her surroundings, Astrid had a feeling that this year, Chief Stoick might have outdone Chief Grimborn. She wondered idly how furious the latter would be. No one had ever dedicated an entire island to the Dragon Races. Maybe even next year Berk’s Thawfest would be held here as well, and the island would become an event destination.

The first day was the beginner racers. One could start participating officially in the races when one turned fifteen, but of course the little teenagers had no hope of comparing to the likes of Astrid. There were a lot of young new dragon racers this year. Perhaps she should suggest the idea of a junior league to Gobber or the Chief. Mothers were encouraging their children and Astrid watched carefully for any sign of some exceptional talent. She had started out like this, and she wouldn’t make the mistake some of her opponents had made in her earlier years by underestimating someone due to their age.

There wasn’t much to see. Gustav Larson, who had idolized and hit on her ever since puberty, was sixteen and had finally been allowed to be in the race (he had been suspended last year due to unsavory behavior). He had finally gained some maturity and his bond with his dragon, a Monstrous Nightmare, was stronger. They cooperated better on the turns and he even managed to score a few points. Astrid nodded in satisfaction. He would never make it to the last race and compete with her, but there was hope for him down the line. Probably.

She watched the competition and chose her favorites while her father bargained with various traders for cuts in the profits of distributing her merchandise.

“Astrid! Astrid!” cried a few children, not much older than eleven. She turned and talked with her fans, handing out some dragon advice and handing one shy girl a seal with Astrid Hofferson’s Nadder, Stormfly, carved on it.

She heard nothing about the Heir of Berk’s whereabouts that day, but could have been due to him helping his father set up, negotiate treaties, or simply be too lazy to make it to the first day of the games.

The next day she woke up at dawn and visited the stables. Stormfly greeted her cheerily, and Astrid brought out a leg of chicken she had brought as a treat. She had discovered Stormfly’s speed flourished under her consumption of chicken, and it happened to be her favorite treat, so Astrid frequently indulged her.

They weren’t allowed to ride on the tracks before they were ready, so Stormfly was sadly stuck in her stall. Astrid had insisted on the best, of course, so the stall was roomy and colorfully painted, for Nadder’s liked pretty things.

“I’ll be back, girl, I promise,” Astrid told her when it was time to grab breakfast at the Hall. I’ll see if I can get you out as soon as possible so you can stretch your wings.” Stormfly crooned mournfully but nudged her toward the door. She patted her girl one more time before she slipped out of the stables.

The morning was spent dealing with business, so Astrid snagged an attendant and told them to let Stormfly out to stretch her wings before they prepared her for the race. Then, after lunch, her mother dragged her to get ready for the race. Just because she was a warrior didn't mean she couldn’t look her best in front of everybody. Her hair was undone, brushed, and then rebraided, a few red and blue beads added to the small braids by her temple that merged with the main braid. She had taken a bath the day before, which was the only reason they didn’t chuck in the tub anew, and brought out her riding outfit reverently. They weren’t overly fancy clothes, as dragon racing was a rough sport, so her leggings were thicker than they normally were and a dark navy blue. Her skirt’s spikes were dulled and shorter so it was uncomfortable to sit in her saddle. Her shirt was red then she shrugged on the turquoise vest with tassels on the shoulders because it was the safest place to put them without potentially hindering Astrid’s movement. Her arm bracers were also embellished with iron cuffs and lined with newer fur, and she added her hood from last year because she liked the familiar weight at her back. Her shoulder pads were carved Gronckle iron and lined with the softest layer of fleece. Every year her riding outfit was more and more costly, but Astrid liked looking pretty and the fleece or fur linings were a nice contrast to the hard metal that used to scrape her collarbone and shoulders a few years ago. Then, mother brought out the face paint, and Astrid sat perfectly still as her mother dipped a brush in the paint and began. The cyan over and around the eyes, then a stroke from the brow down the bridge of her nose to rest along her cheekbones, the shape reminiscent of the wings of a butterfly. Her chin was marked with the turquoise and orange was added as another V atop her brow, and then highlighted her eyebrows to curve down and rest on top of her cheekbones on either side of her face. Astrid sucked on her lips as they added a dab atop her chin and then it was time to meet Stormfly.

She walked in the middle of the group so they could ward off well wishes shouting encouragement or, for some supporters of Haddocks, abuse. Father had sold some of their merchandise to merchants, and she saw a few of them peddling flags in her colors and gesturing toward the children.

Stormfly was practically itching with excitement when she reached the stall. She pulled herself up into the saddle and paused to let the attendants hold torches close to Stormfly’s legs to dry the remainder of the wet paint. Then her mother nodded at her and everyone stepped back as Stormfly took off into the stadium.

A cacophony of shouting and bright colors under the harsh sunlight greeted her as they made a lap around the stadium, waving and laughing as they screamed her name and stomped their feet as she pumped her fist in the air. Stormfly shot eight spines in the air, forming a perfect circle and then showered them with blinding white sparks. The crowd applauded raucously. Astrid waved her arms slowly, quieting the roar into a dull murmur until she held everyone’s attention before she performed a backflip on Stormfly and the crowd went wild again.

She flew a quick lap around the stadium, hanging easily off her saddle and reaching her hand out as the stands fought to touch it.

Before their applause had even fully died down the stands registered a high pitched whistle. “A Night Fury,” they whispered in awe and Astrid scowled as she patted her girl’s head and they retreated to their place. The sound grew louder and louder as people began to chant excitedly. A dark figure could be seen in the sky as it hurtled toward them. The children pointed excitedly and some of the newcomer’s eyes widened. Closer and closer they came until they could see the blast building in the dragon’s mouth.

“Get down!” someone cried and it echoed across the stadium, but not in true fear. The black dragon released the shot and it exploded just above everyone’s heads. The sparks winked out harmlessly between outstretched fingertips as some of the young spectators screamed in excitement.

The young man and his dragon landed heavily on the ground right in front of the decks that led to the stands. Some of the traders in the near vicinity jumped in frightened surprise. The sound reverberated across the stands before the Vikings broke into loud cheers.

“The Champions of Berk!” the announcer called.

Astrid made a disgruntled noise in the back of her throat, too quiet for anyone but Stormfly to pick up on. She was the goddamned champion of the game, one of the best. But of course Hiccup Haddock had to be the other best. He couldn’t have been from another island and let her enjoy her victories in peace, no. He just had to be constantly there, gloating over his wins when he beat her and sulking when she had won that year.

She supposed she hated him so much because she had worked so hard to be the best, but then the stupid heir could just waltz in late on his stupid Night Fury and win the game effortlessly because, yay, an extremely rare dragon had chosen to bond with him and that made him better than anyone else.

She landed on a thick perch behind the baskets used for scoring. The perch reached from the stands to the docks on land - it was essentially a beam that had never had a bridge built upon it. It was supported by multicolored wooden pillars with various banners and crests hanging from them, connected to the large decks or bridges that led from the land or the docks to the seats around the dragon racing track. She spied multiple banners bearing the Hofferson insignia and Stormfly captured in her majestic flight around the stadium, signifying support for her. A few Vikings had painted their faces or arms turquoise and orange, too. But as many colors she saw for herself, she saw an equal amount of drastic black masks in support of Haddock. 

Her eyes drifted to the main dias where the chief sat. As the sponsor of this year’s games, he wore nothing to indicate his preference for any rider, but as Haddock’s father, she can’t help but begrudge him, even though she knows his interference in the game if it is needed will be nothing but fair.

There were five players in the final race. Astrid and Haddock, of course, as the undisputed champions. The announcer read off the names of the three players admitted in the final game, which was considered the greatest honor they could achieve, as no one stood a chance in the wake of Astrid and Haddock’s competitiveness.

“Heather the Unhinged!” the announcer cried and the Berserker tribe jumped up with howls of delight. Astrid allowed a smile to break out over her face. She liked Heather, who had competed in the final round last year as well. At this rate, she was well on her way to becoming a champion as well. The dark haired Berserker waved from atop her Razorwhip and the Berserker chief (Heather’s brother) jumped up and let out a bloodcurdling whoop. She flew to roost on the perch next to Astrid’s.

“Congratulations,” the female champion greeted her warmly. “Nice to see you back again.”

“It’s good to be back,” Heather returned. “Good luck this year.”

“Oh, I’ll get the black sheep this time.” Astrid’s face darkened. Last year she had claimed all of the sheep in her basket save for one. Haddock hadn’t stood a chance for most of the game until he had swooped in and stole the black sheep right out from under Stormfly’s claws. The black sheep was worth ten points, so all her hard work was rendered invalid when the scoring system declared his one sheep worth double the five of hers.

She was still salty about that. And the other time he had beat her a few years back. It just wasn’t fair he could just get as good as he did, but, well, life wasn’t fair.

Heather chuckled as she followed Astrid’s line of thought across her face.

“Lars Grimborn the second!” was the next name called. Lars was a cousin of Chief Grimborn, and was bonded with an enviable Skrill. The only dragon more powerful than the skrill known to bond with a Viking was the one and only Night Fury in their midst. Of course, a powerful dragon was only an advantage to a certain point. Lars was heavyset and his dragon was large, but his weight would be a disadvantage against his opponents whose main strengths were their speed and his dragon’s size would only make it more open for attack. His triumphant expression looked more like a leer underneath his trimmed mustache that was the Grimborn family style (it was an ugly look). He took his place next to Heather, leaving the spot between him and Haddock empty.

“Earmug Micketson, of the Outcasts!” declared the announcer, gaining Astrid’s attention. The Outcast, an average built man in his late twenties pumped his fist and yelled, “Yeah!” so loudly he could be heard over the applauding crowd. Astrid remembered him. His strengths were stamina, as his Gronckle was a slow dragon, but it also was a smaller dragon, and he excelled at attacking his opponents from beneath. He usually waited for someone else to catch the sheep before then fighting them and claiming the sheep as his own. Well, if Earmug thought he could overpower Astrid he had another thing coming.

She chanced a glance at the figure furthest from her. He was patting his dragon’s head and speaking to him. He must have sensed her eyes on him and turned to meet her gaze. A cheeky smirk spread across his face, messing up the red lines painted across his cheekbones just slightly. She scowled at him and faced forward again, fighting the urge to scratch her own painted face in the heat. Mother would kill her if the orange and turquoise swirls were married before the start of the game.

There wasn’t much that counted as cheating. Only killing or crippling a rider or dragon, or injuring one of the spectators. Of course, since the pastime was dangerous in and of itself, it was scarily easy for an opponent to blame any maiming as an accident, so one always had to be extra cautious. Weapons were allowed and liberally used, as was ramming into other dragons, jumping on them, sparring with them in the air, and ambushes. Sometimes riders would team up and sabotage others by attacking the person with the sheep from two sides or more. A lot could happen in one lap around the island. Astrid was a self sufficient rider, so she never worried much about betrayals from a partner.

She allowed a cool smile to grace her face as Mulch stood by the horn that would start the race. Her fans knew her as aloof and most of all, confident, so she hid her nerves expertly.

“On your marks!” bellowed Gobber from the podium. Astrid petted Stormfly’s flank.

“We got this, girl,” she whispered.

“Get set,” continued Chief Stoick, even louder than his friend. Astrid lay herself flat on the saddle to make her and Stormfly more streamlined. The chief gestured to Mulch who was standing by the horn.

Mulch paused and flashed the contestants a winning smile. He was delaying blowing the horn on purpose. Slowly, achingly, he lowered his mouth to the tip of the horn, but didn’t blow. Astrid’s muscles felt they were about to explode from holding their position for so long, even though it had only been a few seconds.

At last he puffed his cheeks and blew. They were off like a shot before the sound even had a chance to register.

The rush of wind on her cheeks and the familiar sensation of her stomach bottoming out felt better than being welcomed home after a hard day. The crowds were screaming as Haddock had already disappeared and strid had taken the lead.

Stormfly swooped left and Astrid immediately cataloged the new track in front of her.

There was a five hundred meter stretch of clear air before the track branched off into two obvious segments. She scanned the land for any hidden catapults. There were no sheep thrown in the first round, but after one rider crossed the scoring baskets for the first time, sheep were launched into the fray. She spotted one catapult, but it looked open and abandoned so she doubted any sheep would come from it this game. She had tried to keep track of the sheep launchers from the other games with little success, but she was pretty sure she recognized a location or two sheep would fly into the sky in the coming rounds.

She had slowed down a little in her quick lap around the track, so as she came out of a half natural half built set of caves she found Grimborn emerging from one of the branches, not too far behind her.

(She’d seen no sign of Haddock in her perusal of the path she had chosen, but there were plenty of other paths he could have chosen and he liked to hide. And she hadn’t really looked for him, just idly wondered where he was.)

Pride dictated that she had to be the first one over the line, so she patted Stormfly behind her crown of spikes and they sped up, streaking across the line in a flash of bright blue. The audience cheered. She nudged Stormfly with her foot and they slowed down almost imperceptibly, waiting for the sheep to go flying. The sheep didn’t always fly, though. Sometimes no sheep were launched during a round, which meant riders had to scour the track looking for them. She calculated the fork in the path in front of her. The one she had taken in the first round had plenty of trees, caves, and colorful obstacles, so a sheep wouldn’t likely hide there. But she didn’t know the other path at all. Did it have the sheep or not?

She heard the telltale whistle of a Night Fury going full speed and felt a whoosh of air go down the unexplored path. Well, if that was where he was going that’s where she would go too. She urged Stormfly on.

“Why hello Milady,” his annoying nasal voice greeted her as she pulled up beside him. “Are you following me?”

“No,” she replied huffily. “I’m looking for a sheep, if that wasn’t obvious, seeing as it’s the point of the game.”

“You wound me,” he snarked. “Implying I’m not smart - how will I ever recover?”

“Hopefully, you won’t,” she replied with sickening sweetness. A flash of paint caught her eye amongst the brush and her hand reached for her ax as she urgently nudged Stormfly with her foot. She would swing at him if he tried to steal her sheep. It wouldn’t kill him, but a few bruises? That she’d gladly hand out for free.

Their eyes met for a split second and she dove. Haddock’s dragon was sleeker and faster than Stormfly when it came to maneuvering (with Stormfly’s careful diet of chicken, her Nadder could beat Toothless’ speed under certain circumstances) but Astrid was a fierce fighter, and Hiccup was too close to her to be able to get away safely if he took the sheep from her now.

Stormfly scooped the sheep with the painted wool up in her claws and the track led them back to the stands.

“Hofferson’s got the sheep!!” called the announcer. “But oh, will she have it for long?”

Earmug tried to sidle up to her dragon but Stomrfly sent a few well-aimed spines immediately. He swerved away from her. Hiccup had disappeared temporarily, but Astrid knew he wouldn’t be gone for long.

Indeed, Haddock and his dragon tried to tuck in their wings and dive under her dragon but Astrid stood up in her saddle and kicked him away from her. He let out a pained ‘oof’ and the crowd screamed in encouragement and outrage. Of course, that wouldn’t stop him for long, and it was difficult to make sure the sheep stayed in Stormfly’s claws: she might let it go on reflex if someone attacked her softer lower belly.

Stormfly zoomed through the air and now Heather was right on her heels. The other girl began to slowly pull up even with Stormfly.

“Hey, girl!” Heather called, addressing Stormfly. “Remember me?” The Berserker pulled out a leg of chicken out of her saddle pouch and waved in enticingly. Stormfly perked up at the sight of her favorite treat.

“Oh, no. Hey, girl,” she soothed her dragon. “Remember I’ve promised you an extra barrel of chicken tonight if you don’t get distracted, yeah?” She patted Stormfly’s left flank, a signal for her to speed up so they could leave Heather and her bribery behind, but the dark haired girl chucked it ahead of them, intending for Stormfly to dive after it.

Unfortunately, her aim had placed the leg of chicken right in front of them so Stormfly caught it in her mouth without straying from their straight line of flight. The stands burst out into delighted laughter and Astrid chuckled in relief.

“And Heather Berserk attempts to play dirty, but is defeated by unfortunately straight aim,” cried the announcer into his horn. “But oh, don’t worry, we like a little extra excitement. Speaking of which -” A huge boulder came hurtling straight at Astrid but Stormfly spun gracefully to avoid it. “And Hofferson twirls out of the way with enviable grace!” he finished.

Next, a bola was shot at Grimborn, a barrel on fire launched at Hiccup, who didn’t even have his dragon move out of the way, he just jumped off of Toothless and glided back down onto his saddle with the help of the wings built in to his armor. Plenty of people who hadn’t seen his armor before screamed in excited fear, but Astrid, who had been subject to his testing out his prototypes all over Berk for the past year, rolled her eyes at his inability to stop showing off.

Her expression of attitude cost her. She didn’t notice the second boulder heading towards her and it crashed into Stormfly right above her right leg. Astrid gave a little scream.

“Stormfly!” she cried, worried her girl might be hurt, but the dragon shook her head and gave her a reassuring squawk as they righted themselves. Micketson, who had been right behind her, had his dragon simply eat the boulder. Stupid boulder class dragons. She had lost her sheep. She narrowed her eyes at Micketson and nudged Stormfly toward him, but before they had even begun to gain on him, Haddock flew upside down and plucked the sheep out of Earmug’s arms.

“HEY!” Astrid’s scream of outrage was louder than Micketson’s. “That’s MY sheep!!!”

“Looks like mine now!” Hiccup called and Astrid growled. He began to speed up but Heather quickly bumped into him and his Night Fury flared his wings. Astrid joined the fray as Heather reached for the sheep but missed. Lars Grimborn, with his Skrill crackling ominously, found that the intimidation factor didn’t work so well on the rider who rode a goddamned Night Fury, and Astrid swung off her saddle to use his helmet as a stepping stone to get back in her saddle because she felt like it.

The Heir of Berk clutched the sheep to his chest with an infuriating smirk and Stormfly sent a stream of spines towards him, which he dodged. Astrid had lost track of the announcer’s comments on the game but she heard the laugh from the crowd at his avoidance of Stormfly’s spines and glared.

They rounded another bend and avoided a few more obstacles. Grimborn threw a hammer but it missed, and Astrid urged Stormfly ahead as she planned her next attack. She and Haddock now were definitely ahead of the others. Hiccup’s head turned to look at her and she had Stormfly slow down slightly so it wasn’t obvious they were doing it on purpose instead of lagging behind. He turned around again and Astrid guided Stormfly up, up, grateful they were flying so that their shadows fell behind them. She stood up carefully, and the audience oohed but Hiccup didn’t notice. Stormfly flew a little bit ahead so that Astrid would land on her moving target but not enough that they noticed her, and then she jumped.

Hurtling through to air was nauseating when she wasn’t attached to a dragon, but she landed heavily on Haddock’s mount, causing them to dip in their flight and Haddock to lose his balance. She leaped on top of him, wrestling his arms to his side and kicking the sheep off of his dragon. The Night Fury tried to follow it but Stormfly was waiting and coasted a little underneath them to catch Astrid. Hiccup tried to reach her and when that didn’t work, he tried to lay atop her to stop her from escaping.

“Arrgggh, get off!” she yelled at him angrily.

“Not a chance, Milady, unless you’d be so kind as to release my arms.” She hissed in response. She chanced a glance behind her, furious to see the other riders speeding up to try to steal the sheep from Stormfly while she and Haddock were occupied. Gathering all her strength, she shoved him hard enough away from her he had to scramble and hold on the saddle while she slipped off his dragon.

She landed on her saddle. “Good girl,” she muttered quietly to Stormfly and the crowd went wild as she deposited the first point in her basket.

Of course, she wasn’t that triumphant all game. There were fifteen total points one could score out of six sheep, and Haddock scored the second point with a mocking kiss he blew at her while she swore at him. He scored the next point too, but Astrid caught the fourth sheep out of the air and flew so fast no one even got the chance to attack her until after she’d deposited it safely in her basket. She’d screamed her triumph out loud and the crowd had roared with her until the fifth sheep was shot up into the air.

This round was tougher than the other ones as the two champions doubled down on their efforts to gain an obvious lead on the other before the break between the painted sheep and the black one. The participants knew this of course, and Astrid had no less than two flaming boulders, a bola, and a barrel of Monstrous Nightmare Gel launched at her before the sheep was even in the air.

Astrid snapped her head round at the sound of a spring and saw Micketson catch the sheep first. She let a slow grin spread across her face as she nudged Stormfly toward him. Earmug’s face was paler than it had been all game, but he flew straight for the path with the forest and wove quickly through the trees while she chased him. He was surprisingly agile with his dragon, Astrid had to give him that.

He was ambushed as he cleared the trees. Grimborn had somehow gone ahead and waited for him to clear the trees. He slammed his Skrill into the smaller Gronkle and the Outcast grunted as he lost his grip on the sheep. Lars caught it smugly and sped off, Astrid hot on his heels.

“Eat my dust, Hofferson!” he snarled at her.

“Funny, I was just about to say the same,” Astrid returned. Not her best comeback, but it irritated him all the same.

He dodged her attempts to sneak up on him, and Astrid growled in frustration. The trick she’d pulled with Haddock wouldn’t do; he’d be expecting that and would probably be able to overpower her. His Skrill was bigger than her Nadder, so she couldn’t bump into him and get him to drop the sheep. She could challenge him to aerial combat but that would be difficult. Maybe if she cornered him into an obstacle? A net came flying suddenly and Astrid barely had time to duck out of the way. The heavier Skrill and its rider were not so fortunate. He tried to keep hold of the sheep, but as his Skrill stopped flapping he cursed and let go of it while he tried to untangle the net around his dragon’s wings.

The sheep bleated pitfully as it tried to find a way off the scary flying dragon. Astrid flew to Grimborn’s side, sliced a sizable hole in the net, and reached for the sheep. It shied away but not before she grabbed a firm handful of wool and dragged it forcibly off onto her dragon.

“Haha!” she crowed just as Hiccup appeared, aimed a kick at her ribs, and snatched the sheep.

“COME BACK HERE!!!” she screamed furiously. “YOU SON OF A RAT-SHITTING, TOE LICKING, TROLL EATING MUNGE BUCKET!!!!!!!” She heard the audience’s amusement at her rage. Haddock simply cackled.

Stormfly flew up beside them and Astrid reached over and grabbed the sheep’s hind legs.

“Hey!” the Night Fury rider snapped. “Get off of my sheep!” He pulled at it.

“It’s my sheep!” she argued back. She pulled on her side of the sheep harder.

“Let go!” he cried.

“Never,” she sneered back at him. He glared at her and tried to fly off in an effort to make her let go. Astrid held tight as Stormfly banked alongside them.

“Stubborn woman,” she thought she heard him mutter. “Toothless, roll!” Astrid tugged suddenly at her side of the sheep as they rolled over and pulled the front legs out of Haddock’s hands. Unfortunately, the momentum cost her her grip on the animal as well and it flew back in the air.

“No!” she cried. Haddock righted himself beside her and tried to reach it, but it was plucked out of the air by none other than Heather and she dumped it swiftly into her basket.

Astrid pulled up short. The last time someone had scored a point other than her or Haddock during the last game had been years ago. Her jaw fell open in outrage, surprise, but admiration, too.

“Would you look at that!!” the announcer cried. “Heather the Unhinged of the Berserker tribe scored a point!!!!”

Heather let out a battle cry, thumping her chest and her tribe followed suit. “That’s my sister!” Chief Dagur screamed. Astrid heard a small laugh beside her and turned to look at Haddock.

“Would you look at that,” he marveled. “We were so busy fighting over the sheep we gave her the point.”

“Would have been avoided if you had just given the sheep to me,” Astrid said nonsensically, but in truth she was quite proud of her friend despite the wound it caused in her pride.

“Haddock and Hofferson remain tied for first place, Heather the Unhinged in second,” the announcer declared. “But there is hope for Micketson and Grimborn yet: next round we have the black sheep!” the crowd oohed with him. “But first, let’s have a break! Rest our dragons and sore rumps!” the adults laughed with him. “And we’ll see you again in an hour!”

~

His hips pinned hers to the wall as he devoured her mouth. She moaned quietly and arched her back, fingernail scrabbling to find purchase on his leather armor, finally retaliating by biting his lip as he tried to pull away. Hiccup growled as he surged back towards her and hefted her right leg to set it on his waist as they met in another clash of lips.

“You bastard,” she growled as she nipped at his lips to punctuate her words. He hissed as she ran a tongue over the sting to soothe it. “I’m still angry at you for stealing my sheep.”

“Which one?” he taunted, dipping down to suckle at her collarbone, his smirk pronounced against her sweaty skin. One of his hands slipped under her skirt, hastily folded so as to not stab anyone with the metal spikes. It trailed up her thigh to squeeze at her ass appreciatively, drawing a moan from her throat as she ran her hands over his shoulders before pulling him closer.

“Nnnngh,” she shot back eloquently as he licked a hot wet strip up to her ear and made her buck her hips into his involuntarily. “The last one. Oh, and those two sheep you scored with too, of course.”

“Weren’t yours once they were in my basket,” he remarked casually, pressing her further into the dark walls of the empty stables.

They had an arrangement. Dragon Racing was thrilling, and with the adrenaline came a rush of. . . other hormones. Astrid’s parents would never allow her to go acting on such impulses unless she was properly tied to the person, but Astrid wasn’t ready for anything of that sort yet. She was content solidifying her career in racing and perhaps living out the rest of her days as a shieldmaiden. Luckily Hiccup was looking for a person with no commitment to suit his needs as well - as the heir of a prominent tribe, it was a risk that any girl he dallied could end up with enough incentive to force him to marry her - so it was a mutually beneficial agreement for both of them. A way for them to blow off steam and cool off - or heat up, which was the case more often than not.

The bagpipe players changed their tune, signaling it was time to start getting ready to head back. Hiccup let out a groan of frustration as he pulled away from her lips, making a satisfying smack. He leaned his forehead against her heaving chest for a minute, trailing light fingers along the strip of exposed midriff above her waistband while they caught their breath and attempted to steady their breathing.

“Better go draw those red lines on your face, Haddock,” Astrid said at last, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, you’ll need them,” he retorted. “You already miss me plenty with the helpful red marks giving you a perfect target.” She hissed and bared her teeth.

“If you think you’re going to win this year, you’re wrong,” she threatened. Hiccup cocked his head mockingly.

“Tell me, who was taking your sheep in that last round, huh, Astrid?” he asked infuriatingly.

“I was winning it back,” she sniped back at him. “So I actually have the most claim on that sheep out of the both of us.”

“Before you threw the sheep away from you and let Heather catch it,” Hiccup reminded her.

“It was your fault,” she insisted. “I had to win it back from you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Hiccup cut in. “I’ll get the black sheep, and that will be the end of your delusions about winning.”

“You’re not gonna get the black sheep,” she scoffed.

“Wanna bet?”

“Sure,” she said, a slow smile spreading across her face. “If I win . . . I’ll do that thing you like afterwards.”

Hiccup’s eyes darkened and then he shook his head. “You’re not going to bribe me into losing,” he rolled his eyes.

“It’s not bribery, it’s consolation for when you inevitably lose and I’ll be in a good mood,” Astrid said with mock innocence.

“I’m winning this game, Astrid,” he warned her, although she could see lust warring in his eyes. “But, if we’re doing things that way,” he stepped forward into her space again and rested one of his arms on the wall above her head, smiling down at her wolfishly. “If I win, I’ll do that thing you really like,” he breathed into her ear. Astrid tried to feebly suppress her shudder but he sensed her tingling nerves and pulled back with a self satisfied smile.

He might have had a point about being bribed to lose.

No, she felt anger rise up at the part of her that dared to consider the possibilities of her losing. No matter how fun their little arrangement was, she was not going to give up enviable glory for a whole year in favor of a few minutes of pleasure.

. . . Well, it was usually more than just a few minutes.

“Fuck you,” she spat, mostly at herself, not that he needed to know that, and pushed him away from her.

“Is that an expletive or an intention? Because if it’s the last, then please, by all means.” Ugh, she hated when he got all smug and snarky like that. Probably because it usually made her want to crack a smile against her will. She forced her face to look angrier than she was and turned to face him again.

“It’s a fucking threat, asshole, so stay out of my way,” she poked his chest. “I’m winning this thing.”

She brushed past him, pulling her skirt back down and fumbling a little as she tried to tuck her shirt back in. Her clandestine encounters with Hiccup - he always insisted she call him by his name when they were together - usually gave her a mix of satisfied, shy, and increasing irritability at his insufferability that never failed to draw her back in. Their covertness was almost laughable because the only part of their antics their parents would disapprove of was the secrecy, well, and the debauching. But as much as they enjoyed the other, they didn’t like each other, which was why she didn’t like herself starting to understand him (because that would lead to liking him, and she couldn’t have that).

 She heard a low whistle behind her and rolled her eyes but couldn’t bring herself to be truly offended.

“See you from the podium, Astrid,” he crooned as she reached the end of the tunnel. She turned around to give him a double middle finger. He could croon all he liked now, but he’d be singing a very different tune soon, because she was going to win. She was going to stand on that podium with Stormfly and smirk at the chief as he handed her the prize instead of his son. She was going to grin at Father tonight and tell him all about her victory, and Mother would give her an extra helping of dessert.

And then, after the evening was over and everyone had gone to sleep, she was going to wake the Heir up and give him the ride of his life.

[malicedragoness]

Titan Cori - Goddess of Luck

So here’s Cori’s template as an MK Titan!

If you would like to use this template, I created it and I have the blank one here.

Title: Lady Cori Goddess of Luck

Motto: “Fortune favors the bold.”

Powers: Pain Transference - Cori still has her healing power of taking away another’s wounds and transferring the pain unto herself. Only now it doesn’t affect her as much. Geras advises her to not use or share that she has this power.

Lady Luck - Cori grants a lucky token to anyone she deems worthy enough of this gift. This token brings the user a stroke of luck. Whether a thief needed a quick getaway from the guards. A gambler hoping for a lucky roll of the dice. Or a soldier praying not to get hit by a hundred archers. They hold the token in their hand and call on Lady Luck to answer their call. She awards these tokens to the winners of the Kombat Tournaments.

Spectral Shadows - Cori can summon corporeal shadows to use as she wishes. Whether to fight with them, use them as a throne and float around, or to shroud her body. Most of the time they take the shape of orbs or tendrils, unless she has a specific shape in mind.

Open for me - She can open any lock by simply touching it. Nothing special, she’s just a thief at heart.

Silent footsteps - As any good thief, she’s good at sneaking around and being quiet. Her boots are enchanted to be completely silent when she wants.

Realm they favor: Cori tends to spend most of her time in Seido to be with Havik. She does travel to Outworld and Edenia from time to time to visit Stella and Taven.

Places of worship: There are three shrines dedicated to her. One in Edenia within the Palace Courtyard, one in her home country of Vecilio, and one in Seido. Her shrines are fountains with her likeness carved out of marble. Most people pray/worship by tossing coins into the fountain, praying for Lady Luck.

Consort: Havik. The Havik in Cori’s timeline is the ‘Hero Havik’ you play to beat the game. “Chaos has blessed me.”

When she rebuilt the universe, she kept a close eye on Havik, not wanting him to suffer as he did in their timeline. Seido and Orderrealm are different realms. Seido is where anarchists and misfits live, chaos blessing their lives in quite an unexpected way.

Geras warned her that it may not be a good idea to interact or interfere with Havik’s new life. She would only smirk at him, “I’ve never been one to follow the rules, Geras. I’m better at breaking them and chancing my luck.”

Havik has seen Cori when she visits Seido, often following her just to get a glimpse. He heard about the mysterious Goddess of Luck and her magical tokens, and had to see her for himself.

When he competed in the Kombat Tournament, he would try to get her attention. With his outrageous fighting style, to standing in front of her throne to catch her gaze, to pulling out his heart and handing it to her. He wanted to make sure she noticed him.

When Havik won the tournament, he refused the Lady Luck token and simply asked for her instead. Cori smiled coyly, “You seem to enjoy pushing your luck.”

Havik chuckled. “Fortune favors the bold.”

Changes in Physical appearance: Cori has longer, shinier hair. Her green eyes are more vibrant and glowing.

Armor/Style of clothing: I imagine her armor to look like this, but instead of those pauldrons she has a hooded cloak.

Weapons: Her trusty bow Heartbreaker. Two daggers she keeps hidden on her person.

How does Geras help them/regard them:

Geras can tell she has a compassionate heart and wants to try and create the most peaceful timeline she can. He has to remind her that nothing is perfect. There will be mistakes and she can’t fix everything. He is her trusted confidant, and watches the Hourglass in her stead.

Since she has to give up being in her family, she tends to treat him like a brother. She grew up with seven older brothers, it feels strange to not have one. Geras doesn’t know how it feels to be in a familial bond. However, with the time they spend together, he begins to understand the significance of family. And when Cori pranks him he doesn’t dissuade her antics, but he doesn’t encourage them either.

His armor is now made of leather more suitable for stealth than combat.

Any characters or events that have drastically changed that you would like to mention?:

Cori’s mother, Cordelia, is alive because she didn’t have to give birth to her. Her family isn’t poor and they are prospering.

Her brother Atten knows druid magic instead of illusion spells and combat magic.

King Jerrod is alive. Mileena and Kitana are twin sisters.

Tarkatans are a race of people who have tribes, like the orcs in Skyrim. Tanya is a tarkatan who leads one of the biggest tribes, and Mileena has fallen in love with her.

Taven and Stella have children and rule Edenia. Orin is the guardian of their palace. Daegon is the general of Taven’s army.

The Kombat tournament is held once a generation, where the winner is granted a Lady Luck token from Lady Cori. Havik has won this tournament on behalf of Seido, and fell in love with Cori. The one competitor that has won the most tournaments is Reiko.

Reiko is the general of King Jerrod’s army. His parents are alive and are proud of their son.

The Vaeternus people are still vulnerable to sunlight. Cori has granted them to be able to fly during the daylight in their bat form. Even then, their bat form can only handle it for so long.

Ashrah is an angel that oversees Netherrealm, and ensures nothing leaves the realm and nothing goes into the realm without her knowledge.

Cori feels out of place in Earthrealm, so she pulls Liu Kang from the timeline to help her shape Earthrealm. If Cori, Liu, and Geras put their heads together, then maybe this timeline will succeed.

Backstory/Notes/Tidbits: Titan Havik’s timeline is where Cori died in his world and couldn’t come back to life. Everytime he reset the timeline, she kept dying in a different way. Geras informed him that no matter how many times he changes and shapes the universe, the chaos in his heart will always affect the outcome.

Havik desperately kept trying, but ultimately gave up when his heart couldn’t handle seeing her die anymore. When he watched her die for the last time, so did any shred of humanity he had left. He becomes a monster that wants nothing but carnage.

[empty-movement]

EMPTY MOVEMENT HAS WARES IF YOU HAVE COIN

OR DON’T

This time, with a graphic!!! 

Empty Movement’s big week of Utena stuff is UNDERWAY.

-> Do you like free things? Denim jackets? Playing cards? Musical Utena with a music box? Enter our free giveaway before Friday at 6pm EST! 

-> Do you like the brand new beautiful Utena and Anthy Dollfies? We do too! We acquired two sets of them, and one set is being sold now, with the opening bid *at cost to us.* ***KEEP IN MIND the listing is in Canadian dollars!! This auction ends next Monday! (Why yes we’re hoping to keep the other pair....)

-> Okay, Dollfies ain’t cheap. Fair. Do you like over 70 items of Utena merchandise??? We are auctioning a ton of Utena stuff, much of it personally bought and carried back from the 2018 and 2019 musical trips. The auctions also all start at our cost! What kind of merch??? -> THE SERIES ACCURATE TEACUP AND TEAPOT SETS MADE FOR THE MUSICALS ARE UP. We literally only have like two each left.  -> One of the last playing card sets made by Vanna to come with the wooden box also made for them. These are the same playing cards as in the raffle, but with the box! Yes, there’s also a third plain deck up for sale.  -> SO MUCH UTENA MYU MERCH. The hankie you got for buying the expensive 2018 show ticket? Yep. Friggin’ bath salts? Indeed! The lovely BRS fan? Clear files? WASHI TAPE? A FEW OF THOSE BADASS DUEL KEYCHAINS? THERE ARE SEVERAL. Here’s a Mikage.  -> BROMIDES. BROMIDES. SO MANY!!! We have auctions with multiple copies of some of them, which means they sell at the price bid *by the lowest winning bid.* Saves y’all money, helps me get these bromides to happy homes! We have plenty of the three bromide packs (like Utena’s here), as well as a ton of swap bromides, even a handful from the first musical!  -> The entire list can be found here. These auctions end next Tuesday, with the bigger stuff going and then the bromides, with a minute or two between each auction for y’all to have time. There’s just so much stuff here!!! Please buy it! Here’s a pic of everything. I know the auction site isn’t the most intuitive. Fuck eBay.

“BUT EMPTY MOVEMENT,” you say.

“You aren’t fooling me! You just want my money, and I think this is not sufficiently providing value for me yet.”

Tough crowd. Alright. Well how about we STREAM THE MUSICALS ALL WEEKEND? Including the ultra-rare, shaves years off our lives Euro zone streams that require we not really sleep! That’s right. Just as it says above, we are streaming on Twitch this weekend!

2018′s Musical Utena ~ Bud of the White Rose

Friday July 8, 7PM EST/4PM PST

Saturday July 9, 11AM EST UK: 4PM, Fr: 5PM 

2019′s Musical Utena ~ Blooming Rose of Deepest Black

Saturday July 9, 7PM EST/4PM PST

Sunday July 10, 11AM EST UK: 4PM, Fr: 5PM

Y’all know we always have fun! We’ll announce the giveaway winners during the first stream somewhere, and sometime this week we’re gonna post more info about the Dollfies. Anyway, love you, see you soon, spend some money, or don’t, and either way, stay tuned for a TON of new stuff!! You know, once this all is over, lol.

[princess-of-the-corner]

Toontown: Corporate Clash Recap: Minigame Area

One thing I neglected to mention, doing activities and fighing battles alongside Clubmates will also reward Club EXP, and Club Coin rewards from Club Tasks increase the more members you have.

There’s also a /friend command which, when typed in the chatbox and followed up with the target’s Toon ID, will send a friend request to that Toon.

But now for the topic.

The Minigame Area (also known as Acorn Acres Minigames, formerly known as Chip & Dale’s Minigolf back in the Disney’s Toontown Online days), is a special neighborhood consisting of two Playgrounds. ZERO Mainline or Side Tasks will require you to come here, but some Daily Tasks may send you to this area.

To teleport to the Minigame Area with a command, use /tp mg.

The Minigame Area’s default Playground, the one you’ll go to if you click the “Minigame Area” button on your Shtickerbook’s map, is an outdoors area surrounded by evergreen trees. Picnic tables dot the area, you’ll passively recover 3 Laff periodically every second you’re in this area, and the Golf Ball treasures scattered about will restore 6 Laff on pick-up.

The main attraction of the Minigame Area hub are its Minigolf courses. There are three courses, each with three golf karts up to 4 Toons can ride to reach them. Once a Kart passes through the tunnel to its corresponding Course, a new Golf Kart spontaneously materializes out of the aether to take its place. There is no animation for this. One second there’s no Golf Kart there, the next there is. It is by far the most jarring Instance Entrance in the game.

Regardless, the three Minigolf Courses you can access are as follows:

Walk in the Part: You are sent through 3 random holes out of a larger pool. Easy mode.

Hole-Some Fun: You are sent through 6 random holes out of pool. Normal Mode.

The Hole Kit and Kaboodle: You are sent through 9 random holes out of the pool. Hard mode.

In short, they are the Front 3, Middle 6, and Back 9 of Mini-Golf. Each Toon takes turns swinging in the order they boarded the golf kart, and is rewarded Golfing EXP at the end of the hole. The hole ends either when every player gets their balls in the hole, or when the player goes three swings over par and the game forcefully fails them to for the sake of the other players. You can also earn Golfing EXP from trophies awarded at the end of the game. So trophies can be earned alone, while others require playing with other Toons. You can raise your Golf Level up to 30, and earn a permanent Laff Boost every 10 Golfing Levels. Activi-Tuesday, Golfing EXP Boosters, and Activity EXP Boosters can increase your golfing EXP yield.

Back in the Minigame Area Playground, there are various picnic tables. Sitting at these tables grants you access to Picnic Games. You can, in fact, make groups for these Picnic Games, and the Groups do not disband once you start playing (to my knowledge) as the games are not instances.

First is Checkers. It’s the easiest game of the three. 2 Toons can play, and each side starts with 12 pieces. Click on a piece to highlight it, and click on a space to move it to that space. You can jump and chain jump your opponents pieces to capture them. Reach the other side of the board, and your piece is “crowned” and can now move in any direction.

You can win the game by capturing all of your opponents pieces (which will reward the Winner 300 Jellybeans and the Loser 200 Jellybeans) or by rendering it impossible for your opponent to move (which will reward the Winner 250 Jellybeans and the Loser 150).

Next up is Chess. The goal is to Checkmate the opponent’s King. You can also end up in a Stalemate if the board gets to the point where nobody can make valid moves and neither King is in Check. If Stalemate is reached, both players will be given the choice to “Offer Draw”, and if both agree, the game ends in a Stalemate. It works like real-world competitive chess as well, as each player has a timer that counts down during their turn and pauses during their opponents. You need to meet a minimum number of moves to win Jellybeans. Winner gets 300, Loser gets 200. A stalemate is treated as both Toons losing.

Picnic tables can seat up to 6 Toons, and the 3rd Picnic Game is the only one that allows for more than 2 players: Toono.

What’s Toono? Literally just Uno. Toontown Youtuber and Corporate Clash Partner Stuck the Duck even made a song about it called “We Just Want to Play Toono”. It is by far the most involved game of the three, and also the most popular. it was added to the game because of a joke some players made on the official Discord.

Before starting, a set of optional house rules can be configured, though they’re disabled by default:

Draw Until Play: You draw cards until a playable card is drawn.

Seven-O’s: Playing a zero requires all Toons to pass their hands down to the Toon who’d move after them in the current turn order.

Stacking Cards: When a Draw 2 or Wild Four is played, you’re given the option to play an identical card from your hand (if you have it) to skip the penalty and force the next Toon after you to take it instead.

Automatically Play: Automatically play cards as they are drawn, if possible.

Jump In: When a card is played, other players can play an identical card out of turn.

And you know how Uno’s played. You’ve got your numbered cards (0-9), you’ve got your Draw 2’s, your Wild Cards, your Wild Draw 4’s, your Toono Reverse Cards, and Skip cards.

When you have one card in your hand, you’re given the chance to shout “Toono!” by clicking the “Toono” button before the next player’s turn starts. Miss your chance, and you’ll be forced to draw 2 Cards if someone else shouts “Toono!” in the mean time. You can have up to 20 cards in your hand. First Toon to get an empty hand, wins. The base reward for winning the game is 75 Jellybeans, with a 50 Jellybean consolation prize for everyone else. However, the LONGER the game goes on for, the more Jellybeans will be added to BOTH totals when the game ends. Every 10 rounds, 75 Jellybeans are added to the Winning Prize, and 50 Jellybeans are added to the Consolation Prize. So you are actively rewarded for prolonging the game as long as possible.

Aside from that, the Minigame Area ALSO houses a tunnel made out of car tires. This leads to the Minigame Area’s Secondary Playground: Roadster Raceway (Goofy Speedway in the now defunct Disney’s Toontown Online).

Roadster Raceway has a Passive Laff Recovery Rate of 3 Laff per heal, and Wrench Toon-Up Treasures that restore 6 Laff per pick-up.

Roadster Raceway is home to 6 race tracks, divided up into 3 themes. However, you cannot access any of them until you purchase a Kart from the Auto Shop. Just talk to Graham Pree, Ivona Race, Phil Errup, or Anita Winn to access the shop interface. Once you’ve purchased a vehicle, you can customize it, and even display it at the various stands scattered around the Raceway’s Playground.

There’s also a Leaderboard in the middle of the Playground, which shows the current best times for that month (I believe?) and a statue of the Toon with the fastest time is displayed near the Leaderboard for all to see.

There are also 2 kinds of races: Practice and Toon Battle.

Practice Races have no entry fee, allow up to 4 Toons, and rewards Jellybeans so long as you complete it within the “Qualifying Time”.

Toon Battles require Toons to play their track’s Entry Fee, allow up to 8 Toons, and rewards Jellybeans based on who places in what position of that race. The more Toons who compete, the more Jellybeans you can win.

Each theme has 2 tracks:

Raceway: Corkscrew Coliseum and Screwball Stadium

Rural: Rustic Raceway and Airborne Acres

Urban: City Circuit and Blizzard Boulivard

(Blizzard Boulivard is also winter themed, a new addition to Corporate Clash, whereas before it was Toontown Central themed.)

There’s also Prize Boxes that reward Gags the player can use to win. many of these items function like the items in Mario Kart (the Chattering Teeth works like a Blue Shell, the Lightning Bolt works EXACTLY like in Mario Kart, the Pixie Dust works like a Power Star, the Kart Battery like a Mushroom, etc.) and there are boost pads that will rocket you forward if you drive over them.

Regardless, the Raceway Playground has 12 Racing Entry Tunnels: 2 Practice Entry Tunnels per theme, and 2 Toon Battle Entry Tunnels per theme. Simply place your Kart in one of the empty slots in front of the entry tunnel and wait out the timer to start the race with the other Toons. (Note that Toon Battle requires one other player and that you will not be allowed to place your kart if you do not have enough Jellybeans to pay the fee).

Where each entry tunnel leads periodically changes, although they’ll only ever lead to tracks of their corresponding theme, and sometimes they’ll lead to “reversed” variations of the tracks that flp the map around and force you to drive in a different direction.

Basically, it’s Toontown Mario Kart.

You earn Racing EXP by using Racing Gags from the prize boxes (with diminishing returns with every use) and by finishing the race in both a timely manner AND ahead of other players. The better you do, the more Racing EXP you earn. You may also be rewarded trophies at the end of the race, which ALSO reward Racing EXP. Racing EXP can be boosted by Activi-Tuseday, Racing Boosters, and the Activity Booster.

You can raise your Racing Level up to Level 30, and your Max Laff goes up by 1 every 10 Levels.

And that’s just about everything there is to know about the Minigames Area. Just remember what I said, make sure you have a way back to your current Neighborhood when your done here, because if you don’t have Teleport Access or a friend or Clubmate in the neighborhood, it’ll be a LONG walk back to Toontown Central.

What would you like to hear about next?

Trolley Games

Minigame Area

Estate

Fishing

Cogs and Buildings

Social Activity

G.U.M.B.A.L.L. Machine

Toon Levels

-

See now I just want to play minigolf.

Hm. Let’s swing back to trolley games.

(Also I’m gonna start editing these to be under the readmore again so I don’t kill everyone’s dash)

[horsegirlalexkralie]

Okay, okay, but what about Tim losing the coin toss when he becomes a regular in on Jay and Alex's fun. He feels a pit in his stomach like dread, but really, it's lust and anticipation.

He's practically shaking when it rolls around, trying his best to be quiet and keep low, but he underestimates how clever Alex and Jay are when they work together, circling him like animals hunting their prey.

They pounce on him, and he's slammed into a tree. The bark scratches his skin, but he loves it. The pain is somehow incredible, and he thinks he's losing his mind.

Jay presses his knife to Tim's chest and leaves just the thinnest cut that has the man gasping into the air when Alex cuts it off with a hand at his throat, warning him that this is just the beginning.

holding this ask in my grimy little hands . petting it . probably groping it inappropriately but only out of love

didnt mean to take so long to get to this but what can u do. cut to keep everybodys dash pretty and somewhat sfw

tim's been pretty lucky the first few times they've done this.

they added in a couple rounds of rock-paper-scissors when he admitted he'd be alright with ending up on the bottom, so there's something to eliminate one of them off the bat- best two out of three, where the winner is safe and the other two flip a coin. tim doesn't even have to pick a side for the coin toss for a while, and even then he's almost convinced himself in the back of his brain somewhere that maybe it's never coming, because he picks right every time, regardless of which of them he's up against. (in the front of his brain, much louder, some other part of him- the part that paid attention in prob and stat, evidently- is reminding him that, according to the math, every upcoming boys' trip is extremely fucking likely to be the one where he finally plays victim.) they keep accusing him of rigging it- he keeps insisting (truthfully) he would have to be a mindreader or fucking magneto to cheat at these, and maybe alex should stop throwing paper so much if he actually wants to win.

he's pretty sure they're conspiring against him, when he finally does lose, but that's probably pride talking. it's down to him or alex, and tim lets him call it, because he's a gentleman, because it doesn't matter to him, he's never been nervous before, why would he be? go ahead, jay, flip the thing. he couldn't care less. (tim's shaking, sweating, his heart wild and fluttery. he doesn't even want to look. alex calls as it's in the air- heads- and when it clatters to the floor he can tell from jay's shit-eating grin before he even sees the quarter that tonight's the night.)

jay draws up a little chart for him on a sheet of notebook paper, a vertical list (tim skims it- bondage, photo/video, edging- somehow he both was and wasn't expecting this. the words look perversely innocuous in jay's tidy handwriting) with boxes to check off beside each topic labelled yes / no / maybe; jay tells him to finish filling it out within the hour, ask any questions he has between now and then. tim's holding in the urge to start ripping bits off to calm his nerves. settles for twirling the pen around in his hand when he's thinking about his answers. alex wandered off somewhere after jay set him up with his new homework- tim's only asked after him once, because jay told him not to worry about things that don't concern him in a tone that left no room for argument and made tim blush a little just for how simply he'd been dismissed. made him duck his head and start filling out jay's paper with a new focus, going down the line and squirming with each checkmark he writes. it's an embarrassing amount of yeses. cutting got a maybe, as did impact play after he'd asked jay what it meant, but if tim's honest with himself, he's really only scared of how he'll react, nervous he'll look stupid in front of these two beautiful creatures who seem to have an affinity and understanding for pain he can only admire from the outside. still, he draws those checks closer to the 'yes' column than he needs to, can't tell if he's hoping or dreading they'll notice.

jay tells him to go home when he's done, put on something he doesn't mind getting dirty. park outside the woods, leave his important shit in his car, hide the keys somewhere jay and alex would think to look but not somewhere obvious. (jay insists on it. apparently they've both lost their keys in the woods doing this. tim figures it's probably best to have the least amount of jingly shit on him anyway.) he's supposed to call one of them after he gets there, but jay says they'll give him a head start. noticably does not specify how long that'll be, so when tim hangs up and shuts his phone in the car (pre-locked, keys buried in a shallow hole marked with rocks, he's not dicking around) all of the day's anticipation swells at once into one wave of panic as it sets in that he is entirely out of the loop for what's currently on its way. hell, he's watched alex check his watch two minutes after hanging up with jay, telling him he's got plenty of time to get his shit in order and find a place to hide bc alex is in the middle of something or other, and smack his pocket for his car keys, ask tim if he's ready to get going. the head start could've absolutely been bullshit. would make more sense if it was.

needless to say he's a nervous wreck by the time he starts hearing jay's voice at the edge of the treeline calling his name, giddy and sing-song like they're playing hide and seek or something, tii-im! ohh, timothyyy! there's no point hiding, you should know that! and he does, he should really know better by now, and still he tries. tucks himself into the space where two trees are growing together, presses his hand over his mouth, tries not to let anything rustle. he can hear jay, breaking twigs and calling for him every so often, and it's not long before he's close enough tim can see him, just-barely. his flashlight's off, so it's only the moon reflecting on his skin, standing predator-still and staring out into the trees somewhere to tim's right. he doesn't say anything. tim doesn't know how long they're like that, only that he's breathing through his nose as shallowly as he can manage, only that he hasn't moved except to shake everywhere like a frightened deer. he's light-headed when jay finally shakes his head as if to clear it and turns to leave, his heart thudding in his ears, and maybe that's why he doesn't consider the possibility jay was bluffing with that little performance until he's taken a step and it's already too late.

and tim's played this game before, he knows he's lost as soon as it becomes a matter of running, two-on-one, knows he's fucked when jay stops and turns his head like a dog scenting something, his eyes lost to shadow but most certainly fixed on tim.

he manages to dodge them, somehow, puts up a good fight for a while, but he's losing speed the longer they're out here and the two of them seem like they're always in sync, always one on his heels if not the other- he crashes through the underbrush, jay hot on his trail, into what he thinks is a decent spot to catch his breath and is actually the place where alex was waiting for him to run past. "made it easier for me, actually," alex pants, as they're grappling in the dirt, "thanks for that," and he's strong, stronger than he looks, and tim's out of breath already, starting to get tired, and even when he does wriggle out of alex's grasp and get loose he only makes it a few dozen feet, maybe, before he's getting shoved against a tree so hard it knocks the wind out of him, jay's arm across his chest, his body hot and trembling with exertion where it presses into tim's. he's grinning, panting, wheezes when he starts to snicker and tells tim he's impressed, actually, he hadn't thought it would take this long.

tim's first mistake is hesitating, getting overcome with the sudden helplessness of being caught, jay's flustering proximity- it means alex has time to catch up to them, pull tim's wrists behind his back and give him his first taste of true restraint, a length of rope and a knot that's done before tim has finished realizing what's happening. it's not until jay's kissing him, slick and filthy and forceful, and alex is tugging at his hair, dragging his nails down his neck, popping the buttons off his shirt, that tim begins to get it. there's nothing he can do anymore.

still, he's proud of how calm he is at first. how coherent he stays when they're both on him, keeping up the smartassery as they're opening his shirt to play with his tits, kissing his neck and sucking hard enough to bruise- "you're such a mouthy little bitch," jay says, pinches harder at his nipple, and maybe tim's second mistake is grinning against the pain and doubling down, panting, "yeah, do something about it," because the look that goes between them sends a chill through his veins.

it's silent for a moment, and then jay laughs, throws his head back and everything, the wild hyena-cackle tim's only ever heard in these woods, makes a show of leaning on alex's shoulder and wiping his eyes and wheezing. tim wants to tell him to slap his fuckin' knee while he's at it, that he hopes jay chokes. wants to say anything that would make him feel like a respectable prey-animal, at least, a victim with some dignity. doesn't get the chance before alex is whispering something in jay's ear, leaned into his orbit like they're the only people in the world. (they're still both fucking looking at him. maybe the touching was easier. jay nods at something alex says, looks to him and then back- the touching was easier. tim wants to scream.)

"we wanted to ask you about something," jay says, "or i guess i did," and he reaches in his pocket and flicks out his little silver switchblade and the ice in tim's blood is back, tenfold, as the two of them close in on him. "so when you said 'maybe'..."

[jbaileyfansite]

Interview with Vanity Fair France (2023)

Jonathan Bailey: celebrity, LGBT rights and cycling, words from an actor “in search of transformation”

New darling of cinema, Jonathan Bailey, the actor who played Anthony in Bridgerton, is taking a step aside in fashion. For Vanity Fair, he talks about his relationship with celebrity and the importance of LGBT representation on screen. Confidences.

What should a person dream of, after having experienced dazzling success all over the planet? Jonathan Bailey was only waiting for one thing: to get on his bike and cycle through the south of France. A memory comes back and his eyes sparkle: “A year ago, I visited Aix, Manosque and Marseille. I was dazzled by the energy of the latter and the beauty of the street art. » So, as soon as he could, this cycling enthusiast took a getaway far from the fog of his native England for a fashion shoot on the Côte d'Azur. At 35, the actor says he is exploring “new facets of his personality”, by posing in front of a camera lens or acting in front of the camera.

In perpetual “quest for transformation”, he is now ready to delve into the “darkest corners” of the human soul, he explains. Far, far from the role of enamored viscount which propelled him to stardom. In 2020, Jonathan Bailey made a notable appearance in the Bridgerton show, on Netflix.

The series tells the adventures of two aristocratic families during the English Regency, between tails, top hats and romantic intrigues. In the first season, he was content to be the protective brother of the heroine, the fiery Viscount Anthony Bridgerton.

The second season propels him to the center of a sentimental intrigue. And Netflix broke a record, with 193 million hours of viewing in the first three days of broadcast. A line of dialogue went viral, cited thousands of times on social networks: “You are the bane of my existence and the object of all my desires. » The whole world fell under its spell. What followed were magazine covers, front rows of fashion shows, red carpets of posh evenings…

After that, the actor changed register and dared to tread the boards of the West End theater in London with a play with the evocative title, Cock. A return to his roots for someone who started, at the age of 6, with the Royal Shakespeare Company. “I feel feverish if I’m not on stage,” he explains. "Acting keeps me fit as an actor. » Another challenge: he will soon be starring in the highly anticipated Wicked, adaptation of the musical comedy dedicated to the witches of The Wizard of Oz, alongside Ariana Grande and Michelle Yeoh (Oscar winner for best actress in 2023). Could he be stalked by madness of grandeur? Never. “There is no guide to learning how to deal with fame,” he admits. "I just focused on my first passions, notably music, surrounded by my friends, my older sisters, my nephews. » A secret: he also got back into some gymnastic movements - which he admits are still "'slightly kooky'. By that I mean: eccentric and approximate."

Some habits deserted along the way. With fame, he lost his anonymity and a little of his tranquility. “I will never give up public transport,” he says. "On the other hand, I tend to “underdress” so as not to attract attention. » His relationship with clothing has thus changed. He is just beginning to master the subtle art of matching his jewelry (like here with Mazarin jewelry). “I’m exploring more of the jewelry world as I get older and more confident. » Until then, he only had one fear: accumulating coins to the point of “resembling the donkey Bourricot”, loaded with mismatched fake coins. No risk. On his wrist, he wears the Omega watch of which he is the ambassador. A big first for him: “I participated in the launch of the Summer Blue Seamaster range this year,” he explains with pride. "I felt the connection of the house with the people of the sea. The travelers, the adventurers. The surfing and paddle enthusiast in me was delighted.»

This digression into the fashion sphere allowed him to meet his favorite designers – Daniel Lee, Jonathan Anderson, Giorgio Armani. Because, in fashion as in cinema, he only aspires to work with “creative people”, he admits. A second of reflection, a burst of laughter. All things considered, he would see himself as a “sheep of a sherpa”. Literally, “sheep” of a creative master who would take him into his merciless universe.

His only condition? Uphold the values that are close to his heart. Starting with LGBTQIA+ representation on screen, which he missed so much during his childhood. He remembers, moved, his meeting with Matthew Rhys, who plays a leading character in the American soap opera Brothers and Sisters: Kevin Walker, a gay lawyer. “This actor was a game changer for me,” insists Jonathan Bailey. "I found a bit of my family in the characters of the series. In the middle, he played a guy who led a fulfilling life and had a wonderful partner.»

The British actor is delighted to see today the very popular “Elite, Heartstopper or even Gossip Girl” taking over, with diverse and varied narrative arcs aimed at young audiences. He himself made his contribution, since his career took off on Netflix as an openly homosexual actor playing an heterosexual character. “It’s as rare as seeing gay actors playing gay characters and being praised for that performance,” he emphasizes. We will soon find him in Fellow Travelers, a historical mini-series centered on a romance between two men in which he co-stars with Matt Bomer. Proof that an actor can absolutely play anything.

To the aspiring actors who follow him on the networks, he provides a lesson: “Representation is crucial, but being an artist also means being able to inhabit a character totally different from your own experience.» He is moved by having the luxury of choosing his projects, thinking back to the time when he went through auditions and accepted all the roles that came his way. When he talks about his job, Jonathan Bailey spins the love metaphor. “When I like a project, I feel a romantic spark. I let myself be carried away by something obvious. » Love at first sight guaranteed.

Source

[interstellarr-void]

🌌 300 follower raffle!!! 🌌

Thank you all for sticking around on my little blog <3 I think it's finally time I hold a special event!

Prizes:

Each winner will receive 3 request passes! They can request me to coin various types of terms, flags, icon sets, moodboards, stimboards, edits, etc, for them! You can request them anytime you want. There will be 3 winners! (I never took gender rqs so this is different for me lol)

How to join:

You must follow me (new followers count!) and reblog or reply/comment on this post that you want to join.

Deadline:

The raffle will be open from September 25 to 29 at 10pm est. I will randomly choose the winners on the 30th.

Tagging: @neopronouns @kenochoric @squidthing @epikulupu @begendered-mogai @gender-mailman @noxwithoutstars @gennerflooid

Image id below!

[ID: a banner with a dark blue background assorted with round pink clouds, white star dots and pale blue diamond sparkles on top, made to look like the night sky. In the middle, there's big pink text that is outlined in purple that says: 300 follower raffle! , and the smaller text below on the right says: @ Interstellarr-void. To the left, there is a drawing of Evening, who is a smiling dark purple space demon with flowy nebula hair. They have horns, a demon tail, three closed eyes and a closed fanged mouth. Their face, hair and tail are outlined in muted purple, and their eyebrows, eyes and mouth are a more saturated purple shade. Their face, hair and tail are also littered with white dots, pale blue diamond sparkles and little pink, blue and yellow stars. They are wearing a black cloak outlined in white with white dots on top. End id.]

[darkmasterofcupcakes]

Total Drama Changes: World Tour

Part 3, and the first time I’m not going to be doing a “My Way” for the special between this season and the next one, since we’re officially into the seasons where they stopped having any kind of real transition between them (most likely because they didn’t want to have to worry about bringing up the winners in the specials).

As always, these aren’t going to go into a ton of detail about changes to the actual challenges, just the stuff involving the characters and their relationships/dynamics, as well as some of the elimination orders. And a small reminder that in this version of World Tour, the canon cast for the season is joined by Trent, Eva, Geoff, and Katie (I literally flipped a coin to decide which one would be part of the season).

Obviously the love triangle isn’t going to happen, considering Gwen and Trent are still together, though at least at the start of the season, Duncan and Courtney will still be broken up from the events of this version of the Celebrity Manhunt Special

While Zeke does still stow away on the plane, and is effected by it, the Feral Zeke subplot also does not happen. Zeke maintains his humanity despite his ordeal, though he does get paler from a lack of sunlight, and struggles a bit to speak in louder tones due to not talking much while he was hiding - since he didn’t want to reveal himself.

The canonical team members are the same as canon, including Izzy and Sierra switching teams. The difference is obviously from the inclusion of the four new characters. Eva is on Team Amazon, Geoff and Katie are on Team Chris, and Trent is on Team Victory.

Side note: yes, Chris did intentionally put Geoff and Trent on different teams from their girlfriends solely to mess with the four of them by forcing them to compete against each other until at least the merge. 

The whole running gag of Team Victory always losing will not be included, nor will the DJ’s animal curse thing. 

That being said, the exact elimination order hasn’t been decided yet, with the exception of Duncan being the first to leave, and Ezekiel goes fairly early as well, leading to the stowaway arc/plot line.

Alejandro will still have his whole thing of flirting with basically all the girls, including Bridgette, but it won’t be as successful as in canon. Meaning there might be some blushing/flustered stammering or whatever, but let’s just say the pole kiss never happens.

Cody doesn’t make it anywhere near the final three. He’s maybe not the first one gone from Team Amazon, but he’s close to it. 

Cody gets eliminated for similar reasons to Duncan initially - not singing when he’s supposed to.

Trent and Courtney are among the people who make it the farthest. Not sure yet if they’d be the finalists, but they’d definitely make it well into the merge at the very least. 

The whole volcano eruption never happens, nor does whoever win lose the million. 

Actually, slight spoilers: in all of these changed versions, whoever wins the money in the end gets to actually keep it

Blaineley never joins the competition, and only actually appears as a temporary co-host in the Aftermath, along with Sadie (who, along with Katie, is who I decided would be the host from the Action episodes)

Duncan does come back later in the show like he did in canon but instead of starting a relationship with Gwen, in this version his subplot involves him and Courtney fixing their relationship, which they do shortly before Duncan gets eliminated for real

The London challenge ends up being a reward challenge, so Noah stays on a bit longer

Owen and Izzy don’t break up, and Izzy doesn’t have her “Brainzilla” thing at all

Gwen will probably get eliminated around the same time she did in canon, though obviously for at least slightly different reasons, since here it’s not like Courtney has any personal reason to want her gone

Because there’s no cheating subplot, Courtney and Gwen really form a solid friendship that extends into Courtney and Trent starting to bond after they both get into the merge

Sierra would be toned down a decent amount; she’d still have a very obvious crush on Cody, but would at least be a bit more respectful of his personal boundaries. But she’d still be in a bit of denial of the fact that Cody doesn’t feel the same way about her

[meadowmines]

OC-Tober Day 28: Disease

[playing a little fast and loose with the prompt for the sake of a funny Majima headcanon]

"Awright. Left to right we got: New York style, Philly style, and recipe-stolen-from-the-chain-that-fired-me style."

"Um--" Nishida looks a little concerned about that last one. And hungry. But also concerned. "That's... that's not going to get you in trouble, is it? I mean, they probably won't find out, but..."

"It's fine." Aoyagi waves a hand. "The odds of 'em findin' out are slim to none, and even if they do the odds of 'em decidin' it's a big enough deal to sic Legal on an independent cafe across the Pacific are even slimmer. And besides..." He snorts out a laugh. "I made that shit ten times a shift for like five years before they took me outta the kitchen n' put me in an office. Was I just s'posed to forget how?"

That gets a good hearty cackle out of the boss, but he's eyeing those three slices of strawberry cheesecake like he's about half a second away from just cramming all of them into his mouth at once so Aoyagi figures he better get this show on the road. "Okay. Same rules as always. I want real feedback so I know which one of these to put on the menu. Don't just tell me 'it's good,' that don't tell me shit. I know it's good. I wanna know which one ya think is best of the three and WHY ya think so. Taste, texture, all that shit. We clear?"

"We're clear!" Nishida says.

"Crystal," the boss says. He's not quite drooling on Aoyagi's table but he's sure heading that way.

Aoyagi hands them their forks. "Get to work, then."

This is a thing they do. Aoyagi gets a wild hair to try some new recipes. He needs guinea pigs to test them on. Nishida and the boss happily throw themselves onto whatever culinary grenade he comes up with. Now, Aoyagi has done his due diligence in asking his two favorite test subjects about any dietary restrictions they might have and they have both assured him that they are on strict see-food diets. They see food, they eat it. No issues.

Let's put a pin in that.

The consensus on the New York style is that it's got a nice texture and that little extra tang from the sour cream goes well with the strawberry topping. The Philly style, they both say, is maybe a little too sweet for this particular topping but might be better plain or with something different on top of it. Unsurprisingly, the Cafe Gateaux ripoff copycat wins on texture but it takes another two slices of each for Nishida and the boss to pick a winner on flavor and the boss has to flip a coin.

Now, at some point around the midpoint of that tiebreaker slice, Aoyagi notices the boss sounding a little stuffy. Which is not too surprising. It's pollen season, after all, and a lot of people are getting a little stuffy right now. But once he's voiced his opinion about which cheesecake deserves a spot on the menu, he sits back with this big grin on his face and, as he so often does, says something that on its face makes no fucking sense whatsoever:

"Man, I fuckin' love strawberries," he says. "They're like nature's Pop Rocks."

Okay.

At least a few times a week, Aoyagi and Nishida will do this thing, this thing like they're having a very specific conversation with nothing but their facial expressions, and that conversation goes a little something like:

Aoyagi: what the fuck is he talking about now?

Nishida: I don't know and at this point I'm afraid to ask.

Aoyagi clears his throat. "Pop... Rocks?" he echoes, already knowing he's going to wish he hadn't. "Explain?"

The boss looks at him like he's growing an ear right in the middle of his forehead. "Y'know, them little fizzy shits that pop in yer mouth?"

"Okay, but..." Nishida slowly puts his fork down. "How are strawberries like that?"

"What, yer ears need cleaned?" The boss just glares at him. "Little fizzy shits that pop in yer mouth."

"But strawberries aren't fizzy," Nishida says, shrinking back like he half expects to get smacked for it.

"Oh, they ain't?" The boss does not smack Nishida but leans way into his personal space like a warning that smacking is next on the agenda. "Okay, smart guy. If strawberries ain't fizzy, how come they make yer mouth all tingly when ya eat 'em?"

"They don't--" Aoyagi says, and then the penny drops and he claps a hand over his mouth. Fizzy. Tingly. Stuffy.

And he and Nishida have that other silent conversation they have at least a few times a week:

Aoyagi: are you gonna tell him or do I have to?

Nishida: he's less likely to punch you for it so...

"Sir," Aoyagi starts, ever so casually reaching across the table with intent to pull that remaining half slice of strawberry cheesecake away from the boss without him noticing, "have you, uh... ever been tested for food allergies? No reason."

---

A couple days later, the boss takes off with some mumbled half-explanation about an "appointment." He comes back from that appointment with nothing to say about it.

"So," he finally says an hour or so later, when it's just him and Aoyagi and Nishida, like he's about to comment on the weather or some shit. "Plot twist: I'm allergic to strawberries."

Nishida just drops his head onto the table with a soft thunk. Aoyagi ponders whether this counts towards a free I told you so and decides that it probably doesn't since it didn't end in the emergency room.

"Bummer," he says instead.

[inventors-fair]

Rebel Yell - New Year's Revolution Winners

In defiance of all that opposed them, three winners have emerged this week: @hiygamer, @nine-effing-hells, and @the-gboi!

Domiel, Voice of the People - @hiygamer Revolt on a Rebel is honestly exactly the kind of thing I was hoping to see this week. Like, why weren't any of the original Revolt cards Rebels, anyway? If there were a set to resurrect the Rebel type in, it'd hafta be something called Aether Revolt I think. Regardless, Domiel here looks to be just the right mix of power and balance and inevitability and General Grandiosity that I felt commending it was necessary. Will it break anything? Probably not. Can it take over a game of Magic, potentially? Absolutely. Is that the kind of thing I’d be looking for in a giant fancy angel? 100%. Fantastic showing this week.

Gupha Jailbreaker - @nine-effing-hells And here on the other side of the Aether Revolt coin, we have a far more flavor-based approach to rebellion against the consulate. Absolutely love how this individual takes the chains and bars and Ghostly Prisons of their oppressors and wields them against them, generating an effect that would certainly be oppressive at lower mana values but feels right at home on a hasty six. This very much feels like you understood Where This Effect Should Exist and placed it precisely there, and that is I think worthy of commendation. The option of paying energy is cute and while it does feel a bit like flavor text, it's very effective flavor text, if the name of the prison and the Aetherborn typeline weren't enough to place this creature already. Excellent work overall.

Scolt, Defier of Purpose - @the-gboi This card definitely went in one of the more interesting albeit vague flavor direction of all our submissions this week. Definitely was not expecting to witness a robot uprising like this, and to be quite honest I love it. Certainly a very original take on what a Rebel might look like. The ETB is delightfully flavorful and likely just effectual enough to see some use without being too overbearing, though it is a shame you cannot use it to untap any of your own artifacts just in case your opponent lacks a valid target. Oh well. Regardless, the main hangup I had with this card was actually just whether or not it was costed right, as there is staggeringly little in the way of precedent for this kind of effect. Sure, there's The Antiquities War and that one Tezzeret what make your artifacts into 5/5s for about this mana cost, but those are on a multi-turn delay, but also they can generate additional value beyond just abruptly animating a hoard of Treasure tokens or somesuch, and Rise and Shine is much closer to an immediate mass-animation effect, but it costs more mana, but it makes 4/4s, but it's from a modern horizons set so who knows how over or under they aimed this, but but but. At that point I just decided to stop worrying so much, since it did generally seem to be Just About Right, Probably, and learned to love our robot overlords.

That's about it for our winners this week. Join us again in a while for our runners-up!

[mariacallous]

Reading the tea leaves from one election in order to predict the next is difficult but not impossible. There are two ways to do it. One way is to look at what the current election tells us about the relative strengths and weaknesses of the likely players in the next election. For that analysis, turn to my colleague Bill Galston’s piece. In it he looks at the likely effects of this election on Biden and on Trump, and he discusses the importance of the Democratic governors races. The second way to look at it is what I will call the “plate tectonics” of American politics. This term was coined by Bill a few years ago in a piece I co-authored with him. It refers to the factors, geographic and demographic, that are constantly moving—slowly—and which occasionally lead to earthquakes.

As Al Gore and Hillary Clinton know only too well, presidential elections don’t turn on the national popular vote but on the electoral vote in 50 states and the District of Columbia. Thus, changes in the partisan makeup of certain states can have enormous effects on the (mostly) winner-take-all systems of awarding electors. Over time, states change their partisan make-up. Although this is a complicated process, most of it is due to people moving into a state and bringing their partisan leanings with them. One of the most stunning examples is Vermont—a state that for most of the 20th century was referred to by politicians in the know as “rock-ribbed” Republican. In fact, Vermont was one of only two states that voted against Franklin Roosevelt in his landslide 1936 election. But over the past decades New Yorkers moved to the idyllic state to escape the city and carried with them their far-left wing politics. So today, Vermont is the only state in the union to have a U.S. Senator who is an independent who identifies as a Democratic socialist, and last night elected Peter Welch to the Senate, making him only the second Democrat to represent the state in that chamber.

Analyzing the plate tectonics of politics leads us to take a careful look at what has been happening in three “purple” states—Arizona, Georgia and Nevada. Arizona used to be a reliably Republican state and yet, to Trump’s surprise and to the surprise of nearly every pundit in America, he lost that state in 2020. Today, it is the fourth or fifth most popular state in the union to move to—based on census data and on very interesting data from the U-Haul company—which tracks moves.

A large number of the people moving to Arizona are from California. For many of them, Arizona offers a lower cost of living, lower taxes, lower housing costs, less traffic, and good schools plus natural beauty.

Not surprisingly there are a lot of Democrats among these California transplants who are part of the reason Arizona has become a very competitive state. The state was solidly Republican for much of the 20th century and in the first six presidential elections of the 21st century. The razor thin margins in 2020 and in 2022 are testament to the changing nature of the state.

Georgia is right up there with Arizona in terms of the number of people moving there. Atlanta has been an economic powerhouse for some time now. As one professor put it—Atlanta is part of the “growth” South not the “stagnant” South. And Atlanta and its suburbs are the center of that growth. People from around the country and the world have been moving there making it the center of Democratic politics in the state. In fact, as Professor Charles Bullock, a political scientist at the University of Georgia says: “We know that the strongest Republican voters are people who’ve been in Georgia more than 20 years… Individuals who have been in Georgia less time are more likely to be Democratic.”

Finally, Nevada, like Arizona and Georgia, has seen in-migration that is making it a more competitive state. Like Arizona, most of the new residents are coming from California. In Washoe County, home of Reno, Nevada, the new Tesla plant and other high-tech businesses are attracting people from the San Francisco Bay area who are bringing with them their famously deep blue politics. Meanwhile, Las Vegas, the state’s largest city, is a powerhouse of job creation, ranking behind only three other metro areas in the United States with the fastest growth in job postings. At the presidential level, Nevada has been Democratic since 2008, and its consistently high job growth seems likely to cement that tendency with voters from California.

Because the plate tectonics move so slowly, we can expect very close presidential and Senate elections in these states in the next few years. However, if the trends keep going, these states may end up as reliable wins in the Democratic column in future election cycles.

[popia140]

Here are some of my silly doodles from the TPP Lore Discord server! I didn’t want to delete them, since I really like them.

I came to the server to learn more about the lore, and I learned that the new host’s name was Yuu.

They described him as a pop-star who was very flashy and fashionable. He has a pretty face too, so it reminded me of Lil’ D, a fashionable host from the X run. I wondered what it would look like if they met, so I made this:

[Image Discription- A young man in a coat and turtleneck sweater, gestures to two outfits. He smirks with closed eyes, saying, “Behold! My amazing outfits…” The first outfit has a coat and pants. The bottom of the coat has two large buttons attached to it with a thunderbolt pattern underneath. On both shoulders, two black striped triangles poke upward. The sweater underneath the coat has two stripes on its neck. The shoes have cotton fluff on the top, with jewels in it. Two jewels sit on the shoe, with stripes leading down. The second outfit has three leaves as the vest’s collar. There is a furry collar behind that looks like flames. It comes with a necklace. The vest has a long tailcoat that looks like leaves. The bottom of the outfit’s pants are folded up to make way for the shoes. The young man on the lower right looks amazed. His fedora leaps out of his head in shock. Next to him is an exclamation point.]

First, we have Yuu showing Lil’ D his outfits. D seems very shocked, but impressed!

These outfit designs were created by “Tranzi72,” a creative artist in the TPP fanbase. Yuu’s first outfit in the upper right was inspired by the designs of Plusle and Ampharos. The second outfit across from it was inspired by the designs of Tropius and Typhlosion.

[Image Description: A young man with blond shoulder length hair, cries out of happiness. He is wearing a purple jacket. He hugs the green vest with the furry flame collar.]

Of course, I imagined that D would love the outfits. So much so, that he would hug one.

The topic of Pokémon inspired outfits came to mind, and I remembered that I tried to make a Mega Charizard X outfit once.

There were many designs, and I can’t believe that this was something I considered:

[Image Description: A grumpy blonde man is wearing a onesie that looks like a black dragon with blue wings, and a blue flame on its tail. He hunches forward with his arms on his hips. Two people laugh in the foreground. The one on the left is colored purple and is wiping a tear from their eye. The one on the right is colored pink and laughs openly.]

Grumpy D in a Charizard X pajama onesie. With guest stars Reese and Yuu, laughing their heads off at how ridiculous it looks…

Reese, from the Gauntlet Blaze Black 2 Run, and Yuu, from the current Grand Colosseum Run, are considered to be one of the more fashionable hosts.

But of course, one could never forget the man who started this whole fashion thing… Napoleon, from the Platinum run!

[Image Description: In the first panel, three people walk in the distance happily. One person is left behind, looking at them. The second panel shows the same person, with an exclamation mark next to him. He has a calm and stoic expression.]

If Yuu, D, and Reese manage to become fashion buddies, why not let Napoleon in the group? He’s as good as them (or maybe even better).

We joked around that he would host a fashion show just to bet on the winners. I think he would secretly bet the most on D, just because he’s family.

[Image Description: A man wearing a blue winter jacket, cravat, and red beret raises a gleaming coin to the sky. He is wearing a determined expression. The text next to him reads, “bets on D because he’s family.” Another man wearing a purple jacket smiles bashfully. The text next to him reads, “D, once he finds out.”]

D would be very grateful for his cousin betting on him (once he finds out, that is). Napoleon’s shy younger brother, Pepe, would be watching from afar, supporting D. He’s very proud.

[Image Description: A man with a shy and friendly expression holds a flag. It says, “Go D!” He wears a winter jacket and cravat.]

And plus, there hasn’t been much art of the family together, so I give you this:

[Image Description: Three men wearing smiles make a heart shape with their arms. The man on the left makes the left side of the heart. The man on the right makes the right side. The man in the middle makes the bottom of the heart. There is a tiny pink heart above them.]

Napoleon, Pepe, and D, all together! They all are very different, but they still are a loving family in the end!