#rereading this today has been a DELIGHT

[safyresky]

Crystal Springs Chapter 18: now up on ao3!

Time for Jack to confront the MOMMY ISSUES! Read all about it HERE.

Chapter 18: Market Day

Winter and Jack make a ruckus at the annual holiday market. Jacqueline visits a fellow Legate.

A very fun, and very LONG chapter! We've got BLAISE AND JACK CHATS! JACQUELINE BEING A POUTY LIL MIDDLE CHILD! WINTER SLAYING! JACK AND WINTER CAUSING TROUBLE! OTHER CHRISTMAS SPIRITS! A GR8 FIERA ONE LINER! A MARKET (I love me a good market, holy HELL) WE MEET SANDMAN'S LEGATE, XANDER?!?!?!?

AND, OF COURSE, JACK AND WINTER FINALLY TALKING! WOO!

For tonight's excerpt, I give you my favourite part! I love Winter. She's so funny 🥰🥰

"And given the year you've had, I can see why," Winter said, with a sad smile. "Oh, my poor baby boy." "Mom, stop! I'm not a baby." "You're my baby," Winter emphasized. "I know," Jack admitted, grumpily. "But I wasn't completely alone this year! Santa was really very kind when he really didn't need to be. And Carol, oh, she's been an absolute sweetheart, really! And, y'know, the elves warmed up to me and the Council was very supportive too. And I lost count how many times Mother Nature went up to bat for me. You'd think, given his fluffy nature, Easter Bunny'd be a little bit nicer." Winter laughed. "That's why he's so fluffy. He's full of spite." "Oh, that's good!" Jack laughed. "I've gotta remember that one for the next council meeting." He paused for a moment as they entered the clothing section, thoughtful. "And you know, from what I've heard, parents usually make the worst mistakes with the first one. So when number two, or, y'know, three AND four come around, they don't repeat them. I mean, seems like they turned out a lot better. And I'm sure they have you and Dad to thank for that." Winter laughed. "Oh, they were troublesome in their own ways. I don't know how Jacqueline had so much energy all the time. And she had this horrible feud with one of the school teachers, that was a rough go! And I don't even want to think about what nonsense she may have run into while she was out and about amongst the ordibeings." Jack chuckled. "You really don't." "And the Twins! Lady of the Springs, those two are always causing trouble. Wild animals in the house at any given time; far too many fires for me to keep track of. They're very sneaky. I suppose what I'm trying to say is that they may not be as bad as you were, but they've had their moments," she said with a fond smile. "You've all had your moments, the four of you. Don't go singling yourself out, Jack dear," Winter finished, wagging her finger. "I'll try not to," Jack said, stopping at one of the stalls and browsing the spools of thread. They were very vibrant; he was fairly certain that some of the colours weren't normally seen by the ordibeing eye. And they looked sturdy—that was promising. "But you need to stop being so dismissive of yourself! You've been plenty supportive since I got home," Jack continued, moving over to the next stall as Winter followed steadily, letting him browse. "Don't think I didn't notice the matching outfits yesterday. Or all the times you defended me from the other seasons. Or how you tried to delay them coming over. Amongst other things." "Oh good! You noticed!" Winter said, cheerful. "I was having such a rough time telling, I figured I'd try showing, first. I'm always here for you, Jack dear. Even if I can't say it." "Thanks Mom," Jack said with a soft smile. "I appreciate it." "Of course," and, before Jack had time to process, she pulled him close in a very, very, very tight hug. "I've missed you very, very much Jack," Winter said, squeezing tighter. Jack smiled softly, squeezing her back. "I've missed you too, Mom." "This is all very touching, but could you maybe take it somewhere else?" the stall keep in front of them said, disdainfully. Winter whirled on the man, absolutely furious. "I haven't seen my son in fourteen HUNDRED years," she said, sternly, jabbing an accusatory finger at him. "So I will damn well hug him wherever I please! Understood?" She glared so hard at the shop keep that his clothing was beginning to look a little frosty. "Yes ma'am!" the shop keep squawked, jumping back. "I'll take a spool of the black and white each, please," Jack said, trying to bite down the laughter as he watched the shaken elven looking fellow rush to grab the spools for him, as though his life depended on it.

Want to see what ELSE these two do at the market? READ ON TO FIND OUT.

Want to start from the top? Here's the Prologue: An Encounter on ff dot net and ao3! Story summary below the cut (as per the ush):

It’s been almost a year since Jack Frost thawed and things are looking…well, not so great. Jack’s powers are seemingly gone. Without them, the Dome that keeps the North Pole safe from the cold and its magic controlled is melting, putting everything and everyone magical at risk.

Unable to hide his power shortage any longer, Jack is forced to admit the truth. Thankfully, there is a solution: enacting the Legate Law, bringing Jack and the sister that he hurt so many centuries ago back together again. But when Jacqueline starts experiencing destructive blackouts, the pair are forced to head back home to Crystal Springs, bringing Jack face to face with the rest of the family.

Needless to say, between getting his powers back, helping his sister figure out what in the FROST those blackouts even were, reconciling with his parents, meeting the two even younger siblings he didn’t even KNOW he had, NOT TO MENTION the ancient threat that’s had it out for the ENTIRE Frost family finally making a move?

Saving Christmas (regrettably) is looking to be a little bit…complicated.

ALSO. IF UR STILL HERE.

Hey, hi, how's it going?

ONE MORE THING I wanted to mention! Befana in this chapter was plopped in there with Belsnickel about a month or two before the series actually aired. I got the chapter out JUST BEFORE it started airing, bc I feared what they'd do to Befana and wanted to have my own interpretation of her.

Surprisingly, they did an okay job with her! She's not TOO different from my portrayal, lol. anyway, that being said, ur absolutely welcome to picture her as she was from the series, but please know sahe's not QUITE the same iteration :3

Anyway! Enjoy!!!

[coquelicoq]

Natsume: You didn't sleep a wink last night. Why not go and grab a few now? Natori [sparkling]: I'm just fine. It takes more than sleep deprivation to dull my dazzling self, so don't you worry your fussy little head. Natsume [concerned]: Nonsense like that is exactly what someone suffering from sleep deprivation would say! Sensei: Oh really? Has he been sleep-deprived every day of his life?

so i've been watching the natsume dub -

[thechaptersunread]

expanding our gay dads and wholesome found families universe <3 @lcvesdeath

“Why are you here again?” Bradley frowned as he walked from the garden into the bright, modern kitchen of Ice and Mav’s San Diego place, only to see Jake sitting in a black muscle tee and shorts at the white granite island in the centre of the room. He was sipping a freshly made cup of coffee from Mav’s ‘I don’t need sugar, I’m sweet enough’ mug and eyeing him nonchalantly. A second, steaming cup sat nearby, temporarily abandoned as presumably either Ice or Mav had left the room for a moment.

“Nice to see you too, Rooster,” Jake replied dryly.

Ever since his first invitation to their barbecue a few weeks ago, Jake was becoming a frequent visitor. Bradley was even starting to wonder if they asked him over specifically on the days they knew Bradley would be dropping by. Mav loved Jake anyway, but after a healthy interrogation, it was Ice who had taken him on as a real favourite – appreciating someone who didn’t crack under the pressure he sometimes applied, and even had the spirit to bite back – and the two spent a lot of time talking. Jake had even been invited into his study, would you believe it. It wasn’t that Bradley really minded as much as he let on, just that seeing Jake out of uniform so much, in spaces that were personal and familiar to him, seeing him being accepted into his family, brought up a whole host of turbulent and conflicted feelings that he didn’t really know what to do with. He was well aware that it had got to a point where he was the more antagonistic one of the two, with Jake usually just brushing him off by now. Ice continually made hints that he liked Jake more than he let on, but Bradley was yet to show any real sign of it.

They didn’t talk for a couple of minutes, with Bradley doing his best to ignore Jake’s presence as he went about opening cupboards and grabbing some things out to make a quick lunch. It was a hot day, though pleasantly cool in the kitchen, and he wore a genuinely obnoxious pink and yellow sort of sunset shirt over a pair of gym shorts that were arguably too short, something that Jake noticed with amusement but wasn’t going to complain about. It was only once Bradley had been straining to open the same stubborn jar of pickles for a few grimaces too long that Jake eventually broke the silence.

“You want a hand with that?”

“No,” Bradley huffed.

Jake lifted his mug to his lips and hid a smile behind it. “You sure?”

“I don’t need you to do anything for me.” Bradley snapped, offended by the notion of Jake being able to do anything he couldn’t. Like they weren’t almost the same size, anyway. (He sort of wanted to just hand it over and say ‘you try then’, but didn’t want to take the chance that Jake would get it first go).

Rolling his eyes, Jake got to his feet anyway and made his way around to the other side of the island. Moments like these he wondered just why he’d (sort-of-maybe-a-little-bit) started to like Rooster, beyond the fact that he’d always been infuriatingly pretty, even beyond the wary eye he’d kept on him over the course of their rivalry and after the mission. “Just give it here.”

“I’m fine, leave it.” Bradley turned away from him as Jake approached, switching the jar into his other hand to try a different way. Only the two of them could get competitive over opening a jar of pickles.

“You’re a damn child, that’s what you are,” Jake grumbled, starting to actually get pissed off by how stubbornthe boy could be. Even he wasn’t this immovable; the way he’d begun to take a step back and soften from winding Rooster up just proved it, and he was fed up of not getting the same in return. He stepped up behind Bradley, a little too close, and reached around him. Their hands brushed and Bradley instantly dropped the jar, inhaling sharply. It bounced once, as if in slow motion, and then shattered on the hard tiled floor a few feet away as they watched, helpless to stop it, shards of glass scattering and vinegar pooling across the floor, releasing a sharp, acidic smell along with it.

Bradley wheeled around; he’d been entirely unprepared for Jake to press up behind him, and as his heart jumped his grip released before he’d even realised it. But turning around was worse, because now suddenly they were face to face, almost chest to chest. He took a step back but there was nowhere to go, his back hitting the counter. His cheeks flushed, mind suddenly blank of any insult he’d wanted to throw. Jake was gorgeous, he knew it, he’d always known it, and it was unfair that he stayed so gorgeous even up close – gold flecks amongst the green of his eyes, high cheekbones and the way his lips curved in that self-assured smirk.

Jake didn’t budge or say anything, either, his eyes darkening the longer Bradley stared at him silently, his own heartrate picking up in his chest. That wide, doe-eyed gaze and those red cheeks privately drove him crazy, even, especially when they were in the midst of some sort of disagreement. If only Rooster wasn’t so damn reactive, he bet he knew several ways to soothe that attitude. He leaned one hand on the counter beside Bradley’s hip, half caging him in, but it just so happened to be at the exact same moment that the boy regained his voice and (as always) killed the moment by blurting out,

“That was your fault.”

“How? If you weren’t so damn jumpy – ”

“I’m not jumpy, you – ”

“You are!” Jake was cracking up, “What the hell d’ya think I’m gonna do? Bite you?” Maybe not such a bad idea.

“Sorry Jake, took me a while to find it,” Ice’s voice carried in as he reappeared at that moment, bringing with him the book he’d gone to his study to find for Jake – who jumped back instantly, seeming to only have got somehow closer to Bradley as they bickered.

Both slightly flustered and taking a moment to switch their brains back on, they called out “Wait!” in sync but a moment too late as Ice, distracted by turning the book over in his hands, stepped his slippered foot into a soggy puddle of pickle juice, and froze. He stared at the mess on the floor for a moment and a cold silence fell across the kitchen. But when Ice looked up, his expression and the whole picture of this highly respected, decorated Admiral in wet slippers, surrounded by pickles, was just too comical.

“Sorry,” Bradley bit his lip to hold back a laugh, daring a glance at Jake, who was doing a slightly better job of keeping composed. “I dropped it, I’ll clean it up.”

“Luckily I just washed my other pair of slippers,” Ice said, unphased after his initial bafflement. “I’ll just leave this here.” He patted the cover of the book and slid it onto the counter before turning and shuffling away, taking off his wet slippers once he was free of the mess. In all honesty, it just gave him another excuse to vanish and leave Jake and Bradley alone for another few minutes. He and Mav had a bet on how long it would take before Bradley finally admitted the reason ­why he incessantly talked about how annoying Jake was, and Ice was running out of time to win. He could still well remember the days when Mav had looked up at him with that mischievous grin, eyes twinkling but totally oblivious to what was going on as Ice crowded in on him, firing back jibes like there was no tomorrow. Bradley might not be his son by blood, but dear god he could be equally dense.

As soon as he was out of the room, Jake and Bradley locked eyes, and instantly burst into uncontrollable laughter, shoulders shaking and almost doubled over. A few barely coherent wheezes of “did you see” and “his face” and “I know!” passed between them, and Rooster grabbed hold of Jake���s arm to steady himself. Touching Jake wasn’t something he ever initiated, but this was a rare moment of peace, and honestly he was the sort of guy who would slap the person next to him if he found something funny enough, so really Jake was getting the lucky end of the deal.

“My god,” Bradley sighed when they eventually composed themselves, wiping a tear from his eye before moving away from Jake to grab a tea towel and a dustpan and brush from beneath the sink.

“Do you want me to – ” Jake gestured to the mess.

“Nah. It was my fault.”

“Too right.”

Bradley just smiled and flapped the tea towel at him, shooing him away. “Go sit down.”

Jake picked up the book Ice had left for him and returned to his coffee without further protest, smiling a little as he read the blurb. “Your family is pretty cool,” he said, almost not realising he’d voiced the thought out loud. For a few seconds there, he’d been tense, waiting for the explosion. Calm, moderated reactions to minor breaks and spillages wasn’t something that happened when he’d still lived with his family, and he certainly would never have been able to laugh about it.

“Yeah,” Bradley agreed with a smile as he bagged up the shards of glass and set about drying the tiles. “They are.”

“You do realise you’re like, the biggest nepo baby ever though, right? Three navy dads is just…” he trailed off, the humour in his voice fading as he winced at himself. Bringing up Goose, however vaguely, wasn’t something that Bradley had ever reacted well to – and fair enough. Jake had actually drawn a line under it himself, but here he was, starting up again. And did Rooster actually refer to Ice and Mav as dads? Jake suddenly couldn’t think if he’d ever heard it, but he sometimes forgot that there had been two other parents on the scene, now that he’d spent time seeing this little family interact as a unit.

“Yeah, I know.” Much to Jake’s surprise, Bradley didn’t bat an eyelid, even shooting him a slightly amused glance. “They keep me humble, don’t worry.”

Jake relaxed again, raising an eyebrow. “Do they?”

“Well, Mav does. Tom’s soft as anything.”

Jake snorted, still finding that side of things completely bizarre, no matter how many times Ice had chatted with him and used his given name, or how often he’d seen him in cosy house-wear.

“It’s a lot to live up to,” Bradley said after a moment, not looking at Jake this time. He bundled up the vinegar-soaked tea towel to take to the laundry, and sprayed a more pleasant smelling cleaner over the tiles.

Jake just nodded, not quite sure how to reply. He knew what it was like to try and live up to something and constantly be shot down or told you fell short, but Bradley always seemed so much Ice and Mav’s baby that he never really considered the weight of what it meant to be under the eye of two of the navy’s most famous aviators, and uphold the legacy of a third. It seemed blindingly obvious now that he’d put that pressure on himself out of love. Jake had given up trying to make his father proud years ago, and for him the military was an escape from home rather than a way to continue a tradition.

“You want anything?” Bradley offered once he reappeared from the laundry room, washed his hands, and set about trying to make lunch for the second time. Ice was taking a suspiciously long while to change his slippers.

“Nah,” Jake opened the front cover of his book, “Thanks.”

“Did you eat lunch already?”

“Nope.”

When Bradley brought lunch over to the island, he set down two plates of avocado toast with a poached egg apiece and some lemon juice and chili flakes sprinkled over the top, pushing one in front of Jake as he, much to his surprise, took a seat next to him.

“Do you ever listen?” Jake asked, shaking his head as Bradley passed him some cutlery, but it sounded almost affectionate.

“Pardon?”

“You ain’t funny.”

They shared a small smile and went about eating lunch in a far more companiable silence than before.

“I don’t actually mind you being here, you know,” Bradley said after a while. He bumped his leg against Jake’s under the granite-top and neither of them moved away from the touch.

“That’s real generous, Rooster,” Jake drawled, but he was half smiling. If that was true, Bradley had sure done a good job of playing the opposite.

“Shut up. What’s that book about?”

By the time Ice walked back in with Mav, both innocently acting as if they’d been absent for a normal amount of time and definitely not upping the stakes of their bet, Jake and Bradley were sitting so close their arms were pressed together, and this time neither of them made any effort to put more space between them – even now there was extra company in the room. Ice smirked to himself. He might still win this bet.

[salfishersface]

Hhhh I’ve reread Baby Fever more times than I can count, can you please do like a part 2 or something similar?

Baby Fever Part 2 || Sal Fisher

Synopsis - Sal has baby fever.

Warnings - NSFW.

Notes - All characters are aged 18+!

Notes - Read part 1 here.

Word Count - 1.4k.

{Caffeinate Me}

Part One || Part Three

You watched as your boyfriend gave the overactive toddler a ride on his shoulders for the third time today. Soda was giggling and shrieking as she pulled on Sal’s shoulder-length blue hair. “Uncle Sawwy! I’m so high!” She shrieked giddily, kicking her legs in the air against Sal’s shoulders.

“Yes you are baby,” he cooed, spinning around and causing another gleeful sound to leave Soda’s lips. 

“It’s time for dinner!” You called from the kitchen as you plated up the food you had been preparing. Chug and Maple would be back any minute now, but you knew they had had a busy day shopping and whatnot so you thought you’d feed Soda for them. 

“Uncle Sawwy, take me to the din din table!” Soda yelled, pointing in the direction of the kitchen. 

“You got it angel,” Sal said, manoeuvring his way through the sea of toys scattered amongst the floor and to the kitchen. He placed Soda at the table who immediately licked her lips upon seeing food. She certainly had her fathers appetite. Sal walked over to you after securing Soda at the table and wrapped his arm around your waist. “You look good being all motherly.” 

“You think?” You asked softly. 

“I know,” Sal whispered, pressing another kiss to your temple. You both watched from the side as Soda wolfed down her food, hardly even chewing the contents before swallowing. Sal chuckled before narrowing his eyes. “Soda, you need to be careful when you eat!” Sal said, slight panic in his voice. 

“Why uncle Sawwy?” Soda asked, looking towards Sal. 

“If you don’t chew your food, you could choke!” Sal exclaimed, trying to be as lighthearted as he possibly could. 

“Oh otay,” she said before taking another mouthful of her food, this time chewing properly. 

You looked at Sal and grinned. “What?” He asked, raising an eyebrow under his prosthetic. 

“You look good being all fatherly,” you said, mimicking his words. 

“I know,” he grinned, pressing his prosthetic to the side of your face as if he was trying to kiss your temple. You looked up at him and smiled softly. You both continued to watch Soda eat and not long after she had finished, Chug and Maple came home. 

“We’re home!” Maple chimed as she smiled softly at the three of you. You were sitting on the sofa now, curled up watching Soda’s favourite movie.  

“Mummy! Daddy!” Soda said, quickly retreating from her spot on the sofa and toddling over to her mother and father. “Uncle Sawwy gave me a wide on his shoulders!” 

“Did he?” Maple asked, laughing slightly. 

Soda nodded in response before sticking up three fingers and exclaiming, “three times!” 

“Want one more before we head off, Soda?” Sal asked, standing up and holding his arms out to the toddler. Soda nodded and walked, unsteadily, over to Sal who picked her up with ease and placed her on his shoulders. He began to walk quickly around the room, delighting in hearing Soda’s giggles. 

You stood up and walked over to Chug and Maple with a smile on your face. “How was shopping?” You asked.

Chug shrugged. “It was alright,” he replied.

“You know, he’d make an excellent father one day,” Maple said, motioning towards Sal. 

You nodded in agreement, the smile on your face never faltering. “He will.” 

You and Sal had said your goodbyes quickly, hugging the little girl that had captured your hearts before heading back home. You knew where this was going. Sal’s hand never left yours as you made the short walk back to the apartment, his grip becoming increasingly harder the closer you got. When you arrived, you kicked your shoes off and said hello to Henry and Lisa before Sal mindlessly dragged you to your shared bedroom. “God, what are you doing to me?” Sal asked as he took off his prosthetic and placed it carefully on the bedside table. 

“What do you mean?” You asked, your head automatically tilting to the side. 

“Just wanna fuck you and stuff you full of my cum, all day everyday until your swollen with my babies,” Sal growled as he pressed his lips fiercely to yours. You let out a gasp of surprise as his lips collided with yours. Your soft lips moulded against his scarred ones as if you were made for him. Sal was quick in undressing you, throwing your clothes every which way around the room for you to find later before pushing you onto the bed. You could already see how rock hard his cock was against his skinny jeans, but Sal was quick to remove his jeans, finally freeing his cock from its restraints. His cock sprung up to attention, your mouth watering at the sight of it throbbing for you. His balls were heavy, full of cum that he wanted to pour into your womb. Sal got onto his knees at the edge of the bed and pulled you by your legs. You let out a shriek of surprise as his face immediately delved between your legs, tongue lapping at your folds and clit like a man starved, not even giving you time to comprehend what was happening. 

“Sal,” you whimpered softly, hands falling to tangle into his blue hair.

“Yeah baby?” He asked, pulling away from your pussy momentarily to look into your eyes. 

“Don’t stop,” you beg quietly, pushing his face further into your already dripping cunt. 

He mumbled something against your folds but you couldn’t understand what he said. He sucked deliciously at your clit. Obscene noises of his slurping filled the room and you felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “Shit, you taste so good.” 

“Don’t say that,” you whimpered, covering your face with your hands. 

Sal pulled away from you, kissing up your thighs to your stomach, to your neck and then finally to your lips. “Taste yourself on my tongue,” he groaned, shoving his tongue into your mouth immediately. You let out a moan at the intrusion, eyes rolling back into your head momentarily. When Sal finally pulled away from your lips, he was breathless. Gazing into your eyes, he slicked his cock up your slit to lubricate himself before pushing into you slowly, a quiet moan falling from his lips. You grasped the sheets below you as Sal placed your legs over his shoulder, forcing his cock to kiss your cervix. “You gonna make me a daddy tonight, huh?” He asked, kissing your cheeks. 

“Yes,” you managed to choke out, tears springing to the corner of your eyes at both the pain and pleasure you were feeling. 

“Good girl,” Sal groaned, kissing away your tears. “Fuck, you feel so fucking tight around me.” 

“Oh God Sal,” you cry, trying to wriggle away from him slightly. 

“Hey, hey,” he growled in your ear. “Where do you think you’re going?” He asked, pulling you back against him. “You gotta make me a daddy tonight baby. Fuck, I need it.” 

“I will! I will!” You screech, not caring as to whether Henry or Lisa could hear you anymore. 

“Shhh baby girl,” Sal cooed softly. His fingertips dug into your hips and you felt like you were going to break at any minute. 

“Gonna cum Sal,” you whimpered softly. 

“Yeah? You gonna cum precious?” He mocked, his hips still rutting into you at a pace out of this world. You nodded enthusiastically, a hand flying down to your clit to rub quick circles against the sensitive nub. Within seconds you were spraying your juices all over Sal and his torso, not caring about the mess you were making. “Ohh you’re such a good girl for me,” Sal groaned. 

“So good,” you whimpered softly. Your voice was barely audible but Sal had managed to hear you.  

“Gonna fill you up now baby,” Sal whispered into your ear as his hips stuttered against yours. “Make. Me. A. Daddy,” he growled with each thrust of his hips. You nodded, completely fucked out. You felt his thick ropes shoot deep into you, his cock twitching with his release. You let out a silent moan as Sal shivered against you, but he didn’t pull out. He kept you plugged up as he kissed your tear stained cheeks. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” You whisper softly, leaning against his touch. “You really have baby fever, don’t you Sal?” 

“You have no idea,” he chuckled. The two of you cuddled like that for the rest of the night, with him plugging you up to make sure his cum didn’t escape from your cunt as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear. This one felt like it would be the one.

I'm so glad you enjoyed part one anon! I hope this part satiates your hunger for more baby fever!sal&lt;3

[moonluvin]

bite marks - steven grant.

pairing: dark!steven grant x female reader

summary: in which y/n starts receiving mystery packages from a stranger – not that she minds it since its stuff that she likes. however, things take a turn when a seemingly kind face reveals more than you would expect.

warnings: angst, fluff & smut (holy trinity).

a/n: happy reading!

word count: 3.4k words

minors/ageless blogs dni.

masterlist

For several weeks you found bouquet of flowers on your doorstep. You were instantly delighted, as you had never received flowers before. It didn't take long for you to realize that someone was watching you.

That someone had maintained a fair distance from you but was close enough to observe you. He kept a book in which he made notes of your likes and dislikes, so far, he had written up quite a detailed profile on you.

As expected, another bouquet of flowers had been left on your doorstep, this time it was accompanied by a note – something which did not occur before.

Curiously, you wasted no time in reading the note.

‘like a moth to a blame, i can't help but feel drawn to your presence.’

It had no name signed to it, just a vague note.

A twisted part of you enjoyed the attention you received as you clutched the note to your chest and smiled briefly.

All the while you were completely oblivious to the stare on you.

Today, a day just like any other, had a slight change. A man, whom you don’t know the name of had walked into the café you worked at and had a nervous exchange when ordering his drink of choice.

“Steven,” you called out his name and waited for said mystery man to collect his drink. He avoided eye contact and said a little ‘thank you’ before walking to a secluded corner and situating himself there with a book.

You smiled at the sight and continued your workday as usual.

You enjoyed your line of work as it allowed you to indulge in two activities you liked. Meeting people and baking.

Steven had found solace in his little corner with a few glances your way. He didn’t want to be obvious since he was used to watching you from the shadows but watching you in your place of comfort made it almost impossible to keep his gaze away from you.

“Interesting choice,” you said as you cleaned the table next to him.

Your voice surprised him.

He looked at the book in his hand and then back at you.

“I’m actually rereadin’ it,” he said as calmly as he could.

“Oh? You enjoyed it that much?” you said with interest.

The book he had been trying to reread was “Persuasion” by Jane Austen.

“I certainly did,” he said with a smile.

He already knew of your interest in reading and took the initiative to read all books you have read in order to understand you better. Due to his observations of you, it was easy to pick up on your habits and on the fact that you’re unconscious of your surroundings.

You smiled at his reply and politely excused yourself to the kitchen.

Steven’s heart had been beating rapidly for the entire exchange the two of you had. It may have been small, but to him it was the perfect way to insert himself into your life.

Your everyday life has now consisted of friendly exchanges with Steven on the basis of books and the occasional walk home from him when he waited for you to close up the café.

The flowers from your admirer had not stopped, however, they had now become something you get occasionally.

On this particular day you had been living life as usual when Steven walked in with the sweet smile he had reserved for you, in his hand was his copy of ‘Persuasion’.

He sat at his usual place and waited for you to approach him, as you did so, he wasted no time in nervously babbling to you.

“I know this isn’t the most appropriate way to do this since you’re at work and all, but I would love to take you on a date if you would like to go on one?” he said all in one go and if it weren’t for you being used to taking note of everything your customers say then you wouldn’t have understood him.

Steven avoided eye contact with you the more you remained silent, and he had begun to think that maybe asking you on a date at work was a bad idea.

“I would love to,”

All worry he was feeling had dissipated and he looked with you with a toothy grin.

“You would?” he said slightly surprised.

You nodded in response and smiled at him.

He seemed to grasp his surroundings and returned your smile as he recited that he would have his usual drink. Before you left to prepare his order, he handed you his copy of Persuasion.

“I wanted you to have this,” he said, making a point to maintain eye contact with you.

You were about to protest when he spoke up again.

“Its an annotated copy with notes I made specifically for you,”

As soon as he said that you knew you couldn’t refuse it. So, you took the copy with a soft thank you and went on to tend to his order.

Following that exchange between you and Steven, the two of you had quickly fell into a relationship where everything seemed natural. Especially with Steven’s efforts towards you.

Upon making things official, you had told him about the flowers you received previously, to which he assured you that it was okay, and he would take care of it if you wanted him to.

Very quickly 3 months had passed by, and it was filled with pure bliss. Steven being a new addition to your life had made it a happy wonderland.

“Do you want anything from the kitchen?” you heard him ask aloud from your kitchen.

“I’m good thanks,” you assured him as he walked into your living room.

A recent activity the two of you shared was reading in the company of each other and annotating the books for one another. Which is what the two of you were currently doing.

You watched his reaction as you pulled out a book you knew he would be surprised to see.

His eyes slightly widened upon seeing the title and his eyes made their way to you.

“Interestin’ book you’ve got there,” he said, his voice sounding lower than before.

“You think so? I thought I’d give it a try,” you said feigning innocence.

“You should, I’ve heard tha’ its quite detailed,”

“You’ve heard of it?” you asked with a raised brow.

“Of course, I have,” is all he said before opening his own book and reading it.

You took it as a sign that he didn’t want to go further with the conversation.

Throughout the night, Steven had noticed the way you would slightly clench your thighs as your eyes skimmed through the book. It was easy for him to pick up on the fact that you were turned on by what you were reading.

He knew this from the many nights he’d seen you touch yourself. You of course were not aware of your audience, not that he would want you to know that.

Even though your relationship with Steven was only 3 months in, sexual activities between the two of you were not a main concern, but that doesn’t mean there weren’t time where either of you got carried away while making out.

He made it known to you that he wanted to take things slow, and you never questioned him because you respected his wishes. The actual reason he wanted to take things slow was because he wanted to enjoy your company before finally indulging in you. It was all part of his plan.

On a day which was just like any other, you were cleaning up your bookshelf when you realised a particular book of yours was missing. It had been one you read a long time ago and you had specifically put it in a place only you knew of.

You brushed off your concern and chalked it down to you simply misplacing it.

The weather outside had been rainy, but not the calm drizzle you were used to, instead it was storming. Steven had stated he had difficulty in coming to see you and you of course understood this and told him you’d see him tomorrow.

Just as you were about to walk into the kitchen to wash the dishes from earlier, the lights went out. You huffed out a sigh and began looking for candles in order to see properly in the dark.

A sound coming from your living room heightened your senses as you stayed stark still.

You were the only one home, so the noise was unusual to say the least.

With a candle in hand, you softly made your way towards where the noise came from. The rational part of your mind was screaming to leave it alone and retreat to the safety of your room. However, your curiosity had got the best of you.

A book was face down on the floor as you looked around for the source of the noise, you picked it up and turned it around to look at the cover.

It was the missing book. That missing book.

A burning feeling of fear in your chest made you turn around to go to your room, but the figure in the shadows did not allow that.

The stranger’s hand had clasped its way around your mouth to prevent your from screaming whilst the other had pulled you towards him and gripped both your hands in his to avoid you from getting away.

It was by sheer luck that the candle you were holding fell and the flame was put out instantly.

Now, you were in the darkness of your own home while a stranger held you prisoner in his hold.

You felt the vibration of his chuckle as he held you.

“You can’t get away from me,” he said maliciously.

Your eyes widened in shock, and you tried to push your way out of his hold.

“You made it so easy f’me,” he stated as he dragged you towards your room.

He knew his way around your home, which didn’t register in your mind yet since you were trying to get away from him.

That’s when an idea popped into your mind.

You bit down as hard as you could, and he hissed in pain. Before you could scream, he used some type of material to stop you from screaming.

“Don’t make me do things I’ll later regret,” he warned as he stopped to make a point to you.

You complied out of fear and let him take you to your room.

With the absence of electricity, it made it difficult for you to make out the face of the man.

He carefully restrained your hands and made you sit on your bed facing him. You’d assume in a situation such as this you would be scared, but you didn’t exactly know what you felt. Maybe it was the adrenaline.

“If you listen t’me, then we can make things easy,” he stated.

You quirked a brow at him but nodded in compliance. The last thing you wanted was to make him angry.

“I don’t want any funny business, if you try anything against what I’m saying then I’m goin’ to have to use this,”

The little bit of light from outside allows you to see the knife he’s holding in his hand.

You feel a familiar throb between your legs at his words.

“Move more up,” he indicates to your bed, and you move up further to provide him with space to sit at the edge and watch you.

“Did you enjoy getting the flowers from me?”

Of course, it had to be the mystery man who had been sending you flowers.

“I assume you now don’t like them as much since you’re too busy giving time to someone else,” he said with a hint of a smile.

You want to speak and let him know that you missed receiving the flowers, but it occurred to you in that moment that this was a complete stranger to you. So, why did you feel the need to validate the way he felt?

“You may be thinking I don’t know a thing about you, but I know more than anyone else in your life,” he chuckled darkly and looked to the side before facing you again.

“I know all about the dark fantasies tha’ roam around tha’ mind of yours. The fear you feel by thinking about them but also the enjoyment you get,”

You tensed at his words; your thoughts were your own. Something only you were aware of.

He stood up from the bed and pulled you by the ankles to the edge of the bed. Spreading your legs open in the process, you were about to force them closed when he grazed the blade of the knife from your ankle all the way up to your thighs.

Your arms were still restrained in front of you as he began to train the blade towards your neck. Your eyes never left his, even if you couldn’t see them in the dark.

He was enjoying the willingness you were showing him.

“Be a good girl,” he said while using both hands to carefully cut your shirt in the middle. You felt the coolness of the air on your bare chest once he finished.

He stared at you for a moment and contemplated his choices.

“I’m goin’ to allow you to speak, but the moment you do anythin’ out of line. You know the consequences,”

You looked from the reflected blade to his shadowy figure and nodded.

He removed the piece of material from your mouth and waited for you to scream, when you didn’t, he disregarded the material and took hold of your hands by gripping them.

Your hands were above your head on the bed while he straddled you and his face was in line with yours.

“All you have to say is no,” he assured you.

Its funny how he gives you that choice after what his already done.

You thought for a moment, head foggy with thoughts and nodded.

A ghost of a smile made its way to his face.

“You’re a very bold person,” he said before kissing your neck and caging you between his body and the bed. His one hand still remained by keeping your above your head while the other grasped your breast, kneading the flesh and causing you to slight moan.

“You like tha’?” he asked with a chuckle.

You nodded and looked to his lips, as a way of asking him to kiss you.

“Use your words,” he insisted.

“Yes. I liked that,”

He pecked your lips and sat up briefly to take off his own shirt. You laid there and watched him with wanting eyes.

For a moment he stepped away from the bed and tugged at the waist band of your pants till they were off, next to be disregarded were your underwear.

He soon returned to kissing you, but his hand trailed down your body till they were between your legs, feeling your arousal.

“Someone seems to enjoy having a stranger do such things to them,” he chuckled darkly and began to draw little circles on your clit, making you bite your lip to stop your moans from being heard.

“I want to hear you,” he insisted and added more pressure to his fingers on your clit. Your moan of pleasure gave him the validation he so desperately wanted to hear.

“Fuck,” you swore under your breath as he sucked on one of your breasts.

He hummed in acknowledgement and continued his little game of pleasure.

Slowly, he made his way down your body till you felt his tongue teasing your clit.

You went to move your still restrained hands.

“Keep your hands where they were,” he warned and looked up at you.

You complied and spread your legs more for him.

He took his time with teasing your clit, using his fingers to spread you so he could suck on your clit and spread your arousal.

“You’re so wet,” he said with a teasing tone.

“Please,” you begged, not knowing exactly what you wanted.

You felt two of his fingers at your entrance as he stimulated you by still sucking on your clit. He set a comfortable pace, his fingers motioning them in a way that has you almost seeing stars.

You feel yourself going towards that feeling of euphoria and as you clench around his fingers, he stops.

“Not yet,” he said with a chuckle.

You whine in protest but silence yourself once he moves. He removes whatever remaining pieces of clothing he has and situates himself on the bed and pulls you on top of him to straddle him and removes the restraints from your hands.

“Ride me,” he says almost like a plea, which surprises you.

You settle one hand on his shoulder to balance yourself as you guide him into you. As you slowly sink down into his lap, you both gasp at the feeling of each other. He kisses you and pulls your body closer to his. Your hips begin to move on their own accord as you continue to kiss each other.

“Just like tha’,” he praises as he breaks the kiss and looks at you.

Breasts slightly bouncing with the motion of your hips. Out of habit you bite your lip, but soon grip his neck to make him look at you before you kiss him.

Something about him feels so familiar, but any rational thoughts you have are consumed by the feeling of him. A stranger who is making you feel things you’ve only read about.

You continue to kiss him and feel his one hands trail between you and him. You feel the pressure of his fingers on your clit and soon that familiar build up of euphoria is felt in the pit of your tummy.

“You gonna cum f’me?” his tone was demanding yet still held desperation in them.

“You’re gonna make me cum,” you admit and start to move your hips even more.

“Then cum,” he demands, and like the good girl that you are, you cum.

You moan into the kiss and ride out your orgasm, only stopping when you become too sensitive.

He chuckles when you slump against him.

“We’re not done yet,”

He braces you against him and soon your back is on the bed, and he is now above you, his cock still inside you.

In the middle of you gaining your conscious thoughts back, you see him take the knife from before and hold it against your neck.

The feeling of the cool metal makes you gasp.

“I’m not goin’ to hurt you,” he assures you, and somehow you know you can trust him.

He begins to thrust into you at a slow pace, leaning over to kiss you every now and then while he whispers sweet nothings into your ear. The blade is still held against your neck. The wetness from your previous orgasm makes it easy for him to thrust into you.

You hear him curse under his breath every few moments, and you know he’s having an internal battle with wanting to thrust into you harshly.

“Do it,” you tell him.

He hums in confusion.

“Fuck me faster, stop holding back,” you tell him.

That was all he needed to hear before you felt him begin to increase the pace in thrusts and the force of his hips were now more brutal than before. He was chasing own high, but at the same time. He was ensuring you felt it just as much. You felt him kissing your neck and without warning, you felt his teeth sink into your neck. The pain causing a sense of pleasure.

“Rub your clit,” he says through gritted teeth.

You do as he says and clench around him at the overstimulation. With a few more thrusts, he’s cumming inside of you and while you cum at the same time. You’re both breathing heavily. You lay there and stare at the ceiling above you, the rational thoughts finally making their way back to you.

A stranger just fucked you in your bed, and you willingly let him do so. Your thoughts were interrupted by said stranger pulling you towards him and kissing you on the forehead. The pain from the bite mark still lingered on your sensitive skin.

“Fuck, y/n. Tha’ was so good,”

That’s when it hits you. That voice.

“Steven?”

[withonly-sweetheart]

Reap What You Sow

part one

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

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

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

wc: 7.8k

part two here!!

legacy, what is a legacy?

planting seeds in a garden,

one you’ll never get to see.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

<><><><>

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So why does it?

<><><><>

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

<><><><>

The odds definitely hate you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Leon Kennedy,” she declares. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leon.

<><><><><>

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I only took a little!” you plead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You did what he asked.

He ratted you out, either way.

So why can’t you stop thinking about him?

<><><><>

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They’re dead,” you murmur. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry?”

“For the Games?”

“I mean, I have to train hard-”

“No.”

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

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

“And that is…?” you prompt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You let a lazy smile overtake your face.

Well, at least until you kill him.

<><><><>

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you peck a soft kiss to his jawline.

<><><><>

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her expression, plastered with shock, shows her thoughts.

Message received.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re telling me.” Leon chuckles.

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

“I can… uh… well…”

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

You shake your head.

“Knives? Daggers? Spears?”

“Leon can use a knife,” you add. 

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

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

Which is how you find yourself in this situation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neither of you laugh.

<><><><><>

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But you said I needed to compose myself.”

“You’re forgetting something.”

“What?”

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

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

“How’d you do?” you ask politely.

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

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

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

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

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

And you keep your eyes forward.

<><><><><>

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

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

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

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

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

"Because I’m not your mother."

"Aren’t you mentoring us?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mhm, yup," Leon affirms.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are we?"

"No, stupid."

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

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

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

"Fuck off, you self-absorbed prick."

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

You meet his gaze without flinching. "No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No one. She’s her own girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, seriously, listen to me-”

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

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

<><><><>

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because I kissed you?”

“Because you ratted me out!”

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

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

“That was my brother. He saw us.”

“He did?” you exclaim.

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

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

“Still want to be coached separately?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why can't you just-

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

A muscle ticks in his jaw. “Get out.”

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

<><><><>

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you know it’s best this way.

There can only be one winner, after all.

<><><><>

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

So you track her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leon.

[eliashirsch]

God Tier Top Gun Fanfictions. A Masterlist. (2/3)

Part two of my fanfic recommendation! This one's for the best series!

Winner Categories:

1. Best of the Best Authors (1/3)

2. Best of the Best Series (2/3)

3. Best of the Best Fics (3/3)

REMINDER! READ THE AUTHORS' TAGS AND WARNINGS!!!

Best of the Best Series

Some of the best series where every work is a banger. Binge read these and have fun!

and i think it's gonna be a long, long time by boasamishipper @boasamishipper

The Captain Marvel AU of Top Gun, with Maverick Mitchell as Carol Danvers and Iceman Kazansky as Maria Rambeau.

These are so fun and interesting! I love how well Ice and Mav fit in the Marvel universe. My favorite is this one:

screaming in the sonar

“Kazansky’s missing,” Fury says. Everything in Maverick’s body goes cold. He feels like the very breath from his lungs has been sucked out, leaving him nothing but a gaping chasm of terror. “What?” “He was reported missing three days ago; I just found out today. There were signs of a struggle at his house, and…” Here Fury hesitates, and Maverick knows that whatever will follow cannot be good. “There was a ransom message left on his communicator, Maverick. It was written in Kreeglyphs.”

Mav going berserk because they hurt Ice. Chef’s kiss. I keep rereading these stories every few months and I’m always delighted to read it again. boasamishipper, your brain is truly magnificent!

look at the sky and you will always find me by dangerousinlove @gohoubi

Iceman/Maverick fics.

Seventy five, SEVENTY FIVE of some of the most creative and heart-wrenching Icemav fics. It’s short, but a lot of them have categories, like Retirement-Verse or Wolf!Iceman-Verse, so if you’re looking for bite-sized fics within the same universe, check these out. My favorite:

blood in the water

After his cancer, Iceman finds out that going back to normal is harder than he thought.

Heavy angst, like really heavy. Absolutely decimated my heart. But it’s a possible scenario and it makes me sadder when I think about Ice’s cancer and how surviving affected him. 

Gayboy Airlines & Goose, LLC by aelibia @topgunreacts

Bits and pieces of Maverick's life as an amateur and later pro dom. Also Ice is there.

Of course, aelibia deserves a second mention because they’re just that good. Aside from AortaArgent, aelibia’s one of the authors I trust to write about sex. Their writing makes blood rush south but also to the heart. My favorite:

Product Testing 

Somebody has to test out all these sex toys. Might as well be Ice and Maverick. [oneshot series with standalone chapters]

The portrayal of Icemav’s sex is fun and familiar, the kind of act born from years of vulnerability and complete trust in each other. It kind of showed me that sex can be fun, it doesn’t have to be so hot and serious all the time. You can get off but you can laugh while doing so. Overall, a very good portrayal of a different kind of sex that I don't often find.

[cirrus-grey]

Didn't know about that Corruption theory before (and didn't wanna reblog the post for spoilers) but now I'm curious, what other theories did people have while the show was still airing? I joined the fandom around 160 so anything before that is a mystery to me.

Referencing this post (beware, it has spoilers for The Magnus Protocol).

Oh goodness, so so many. Only a few that I remembered off the top of my head, but I spent some time today trawling the depths of my "magnus archives speculation/analysis" tag and found a couple more fun ones.

Most of the ones I did remember are either still popular headcanons (Web!Martin), or actually turned out to be canon (Jonah!Elias). The Gertrude one always stuck in my head because it's very silly on the surface but also draws attention to the fact of like - how was her skin still in good enough condition to wear after being buried for months? (And Lietner's too, for that matter). Was Nikola just wearing really tattered rotten shreds???

Anyway. Some that I remembered, which all relate to Martin for some reason:

Backup Archivist: Heading into the Unknowing, Elias had Martin reading statements specifically to train him to be a stand in Archivist in case Jon died. Also included sub-theories that he could end up able to compel people on his own, share the role with Jon, or take over entirely if the show pulled a bait-and-switch and Martin was the real protagonist all along.

Who's the Father?: Every single possible theory about who Martin's dad was and what implications that could have on the show, from Leitner to Elias to Peter Lukes to that one dude Peter banished to the Lonely in his statement in 159.

Schwartzwald Cousins: Albrecht von Closen says he and Clara/Carla had trouble having kids in his first statement, but in a later episode says they have two boys. Part 1 of the theory was that the kids were actually avatars who'd emerged from the mausoleum after Albrecht disturbed it, and been adopted by the childless couple. Part 2 was - well - it's canon that Gerry is descended from one of these kids. The theory was, what if Martin was descended from the other? Gerry seems to have some Eye powers linked to his heritage and upbringing, so it was speculated that Martin might turn out to have some as well and be important to either Elias's plans, or to thwarting him (this tied into the Backup Archivist theory nicely). A sub-theory was that they were significantly closer cousins, Martin's mum's maiden name had been Keay, and Martin K. Blackwood was Martin Keay Blackwood all along.

And the ones that I found in the tag (credit in brackets):

Martin’s mum was a runaway Lukas (@/centaurianthropology, here)

The lighter was linked to the Desolation (@agnesmontague) + an addition by me that I'm so proud of in hindsight - "I think the web design pretty much confirms that it’s linked to the Web, but if it’s the Desolation as well, might it be linked to the other occasions we’ve seen those two powers interact? Namely, the ever mysterious Hill Top Road?" (Here)

Another of my posts that I'm delighted to reread (here) reminded me of the many, many, "what's up with the tapes?" theories. I remember "the tapes are sent by the Web", "the tapes are sent by Elias", "the tapes are manifestated unconsciously by Jon" (my personal favorite, sadly disproven), and I think there were also some "the tapes are Gertrude's ghost" posts???

Elias was the Eye the same way Michael was the Spiral - Gertrude sacrificed him to stop the Watcher's Crown (@/statementbegins, here)

Also reading through these is reminding me that there was a stretch where we were calling the Vast and Lonely the "Void" and "Isolation", which I love.

This is just a select few posts from 2018, so there's a lot more under the tag if you're interested in looking! Link below, copy and paste into a web (lol) browser because the archive (lmao) page doesn't work on the app.

https://cirrus-grey.tumblr.com/archive/tagged/magnus%20archives%20speculation%2Fanalysis

If anyone else remembers other old theories please feel free to drop them in the notes! I know there were so many more that I don't have saved.

[eyrieofsynapses]

good evening, all. it is May the 25th. our lilacs are blooming, just as the ones at the Watch House did. and I am thinking about remembrance of the fallen, and GNU, and the love in commemoration.

y'know, I read Night Watch… oh, maybe a year ago and some months ago. and the lilac symbolism, the remembrance of the Watch, has always struck me with the depth of the emotion of it, the tangibility of it in the flowers. but I wasn't aware that today was the day until I saw commemorative posts, all that gorgeous artwork and more, on my dash.

I was also not aware, until now, that fans commemorated the day not only because of the book reference, but in support of Terry Pratchett and of those with Alzheimer's. which knocked me over a bit because of course, of course the group that would use GNU to honor him would do that. and… I've been thinking about GNU a lot, lately, and this caught me again.

I read Going Postal a bit ago, and reread it recently. both times, the parts about GNU made me tear up. this idea of the names, the memories, the lives of the clacks workers who dedicated themselves to ensuring that people heard each other's voices—all those names spoken again and again and again by that which they poured their souls into, winging along in the air as they could not, an eternal reminder that they were loved—how could that not touch a person's heart?

when I found out that fans online used it to memorialize him, I damn well cried. hell, I still tear up just thinking about it. do you know, there's a code for an HTTP header "X-Clacks-Overhead: GNU Terry Pratchett" written by Reddit users to put in webpages, where it goes unseen by the average user? and in 2015, when Netcraft took a survey, there were eighty-four thousand websites using it? it's eight years later—how many thousands upon thousands of websites have this now, do you think? how many little cables of light has his name flown along, now? how many times?

that alone is absurdly and unimaginably lovely in its own right, but… there's something else to it. there's something about remembering with the lilac sprigs every year, just as Vimes and those who were there remembered their dead. something about how, when we take up our lilac sprigs, we carry a little piece of the characters in our hearts, too. I kept trying to put my finger on why that makes me tear up the way it does. the conclusion I came to is this:

what greater way to honor a writer is there, but to honor them the way they did the characters they poured their heart and soul into? what better way to say we know you and you are not forgotten and your work and words and gifts to the world are held in our hearts forever than to remember them by their own words, their own vision? how else could we say you embodied all the good you believed in and wished to see in the world, but to memorialize them after the little pieces of their soul they wrapped in ink and put upon the page?

it is a knowing of the writer, to remember them in their way. it is not a worn-out faceless platitude, but a reminder that their work has been read and will continue to be, that the characters and world they loved enough to bring to life last just as their name does. such remembrance is warm and loving and delights in their memory even as it grieves.

and now Pratchett's name has been written in his tradition, over and over and over, across the vast plane of the Internet, where it will—with any luck—continue to fly for generations to come.

there is no way to truly express the beauty of that… but perhaps we can catch a glimpse of it in the lilacs, both ours and the Watch's.

[docholligay]

What western novels do you recommend? I don’t think I’ve ever read one and was hoping to give it a try!

I LOVE Westerns. I love them even when they aren't particularly good. Whenever people accuse me of hating genre fiction, I'm like, "I think my collection of Westerns begs to differ. I just have DIFFERENT bad taste." (My collection of horror books too)

OKAY SO, MUCH OF THIS DEPENDS ON WHAT YOU'D LIKE TO FIND IN A WESTERN NOVEL.

Perhaps the best Western Novel ever written: Lovesome Dove, by Larry McMurtry.

It's not just me that would say this of Lonesome Dove, I think you can find this on lists of the world's greatest Westerns, it's fairly largely acknowledged as a great American Novel, many books have TRIED to be Lonesome Dove and are not. This book was one of the things Jill and I talked for HOURS about on our first date. We almost mutually changed our last names to McCrae instead of her taking Holligay. She walked down the aisle to the theme from the miniseries.

To MASSIVELY OVERSIMPLIFY, this is the story of a cattle drive from Texas to Montana. But it's about relationships, and dedication, and doing everything right and losing anyhow, sometimes. It's about finding connections. It's about dreams and failures. It contains one of the greatest versions of "the grumpy one is soft for the sunshine one" in platonic form. Also the idea that a friend, who is never anything romantic, can be the love of your life.

A fun revival Western: The Shootist by Glendon Swartout

I actually just reread this! So in the 80s and 90s, Westerns became 'grittier' sort of like comic book movies did in the 00s. This is not an altogether bad thing, and it certainly wasn't all the way to 'gritty' until we get to, movie wise, things like 3:10 to Yuma, which actually is incredible. ANYWAY, so The Shootist breaks from a lot of the molds of 60 and 70s Westerns (upstanding law officer, gang of mustache twirling villains, etc) and is about the last great shootist--what a gunfighter would have been actually called in the 1800s--who is dying of cancer.

I know that does not make it sound fun, but it is, actually, and it is an easy read. Lots of fun Western colloquialisms and there IS depth there if you want to go looking for it, but it's totally extraneous to the enjoyment of the book and also might be half made up in my head.

A great classic Western: Riders of the Purple Sage by Zane Grey

Riders of the Purple Sage is actually responsible for helping form a lot of what we understand as being the Western genre today. This puppy has it all: Gunfights, cattle rustling, the moral code of one's own pride, falling in love with a lonely little woman hell bent to make it on her own.

There are so many things in this novel that will come to define the genre, but because it is a little pre-genre, at least in a strong and stratified way that separates itself from the dimestore novels, it's not as formulaic as you might expect and borrows heavily from early 1900s literature wrought large.

A WESTERN Western: Literally anything by Louis L'amour

Am I here to defend Louis L'amour? No I am not. Do I love Louis L'Amour? Yes absolutely. I am not even so much suggesting that you actually read a L'amour book because I think you really have to love the genre to get into them, but boy are they GENRE. Love them. There's like 5 or 6 plotlines between them. I read them in the tub all the time. I don't even count them toward my books read they are such popcorn. Delightful. I gave them away as favors at my wedding.

A modern Western: All The Pretty Horses by Cormac McCarthy

Now we're getting into the weeds a bit because there are some people who would argue that a lot of what modern Western literary fiction is, isn't really "Westerns" and I know what they're saying but I don't think I agree. There can be great novels of any genre that break genre, and I think this is just one of those. It has all the hallmarks of a Western.

Anyway, anyone who tells you The Road is Cormac McCarthy's best novel is out of their fucking minds and also probably very boring and controversially either doesn't read much or doesn't read much serious stuff. All of McCarthy's border novels are better than The Road, All the Pretty Horses just happens to be my favorite.

A Western that is probably more fairly slotted into Historical Fiction: Doc: A Novel, by Mary Doria Russell.

This book made me stop writing my Doc Holliday historical novel because I can't do a better job than this.

[dionysism]

I genuinely admire your dedication to rereading Homer! Fagles & Lattimore are so dear to my heart but Wilson's commentary is so interesting. I should check Rieu out.

I don't know if you responded to this question before, so my apologies if you have, but what - to specifically you - made each of these translations stand out? Favorite approaches, perhaps, the way each translator works with text?

ah i have not answered this question yet and i would love to!

for rieu, my ultimate favorite, it's how poetic his phrasing is. though i have not read the original release of his translation, i have heard it sometimes emboldened homer's poetry, or strayed a little too far from the original greek. however i feel the revised edition, which is the one i've read, manages to keep the poeticness of rieu's approach, but without straying too far from what homer was actually saying. i've read his translations more than once, and each time it's as delightful as the first. i always feel like i'm really there, transported into homer's mystical world when i read rieu's.

close second is fagles. everybody loves fagles, and well, how could you not. it flows, he brings some moderness to his phrasing while still keeping the ancient feel of it all, his is easy to understand and easy to grasp, in my opinion. and some of his lines have a lightness to them, one of the first reads where i really got some of the humor in both stories.

fitzgerald i love for a similar reason to rieu, very poetic. i will admit it has been some time since i read my fitzgerald copy (it was the first translation of either i ever read) and i don't have my copies on me at present to skim through (my friend is borrowing them) but i do remember becoming absolutely enthralled by it in the 9th grade and it has led me to where i am today so it will always have a special place in my heart. i remember him having me hooked from the start with his "anger be now your song, immortal one, akhilleus' anger, doomed and ruinous, that caused the akhaians loss on bitter loss and crowded brave souls into the undergloom"

wilson, well i know some people aren't fond of her translation, but i was. closest to the original greek, no, but a good read nonetheless. i liked her choice to use iambic pentameter and i feel that the modernity/simplicity of her phrasing is an interesting new experience compared to other translations i've read. there are some points where i disagree with her choice of translation for certain moments/lines, but overall i would recommend the read. and i am quite fond her introductions.

those are all the translations i've read so far! i'm hoping to read lattimore's soon, who i've heard is one of the closest to the original greek, so perhaps i will come back to this post and add my thoughts on his once i've read them :)

[bayofwolves]

Rereading Hunted

I'm doing my first reread of Spirit Animals in years, in preparation for starting my biggest writing project yet, A Revised History of Erdas, and to my delight I'm discovering a lot of things that went over my head as a younger reader. I finished Hunted today, and wanted to talk about some of the more interesting things I noticed -- character details, plot holes and creepy implications. I wasn't expecting to enjoy this book so much, but I've found it tickled my brain just the right way.

So, here are some highlights from my reread -- stuff even I didn't pick up on before.

Please mind the tags as there is a brief mention of rape near the bottom of this post.

Conor looks to be strawberry-blonde on this cover, not golden-blonde as he's described in text. I feel like it suits him.

The war has actually been going on for a while, probably since well before Wild Born. Finn was fighting Conquerors when his brothers were massacred, and it's unlikely that event was recent enough to have taken place during Wild Born. There is also a moment in the first book when General Teng speculates that the Conquerors who are laying siege to Jano Rion entered the city over a period of years in order to avoid suspicion. It would be interesting if the authors tied this in more efficiently, and our protagonists had been living in an active war when they summoned the Four Fallen. This opens up a plot hole, though: the Conquerors operate under Shane, and because Shane is 13 when he mobilizes his people for war in The Book of Shane, the events of the main series must have started quite soon after this. Abeke mentions he's only a little older than she is in Wild Born; since Shane is already 13, he couldn't have been waging war for a few years before this.

The only background I could find for Kunaya's name is that it is of Zimbabwe origin and means "rain". Notice the connection? Abeke is a Rain Dancer.

Rollan mentions that his father is dead, in a way that suggests he knew him. This seems to have been retconned in Fire and Ice, as his father plays no part in Aidana's retelling of their past as a family. Indeed, he is never brought up again after this instance in Hunted.

The Earl of Trunswick was burning bodies. Our protagonists notice something off about the bonfire burning outside Trunswick, with Abeke and Meilin specifically noting its unpleasant smell. And most tellingly, when Conor and Rollan are captured, the Earl tells his soldiers to "burn the body with the rest" if Conor does not put Briggan into passive state. Who exactly the Earl was burning is not entirely clear, but a possible clue comes from a later chapter where he threatens Finn after the breakout from the Howling House. "Don't worry, Finn Cooley! We'll burn that troubled bond out of you yet!" he says. I'm inclined to believe the Earl was burning the bodies of spirit animals with the bonding sickness -- in a twisted attempt to cure their human companions, or merely to torture them further. It's possible he was burning human corpses too; Isilla the Greencloak is mentioned to have been killed, and I get the sense he wouldn't have treated her body with respect. In any case, this is a crazy thing to heavily imply and then never fully explain.

Tahlia is noticeably older than the other three kids. She even takes offense to being referred to as a child by Zerif. (In ARHoE, with the other three being around 13, I think I would place her at 18.)

Tahlia's entire existence doesn't make much sense -- she's supposed to be bonded to the Stetriolan legend of the water-holding frog, but this legend isn't even mentioned in the third arc when our protagonists go scouting for these same legends' bond tokens. Instead, it is replaced by Zhong's water dragon. Additionally, why would Stetriol even need a hero to inspire them? They already have Shane. They're the birthplace of the Conquerors -- what more inspiration do they need? It would make more sense if Tahlia was Zhongese and bonded to a water dragon, like Song's Seaspray. After all, if any nation needed someone to sway them to the Conquerors' side, it would be the fallen Zhong.

Ana, the Amayan girl with the Gila monster, was chosen to be a part of the False Four for her "exceeding connections". This makes me wonder if she was intended to be related or otherwise close to the Prime Minister of Amaya. It's never revealed what Zerif meant by this and Ana presumably dies in Fire and Ice.

The False Four in general are a really interesting (and promising) concept and I wish more was done with them. I wanted to see them rallying the four nations to the Conquerors' side and creating more of a threat to the Greencloaks! I wanted to see each of them directly paralleling the True Four! Instead, they all ended up incarcerated, insane or dead by the fourth book. Ah well. That's what AUs are for.

The absence of Lady MacDonnell is noted, but never explained. Interestingly, Rollan notices this in the same breath as he does Lord MacDonnell's children being so rigidly obedient. Considering Lord MacDonnell's character, I'm willing to bet he had his wife executed or otherwise removed for some transgression she made. After all, one of the Three Undeniable Truths is "death".

Lord MacDonnell is a really terrible guy. Despite aiding our protagonists in this book and The Evertree, he is a nasty person who keeps his own people in a permanent state of fear. This book is full of despicable characters, for sure.

What were Devin and Karmo intending to do with Abeke? And why her? Because of her connection to the Conquerors, I'm guessing. But it's never really explained. They tell her they're taking her back to Nilo, but there's no way they would just kindly take her home and let her go. Maybe the Conquerors planned to give her the Bile and then use her in some scheme. I wish this book wasn't so vague (but I also don't because it gives me more freedom as a writer).

Devin calls Abeke "vermin" in the final battle. Interestingly, Karmo doesn't seem to approve of this comment. In fact, Karmo is a lot more sympathetic than I remembered.

This is the only first arc book that Shane doesn't appear in, and for no apparent reason. I think it would have been a good choice to include him and plan to in ARHoE.

Finn has PTSD. Poor guy. I kind of like that he didn't return to Greenhaven at the end and instead stayed in Glengavin -- after all, it was the Greencloaks and their talk of destiny that led to Finn's brothers being killed, Donn retreating and Finn being so deeply scarred.

The Earl seems to threaten Conor's mother with rape in the foreboding letter he sends. I've seen several people discuss this. He tells Conor his family will starve if he doesn't hand over the Iron Boar, "and the fate of your mother will be far crueller". It's a chilling implication, and certainly a choice to include in a children's book.

Overall, Hunted is dark. For that reason, it's become one of my favourite books in the series. Beautiful cover, great writing, cool new guy introduced, failure for our protagonists and an epic cliffhanger. This one is a gem.

This is part of an ongoing series.

Wild Born | Hunted | Blood Ties | Fire and Ice | Against the Tide | Rise and Fall | The Evertree

Immortal Guardians | Broken Ground | The Return | The Burning Tide

Heart of the Land | The Wildcat's Claw | Stormspeaker | The Dragon's Eye

Tales of the Great Beasts | The Book of Shane | Tales of the Fallen Beasts

[urne-buriall]

Hi! I started rereading Spirit of the West again (thank for bringing it back again!) and wanted to ask: don't you plan to divide another one of your fics into parts like that? For example, Time has come today seems long enough. I wanted to read Summer Camp Chitaqua like that ('cause there's summer too 😀 and someone said it's a true delight and there was a date night that wasn't in the story) but 6 chapters are hard to divide probably.

I would've loved to do a "time has come to-daily" but have never worked out how it would be divided aside from, well, the chapter divisions and pace at which it was originally posted, which doesn't feel like it adds much value

but at this point it also comes down to the fact that I don't have the time now. sotw is easy because it was already divided, graphics made up, headers prepped. the posts I have here on tumblr are all queued, which is handy as lately there's no way I would've been keeping on track

all this to say to everyone that there may be variable responses from me, someone who was not super online to begin with. I'll aim to keep up with sotw daily, but can't add anything else right now

[sitp-recs]

HP Rec Fest, Day 27

Omg day 27 already?! I can’t believe this fest is almost done :( today’s prompt for @hprecfest is fun but also challenging for those (like me) who read way more canon-based fic than AUs. But I do love a good challenge so I decided to go full non-magical AU instead of picking a “Draco in the Muggle World” AU. And since I’ve been sick in bed with a lot of time in my hands I thought why not rec 2 Drarry fics + 1 rare pair. As you’ll see I love rivals to lovers a normal amount so that naturally makes Sports AU my absolute obsession jam. I’m so happy to include in one single post an old fave, a recent fave and my favourite rare pair. Run don’t walk!

Day 27) a Muggle-AU fic:

Drarry

🏒 Mad Blood Stirring by provocative_envy (E, 3k)

It's not like they've been angrily hooking up on the sly since meeting at a Juniors skills camp in fucking Manitoba four years ago, except that's exactly what they've been doing. ALTERNATIVELY: Draco and Harry really need to talk about their feelings.

fucking finally, the perfect excuse to cheekily include my fave sports/non-magical AUs and scream non-stop about them! I couldn’t care less for hockey, and yet I’ve reread this classic more times than I care to admit. this is superb rivals with benefits to lovers (my fave!), super hot and hilariously chaotic as all Drarry things should be. PE nails both characters in a non-magical setting perfectly - their voices are a delight and the constant flirting bickering made me lol every 3 seconds. they are so deliciously crazy for each other I could stay in this verse forever just watching them pine, play & fuck throughout the season - make sure to go check the FlintWood piece here, it’s equally brilliant! def a classic sports AU to reread over and over.

🚣‍♀️ Our Objective Remains Unchanged by @citrusses (E, 46k)

Harry Potter, returning member of the Oxford University Boat Club, has two goals for the spring of 2005: beat Cambridge, and beat Draco Malfoy. Perhaps not in that order.

an instant 2023 fave, this is the rowing AU I did not know I needed but boy, am I happy it found me 🙏🏼 citrus got me shooketh from beginning to end, I am awed by the world building and the whole Oxford way of life especially the classism aspect and the training ethos. everything is so vivid and refreshing and unlike anything I’ve seen in the fandom so far. the fic incorporates many canon elements and balances dialogue, world building and character development flawlessly. being in Harry’s head is an emotional ride, he’s a wonderful and relatable character and I just wanted him to be happy so badly. Draco’s arc is equally moving (I was screaming at his reappearance) and this is peak rivals to lovers!!! I was very invested in the competition and the romance is so so lovely and real. I felt incredibly sad and lost when I finished this fic because I wanted to stay in this universe forever. fun, inventive, sophisticated and surprising in the best ways, go read it now

Rare pair

Shut Up and Kiss Me by @unmistakablyoatmeal (Harry/Teddy, E, 7.7k)

There's a reason Harry walks an extra ten blocks to go to the shops and it has nothing to do with onions.

smitten Harry my beloved!!!! I’m so weak for this ship and this shop AU is the cutest thing you’ll read today, I love swooning Harry daydreaming about Teddy and being an absolute dork around him. it’s so funny (and mildly embarrassing) to watch him pine over this cool, charming, and confident young Teddy who’s not afraid to get what he wants 🌝 the clubbing scene deserves special kudos for its depiction of ageism in queer spaces and how older folks sometimes struggle to fit in. for all their differences I love how Harry and Teddy instantly click, the casual-not-so-casual flirting flows smoothly between them until the UST breaks with deliciously hot smut as per sdk’s usual. a sweet AU to check before the year ends!

[redgoldblue]

Fic Writing Review 2023 🌈

tagged by @itwoodbeprefect - i have also been thinking about this so thank you for taking the initiative!

tagging @faorism @gallantrejoinder if you'd care to do this in any form (including as writing/art review)!

Words and Fics (on ao3) 📚

words posted: 52,220, apparently. Which is actually... basically last year's but minus 10k because I didn't do H50 Big Bang this year, because med school. most things in my life now can be stated as 'because med school'. (actually I just realised I didn't do it last year either, but that was because I was already finishing a 10k H50 fic. so my point stands)

fics posted: either 6 or 29, depending on whether one counts the advent calendar as one fic or 24. plus 3 posted only on Tumblr.

first fic: love don't treat you like that (babe, I'm letting you know) (H50). on the NINTH of january, apparently. i've already lost my first-fic-of-the-year contest to last year, unless i unexpectedly finish something today.

last fic: Advent Calendar 2023 / ...Zaph Kilkane, the pre-eminent climate scientist of the 22nd century...

-

Ships and Fandoms ⚓

would you believe I literally did not repeat a fandom this year, outside of the advent calendar. and this year's AC had the most fandoms since 2019.

Hawaii Five-0 (McDanno)

NCIS: LA (Sallen)

Starsky & Hutch (S/H)

House MD (Hilson)

MASH (Punnihawk)

and then AC-only ones:

Star Trek (Spirk)

The Man From UNCLE (Napollya)

911 (Buddie)

Due South (i don't know ship names. are there ship names? Fraser/RayK)

Good Omens (Azcrow)

Leverage (thiefsome)

Almost Paradise (Ernesto/Alex. alesto. i'm coining it)

-

Top 5 Fics by Kudos 🏆

I mean, I have 6 posted fics that can be kudosed separately.

love don't treat you like that (babe, I'm letting you know) (H50)

When You're Loving Me (That's When I'm Loving You) (NCIS: LA)

Advent Calendar 2023 (see above. nine fandoms)

my powers of expression and thoughts so sublime / could never do you justice in reason or rhyme (House MD)

Finding A Cure In You (S&H)

-

Top 5 Favorite Fics 💖

okay, I'm going to count distinct chapters of the advent calendar for this. in no particular order and subject to mood change:

When You're Loving Me (That's When I'm Loving You) (NCIS: LA) - I cited this as a contender for my favourite fic I've written a couple months ago, so obviously it has to go in the year's. what can i say, fake dating is an immaculate trope, and this also all came onto the page very easily which is always vaguely miraculous.

there you go pulling me right back in (H50) - sometimes vague prompts i've had down for ages write up as something that's. fine, but a bit clunky, and I just have to move on bc it's the advent calendar and a new fic each day. sometimes I start writing them and they spring into life with joyous delight. or in this case, uninhibited grumpiness and love.

singing yesterday's songs wishing i could be with you tonight (MASH) - the one that didn't make it into the top 5 kudosed, I assume partially due to being locked and partially due to being a serious tone, not terribly shippy, and Peg POV. But I've had some version or other of it for a long time, it's one of those stories I'm genuinely proud of, and I was glad to finally post it.

Totally Normal (Due South) - it's fun. it was fun. I was slightly nervous about it, because the only prior Due South thing I'd written was Dief POV and this was Fraser and RayK POV and the first time writing either of those, but it turns out watching + liveblogging four and two seasons, respectively, of a character in four months is. enough to cement their voices in my head. it was unexpectedly easy and also. fun.

Festive Spice (MUNCLE) - i just think it epitomises the advent calendar. in the words of coolbreezemage, 'yesssss bake cakes and kiss your partner'.

HMs:

Finding A Cure In You (S&H) - this doesn't make it to the above list due to the fact that I haven't actually managed to reread it since I posted it. but just for the amount of time I spent with it, how different it is to my usual M.O. of writing, and the weird way I wrote it (entirely in the notes app, with almost zero rereading while writing), I have to somehow mention it.

A Thousand Words / To Be Spared (Good Omens) - I don't know if they're favourite but I do think they're good. and the format of to be spared was pleasingly experimental and i think it worked.

-

Fandom Fic Events 🤝

also the Starsky & Hutch SHarecon zine! which the zine still holds copyright on, but will be posted in April.

-

Projects for 2024 👀

mmm gonna sort this differently and also ramble

Ones that will definitely be finished in 2024 and if they aren't you have free rein to come to my house and tie me to a chair come November: MUNCLE wip, The Unwitting Truth Affair/The Honesty Affair, I haven't actually decided which title yet;

Starsky & Hutch, the still-unnamed Huggy & Pete wip.

Ones I have both hope and some amount of faith will be finished in 2024 and if they aren't you have free rein to come into my inbox and harass me about them: Hawaii Five-0 wip, Much Ado About Something (*salutes squares*);

other Hawaii Five-0 wip, state of disrepair. yes, I'm manifesting state of disrepair 2024. probably november/december 2024, but i'm manifesting it anyway;

Leverage wip, all that I want is a kind heart to haunt

Ones I would like to be finished in 2024, and if my brain decides it likes them might be, but all you have free rein for is to politely ask me about them once per business month: Hawaii Five-0 cath/steve/danny pwp, Wait A Minute Let Me Take You There;

horny S&H wip, Previews Of Your Body Driving Me Insane;

S&H Vanessa coda, so cordial / so rotten (don't ask me);

Good Omens wip, love won't you be as you've always been

Ones I don't expect to finish in 2024 but would like to get some words down in: angsty S&H wip, Relentless As The Rain;

ridiculous undercover H50 wip, Four Seasons of Love;

other ridiculous H50 wip, The Irritating, Annoying, Infuriating, (Effective) Seduction Techniques of One Steven J. McGarrett;

SPN ..wip? depending on the time limit on 'progress'?, Smells Like Turpentine.

vague thoughts: i'd like to write a full-length (for whatever value of that. the AC ones actually were full-length, especially the second one, but what I really mean is AC-independent) due south fic. they're very weird and i enjoyed writing them, and I'd also like to write something with RayV in it. maybe if I successfully inspired @itwoodbeprefect to write new ds, when she does that it will inspire me to write something, and we can set up a ping-pong game. no, wait, that's mixing fandoms.

I expect more MUNCLE fic. this one's already 3.5k and rocketing along, and i'm only two-thirds of the way through season 1. what form that will take i don't know at this stage but we'll see.

....i was discussing the vague concept of house/h50 crossover fic with squares literally yesterday and on the one hand I haven't written a crossover since 2014 and also don't want that to be my legacy, but on the other hand i think there is at least a 50% chance it's going to stick in the back of my brain and keep niggling.

[aurevell]

okay, so, i just recently reread both Deep Green and Neon Hours and i love the way you write Stiles and Lydia's friendship, it is such a delight and also feels very authentic—especially in Deep Green where we see quite a lot of it!

also, more generally, i really enjoy how you write the individual characters and how they interact with each other!

okay....this made my day, and i needed it. today has seriously been a day! I have such a big smile on my face right now!

and this is delightful especially because I LOVE writing Stydia as a brotp - Stiles and Lydia are so fascinating, both as individual characters and because I think they see through each other in ways that makes their friendship compelling. That, and the fact that they can both be low-key insane in the right context.