#there is technically the possibility of multiple victors in.

[victorluvsalice]

@littlemssam’s More Best Friends mod! Yes, I finally downloaded this so I could have Smiler become best friends with both Victor and Alice without them losing their best friendship either. So, after a bit of light flirting, Smiler and Victor became besties, yay. Which just so happened to finally complete both the Good Vampire AND Friend of the World aspirations for Smiler, woohoo! :D So glad to have those sorted as well! Though it did mean I wasn’t sure what to do with them for the moment -- I stuck them on a Wellness aspiration for the time being, figuring finding inner peace wasn’t exactly a bad thing. (And then sent them out to weed the garden, as getting more Gardening skill is ALSO not a bad thing.)

With that taken care of, I decided to take a bit of time and have Victor start working on his magical skills! First up using Scruberoo on himself -- first time it failed, but as the failure was NOT “he gets set on fire,” I just had him try again, and that time it succeeded. It did leave him with a lot of charge, though, so I had him do the little “Discharge” dance, then head outside to practice Untamed magic in the hopes of learning Chillio. With an audience of one of the local foxes and the rooster. XD Sadly, Victor ended up learning ZipZap instead, which isn’t exactly his speed. *grumbles* But hey, anything that helps him become more powerful as a spellcaster is good!

Anyway, while he took a break to entertain the rooster and try to make friends (the rooster liked jokes, but disliked peek-a-boo -- these chickens are hard to please!), I decided Alice need to work on her supernatural status as well. Cue me having her call Rory over so they could get in a bit of grown-up girlwolf bonding time. How did that go?

[lis-likes-fics]

Poison

Pairings: Coriolanus Snow x district!Reader Word Count: 13.3k words Warnings: NSFW, smut, technically dubcon, swearing, post-ballad, mentions of killing and death, violence, technically prostitution, oral (m and f!receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, sadistic tendencies, p in v sex, unprotected sex, coriolanus snow is NOT a good person. A/N: I started this a bit ago but writer's block hits hard. Reader did not remember who the enemy was...but she also kinda did. ANYWAy, I wrote this based around a song from Hazbin Hotel called Poison. All credit for the song goes to Sam Haft and Andrew Underberg. I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading!

PART ONE: The Deal

The knocks which echo off the walls of your house are loud, firm, assertive. You jump at the sound, watching the door like it would fly off its hinges. For far too long, you stare at the door, debating whether or not you should open it.

Who could it be? You don't get many visitors… You don't get visitors.

You stand slowly, the hairs along your arms and the back of your neck on edge. You swear that you can feel your hands shaking. You hold your breath just so you can actually hear what's going on around you.

Another firm knock is given, and you snap out of your haze.

Your feet carry you across the length of the living room. Your fingers brush the cold knob of the door, and you hesitate before pulling it open, just enough to peek through the crack to see who could possibly be visiting you.

Your eyes widen and you fight the urge to step back, both of pure shock and a modicum of fear. “Mr. Snow.”

The sight of Gamemaker Coriolanus Snow at your door was not one you ever thought you'd see. There are two Peacekeepers behind him, holding their guns tight in offense against you.

You clear your throat, looking upon his expensive suit, his white-blonde hair, the single rose in his breast pocket. You force yourself to look him in the eye, afraid to antagonize him and risk any violence, before remembering who he was. He wouldn't get violent, but you would pay for it if you angered him.

He smiles when you finally meet his gaze, but he doesn't bother to tilt his chin down to level it. “Hello,” he greets politely.

You straighten your posture slightly, opening the door a bit more out of obligation more than a desire to welcome him in. Seeing that he is the man who designed the Games that put you through hell, you would rather keep him out.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, keeping your voice as non-confrontational as possible. “Sir.”

He shrugs, pulling his hands from the pocket of his jacket and holding them behind his back. He almost seems taller this way.

“Checking up on our latest Victor,” he smiles. He motions toward your living room, “May I come in?”

You don't have much of a choice now. With a sigh, you take a reluctant step to the side and grant his invitation. When he takes his first step forward and the Peacekeepers begin to move, he stops immediately and holds up a hand. They stand firmly in their place. Snow turns back to you, smiles, and then walks inside.

He takes the time to examine the place before he ever speaks, and you close the door behind him to shut the grunts out. Snow clasps his hands behind his back once more and glances around the room like it's speaking to him. He nods slowly, humming to himself.

“How are you?” he finally asks after you've both spent far too long in uncomfortable silence. “How is the life of a champion suiting you?”

You try not to scoff, bowing your head and crossing your arms over your chest, making yourself as small as you feel.

“Well enough, I guess,” you mumble.

He glances over his shoulder at you. “You guess?��� he wonders, raising a curious brow.

You clench your jaw once, “Mr. Snow respectfully, why are you here?”

He shrugs. “As I said…checking on our Victor.”

You hum. “And you do this with all your Victors?”

The corner of his lip kicks, barely perceptible if you aren't paying attention. But you are. It would cost you a lot not to pay attention.

“That's the routine,” he says. His eyes wander around the room once more, falling back on you with a cold expression. His eyes are like frost, and you shudder at the sight of them. He tilts his head.

“You don't seem quite happy with your turnout,” he suggests, his eyes narrowing slightly in a questioning manner. You feel like your blood has just run cold. The anxiety seeps into your skin. “Why is that?”

You clench your jaw nervously, clearing your throat as you shrug. You tear your eyes away from him for just a moment and force yourself to look back immediately after.

Your voice is small and your attempt at lying fails because of it. “Why wouldn't I be happy?” you ask. “I have…” You glance around, trying to find something to point out before you seem too suspicious—uselessly, you already know you've been caught red-handed. “I have...a new house and—and prize money. And fans, apparently.”

You try not to be too disgusted by that—fans gained with the useless slaughter of children. A few months you've been out of that arena. And you still see the faces of all those children in your head wherever you go, the sounds of regret and their deaths deafened by the screaming cheers of the mindless crowd that celebrated you for it.

“I'm…” you take a breath, “all set.”

He doesn't believe you. Why would he?

“Yet you've barely moved in,” he points out, making a small circle in the place where he stands. He holds his arms out, as if to emphasize his point. “No pictures, little to no personal belongings. This house looks exactly as it did when you first moved in.”

You furrow your brows, tilting your head slightly. “You know what it looked like?” you question, a gentle and hopefully empty challenge.

He raises a brow. “I was the one who approved everything here. For your comfort, of course.”

Ah.

“No one lives here with you?” he wonders.

You shake your head tentatively. “No one to live with.”

His brows raise slightly. “No family? Friends?”

You clear your throat and shake your head once more.

He hums. “A little lonely, don't you think?”

You shrug, your arms crossing tighter over your chest as you turn slightly away. “I'm used to being alone.”

His eyes scan you up and down. “That's quite sad.”

You swallow thickly. “Doesn't matter to me.”

“Here you are all alone in your little District 7,” he says. The way he looks at you, his predatory gaze, it makes you feel so small. But his voice is soft, not as mocking as it should sound compared to his diction. “No friends, no family, and no care about the way it all is.”

You want him to leave, leave you alone to your loneliness, your quiet misery. If he is just going to stand there and call you an outcast, you don't see any reason that he should stay.

“Yeah. Your point?” You don't mean to sound so hostile but you couldn't help it.

He seems to smirk. “How would you like to change that?”

You could have gotten whiplash. You blink rapidly, licking your lip as you try to figure out if you heard him correctly. “What?” you ask.

“How would you like to change that?” So you had heard him right. “Be a little less lonely, You'd have money, friends, all of your needs would be taken care of.”

You don't trust him. Why should you? Why would Coriolanus Snow offer you all of this? Comfort and stability, a life of luxury?

At what cost?

“And you're offering this to me, why?” Attempting a little boldness, you uncross your arms and straighten your spine a bit. “What did I do? I mean…” you scoff, “I won, sure, but only by the skin of my teeth. And I'm sure you don't go around offering this to all your other Victors. What's so special about me, huh?”

There's a long silence where he just…stares at you. His face is completely unreadable, devoid of any type of emotion as he watches your face too closely.

Then a smile begins to curl his lips and he tilts his chin up just a slight. “You're right,” he says simply. Then his eyes look you up and down. “Truth is, I lied.”

You don't like the change in demeanor. It's a different kind of superiority than the one he displayed before. “I figured as much,” you reply, trying not to lose your confidence, though your voice does become a little quieter. “So what do you want? Why are you here?”

He tilts his head and steps toward you. You take an instinctive step back. “You're special,” he says. You scoff but he just shakes his head. “I can feel it. I wasn't lying about my offer. I came to give you more than…” he looks around and sighs, “an empty house with no pictures on the walls. As I said…all your needs would be taken care of.” The smallest shrug raises his shoulders. “With a price.”

There it is.

Again, you scoff. You cross your arms and roll your eyes and plop down on the couch. “Have I not paid enough?”

He walks toward you, and suddenly you regret putting yourself in such a physically vulnerable situation. “You're right,” he hums. “You have. I'm not asking much. Truth is…all I need is an assistant.”

You furrow your brow. “And you're choosing someone from District instead of Capitol?”

He takes a slow breath in, shrugging. “You suit my interests. Capitol does not.”

“So I have to, what, follow you around? Take orders from you?” You lick your lip. “And I get what exactly?”

He takes his hands from his pockets. “Shelter, money, a sprinkle of fame. Anything you could ever need or want.” He stops a moment, thinking to himself with a light hum. “You'd have to sign a contract, of course.”

You sigh, a million thoughts rushing through your head as you actually consider his offer. This is the man who literally designed your hell. He is one of the very people who forced you to fight for survival, to kill for it. For months, you've lived with nightmares full of slaughter and regret.

But for years, you've lived with isolation and solitude. He would give you everything. Shelter, money, a sprinkle of fame. A chance to start over, a chance to be a little less lonely.

But you are all too aware of the chance that this could all blow up in your face. This is Coriolanus Snow. He's not to be trusted, surely.

“And if I say no?”

He stands still for a moment, so still you wonder if he'd frozen in time. You have to urge yourself to hold his gaze. You can't seem afraid of him, you just can't.

Finally, Snow lets out a long sigh. He steps close, before turning and sitting next to you on the couch. He leans back, getting comfortable as he crosses his legs and sets his hands in his lap.

“Then you stay here,” he says plainly, shrugging before letting his gaze wander around the living room of this hollow home. “In this big…empty house.”

This big empty house. Your grand solitude.

Knowing the things you know now, you wish you could say that you would go back and change your decision. You wish you could say you'd go back and choose your loneliness over the dark nights you'd sucked yourself into.

You made a deal with the Devil. And you know that if you had the choice…you'd do it again.

I'm not above a love to cash in…

~

PART TWO: Paradise

A week later, you found yourself standing in the Capitol, in Coriolanus Snow’s office, with a contract and a pen in front of you. You scanned over the words, took a deep breath, picked up the pen, and signed your name on the dotted line at the bottom.

Snow gave you a large smile and sent an escort to show you to your new living quarters. In his house. Down the hall from his room.

And for the next couple of weeks, you've been to two separate welcome parties, two other Capitol parties, and six meetings as Snow’s new assistant. You've handled messages, documents, scheduling, and a variety of appointed tasks that have put you in positions so far above so many Capitol members, you briefly wonder if you've signed into a scam.

At first, there was…resistance among the people. There were insults that you were an animal, a bottom feeder, a whore, a parasite. But every person who had dared to insult you had gone missing the next day. No one made any questions, or remarks, after so many people mysteriously disappeared.

And, soon, you got comfortable. Because Snow held up his end of the bargain. You were comfortable, wealthy, made some friends who had taken a moment to get used to you (you suspect they're trying to be nice to you to earn favor from Snow, but at least you aren't being insulted anymore). You don't go hungry every night, you always have fresh clothes. Sure, your schedule was a bit stressful, but that was an adjustment that could be made. Asking for more would be selfish—and insane, what more could you want?

You were, on the levels that counted…happy, content.

In just a few weeks, you had settled in like you belonged. Well…maybe not to that extent, but the work became easy and the needless parties were much appreciated.

When someone knocks on your door, you're pulling your robe over your body as you walk over to answer it. One of the servants stands on the other side, looking tired from the day's work.

“Yes, Charlotta?”

“Mr. Snow has requested your presence in his study, ma'am,” she says.

You glance behind you at the clock in your room. “Now? It's so late.” You hum, “Alright, thank you. Go to bed. You must be exhausted.”

She nods thankfully and turns away. You're quick to pull your slippers on, pulling your robe tight around your nightgown before rushing down the hall. You don't want to be late to him.

You reach his door down the hall, taking in a breath and raising your fist. Your knuckles meet the door four times.

“Come in,” His muffled reply comes.

You turn the knob, opening the door. Peaking into the room, you slowly walk inside, standing by the door. “You called?” you speak gently.

Snow is slouched over his desk, his pen scrawling away at a file of papers in front of him. “I did,” he nods. There's a moment of silence between you as he finishes up the last part of his work.

He sets his pen down and sits up, his back straight as he sets his clasped hand over his lap and turns his full attention to you. “I have an urgent matter I need you to take care of.”

You close the door behind you, establishing some privacy. It must be important if he's asking you this late. He probably needs you to run some important documents to someone, or schedule another meeting with one of the ambassadors that came to one of his meetings today.

“Yes, sir?” you ask.

“Come here,” he says, making a come hither movement with his fingers. Clasping your hands behind your back, you walk toward his desk and stop in front of him. He clarifies, “Behind the desk.”

You tilt your head, your brows furrowing as you hesitate. You begin to take your first step, pause, and then make your way behind the desk.

He turns his chair as you come to stand in front of him, your hands held tightly in front of you. He sits there, staring up at you as his eyes rake over your body.

You shift from foot to foot, suddenly feeling very self-conscious about the way he's looking at you. And again…silence.

“Get on your knees.”

All the heat escapes your body at the same time. A chill rushes up your spine. And once the initial shock has dissipated, a fire spreads across your flesh and you're burning up. You feel like your hands have begun shaking, so you shift them behind your back.

You have to find your voice again, clearing your throat timidly. “Sir?” you nearly stutter, clearing your throat again.

He shakes his head, amused by the timid look on your face. “I didn't stutter.”

You don't move, shocked to stillness. Snow sighs, standing to his feet and moving in front of you. He holds his chin up, looking down his nose at you to emphasize his superiority. You shrink underneath him.

“You're my assistant. You signed a contract,” he explains. “I take care of your needs, you take care of mine. No matter the request.”

You really should have read the fine print.

“Right now,” he continues, raising a hand to brush his knuckles over your cheek. Your eyes flutter lightly at the contact, holding your breath, afraid to breathe wrong and upset him. “My needs are for you to get on your knees and put your pretty mouth to good use. Then I'll do the same for you.”

Another shudder rushes through your spine. He pretends not to notice, but his smirk does deepen. Your lips part as you try to speak, unsure of what you'll say. “I…”

He drops his hand, lifting a brow expectantly. “Is there a problem?”

You clear your throat one more time, shaking your head and glancing away from his eyes, his intense, cutting blue eyes. “No, sir.”

He smiles. “Good.”

You glance up at him. His hand reaches up and grasps your chin. In the next moment, he's pulling you in as his lips crash down against yours. It's a possessive kiss, deep and devouring—controlling.

You have no choice but to kiss him back, letting your hands fall at your sides and lifting them up to his arms. You don't know where you're supposed to put them.

Just as you're leaning into the kiss, he pulls away from you and takes a step back. His lips, still parted and smiling, are wicked. He lowers himself into his seat, his legs wide open and his hands clasped in front of him. “As you were.”

Your heart pounds in your chest. Taking an unsteady step forward, you slowly kneel to the floor. You hold your breath, avoiding his gaze as your shaky hands reach for his belt.

You undo it, pulling open his button and unzipping his pants. Exhaling, you nervously dip your hand into his pants and feel the warmth of his length against the pad of your fingers. You shudder, braving him as you pull him out of his pants.

And he doesn't disappoint.

Your eyes widen and you don't feel like it's real as you hold him in one hand. He's long with a nice enough girth that he will stretch you a bit. You curse under your breath, licking your lips as you glance up at Snow.

He smiles, watching you closely. Suddenly you feel naked. “What are you waiting for?” he asks, not cruelly.

You tear your gaze away from him, looking back down at the pink tip of his cock. You let your lips part and let your tongue fall to the edge of your lip…

~

The soft red light of Coryo’s lamp glows dimly on your skin as his strong hand cards through your hair, balling into a fist to grip your locks at his own need. Your moans stutter deep in your throat where his cock sits, the tears spring to your eyes.

His tongue plunges inside of you, licking the honey from your folds as you arch your back and moan his name. Your fingers tangle in his hair, and he groans into you at the sting of his scalp from your insistent grasp.

His lips press kisses to your back as you white-knuckle the headboard of his bed. His fingers dig into your hips, creating crescents in your flesh that crater your skin. He fucks you in long, hard strokes of his cock. His teeth are bared like a beast, his hair falls over his forehead, his groans are rough with lust.

The crashing of waves drowns you, explosions are set off deep within your body. His liquor fills your mouth, your throat, your belly. It's warm and sating, and he pulls you close to make sure you never stray from his hold.

And through the night, his arms never leave your body, his claws never leave your flesh…

~

It wasn't hard to get cocky after that. The Capitol was lavish, and it had a way of turning people to bathe in the lap of luxury. You slowly began to learn what kind of position you truly held here, and after months of being high-seated in the Capitol, you had begun to sink into your role.

Snow is the Head Gamemaker, you are his assistant. Everyone had to listen to you if they wanted to make it back home safe to their families. With a whisper in your boss’ ear, you could ensure no one ever spoke badly about you again.

Not that you have exercised that power yet, but you could. And Snow was happy to oblige.

After that first night in his room, your lips around his cock, his hand tangled in your hair, the pleasure didn't end. No, it's normal to find yourself tangled in his sheets, to find your head buried between his thighs (or vice versa), to have his name falling from your lips like you were praying to the gods that men had killed years and years ago.

You've become addicted to the taste of Snow, the smell of Snow, the feeling of Snow. It's an easy thing to overdose on.

Should you have been more careful?

Yes. Yes, you should have.

But Snow is an easy thing to get high on.

Katri spots you through the luscious crowd of one of the Capitol’s many needless parties with ease. Surrounded by nobles and benefactors, you brought your flute of champagne to your lips with a smile. A giggle erupts from your throat at one of the party-goers’ jokes—one that you didn't find particularly funny, but you've gotten really good at pretending.

Katri walks up to you, a tray of champagne in hand as she does. “Ma'am?” You turn toward her, smiling and grabbing a fresh flute from her tray with thanks. She clears her throat, “Mr. Snow has requested your presence.”

You hum gratefully. “Alright, I'll be there in a moment.”

You begin to turn around again but she insists. “He says it's urgent. He wants you immediately.”

Ah, then he's pent up. You wave a hand dismissively, sticking to your response. “Well, tell Coryo I'm busy. I'll be there in a moment.” She gives you a hesitant look, and you smile. “He doesn't have to worry his pretty little head about it. Okay?”

She scoffs lightly, turning away. “Whatever you say.”

The anxiety in the air around her is palpable with the fact that she would have to return this news to Snow. She finds him in the same place she left him, surrounded by diplomats with his own—now empty—flute of champagne.

As she approaches him, he smiles politely. “Where is my little assistant?” he asks.

Katri clears her throat as she switches his glass out for a fresh one. “She said she'll be here in a moment.”

The shift in his attitude is so slight, it's easy to miss. But she notices the slight clench of his jaw, the faintest clutch of his fingers. “Did she now?” he questions, his head tilting a bit to the side.

She nods slowly, switching her tray to her other hand. “Her exact words were…” She clears her throat once more, not wanting to recite your words back to him. You must have been out of your mind. “ ‘Tell Coryo I'm busy. I'll be there in a moment.’ ”

He seems to know there's more to it because he bids her to continue. Her eyes glance away from him as she does. “She said, ‘He doesn't have to worry his pretty little head about it.’”

She can tell there's something else he wants to say but chooses not to as his smile becomes tight. “Thank you,” he says simply, politely.

She nods. “Yes, sir.” She walks away.

PART THREE: Reality

You smile a bit when you feel Coryo’s hand land on the side of your arm, grazing up the length of it to reach your shoulder. You look up at him, immediately noticing the stiffness of his grin.

I shoulda guessed that this would happen…

“Coryo,” you greet with a smile. He nods toward the people surrounding you, greeting them politely. He doesn't look at you, just begins to lead you away from them as he ducks his head nearer to your ear.

“My office.” His words are firm, with no room to refuse.

Still, like a fool, you say, “In a moment please? I–”

His smile does not falter, but his voice is a demand as he speaks through his teeth. His grip on your shoulder becomes tight. “Now.”

You clear your throat, your smile still intact but not as professionally kept as his own. You nod once, “Yes, sir.”

He walks away, but not in the direction of his office. You watch him leave, clearing your throat discreetly and dismissing yourself from those who try to speak to you. You go straight to his office, not daring to refuse him again.

When you're there, you find yourself pacing the length of the room uneasily, waiting for him to join you. But he doesn't join you, not immediately. He makes you wait, he makes you stir. You stew in your own anxieties, cursing yourself for being so stupid as to tell him to wait.

Him.

Coriolanus Snow.

He interrupts your thoughts ten minutes later—you know, you counted—opening the door and shutting it gently behind him. He doesn't meet your gaze as he walks past you dismissively. He rounds his desk, pulling open a drawer that holds his personal scotch.

In silence, he pours himself a glass. In silence, he takes a sip. In silence, he savors the taste on his tongue and refuses to look your way for even a second.

You bow your head as you wait for him to say something, anything.

And when he does speak, you suddenly wish he hadn't.

“You're ‘busy’?” he questions.

“Sir?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

He smiles, turning to finally look at you. “ ‘Tell Coryo I'm busy. He doesn't have to worry his pretty little head about it.’ ” He licks his bottom lip, scoffing as he shakes his head at your audacity. “You let those words come out of your mouth?”

You clear your throat as quietly as possible. “I…didn't think it was a big deal… I was on my way.”

He stares at you, unblinking. Then he takes another sip of his drink and sets it down again. He walks from behind his desk, rounding to the front and leaning against it.

“Do you think you're special or something?” He furrows his brow, as though he's confused. You want to sink into the floor, to let the world swallow you whole, to disappear. “What, because I fuck you, you can talk to me any way you want?”

He puts venom behind the word, enough force to ensure you felt it. You swallow thickly, wanting to step away but knowing that if you did that, you would only make matters worse.

“Look at me,” he demands. And immediately, you obey.

You speak quickly, trying to fix your mistake before it can get worse. “Coryo, I'm sorry. I–”

“You're not special,” he cuts you off, advancing toward you. He grabs your wrist, pulling it up sharp and pulling you close to his face, inches away. You can feel his breath on your cheeks. “I own you. You belong to me.” His voice is low, dangerous.

But you've still got some pride left over. And that would be your downfall…

“I don't ‘belong’ to an–”

“You're mine!” he exclaims, though he doesn't shout. There's force behind his words, and his voice raises to a more stern, more possessive growl as he shoves you back. You stumble to the floor, grunting from the pain that shoots up your arm from landing on your elbow. You look up at him, your eyes wide with fear.

I shoulda known it when I looked in your red hot eyes…

“That's what it says in your contract, or do you not remember?” He takes a step closer, standing over you. His voice is low and dangerous, but he has no use for yelling anymore as he speaks to you. “You take care of all my needs—no protests, no complaints. Those words say that you do whatever I want, whenever I want it, however I want it. And if you complain, I take away everything you know, drop you back in your sad little district, and put your name back in the raffle one hundred times over.”

You should have known it from the beginning. A deal so good had to come with a hell of a lot of strings. From the very beginning, he had been lying to you with the idea of a shiny new life.

Spewing all your red hot lies…

He stares at you, his jaw clenched, his breath slowing to a gentler seethe. He lifts his chin, collecting himself as he takes a steadying breath. He kneels in front of you, resting his elbow on his knee.

His voice is a whisper. “You belong to me.” His tone is final, definite. “If I say speak, you say?”

Your breath trembles with a mix of anger and fear as you look up at him, tears threatening to well in your eyes but refusing to breach the surface and give him the satisfaction. Your lips part, though you hardly give yourself space to speak.

“Yes, Coryo.”

“If I say jump, you say?”

“Yes, Coryo.”

His hand wraps around your throat, pulling you forward enough so that your faces are once again only inches apart. “And if I say open your mouth, you get on your knees and drop your jaw.”

You stare at him, your gaze so close to blurring as you sigh, choked up from his suddenly poor treatment of you. “Yes, Coryo.”

The smallest smirk creeps over his lips and threatens the rest of your already weak composure. He pulls you in and his lips press hungrily against yours. It's all teeth and tongue, biting your bottom lip and licking the top of your mouth. You want to resist, but you can't. His touch, however wrong, however killing, is addictive.

When he pulls away from your lips, you nearly seek him out, releasing a breath like he'd filled your lungs with smoke. Your skin picks with red hot spite at the tiny moan that slips through your lips.

He holds your throat a little tighter, not enough to stop your breath but enough to make the tips of your ears tingle. Enough to make the heat in your core grow.

“I own you,” he whispers. “You belong to me. Do I make myself clear?”

Your lips part and shallow breaths pass pathetically through them before you finally respond, a whisper of your own. “Yes, Coryo.”

“I can't hear you.”

“Yes…Coryo.”

His grip loosens. “Good.”

He lets you go, standing to his full height once more as you take in a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as your hand flies to your throat.

You watch his hands find his belt, undoing it with deft hands. “Now open your mouth,” he commands.

You swallow thickly, slowly adjusting yourself to sit on your knees. You glance away as you drop your jaw and stick your tongue out over your teeth.

“Look me in the eyes.”

You do, immediately. His blue eyes, hiding so many lies behind them that they brim with color. “Good girl.”

Your jaw ticks as you raise your hands to pull his cock from his pants, already hard from the power he holds over you.

What's the worst part of this hell? I can only blame myself.

You wrap your lips around the tip, laving your tongue against the head before slipping it underneath him. Stroking the rest of you, you take special care in providing his pleasure as you let your lips suckle around him.

Up and down his length, you go, giving him your hot, wet mouth as he likes it—as he needs it. His hand tangles in your hair and grips it tight, guiding you just a bit to take him deeper down your throat. And you do. You take him as far as he'll go, keeping the gag awaiting at bay as you swallow around him.

I know you're poison. You're feeding me poison.

And when you think you've gone far enough, he holds you down and shoves the rest of him farther inside. Your lungs are tight, they burn with the lack of air. But you just hold onto his thighs and hope he grants you enough mercy for breath.

And when he pulls out enough for you to snatch that merciful breath, you can taste his precum on your tongue. And you waste no time in taking him again, up and down and up and down. Just like he likes it—just like he needs it.

He curses under his breath, holding you tighter as his desperation grows and grows. “Fuck, just like that,” he huffs, fighting to keep his eyes open as your tongue caresses the vein along the bottom of his cock.

His lips part, his eyes shut. He shoves you farther down on his cock as your good work pushes him over the edge. The warmth fills your mouth, down your throat in generous amounts of pent up stress. And you drink it up. Every drop. Like liquor.

Addicted to this feeling I can't help but swallow up…

You catch your breath as he collects himself once more, his chest heavy with the lust simmering down in his belly. He tucks himself away, back into his pants. And as he watches you, you lick your lips free of his poison.

He smiles wickedly, cupping your chin in his hand. “Good girl,” he praises again. You stare at him and say nothing else. He inhales, exhales, and straightens his back. “Come. We have a party to re-attend.”

You stand on unsteady feet, wiping your face clean just to ensure you aren't going back to the party with Snow’s cum on your lips.

He pulls his arm around your waist and leads you back.

At the first sight of you and Snow, the vultures swarm. “We were beginning to think you weren't coming back down,” one of them jokes.

Snow smiles, “Of course not. I just had some business to take care of. Isn't that right?” He turns to you expectantly.

You let your smile widen across your lips as you nod. “Yes, Coryo,” you say.

You can see the wicked beast glint happily in his eyes. Pleased, he turns away from you again to look at his hand, realizing it lacks the champagne flutes each of his guests hold in their hands. He smiles at you once more.

“Would you mind getting drinks for me and my guests?” he requests.

You avoid the clench of your jaw that you long to grant him, instead deciding to pull your smile into a wider grin and nod.

“Yes, Coryo.”

“Thank you,” he grins. He lifts a crooked finger to the underside of your chin, tapping it lightly. “And cheer up… It's a party.”

You give him a tight smile and walk away in the direction of the kitchens, which is currently bustling with people making another batch of the well-loved appetizers and refilling more glasses for the guests.

You pass by the champagne entirely to get to the, quite large, liquor cabinet. You pour yourself a hefty glass of scotch and gulp it down, braving the burn of your throat as you finish it with a sigh.

You replace the scotch, claim a tray, and walk out with the requested beverages. You hand them to Snow and his guest, a glorified waitress.

Taking your own flute, you hand the tray to a passing server and let the effects of the scotch sink into your bones.

You wouldn't call the rest of the night a blur, especially because you are completely aware of what was happening as you continued to mingle with the guests. You kept a hold of your wobbling tongue, and you remained civil and polite. Snow could tell there was something off—and of course he knew what it was—but you hadn't embarrassed him yet, so he let it slide.

And that night, when the guests took their leave and the party came to a close, you met Snow in his bedroom once more so he could more thoroughly remind you of who you belonged to.

And like the addict you are, you happily obliged.

~

PART FOUR: Lap Dog

You made sure not to forget your place again.

Weeks turned to months, months turned to years, and you were still seated at Snow's right hand as he climbed the ladder, dragging you along through the journey. You did everything for him, anything for him. That was your job. Whatever he asks of you is considered done as soon as the request passes his lips. Whatever he wants, whenever he wants, however he wants. No matter what.

You sold your soul to the Devil, and you were addicted to the madness of your deal.

“I need you to give this to Snow.”

You're stopped in the middle of the hall by some woman with a stack of files in her arms. She's got a smug face, and you immediately don't like her as she grabs the file at the top of her stack and thrusts it out toward you.

You sigh, taking it as you begin to flip it open. “What is it?”

She pinches the top corner closed, shaking her head. “It's not your business to know, is it?”

You scoff, smiling as you tilt your chin up. The same way Snow does when he wants to stress his rank over another person's head. “Actually,” you wave her hand away from you, “as President Snow's assistant, it is my job to know anything and everything about what goes to and from his desk.” You take a step toward her, looking down on her just as he would. “So I ask again, what is it?”

There's a long pause as she stares at you, her eyes dark with the hatred and prejudice that bleeds from her gaze. Capitol taking orders from District? It's unheard of…

You would think, since you've been here so long, that they'd learn that you rank higher than they ever will. They don't have to like you, but whether they like it or not, they have to listen to you.

It wasn't hard to become cocky, but cocky was something you learned. This woman, whoever she was, was born with it. And that was a plague that would be the end of her.

She huffs quietly. “It's the request he made for some documents.” Your brow furrows slightly. A mistake. Now she believes she knows something you don't. Now she believes she has the upper hand. Her tone betrays her. “Something about the Games’ Victors.”

You don't know what this is. You've heard nothing of the sort.

But she keeps saying “something”. You want specifics. Does she not have it? “You don't know?”

“Of course I know,” she lays a delicate hand over her delicate chest. For a moment, you wonder if she's ever had to do any kind of work (you know she hasn't). She wouldn't last a second…

“And I'd elaborate,” she continues, pulling you from your thoughts, “but I, quite frankly, don't want to tell you, and you probably couldn't read it to figure it out for yourself.” Your jaw tenses at her unfounded insult. You don't respond. “I mean, that's why you want me to explain it to you, isn't it?”

I got so good at being untrue.

You sigh forcefully, a long, deep sigh to try and control yourself. “Excuse me?” Does she truly dare to challenge you in such a way?

“You heard me,” she replies, unblinking.

Clearly, she thinks you're an idiot. A stupid, incompetent idiot. You want to take her words and shove them back down her throat. You want to grab her by the hair and drag her around like the dog she seems to think you are.

But you can't. You must remain civil, so the only way you can try to hurt her is through your words.

You don't need trouble with Snow for embarrassing him…

“Ah,” you scoff, lifting your chin again to keep your superiority. “So you're stupid?”

The blatant insult has her clutching her pearls. Obviously, she wasn't expecting that kind of bluntness from you.

You smirk at her reaction, no longer collected. You have the upper hand once more.

“You really think it's a good idea to talk to me like that? Me? President Snow's second hand?” You don't love playing that card, but it's a play that will almost always work for you.

No one would dare object to President Snow.

She hums, trying to seem unphased. “You're right,” she says, “I probably shouldn’t speak to Coriolanus Snow’s little pup like that.” Her face contorts into one of mocking sorrow, her lip jutting out and her brows furrowing. “She might get sad and go tell her master on me.”

Little pup. Little pup.

Flashes of late nights spent in Coryo’s room, nights where his stress gets the better of him and he decides to take it out on you, nights where he spanks you and calls you names and takes you hard and rough, cross behind your eyes. “My dumb little girl, my pathetic little whore, my pitiful little pup.”

And you would let him, you would encourage him. You would moan and writhe and bend to his will. And your fists tighten at the memory. They clench with rage and regret and the desire to be more than an animal.

You aren't an animal, you are a human fucking being.

I got so good at telling you what you wanna hear. I disassociate, disappear.

Baring your teeth and losing composure, you huff. You're seething as you speak. “I am not his pup.”

She chuckles, finally striking a nerve as she lifts her brows. “Aren't you? His little lap dog.” She puts emphasis on each word, ensuring the ‘G’ hurts. She walks toward you, but you don't move. You stand your ground. You aren't scared of her.

You're going to fucking kill her.

Foolishly, she continues on. “You think just because you won the Games and he decided to take pity on you, that gives you any real power?”

You scoff. Pity. He doesn't know the meaning of the word.

“You're his whore,” she spits. It doesn't anger you because it's true, it angers you because no one even knows about that part of your deal, and she's accusing you of being a whore because of who you are.

Her face is inches from yours, her voice trying to be lower, though it's so naturally snooty that it's hard to reach that threatening level. She sounds like a child. And her sneer makes you want to treat her like one.

“You're a fucking slut. Just a little District animal who got lucky.”

Your anger flares. You grit your teeth. You lower your voice, successfully, and nearly growl.

“You wanna say that again?”

She smirks wickedly. “You are a whore.”

You walk toward her. She's standing so close that she is forced to step back with the stutter of her heels scraping the floor.

“You forget,” your lips turn in a venomous smile, fueled by rage and violent tendencies you're trying your best to hold back, “I fucking won the Games. I killed tributes with my bare hands, and you want to challenge me?”

And you see the flash of fear behind her eyes at the reminder, though she tries to hide it. But you know fear. You've felt it slice your flesh, you've used it to slice other's flesh. You know the biting and the tearing and the clawing of fear, and you can see it clear in her eyes even as she tries so hard to hide it.

Being afraid is the smartest thing she's done since she decided to open her mouth.

“You aren't going to do anything,” she says, as a defense more than an accusation, a reassurance for herself more than a taunt for you. “You'll just tuck tail and run to master–”

You're done being civil. You're done rolling over and showing your belly. You're done bowing your head and taking orders.

If they are going to treat you like an animal, you'll behave like one.

And she meets the blunt end of your rage with a fist to the face. Stacks of files smack loudly in a pile on the floor. You clip her cheek with the ring on your finger, and you huff at the pleasure that comes with defending yourself.

Her face whips to the side. It's a full body reaction. She staggers, crying out as her hand flies to her face, unable to take the heat of your violence. She looks back at you, her eyes wide with fear, too much to have room for anger.

You don't give her the chance to make room for it either. You punch her again on the same side, this time letting your fist connect with her brow. And when she stumbles again, you shove her back so she falls to the floor.

The sounds of her pain are loud and evident. But the bliss you gain from them is only so perfect because she deserves it.

And as you straddle her body, you can smell her fear just as well as you can see it. You can taste it like the blood she tastes on her tongue as you hit her again, and again, and again.

“What is going on here?”

You're off of her in an instant—and it's no scramble. You maneuver off of her with ease and scoop up your files once more, straightening your spine as you stand back and join Snow's side with one hand behind your back, bloodied knuckles and all. You sniff, the rueful look on your face taking a moment to dissipate as you replace it with civility.

You are a human being.

You don't look at Coryo’s face. You know it's covered with anger and disappointment. It's worse if he's stone cold. You can salvage this…

The woman rolls over onto her side, holding her nose delicately as she struggles to her feet. Tiny gasps and painful moans slip from her lips. She got what she deserves.

“Sorry, sir,” you say, obviously lying.

Suddenly, you feel like you should have punched her one more time. Because she begins to laugh. It's a bubbling laugh that you're sure is hurting her.

You can't do anything now. Not while Snow is here.

She shakes her head, licking her split lip and wincing through her laugh. Snow finds that more offensive than your empty apology, more offensive than even your savage display of violence.

“What's your name?” he demands.

She straightens up just a bit more. She also doesn't seem to understand the situation because she has a snarky grin on her face that says that she believes she's coming out of here on top. But those odds are not in her favor.

“Ellyn Halper,” she says.

“Ms. Halper.” He watches her, looking her up and down, his eyes strict and cold. He makes her squirm, even as she looks confidently at him. “You're fired.”

The news hits her like a train. She steps back, faltering, the horror crossing her face. “What?” She scoffs, glancing between the two of you as she shakes her head. “She attacked me!”

“And she wouldn't have attacked someone unprovoked,” he raises a brow. You try not to smile at him taking your side—and it's easy, because they talk about you like a misbehaved pet. “She must have had good reason. Clean out your desk and get out of my sight.”

She lingers, disbelief painting her features and mixing with her anger. When she doesn't move, Snow tilts his chin down and glares.

“Now.”

It's here that her rage outweighs her sense. She loses it. “You're going to protect this animal over Capitol?” she yells, pointing at you.

Still riding the high of your violence, you bare your teeth. “I'm not–”

“Quiet,” Snow snaps.

You shut your mouth.

Ellyn shakes her head, her lips twitching. She looks straight at you, sighing. She steps forward, stopped by Snow's warning hand. She leans in, “You're a disgrace.”

Snow can't have such blatant disrespect.

“Pack your bags, Ms. Halper,” he says. “I'm sending you to the districts.” Her horror is palpable. “We'll see who the animal is. I'm sure they would love to get their hands on Capitol.”

Snow doesn't give her any more attention. He turns and walks away, your impending punishment terrifying as you listen to his steps. You huff gently at her, slowly allowing your lips to split into your triumphant grin.

Snow calls your name. Your lips fall. You turn.

“Lap dog,” she spits.

Your jaw ticks. You turn again, and watch her step back. Your lips part, but before any sound can actually breach your lips, Snow calls your name again, firmer this time.

You huff, harder this time, and leave. You try to wipe the sight of that terrible smile on her bloodied face from your memory.

~

“What was that?”

He's pissed. His jaw ticks as he sets his hands on his hips.

But there's enough anger to go around.

Smacking the files on the desk, just as loudly as before as you jut your finger out towards them in accusation, you counter, “What is this?”

He dismisses you carelessly. “That's my business. Not yours.”

Before he can speak again, you cut him off, speaking quickly and concisely. “In my contract, it says I take care of your needs. It also says that I am your secretary and personal assistant. I handle your accounts, your documents, everything—so that means this is my business.” Stepping close to his desk, you lean forward toward him and lower your voice. “What is this about?”

Instead of answering you, he straightens his back and lifts his chin. With an amused scoff, he smirks lightly. “You actually read your contract.”

You don't appreciate his taunts. You read the full extent of your contract years ago, and you make sure to reread it every month to ensure you've memorized every detail. If he's got you on a tight leash, you need to know how much room you actually have to move.

“Coriolanus,” you huff. You wish you could say you won't say it again, but he'd make you repeat a million times if he felt like it. And you would have to obey. “What is it about?”

He's silent as he thinks to himself, contemplating. How does he answer your question without giving you the power and the luxury of a response?

But it's easy for him to remember that he will always have the power. He will always have the upper hand.

He breathes in, and you watch his lips curve. “The Victors.”

“I heard that,” you say. “What about them?”

His smile grows. The mischief and cunning lights up in his eyes. He places his hands in his pockets, rounding his desk as he leans back on it, crossing his ankles as he does. “This deal between you and I works pretty well, I'd say.”

You clench your jaw, unhappy with where this conversation is leading. You shake your head, “And?”

“And,” he shrugs, “there are and will be plenty more victors out there fit to do the same.”

You lose some of your bravado, your anger and confidence replaced by hesitant disbelief. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Sometimes you forget that Snow was, in truth, an evil man. Between your nights of passion and unnecessary gifts, it's easy to forget about the monster underneath his façade of fancy suits and beautiful roses.

He circles your body, like predator to prey…as always.

“I make sure people stay interested in the Games. And people like to keep up with our Victors,” he turns toward you suddenly. “I mean, they seem to take plenty of interest in you.”

You shake your head, your voice weak, “Coryo.”

He ignores you, continuing on. “These Victors are interesting. And some are considered to be quite…attractive in some senses.” He stops in front of you, smiling evilly. “A contract here and a signature there–”

“Coryo,” you try again, your voice trembling this time.

“–and these rich cats can have a Victor all to themselves.”

“Coriolanus.”

He stops, watching you expectantly as you try to wrap your head around his vile proposal.

They didn't deserve this. These Victors have already been through so much and he wants to add more grief and misery to their lives?

You were already lost the moment he stepped foot in your house, the moment you signed that contract, the moment you fell to your knees in his office and had your first taste of him. There was no hope for you now.

He'd gotten you addicted a long time ago…

“These are people,” you all but beg, clasping your hands together in hopes of persuading him away from his sadistic plans, “they're human beings. They aren't animals for you to sell.”

He makes a face, smiling wide as he leans in. “They are animals.” You expected this response, but it still hurts for him to say it so indisputably. “And they're for me to do whatever I want with.”

You clench your teeth and watch him turn away again, reclaiming the file and dropping it into a drawer he pulls open. “And besides, they won't be sold indefinitely.” He looks up at you with that sly grin of his. “The Capitol should be able to have their fill…”

You scoff. “Oh, so they're not just your slaves, they're your prostitutes.” You can't believe him, though you know you should.

He’d done it to you. What was stopping him from doing it to the rest?

Hopefully, you.

“They're my pets,” he counters. He leans forward onto his desk. And he's so tall, that he manages to lean in so much that he can see each little fleck of your irises as you stare unblinkingly at him. “Just like you.”

You nod, pursing your lips. “Okay, then I'm your pet.” You lean in as well, this time. You lean in so close that he has no choice but to shift away from you. “Not them.” You lick your lip and round the desk, wanting so desperately for him to hear your voice for once.

You plead, because it's the only thing you can do. Your voice is quiet, desperate, weak. Just the way he likes it.

“Let them go. You do enough to them, they don't deserve this.”

He doesn't hear you. He doesn't care.

“They deserve whatever I decide.”

Your jaw tenses, your thoughts scrambling to figure out a solution. Any solution. You just need to persuade him, to change his mind. This doesn't need to happen.

But his eyes are so cold, so stoney, so lying. There's no sympathy there and there will never be sympathy there. So you try to sway him in the way you know best.

You drop to your knees, skilled and shaky hands grasping his belt as you begin to undo it quickly. “What are you doing?”

The metal clinks as you work at it, pulling it free from the first loop as you begin to take the latch from its adjusted position. “Changing your mind,” you answer plainly. As you loosen the belt, tugging on it to remove it from the loops of his pants. “This is what you want, isn't it? You're just trying to rile me up to get me to do what you want. I'll do it–”

“Get the fuck off me.”

He pushes you away, shoving you onto the floor like you're nothing. And to him, you are. Nothing.

He doesn't seem angry, just annoyed at your audacity… And then he seems amused. His face lifts and he begins to smile. His smile turns to a chuckle, and he shakes his head as he looks down at you, purely amused by your attempt at persuasion.

“Oh, I get it,” he laughs, walking toward you to properly tower over your meek body. “You think that because I fuck you that I actually care about what you want.” He pronounces the F to hurt, punching it while also saying it with such disregard that it truly shows how little it means to him… Nothing.

He kneels down, resting his arm on his knee and watching you with those taunting eyes. “This isn't about you,” he whispers. Though his voice is soft, it cuts like a knife. Your hands tremble as they lift you up.

He spews his poison without restraint. “You are an animal. And yes, you are my lap dog.”

He feigns sympathy and remorse that he isn't capable of. “You think I swooped in earlier and punished that stupid girl because she talked down to you? I punished her because you're mine, and if I let someone get away with disrespecting my things, no one will respect me.”

He spews all his hatred, and you take it all. “I couldn't care less that she called you an animal or a whore or whatever the fuck else because you are.” It's a slap in the face each time as his voice becomes more and more hateful. “You're my pet, and you're my whore. You belong to me.”

So far beyond difficult to resist another gulp.

You stare at him, your face fallen as you seem to learn your lesson for the thousandth time. You're nothing to him. You're just property, and you mean nothing.

He smirks, standing to his full height once more as you remain tossed to the floor. You stare at him, your fight diminished.

“Speak.”

Like a dog.

“Yes, Coryo.”

Obedient.

“Smile.”

It looks like a sneer.

“Yes, Coryo.”

Well-trained.

Your lips part as you open your mouth, dropping your jaw as you've been doing for years.

And though that satisfies him beyond all belief, that satisfaction is all he needs. “Close your mouth.”

Nothing.

“Yes, Coryo.”

Your monotonous tone falls silent as you await his next command, a dog waiting for orders from her master.

He bends down, grasping the front of your shirt in his fist and pulling close. His face is inches from his. You don't fight him, you don't resist in any way. You let him move you as he pleases, staring blankly at him.

He looks about the length of your face. His smile is wholly evil. “Don't forget what you are.”

Quiet, broken, weak is your voice. Just the way he likes it.

“Yes, Coryo.”

He hums, letting you go. “Good girl.”

~

PART SIX: Addiction

You hear the footsteps coming down the hall and ignore them all the same. Flipping the next page in your book, you sigh gently and pull your legs closer toward you. Just a couple more sentences is all you ask…

Your door opens without a knock, and you aren't surprised. This is his home, you are his pet. Why ask permission for something which belongs to him?

You force yourself to meet Coryo’s gaze, the exhaustion in your eyes clear. He's in the same clothes as before, though his hair is more relaxed and his shirt is looser, the top few buttons undone to let his chest peek from its hiding spot. With one last sigh, you close your book.

You slip off the bed, easing down to your knees. Letting your hands rest in your lap, you allow your jaw to drop open wide, ready to receive him as you push your tongue out over your bottom teeth.

He smirks lightly, his chuckle even lighter. “Down girl.” You close your mouth.

“How do you want me?”

He sighs gently, closing the door behind him and slowly walking inside. “Believe it or not,” he says, his voice gentle, “I'm not here for me, I'm here for you.”

You raise a brow, unimpressed and suspicious. “Why?”

Your attitude amuses him. He shrugs, taking a seat at the edge of your bed and looking down at you. It doesn't feel as condescending as it usually does. “Making up.”

Foolish hope sparks in your chest, but you don't let it show. “So you're not going through with it.”

“No, I am.” He hums, “But I can't have my pet neglected, now can I?”

You sigh, turning away from him. You don't know why you asked.

He pats the spot next to him. “Get back on the bed, my flower.”

You look down at your hands as you rub at your pinky. “Yes, Coryo.”

As you sit up, taking the spot next to him, he tuts gently. “Now, now. No need for that tonight,” he says, closing the gap between the both of you.

You look up at him, your attitude fully present still. “Yes, Coryo.”

He sighs. Coryo sets a hand on your knee, turning toward you. “You're upset,” he says. You scoff. “That's understandable. I upset you.”

You want to say something snarky, but you're on thin ice from today, and you don't need to make it thinner. You turn away, but he catches your gaze as he takes your chin with his crooked finger and turns you to face him again.

And you hate yourself for feeling cared for.

“Let me make it up to you.”

You hate the way you nearly melt. “You can make it up to me by letting them go.”

He hums, shrugging. “Or I can eat you out.” You feel like you might shake at the idea. When you don't speak, he raises his brows. “Unless you just want me to leave…”

He's manipulating you. You know he is. He's been doing it since the beginning. You'd think you had some sort of defense against him at this point, but he's had years of practice in bending you to his will, in getting you hooked on him.

He knows. He knows what you are.

You're feeding me poison.

And you give in. Because you've never been strong against him, not even for a moment. You give in because you're so addicted to him that you'd die without the taste of him on your tongue…

With a long sigh, you lay back against your pillows and spread your legs. His smile spread across his face in such a wicked way, self-satisfied and fully amused.

He sets a hand on your knee and shifts himself to kneel in front of you. He slowly pulls your panties down your legs and pushes your nightgown away, teasing you and increasing your still-there frustrations.

Yes, you've lost the ability to resist this man and his sexual prowess, but that doesn't mean you want to draw this out. It's shameful enough…

He knows this. That's why he does it.

His lips press to the inside of your knee, then further down your thigh, and then right back up. You huff silently, annoyed with his antics.

He gives you a disarming smile. “Come now, my flower,” he tuts. “I may be spoiling you but that doesn't mean we don't still have our manners.”

You lay your head back, sighing as you let your eyes shut. You lick your bottom lip. “Please, Coryo.”

He hums. “I am sure you can do far better than that.”

Maybe you should cry. Maybe if you cry, he'll think you're ugly and leave you to live back in your lonely home at Seven. He'll think you're too worthless to go back into the Games. You could sober up the hard way… He'll leave you be.

But you know Coriolanus, which means you know that would never happen. He'd tsk, tsk, tsk and tell you how perfect you look crying. He'd hold you down and fuck you and tell you to be a good girl and keep crying for him. And you would. You know would.

Besides, if he did cast you out, he would just choose someone else to take your place. Then he would do this to them.

Better you than someone else.

You look up at him, screwing your face into a self-pitying expression. Your voice is small and meek when you open your mouth.

“Please, Coryo,” you whisper, “I'm yours.”

Just the way he likes it.

Pleased, he presses another kiss to the inside of your thigh, and then lets the flat of his tongue lick along the seam of your pussy. A whimper slips from your lips at the feeling, and you let yourself fade into the pleasure.

You forget that this man is your captor, your master. You forget that he's the reason for your nightmares. You forget that he's dark, cruel, sadistic, that he does not truly care for you.

You lose yourself in the fantasy that he is a loving man who only wants to see you happy.

“Coryo,” you moan as he suckles eagerly at your clit, a man starved of his sweet wine. Coryo. Not Coriolanus. Not Snow. Your Coryo. Your gentle, loving Coryo. The man who held you when he wasn't forcing you to your knees and bidding you to be his good girl.

His fingers stroke inside of you, two long fingers curling with you as his tongue flicks at your clit. The stretch of his fingers is welcome, and you look down at his head nestled between your thighs. You whine at the feeling of his tongue, hungry and searching.

His dull nails dig into the flesh of your thigh. As his tongue delves inside of you with his lips suckling around you, you feel his nose press deliciously against the sensitive bundle of nerves, which aches for release.

Circling his head, your legs wrap around him and squeeze, the tension tightening in your belly as he works eagerly at your pleasure. You're helpless to him as sounds rise from your throat like a gentle hum. Again, you whisper his name, lost to the feeling of him. He grunts into you, your body warm with the vibration, with the warmth of his mouth, with the warmth of his hands on your thighs.

“Coryo,” you whimper as you feel your pleasure rising within you, tingling in your legs and in your toes. Your open-mouthed breaths make your throat dry, but it’s hard to focus on that when each breath you take fills your chest with more and more desire. “I’m so close,” you gasp. “Please, can I cum?”

Instead of answering, he just sucks harder on your clit, prying your thighs further apart as he licks you up. As that coil tightens in your belly, your legs tremble and almost fight against his grip keeping them apart. You grind your hips up to meet his face, he holds you down.

You know how he likes it—the grinding, the moaning, the pleading, the strength. And when the pleasure crashes down on you, your clit pulsing against each lick of his tongue as he continues to work you, you shut your eyes and let out the breathy moans he loves so much. Your chest is full of warmth.

I’m choking on this feeling I can’t help but swallow up.

“C-Coryo,” you mutter, the sensitivity becoming too much as your legs continue to tremble. You arch away from him, but he holds you tight and pulls you closer. He forces your legs apart still, not quite finished as he continues to suckle around your sensitive bud.

You gasp when he finally pulls away, satisfied with the taste of you. “What a good girl you are,” he murmurs, smiling almost wickedly—though you replace it with one full of love and care. One can only dream.

He crawls up your body, stalking like a predator as he leans in, his face inches from yours. You bring your hands up to his cheeks and pull him down to meet your lips, kissing him with all the passion you can muster. He cares, he cares, he cares.

He cares as he traces his tongue along the seam of your lips. He cares as he smooths his hand along your soft thigh. He cares as he brings your leg up against his side and grinds his hips against you. He cares as he digs his dull nails into your flesh like the claws of a lion. He cares as he sinks his teeth into your bottom lip like the fangs of a wolf.

He definitely cares as he brings a strong hand to your hair and tangles his fingers there with every intention of tugging you back to see your face. You whimper lightly, sinking into it and pretending the burn of your scalp is just the heat of your desire.

I made my choice and every night I’m wasted like there’s no tomorrow.

“You’re so pretty,” he smiles, and you fully understand the unspoken “like this” that follows his words but you choose to ignore it.

He kisses you again, this primal, devouring kiss you gladly mistake for ardor. He takes the bottom of your nightgown in his hand and pulls it up and over your head. You let him take it off of you. You let him strip you bare as his greedy hands smooth along the length of your body. Tentatively, not fully committed (you would be perfectly content with his lips on yours, kissing him forever under the illusion of simple intimacy), you pull at his belt. He undoes it and pulls it off entirely. You think he’ll toss it away, but it doesn’t.

“Open your mouth.”

Obediently, you do. He wraps the belt around your head, fitting it in your mouth as he loops it behind and pulls it tight. You nearly wince at the feeling, but he’s done worse. He unbuttons his pants, leaning down as he presses his lips to your neck. He kisses and sucks and nips at your throat, and you both let out deep moans that rumble in your chest when he presses inside of you.

You lean your head back, giving him more space to paint your neck in his claim. The taste of leather is strong on your tongue. Each breath you take is full of the earthy scent of his belt. You set your hands on his waist as he braces his fists on either side of your head. His thrusts are deep and rough. You feel his hips as he moves, his slender waist fits perfectly between your legs.

Your moans are muffled by his belt. As you dig your heels into his back, encouraging each thrust as he gives them, he grunts at the way you tighten around his cock. His hips snap into you with a greed that makes you crazy, that drives him wild. Taken by the pleasure, he grabbed the belt behind your head and pulled it in a way that made you look up at him.

His lips are plump from kissing you so roughly, his hair is loose and falling in delicate locks across his forehead, his breath fans gently across your own face. He looks pretty like this. Even with the predatory gaze in his eyes, he looks pretty. You want to kiss him but you don’t. You can’t.

He breath stutters in his throat after a particular thrust, and your eyes flutter shut as you moan at the feeling. He continues to fuck into you, like it’s the last time. There’s nothing gentle about it, nothing sweet or nice or careful. He fucks you to his own need, but knows you well enough that it would fill you with so much pleasure that it doesn’t matter if he does it for him.

And he knows you well enough that the lack of care he has in his thrusts fills you with so much longing that he doesn’t need physical pain to be sadistic.

He pulls out of you suddenly, his breath coming out in hot puffs as he leans back on his haunches. “Turn around,” he orders, though his voice is quieter—there’s no real need to bark with you.

Anyway you want me, baby, that’s the way you got me.

You do as you’re told, ignoring the discomfort in the loss of him inside of you as you sit up and move as quickly as you can with the sluggish nature of your desire for him mixing with your depletion. As soon as you’ve turned around, he doesn’t care to give you time to adjust to the new position before he’s grabbing the belt again, wrapping it around his fist, and taking your hip in his other hand as he shoves his cock into you once again.

You go to hang your head, the feeling too great, but you’re stopped by his grip of the belt. Setting the quickened pace at the beginning, he fucks into you fast and rough. The sound of his skin smacking against yours fills the room. A light sheen of sweat coats your body as the heat fills you inside and out. His name is muffled on your lips, but his grunts are clear in the air.

His hand on your waist circles around as he presses his fingers to your still-sensitive clit. He rubs fast circles against it, building you up, up, up. You can’t help but whine, you can’t help but feed his hunger as he fills you with pleasure. Your legs tremble, and with his skill, it isn’t long until he hurls you into your second orgasm.

You throw your head back and moan, the sound rough with your desperation. But he doesn’t stop. He isn’t finished. He fucks your sensitive cunt. His eyes flutter at the tightening of your cunt.

You feel so weak, tired from the exertion but not fully satisfied until you’ve given him all that he needs. You’ve been with this man for years and the conditioning settled in a long time ago.

I’ll be yours.

So, yes, he keeps going and keeps going and keeps going. He takes you on your back, he takes you on your hands and knees, he takes you against the wall (front and back), he takes you in his lap, and he never stops each time until you’ve come apart in his hands. Pent up with so much stress and spurred on by the fatigue in your eyes, he lasts through it all.

You don’t know how long you’ve been going by this point. All you know is the rhythm of his hips thrusting in and out and in and out as he pushes you down into the bed with your ass pulled up against his hips and your face buried in a pillow. His hands push against your back, keeping you down still. You can hear his breath, heavy with his own nearing exertion. His thrusts are beginning to lose their rhythm, becoming more and more desperate with his nearing release.

You can hardly keep your eyes open. All your breaths have been reduced to shallow whimpers, and as his finger presses against your clit again, a mewl slips from your throat as it pleads for relief and release alike. You hear him begin to curse under his breath, his thrusts rougher though not as steady. And he presses you further still as he moves closer, seeking his relief as it gets so close, he can taste it.

And, because you know him just as well as he knows you, you tip him over the edge as you let your lips part. Your voice is small and meek and whiny, a needy little cry that he hears because he craves it. “Coryo.”

“Oh, fuck,” he growls.

He fucks you hard in the first few seconds that he spills into you, his cum hot and plentiful as he moves himself farther against you as if he could go deeper still. And as his fingers flick at your clit, you accompany his needy moan with your own as you cum as well. You’re blinded by the feeling, left mewling as your eyes well with tired tears. It’s almost uncomfortable and you wince slightly when he presses a little too deep into you.

Coryo lingers there, his breath evening into a steadier rhythm as he eases off of you. You take in a full breath as he pulls out of you, closing your eyes and going limp against the sheets. Your body is so heavy, full of the exhaustion that has haunted you for years, exhaustion that comes with belonging to Coriolanus Snow. You wish you could slow down, take a breath, but whatever Snow wants, Snow gets.

My story’s gonna end with me dead from your poison.

Coryo runs a hand through his hair, letting out a long sigh. He picks your nightgown up from the floor and wipes the both of you clean with the smallest modicum of care. You feel his knuckles brush against your shoulder and you shiver as he lets it graze gently along your spine. He stops it at the dip of your back.

Coryo turns off your bedside lamp, crawling into the bed as he shifts behind you, a gentle hand falling to your side as he pulls you into his body. And you actually find comfort in his arms as he pulls you closely to his body. His head rests in the crook of your neck, your body is pulled flush against his. His warmth seeps into your skin and you let your eyes flutter shut as he pulls the covers over your bodies.

And for a moment, everything is perfect. For a moment, you trick yourself into believing that this man can be capable of love.

But you feel his arms tightening around you until your lungs are so tight that it’s nearly impossible to breathe. You feel his nails, eager and greedy, digging into your flesh, and you wince at the terrible sting of them. He pulls you closer, not just seeking your warmth, but seeking full control and possession over something that already belongs to him. You silence your whimper.

I’m drowning in poison. I keep fillin’ my glass but it’s always hollow, full of poison.

When you can get past the pain of his embrace, you manage to lull yourself to sleep. You rest in his clutch and indulge in the false security of his empty arms.

But your rest is short-lived. Because halfway through the night, he wakes. Coryo opens his eyes and loosens his hold on you. You rouse from your own sleep but you stay perfectly still with closed eyes and steady breath. He lets go of you completely, getting out of the bed and leaving the room with silent steps. He has work to do.

I’m sick of the poison.

Once the door is closed, you’re left cold and alone. You curl up in on yourself, turning your head into the pillow as you feel the dam break. And like an idiot, you cry into your pillow. Your chest stutters with all the pain and weariness and hopelessness you carry with you through the day, through the night. You let it out, but it never seems to fade. And as the fatigue takes over once more, you let it take you into a sleepless kind of sleep where your nightmare of holding love in your hands plays in your mind over and over and over again.

Wish I had something to live for tomorrow.

Coriolanus Snow taglist: @the-nerdy-goddess Tag yourself here...

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

briar valley brain worms time

The new Lilia SSR comes with furniture instead of vignettes. The name of a frame that comes with him when his vignette level is at 2 refers to Lilia’s homeland as “Briar Country/Nation” instead of “Briar Valley”. It could be a typo. ORRRRRR it could allude to the history of Twisted Wonderland??? 👀 Thinking about it, "country/nation" refers to a somewhat substantial plot of land, yes??? While "valley" refers to something much geographically smaller, the low area of land between hills or mountains. This implies that the Briar Valley USED to have more land to its name, but has since downsized. Why might this be?????? I GOT YOUR ANSWER FOR YOU, IT'S THE HUMAN-FAIRY WAR. Lilia's dream supposedly takes place in the past and during war time (due to all the fae soldiers, Lilia being in his soldier uniform, and the canon fire witnessed in the events of the main story). We have heard vague mentions of tensions between humans and fae, as well as a war between them, in several other instances in TWST, so it's likely that Lilia's dream takes place during this aforementioned human vs fae conflict, and back when the Briar Valley was "Briar Country/Nation" (and had more land). But something must have gone "wrong" for them along the way, leading to their defeat in this war, and thus some of the land being taken from the losers as spoils. This would explain why Briar Country/Nation was reduced to being just a "valley". Something else’s that interesting to consider is the world map of TWST. If you look to the north, you will find modern day Briar Valley there. Notice how the marker for Briar Valley is squarely in the mountain ranges whereas most other countries span massive areas and are NOT denoted by single points. (Only Harveston, another small and conservative community, is also marked by a single point. It’s a village that is part of the larger region of Pyroxene/the Shaftlands).

We don’t have the name for the landmass that Briar Valley sits in as a whole, which is odd for a world map. (It’s like marking Tokyo city but not the prefecture or the country of Japan itself.) Is it possible that the landmass altogether counts as “Briar Country/Nation”? But if that’s the case, then why wouldn’t the Draconias rule “Briar Country/Nation” and not JUST the “Briar Valley”?? Is it possible that this landmass HAS no unified name because… there are multiple people with stakes on the land??? And the Draconias only have power in the small region that is the valley???

If you were soverign of a state, you couldn’t degrade your status by saying “Oh yeah, I’m the ruler of this one particular small section”, when you actually ruled the whole landmass. You’d announce you rule the whole landmass. (It’s the difference between saying, “I’m the Prime Minister of Tokyo” and, “I’m the Prime Minister of Japan”; the former is technically true but the latter is more impressive.) The fact that the Draconias seemingly don’t says to me that what they say must be true: they only oversee the “valley” portion of this land.

What else do we see there on the world map? Dotted lines which likely denote who owns which territories. But look at Briar Valley--even though it's on its lonesome in the north, it's implied to only take up a small bit of land in the mountains. There are several dotted lines running through the land, carving it up into smaller areas, which may implicate dividing up the spoils after a war. You'll also notice that Briar Valley is basically surrounded by (what I assume are) human dominated countries, which would put it in a tough spot geographically (but would also explain why there are so many divisions; if each human-dominated country participated in the war, then as the victors, there would have to be many territories in Briar Country/Nation for each of them to have for themselves). Also notice that if we use the dotted lines as guides, the actual size of Briar Valley is TINY (which falls in line with the lore given to us thus far about it).

If you take note of the sections around Briar Valley, there are 4 other parts. Now look back at the world map; excluding the Sunset Savanna (which I believe is beastman dominated), there are roughly 4-5 notable human countries (Queendom of Roses, Shaftlands, Land of Dawning, Sunshine Lands, and Kingdom of Heroes). This is assuming most of, if not all, human dominated countries were involved in the war. (Sage’s Island is not included in the count because it’s so small and we don’t know much about how it operates as an entity relative to other nations which are considerably larger). That’s eerily close to the number of times the Briar landmass has been carved up 🤔 which is mildly suspicious—

If this is the case, then it would showcase a historical shift from a period when fae were in prominence to modern day, where the focus seems to be more on seeking equality between the races--something which Lilia himself wishes for on multiple occasions, and is a wish that he wants to pass on to others in Diasomnia.

Not me overthinking the title to furniture items just to squeeze lore out of them 🤡 I'm so thirsty for lore, you don't even know--

[kourtniwritesagain]

Say it with Me Now...Sleep!

A/N: I wrote a similar story years ago, but I seriously can’t find it ANYWHERE. This is my attempt at not exactly rewriting it but doing something equally as fun. So, enjoy sleep-deprived Timmy Drake-Wayne. 

Listen, Tim is well aware that he is not exactly the most forthcoming when it comes to information about his general well-being. He knows that he's technically lying. However, everyone lies, right? Like, Dick lies about having free time so he can help whoever needs it when his shoulders can't possibly hold any more weight. Jason lies about hating everyone when he loves the hardest. Damian lies about never caring about feelings when he feels the most. Duke lies about not feeling like an outsider even though everyone knows he still hasn't accepted his position in the family. Cass lies about… okay, well, Cass doesn't lie. But Bruce! Bruce lies about freaking everything. So…Tim lying about sicknesses, injuries, and sleep isn't like…out of the ordinary in Tim's family. So he doesn't really feel bad about lying to Alfred about getting a full night's sleep the previous night. 

Well, he doesn't feel too bad. 

Tim had, at one point in his life, gotten a full night's sleep. It just wasn't last night. Or the night before that…and so on and so forth. Now that Tim was thinking about it, he'd been up for a full three days. Not his longest record, but the longest in at least six months. Tim is currently working on three cases for Batman Inc., multiple marketing packages for Wayne Enterprises, and two school reports. The cases are what's taking most of his time. 

The first case has to do with Scarecrow. Tim believes Crane is working with a new supplier, someone outside of Gotham. He hasn't been able to find out who it is, but he's at least narrowed it down to either Star City or Metropolis. The second case concerns Ivy, which really sucks because she's been relatively quiet ever since she and Harley got together. Honestly, Tim isn't really sure it is Ivy, but it's got to do with these weird plants popping up around the city that shoot some kind of ichor at anyone who gets near. It wouldn't be that big of a deal if it weren't for the fact that the ichor causes blindness for up to two weeks. Tim's been working on a cure, but so far, he hasn't had much luck. Hence, he really needs to talk to Ivy. The third case deals with Victor Zsasz…or, at least, Tim thinks it does. There's been a string of near murders of sex workers in Crime Alley. Jason has been working on it for two weeks, but he's never caught anyone in the action. Jason came to Tim four nights ago to ask for help, which is very usual for Jason. Usually, he sends files and assumes Tim will help. Jason's case is Tim's number one priority. Zsasz is toying with people at the moment. It's only a matter of time before it turns into actual murder. 

So, that is why he's currently working on his third night of no sleep. The importance of these cases, Jason's in particular, is also why Tim just lied (again) to Alfred and Bruce about his overall well-being. Again, Tim's not stupid. He knows Alfred and Bruce can see the bags under his eyes, the slump in his shoulders, and the copious amounts of empty energy drink cans and coffee mugs that littered his room. They didn't call him out on it, so they must believe it's not as bad as it really is. Alfred and Bruce leave the Cave, and Tim continues his work on the Batcomputer. 

"Hey, any news on my case?" 

Tim looks up and sees Jason sauntering in, his hood under his arm. 

"Not much. I have some hunches," says Tim. "But nothing concrete yet." 

Jason sighs. 

"I'm trying, Jay." Tim mutters, feeling guilty.  

Jason rolls his eyes. "I'm not mad at you, Timberly. The sigh is in general of the fucking suckiness of the situation, not directed at you." 

"Still…I can't seem to crack this the way I want." 

"Welcome to my world. Why do you think I asked for your help? You look like shit by the way." 

Tim flips him off and then yawns, large and long. 

"The fuck was that?" Jason asks. 

Tim rolls his eyes. "A yawn, Jason. Surely you've experienced one." 

Jason walks to Tim and smacks the back of his head. "Ass."  

"You're the ass…ass." Tim replies. 

"Now I know you're outta sorts. That was the lamest comeback." Jason says. "When's the last time you slept?" 

"Yesterday." Tim lies. 

Jason squints at him. "Yeah…and Alfred is the Queen of England." 

"I'm fine." 

Jason snorts and places his hand on Tim's forehead. 

"I don't have a fever, Jason." says Tim, swatting at Jason's hands. Jason reaches down and tweaks Tim's left side. Tim immediately folds inward with a laugh. 

"Too easy." Jason smirks as he continues scribbling his fingers along Tim's ribs and sides.  

"Screw youhu!" Tim laughs, trying to catch Jason's hands as he squirms in the seat. 

"I dunno, this seems like a good way to tire you out." 

"Plehehease!" Tim is defenseless when it comes to tickling. It's like his brain decides to stop working, and all he can do is curl up and beg for mercy.

Jason spends a few more seconds poking and prodding along Tim's ribcage before he finally ceases his attack. 

"I swear, you're the most ticklish person on the fuckin' planet." Jason is grinning smugly. 

Tim knows he's got a goofy grin on his face, but he musters up a scowl regardless. "And I swear you're the biggest prick on the planet." 

"Go to sleep, Tim. I know you're on at least day two of no sleep." 

"As soon as I get some solid info on your case and finish my crap from WE, I will." 

Jason squints at him. Tim thinks for a moment that his older brother is going to argue with him more. However, Jason shrugs his shoulders, waves a dismissive hand toward Tim, and then walks out of the Cave. Tim sighs in relief and turns back to the computer. He knows he's close to proving it's Zsasz behind the attacks. He'll definitely sleep once he proves it.

^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^

Tim proves it's Zsasz, but he does not sleep. There's no time. Bruce will be the one to help Jason with the takedown of Zsasz because he's a Tier-One Villain, and Batman isn't going to allow Red Hood to do it on his own nor allow Red Robin to be Hood's only backup. Tim put up a fight, arguing that he could at least help, especially considering it was Tim that figured it all out. He’s overruled by a simple ‘Hn’ from Bruce and a smirk from Jason. Tim spends the next day tracking down Ivy. Turns out, she was working the case as well. Tim corners her at a greenhouse in downtown Gotham. 

"Of course, you're the one working this." Pamela says without taking her eyes off the plant, she's currently cultivating. 

"Should I be offended by that statement?" Tim asks. Tim thinks that, although he's had a direct hand in a few of her arrests, they've at least worked together a few times in the past year to develop a good rapport. 

Pam turns to look at him and rolls her eyes. "No. I was just hoping that perhaps the Bat would be here instead." 

"He's finishing up with that Zsasz situation." Tim tells her. "So, you're stuck with me." 

"Any leads?" She asks. 

That's confirmation for Tim that Ivy isn't behind the plants. 

"None." Tim replies. 

Ivy hums in response. 

"It's not any plant I've seen. I don't think it's even from Earth." 

"Fan-freaking-tastic…" Tim sighs. This is just what he needs, a freaking alien plant. "Should probably get the Justice League on this if you think it's extraterrestrial." 

Ivy doesn't look convinced. "Must we?" 

"I think it's best, Dr. Isley. They're better equipped to find its origin and an antidote. I've been trying to make one myself, but it hasn't been as effective as I want." 

Ivy sighs. "Fine. Can I ask you to keep me posted on how this shakes up? I've had a few too many dirty looks in my direction." 

Tim nods. "Of course."

"Thanks, Little Bird." 

Tom rolls his eyes. "I'm 17 now, you know."

Pam smiles at him with a bit of fondness in her eyes and walks away. "Yes, but you'll always be a Little Bird to me." 

"Dr. Isley!" Tim calls. Pam halts and turns to look at him. "Don't let anyone look down on you, okay? Gothamites don't have the moral high ground most of the time." 

Ivy simply smiles softly at him and leaves. 

"Time to get a sample to JL." Tim mutters to himself as he harvests a few of the plants. 

^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^

It's day six of less than four hours of sleep total, and it's actually starting to bother Tim. He's still so busy, though. The Justice League is taking care of the plant situation, Zsasz is in Arkham (with Jason nursing three broken ribs and a sprained wrist), and two of the three WE marketing packages are complete. However, not a single one of Tim's assignments is done, and Tim has two more cases to add to his workload. He's slumping over the desk in Bruce's office. He was kicked out of the Cave about an hour ago by Bruce, who apparently needed to have a meeting with Superman and Flash. Tim hopes it's about the plants, but he's unable to spy as he really needs to finish his schoolwork so he can start writing the reports from his previous cases. He's still trying to find the supplier for Cane, too. He’s minutes away from a full-blown migraine and typing mindlessly on the computer when he hears a knock on the door. 

"Tim? You in there?" Dick's voice comes from the other side of the door. 

Tim grunts in response. 

Dick opens the door. "What're you doing in Bruce's office?" 

"M'workin'." Tim winces at how slurred his speech is. 

"On what?" Dick asks; he's behind Tim now, leaning over him and staring at the computer Tim's working on.

"School crap, some WE stuff, and a case or two."

"How’s it going?"

Tim shrugs. 

"So, I’ve heard from a few birds you’re not sleeping much." 

Tim lets his head fall to the desk as he groans. "Tell Jason to mind his own business." 

Tim can hear the soft smile on Dick’s face. "It wasn’t just Jason." 

Tim looks up at his older brother. "M’fine. I’ve gotten a few hours here and there." 

Dick smiles that sad smile of his, which makes Tim feel like absolute shit. 

"I’m fine Dick; I promise." 

"I wish I could believe you," says Dick. "But you’ve got the worst truth-telling record in this family." 

"What?! No way! Bruce holds that title, c’mon!" Tim practically shouts. 

Dick seems to consider what Tim says. "Okay, second worst." 

Tim scowls at him. 

"Grayson, I--oh." Damian is suddenly in the room, scowling at Tim immediately. "Drake, you look terrible." 

"No one asked for your opinion, Demon Brat." Tim responds, barely stopping himself from sticking his tongue out. 

"Tt. Drake, this isn’t an insult. I do truly mean that you look terrible. When was the last time you slept? Also, are you ill?"

"You’re sick?" Dick’s voice is even more full of concern now. 

"I’m not sick! I’m just a little tired." Tim sighs, rubbing his temples. The headache he’s been trying to stave off the last three days is significantly closer than just a few minutes ago. 

"Headache, too?" Dick asks kindly. 

"Yes, because you and the Baby Assassin are bothering me." Tim mumbles. There’s no real heat behind it.

"I loathe that name." Damian says. 

Dick ruffles his hair, garnering a squawk from Damian. "It’s a term of endearment Dee. It means Timmy loves you." 

Both Tim and Damian snort at the same time. 

"Can I please finish my work?" Tim asks tiredly. He can feel a full-blown migraine coming on, and he thinks that he may be overdoing it somewhat. 

"Uh…Tim? You’re not exactly making sense with your…work." Dick winces as he shows Tim the computer screen.

"Oh."

On the screen are just a bunch of letters and numbers all over the place. 

Okay…maybe he really has pushed it too far. 

"Will you please go to sleep?" Dick asks. He bends down in front of Tim, making himself eye level. Dick places a hand on Tim’s forehead, checking for a fever. 

"I will as soon as I finish my school assignments." Tim semi-promises. Sleep doesn’t come as easy to Tim as it does to most people, especially once he’s this far gone. 

Dick sighs, but stands and motions for Damian to follow him out. 

"Drake…honestly." Damian sighs as he takes a look at Tim. 

"Damian, I’m okay." 

"Tt."

The door closes and Tim grabs another energy drink from the minifridge and downs it. With a shake of his aching head, Tim focuses on the work in front of him. 

Three hours later, Tim’s completely engrossed on the last page of his paper for his English class when Bruce comes in. He looks surprised to see Tim. 

"Oh, hey Tim. I didn’t know you were in here." Bruce says. 

"You kicked me outta the Cave," Tim replies. "And I wanted to use your two monitors. I can leave if you need me to." Tim is rising as he says this, he stumbles a bit and Bruce is by his side with Tim’s elbow in his hand. 

"Easy there, kiddo." Bruce soothes, helping Tim to sit back down. "I don’t mind you using my office. It’s free for you to use when you want. However, I do mind you almost falling for simply standing up. Are you injured?" 

"No…I-I’m fine. Just been up a little longer than I should’ve, probably." 

"He’s been up for six days." A, quite frankly, livid, voice says from the doorway. Tim’s head whips up and he sees Damian standing there, hands clenched into tight fists, and one of the angriest expressions Tim has ever seen gracing his face. Dick is behind him, and so is Jason, both looking angry and sad and exasperated all at the same time. Bruce looks shocked, which is saying something. He turns to look down at Tim. 

"Is this true?"

Tim gulps, but isn’t able to say anything because Damian cuts across him. "Do not even attempt to lie. I looked at the security footage. You haven’t spent more than two hours at a time in any one room in this house, excluding the Cave. However, you haven’t slept there either because the Cave security footage hasn’t shown you sleeping at any point!" 

"Damian…I-"

Damian raises a hand to stop Tim. "I don’t want to hear it. You may have no forethought to your health and wellbeing, but others do. And if you are going to insist on attempting to take yourself away from us earlier than what is the normal lifespan of an adult male in America, then you’re going to do so fighting me. And with the current state you’re in, it’d be an even more pathetic fight than when you’re in full form." 

Jason places a hand on Damian’s shoulder, which Tim expects him to throw off. However, Damian doesn’t. In fact, it looks like it anchors their youngest sibling. 

"Honestly Tim, six days? Even for you that’s excessive." Jason says. 

"Bed." Bruce demands. It’s not his Batman voice. It’s not even his angry voice. It’s the voice he uses when he won’t budge. It’s the voice he uses when he’s in meetings and flexing his full CEO authority. It’s the voice he learned from Alfred. It’s the voice he uses when there’s no room for argument. 

Tim tries anyway, though, because he has no sense of self-preservation. "Bruce I  need to finish my homework, I--"

"You have a death wish, Timmy." Dick sighs. 

"You can go to sleep on your own, or I can administer something to help. That is the only choice you’re going to receive for the next several days." Bruce states. Now he sounds (and looks) angry. Tim knows he’s pushing it…has pushed it. He does. He just…there’s so much he needs to do. And Bruce can’t seriously be trying to ground him. 

"You can’t ground me, Bruce, I’m 17-"

"You can go to sleep on your own or I can administer something to help." Bruce says it quietly, but Tim hears and sees the fury simmering there. 

Tim swallows again; he looks to his two older siblings and knows there will be no help. Jason looks exasperated beyond all reason. Dick looks like Tim just kicked his dog and then set his house on fire. He doesn’t have to look at Damian to know he looks exactly like Bruce. 

He’s lost. He knows he’s lost. 

"I…I may need some help." Tim admits quietly, feeling his face heat up extensively. 

Bruce’s fury melts a bit at that. "I’ll have Alfred make the tea." 

"He’s got a headache, too. Add some acetaminophen. We’ll get him to bed, Bruce." Dick says. He reaches for Tim and helps steer him out of the room and to the stairs. Jason and Damian follow. 

"You don’t have to follow me; I’m seriously going to go to my room." Tim tells them. 

"Tt. Your word on this matter means very little." 

"Sorry, Baby Bird. I agree with Baby Bat." Jason tells Tim. "You’ve seriously crossed the line this time." 

Tim hangs his head in shame.

"Not now guys." Dick retorts rather sharply. Tim doesn’t deserve Dick’s kindness. 

"M’sorry." Tim tells them as they reach his room. "I didn’t mean for it to go on this long. Honestly." 

Dick shushes him as he looks for some pajamas. 

"No. Seriously. I didn’t…I don’t mean to…" Tim can feel the tears welling in his eyes. It’s frustrating beyond reason. 

"Get dressed, and get in bed, Timmers." Dick presses a kiss to the top of his head as he and the others walk out. 

Tim does as he’s told. The tears spill onto his cheeks. He knows he’s truly screwed everything up. Everyone is furious with him. He can only imagine the lecture he’s going to get from Alfred. He’s not just going to be grounded; he’s going to be benched permanently. If he can’t be trusted to sleep like a normal human being, he definitely can’t be trusted out in the field. His head starts pounding even harder, and he stumbles into his bed with his knees curled into his stomach. 

"Tim?" Bruce is walking in, but Tim is trying really hard to get air into his lungs. He feels Bruce grab his shoulders and set him into a sitting position. One of Bruce’s hands grabs his and places it on the older man’s chest, right over his heart. The other hand grabs the back of Tim’s neck, resting there lightly. 

"Breathe with me, kiddo." 

Tim tries his hardest to focus on the beating of Bruce’s heart, of the movement of his chest rising and falling. Bruce squeezes his hand very exhale, trying to anchor him, Tim assumes. It takes some time, but eventually Tim’s breathing slows and returns to normal. It has been almost a year since Tim last had a panic attack. He forgot how much they suck. 

"Whatever you’re thinking," says Bruce. "I promise isn’t true. No one is going to kick you out, no one is going to fire you, and no one hates you or is mad at you." 

"Damian is both of those last things. And you’re all mad. I get it." Tim replies. 

Bruce hands him the steaming mug of drugged tea. If Tim knows Alfred as well as he thinks he does, there’s definitely a high dose of sleeping aid in the tea. Tim sips it at first, but downs it quickly, feeling it burn his throat. 

"Slow down there, Tim." Bruce chastises. "You don’t need to punish yourself." 

"I just wanna go to bed." Tim tells his adopted father. Bruce looks at him with those sad eyes of his, making Tim feel a million times worse, which is really saying something because he feels like dog shit. 

"Sweetheart, c’mere." Bruce climbs into the bed and lifts up his arm, offering Tim to snuggle in, which the boy does. "We’re mad, yes. We’re mad that you seem to be unable to take care of yourself properly. We’re mad that you always push yourself too far. We’re mad that we don’t catch it quick enough to help. But we’re not mad at you in the sense that is going through your head. We all love you."

Tim wants to believe it. 

"Not even Damian doesn’t hate you." 

Tim snorts. 

"He doesn’t." Bruce insists, digging his fingers into Tim’s ribs. Tim gasps and laughs as Bruce doesn’t let up. 

"Stahap!" Tim begs. Tim is seriously ticklish on his ribs; it’s one of his worst spots, and Bruce knows it. 

Bruce chuckles fondly as he brings both hands to Tim’s ribcage. Tim is letting out some serious giggles now. He’s trying to fight against Bruce, but the tea is setting in, and Tim’s not the most coordinated person when tickled. 

"Promise to sleep and not stay up for six days straight ever again?" Bruce asks, not ceasing his tickle attack. He digs his fingers in between the bones of Tim’s ribs. 

"Yehehes! I-I prohohomise!" Tim gets out, squirming madly. It tickles so damn much!

Bruce finally stops tickling. Tim sags into Bruce’s side while he rubs his ribs to get rid of the residual tickly feelings. 

"You’re too good at that." Tim tells him. 

Bruce kisses the top of his head. "You’re too easy. I think you may be more ticklish than Damian." 

Now that was interesting information. 

"Damian is ticklish?!" 

Bruce winces. "I don’t think I was supposed to mention that." 

"Oh th-thaaaat--" Tim cuts himself off with a loud yawn. 

"Bed." Bruce says, pressing another kiss against the top of Tim’s head. "No worrying either, we can talk tomorrow about better ways to keep yourself healthy." 

"G’night, dad." Tim whispers, already falling asleep. 

"Good night, son." 

^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^

When Tim wakes up, he’s dazed and confused. The sun is gone and his clock tells him it’s nine at night. 

"It’s been 18 hours, Drake."

Tim whips his head and sees Damian sketching in the armchair next to his bed. 

"What?" 

"You slept for 18 hours," Damian repeats, sounding thoroughly annoyed. "Pennyworth has a plate of dinner waiting for you when you are ready to eat." 

Tim scrubs a hand down his face. "Eighteen hours, huh?" 

"With the amount of stress you put on your body, I am shocked you didn’t sleep longer." 

"Yeah…wasn’t my best plan I guess."

"Tt. Consider it your worst. That is saying something, too, as you usually have terrible plans." There’s no real heat behind Damian’s words. The two of them have grown a lot since Damian first came. They respect one another now. They work pretty well together, too. Their form of communication may look especially harsh to an outsider, but to them, it’s brotherly banter. 

Tim rolls his eyes. "Pretty sure I was the one who took down Zsasz earlier this week."

Damian looks at him. "Father and Todd took him down."

"Physically, maybe. But it was me who found out everything. So, if you think about it, it was all of my plans that took him down." 

"Tt. In your dreams, Drake."

Tim moves to sit on the side of his bed. "Hey." 

Damian looks at him once more. "What?"

"I’m sorry for scaring you," Tim apologizes. "I didn’t mean to." 

Damian replies stiffly, "I was not scared. I was mad at your stupidity."

"I’m sorry for making you mad, then." 

Damian scowls deeply at him. "Do you realize the stress you put on others when you pull these types of stunts? We have enough stress without others adding to it with idiotic decisions. You need to better care for yourself. You aren’t a machine, Drake, and you’re not alone. There are others in this family that could’ve taken a case or two. Furthermore, you hate school, so I do not understand your need to finish assignments you don’t care about." 

Tim feels really bad. 

"I didn’t do it on purpose, if that helps." Tim tells his little brother. "I get…focused, I guess. I know you guys can help me, I just…I dunno. I feel like I can do it better, I suppose. That’s really narcissistic of me, I know." 

Damian only scowls further. "You aren’t a narcissist; you’re an idiot. There’s a difference."

"How many more times are you going to call me an idiot?" Tim asks, a wry smile on his face. 

"As many times as it takes." Damian smirks.

Tim rolls his eyes this time. He stands and squats in front of the chair so he’s eye level with Damian. "I won’t do it again."

"Tt." 

Tim places a hand on Damian’s shoulder. "I promise, Damian." 

Damian looks at Tim now. "You…you are important to this family."

"Does that include you?" Tim teases. 

Damian shoves Tim’s hand off his shoulders. "Ugh. I’m finished with this sappy moment. I’m leaving."

Domain tries to stand to leave, but Tim is feeling much better after his sleep, and he’s in a mischievous mood, so he grabs Damian around the waist and pulls him into a hug. 

"Drake! Unhand me!"

"We have to hug, Demon," says Tim. "Dickie will be upset if we don’t." 

Damian is squirming furiously as he attempts to free himself from Tim’s grip. "Grayson isn’t even here!" 

"He could walk in any minute, though. I wanna make sure we do him proud!" Tim squeezes tighter, causing Damian to yelp. It reminds Tim of what Bruce told him before he fell asleep. 

Tim smiles deviously. "I heard some interesting information about you from Bruce." Tim places his hands on Damian’s sides with his fingers curled in, an evil grin growing as he feels Damian instantly still. 

"Drake…" It’s a warning, but Tim isn’t concerned. 

"Damian." 

"Whatever Father told you, h-he was clearly lying!" Damian still doesn’t move, and Tim knows it’s because every movement would tickle with the way Tim’s hands are positioned. 

"Bruce lies at times," Tim concedes. "But I don’t think he was lying about this. Tell me, Dee, are you ticklish?"

Damian’s eyes go wide. "N-No! Of c-course not!"

"Bruce said you were." 

"He lied!"

Tim shrugs his shoulders, pretending to give up. However, the moment Damian relaxes, Tim tosses the smaller boy on the bed and pounces, immediately tickling Damian’s stomach. 

"DRAKE!" Damian absolutely screeches. Tim knows he’s going to die after this, but he’s okay with it. Damian succumbs to laughter rather quickly. He has such a cute laugh, sounding and looking like the 12-year-old he is. 

"Bruce was right!" Tim crows. He scrabbles all 10 of his fingers all around Damian’s belly. The closer he gets to Damian’s sides and ribs, the louder his laughter gets, and the more he squirms. Damian seems to be like Tim, though, and super uncoordinated when tickled because Tim is still alive and breathing. Damian is swearing like a sailor at him, but that’s about it. 

"What the fuck is going on in--oh…now this is good." 

Tim looks at the doorway, not pausing his tickly assault on Damian’s torso, and sees Jason with the biggest grin on his face that Tim’s ever seen. 

"T-Tohohodd! I r-require assISTANCE!" Damian squeals out the last part of the word as Tim shoots his arms to Damian’s underarms. 

"I think Timmy requires my assistance," Jason’s grin turns more shark-like. "How did I not know you were ticklish, Baby Bat?"

Damian doesn’t answer. He’s too busy holding his middle as best he can, laughter pouring out of his mouth. His heels are drumming against the bed, and Tim is grinning widely himself. He’s never heard Damian laugh like this before. 

"Are you guys killing Damian?" Dick enters the room next. "Oh…you’re just tickling him. Try his neck next, Timmy. That’s his death spot." 

"GRAYHAYSON!" Damian shrieks as Tim lightly pinches at the back of Damian’s neck. Damian’s laughter goes high pitched. "T-TIM, pleheHEASE!" 

It went on for two more minutes before Dick rescues Damian by telling Tim to stop. Tim moves off Damian and grins down at the panting boy. "You called me by my name." 

Damian pants for another few seconds, a silly grin on his face. It doesn’t last long, though, because he soon scowls fiercer than Tim’s ever seen and then jumps at Tim. Dick catches him around the middle and holds Damian away from Tim.

"Let me go, Grayson! I will have my revenge!" 

"Sorry Dames, but Tim needs to eat. He needs to sleep after that, again--don’t look at me like that, Tim--and you need to get ready for patrol." 

Damian flips Tim off but stops struggling against Dick’s hold. Dick sets him down and grins. "Everyone’s ticklish, Damian. If you can imagine it, Tim’s probably more ticklish than you." 

"Dick!" Tim throws his oldest brother a betrayed look. 

"Oh definitely. The kid’s ribs are like a 10 on the Richter scale," Jason adds. "One poke to his ribs has him swearing his first born to you. He’s deathly ticklish on his ribs." 

"Jason!" Tim throws the same betrayed look to his immediate older brother.

"Sorry, little brother. It’s true." Dick laughs. 

Tim looks at Damian and gulps. Damian looks smug. No, he looks worse than smug. He looks like he’s plotting. 

"Damian…I-I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again!" Tim has his hands up. 

"Oh, I know it won’t. I’ll ensure the lesson you learn will keep you from making that mistake ever again." 

"Oh! Are we going to tickle Tim next?" Dick asks. "It’s been a while!" 

"You asshats are gonna leave me alone!" Tim warns. "Remember, I have lots of pictures that I can release on the internet at a moment’s notice." 

"He’s bluffing." Jason snorts. "He won’t post them on the internet, Bruce would kill him." 

Damian’s smirk grows. 

"I’m totally in on this plan, though," Jason continues. "Tickling Tim till he forgets his own damn name sounds like fun." 

Tim feels his stomach flip flop with excitement and trepidation. He’s never been teamed up against like that and has no clue what it’ll feel like, but he has a feeling he’s about to find out. 

"What about you, Grayon? Will you join in my revenge?" Damian asks. 

Tim sends a pleading look to Dick. 

"Well…he really needs to eat." Dick says. Tim sighs in relief. "But I suppose he can wait another half hour or so."

"Half hour?! The fu-NO! Nohoho!" 

Tim doesn’t do much more than laugh for quite some time.

[slaymbo]

more yan!class 1a with earthbender readerr :3

y'all know the sports festival where they had to fight eachother in the ring? yeah, if y/n got to the point where they have to fight todoroki its gonna be INSANE

HEAR ME OUT, OKAY

because technically earthbenders can bend certain oils, riiight?

and it would be hilarious if y/n threw oil at him right after he finally lets himself use his fire

Todoroki steps into the ring, feeling electrified after his victory against Izuku. He knew you were strong, but as the festival went on he realized he was stronger. Or so he thought

"This is it, Y/N. It's impressive that you've made it this far, but I will be the one to end your winning streak once and for all." He says with a bit of melancholy in his voice, wanting to hurt his darling as little as possible.

You said nothing as the cameras focused on you opening a bottle of what seems to be water. Todoroki tilts his head in confusion "I thought you couldn't control water?"

You smile knowingly, shaking your head right before you force the viscous liquid out of the bottle and onto him.

As soon as it hits him, so does realization. This isnt water...it's oil. He runs towards you in an attempt to freeze your precious body in place, but he's too late. The earth around you both starts to rumble and get hot as parts of the ground begin to break apart. Shoto looks into one of the cracks...

Holy shit

That's lava

You strain your muscles as you bring up the hot magma slowly, obviously not wanting to hurt your classmate. Frozen in fear (or awe?), he doesn't even realize that it has already surrounded him. He's fucked.

"I-I...how...huh???" Shoto tries to form a coherent sentence, but all of his words have seemed to fall into the cracks of the earth and burn.

You smile as Midnight declares you as the victor of the match, pushing the lava back from were it came with your quirk and walking up to Shoto, giving him what was essentially a "good job" hug.

that day is when the whole class went crazy over you

yeah, shoto was a bit embarrassed that he was defeated so quickly, but he was more proud of you than anything

your classmates always want to train with you now, you becoming their first pick whenever they must partner up (the rest of them get jealous, but who cares)

izuku not only has ten pages dedicated to you and todoroki's fight (if you can even call it that), but he definitely has multiple videos of it.

bakugo ALWAYS wants to fight with you now, claiming because he 'needs to show you that he's better' (he just loves your attention fr)

denki and sero take any chance they get to flirt with you and put you off rhythm when you fight with them

unrelated rapid fire hcs GO!!!

the bakusquad helps you with vocal tolerance training (itll make sense if you read the other post), it started with far away whispers and now they can yell with you only being slightly overwhelmed!

jirou has totally eavesdropped on you singing in the shower b4, damn near dying because of your angelic voice (you could literally sing like you have nails in your throat, you still sound like an angel to her)

also i feel like she understands being overwhelmed by noises bc of her quirk, so you guys have both had cuddle sessions to calm yourselves down while listening to each others heartbeats

shoji's mask accidently came off one time, and he was ashamed bc he didnt want his darling to think he was ugly!!! but when you gasped and your eyes started twinkling, his heart damn near stopped. you thought he looked good!!! and ever since then he shows his face around u

momo, iida, and shoto all try to compete with each other to see who can get you the most elaborate gifts.

alr thats all i got rn. dont be afraid to send asks! :3

[heavensbeehall]

"Catching Fire", Chapter 15

Part 2: The Quell

Chapter 15: The Preps keep crying when Katniss arrives in the Capitol. Cinna's new costume turns her into a burning ember. She goes down to the chariots and meets Finnick Odair. Katniss thinks he's creepy but I have read these books before so I know she's wrong. They do the Tribute Parade. Chaff kisses Katniss and she doesn't like it. Johanna strips naked and she doesn't like it. Peeta tells her they are teasing her and she's mad. Also. Darius is their new Avox.

Thoughts:

-- Katniss thinks she "has" to console the Preps and that it's annoying. But she could also just cry with them, but I don't think she can allow herself to be vulnerable in front of them.

-- How ugly do we think the District 10 costumes were? I'm picturing one of those inflatable cow Halloween costumes.

Quotes:

"Don't worry. I always channel my emotions into my work. That way I don't hurt anyone but myself."

D: D: D:

Cinna knows exactly what he is doing with the Mockingjay costume. In addition to designing "dozens" of wedding dresses, he then remade the winning one with an entire other dress underneath it. And I can't help but feel that--if he got the preps away safely--he could have gotten himself away, but he chose to stay. I am assuming he wanted to be with Katniss at the launch room. (Either that or he treats his life as nothing but a performance art piece?) Didn't want her to go in alone. But she did anyway. D: D: D:

"Portia and I spent a lot of hours watching fires," says Cinna.

Are they together? Or just work partners?

Finnick Odair is something of a living legend in Panem. Since he won the Sixty-fifth Hunger Games when he was only fourteen, he's still one of the youngest victors. Being from District 4, he was a Career, so the odds were already in his favor, but what no trainer could claim to have given him was his extraordinary beauty. Tall, athletic, with golden skin and bronze-colored hair and those incredible eyes. While other tributes that year were hardpressed to get a handful of grain or some matches for a gift, Finnick never wanted for anything, not food or medicine or weapons. It took about a week for his competitors to realize that he was the one to kill, but it was too late. He was already a good fighter with the spears and knives he had found in the Cornucopia. When he received a silver parachute with a trident--which may be the most expensive gift I've ever seen given in the arena--it was all over. District 4's industry is fishing. He'd been on boats his whole life. The trident was a natural, deadly extension of his arm. He wove a net out of some kind of vine he found, used it to entangle his opponents so he could spear them with the trident, and within a matter of days the crown was his.

I am getting tired of people trying to tell me Finnick and Annie weren't Careers. Finnick definitely was and Annie probably was. It taking a week for his competitors to realize how popular he was suggests that going in at 14 was a ploy to make him less threatening to the others. Possibly he didn't join the Career pack because of his age (though it doesn't specificy.) This passage also hints at Mags, his mentor, having another skill besides making fish hooks. She must have squeezed a lot of money out of Capitol citizens for that trident and timed it's arrival strategically.

I really want a District 4 book because I want to know about their Career training system. It seems slightly different from the other two, more individualized perhaps.

Because of his youth, they couldn't really touch him for the first year or two.

The Capitol won't sex traffic a 14-year-old kid. But once he's sixteen, that's fine, right?

(It's actually kind of sad that multiple people tease her for being "pure"--as Peeta says--uncomfortable with nudity and kissing. They must have all had fucked up sexual awakenings.)

He's draped in a golden net that's strategically knotted at his groin so that he can't technically be called naked, but he's about as close as you can get.

I hope Mags' costume isn't matching!!!

Probably this drives most people crazy. But for some reason all I can think of is old Cray, salivating over some poor, starving young woman.

Cray is not far off from the aura he is giving off. Maybe I shouldn't bring up my dark Finnick headcanons. But... his persona must be mimicking people he knew, right? So... was he exposed to sexuality before he was 14??? Or did this Finnick not emerge until after the Games?

"Do you think we'd have ended up like this if only one of us had won?" he asks, glancing around at the other victors. "Just another part of the freak show?"

"Sure, especially you," I say.

I think Katniss would've ended up like Johanna or Haymitch if she had won alone, actually. Though if Prim survived she would try to keep it together for her sister. I don't know about Peeta. Katniss seems convinced he'd be worse than her. I could see him ending up like the Morphlings, maybe, since they have so much in common (and also the only way I see him winning alone is by hiding in his rock). But I could also see him being a really good mentor, like Mags.

The woman, Seeder, looks almost like she could be from the Seam, with her olive skin and straight black hair streaked with silver. Only her golden brown eyes mark her as from another district. She must be around sixty, but she still looks strong, and there's no sign she's turned to liquor or morphling or any other chemical form of escape over the years. Before either of us says a word, she embraces me. I know somehow it must be because of Rue and Thresh. Before I can stop myself, I whisper, "The families?"

This is a small moment but it's important to me and I'm sad it was cut from the film.

[broccwalker]

Things I learned about the Slender Man from the original thread that either isn't talked about often or isn't in major Slenderverse ARGs

Labeled whether it was from the main man himself (VS) or was just said by someone else in the thread and made canon due to being in the thread (SE).

He has a weird association with fire, often using it to destroy evidence. (VS)

Fog comes before he does. (VS)

Might have a face that doesn't appear on camera, could also just be a mask made out of skin to help him fit in. Usually the eyes of his face appear as two white orbs. (VS)

He talks, but it just sounds like various natural phenomena vaguely saying words. (SE)

There is an organization, possibly called Optic Nerve or D.O.D., that exists for the sole purpose of finding information of the Slender Man in the hope to either detain him or kill him. (VS, name comes from SE)

The laughs of children herald his coming. (Might be VS, probably SE)

His tentacles come from his arms, not his back. Apparently this is a result of Slender Man failing to maintain a humanoid enough form. (VS)

There might be multiple slender men. Only really implied in posts by people other than Victor Surge, but from the original thread so technically canon. (SE)

Can possibly be killed, however another one grows in his place whenever this happens. Basically the tree version of a phoenix. (SE)

"The closer you think you are to understanding the Slender Man, the more incorrect you really are." Not really anything of note I just like that quote. (SE)

Lives in a "nebulous, timeless twilight that constantly shifts". (SE)

He's a type of Tulpa, or at least an entity who feeds on the amount of knowledge, fear, and belief he creates. (SE)

Might be an alien who crash landed years ago. (This ones probably a joke I'm taking too seriously) (SE)

Someone named Go Waita made manga based on Slender Man, where he is called The Suited Demon. The editors forced Waita to add scenes of The Suited Demon sexually assaulting school girls. (SE)

Him trying to blend more in with humans and society is a relatively modern concept, as older depictions of him lack any human clothing or appearance. (SE)

Possibly amphibious. (SE)

He existed between "everything" and "nothing". Time and Matter are like toys to him. (SE)

There were other creatures referred to as "gods" that were killed by the Organization, but somehow they aren't able to kill him. They're motives changed from trying to stop it to just studying it. (SE)

He might have a dog. Evidence here. (SE)

He manifested in fucking World of Warcraft. (SE)

There may be more, however I basically stopped reading after the Marble Hornets promo.

[tavertianmindscape]

Overall Thoughts on Victor and Dragunov's Relationship Progression Over the Years (Current as of Tekken 8):

(Updated 11.3.24 to add extra thoughts on Dragunov's history with the Raven Unit as well as fix some typos/wording we weren't happy with.)

Main Point: Their whole relationship is slow burn rivals/enemies-to-lovers.

Before they even do anything close to meeting on neutral grounds there's a long stretch of Victor testing the waters. Of seeing if Dragunov would be interested in a more intimate relationship. (Whether or not Victor is initially only interested in sex and it slowly progresses to a more romantic attraction we have yet to come to a conclusion on. Will update things if/when it happens.)

We think they're both attracted to each other initially, but Dragunov is unaware of it. He knows there's something but not what it is or could be. With someone as heavily autistic as Dragunov (which is a topic for another post entirely just you wait for the Dragunov is Peak Autism post) there's no way his more rigid way of thinking wouldn't make him believe anything along the lines of "we're enemies on opposite sides of a conflict at any given time. There's no point in being attracted to a person who's my enemy." That is, if Dragunov would even take the time to actually consider the nature of their relationship outside of someone pointing out there's something between them outside of being enemies.

Now, Victor, as someone who's obviously a sexual guy- he's broken a lot of hearts and even in his T8 ending he was trying to impress a lady with that submarine -has still probably never done anything with other men because he hasn't needed or wanted to.

That said, Victor also has no problem with it. And why would he? He's an attractive guy who's more than comfortable with himself and what he likes. And what he doesn't (expect a future post about why we think him hating Claudio makes a lot of sense. hint: Claudio is a nepo baby with Main Character Syndrome and no resume to back it up.)

Anyways, once Victor realizes he's attracted in some way, shape, or form to Dragunov, begins "testing the waters" so to speak because they are technically enemies. So when he first starts flirting it's very subtle. Lots of lingering touches while in the heat of battle, maybe more compliments than strictly necessary on Dragunov's fighting technique/prowess. But there's no response he can really see so he thinks Dragunov is either completely disinterested and he misread the signals or may be hiding it because, again, enemies.

For his part Dragunov has no real care for sex or anything. It's never been something he's really cared about because he's always been more work-focused and has no time for most things outside of his- likely planned to the minute -schedule. (Reminder to look out for that Sergei Dragunov Has Peak Autism, Don't Try To Fight Us On This Or We WILL Fucking Shank You post in the future.) So he never thinks to look any deeper into Victor's attempt at flirting as anything more than the man trying to throw him off. Maybe acting strange/differently than one normally would while up against an opponent who can/will kill you if need be in order to gain the upper hand in any given battle.

At some point, Victor slowly realizes that Dragunov really is just that oblivious and, once he does, becomes intrigued. Victor is used to learning all he can about his targets so he can eventually take the best course of action and coming out on top in his missions and he can easily do so when it comes to learning more about Dragunov and what makes the man tick. We think this is pretty obvious considering how far along he's gotten in his professional career. The literal highest position possible in the French Navy of Admiral. Not to mention the fact Victor's profile on the English website states he was sent into multiple "dangerous operating zones again and again" and that's not exactly something one can do without knowing how to handle one's self and learn about their surroundings/mission/etc,.

Through his research and studying of Dragunov's patterns in work, leisure time, and dealing with the people around him Victor slowly comes to fall for the man himself. Not just his very very pretty eyes.

Dragunov is nothing if not a follower, one of his three currently-known likes alongside trains (autistic stereotype anyone? >*:3) and sbiten is literally "following orders," and Victor respects that more than just a little. Especially when you factor in how competent Dragunov is. The man's only twenty-seven (27) as of Tekken 8 and you can't join the Spetsnaz without going through some very rigorous training and proving of one's self alongside being the minimum age requirement of eighteen (18). Between the fact Dragunov is Spetsnaz and has made a name for himself as the White Angel of Death of all things, it's clear the man knows what he's doing and Victor is the kind of guy to respect that kind of competence a lot.

In general, Victor respects competence and one's ability to set aside their ego to get their job done right and done well.

(OPTIONAL THOUGHT TANGENT: That's probably why the Ravens share a code name, too. They don't need to make a name for themselves or stand out, they need to get their job done. It's like a uniform, really. Something made to even things out so when somebody exemplary does show up they can prove it by their actions rather than just outwardly showing off simply by using their looks.)

And, speaking of the Ravens, we feel that's another interesting facet of Victor and Dragunov's relationship.

Dragunov and the Raven we all know debuted in Tekken 5: Dark Resurrection and the vanilla Tekken 5 respectively. In T5DR, if you go by Raven's voice lines when encountering Dragunov ("So you're... I'm onto you and your organization. Give up and go back to Russia."), then we think it's safe to assume that this is the first time they've ever actually met. Clearly, Raven knows who Dragunov is by reputation alone, not because they've actually met before. After all, wouldn't you say something similar to what Victor says in his special intro for Raven? ("It's been a while, White Angel of Death")

Meanwhile, Master Raven debuted in Tekken 7 and, clearly, she's never met Dragunov, either. Upon entering battle she says "Huh! You're that Russian" and after that, if you defeat him she says "This is the guy that gave Raven all that trouble?" It can't get any clearer than that that this is their first ever encounter.

And yet, it's also stated in Victor's profile on the official T8 website that it was the Mishima's bullshit that finally spurred him out of retirement. Which means that, for some reason, he just... didn't tell the Ravens about his past with Dragunov? Even though he's supposedly trained- or at least helped train -all the Ravens, himself Victor somehow forgot to mention that he and Dragunov used to have some sort of history? Why would he keep such important information from literally all of his protégés? The Ravens know about Dragunov's reputation so one could think that Victor may have mentioned something about that at some point.

But what if he didn't? Dragunov's story intro in T5DR states that he's "feared in battlefronts throughout the world as the White Angel of Death" so it wouldn't be farfetched that the members of a global peacekeeping organization would know of him even if they'd never met him. (Unless any of the previous Ravens had met Dragunov and died by his hands. Something obviously in-character for the "White Reaper" to do.) Which means Victor wouldn't have to say anything to them about his and Dragunov's history if he didn't think it was strictly necessary.

So, why would we think he'd keep his- possibly vested -interest in Dragunov a secret? Wellllllllll~

Once Victor realizes his feelings for Dragunov are romantic, he's more overt with his attempts at seduction. He says things that he believes can't be misconstrued as anything but a compliment- usually about Dragunov's eyes or fighting prowess or maybe even his physique -he makes sure to give little gifts here and there like a model tank or two (maybe even sneakily and while leaving a handwritten note? heheheh), and maybe even imply something about him being open to making Dragunov a Raven of some sort.

It's all of this that spurs Dragunov to finally- finally -begin considering that maybe- just maybe -there's something going on that he's missing. However, being the masking little autistic he is, Dragunov doesn't actually have any friends he can turn to to ask about this kind of thing. Even his official website profile for Tekken 8 mentions that Dragunov is rumored to work in his sleep, so clearly even the people around him don't know very much about what he's like outside of work. If anything.

So, if their relationship ever ends up progressing past the limbo they're currently in, then we speculate it's because Victor saved Dragunov's life for one reason or another. At the very least, Victor's the kind of guy to be like "if I anyone absolutely has to kill him for some reason then I want to be the one to do it" if his talk in that one story cutscene in T8 about him and Dragunov having "unfinished business" is anything to go by.

Regardless of the how and/or why Victor would choose to save Dragunov's life however, once he does so it drastically changes the trajectory of their relationship. If nothing happens outside of Dragunov's bubble to help him finally connect the dots- be it a new recruit who doesn't yet think that Dragunov is scary, one of the Ravens being like "are you gonna let him down or what?", or even Victor just being like "I like you. At least have sex with me, please." -then Dragunov just will. NOT get it. He's too single-minded, too focused, and too oblivious to certain things like the fact romantic and/or sexual attraction can happen outside of whether or not you're enemies of some sort.

But! if something were to happen, like, say, your many years-long rival/enemy saves your life because he's interested in you romantically and respects you too much to let you die, then Dragunov would, for sure, start thinking about and recontextualizing past events and encounters.

So, Victor saves Dragunov's life, Dragunov realizes some things after enough thinking and considering, and Victor gets to wait for him to do it.

It may take a while, especially with all the bullshit the Mishimas keep throwing at each other and everyone being collateral damage, but, eventually, they find the time and they find the way.

(And eventually end up in a mostly non-sexual Dom/Sub lifestyle because Dragunov WILL need to flee Russia for being in a gay relationship, let alone one with a guy who he's consistently worked against for almost a decade already even when you only consider the canon timeline if they met soon after Dragunov joined, and once he's out of there he's going to need some sort of replacement for the heavily scheduled and regimented lifestyle that the military provides. But that's all for two separate posts about their future life and, again, the one where we rant about how autistic Dragunov is.)

[rafflesandholmes]

I was reading something that said that portraying Holmes as having interest in or even being in sexual relationships was asexual erasure, and while I get why someone who simply cannot see Holmes' character in any other way may feel that way, I simply don't agree.

The thing with most fictional characters is that rarely do they have their sexuality explicitly confirmed. That doesn't mean it can't be deduced. But when there's evidence that points to multiple possible sexualities, saying that not interpreting Holmes as aspec. is erasure is simply wrong.

We know he eschews relationships with women because it would distract him from his work, but we can't say for sure whether that means he has no attraction to them or if he is intentionally squashing any urges for them.

We never have a similar statement about men, and that has even more possibilities. Obviously the biggest reason is that Doyle could never have committed a confirmation or denial of Holmes being gay or bi to paper because Doyle would have been imprisoned. Likewise, in universe, Watson would have ended up in the same situation.

But that still leaves multiple interpretations: Does Holmes find men attractive but squash these feelings for science? Does he have relationships with men? Or does he feel no attraction to any gender?

We do see him noticing women's looks, but not necessarily in a way that's not objective. And as someone who is aspec, I can tell you that aspec people can definitely admire a person's appearance without wanting to do something more. The closest we see to any infatuation is with Irene Adler. I'm not sold on the idea so many fans have of her being his one true love. I think he admired her. Maybe he was even attracted to her, but not in love with her. Yet, there's certainly enough for people to point to and say Holmes was attracted to women.

However, I think we all know that Holmes' main relationships (friendships or romances, depending on interpretation) are with men. His closest and longest-lasting relationship is with Watson, but even before that, there was Victor Trevor. These are people he loves in one way or the other.

Now, people can certainly interpret these as very close friendships, but I think they'd be in denial if they didn't at least acknowledge it could be more. Holmes and Watson live together off and on for decades. Even when Watson is technically living with his wife, he drops everything whenever Holmes needs it. Watson goes through multiple marriages, but with the exception of Sign of Four, we rarely hear him wax poetical about his wives. Yet every section on Holmes reads like a teenager gushing over their first s.o. Holmes, in turn, frequently seeks Watson's company at all days and hours. Watson is one of the few people Holmes trusts absolutely.

The love between them is deep. You can say it's a friendship. You can say it's romantic but not sexual. Or you can say it's romantic and sexual. But you can't pretend people are foolish for thinking Holmes may be gay because of it. This goes beyond most friendships.

So, my headcanon for Holmes' sexuality changes, but I really don't think you can call one interpretation erasure because there's a lot of things people can use as evidence to support any interpretation. Now, if someone says, "My interpretation is right and he can't possibly be (fill in sexuality)," I can see that bordering on erasure because it dismisses any evidence that contradicts one's opinion. But we really don't know Holmes' sexuality, and that's okay. There's room for infinite number of headcanons.

[serenafainx]

༶ ⋆ ROMEO & JULIET PLAY ( super casual background plot )

This production of Romeo & Juliet is a joint-feature by Walt University and Fantasia Theatre. It follows the original script for the play, with only the following changes: the play is now set in the 1920s, and any gender can play any role. Aside from the original scenes, there’s also opportunity for dance scenes and musicians (to either be in the pit, or on stage in costume hehe). Lots of things are TBD, but yeah!

Only Walt Uni students can perform, but anyone is able to assist in the crew and behind-the-scenes. It is also a largely student-led production.

[ last edited: 18/10/22 ]

Currently (as of oct 2022): they are in planning mode, and technically the casting list should be out by now lmao but i wanted to give ppl the chance to offer their characters !! depending on how interest goes (and actual main rp events) in nov or dec i’ll randomize any acting roles that have multiple ppl going for it, and then after that, anyone who says they wanna be smth can just have it hehe. any roles not taken will just be an NPC :3 

Opening Night: uhhhhh up in the air !! likely in 2023

[ OOC ] : The play is just a nice thing for our characters to refer to in the background, as an extracurricular activity that they can be working on. It can also be a good way for people to get to know the university and each other and stuff !!!

༶ ⋆ CREW

Other possible crew roles are costume assistants, musicians, choreographers, lighting, sound, props, tech, set design, marketing/promotion etc. 

serena fain : lead costume designer

marinette-dupain cheng : costume dept (hats)

sophie hatter : assisting costume dept (hats)

victor van dort : assisting sound (rehearsal pianist)

marco diaz: tech and set design

wally axiom: backstage crew

reagan cymbeline: painting sets

༶ ⋆ PERFORMERS

These roles can be performed by any gender. The script remains the same. There’s the possibility for dancing, mainly for the Capulet party.

AUDITION LIST (if multiple people audition for the same role i’ll just do a randomizer !!):

brynne utonium

FINAL CASTING LIST (announced probably early december at the latest?):

romeo:

juliet:

mercutio:

benvolio:

paris:

friar lawrence:

the nurse:

tybalt:

capulet:

lady capulet:

montague:

lady montague:

prince escalus:

balthasar:

ensemble/extras/dancers:

[ardn632niamhbeattie]

Final

As photographic technology and practises have evolved over the years. Photo manipulation has become the idea of changing and manipulating images to obtain a desired look, feel and style. Photographers Such as Beate Gütschow, Victor Enrich, Jonas Bendiksen and Laurent Chéhère have used photo manipulation as a form of creativity and art, allowing them to express themselves through their work and create their style primarily through Photoshop. However, these artists use many technical approaches to change a singular or series of images to alter people's perception of what is real. It's fantastic that the art of photo manipulation doesn't surround one idea or concept of how a manipulated image should look. The possibilities are endless, and there are no limitations when it comes to creativity. 

Exploration led me to the conclusion that I preferred the satisfaction of manipulating realistic scenes. I looked at different alteration approaches, such as Victor Enrich's hotel photo series (2014). Enrich distorted, twisted, flipped upside down, stretched, and demolished a hotel in Munich, resulting in a series of 88 modified, one-of-a-kind pictures. However, I found Jonas Bendiksen's work to be more appealing. Bendiksen's book "The Book of Veles" (2021) uses picture manipulation as a project on the fabrication of fake news in Veles, generating these convincing but fictitious scenes just for fun. It became absolutely irresistible to try to play around with. What was real and what was fake here?"- Jonas Bendiksen ("Magnum Photos," 2021.)  I found myself experimenting with modification. I discovered that I enjoyed how people perceived my work when I had to explain three modified images within one image. 

I aimed to create a series of manipulated realistic/surrealistic cityscape images for this project. As the series progresses, the photograph becomes more surrealistic, making individuals question the beginning of the series, hinting at the question of the constant change in Auckland city and its central identity. Auckland is perceived as a young city through modern evolution compared to other cities, where the face of their city landscape and environment expands with the protection of historic buildings and architecture. These buildings will always be there and be the central identity. However, what is central Auckland city and its identity?

With this, I experimented with several composite imaging processes, attempting to produce a single photograph by combining multiple images to create a visually compelling composition. The images become unified and lifelike by framing and arranging through buildings, lines, and street signs and integrating minor details. I then utilised similar procedures but gave myself more freedom in visually connecting elements to create a more noticeable and surrealistic environment to assist in the questioning component of my manipulated series. This will display the images in a gallery context to help showcase the progression of realistic to more surrealistic environments. Displaying the series' order allows viewers to swivel their heads to determine whether the photos have been edited.

Chan, Jade . 2021. “The Book of Veles: How Jonas Bendiksen Hoodwinked the Photography Industry | Magnum Photos Magnum Photos.” Magnum Photos. September 17, 2021. https://www.magnumphotos.com/arts-culture/society-arts-culture/book-veles-jonas-bendiksen-hoodwinked-photography-industry/.

Frearson, Amy . 2014. “Manipulated Photography by Victor Enrich of a Munich Hotel.” Dezeen. January 8, 2014. https://www.dezeen.com/2014/01/08/manipulated-photography-victor-enrich-munich-hotel/.

[because-its-eurovision]

Wait, what? Scandal, Ukraine? What happened?

Ohhh boy... I’ll try to keep it brief :P

So what happened was that the winner of their national selection Vidbir was Alina Pash with the song Тіні забутих предків' ('Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors). The rules of Vidbir state that the participants are not allowed to perform in or travel to Russia. Understandably the tension between the two countries has been very high since 2014 and especially during the last couple of months.

If the artists that take part in Vidbir have been to Crimea, they must have done so by entering from Ukraine, not Russia. Alina Pash had performed a concert in Crimea in 2015, and therefore needed to produce the necessary legal documents to prove that her journey there had been approved of by the Ukrainian government. However, the documents she produced were proven illegitimate and possibly forged. As far as I know she submitted a second (this time official) document as proof, but after she found out that the broadcaster would have disqualified her in any case, she decided to drop out herself.

The broadcaster has now reserved the right to select any of the other Vidbir contestants as Ukraine's representative in ESC 2022, but they are going to offer the opportunity first to Kalush Orchestra who placed second. To make things more complicated, Kalush has made accusations towards the broadcaster that Vidbir was rigged for Alina’s victory as the show suffered multiple technical problems - including the screen showing the voting malfunctioning which led to one of the hosts having to read the final points from a piece of paper and him messing up the votes twice until it was declared that Alina had won the contest by one point - so they are not in the best of terms at the moment.

Keep in mind that in 2019's Vidbir the winner MARUV decided to withdraw after being offered an especially sketchy contract. The contestants who had placed second, third and fourth in Vidbir all declined the offer to go to ESC and Ukraine decided to withdraw entirely. Wellboy, who placed third in Vidbir this year, has apparently already declined. So it's in no way certain if Ukraine is going to participate at all this year.

TL:DR: The victor of the Ukrainian national selection has performed in Crimea and lied about it which is against the selection’s rules (and the Ukrainian law, I assume). At this point we don’t know who is going to represent Ukraine or if they will withdraw entirely.

For longer reading, my favourite ESC news site EscUnited has a great article about the situation here

[graylikethecolor42]

Frankenstein 1931 Rant

Ok so this is my review of sorts for the 1931 Frankenstein movie. I had never seen it before, and decided that I should watch it so I could form my own opinions. I mainly compared it to Shelley’s book, attempting to remain as unbiased as possible. This proved difficult, and I was left at the end with a bundle of incomprehensible emotion that I later determined was mostly Rage. This is Long AF, so I'm going to put most of it under the cut.

This movie disrespected my girl Mary Shelley. In the opening credits they list her as “Mrs. Percy B. Shelley”. What the actual horror loving fuck?! Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein when she was 18. She was a feminist, daughter of one of the most prolific feminists of all time. She was so hardcore goth that she lost her virginity on her mother’s grave and carried around her husband’s CALCIFIED HEART. She deserves more respect than being referred to as her husband’s wife in her own goddamn movie adaptation.

The version I watched (rented from my local library) began with a quick content warning, which surprised me. All the things mentioned in the segment were true of Shelley’s book, and it led to a false sense of hope that maybe this movie wasn’t as off base as everyone claimed.

These hopes were quickly dashed with the presence of “Fritz”. While I don’t think he was ever referred to as such, he was recognizable enough as Igor, whom I only know through Pop Culture Osmosis--Frankenstein’s hunchbacked assistant. He only exists in the story to mess everything up in the name of plot development.

Case in point: the brain. This scene set up one of the greatest deviations from Shelley’s original text. Her book asks The question of nature vs nurture--if humans are inherently bad, or if our experiences shape us. This adaptation decides that the brain itself is inherently abnormal and therefore evil, and Dr. Waldman throughout the movie cements this detail.

Minor note here, but why is the college town Golstadt? Was Ingolstadt too hard? The extra two letters really put a strain on the movie’s budget? The extra seconds it took to say it padding the runtime too much?

Ok, was anyone going to tell me that they messed with the character’s names, or was I just supposed to figure that out by watching the scene multiple times myself? The man that enters is named Victor, and Elizabeth references her fiance Henry. This was very confusing, as in the book Victor and Elizabeth are love interests, and Victor’s best friend is named Henry Clerval. Additionally, this Victor’s last name is Mortiz, which you may notice is Justine’s last name. Justine Mortiz is not in this movie. Henry Clerval is not in this movie. This Victor character is either a bastardization of both Justine and Henry’s characters, or a complete fabrication, and I’m not sure which version makes me angrier. Justine and Henry were both integral characters in Shelley’s book, and to see them either way, edited down to nothing plot relevant makes my blood boil.

For the sake of my sanity and Clarity, I’ll be calling “Henry Frankenstein” Frankenstein, and “Victor Mortiz” the pretender Victor. Additionally I’ll be referring to the Movie creature as “The Monster '' and the book creature as “Adam”.

At least this movie recognized that Frankenstein was a college dropout, though his reasons for leaving were a bit different: Movie Frankenstein was becoming unstable, asking for more bodies and leaving when they wouldn’t supply him, where Book Victor didn’t even try to ask and just went graverobbing of his own volition and then created the Adam in his college dorm, dropping out afterwards.

In the scene where Waldman, Victor and Elizabeth go to visit Frankenstein, Frankenstein treats Elizabeth like shit (technically all of them but especially her), saying she’ll ruin everything. I have no commentary except for “dick move, who wrote this screenplay again?”

My mom was watching this with me, and asked why Frankenstein didn’t just keep his unwelcome guests locked out or make them stay downstairs. I replied with “Well the man just insinuated that he’s crazy, he has to prove himself now.”

I will admit, the “It’s alive!” scene was pretty cool. I recently saw a post about how if this version of Frankenstein was paired with Adam from the book there would have been a happier ending. This Frankenstein is so excited and happy that it work, that he did it, that he’d created life and cherish it. While completely out of character, it gave a look into Frankenstein’s inner workings in the movie.

I’ll be honest, I found it hard to care about Victor’s family. And by family I mean his Father, because Ernest and William were nowhere to be found (more on that later). The Baron is grumpy and unlikeable, and he doesn’t even die like he deserves like he did in the book.

Frankenstein has some raw dialogue in the scene with Waldman, “Have you never wanted to do anything that was dangerous? Where should we be if nobody tried to find out what lies beyond? Have you never wanted to look beyond the clouds and the stars? Or to know what causes the trees to bud? And what changes the darkness into light? But if you talk like that... people call you crazy. Well, if I could discover just one of these things - what eternity is, for example - I wouldn't care if they did think I was crazy.”

But then Waldman brings up the inherently evil bullshit that I mentioned earlier. Oh, the brain was abnormal, it was evil, and the monster is now evil no matter what.

Now Waldman has a line here that I find interesting--”You have created a monster and it will destroy you.” More on this later, just keep it in mind.

The scene with the monster establishes a few things--At least some comprehension, a yearning for light, a fear of fire, and the fact that Fritz is the worst and he deserves what’s coming. But I’d like to detail the Biggest derailment of the canon source material--The creature’s intelligence. Part of the Horror of Shelley’s work is that Adam is conscious, aware, and intelligent. He learns quickly and is abandoned by the person who should have cared for him, and he’s painfully aware of the horror of his existence. His humanity comes from his vast emotions and mental capacity, showing that it wasn’t his nature, but the (lack of) nurture that created the “monster” within him. Taking all of that away, stripping the character until he’s a groaning, barely conscious being, rips away layers and layers of Shelley’s commentary and storytelling.

Fuck Fritz. He hurts the monster when in reality it hasn’t done anything to anyone--yes it freaked out and they had to restrain him, but that was self defense and he didn’t seriously injure anyone. Meanwhile Frankenstein has a line later about how Fritz “always tormented him”. I’d probably kill him too, especially since Fritz kept pushing even after Frankenstein told him to leave him alone. I don’t feel anything over his death.

Next Waldman convinces Frankenstein to destroy the Monster. Showing a shocking change of character from both the “It’s Alive!” scene and his previous conversation with Waldman, Frankenstein barely puts up a fight, one “It’s murder” and then he gives in.

The monster goes down, Frankenstein’s family comes and sees him collapse, Waldman promises to “painlessly destroy” the monster, blah blah blah

Waldman’s death is interesting to me. I’ll talk about it a little more when I get to Maria, but so far all of the Monster’s violence and murders have come across as self defense. An innocent creature trying to defend itself. Yet it’s still painted in a negative light, even though Waldman was just as morally gray in his endeavors to end the Monster. Also, Waldman was going to Vivisect the Monster, not “painlessly destroy” him like he told Frankenstein. Who was really in the wrong here?

Wedding wedding, blah blah blah

Ok we’ve reached Maria, the moment I’ve been leading up to. Maria is a little girl from the village that takes up two important roles in the story--The old man that accepts Adam as a friend and then is accidentally killed by him, and William, Book Victor’s youngest brother and Adam’s first revenge murder. In the book, these two scenes are major turning points within Adam’s own recounting of his story--where he first found love and peace and then learned that the world was cruel and unfair when he lost it all, and when Adam makes a distinct choice to be cruel right back, killing William and pinning it on Justine. However in the movie the Monster isn’t intelligent enough to have those turning points. This scene shows the Monster’s humanity, his childlike wonder and Innocence. And unlike in the book, Maria isn’t afraid of the Monster. She seems more than content to play with the Monster. However, this version also shows that the monster is still inherently evil--that he’s capable of killing an innocent child, even by accident. But the biggest issue I have with this recasting is that it takes away all of the Consequences of Frankenstein’s actions. Shelley’s book was a cautionary tale, not necessarily about breaking the laws of nature or trying to be like God, but of not taking responsibility for your actions. Book Victor makes the wrong choice over and over and over again, and he doesn’t care about anyone but himself. I’ll revisit this a bit later when I talk about Elizabeth, but Book Victor never thinks about how his actions will affect the people around him. His brother is murdered and Justine is framed for it. Henry dies for the same reasons. Adam tears his way through his loved ones because he was hurt by his negligence. But this movie takes this all away, shifting the consequences away onto random characters while Frankenstein is vaguely guilty and not personally affected.

Ok, over to Elizabeth. She for some reason has been excluded from the wedding party, and makes her appearance now. She warns Frankenstein that she’s got a bad feeling, Star Wars style, but he doesn’t really pay her any attention. I feel like the treatment of Elizabeth in the book was pretty satirical, Shelley making subtle jabs at how women were treated at the time. The movie makes it feel more like “this is how women are”, in a very sexist way. Early Hollywood is not known for is progressiveness or women’s rights or anything like that. Now in a similarity to the book, Frankenstein locks Elizabeth in her room, and also like the book, the creature sneaks in. But where Adam was exacting revenge, specifically for his lost Bride (which is also nowhere to be found in this version), the Monster displays a very weird character shift. Up to now, The Monster’s violence and murder have been either self defense of accidental. However now he sneaks in specifically to attack Elizabeth. Why? It doesn’t make sense except for the “inherently evil” dialogue that has underscored the movie, and even then it feels like a stretch. But even worse, Elizabeth doesn’t die. For some reason the monster attacks her, but doesn’t kill her. This continues the line of no consequences for Frankenstein. Yes, his fiancee was hurt, but he didn’t lose anything in this movie. Nothing drives him to be a better person, to confront who he is and help him realize his responsibility.

Ok, home stretch people: The manhunt. Maria’s dad carries her tiny waterlogged corpse through the wedding celebration, causing a riot that the Baron fixes by creating an angry mob. Everyone searches, and The Monster is back to self defense pretty much--he’s getting attacked, so he attacks back.

The Monster faces down against Frankenstein, knocking him out and dragging him as he attempts to outrun the mob. They find a windmill, Frankenstein and the Monster fight, the monster throws Frankenstein off the roof (which he miraculously survives by the way). Why did the monster shift again, showing a personal vendetta against Frankenstein where none had previously been shown (except in the attack against Elizabeth)

The villagers burn the windmill, trapping and killing the Monster. In the book the Monster implies that it is going to commit suicide via burning (I believe on Victor’s funeral pyre, but it’s been a while since I reread the last part of the book), so there’s at least a little bit of a parallel? Something that confused me was how the movie managed to show his death in a sympathetic light, even while actively casting him as the villain.

Then Victor lives happily after. No, I'm serious. He’s fine, Elizabeth’s fine, his father is fine. No consequences. No lessons learned. Going back to Waldman’s line, “You have created a monster and it will destroy you.” Except it didn’t. The tragedy, so inherent in Shelley’s text, is completely destroyed and glossed over. In the book they chased each other to the ends of the world and died within a day of each other, mutually assuring their destruction. Here there’s no need: The monster is dead, along with all the consequences that should have followed Frankenstein.

[nothing-more-than-hot-leaf-juice]

Hi fren! Been following ur blog for a while and honestly I love it! I was wondering if I can get ur thoughts on something :)) remember in sozins comet when Iroh refused to fight ozai becuz “history will see it as more violence, a brother killing a brother to gain power” but then cue to Azula and Zuko who are fighting for the throne and it’s fine?? with them?? doesn’t that count as more violence as well? Thank if you ever come across this :D

Okay, first off, I think it needs to be clarified what Iroh actually said in that scene in regards to sending Zuko to defeat Azula because the two situations are very different and everyone involved knew that. The exchange went as such:

Zuko: Uncle, you’re the only person other than the Avatar who can possibly defeat the fatherlord.... we need you to come with us. 

Iroh: No Zuko, it won’t turn out well. 

Zuko: You can beat him. And we’ll be there to help. 

Iroh: Even if I did defeat Ozai, and I don’t know that I could, it would be the wrong way to end the war. History would see it as more senseless violence: a brother killing a brother to gain power. The only way for this war to end peacefully is if the Avatar defeats the Firelord. 

(dialogue, etc.) 

Iroh: Zuko, you must return to the Fire Nation, so that when the Firelord falls, you can assume the throne and restore peace and order. But Azula will be there waiting for you. 

When I see the argument that Iroh sending Zuko after Azula was hypocritical, I think it ignores the reality of the situation and the pragmatic approach. Because Iroh was absolutely correct throughout this whole exchange. Here were the facts as of this point: 

1. Iroh and Zuko were declared traitors and could not legally assume the throne once Ozai was defeated, meaning Azula would assume the throne by default.

2. By this point in the series, Azula had shown at every point that she was just as enthusiastic about waging war and had shown no remorse for the suffering of the Earth Kingdom at the hands of the Fire Nation. She was particularly enthusiastic about the two major affronts against the Earth Kingdom: conquering Ba Sing Se and using Sozin’s Comet to burn down the Earth Kingdom. 

3. Azula was the one who had the idea for the ‘let’s use the comet to burn down the Earth Kingdom’ plan in the first place and was proud of that plan. If Ozai was defeated, she would have used her position to go through with the plan anyway.

Realistically, this situation is in no way ideal, but the reality is that Azula did need to be stopped from assuming the throne. Make no mistake, if she had the opportunity to do so, she would have been at Ozai’s side burning down the Earth Kingdom instead of staying in the Fire Nation. She was dangerous and needed to be stopped and that was evident from her actions throughout the entire series. 

And the situations of Zuko defeating Azula and Iroh defeating Ozai are completely different, mainly because it was never Zuko or Iroh’s intention for Zuko to kill Azula like everyone else was planning with Ozai. The intent with Zuko going after Azula was to stop her from being crowned, which was a thing that needed to be stopped, otherwise, the war would have continued. And Iroh was absolutely correct in his assumptions: Zuko and Katara arrived in the Fire Nation just before Azula was crowned Firelord. And in the end, as we all know, they didn’t kill her, they just removed her as a threat so Zuko could assume the throne. There is a difference between taking out an actively harmful force in a position of absolute authority (Ozai) and stopping a harmful force from taking a position of absolute authority (Azula). 

There’s also the facts that 1. Iroh had his own history as a general who held siege on Ba Sing Se for 600 days, allegedly committed war crimes, and wasn’t exactly well regarded in the Earth Kingdom. 2. Like he said, a fight between Iroh and Ozai was not one that had a clear victor. Iroh was not the right person to defeat Ozai, Aang was, for many reasons. (There’s also the fact that Iroh’s arc came full circle as he freed the city he once laid siege on, but that has less to do with the pragmatic rationale behind the match ups and more to do with thematic purposes.)

And this is a thing that also bothers me. There’s an argument that Iroh failed Azula and that part of the reason she was how she was fell on him and I don’t think that’s fair. And this post by @withyoutilltheendofthecredits articulates why: 

the ideas “azula was a victim of abuse who was manipulated and hurt by ozai” and “azula had a hand in a lot of trauma for zuko due to her awful treatment of him” can and should coexist

I think it’s important to keep in mind whenever we talk about Iroh, Azula, and Zuko how their dynamic was in season 2. Firstly, Iroh’s priority through this show was to keep Zuko safe. In season 1, he wasn’t so much there to actively help Zuko find Aang (and on multiple occasions seemed to work against Zuko’s mission), but rather was there to stop Zuko from making stupid decisions that would get him killed while offering emotional support and training him to be a better firebender. Does he actually want Zuko to kidnap the Avatar and return to his awful, abusive father? No. But he does want Zuko to have something that gives him hope, something that keeps him going. And Iroh’s priority is to be there to make sure this kid doesn’t do anything too reckless. 

 In season 2, Zuko technically no longer has his mission as he’s deemed an enemy of the Fire Nation and Iroh more explicitly works to help his nephew mentally and emotionally extricate himself from the family members that hurt him. At the beginning of the season when Zuko is excited about going home after Azula lies to them, Iroh voices his suspicion because unlike Zuko, who’s still holding onto the idea that he can win his father’s love, Iroh is able to look at the situation objectively and knows that if Zuko goes home, he’s not going to be safe and he is not going to be met with any sort of love. 

Zuko: Did you listen to Azula? Father’s realized how important family is. He cares about me. 

Iroh: I care about you!

And through the rest of the season, Iroh tries his best to take advantage of their new freedom by showing Zuko that he does deserve control of his own life, happiness, and unconditional love. He’s trying his best to help him through this difficult time because part of Zuko’s emotional struggle in this is reconciling with the fact that no, his father doesn’t want him, at all. When he was banished, he had the ‘if I get the Avatar I can go home’ thing to cling onto, but Iroh and everyone else knew that Ozai never actually intended for Zuko to succeed or return. So Zuko has to deal with that in season 2 and doesn’t get to that point, he still tries to capture Aang and he still joins Azula in Crossroads of Destiny because he’s not ready to let that little bit of hope that he could return home go. It isn’t until he takes a stand against Ozai with the “it was cruel and it was wrong” speech that he really discovers who he is and what he wants and the main reason he’s able to come to that conclusion is because of Iroh’s treatment of him in season 2. 

In season 2, Iroh not only protects Zuko from physical harm and takes care of him in regards to sickness, food, and water, but tries to drill into his head that he didn’t deserve the treatment from his father and shouldn’t throw his life away trying to please him. That he can have and deserves a peaceful life. And Zuko keeps going down the self destructive path because he’s been convinced for so long that him proving himself to his father is more important than his personal safety or happiness. Iroh just wants him to put himself before the man that abused him. He hates it that Zuko almost gets himself killed multiple times for the sake of Ozai. There’s their talk in The Avatar Day and their fight in Lake Laogai that bring this to the forefront: 

Iroh: Even if you did capture the Avatar, I’m not so sure it would solve all our problems. 

Zuko: Then there is no hope at all 

Iroh: No Zuko, you must never give into despair. 

Iroh: And then what?! You never think these things through. This is exactly what happened when you tried to capture the Avatar at the North Pole. You had him and then you had nowhere to go. 

Zuko: I would have figured something out. 

Iroh: No! If his friends hadn’t found you, you would have frozen to death! 

Zuko: I know my own destiny. 

Iroh: Is it your own destiny? Or is it a destiny someone else has tried to force on you? 

And as Iroh acts as Zuko’s protector and tries to break him away from his self destructive mentality, how does Azula fit into that? Here are the interactions between Azula, Zuko, and Iroh in season 2: 

Azula trying to take Zuko and Iroh as prisoners to the Fire Nation with no remorse 

Azula attempting to shoot lightning at Zuko in the first episode of season 2 and Zuko only being saved by Iroh redirecting it at the last second 

Azula shooting Iroh and seriously injuring him (it could have been lighting, but I think it was just fire) 

Azula trying to capture Iroh and Zuko in Ba Sing Se and succeeding 

Azula manipulating Zuko into going back to Ozai 

Objectively, Azula is a threat against Zuko’s safety and there’s a good chance she would have killed him in the first episode of season 2 if Iroh hadn’t stopped her. He knows exactly how dangerous she is and made the decision that he was going to do what it took to keep Zuko safe, which he did. With this exchange in Bitter Work. 

This isn’t Iroh saying ‘I have no sympathy for my niece whatsoever and am choosing to ignore her’. This is Iroh saying ‘Azula has proven herself to be an objective and real threat and I need to keep Zuko safe from her.’ And he was correct. I feel like this stance is reasonable when the last two times she saw them she tried to shoot Zuko with lightning and actually shot Iroh. 

And the reality of the situation is that Iroh shouldn’t have had to be the one to raise Zuko or Azula. He wasn’t their parent and he shouldn’t have had to be responsible for them. Ideally, Ozai should have been the one to do that, but that wasn’t the reality of the situation. And Iroh was faced with a choice: go with Zuko who was banished, injured, and lost, or stay with Azula who was not in a good home with a good influence, but who was still the favored, prodigy princess. He had a choice of which kid to stand behind and I think it’s fair to say that Zuko needed Iroh more when he was banished. 

Ideally, there shouldn’t have been a choice for Iroh. Ideally, Iroh shouldn’t have had to raise his nephew. Ideally, Azula should have had a better parental influence who didn’t encourage her violent streak. But it was by no means an ideal situation. Azula was dangerous and remorseless and Iroh was entirely correct when he saw her rising to power and realized ‘if she isn’t stopped now, there is no telling what she’s going to do’. Because he knows exactly who raised her.

[popolitiko]

Hillary Clinton Calls Out Crypto Exchanges for Letting Russia Bypass Sanctions

Mar 3 by Victor Tangermann

"I would hope somebody at the Treasury Department is trying to figure out how to rein in the leaky valves in the crypto market."

Russians are still able to use cryptocurrency exchanges to circumvent newly imposed sanctions in response to the country’s invasion of Ukraine — and former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton isn’t happy.

“I was disappointed to see that some of the so-called crypto exchanges, not all of them, but some of them, are refusing to end transactions with Russia,” Clinton told Rachel Maddow on MSNBC earlier this week, calling for everybody to “do as much as possible to isolate Russian economic activity right now.”

“I would hope somebody at the Treasury Department is trying to figure out how to rein in the leaky valves in the crypto market that might allow Russia to escape the full weight of the sanctions,” Clinton told Maddow.

The Biden administration has imposed multiple rounds of sanctions at Russia and its oligarchs over the nation’s aggressive invasion of Ukraine.

The issue is that cryptocurrency exchanges are currently operating in a murky legal vacuum, allowing Russian actors to bypass the sanctions and funnel money in and out of the country.

In fact, while the Russian ruble is getting absolutely crushed, cryptocurrencies like Bitcoin and Ethereum are rallying.

Mainstream crypto exchanges such as Coinbase or Binance have yet to implement blanket bans on Russian citizens, as Decrypt points out. But if there ever were new sanctions that would forbid Russian citizens from making crypto transactions, they would likely abide.

“I think there is a reputation issue here,” Tom Keatinge, founding Director of the Centre for Financial Crime and Security Studies, told Decrypt earlier this week. “Do you want now or after the fact to be known as the exchange that facilitated sanctions evasion, even if it were not technically illegal?”

Clinton isn’t alone in calling exchanges to crack down on Russian users. Ukrainian vice prime minister Mykhailo Fedorov also called on exchanges to “freeze not only the addresses linked to Russian and Belarusian politicians, but also to sabotage ordinary users,” in a tweet over the weekend.

Strangely enough, Ukraine is actively collecting donations via public Bitcoin and Ethereum wallets to fund its war efforts, collecting over $30 million total as of Tuesday.

“Ukrainian crypto community is ready to provide a generous reward for any information about crypto wallets of Russian and Belarusian politicians and their surroundings,” Fedorov said in a separate tweet. “War crimes must be pursued and punished.”

Even before Russia invaded Ukraine, Clinton has been a major supporter of regulating blockchain, calling on the White House to ensure crypto won’t end up undermining the US dollar and other fiat currencies late last year.

While US lawmakers have yet to make significant headway, there are at least some early signs of future regulation.

Jerome Powell, chairman of the US Federal Reserve, recently suggested that the current conflict “underscored the need for Congressional action on digital finance including cryptocurrencies,” during a March 2 testimony in front of the House Financial Services Committee.

For now, Russians are able to offload assets via cryptocurrencies to circumvent sanctions. And whether the invasion of Ukraine will lead to enough pressure from the international community for the US to act remains to be seen.

READ MORE: Hillary Clinton Slams Crypto Exchanges That Haven’t Banned Russian Users

https://futurism.com/hillary-clinton-crypto-exchanges

[dontcallmecarrie]

Replying to the commenter of this snippet, who said:

oh i love it when a normaly controlled character just has a moment to let loose and everyone around them, that only know them in some variation of "placid" know shit will go down now ^^ also is there a hint of friendship with victor or are they just professional aquainted? thanks for the snippet

.

Friend, you hit the nail on the head of why I wrote it. 

This AU’s Justin is normally very self-controlled, sometimes almost to a fault— because for so long he’s been used to “being the bigger man” and “setting an example” [sure, most of the times he chose it because the actual adults were busy being overgrown toddlers], but that also means that when he loses it...

Well. As you saw, it’s not pretty. 

Also because while he normally leans hard on the ‘affable’ part of ‘affable villain’ in most of the installments of this AU, so a rare instance of him losing his temper is hopefully a good reminder of exactly what alignment he is. 

aka writing villain protagonists isn’t easy for me, if I don’t check myself they turn into anti-villains instead...which was not the goal of this thought exercise

As for his dynamic with Victor von Doom: in an earlier part, I mentioned they were childhood friends, kinda. They went to the same boarding school and were study buddies and had the weirdest friendship just about anyone could’ve thought of— barring Justin’s frenemies-slash-rivals-slash-idek-anymore dynamic with Tony— and didn’t even know each other’s names until after Victor got pulled out of boarding school because of reasons related to his country’s destabilization [his family had a lot of pull in Latveria and kept him abroad as much as possible for safety reasons, but when things really started to hit the fan they couldn’t afford to split their assets anymore].

Next time Justin saw his closest-thing-to-an-actual childhood friend’s name, it was on a request from a group who wanted to buy Hammer weapons for reasons relating to the bloody civil war going on.

Had Justin not recognized the name, the proposal would’ve been rejected; Victor’s group was technically classified as insurgents because they didn’t have official government backing [...because good luck getting anything of the sort in the middle of a civil war with multiple factions going on] and the political situation was, as analysts called it, a Tire Fire™ at best. 

So. 

Getting involved was risky at best and long story short, yeah, Justin may or may not have broken quite a few national and international laws to get Victor the weapons he needed.

After all, Victor was a relative unknown; a budding warlord whose motivations and goals were uncertain, and in retrospect, a handful of childhood memories was an incredibly risky gamble.

But it paid off.

And that’s the kicker, isn’t it?

If not for those first few shipments, Victor’s group would have just been one of the many that got wiped out. Because towards the end, they were reusing as much ammo as they could, some of their guns were Frankensteined abominations that were as liable to blow up in their faces as they were to shoot but it’s not like they had any better options, not as the fighting escalated and more and more factions tried to take advantage of any and every perceived weaknesses.

Instead, however, Victor von Doom became a national hero as Latveria went from ‘somewhere between Somalia and Yemen’ in terms of stability, straight to a Wakanda-esque powerhouse. 

probably not a great comparison, but a) both are super isolationist, b) industrialized powerhouses, and c) have a single leader

And now, Victor von Doom is the leader of a country that did a 180 on par with... quite a few historical precedents that make a lot of people very uncomfortable with the parallels. 

Latveria’s taken seriously at the international level, it has to be. Victor is hailed as a genius and dictator and everything in between, scion of one of its oldest families and with diplomatic immunity with just about any country he can name.

The man who has it all— and remembers how he got there.

If not for those first few shipments...

Victor von Doom owes Justin Hammer more than he can name. 

So, so much more, because part of Victor had never really expected to see the end of the fighting, let alone live to oversee his home country’s rebuilding.

His strange childhood friend became a kingmaker sometime when the world wasn’t looking, and it’s a secret the two of them will take to their graves.

So if Justin has an idea? Well, he’ll listen. 

It’s the least he can do.

.

...aka hopefully that gives you a better idea of their dynamic? 

That was the first time Justin really got his hands dirty: a risky gamble based off the world’s [second-]weirdest childhood friendship, but it paid off so well the CIA actually came calling asking for why he was on first-name terms with Latveria’s dictator and he had to explain they used to know each other in boarding school and were just now catching up.

For the record, Tony is incredibly jealous when he first gets wind of their friendship because excuse you, he was the one who knew Justin since they were kids! So what if they’re rivals, he was there first!!! 

To the point where someone probably ends up side-eyeing him and asking if he and Justin were exes, because Tony keeps going ‘what does he have that I don’t?’ because Justin’s been spending all his time with Victor now that he’s in town for the UN summit and dammit, they’d had plans.