#This was actually supposed to be a snow study

[sagiannaki]

If anyone can sense if something is amiss, it's a mate.

When Madja said that, she gave instructions to Lucien and Elain's sisters that he can sense what's amiss. She told him to just sit with her and talk to her and he will be able to sense what's wrong with her. She didn't told him to tug, she actually told him to be careful and not push her.

The ancient healer jerked her chin toward Lucien. “See what he can do. If anyone can sense if something is amiss, it’s a mate.” “How.” The word was barely more than a barked command. I braced myself to warn Nesta to be polite, but Madja said to my sister, as if she were a small child, “The mating bond. It is a bridge between souls.” The healer’s tone made my sister stiffen, but Madja was already hobbling for the front door. She pointed at Lucien as she saw herself out. “Try sitting down with her. Just talking—sensing. See what you pick up. But don’t push.” ACOWAR_Ch.28

While Lucien tried to help he actually didn't do what Madja told him. He went to try to sense what's wrong through the bond. He pushed and Elain was startled. I understand that he felt pressure to figure out what's wrong with her but it was supposed to be done through listening to her and use his senses to figure out her problem. He actually send her straight to a vision from pushing her. This goes in such a contrast with Chapter 26 and how Azriel listened to her and engaged with her.

The sound seemed to startle Elain, who swiftly set down her teacup. She rose to her feet, and Lucien shot to his. “I’m sorry,” he blurted. “What—what was that?” Mor put a hand on my knee to keep me from rising, too. “It—it was a tug. On the bond.” ..... Lucien looked to her, then over to me. A muscle feathered in his jaw. “Nothing,” he said, and again faced his mate. “I’m sorry—if that unsettled you.” Elain sidled toward Nesta, who seemed to be at a near-simmer. “It felt … strange,” Elain breathed. “Like you pulled on a thread tied to a rib.” Lucien exposed his palms to her. “I’m sorry.”.Elain only stared at him for a long moment. And any lucidity faded away as she shook her head, blinking twice, and said to Nesta, “Twin ravens are coming, one white and one black.” Nesta hid the devastation well. The frustration. “What can I get you, Elain?” Only with Elain did she use that voice. But Elain shook her head once more. “Sunshine.” ACOWAR_Ch.29

“No. I … I was sleeping, but I heard …” She shook her head. Blinked at our formal attire, the dark crown atop my head—and Rhysand’s. “I didn’t hear you.” Azriel stepped forward. “But you heard something else.” Elain seemed about to nod, but only backed away. “I think I was dreaming,” she murmured. “I think I’m always dreaming these days.” “.... She said as she climbed the first steps, “I can hear her—crying.” I gripped the bottom post of the banister. “Who?” “Everyone thinks she’s dead.” Elain kept walking. “But she’s not. Only—different. Changed. As I was.” “Who,” I pushed. But Elain continued up the stairs, that shawl drooping down her back. Nesta stalked from Cassian’s side to approach my own. We both sucked in a breath, to say what, I didn’t know but— “What did you see,” Azriel said, and I tried not to flinch as I found him at my other side, not having seen him move. Again. Elain paused halfway up the stairs. Slowly, she turned to look back at him. “I saw young hands wither with age. I saw a box of black stone. I saw a feather of fire land on snow and melt it.” My stomach dropped to the floor. One glance at Nesta confirmed that she felt it, too. Saw it. Mad. Elain might very well have gone mad— “It was angry,” Elain said quietly. “It was so, so angry that something was taken. So it took something from them as punishment.” We said nothing. I didn’t know what to say—what to even ask or demand. If the Cauldron had done something to her as well … I faced Azriel, exposing my palms to him. “What does that mean?” Azriel’s hazel eyes churned as he studied my sister, her too-thin body. And without a word, he winnowed away. Mor watched the space where he’d been standing long after he was gone. ACOWAR_Ch.26

Azriel did exactly what Madja told Lucien to do without being instructed to. He treated her like a mate should have. If there is a bond or not it doesn't matter, he did the actions.

The point isn't that Azriel figured her powers but that he actually listened to her to be able to do so.

But Azriel asked softly, taking a single step over the threshold and into the sitting room, “What other?” Elain’s brows twitched toward each other. “The queen—with the feathers of flame.” The shadowsinger angled his head. Lucien murmured to me, eye still fixed on Elain, “Should we—does she need …?”“She doesn’t need anything,” Azriel answered without so much as looking at Lucien. Elain was staring at the spymaster now—unblinkingly. “We’re the ones who need …” Azriel trailed off. “A seer,” he said, more to himself than us. “The Cauldron made you a seer.” ACOWAR_Ch.32

#elriel #pro elain #elain archeron #azriel shadowsinger

[lienwyn]

I'm finally getting better at making my speed paintings speedy. I did this one in just under one and a half hours.

Which, then again, might be because I picked a view I know like the back of my hand, but still xD

#Landscape #Speed Painting #Bergnäs #Art #My Art #This was actually supposed to be a snow study #But also turned into a speed painting #So I'll just count it as both xD

[ichorai]

wool ; coriolanus snow.

pairing ; young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; when you laughed, airy and light and reminiscent to that of wind chimes, coryo wished he could bottle up the sound and keep it as his, only his.

words ; 1.5k

themes ; mild fluff/angst, slightly suggestive

warnings / includes ; set before events of tbosas so no actual spoilers, making out, clemensia appearance, mentions of other characters, coryo's paranoia, he's not exactly toxic yet but the seeds are very much planted, i tried to keep him in character as best i could, let's pretend the academy also serves dinner

a/n ; this man has consumed me body and soul. this fic was inspired by the song wool by flatland cavalry on the movie soundtrack! let me know if you guys would like a second part :)

series masterlist. main masterlist.

Coriolanus Snow was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He bore an aristocratic last name—yet you noticed that his dress shirt’s buttons seemed to be various different shades of black and slightly misshapen. His voice, so sweetly saccharine, charming, seductive—would whisper falsities like it was second nature. He would often claim that he wasn’t hungry, but you’d catch the longing glint in his pale irises as he eyed the steaming bread rolls Sejanus slathered with generous helpings of butter. 

Control. That was all he needed. 

It crumbled, ever so slightly, when you nudged your slice of apple pie in his direction. His eye twitched, and you pursed your lips, pulling your plate back to you. You ate quietly, and Coryo stared at you all the while, as if he were mentally dissecting your mind—studying you. 

You knew. It was all too clear, even if he wouldn’t tell you. And if he wouldn’t tell his closest friend—or, the closest thing he had to a friend, the two of you certainly did things that friends wouldn’t do—he most definitely wouldn’t let it slip that he was financially strapped to anyone else.

That same day, he met you in the back of the library. The two of you were supposed to be studying history—Professor Demigloss was one of the nicer teachers at the academy, but that didn’t mean he was any less strict with grades. And neither you nor Coryo could afford slipping now. Not if you both wanted to get into university. Being on top meant that there was only greater distance to fall.

But there were… distractions.

Mainly, his foot knocking against yours under the table. Your hand over his jostling knee. His teeth digging into his bottom lip. When you shifted so that your thighs brushed against his, the books spread out over the table were entirely forgotten.

He pushed you against the bookshelves a mere second later, the wood digging into your back uncomfortably, and kissed you until you grew dizzy. You were a welcome distraction—he could taste the apples on your tongue. The way you snaked your arms around his neck, toying with his pale blonde curls, pulling him closer until his body slotted against yours just perfectly—clicking into place like a pair of magnets facing opposite directions. It was desperate and heavy and he could only barely pull away to inhale sharply before cradling the base of your head to tilt your jaw back and kiss you even harder. Coryo swallowed any muffled whimpers that slipped from you when his free hand traveled lower.

Lower, lower, dangerously low—

When Clemensia’s voice echoed through the library in search of her lab partner, the two of you sprang apart, gasping for air.

She rounded the bend, and her dark eyes landed on the two of you. Keen, observant, narrowed. Coriolanus was flushed, hair mussed, lips swollen, chest rising and falling erratically. You were looking anywhere but the two of them, smoothing out your clothes and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Oh! I guess I’ll just have to find another time to bother you, Coriolanus,” she tittered, sickly sweet. She tilted her head with a tempered smile. “What’re you guys studying?”

Snow rolled his eyes in exasperation. “History,” he said. Curt, simple.

“Right.” She eyed you curiously. When she spoke again, it was directed more to you than him, sounding uncharacteristically void of frigid scorn. “I’d be careful if I were you. You sure he’s not just sleeping with you because you’re the top of the class?”

You stiffened, and Coryo bristled. 

“I’ll be fine, Clem. See you tomorrow.” 

There was another beat of terse silence. Her eyes darted warily between the two of you, and she whisked away in a flutter of red and black.

You blew out a breath. Your mouth tingled with the phantom memory of his lips planted over yours, and your cheeks flushed with heat. The two of you sat back down, both quiet. You worked in fluid tandem with each other, as you always did. His hands kept to himself this time. 

“I’m not using you,” he whispered, eventually. “It’s not like that.”

“I know,” you replied hesitantly, testing the waters. “It’s not like you’d need to. Your grades are just fine as is.”

The two of you kept working until your fingers cramped with overuse and his head pulsed with the beginnings of a migraine. 

“Dinner?” you asked once the clock struck six, nudging him. “I think they’ll be serving mashed potatoes today.”

His stomach clenched at the thought of warm food. Control.

“Sure,” he replied coolly, flicking his books closed and gathering up all the papers to stuff into his bag. “I’m sick of mashed potatoes, though.”

You shot him an incredulous smile, brows quirking up. He was lying, but you didn’t know. “Not even when it’s seasoned with roasted garlic? A dash of the freshest of herbs?”

The blue of his eyes gleamed when they bore into yours. “Not even then.”

“You’re a strange man, Coriolanus Snow.” Your lips twisted downward, but it was more of a smile than a frown. When your eyes darted below to glance at his school uniform, you couldn’t help but notice the unironed creases in the carmine fabric. One of the buttons—the very top one—was oddly shaped and a different color from all the rest. It reminded you of his dress shirt. You quite liked that dress shirt. He looked handsome in it, but you chalked it up to his uncanny ability to look handsome in just about anything.

Your head tilted to the side, molten eyes fixed on the button. You knew. He knew that you knew. Panic seized in his chest, an irrational clawing sensation searing within his lungs. Would you tell the rest of the class? What would you say to them? That he was living as filthily as a District boy? That he skipped meals because he couldn’t afford them? That his cousin mended his clothes for him?

But your frown-smile deepened. Fondness stained your expression, clear as day. Coriolanus found himself surprised, as he often did around you. 

“I love your buttons, by the way,” you mumbled, reaching out to trace it with a finger. He held his breath on instinct. “Is it a stylistic choice? Having them all irregular like this?”

Stylistic. Coriolanus almost laughed.

“Mhm. It’ll be in fashion one day. I’m just ahead of the trends,” he murmured charmingly. A bluff.

When you laughed, airy and light and reminiscent to that of wind chimes, Coryo wished he could bottle up the sound and keep it as his, only his. 

“Maybe I’ll start wearing mismatched buttons now, too. Rebel against uniformity.” You stood up from your chair as you spoke, not catching the way Coriolanus’ expression faltered momentarily with your last three words. It was a joke, he had to remind himself. Just a joke. “Come on. Let’s go have dinner. I’m starving.”

He jerkily stood up. Grabbed your hand just because he could, fingers folding over your wrist. He could feel your pulse, thumping quicker and quicker. You regarded him curiously. Snow’s remaining spindly hand cradled your face and he stepped closer, intuitive eyes roaming over your face, wondering just how much of you was real. How much of you was lying, just as he was?

His lips fell over yours again. This time, the kiss was sweeter. Slower, more languid. His nose brushed over your cheekbone, warm to the touch. You hummed pleasantly against him, before placing a hand flat over his chest—over the crooked button—and pulled away with a dazed smile. It felt dangerously good that you hadn’t tugged your hand out of his grasp yet. His grip tightened in a near possessive manner.

As the two of you began walking out of the library, Coriolanus couldn’t help but think back to your hyperbole—about how far from starving you truly were. You wouldn’t ever know, not when your family was the very epitome of Capitol wealth. But he was glad he wasn’t the only one lying, for once, even if your lie was merely an inflation of the truth. 

After dinner, Coryo worked off the top button of his uniform with repeated tugs to the threads, pulling apart Tigris’ handiwork. He slid it over the table to you, watching the way your countenance softened in endearment. He kissed you again in the dark hallways outside the cafeteria, finding it difficult to get your lips to melt away from your tightly-stretched grin.

He walked home with a mirroring smile and a missing button that night. One less piece of the wolf’s sheeply clothes.

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow fluff #coriolanus snow x you #hunger games fanfiction #coriolanus snow drabbles #tbosas fanfiction #tbosas x reader #young!coriolanus snow x reader #young!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow

[aureatchi]

⛇₊˚ʚ₊˚✧ AND I CHOSE YOU, ‘CAUSE YOU’RE ALL I NEED ft. dazai, chuuya, fyodor, nikolai

some winter prompts/scenarios with the bsd men…and other romantic things they spoil you with.

info. fem!reader. fluff fluff !! domestic moments. profanities from chuuya. established relationships. kissing. mentions of a fake! machete from nikolai lmao.

DAZAI says: it’s too cold to get out of bed! can’t we just stay in and cuddle?

As soon as your eyes fluttered open, you were greeted with the realization that it was far too late to wake up at this time on a weekday. You could see the sun outside your window, overlooking the blanket of snow that had fallen the night before. Panicking, you tried to turn towards your nightstand to catch a glimpse of your clock to confirm your thoughts, but a leg wrapping around your waist stopped you.

“Osamu?”

“Morning, beautiful,” Dazai’s sleepy voice replied, continuing to trap you in an embrace with his arms.

“What time is it?” you asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied, but that only made you feel even more uneasy. You forcefully shifted out of his grasp to look at your clock—woah, you were both supposed to be at work an hour ago.

You sat up on the bed, startling Dazai. “Osamu! We’re supposed to be at work! Why didn’t the alarm go off…I haven’t played with it lately…”

Another realization. You sharply eyed Dazai with a frown, who, in contrast, had his signature mischievous smirk on his face, even through tired eyes.

“Did you turn it off?!”

“Huh?” He yawned. “Now, why would you accuse me of such a thing? I don’t see why the alarm should be turned off.”

“Exactly!” you replied. “But who else could’ve done it? A ghost?”

“Hmm.” He tapped his index finger on his chin in thought. “Oh, I know!

“How about fate?” His hand moved to cup your cheek as he answered you in a flirtatious voice. You tried not to cringe at how corny he sounded. “What if fate wanted us to miss work today so we can stay in and spend time together inste-”

“Now this is where you gave yourself away!” you cut him off, moving towards the end of the bed to stand up. “Who said we’re missing work? It’s better to be late than not show up at al-”

Dazai grabbed your arm, pulling you back in.

“Osamu!”

“Yeah, unless you’re sick! Wouldn’t want to infect everyone else with a cold, right?”

“But none of us are sick?”

“Too bad,” he whispered, pulling you back under the covers. “I already called the Agency. I told them that…” he made dramatic coughing sounds, “...you were sick, and of course, you got me sick too!”

“What?!” you were in disbelief. “You liar! You could’ve at least not put the blame on me!”

“Oh, don’t be mistaken! I said it was my fault—you just looked so adorable while sick, I just had to cuddle up with you the whole night! So naturally, I got sick too. Isn’t that believable? I’d do the same if it actually happened.”

You facepalmed. “You’re not making it past Ranpo.”

“Don’t worry about him. I’ve taken care of that too,” Dazai smiled. There was no getting around Ranpo, but it would only be a problem if he exposed the lie. So, Dazai had bought him a stockpile of snacks to keep his mouth shut.

You sighed before snuggling up against him. It looks like you weren’t going anywhere today. Not that you were complaining anymore—if your lover handled everything anyway.

“So why did you want to stay in?” you asked.

“Because I knew I’d feel cold if I got out of bed.” The brunette’s fingers started stroking through your hair as you rested your head on his chest, relaxed by both his hand and the faint thump of his heartbeat.

“That’s it?” you laughed. “You didn’t want to be cold?”

“That, and because I want to spend time with my belladonna, duuh.” Dazai turned you around so he could see your face.

“You look pretty. Just like an angel, more bonny than any other snow angel.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear as his eyes studied you in admiration, flustering you. You were in awe that he could call you that when you had just woken up—you probably looked like a mess. He was the one who looked lovely—amber eyes peeking through his untidy hair and pretty eyelashes, the faint pink that surged through his cheeks when you kissed his knuckles, his bandaged chest that was revealed under his slightly unbuttoned pajamas…Dazai looked as dreamy as hearing his morning voice. And man, was it attractive, too.

He gave innocent pecks from one corner of your mouth to the other, and you reciprocated. You gently peppered each other’s faces with sleepy kisses until you rested on his torso again.

“That’s right, bella,” he cooed, rubbing your back. “We can relax today.” You wrapped your arms around him, enjoying the warmth he provided. “And if you’re hungry, we can order something from wherever you want later, yeah?”

You nodded with a smile. “Sounds perfect.”

CHUUYA says: let’s go ice skating, darling!

“C’mon, doll, it’s okay. Promise I’ll catch you if you slip!”

A local lake had frozen over, and you’d always wanted to learn how to ice skate, so Chuuya saw it as the perfect opportunity to teach you. Yet now, you stood at the edge with your skates, intimidated by the sapphire water that rested below the thin layer of ice and having nowhere to hold onto for support. Thankfully, it was just the two of you there; you would’ve felt even more nerve-wracked if others were watching.

“You’re so rude, Chu! You left me!” you whined, your voice traveling across the serene scenery. Chuuya simply laughed—he had skated a few feet off into the lake, waiting for you to follow. Yet, to you, it seemed so much farther than that.

“I’m right here!” he replied. He motioned for you in a way that reminded you of how a parent encourages a baby to take their first step. “Here, baby!” He cooed, holding his arms out. “You can do it.”

“Are you mocking me?! You’re talking to me like a little girl!”

“You are my girl though, sweetheart,” the ginger responded.

You sighed, your breath visible as it fanned out into the cold. “There has to be some sort of compensation, though, if I do fall!”

“I’ll massage whatever hurts if anything does,” he promised.

“Fair.” Chuuya’s massages were priceless.

You slowly stepped onto the ice, trying to keep balance on the blades attached to your feet. You looked up at Chuuya, panicking.

“Bend your knees.” You immediately followed, which helped you stabilize yourself.

“Now push off from one knee to the other,” Chuuya continued. Slowly, you started moving towards him, skating into his arms when you reached him.

“Wasn’t so hard, was it?” he smirked through the embrace. “Good job. Now c’mon.”

Chuuya started leading you across the ice, helping you get used to the rhythm and being in sync with each other. Once he saw you get the hang of it, he suggested something.

“We can go really fast, yknow,” Chuuya proposed. “If you want…I think it’ll be exciting.”

“Exactly how fast?” you asked.

“I’d use my ability to enhance it,” he smiled. You knew that would speed you up tons.

“Okay,” you said after contemplating for a few seconds. “I trust you.”

Chuuya moved in front of you to hold your hands in his. “Hold on tight, baby!”

You gripped onto the executive as he activated his ability. And with one push, after making sure you knew it was coming, you two zoomed across the lake, wind breezing past you. You screamed—in surprise, fear, and exhilaration, as Chuuya steered you both, even more talented doing it backwards.

“Damn, you’re flying, doll!” he exclaimed and loosened his grip on one of your arms. Chuuya spun you around on the ice as he slowed the both of you down, bringing you to a complete stop with a kiss.

“Already like a pro,” he praised. “You learned so fast. And what’d I say? I promised I wouldn’t let you fall.”

You chuckled, feeling warmth heat up your frost-nipped cheeks as Chuuya cupped your face with his fingers. “I still want a massage, though. Pleeease?”

He smirked. “Fuck, I could never refuse since you asked so nicely. And I guess you deserve something for doing so well on skates. Of course.”

“Yay!” You cheered as you skated in a circle around Chuuya before connecting his lips with yours once again.

“This was incredibly fun, Chu.”

FYODOR asks: is the fireplace not enough? you need me to warm you up, too?

“It’s cold.”

You and Fyodor were in a cabin high up in the mountains, the epicenter of planning his next mission. Fyodor often traveled, and you always accompanied him, despite his warnings of how boring those journeys would be because his attention would be mainly focused on his paperwork and mapping out the areas by the temporary headquarters.

You always reassured him you were completely fine with it. You understood his job and were used to him not having his attention on you all the time. You were content reading through his collection of novels with his cursive annotations scribbled throughout the pages to pass the time while he sat devising schemes.

Though right now, you were starting to shiver, even below the three layers of your sweater. The heat radiating from the candle on the desk you sat reading at wasn’t enough—you were still cold.

“Put your coat on,” Fyodor replied from another table. He had let you have the true desk by the bookshelf with the comfy chair to lounge in while he took the dining table.

“It’s too bulky. It’ll be uncomfortable,” you said, gliding your hand over a page.

You heard a sigh. “Must you always choose comfort over practicality?”

“Of course, when I have the privilege,” you chuckled. “Can I light the fireplace?”

Fyodor looked up from his work. “Yes, I’ll help you.”

“Are you sure? You seem busy. I can do it myself.”

“No worries, as long as you don’t distract me with anything else.”

You gave him a knowing smirk. “I’m not sure if I can guarantee that,” you replied as you headed for the wooden logs in the back. Fyodor followed you, helping you carry a few over to the fireplace.

You ensured all the air vents were open as he threw the wood in, starting the fire with a lighter. Fyodor sat in the single armchair right in front of it, checking to see if it was stable from afar.

“How’s this?” he asked, watching you on the floor, getting close to feel the flames. “Warming up?”

“Yes,” you responded, turning towards him.

“Good. You can sit here while I return to-“ he was both cut off in speech and from getting up when you lowered yourself onto his lap. “Milaya…“

“I warned you I couldn’t guarantee it,” you whispered, straddling him. You weren’t forceful—each move was as graceful as a ballerina’s glide, and it was probably because, despite his words, Fyodor differed to fight back.

“Stay for a little, please,” you softly pleaded, trapping the ravenette even more by wrapping your arms around his neck. “Can you take a short break?”

“You’re asking me as if you’re giving me a choice,” Fyodor chuckled, still seeing you give him no room to leave. “Fine. I’ll indulge in your wants this once.”

“It’s more of indulging in my needs,” you corrected him, looking into violet eyes. You then picked up the book you had been reading earlier to continue.

“Enjoying it so far?” he asked, moving the hair out of your face and tucking it behind your ears.

“Yeah. But I’m not going to lie, I think I like your annotations more than the actual book.”

“How flattering.” Fyodor smiled. “I enjoyed reading it a lot, too, though. That’s why I wrote so much.” You flipped open to the page you left off on when you suddenly had an idea.

“What if you read to me?” you asked with a giggle.

His face showed rare, genuine surprise for a moment. “Hm? It’s not like this is some bedtime story…

“I’m not against it, though.”

And so, he started reading to you. You sang in victory in your head because though you would never admit it to him—Fyodor had too much ego for you to heighten it even more—you loved his voice. His accent laced the words of the plot that resumed as he spoke from page to page.

You couldn’t think of anything more perfect. Hearing the satisfying tone of his tongue accompanied by the ambiance of the fireplace and the flipping of pages…you could stay nuzzled up against him like this forever.

“I thought you said you were enjoying it,” Fyodor paused after some time, noticing your eyelids drooping and head limp against his shoulder. “Yet you’re falling asleep.”

“I am,” you said, your words slurring. “I’m just really comfy like this. It feels cozy…makes me sleepy…”

You tucked your face into his neck. Fyodor gently closed the book before wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Well, it can’t be helped…” he whispered. “Sweet dreams, dorogaya.”

NIKOLAI says: let’s build a snowman!

“Why are you putting the carrots for eyes?” You shook your head in disappointment as you watched Nikolai create his ‘snowman.’ It hardly looked like one, honestly. The only thing normal about it was the base—which you had helped him with. Three spheres of snow stacked upon each other to make the snowman’s body. The rest…was very Nikolai.

He had put the carrots as the eyes. And the snowman had three orange, pointy eyes. As for the mouth, he sculpted a smile out of clay, which was fine, but of course, he made it in a way that looked very ominous. Then, the jester had decorated it with a bunch of colorful pom-poms. The whole thing was very random, but you knew something like this was coming.

“And finally!” Nikolai pulled out a fake plastic machete.

“Kolya, what the heck?! Now, we really can’t leave this here! What if some kid stumbles upon it and takes the knife?”

“It’s fake, baby, don’t worry!” He replied, running his finger along the sharp end.

“Well, yeah, but still! I don’t think anyone’s parents would appreciate that!”

Nikolai sighed before a portal appeared, swallowing his entire snowman and the machete inside.

“You play too safe sometimes, love.”

“Where did you transport that to?!”

“The Sky Casino,” he giggled. “I’m sure Sigma will find the new decoration lovely!” You immediately felt pity towards the poor man—you imagined him having to clean up a puddle of melted snow and other objects in the casino.

You just stood for a moment before Nikolai spoke again.

“Okay, I’ll actually make something you like,” he said. “Could you help me with the base?”

You didn’t know what he was going to do next, but you helped him anyway after making him promise he wasn’t going to pull out anymore weapons, real or fake. You stacked the snow on top of each other and waited to see what he was going to do next.

Nikolai transported two buttons that reminded you of your eye color to place on the snowman’s face as its eyes. He then used two sticks to create a cute smile. Then, he pulled out a hat and scarf that looked like the exact ones you were wearing…

“Wait, huh?” You glanced down at your attire and then at the articles, you saw Nikolai dressing the snowman in. “Where did you even get that?”

“The place where you got yours, duh!” he responded. You tried to push away the thought in your head that he most likely stole it. But now, you understood what he was doing. So, while he finished replicating you, you started a snowman right next to his.

“Kolya, can you please let me borrow your top hat? And a green and a gray button?”

His face grew elated. “Sweet dove! You’re doing what I’m doing!” He summoned what you had asked for. “Here you go!”

In the end, Nikolai had created a snowman of you, and you had built a snowman of him. It made your heart warm at how sweet it was.

“Yours looks so cute!” you exclaimed, looking at the one of yourself. You then teased him. “Honestly, I’m surprised you were capable of this.”

“No snowman will ever be as cute as you,” he responded with a wink. “And what can I say? I’m full of surprises.” He then threw himself onto you.

“And you made me! My heart could burst right now…look at us together!” You felt everything happen at once after that—one moment, Nikolai was spinning you in the air, absolutely thrilled, and the next, his lips sealed yours in a passionate kiss.

“Quiz time,” Nikolai whispered on your mouth.

“What must’ve I done to deserve the best girl in the world?”

rbs are cherished; they are your christmas gift to me <3

tags : @kissesmellow21

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[strang3lov3]

Pharmacy

Summary: (mall rats 6) Surrounded by medical supplies is a convenient time to slice your hand open. Joel wrestles your stubborn ass to treat your wound, then fucks you how you like.

Tags: Jar Jar Binks, Star Wars opinions, manhandling, descriptions of injuries (I tried to keep it as short and sweet as I could, bc I myself am a squeamish girl!! I was squirming the whole time writing this!!!) blowjobs, f masturbation, kinda rough unprotected PIV, creampie, dirty talk, reader and Joel have googly eyes for each other

A/N: as always thank you so much @papipascalispunk for editing. Thank you all for your continued patience with my writing, I am a busy busy lady and you may not get another fic from me for two weeks or more with the whole finals thing, but I do have lots of shit planned! One thing at a time bug one thing at a time. I wish I could write smut for my history of Indiana final essay but I don’t think that would fly with my nun-obsessed professor. Also, thank you @noxturnalpascal and @speckledemerald for hyping me up ❤️❤️

Joel is standing in front of a map of the mall, studying it intently. It’s been a while since you’ve been at the mall with Joel, actually. With the weather getting worse with more and more snow, Tommy is trying to keep travel limited to patrol. Supply runs for necessities only, and Jackson is in need of medical supplies. Rubbing alcohol, gauze, bandages, first aid supplies. There’s actually a medical building not far from Jackson, but it’s pretty well picked over at this point. 

“Mall has a pharmacy. A CVS or Walgreens, somethin’ like that. I’ll go,” Joel had volunteered in Tommy’s office. 

“I’ll come too,” you added as you were helping Tommy fill out patrol logs.

Joel sighed, “No.” 

“Why not?”

“Supposed to be a quick trip. In and out. Don’t need you gettin’ distracted by lotions and perfumes again.”

“Those are necessities,” you argue, “Besides, buddy system. It’s important for us to stick together.” 

“We are not buddies,” Joel scoffed. Tommy raised his eyebrows in amusement.

“No? What are we, then?” 

Joel opened his mouth as if to answer with something sharp and argumentative, but no words came out. His cheeks turned rosy as you both shared an odd look, with Joel’s hands frozen on the buttons of his coat. The pencil you wrote with felt heavy in your hand, held awkwardly on the paper as you stared at Joel. You didn’t mean for that question to come out the way it did. What was the answer to the question, anyway? 

Tommy filled the silence with his own answer. “I know what y’all are,” he smirked. 

Joel shot Tommy a warning look, then took your jacket from behind your chair and held it open for you. “Let’s go, then,” he said. You put your arms through the sleeves, zipped yourself up and left. You could hear Tommy chuckling to himself as you walked out with Joel.

You rode horseback to the mall. Still feeling awkward from the interaction at Tommy’s, you both stayed silent, but the ride wasn’t uncomfortable. You hugged Joel tightly, and Joel savored the warmth of your cheek on his back. 

“Found it,” Joel taps the map, “I remember now. It’s downstairs.”

“Ha!” you brag, “I told you. I knew it was downstairs. I was right.” 

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll throw a party when we get home,” Joel replied, taking off towards the dilapidated staircase. You follow close behind, dragging your fingers against the railing, letting your hand tap each of the thin rods that support it. One breaks off and falls with a clatter. Joel doesn’t bother turning around to see what it was. “You break these stairs, you find us a new way out of here,” he warns. Dramatic. You pick up the thin rail and twirl it as you walk behind Joel, then poke his ass with the piece of metal. Already exhausted by you, he sighs, “What’d you find now, trouble?”

“Lightsaber,” you answer. 

“What?” Joel tilts his head and turns around to finally see what all the noise and clattering was. You’re holding one of the thin rods from the railing, still twirling it. “No, put that down,” he tells you, “You’re gonna give yourself tetanus. Put it down, sweetheart.”

“Ellie lent me this DVD. Did you ever see this old movie, Star Wars?”

“Quit while you’re ahead,” Joel grumbles, rolling his eyes and shaking his head, “Ain’t that old, smartass. And of course I’ve watched Star Wars, who do you think introduced it to her?”

“Oh,” you reply, “Well, there was this character, Jar Jar–”

“Nope,” Joel cuts you off, “You’re done. Lost your talkin’ privileges. Drop your lightsaber and zip it.”

Still twirling the rod you ask, “You don’t like Star Wars?”

“I like Star Wars. What you watched is not Star Wars.”

“Yes it is, Joel. It was on the DVD.” 

Joel turns back around and keeps walking, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Yeah I do. Mesa–”

Joel interrupts, “Do not finish that sentence,” he warns, “God, that movie was so stupid. Took Sarah to see it when it came out, we ended up leavin’ halfway through and gettin’ ice cream instead.” You watch Joel smile at the memory as you approach the pharmacy and he holds the door open for you. You smile with him. Joel doesn’t talk about Sarah much with you, but he mentions her now and then, at least more than he used to.

You and Joel find the first aid aisle of the pharmacy. He knows what to look for, so he peruses the aisles and stuffs his bag full of supplies. Watching him bend over, you can’t help but poke his ass again. “Knock it off, space cadet,” he says, annoyed.

You giggle to yourself and toss the rod aside. You hadn’t realized the end that you were holding was damaged when you broke it off the railing. Fuck. It’s sharp, jagged, and slices your palm all the way across. The rod clangs on the ground and startles Joel. 

Joel turns around to see the rod on the ground, and you clutching your fist tightly. “What’s in your hand?”

“Nothing,” you answer, feeling your hand become warm and wet. 

Joel connects the dots. He bends over and checks the rod for rust and there’s none, thank god. But the end is very jagged, almost serrated like a knife. “Open your hand.”

“No,” pressing your lips together, you lower your gaze and open your fist slightly to check your hand, then quickly shut it. Joel watches your eyes go wide and the color draining from your face. “It’s n–mmm,” you hum, your voice shaky, “I’m fine.” 

“You’re not fine,” Joel reaches for your hand, “You’re hurt. Need to see how deep that cut is, clean it and–”

You shove Joel backward with your free hand, and he looks momentarily taken aback. There was a lot more strength behind that shove than he would have anticipated. You’re not playing, not teasing like usual. “Do you wanna try that again?” he asks, his voice firm.

“Don’t touch me.” 

Joel takes in your expression. You’re not trying to start a fight with him, you look worried, anxious, and defensive with pale lips and trembling hands. You had mentioned not handling blood or pain well before, but he didn’t know you were this squeamish, you poor thing. “I have to, hon.”

“Joel…”

Joel raises a hand in your direction, “Don’t argue with me on this. You need to sit down, I can tell you’re gettin’ freaked.”

“Joel,” you say his name again in a warning tone, much sharper than before. 

“I know,” he says softly, as he steps closer to you, and you step back, your feet hitting the wall behind you. You’re feeling more amped up now. “Just let me look,” as he reaches for your wrist and pulls you closer, his grip tightening when you struggle against him and try to pull your arm away. “Quit squrimin’,” he grits his teeth as he fights against your strength. Minding his own strength, and with one hand gripping your wrist, he moves the other to your shoulder and forces you to the ground as gently as he can. A sliced hand is bad enough, he doesn’t need you fainting and cracking your skull open. You kick your legs and punch against him, but he pins his body on top of yours, your free hand between your body and his leg.

“Get the fuck off me, Joel,” you spit, “Get off, get off, get–”

“Hey. Hey,” he says, his voice firm yet gentle, “Breathe, sweetheart. I know you’re nervous.”

You stare at Joel with fiery eyes, breathing heavily through your nose. Shallow breaths, probably not getting enough oxygen to your brain, but at least you’re breathing. Joel gives you a moment to settle down.

“I need you to listen to me,” he tells you, “I don’t know how deep your cut is. I need you to let me look.”

“Please,” you beg, “Please don’t.”

“I’m gonna be gentle,” Joel promises as he flips your wrist up, gently beginning to pry your fingers open, “You look at me. Don’t look at your hand. Just look at me. Will you trust me?” 

Nodding apprehensively, you keep your focus on Joel. He nods in response, then examines your palm. He bites his cheek and frowns. 

“Is it bad?” you ask shakily.

“Uhh,” he hums, “It’s not good,” he answers you honestly. You’re cut in multiple areas and by the looks of it, the gashes go pretty deep. “You might need stitches.”

Fuck that. You squirm under Joel with all of your might to force him off of you. 

“Stop thrashin’. Stop it,” he says, holding your jaw firmly and looking into your eyes, “I’m not gonna stitch ya. We can cross that bridge when we get to Jackson. But you are risking infection. So I’m going to stop the bleeding, wash it, disinfect, then wrap your hand. That’s all.”

He has a tendency to get frustrated with you, and you’re sure he’s beyond frustrated with you right now, but he’s not showing it. He looks sincere, but you’re still on edge and lacking assurance. “Promise?” you whisper.

“I swear,” he assures softly, rubbing your jaw gently with his thumb. When you nod in response, Joel takes his coat off and folds it, then slides it under your head. He needs you as comfortable as you can be. 

“We are gonna have to amputate, though,” he jokes as he pulls out a rag from his bag and presses it into your hand. You give him a dirty look. “Kidding,” he says. 

Joel removes the rag to see if your hand is still bleeding. You catch a glimpse of the cut and the blood in your palm, running down your wrist, “Oh god, my hand, Joel–”

“Don’t look,” he repeats, “Just keep lookin’ at me, sweetheart.”

But you don’t. You can’t seem to peel your eyes away, and you feel lightheaded. Joel notices.

“Tell me somethin’ new,” he says, distracting you from the pain.

“Joel, please,” you whine.

“Somethin’ new,” he reminds you.

“I saw a cat yesterday.”

Joel nods in response. “What color?” he asks.

“Uh, calico,” you reply. He’s reaching into his bag, pulling out his canteen and rinsing your hand out with his water. The cool water feels soothing on your palm. 

“What’s calico?”

“It’s when a cat has three colors, Joel,” you answer impatiently, as if the answer should be glaringly obvious to him. “Fuck,”  you hiss, as he pats the wound dry. The fabric feels irritating and painful against you. 

“Tell me more. Tell me good things.”

Following his instructions, you begin rambling. It’s not hard once you start. “I saw a cat and I kicked Tommy’s ass in a board game and his baby is so cute, by the way. Almost as cute as the cat.”

“You think cats are cuter than babies?”

“Obviously. Babies are gross and they’re noisy and I finished the sweater I was crocheting for Maria and the snow looks pretty and I love you and I…” 

Joel pauses his work on your hand momentarily. He doesn't hear anything else you say after those three words. I love you. It’s a fuzzy sort of quiet, he’s in disbelief. I love you. When your hand twitches, he pulls his focus back to you.

“...And I watched Star Wars.”

“Yeah,” he replies quietly, “You said that already, you said–”

“I did? Oh yeah. I guess I did.”

You’re clearly delirious, in panic mode, and not thinking straight. You don’t remember talking about Star Wars an hour ago, you don’t even realize what just slipped your lips a second ago. Joel smiles to himself. He’s suspected it for a while. He loves you too. But that’s a conversation for later. There’s a more pressing issue at hand, quite literally.

Joel clears his throat and blinks a couple of times. “Uhm,” he hums, thinking of something to say, “And you said you got that movie from Ellie? The Phantom Menace?” 

“Star Wars.”

“Yeah, Star Wars Episode I, The Phantom Menace,” he corrects you. You shrug. “Unbelievable,” Joel says, “Thought I taught that girl better.” He reaches for a bottle of rubbing alcohol and keeps your hand open in his. “Alright, deep breath in and out. This is the worst part, then we’re done.” 

Before you have time to breathe in and out as instructed, before you have time to argue, Joel dumps the alcohol in your palm. You yelp and tug your hand away, but he holds it still.

“I know, I know, I know, baby,” he coos, “Almost done.”

“Joel,” you cry.

“Look, all done,” he whispers as tears off a piece of gauze and lays it over your gash. “See? All done. Just need to wrap it,” Joel prepares more gauze, “Makes sense you’ve identified with Jar Jar, of all characters.” 

“What do you mean?”

Joel begins to wrap the bandage tightly around your hand. “Clumsy,” he murmurs, “Troublemakin’... accident prone.” 

“I don’t think you like Star Wars,” you tell him.

“Not the prequels,” Joel replies, “Only good thing about the outbreak is that they couldn’t finish that godforsaken mess of a trilogy.”

“What do you mean, ‘prequels’?”

“There was an original trilogy that came out before that movie you watched. Ellie didn’t show you them?”, and you shake your head no, “So you don’t know Han Solo or Princess Leia. That means nothin’ to ya?”

“Nope.”

“Jesus Christ. What about C-3PO? R2-D2?”

“Oh, yeah. I know them. They were in that movie.”

“No,” Joel disagrees, then looking baffled for a second before nodding his head as he remembers the hour he spent watching that movie with Sarah years and years ago. “Mm, yeah, you’re right. Guess they were,” Joel concedes, “We’ll have to rectify this, you know. Have a movie night sometime.” 

“Yeah,” you agree, “You can make me popcorn.” 

“I’ll make you popcorn,” Joel says, watching a smile form on your lips. “There it is,” he praises, “Missed that smile. Don’t like seein’ you upset like that,” he murmurs, finishing your bandage wrap and securing it in place. “What am I gonna do with you?” he asks as he presses a kiss to your palm before he lets your hand go. You can still feel the warmth of his touch on your skin as he watches you and your cheeks begin to warm.

“I know what you’re gonna do with me,” you whisper. 

I’m gonna kiss you, and I’ll tell you that I love you too. That’s what I’m gonna do with you, Joel thinks, his heart beginning to race.

“Tell me, sweetheart.” 

“You’re gonna listen to my Jar Jar impression.”

Joel sighs. He watches you with adoration, and he wants nothing more than to express that adoration for you. It’ll happen when it happens. He decides to let it go for now and play along with you instead, however you want to. You deserve it, after all. He’ll put up a facade like you drive him crazy and he’ll let you believe you’re really getting under his skin, just to watch you smile and hear you laugh like you really got him this time. And he’ll tease you back, at least once more. 

“Please spare me until I lose my hearing in my other ear.” 

You oblige, smiling and rolling your eyes. Still holding eye contact with Joel, you become acutely aware of the position you’re in, that all too familiar position. Faces close, bodies closer and staring into his sparkly, warm brown eyes with his weight pressing into you. Maybe it’s the adrenaline, the way he took care of you, who knows. Out of the blue, you’re turned on and Joel knows. Joel cocks an eyebrow when your breath hitches, when you bite your lip and begin to squirm underneath him, seemingly now uncomfortable, aroused no doubt. “Time and place, hon,” he smirks smugly.

Heat rises up your neck and your cheeks at his accusation, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Yeah, you do. I know how you operate,” he asserts. “What’s got ya all worked up all of a sudden?” Joel asks, his hand caressing your cheek, your jaw.

“Nothing,” you lie. Your skin burns where his fingers trace.

“I think you’re lyin’. I know you like when I get rough with ya, just wasn’t expectin’ ya to like it now of all times, when I had to wrestle you down to fix that gash in your hand,” Joel taunts, “You’re very stubborn sometimes, you know that?” 

“Challenging,” you counter his claim, “And I wasn’t being stubborn. I could have taken care of my hand myself. I didn’t really need your help.”

Joel knows that’s a lie. You did, in fact, need his help. Badly. 

“That right there is stubborn.”

“No,” you argue, “And I’m not worked up right now, either.” Joel makes an amused face at you, and you wince internally. 

Shit. You fucked that up. Overcompensated.

“Right. Course not.” 

Against your better judgment, you open your mouth to argue further but Joel hushes you. “What do I get if you’re wet right now, sweetheart?” he whispers, unbuttoning your jeans. Your tummy flutters with desire as his fingertips skate across your skin. “You’re more than welcome to stop me right now,” he purrs. He’s giving you an out, a moment to make a choice, but you don’t dare stop him. And Joel grins. He snakes his hand down your pants, underneath your thin cotton panties. The anticipation builds with the tickle of his fingers lightly dragging over your mound, his middle and ring fingers tracing over your lips. You gasp quietly when he dips his fingers at your core, his fingertips collecting your arousal. You stifle a whine as he pulls his hand away from your body, showing you his two fingers glistening with your slick. Joel clicks his tongue, “Can’t be comfortable,” he murmurs, his tone sarcastic and sympathetic all at the same time. “This all for me?”

“No,” you breathe shakily. Yes. 

“You’re lyin’ to me,” he mumbles, bringing his two fingers to his lips. His mouth makes obscene noises as he sucks them clean of your arousal, humming at the sweet taste. Before you can think, he’s pulling your pants and underwear down in one fell swoop, his fingers finding their place back at your pussy. “You could tell me the truth and I’d go easy on ya,” he offers, his thumb pressing against your clit.

You love the thrill, that feeling in your stomach. Joel gives you a moment to answer, but you don’t. “No?”  he asks before situating himself on the ground with you, backing himself against a wall and pulling you into his lap. “Gonna make it worse for yourself,” he says, spreading your legs apart and hiking up your shirt, one hand playing with your pussy and the other kneading your breasts, teasing your nipples, “Why don’t you tell me how much ya needed this, hm? How you want me to make it all better.”

You sigh, a soft Joel falling from your lips as you become wetter, more sensitive as Joel’s fingers dance through your slick folds. He pushes two fingers inside you, fingers curling into that spot that he so loves. His thumb rubs tight, steady circles around your clit and he flicks the thumb of his other hand across your sensitive nipples, the combination of actions filling you with a deep, hot pleasure. You rest your head on his shoulder, the scratchy hairs on his cheek pressing against your forehead. You reach behind yourself to touch him, tangling your fingers in his curls.

“We’ll do this the hard way, then,” Joel shoves you forward, careful not to use too much of his strength but enough to let you know that he’s in charge. He’s always in charge. He takes his folded coat from the ground and positions it in front of himself. He stands up tall, knees popping as he rises. “Since you have nothin’ better to do with your mouth than tellin’ lies…”  Joel snaps and points to his coat, “Might as well keep you quiet instead. Down,” he instructs, “On your knees. Do it now.”

“Yes, Joel,” as you assume the position.

“Ah, now she speaks,” he taunts, the quiet metallic clang of him undoing his belt buckle sending excitement shooting through you. “Open,” is his next command, “Nice n’ wide, hon, you know how,” he instructs as he pulls out his cock, hard and with a pearly bead of precum glistening on his head. You open your mouth for Joel, eyes wide and Joel taps his member on your tongue. “Keep ya from doin’ that stupid fuckin’ impression, too.”

Your eyes light up as you think of something quippy to say, but Joel slides his cock into your mouth to keep you from doing so. “Ah-ah,” he tuts, “Quiet.” He’s delicious, masculine, heady, and intense. He fills your mouth entirely and you swirl your tongue around him, tracing thick veins and salty skin. “Attagirl,” Joel praises you, gripping the back of your head and pushing himself further into your mouth. You nearly gag, pulling back slightly but he holds you right where he wants you, “Right there.”

He pushes you further than you’re used to, but not to the point of discomfort. His tummy nudges your forehead as your nose presses against dark curls at the base of his dick and you use your hand to cup his balls. As you hum against him, you wonder if Joel intends for this to be a punishment. His tone and the way he conducts himself is commanding, but the way he fucks your mouth is gentle. 

“Still not worked up, right? Don’t need me?”, he asks, staring down at you with raised eyebrows. You shake your head no, lying again. “Okay,” he says, “I wanna watch you fuck yourself on your fingers. But don’t come. Not until you tell me what I wanna hear.” 

Your eyes flutter shut as you bring your fingers to your core, feeling your arousal. You push two fingers into your dripping pussy, pumping them in and out and trying to mimic the way it feels when Joel does it.

As you fuck yourself, you hollow your cheeks around his thick cock, letting him feel every inch of your soft and wet mouth. He’s domineering above you, but his hand on your cheek is gentle, caressing your skin softly. He looks down at you through hooded lids and as your eyes flutter shut, you wonder what he’s thinking. 

The way you’re touching your pussy hardly counts as fucking yourself, it’s teasing at best, and excruciating at that. You rub circles around your clit steadily, subtly, needing more than what he’s told you to give yourself. With your fingers working your clit and your mouth working Joel, the familiar pleasure of your climax is just within reach. Feeling yourself reaching your peak, you look up at Joel, “What are you doin’?”, he asks, like he’s caught you doing something you shouldn’t be.

You pull your mouth off of his cock to whisper, “Please, Joel,” which garners an irritated look from him. Joel bends lower to grab you by your bicep and force you to your feet, spinning you around and bending you over an empty shelf of an end cap. He parts your legs and drags his cock through your folds with one hand, the other gripping your hip. 

“Need those magic words, sweetheart. Say it, ‘I need you, Joel’. Go on, now. You got it.”

With the leftover feeling of your ruined orgasm and Joel’s cock teasing your pussy, you fold immediately. “I need you, Joel,” you breathe, “I need you.” 

“Tell me more. How do you need me?” as he continues to tease. 

“Need you to fuck me,” you gasp, “Please.”

“Need me to fuck ya,” he repeats, amused. Joel notches the tip of his cock at your entrance, “How ‘bout that. Tell me somethin’ I didn’t know.” 

It’s a rhetorical question. He doesn’t give you time to answer before he buries himself inside of you. You groan at the sudden intrusion, how deeply he enters you and how full you feel. 

He doesn’t need to experiment with you, doesn’t need to vary how he fucks you. You grip the edge of the end cap with both hands as he finds his pace immediately. His cock hits you right where you need him. 

“Hey, hey,” he whispers, reaching for your bandaged hand, “Don’t hold that. S’gonna hurt your hand. Hold mine instead,” as he wraps his palm around yours. “Better?”

“Better.”

You’re lost in it all, his hand holding yours tightly and his thighs hitting your ass, his balls slapping against your clit. His face is right next to yours, his nose buried in your hair as he nips at your ear. 

“Fuck,” he grunts as he fucks you. He moans softly, his breath feels warm. Each thrust feels deep and intentional. “Good girl. Takin’ my cock so good.”

“Yes, Joel,” you moan. 

He makes stuttering, strangled sort of noises. His breathing is sharp and unsteady through his gritted teeth, and you wish you could see him like this. You can just about picture him perfectly, his messy salt and pepper curls and that deep set line between his brows. 

He fucks you hard and rough, both of you panting and moaning. Soon enough, his rhythm becomes frenetic and stuttering. “Squ– fuck, squeezin’ me too good, I’m not gonna last, sweetheart.”

“Let me come, Joel,” you plead, “Please.”

“I know, I know. Don’t need to beg me, darlin’,” Joel coos. He snakes his hand between your thighs and quickly finds your clit, his thrusts still steady and deep. He expertly paints circles around your clit as he becomes sloppier and frenzied. 

“Oh god, oh fuck, Joel,” you’re gasping, feeling your walls begin to clench and squeeze him, “Right there, right there, fuck.”

“Yeah, s’it, let go for me,” he pants. 

With a few more circles tracing your clit, you fall apart on him. You come with a loud gasp, gripping his hand hard. Even after he helps you ride out your orgasm, he doesn’t yet stop fucking you, and the sensation is becoming all too much. You bite your lip to stifle yourself as he chases his own orgasm, and he spills into you with shuddering breaths and grunts, painting your insides with his seed.

You catch your breath with Joel as he begins to go soft inside you. You feel empty when he pulls out of you, craving the weight of his hand on yours after he lets go. As your breathing slows, turn around to face Joel. His dominant, taunting demeanor is gone and he helps you back into your clothes, then examines the bandage on your hand. He frowns when he sees he’s crumpled it and dampened it with his sweat. “Hang on,” he murmurs, quickly reaching for more gauze to rewrap it. 

You touch his shoulder, “Just– let’s wrap it again at home. It’s just gonna get ruined again.”

“No, I promise I’m not gonna clean it again, I just wanna–” Joel stops talking when you reach for his hand. He looks at where his hand connects with yours, then looks at you. “Okay,” he says. He stares at you intently, as if waiting for you to say more. You look like you want to.

Hand in Joel’s, you walk together out of the mall. The horseback ride home is quiet. You hug Joel tightly, and Joel savors the warmth of your cheek on his back again.

“Joel?” you ask. 

“Yeah, hon.”

“You’re sure you don’t wanna hear my impression?”

“I’m sure,” Joel says, but you can hear the smile in his voice. 

as always, i appreciate all of my readers. please please please leave a comment/reblog/send an ask if you enjoyed, your comments really do mean the world and keep me going <3

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[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Jamil Viper - Applepom Voice Lines

Apple Boa Jamil does not have a vignette

When Summoned: A snow-covered land, huh... I'm sure the scenery and culture would be completely different from my homeland. I'd like to stop by when I start my travels.

Summon Line: This attire is well-made in both design and its ability to protect against the cold. I suppose this is made from the culmination of years of wisdom from living in a snowy region...

Groooovy!!: Lying down in a snow field and watching the snowflakes fall... That doesn't sound bad at all.

Home: I'd love to take a walk in the snow wearing this attire.

Home Idle 1: If it were up to me, I'd choose a snake as my stuffed animal for the sled race. They can move swiftly in any sort of environment.

Home Idle 2: This outfit was a gift from Jade. I didn't like him not having a reason to give it to me, so I refused it, but he was insistent...

Home Idle 3: I'd like to try all the different apple dishes in Harveston. I'm sure it'll be a great way to study how to make various dishes out of one main ingredient.

Home Idle - Login: I'd heard that the air in snow-covered countries are cleaner and the night sky is beautiful. I hope to be able to see it with my own eyes one day.

Home Idle - Groovy: You bought me some dried apples from Harveston? Thanks. I'll try them when I get hungry.

Home Tap 1: When I heard that perpetually indoor Idia-senpai participated in the sled race... I absolutely couldn't believe it.

Home Tap 2: I've ridden a sled across sand before, so I'm curious if the sensation is different across snow. I hope to experience it some day.

Home Tap 3: I think at the next banquet I'll serve the Harveston specialty sandwich cake that Epel told me about. It looks bright and colorful enough to be a good addition.

Home Tap 4: Apparently, this was a spare outfit, made just in case. So, what could he have possibly said to have been able to take it with him?

Home Tap 5: You've been looking at my gloves for a little while now. Are you that interested in the embroidery? I'd have lent it do you if you just said something.... Here.

Home Tap - Groovy: I'm sure I'd get a better insight on Harveston if I just chat with someone who's actually gone there in person. So go on and tell me all about it.

Duo: [JAMIL]: There's no time to kid around, Jade. [JADE]: Of course, Jamil-san.

Requested by Anonymous.

#twisted wonderland #twst #jamil viper #twst jamil #twst translation #mention: jade #mention: idia #mention: epel

[jishyucks]

Happy Holidays! The Universe Hates Me. — hrj

‣ pairing: huang renjun x reader

‣ genre: fluff, academic-rivals-to-(implied)lovers, forced proximity, kinda slice-of-life

‣ wc: 3.7k

‣ summary: You don’t hate many things, but you could proudly say that you hate snow and Huang Renjun. And now that the universe has decided that it was a great idea to have you snowed in with the smartass himself, you’ll gladly add the universe to that list.

‣ warnings: slightly one-sided rivalry (more so Renjun’s developed feelings before reader so he’s acting on it before reader even gets what they’re feeling), the pair eat some cup ramen, set in that weird period where they dk how they feel

‣ an: I rly thought this was going to be easy to write but sike (⊙_⊙) ig its bc its basically e2l and these r difficult to write,, I was excited to write Renjun's but idk if I did my own idea justice,, anyways I hope it's still a fun read!

Series Masterlist

You’ve never been so nervous for a final in your life.

Sure, you didn’t find the content difficult, nor did you feel lost. Hell, if you were asked to explain the content with no aids, you can confidently do it. 

The only reason why you were so nervous for a damn final was because you knew that Huang Renjun was going to do better than you. Why? You’re not sure. But you had this gut feeling that his name was going to be listed right above yours on that stupid list and you were not going to let that happen. 

“You need to go home soon, okay?” Karina frowns. She’s all bundled up, a scarf tightly wrapped over her face to shield her from Jack Frost. She knows how much of a workaholic you were, especially when it came to Renjun, “It’s getting late. It’s already dark out and there’s no one else here. Text me when you get home.”

You nod, “I will, I promise. I’ll just finish this last lesson and then I’ll leave. I’m hungry, anyway.” 

Her stern expression softens underneath her scarf and she teasingly ruffles your hair, “Talk to you later, honeybun.” 

You wave and watch her leave before turning back to the scattered papers in front of you, your laptop burning holes in your eyes because you’ve been staring at it for way longer than a physician’s recommendation. The final was on physics, something that wasn’t your strongest suit. It was probably because the way your teachers decided to word the questions on exams screwed you over—but then again, you couldn’t blame your struggles on that. 

Maybe you did just suck at physics. 

Your eyes scanned the lesson you were currently studying, quietly reading it under your breath so that you could process the information—critical threshold… velocity… laminar to turbulent… fluid and momentum… the dissipation of energy…

“Ughhhh!” 

Your heart drops to your stomach, eyes almost slipping out of their sockets at the sound of another person groaning. You clearly remember Karina just saying that there wasn’t anyone else here. 

Then who in the actual fuck…

Your mind jumps to conclusions and thinks up the worst-case scenario. It could be a ghost… were you Scrooge and the ghosts here to visit you? No fucking way… you loved Christmas… Or it could be a murderer. But what kind of murderer groans before he reaches his target?

Using this as an excuse to procrastinate, you quietly push your chair away from the table and stand up. You can recall that the groaning echoed from the back of the library, so you begin making your way down to the back of the room. Your attempt to keep your footsteps quiet, barely lifting them off from the ground.

You guess you were making your way in the correct direction because now you can hear the sound of muffled music. You suppose it was coming out of the other person’s headphones. 

As you approach the end of one of the aisles of books, you bend over and peek through the cracks between the books. Your eyes betray you, not focusing on the figure sitting at one of the tables because the books are in the way. Leaning closer, you squint to get a better look at the figure studying, head bopping to the music blaring through their headphones. 

Who is that?

When your eyes finally adjust, you curse under your breath.

Personally, you would rather it be a murderer on the other side of the shelf. 

Because Huang Renjun of all people? Here? With you? Did the universe hate you or something?

You let out a faint groan, squeezing your eyes before you go to turn back to your table. 

Of course, Huang Renjun would be here and studying late. There’s a small tiny part of you that wasn’t even surprised that Renjun was the only other person at school at this hour. There was a reason why you felt like he was seriously going to do better than you on this physics final. He worked for it despite being naturally intelligent. 

“Fucking Huang Renjun,” you gently let your forehead fall forward, making a gentle thud against the table. Fucking Huang Renjun because, suddenly, you no longer feel hungry and you now desperately wanted to finish a week’s worth of content before leaving. Sure the idea was immature—doing all this for some guy who thought he was smarter than everyone else—but you couldn’t help it. This was how it’s been since junior high. 

And old habits die hard, right?

For the next 2 hours, you push yourself to study for the stupid final, eyes straining as you continuously shift them between your laptop screen and your papers. And you say push yourself because now that you had the knowledge that Renjun was sitting metres away from you, you somehow could not focus for the life of you. It was like he had cast some spell on you to do anything but focus on physics. 

You groan. You have been reading the same paragraph on boundary layers for the past ten minutes, hyper-aware of Renjun. The words blur together, and you become hyper-aware of Renjun's presence nearby. Despite your efforts, your mind wanders, and occasional stolen glances in his direction betray your attempts at concentration.

With an irritated sigh, you shake your head, attempting to bring yourself back to the task at hand. Why the fuck is Renjun occupying so much of your headspace?

Feeling defeated, you reach forward, roughly shutting your laptop closed before you begin bunching your papers up together. Not a single fibre in your body even cared if it was organized or not—that was for you to worry about later—because you just wanted out of here and away from Renjun before he completely plagues your mind. 

Finally, you throw your bag over your shoulder and begin making your way out of the library. 

Meanwhile, Renjun, who was managing well with his work catches sight of your figure leaving, winter coat zipped up to your nose. 

“Wait, Y/N!” 

You turn back to find Renjun pushing his seat back, getting up to make his way towards you. 

“Ugh,” you roll your eyes. You continue making your way out of the room, ignoring Renjun’s calls for you to stop. 

The mature response would be to, well, stop and listen, but after Renjun just indirectly wasted 2 hours of your life trying to absorb some information on physics, you didn’t want anything to do with him. You just wanted to go home and eat, before you pull another all-nighter to make up for the lost time. 

“Y/N!” 

You were jogging now, treating the situation like Renjun was some kind of monster coming after you. It was odd that Renjun was keeping up with you, tailing you like he was one of those salesmen trying to get you to try a sample of their product. 

You’re relieved when you see the front doors of the school ahead of you, streetlights illuminating through the small half-windows. You feel your feet pick up its pace, eager to finally get out of the building and get fresh air. 

“Y/N!” Renjun’s out of breath, “You can’t leave!” He reaches out and quickly grabs your wrist. The contact causes shivers to run up your arm and you’re quick to pull your limb back. 

Brows furrowed, you sent him daggers through your glare, “And why not?” 

Renjun fishes his phone out from his hoodie pocket and he holds it up despite you not being close enough to see anything on it, “The news. All the roads are closed. No cars on the roads. We’re stuck in here until they say everything’s clear.” 

“You’re lying.” Your stubborn ass refuses to believe Renjun. 

Renjun huffs, “Just check it for your fucking self if you don’t want to believe me.” His arms crossed and he pushes all his weight onto one leg. 

Reluctant to look stupid, you slowly pull your own phone out. You realize that you actually haven’t looked at any notifications lately, all your focus directed toward studying. When you finally look at your phone, you’re met with tens of notifications, both from the news app and a handful from your family members and friends, mainly Karina, who are asking if you’re going home soon or if you’ve gone home because of the news the city sent out about the roads. 

“And why didn’t you leave?” you say awkwardly, “When they sent the warnings out?” 

Renjun swallows his spit, “I didn’t see any of them either. I was too caught up with studying.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you mutter. The realization of the situation starts to sink in—you're trapped at school, possibly overnight, and your only company is Huang Renjun, the boy who’s decided to make himself the bane of your existence. Then, you find yourself teetering between relief that you're not alone and frustration that you're stuck with Huang Renjun of all people.

Your eyes flicker at Renjun, who’s waiting for you to say something to him. And you do, “This is all your fault!”

Renjun’s mouth falls open slightly, the space in between his eyebrows wrinkling at your accusation, “How the hell is this my fault? I didn’t tell the damn city to close the roads!” Renjun holds himself back from raising his voice, but the emptiness of the halls causes it to bounce off the walls. 

“If I hadn’t seen you studying and being the overachiever you are, I would have gone home earlier,” you argue back. The second it slips from your lips, you realize how stupid you actually sound—but you don’t say anything. Without saying another word, you push past Renjun intending to return your spot in the library. 

Renjun, however, isn't one to let things slide. He follows you back into the library, his frustration evident in the tight set of his jaw. "So, it's my fault you chose to stay? That you didn’t see the notifications?” 

You shoot him a glare over your shoulder, not slowing your pace. "I chose to stay because of you! Trying too hard being a model student." 

Despite it being pretty clear that the argument was childish and that it was going nowhere, you and Renjun were far too stubborn to back down. 

Renjun scoffs, catching up to you. "Trying too hard!? I study because I take my education seriously. Maybe if you put in half the effort I do, you wouldn't be lagging behind."

"Oh, spare me, Renjun.” Your blood boils at his condescending tone, whirling around to face him and eyes ablaze with frustration. "You're insufferable, you know that?"

This is where you can see Renjun physically falter. The stress in his brows goes slack and there’s a shift in his expression, “Insufferable? Y/N I—”

"Whatever, Renjun. I really don’t want to speak to you right now.” You roll your eyes and turn your back on him, “Now, If you’ll excuse me, I have a fucking final to study for.”

Ignoring his attempts to keep the conversation alive, you make your way back to your table, your anger simmering in your chest. Renjun watches you go, a mixture of annoyance and something else in his eyes.

The library becomes a battleground of silent tension, each of you (mostly you) seething in your own space.

You set your table back up the way it previously was. Then, you quickly send your friends and family texts explaining what had happened and why you weren’t home by now. 

You attempt to start where you left off, the words Boundary Layers practically taunting you at this point. The phrase is pissing you off and you’ve read it enough times for you to be able to recite the sentence from the textbook perfectly. 

Wave interference, you read, eyes blinking at the screen—something about paths intersecting and creating new patterns of unity… discord… 

You let your eyes do the rest of the scanning, not exactly absorbing any of the material before you move on. At this point, you feel like not studying entirely. Besides, you weren’t exactly in the right state of mind to be absorbing material. 

The clock at the front of the library reads 8:28 and you feel like taking a nap is the best idea right now. It’ll help you cool off, pull you back in the right headspace and perhaps help you with the all-nighter you’ll probably pull tonight. 

Twisting your body, you pull your jacket off of your chair, folding it to create a makeshift pillow. Sliding your things aside, you place the pillow in front of you and shimmy your butt back against the chair before leaning forward to rest your head against it. In all honesty, it wasn’t the most comfortable place to rest your head, but it will have to do for now. 

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

The shuffling of feet and the clattering of objects woke you from your nap.

You don’t move, nor do you open your eyes, all you do is listen to try and figure out what the hell is going on. Through the fabric of your jacket, you can hear that Renjun is moving things around on your table and you can’t help but feel your anger shoot up. 

You keep your cool on the outside, pretending to stir in your sleep before you peek through half-opened eyelids. 

You’d honestly find this part funny if you were watching a drama. But the thing was, you weren’t watching a drama. And it was anything but funny. 

Slowly, you raise your head to get a better look at what Renjun was up to, fully expecting him to be messing with your belongings. You guess you were doing your job correctly because Renjun seems to not have noticed you looking at him. 

The scene (you embarrassingly admit) warms a piece of your heart just by a little bit—and you hate that it does.

Renjun’s trying to keep your papers organized, stacking them horizontally and then vertically to keep them grouped in the stacks you already had them in. He had even moved your laptop to a safer spot, off to the side. 

The reason why he was doing all this was sitting just across the table from you and to Renjun’s left. 

Two cups of instant ramen.

“What are you doing?'' Your voice comes out more hoarse than you’d like, but it was probably because you’ve been napping for what felt like an hour or two. 

Renjun freezes, lips parting slightly and eyes growing two times its size when he realizes that you’re awake. Sure, he would have had to wake you up sooner or later, but you waking up on your own wasn’t part of his plan. He should’ve done all this a bit quieter. 

“I…” He starts. Renjun gulps and pulls back, wringing his hands through sweater paws. 

You wait for him to give you a coherent reply, looking at him in hopes of forcing one out of him. 

Renjun’s at a loss for words, afraid that you wouldn’t quite get him if he explained his reasoning. He leans over and wraps his hand around one of the noodle cups, gently sliding it toward you. 

You blink at the steaming cup in front of you, caught between annoyance and a peculiar sense of gratitude. "Are you trying to make this situation bearable or something?" 

“Well it wouldn’t be fair competition if only I was able to eat, would it?” Renjun shrugs. From his hoodie pocket, Renjun pulls out a plastic fork wrapped in tissue, one he had probably taken from the cafeteria, and places it next to your cup of noodles, “Eat.” 

You blink at the noodles and eye the boy suspiciously, “You didn’t do anything to it, did you?” You mistrustfully pull the fork toward you, unwrapping it before you dip it into the soup. 

“Of course not… I’m not evil.” A scoff shoots out through Renjun’s nose. 

Renjun pulls out a chair from your table, taking a seat before pulling his own cup of noodles toward him. 

Your eyes linger on Renjun for a moment longer, contemplating whether or not you should believe him. Eventually, hunger wins over skepticism, and you take a cautious bite of the noodles. They taste surprisingly good, given the circumstances. 

For a while, there's a strange quiet as both of you focus on your meal. The only sounds are the occasional slurps and the storm outside rattling the windows. It's a bizarre scene, you and Renjun sharing instant ramen in the middle of the night, trapped at school. Who would have thought? 

As you dig into your food, you start feeling a shift in your mood. The annoyance from being woken up slowly turns into a grudging acknowledgement that Renjun tried to make things a bit less crappy. It's kind of funny when you think about it. You two had a small argument earlier, and now here you are, quietly sharing a meal. It's like an unspoken agreement, maybe a truce, even if neither of you is ready to admit it out loud.

Meanwhile, Renjun seems engrossed in his noodles, occasionally glancing in your direction as if gauging your reaction to the impromptu meal. He looks like he wants to say something, but he’s not choosing to do so despite the tension that is usually present in your interactions being strangely minimal. 

Finally, you break the silence. "Where did you get the noodles?"

He looks at you, brows raising at your willingness to start a conversation. "It’s not my first time staying past dinner. I have a stash in my locker."

“Not surprised,” you mumble. You pick the cup up and bring the rim up to your lips. Tipping your head back, you take sips of the soup, feeling the warmth of the fluids fall into your stomach like a hug. 

“Oh, shut up,” Renjun groans, “Or else I’ll take the noodles back.”

“Lucky for me,” you look at him and laugh, “I’m finished.” When you plop the fork back into the cup, it makes that noise you hear when you scratch the cardboard. 

Renjun hums. "Well then, I guess you owe me one. After all, you're enjoying the hospitality of my secret noodle stash." 

You roll your eyes, trying to maintain a facade of annoyance, but there's a glint of amusement in your eyes. Of course, Renjun would take this opportunity to gain something for himself. It was such a Renjun move. It’s always been like this. "I could've survived just fine without your instant noodles."

He chuckles, taking the last slurp of his own noodles before he deems himself finished, too. "And yet, you still ate it all up like a starved puppy.” 

There’s a beat of silence before you lean forward, resting your head on your propped arm, “I guess I should say thank you, huh?” 

Renjun grins and you only notice it because it’s more evident in his eyes than it was on his lips. He was seemingly pleased with your acknowledgment, but he quickly covered it up with a nonchalant shrug, "Don't mention it.” His voice comes out soft, mirroring the setting, “If you passed out from hunger under my watch, wouldn’t want that tainting my ‘model student’ image.”

You give him a side-eye, feeling the sudden need to tease him, “Don’t lie, Huang Renjun, you secretly care about me.” The statement was mostly a joke, so you think nothing of it. You stack your empty cup onto Renjun’s and stand up to throw it out. You don’t notice the way Renjun freezes in his seat for half a second.

“And what if I did?” Renjun shrugs. He gulps and feels the sudden need to flee the situation—Why did he say that? 

You turn to face him, surprised by his response. Renjun's casual demeanour, though slightly defensive, holds a hint of genuineness. It's a side of him you're not used to seeing, and it catches you off guard. 

"What if you did what?" you ask, feigning ignorance to see if Renjun would elaborate. A part of you is afraid of what he’s going to say. 

“What if I did care about you?” Renjun’s playing with the corner of one of your papers, creating a sound that fills the silence between the two of you, “I don’t hate you as a person, you know… I get that we always compete in grades and extracurriculars but… I don’t hate you as a person.” 

The confession makes your heart skip a beat and you catch yourself beginning to chew on your bottom lip, something you do when you’re nervous. The unexpected sincerity in his words causes you to halt your own, a momentary pause in your banter. You've grown used to the constant back-and-forth, the verbal sparring that characterizes your interactions with Renjun. This, however, feels different. 

"You're messing with me, right?" you reply, half expecting him to smirk and dismiss the entire conversation as a joke.

“What do you think?” Renjun retorts. 

You take a moment to think everything through. You have a good feeling Renjun’s not joking, that he really doesn’t hate you as a person, and you can’t help but think about the other possibilities of what this meant. Then you think about how you feel towards Renjun because you guess you at least owed him that. 

“You don’t need to say anything now,” Renjun assures, “It’s… confusing. Even I'm still figuring things out… I just know that I don’t hate you.” 

"You're not as insufferable as I claim you are,” you begin cautiously, “But it pisses me off that you both distract and motivate me when it comes to school.” And this was true. Today was a good example of that, though you weren’t entirely sure where these stem from. 

Renjun raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into a half-smile. "I'll take that as a compliment.” 

You roll your eyes. "Don't get too ahead of yourself, Renjun. I’m just saying—” “—Saying that you like me more than you think you do?” Renjun interrupts, “I know, I know.”

Your eyes narrow at Renjun, “You wish.” 

A moment of understanding passes between you, and for the first time, the competitiveness in your dynamic softens. It's not yet a friendship, but it's a recognition that there's more to each other than the constant rivalry. 

Renjun laughs, which transitions into a yawn. He acknowledges your comment with a hum, “I’m going to take a nap. Wake me up in a bit so I can study?”

You playfully roll your eyes, a small smile lingering on your lips. 

“Well it wouldn’t be fair competition if I didn’t, would it?”

tags: @tytrackfebreze @lovesuhng @hoonieji @niinjo @dinonuguaegi

an: the next few parts of the series might be posted a day late (until Felix,, but we'll see!). Next up is Jisung which I feel like will be ADORABLE. ty for taking the time to read! I would love to hear your thoughts even if its something short! hope you enjoyed it!

#nct #nct dream #nct imagines #nct dream imagines #nct dream scenarios #huang renjun #renjun #huang renjun imagines #renjun imagines #huang renjun scenarios #renjun scenarios #nct dream blurbs #nct blurbs #renjun blurbs #huang renjun blurbs #nct renjun #nct fluff #nct dream fluff #renjun fluff #huang renjun fluff #my writings #my nct writings #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop blurbs #renjun x reader #renjun x reader fluff

[nishithedevil]

Alright hi, this is my first time actually publishing a fanfic on here. Hope you guys like it. Tell me if you guys want a part 2 of this or any other ideas i should write

Capital Prince and District Princess

Lucy Gray x capital gn reader

part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

so basically Corio gets Jessup Diggs and the reader gets Lucy Gray as their tribute. I've been sitting on this idea ever since i saw the movie on the premier, and ig here we are finally.

My brother, Corio and I sit down next to each other as the professor starts assigning student mentors to their district tributes.

"I hate this, Corio. This feels unbearable." I whisper to him as he nudges his my knee with his for a bit of silent comfort.

As the professor reaches district 11 without uttering my name, a breath of relief almost escapes me. However, the respite is short-lived when he announces Corio's name for the boy from district 12, and then...

"And last but not least, Y/N Snow will mentor Lucy Gray Baird from district 12. That is all"

At that moment I freeze and looked up at the tiny screen, seeing Lucy Gray Baird slowly walk up to the stage. Her decision to place a snake in that girl's dress caught everyone off guard, and I abruptly rose from my seat in astonishment. She was definitively one hell of a performer, singing and bowing dramatically before being taken away. A hushed stillness enveloped the entire room. What had they entangled me in?

The professor folds the paper up, removes his glasses and goes to leave the room, muttering good luck to us. After him, I bolted out of the room and settled on the stairs outside. Corio follows, approaching quietly, and places a comforting hand on my back.

"I'm sorry Y/N, I didn't know they would pick you as a mentor to one of the tributes. I mean at least our tributes are both from the same district, that could be fun" he remarks, giving my back a reassuring pat before rising to his feet.

"C'mon, grandma's probably prepared dinner for us" he urges, descending the stairs at a leisurely pace. I hesitate for a moment, then quickly stand up to follow him, concerned he might leave me alone even for a brief moment.

--------------------------------------------------------

Uncertain of what course to take, I opt to go and welcome my tribute. I dress myself in a tasteful yet not overly extravagant manner, even securing a rose. It might seem foolish given the circumstances, but the anxiety is too overwhelming to do otherwise.

I arrive at the train station and wait with the peacekeepers. A few minutes after later the train arrived and the peacekeepers opened the train doors one by one, even taking some tributes by force when they didn't want to come out. All of them who weren't too distracted with that were glowering at me, like they were ready to jump me. I patiently looked around for my tribute, and right when I turned around I saw Corio's tribute step out of the train and extend his hand. A tiny hand grabbed it and out came Lucy Gray. She silently thanked him and straightened her very colorful dress before glancing around. Her eyes landed on me and I stiffened, not knowing what to do. She approached, studying me with a slight tilt of her head. For some inexplicable reason, I found that gesture to be rather adorable.

I composed myself, clearing my throat before speaking. "Um, hi. Hello, I'm Y/N Snow. I'm your mentor, Lucy Gray Baird." I manage to say. Extending my hand, to present her with the rose.

"Uhm, this is for you, as a warm welcome to the capital. Despite the circumstances." I nervously rub my hand against my neck.

She maintains her gaze on me, then unexpectedly seizes my wrist, drawing me closer.

Before I could say anything, she finally speaks "Are you supposed to be here? Since I don't see any other mentors here" She asks as she lets go of my wrist and takes the flower, putting it in her hair.

A warmth rushes to my face, much to my frustration.

"Uh no, I suppose not. But I wanted to meet you formally and introduce myself. I want to get to you know more, that's all" I explain, clearing my throat once again, the warmth lingering despite the station's breeze.

By this point Lucy Gray has been standing pretty close to me, close enough that if I took one step closer we'd be basically hugging. She wasn't very tall, just below my chin, which meant something considering I'm not particularly tall either. Up close, I noticed the softness of her skin and observed that, despite the initial appearance of messiness, her hair was neatly taken care of. The scent of flowers, a mix of vanilla and floral notes, wafted from her.

She sizes me up with a thoughtful hum before a Peacekeeper abruptly grabs both her and Corio's tribute, escorting them forcefully towards a waiting van. Despite my protests, my cries fell on deaf ears. In a somewhat foolish move, I decide to follow them, uncertain of any better course of action.

I wait for the peacekeepers to turn their back and I slip inside the van right before they close the doors. I breathe out, desperately trying to calm down. When I do I turn around and see all the tributes looking at me. We stare at each other before a few of them sit up and fling themselves at me. I'm forcefully slammed against the van wall, feeling the oppressive weight of an arm on my neck. Meanwhile, another produces a knife from some hidden pocket, escalating and leaving me in a state of heightened vulnerability.

I struggle until I hear a voice speak up from beside me. "Stop rough-housin' my mentor. It's not their fault they're better than your mentors and came to greet me"

Our eyes shift to her and then back to each other, a moment of shared uncertainty. Eventually, they release their grip on me, and I instinctively crouch down, rubbing my neck and wheezing as I breath out a breathy thank you. Lucy Gray only pats my back in a comforting gesture as the tense situation begins to ease.

Abruptly, the van comes to a halt, prompting us to exchange glances. The door swings open, and the van tilts, causing everyone to tumble. I desperately grasp for something to hold onto, with Lucy Gray attempting to secure my foot, but our efforts prove futile. We all land on the grass, and fortunately, my fall is somewhat cushioned. I groan and begin to lift myself off, when I open my eyes and see that I'm on top of Lucy Gray. I blush furiously as I realize the position we're in.

I hear her groan and watch as she attempts to sit up, successfully doing so, freezing me in place. As she opens her eyes, a realization sets in – our noses are barely touching. We're so close that I can feel her breath on my lips. My face flushes with embarrassment, and she smirks at the proximity before smoothly sliding away and standing up. Patting her dress to rid it of as much dirt as possible, she extends her hand for me to stand up. Reluctantly, I look up at her, then to the side, and begrudgingly take her hand to stand up, patting myself down as well.

While fixing my hair, I glance around and suddenly recognize our surroundings. We're in a zoo cage. Further away, a reporter and two cameras are set up, with a small crowd of spectators observing us. The realization of being on display in such an unusual setting adds another layer of bewilderment to the already strange situation. It hurt my heart, how they treat these people as actual animals just for being less fortunate. Considering my family, I'm used to this kinds of stuff and know my way around these reporters, so I turn to Lucy Gray.

"Listen, I want to help you win this, and after the stunt you pulled in the districts, everyone wants to hear you sing. I don't want to force you, but the more the public likes you, the more sponsors you'd get. And the more sponsors you have, the more chances you have at winning." I turn to look at her, and she wears a cute expression, biting her lower lip as she contemplates the situation for a few seconds. After some thought, she reaches a conclusion. Without hesitation, she grabs my hand and says, "Let's give them a show, then."

I smile and walk up to the reporters with Lucy Gray in hand. "Oh and what's this? Is this one of our student mentors? with their tribute? And what pray tell are they doing inside with the tributes?"

The cameras turn towards us, the reporter pointing the microphone towards us.

With confidence, I step forward and declare, "My name is Y/N Snow. This is my tribute, Lucy Gray Baird, the songbird from District 12. I pledge to do everything in my power to ensure her victory."

"Ooh, very enthusiastic, even after the stunt she pulled in her district." He says before being interrupted by me.

"Hey kids, come here, come and hear Lucy Gray's singing." I wave over the few kids around the cage.

They rush over, and Lucy, catching my glance, crouches down and begins to sing to them. The cameras focus on her, and the reporter adjusts the microphone, making a comment that I can't quite catch. The impromptu performance captures the attention of the onlookers and the media, turning the unexpected situation into a unique and captivating display.

Hearing her voice in person was even more magical, and it was so beautiful, so delicate. I was mesmerized.

Reality snaps back as Lucy stops singing, and the reporter directs the peacekeepers to remove me. Before they escort me away, Lucy Gray grips my arms, pleading with me to bring her food the next time I return. A smile creeps across my face, reassured by the trust she places in me. She desperately clings to me, whispering those pleas, and I lean in, whispering, "Don't you worry about anything, Lucy Gray." The peacekeepers then lift me away, but my gaze remains fixed on her. In that moment, a determination sets in as I begin to formulate a plan to genuinely help her win and navigate through this chaotic ordeal.

#lucy gray baird x reader #lucy gray x reader #x reader #reader #gn reader #coriolanus snow #the hunger games #the hunger games ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games x reader

[bookishcarmela]

Shadows of Affection

warnings: Alcohol abuse, physical abuse

slow burn Coriolanus Snow x reader, slight Felix Ravinstill x reader

Chapter 3: The Proposal

 Your mind buzzed with the memory of Coriolanus's words on your way home, the word "familiar" haunting your thoughts. It felt like a dismissal, a reduction of their friendship to something insignificant. As she arrived home late, a pit settled in your stomach. you could hear the muffled sounds of your family enjoying dinner as you entered. Trying to avoid disturbing them, you tiptoed towards the staircase, hoping to slip upstairs unnoticed. 

But before you could reach safety, your mother's voice rang out, calling your name and inviting you to join them for dinner. you hesitated, torn between the desire to retreat to your room and the expectation of familial obligation. Sighing softly, you reluctantly changed course and descended the stairs, preparing to join your family for the evening meal.

As you descended the stairs into the dining room, a familiar scene unfolded before you. Quincy occupied the head of the table, with her mother to his right and Benjamin and Charlotte to his left. A moment of contemplation hung in the air as you debated where to sit—next to your mother or at the other end.

"Are you just gonna stand there, gawking, or are you going to come eat?" Quincy's demanding voice broke your hesitation. Opting for the other end, you replied, "Of course, my apologies."

Your mother called for Christa to make a plate for you, but you insisted you weren't hungry. Quincy, however, wasn't having it. "Eat," he commanded, and as your food was brought out, you sat, toying with it but not taking a bite.

A moment of familial chatter ensued, with Charlotte excitedly recounting her visit to the zoo and interaction with the tributes. Despite the unpleasant surprise of seeing them on television, you didn't want to upset Charlotte. You smiled and replied, "Yes, I actually saw you guys on television. I almost thought I was losing my mind." you chuckled, attempting to downplay the unsettling encounter. Benjamin opened his mouth to speak it was cut off, Quincy's commanding voice cut through the conversation, demanding an explanation for your absence from class. Tension hung in the air as Quincy pressed you about where you had been.

"I was with Dr. Gual. I'm assisting with the Hunger Games this year, and I plan on studying under her when I go to University," you explained, trying to diffuse the situation.

"University," Quincy scoffed, his tone dismissive. "And who's supposed to pay for that, hmm?" he added, the underlying tension in his voice hinting at a deeper frustration.

"I thought you would, but if you're unable to provide for your family like a real man, then I can apply for a scholarship," you replied, your tone steady, offering Quincy a small smile. The room grew tense, and your mother stopped eating, recognizing the brewing storm in her husband's eyes.

"Darling, plea—" your mother began, but Quincy cut her off abruptly. "Out," he commanded, jaw clenched. The twins exchanged perplexed looks, and even Benjamin voiced his disappointment about missing dessert. However, Quincy's anger brought no compromise."Out, everyone!" Quincy bellowed, slamming his fist on the table. The atmosphere hung heavy with tension, and as the rest of the family filed out of the room, you and Quincy locked eyes. The lingering echo of his anger filled the room as she remained, refusing to avert her gaze.

Quincy's fury simmered as the rest of the family left the room, leaving him alone with you. "You think you're so smart, don't you?" Quincy sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "Just like your father—thinking he was better than everyone. Look where that got him." your heart sank at the mention of your father, a wound that never quite healed. you felt a surge of anger, but held your ground, meeting Quincy's gaze. "He stood for something," you retorted, your voice steady. "More than I can say for you."

Quincy's face contorted in rage, his eyes ablaze with fury. He threw his chair back and made his way toward you, grabbing you by the hair and forcing you to look at him.

"You ungrateful little—" Quincy began, but you interrupted him defiantly. "Ungrateful little what, Quincy? Say it. Go ahead. What are you going to do, hit me? Does that make you feel like a man, Quincy? Is that why you do it, because you keep trying to be something you're not?" you said, grinning up at him with a mixture of defiance and disdain. The air crackled with tension as you locked eyes, both refusing to back down.

Quincy's rage reached its peak as he slammed your head against the table. For a moment, everything went blurry, and a persistent ringing filled your ears. "You never know when to shut your mouth, do you?" he growled, finally letting go of your hair and storming out of the dining room.

you lay there, the terrible ringing still echoing in your head. You knew it would surely leave a bruise by morning. Christa rushed into the dining room in concern. "Oh no, mistress, are you alright? Please, we must get you cleaned up."

You let out a pitiful laugh. "Leave me, Christa. I can get up by myself. I just need a second." That was the last thing you remembered before closing your eyes, allowing the darkness to envelop you. 

The next morning was agonizing; you hoped that the events from the previous night had only resulted in a simple bruise, one you could cover up easily. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. The impact with the table had left a gash just above your hairline, making concealing the injury more challenging.With your face partially obscured, you bypassed the usual routine of heading to school. Instead, you made your way straight to the lab to seek ointment from Dr. Gual. The eccentric doctor was the only adult you felt you could turn to without facing a barrage of questions. Dr. Gual didn't pry; she already knew the reasons behind your frequent visits, evident in the all-too-familiar signs of physical abuse that lingered beneath her attempts to conceal them. After a brief visit to Dr. Gual for treatment, you headed to the morning seminar led by Professor Crispus Demigloss. By the time you arrived, you were already late. However, Professor Demigloss, being elderly and deliberate in his pace, hadn't progressed far into roll call. Handing him a pass signed by Dr. Gual, you were permitted to enter. As you scanned the room for an open seat, only two caught your eye. One was on the other side of Sejanus, who was seated next to Coriolanus. As your eyes locked, a mixture of pity and concern flashed in Coriolanus's gaze. The other option was beside Felix, who gave her a warm smile and motioned for her to join him. On any other day, she would have gravitated towards Coriolanus and Sejanus. However, something within you sought comfort, something she doubted she'd find with Coriolanus. Thus, you chose the seat next to Felix, who beamed with delight as you approached. 

Felix flashed a charming grin as you settled into the seat beside him, leaning closer to whisper in your ear. " If I'd known I'd get such a delightful neighbor, I might've arrived late too," he teased.

you couldn't help but grin at his playful remark. "Oh, please, I'm sure you're used to the spotlight. But I must say, it's not a bad seat with such good company," you countered, matching his flirtatious tone with a hint of amusement.

As the lesson began, Felix leaned in quietly and asked, "Why are you late?" "I'm not late," you responded with a playful wink. "I'm right on time." 

Despite your attempt to engage with the lesson, sleep still weighed heavily on your eyes. 

A small yawn escaped you, and, in a moment of fatigue, you leaned closer to Felix, resting your head on his shoulder. In a fluid movement, he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer and placing a light kiss on your temple.

A mix of conflicting emotions washed over you. There was a pang of guilt for using Felix in this way, giving him hope for something more when you knew it might never happen. The desire for comfort, for the feeling of being held and loved, battled with the awareness that you were manipulating the situation. Yet, in this moment of vulnerability, you craved the illusion of control that it provided, a small semblance of order in a life that felt increasingly chaotic.

As Professor Demigloss delved into the discussion about the Games, you felt the burning intensity of Coriolanus's gaze directed at you. His eyes shot daggers, and though he appeared displeased, you couldn't bring yourself to care. He had his little songbird, and you had Felix. There was no reason for him to be mad at you. Matching his glare with your own, neither of you looked away until the professor interrupted.

Sejanus’s  hand went up directly. “Ah, Sejanus?” “Before we talk about making people watch, shouldn’t we begin with the question of whether or not watching is the right thing to do?” he said. Making you roll your eyes

“Let’s stay on topic, please,” the professor urged. Festus Creed then offered his perspective, suggesting making it a legal requirement for people to watch the Games. You couldn't help but think it was an idiotic proposal, as forcing people to watch would negate the purpose of the games.“What happens if you don’t watch?” asked Clemensia, not bothering to raise her hand. “In the districts, we execute you. In the Capitol, we make you move to the districts, and if you mess up again next year, then we execute you,” Festus cheerfully replied. 

The class laughed, but soon serious contemplation followed. Ideas about enforcing the watching requirement were discussed, with random sampling and punishments being considered. Clemensia voiced her disdain, stating that the gruesome nature of the Games made people avoid watching. Sejanus, ever the idealist, interjected, “Of course they do! Who wants to watch a group of children kill each other? Only a vicious, twisted person. Human beings may not be perfect, but we’re better than that.” Livia challenged him, questioning how he knew what Capitol citizens wanted to watch, especially given his absence during the war. Lysistrata Vickers added, “Most of us don’t want to watch other people suffer.”

“We watched worse things during the war. And after,” you reminded Lysistrata, sitting up straight now. There had been some bloody stuff broadcast over the airwaves during the Dark Days, and many brutal executions after the Treaty of Treason had been signed. Opinions varied on caring about the Games. Some thought the tributes were unimportant, while others didn't care at all. Betting on the tributes was brought up as a way to make the Games more interesting. you saw potential in this idea and wrote it down for discussion with Dr. Gaul later. 

After class, you went for lunch off-campus with Felix before heading to the lab. Your mood dampened upon seeing Dean Highbottom there. As the other students entered, you couldn't help but wonder about the dean's frequent presence in the lab lately. Dr. Gaul prodded at her experiments until the class settled. She greeted them with one of her rhymes, leaving the students bewildered. As she collected questionnaires, a small laugh escaped you."I'm Dr. Gaul, the Head Gamemaker, and I will be mentoring your mentorships," she announced, flipping through the papers. She frowned and held up Coriolanus's questionnaire. "This is what you were asked to do. Thank you, Mr. Snow. Now, what happened to the rest of you?" Coriolanus spoke up, sharing his experiences. "I had good luck with my tribute. She's a talker. But most of the kids wouldn't communicate. And even my girl can't see the point of making an effort at the interview." Sejanus chimed in, questioning the purpose of making an effort when the ultimate fate was the arena. 

Dr. Gaul turned her attention to him. "You're the boy who fed the tributes. Why did you do it?" you knew Sejanus held a disdain for the Games, something you had mentioned to Dr. Gaul. He hesitated but stood firm. 

"They were starving. We're going to kill them; do we have to torture them ahead of time as well?" Dr. Gaul labeled him a rebel sympathizer and acknowledged his disapproval of the Hunger Games. Sejanus suggested he be replaced, but she dismissed the idea with a chuckle, stating compassion was key to the Games. Sejanus's face fell, but he didn't argue back. You were genuinely surprised. He proved to be tougher than he looked, willing to challenge Dr. Gaul even at the risk of his position. 

Dr. Gaul sparked an idea about involving the audience in the Games by allowing them to send food to the tributes in the arena. 

This suggestion intrigued the class, with Festus even expressing interest in betting on the tributes he fed. Dr. Gaul instructed the students to collaborate and draft a proposal for this concept, hinting that she might consider implementing their ideas. Livia, surprised at the possibility of their ideas being used, questioned Dr. Gaul's intentions. Dr. Gaul, unfazed, explained that young minds often bring idealism and creativity. She shared that Dean Highbottom, in his youth, had conceptualized the Hunger Games as a theoretical idea. Despite the skepticism, Dr. Gaul encouraged the students to submit their proposal by the next morning.

Dr. Gaul had to leave for a meeting, advising you to prepare for the next day as there would be a lot of work. Confused, you asked about the plans for tomorrow. Dr. Gaul hinted that you would be the one to approve the proposals. Surprised by this responsibility, you felt a rush of excitement, smiling as you left, feeling eager for tomorrow.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #a ballad of songbirds and snakes #sejanus plinth #coriolanus x lucy gray #lucy gray x coriolanus #the hunger games #my fic #fanfic #tom blyth #tom blyth x reader #lucy grey baird #young coriolanus snow

[stupidfuckingwindow]

highkey wondering if you’d do any kind of smut where ken is actually a cowboy? 🤠

Campfire // Ken

Notes: Thanks, RDR2, for giving me slight help w the setting. I read too much Arthur Morgan porn. I loved writing this, thank you for requesting it.

Content/warnings: Technically public. Ken jerks off in the woods and has no idea you're watching.

Word count: 833

The morning of December 18th, 1899 was particularly freezing. Snow packed on top of roofs, so tightly pressed together that it became hard; almost so like ice. But the nights and mornings got harder and worse in the north- Way up in the mountains and stuck in some dead little abandoned mining town near a frozen-over lake. Run up here by the law for a robbery turned out to be a set-up was something you had regretted deeply, cold long having seeped past your skin, and powdery snow falling through small cracks in your wooden shelter. The move had brought chaos- Separated you from your gang until you were lost.

The only solace brought to you is the man who'd stumbled upon your camp. Neatly combed blond hair and a pretty, shaved face was Ken- Some little outlaw from some ways east, wanted alive for a few meager thefts and no gang of his own (or, so he'd told you, anyway). You'd seen a couple posters warning folk, his bounty a good 30ish dollars across one to two states. Ken is suspiciously too sweet and naive for an outlaw- Taking everything you told him as gospel. You force your worry down your throat and run with his all too trusting attitude, noting the gun on his hip. But if push comes to shove, you suppose you and Ken will shoot each other and bleed out in the cold if you have to.

He insisted on following you back to your gang in the following days, when the law's frenzy was beginning to die down and before bounty hunters would start prowling the roads in search of their next payload.

Ken is surprisingly quiet, as his horse trails a little ways back from yours. His curious nature draws his attention to every noise, focus darting all over the place between what few creatures are out and about. He doesn't ask you anything about all the new little things- Ken lets his eyes do all the prying and studying. He watches as the trees change along the way, forests going from the cold-resistant pines to leafless willows and oaks. He gets especially excited when the two of you pass any wild horses, and only then does he ramble on about all the pretty colors and different kinds of species. About how his favorite kinds of horse are the fast race horse species, so he can travel better and see everything.

Over the course of three days, you and Ken are forced to camp together. While you make the fire, Ken sets up the tent with practiced ease, like he'd done this a thousand times over. And he probably has, you think. The heavy storm clouds have you and he anxious, huddling in his small tent together with the heat of the campfire warming the both of you.

He gains confidence once the clouds roll past without rain, climbing out of the tent to better sit by the fire. He sticks a sliver of some big game animal's meat on the end of his knife, holding it close to the flames in order to cook it. Ken offers you a piece, and you take it. Still, despite his kindness, you're suspicious. Worried he might hurt you, and cautious he'll try if you sleep in the same tent as him. You don't say a word to Ken as you lay on your side, back facing him and revolver close by.

But your attention is caught and you're startled awake hours later, in the depths of midnight.

Ken's climbed out of his own sleeping bag, gone. Panic strikes you, seeing as his boots are gone from the tent entrance. Your worry is dampened only slightly by the sight of his horse still being here, but there are still worse dangers in these woods for him to just be alone. As you clamber out of the small sleeping space, you spot tracks in the dirt- Undeniably Ken's trail. The longer you follow his tracks, the more you hear it.

Groans that he probably thinks are quiet. Whines and moans that were probably supposed to be muted or muffled but aren't. And when you finally see him, he's lit by the soft golden glow of his lantern, eyes shut tightly and erection in hand. Ken's mouth hangs open, quietly panting. His strokes are slow and sweet- Methodical as his long fingers squeeze gently at his cock. Ken's bangs fall over his eyes as he hunches over himself. When his eyes do flutter open again, they're fixated on the way his hand moves.

His hips buck against his hand ever so often, palm curling further around his cock. His thumb rubs at the sensitive tip, swiping a bead of pre-cum from the slit to use it as lube. Again, he whines at the feeling. A shuttering breath leaves him, head falling back and hitting the tree he's propped himself up against.

You can't look him in the eye in the morning.

#ryan gosling #ryan gosling x reader #n.sfw. #ken #ken x reader #ken x reader smut #ken barbie #ken smut

[dotieeee]

The Gamemaker's Apprentice

Level 3

Pairing: Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow x You, named!Reader

Overall Warnings:

NON-CON, DUB-CON, Dark!Young!Coriolanus Snow, Snow himself should be a warning, lots of blackmailing, gaslighting, manipulation, obsession, possesiveness, eventual forced marriage, eventual loss of virginity, breeding kink, canon-compliant major character death, reader is named but has no physical descriptions in the fic so one might also consider her an OC but in 2nd POV, will have canon inconsistencies, and other stuff that may be added

Masterlist

Level 3 Warnings:

Snow being charmingly manipulative, implied murder, reader being oblivious because she's trying to change

Replay Level 2

Ready? Level 3 Start:

A sigh of relief escapes you as you quickly traipse your way out of your last class for the day into the Computer Sciences College. You’re thankful you’ve packed your bag and had already run out just as soon as the bell rang because you had spotted a classmate of yours making a beeline towards you and weren’t really in the mood for small talk. Pathetic, really, what you’ve resorted to: running away like a skittish cat at the mere sound of a rustle in the bushes. It’s just the middle of the first semester, and they’re already driving their students up the wall with back-to-back quizzes, essays with almost unreasonable deadlines and group projects where you spend more effort trying to get the group to work together than working on the actual project itself. You wonder vaguely to yourself if this school ever bothered figuring out what its suicide rate is, or how many of its students get addicted to amphetamines by the end of the first semester.

Four in the afternoon. You can get plenty of code done on that program and still have enough time to grade the increasingly mounting pile of third-year mid-term test papers on your uncle’s file tray.

The private lab should be empty by now since there aren’t any of your uncle’s student assistants on shift. You’ll be in complete solitude for the rest of the night and go home by seven.

You stop in your tracks when you reach the door to the lab. It’s supposed to have been locked by the last student assistant to leave. Instead, the door is slightly ajar with the lights still blazing. It couldn’t be your Uncle Cas – he fully closes the door when he’s in and he prefers dimmer lighting. Whoever’s in here must’ve gotten in just before the student assistant left.

Great. Company. Just what you need. Mentally, you steel yourself for the incoming pointless small talk you’re about to be subject to and push the door open…

…Only for your breath to be taken away at the sight of your unexpected guest: blonde hair, slick and combed back neatly, wearing a luxurious crimson woollen coat over a silk waistcoat; sitting comfortably on your computer chair and flipping through one of your notebooks with mild interest...

Coriolanus Snow.

His cerulean eyes flick to yours as soon as you enter. They’re piercing and unnerving, and they’re starkly mismatched with that disarmingly charming smirk he flashes at you as he places the notebook back down on the table behind him. You make a mental note to lock those notes next time, watching him as he gets to his feet and adjusts his coat. You notice he’s brought lattes from the posh coffee shop nearby, and he takes both as he approaches you, his eyes never leaving yours.

“It’s been a while, Nellie,” he greets warmly with a slight tilt of his head. His eyes glint as he seems to scan your face.

He’s always towered over you, but at this moment it’s all the more evident with the way you have to crane your neck just to look at him.

“Hello, Coriolanus,” you greet, returning his smile as much as you could.

His smirk only grows as you study his face. He’s got plumper cheeks and a better colour, but there is something else in him that’s changed that you can’t quite pinpoint. It isn’t just his sleek hairstyle, his expensive clothes, or even the way he holds himself with an air of confident authority.

He isn’t the Coriolanus Snow you knew from the Academy anymore.

Who is he, now, you wonder?

“I heard you were back,” you say. “Oh, if you’re looking for the professor, he’s still in class and he won’t be out until five.

“I’m not looking for the professor. I came for you.”

You blink twice to make sure you heard him right. He hands one of the lattes to you and asks, “Walk with me?”

You fidget with the strap of your bag as you contemplate. He wants to talk, and you had an inkling what for. Right in front of you is the only person you know who was with Sejanus until his last moments. The only person who had the answers you seek. You don’t feel ready for this conversation, but you nod lightly as you accept the cup and utter a small ‘thank you.’

Placing your bag down on the long table, you let him lead the way, following him closely to a path just outside the Computer Sciences’ main building, overlooking a lake. The path is lined with trees shedding their leaves for autumn and the lakeshore is strewn with ornate stone benches for students who feel like taking in the great view and the fresh air. You’re both quiet at first, walking at a relaxed pace until Coriolanus breaks the silence and addresses you.

“I have been meaning to talk to you when I came back, but there was just so much to do, so many loose threads to tie up.” There is a slight crinkle in his eyes as he turns to you.

Fighting the urge to fidget on your shirt sleeve, you shrug with crossed arms and flash him a short smile. “It’s fine. Apprenticeships can take most of your free time. Dr. Gaul must be working you to the bone.”

“I could say the same of your uncle.” His eyes seem to search your face, then he blinks and points to the nearby bench, concealed among bushes and a large willow tree. “Come sit with me.”

You follow meekly and observe how he leans against the back of the chair and crosses his legs. You take the other side of the bench, your back straight as you mirror him sipping his coffee. You draw a bit of comfort from the warm, sweet liquid.

“How are you?”

You’re taken aback at how soft his voice has gotten. You had never heard him speak this way to anyone, ever. It takes you a few seconds to respond, perhaps enough for him to perceive your hesitance.

“I’m...doing better.” You lick your lips as you attempt to divert the topic. “You look well. How have you been?”

I hope the districts have been kind to you.

“I’ve been keeping myself busy, actually. Trying to keep myself distracted.” Coriolanus leans forward to better look into your eyes and hold your gaze in place. “I know you’ve been doing the same, Nellie, even if you deny it, or try to change to topic.”

Here it is.

You inhale sharply and steel yourself. “We all cope, one way or another. Some of us just learn to channel it better.”

He nods in approval. “That’s true. Learning to convert grief into productivity is an efficient way of coping. But then again, so is diversion.”

Unable to say anything else, you take another sip of the coffee. It had gone cold, but now, it’s the best cup you ever had.

“You know, he talked about you.”

Your grip on the paper cup visibly tightens. If he notices, he ignores it.

“A lot. He’d wonder out of the blue what you were doing then, or he’d look at the most random thing and remember something about you. It got on my nerves, at first.”

The tiniest of chuckles escapes your lips as his reaches your ears.

“Then it became comforting. To hear about anything else, about something close to home, about you.” His hand reaches to your lap and takes yours, squeezing lightly.

You freeze visibly, your back tensing even further. No one else, save one other hand, has squeezed yours like this. His hand may be cold, but his expression isn’t.

“Compared to all the uncertainty, it helped,” he continues. His voice falters imperceptibly as the other hand cups your cheek, making you focus on him. “You helped. Even if you didn’t know it.”

Eventually, he lets go of you. The softness in his expression does not change, you stare into his face to try to gauge what his intentions are. He’s never been open like this to you, but you suppose death could affect other people in so many ways.

Clearly, he’s handling it so much better than you. A little envy creeps into you, you can’t help it. How come he seems to be so well-adjusted despite the death of his friend? Here you are, desperately putting as many walls up as you can while he’s there, coming to terms with how he’s feeling.

That emotion is soon overtaken by a hollow ache. You miss Sejanus. Which is exactly why you’re avoiding any interaction with anyone he’s even mildly associated with in the first place.

“I’m sorry, Nellie. I couldn’t protect him. I want you to know that I tried, and that I wish things turned out differently.”

Unable to look at him, you lean against the bench and stare at the still waters.

“It wasn’t your fault, Coriolanus. You can’t take the blame for his actions.”

You blink away the moisture in your eyes.

“Before he left, he said you were looking for...someone in District 12,” you ask. “Did you ever get to find them?”

You turn to look at him, thinking you saw his jaw tense. You must be imagining it, but there is a hardness in his eyes before he blinks and it’s gone in a flash.

“I found what I needed to find,” he says simply.

You hum in contemplation.

“It seems like they don’t tend to stick around, do they? No matter how hard we want them to.”

“Maybe they weren’t meant to. Maybe the ones that are still ‘sticking around’ are the ones we get to keep.”

This time, his hand travels to yours on your lap.

“Sejanus isn’t around anymore, but I am. And you are, too. We were distant in the Academy, but I’d like to change that. I want us to be real friends, this time. Start over.”

Your confused eyes travel to his determined ones. There is genuineness with the way he’s being so open and vulnerable, so why is there a voice in your head telling you otherwise? Why is it adamant against giving him a chance to prove himself?

“Why are you doing this?” you ask in a hushed tone. Maybe then, he’ll reveal his true intentions and you could finally make a decision?

He takes his hand back and rests it on his knee.

“Let’s say we become friends,” you continue. “What if we do only because we’re trying to hold on to his memory? Then again, why would it matter?”

You mumble to yourself, “At this point, why bother?”

But Coriolanus’s friendly smile only baffles you even further. Is it possible for the Districts to change a man so drastically?

“Has anyone ever told you that you overthink a lot? You’ve been avoiding our former classmates at Uni. Me included.”

Muttering to yourself dryly, you scoff, “I’ve been avoiding everybody. You’re all not that special.”

He seems to have heard it and actually laughs.

“That’s going to get boring really soon, Nellie. Sejanus warned me about these tendencies of yours.”

“Tendencies? I don’t have tendencies.”

“Self-destructive tendencies,” he clarifies. “Do you think he’d want to see you like this?”

You offer no response.

“It’s not that complicated, Nellie. Let me help,” he insists. “You can’t stay like this forever, closed off in isolation. If Sejanus was here, he’d have dragged you out of your house and forced you to talk to people.”

An image of him pulling you by the arm and taking you to a park crosses your mind. This makes you crack up a bit. “Yeah, he’d totally do that. He was great at driving me and anyone else up a wall. And he always meant well.”

Maybe he’s right. None of this is complicated. Your instincts can’t always be right. You’re being unfair to him, pushing him away on the basis of a mere hunch.

Drawing in a huge breath, you make your choice.

“Friends, huh? It’s been a while since I’ve had one of those. Are they any fun?” You ask in a mock sardonic tone.

Coriolanus grins and raises an eyebrow. “Try me and we’ll see.” He then pauses before adding in a more serious tone. “He would’ve wanted this for us.”

“I think so, too. Alright, Coriolanus, I’ll bite. Friends.” You manage a warmer, more welcoming smile this time. Maybe this could work out, you and him. “Thanks for the coffee, by the way. Sorry I got all…dark on you.”

He gives a small shrug. “I knew what I was getting into, talking to you. And I’d like you to start calling me Coryo.”

“Coryo. Nice to meet you, I’m Nellie,” you say, feigning a formal tone, as you extend your hand out.

Coryo plays along, copying your tone, and shakes your hand. “Nellie, pleasure’s all mine,” He tilts his head in a small, playful bow. The atmosphere between you considerably lightens as the tension lifts off your body.

“'Coryo,’” his preferred nickname rolls on your tongue quite effortlessly. “I thought you hated that nickname.”

“It might have grown on me.”

He leans closer to your face without warning, his grin suddenly devious and smug.

“You know what this means?”

“What?” you say as your eyes narrow.

“You can never say ‘no’ to my invitations, now.”

“Oookay. I think I’m already regretting this.”

He knows you don’t mean it, so you both erupt in lilting laughter, ignoring how he got so close to your side of the bench. This could really work, you think to yourself. A lot has changed since the Games. The aftermath certainly matured you both beyond your years, reluctantly ushering you into young adulthood. Perhaps it’s time you see past Academy Coriolanus and let Coryo in this time.

You don’t notice the time until you hear more students walk the path and past your bench.

“Sorry, I should go back to the lab, my uncle’s probably going to need another set of papers sorted,” you say apologetically.

Coryo nods as he gets to his feet and extends his hand to you. “I’ll walk you back.”

You accept it, however odd. He bids farewell at the door of the lab, leaving you contemplating the entire night of the sudden turn of events and vaguely wondering why he didn’t let go of your hand the entire time he escorted you back.

With the midterms out of the way, life in Uni settles down a bit. Group projects are less scarce, and homework deadlines are a little more flexible. Professors start easing up on the workload, and students bask in this rare period of peace and quiet.

“Nellie, did you finish grading the Logic Circuits pop quiz from the other day?” Your uncle calls out from his office.

Well, most of the professors and the students.

You reread the top of the test paper you’re currently working on and respond, “Yeah, that’s what I’m currently working on.”

Your uncle rushes out of his office with his suitcase in tow and says “Great, I’m going to need that pile by four this afternoon. Thanks, plumcake!”

And he’s out of the door even before you can say anything. You glance at the clock – it’s an hour past lunchtime – and figure you could squeeze in thirty minutes to get some food before you go crazy or pass out, whichever comes first.

Grabbing your wallet, you’re just about ready to head out when you hear a knock on the lab door. You open it to find a man in a courier uniform with what looks like a box of pastries he asks you to sign for.

“Who is it from?” you ask.

“From Mr. Coriolanus Snow, miss.”

Huh. So, he’s sending you food now.

You take it to your cubicle and notice the card attached to the bow. It reads in neat, lovely cursive:

To my dear Nellie,

Sorry, I can’t visit today. Busy day at the Citadel. Pick you up for lunch tomorrow,

Your Coryo.

So thoughtful of him to have sent you something despite his schedule. You unravel the bow to peek at what’s inside. The delightful smell of brownies greets you as soon as you lift the box.

Although this is the first time he had food delivered to the lab, he had been dropping by almost every day to either give you sweets or to just say ‘hi.’ It’s a gesture you’ve grown to appreciate.

You take a brownie and begin to eat. Your friend just saved you a trip to the cafeteria, and wherever he got the brownies from, it’s absolutely divine.

You share some of it with a student assistant named Mathias Callahan, a senior, on shift from two to four while you both finish grading the tests.

“He was here again, Nellie?” he gasps as he inspects the package Coryo sent. “Jeez, just go out with him already. I wish my boyfriend was half this sweet.”

You just roll your eyes at him. You’ve learned how to dismiss his teasing comments by now. “He had that delivered, Matt. And, not my boyfriend. Just a friend.”

“Yeah, because friends refer to each other as ‘my dear Nellie’ and ‘your Coryo,’” he jests as he holds up the card to read. “What’s his full name?”

“Coriolanus Snow.”

Matt looks up dramatically from the fresh test papers he was stapling together. “Wait. Coriolanus Snow, as in the-tenth-Hunger-Games-winner-and-gamemaker-apprentice and the-Capitol’s-most-eligible-bachelor Coriolanus Snow?”

“The last time I checked, yes?”

He snaps his fingers in the air several times and says, “Okay, girl, you won. That boy is a total dreamboat. I don’t know why you don’t just jump him, because I certainly would.”

You shake your head with an exasperated laugh as you begin focusing on the task at hand: coding your uncle’s program. You both spend the entire afternoon in companionable silence and by the time Matt’s shift is finished, the entire box of brownies is decimated.

The lunch you have with Coryo the next day reveals that the eleventh Hunger Games is underway, and he’s already working tirelessly under Volumnia Gaul’s apprenticeship to help make it...well, worse than it already is.

You also thank him for the brownies.

“You’re welcome. I remember a certain someone slipping me a box of them when I was at the hospital about a year ago. I’m just trying to pay it forward.”

“I wonder who that is,” you simply respond.

Deliberately maintaining eye contact with you, he leans forward with a bright smile and says, “Me too.”

He sees you less, which he says he regrets, because of the preparations. Just like your Uncle Cas, who often has to leave in the middle of the night to go take care of something at the Citadel. Whenever you hang out with him, there is always a mention of the Games, with him leaving out the gory bits for your benefit. Normally you’d never stand for such a topic of conversation, but he proves to be rather insightful, as some of his ideas inspire you to develop your own plans to improve your uncle’s program.

You’re happy for him and somehow glad he’s pouring his energy into something he’s fond of doing, even if it is for the thing you hate the most. You can’t judge him for it, either, because then that would make you a hypocrite, seeing as you’re working for your uncle for the same reason. It’s a confounding feeling, and the more you try to make sense of it, the more complex everything becomes.

Overall, you’re just grateful for Coryo and his friendship, because it means you don’t have to live too much inside your head now. You are all too aware it’s not a good place to be in at the moment.

On one of your walks with him, while getting back from a coffee shop, he offers you a VIP seat at the Hunger Games right behind the Academy mentors.

“Tempting, and thank you, but I’d have to decline,” you say before sipping your latte.

Coryo’s expression turns rigid as he steps beside you. Is this his version of a pout? You can’t decide whether you find that cute or disturbing.

“I’m really sorry, Coryo,” you say apologetically. “I’m sure you did a great job with everything new you contributed to the Games, but I don’t think I can watch...”

You trail off, breathing deeply as you try to veer your attention away from images of decapitated body parts of dead parents and thick, warm red liquid seeping into your clothes –

A cold hand caresses your cheek, and you collide into something solid: Coryo just stepped right in front of you, his other arm placed on your shoulder and his eyes laced with worry.

“I lost you for a moment there. You don’t have to come, I understand completely.” The small smile he flashes is kind. “I remember you excusing yourself from Demigloss’s class in our first year at the Academy.”

“Yeah, that.” You both continue walking back to the lab. “You didn’t join in on the ‘wuss’ and the ‘crybaby’ and the ‘chicken’ part, I remember. Thank you for that, by the way.”

Tilting his head in acknowledgement, he says, “I know how it feels to lose both your mother and father. I wish I could’ve run after you, then.”

It was Sejanus who did.

“I’m guessing he told you.”

Coryo just nods solemnly. “I’m sorry for what happened, Nellie.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, too, Coryo.”

You put your hand on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, but he takes your arm and loops it around his, pulling you even closer to his side. You let it slide, however, seeing as he might take offence if you extricate yourself.

“Maybe we can both be miserable together,” he glances sideways at you with a corner of his lip upturned, making you chortle a bit.

You both finally reach the door to the lab. Ever one with perfect timing, Matt arrives just in time to see him casually planting a quick peck on your hair (it’s so easy for him because he’s so bloody tall).

“Ugh. Just get a room or something,” he says as he rolls his eyes.

Coryo nods in his direction in acknowledgement, then turns to you. “Lunch tomorrow, Nellie,” he says, that knowing smirk on his face just growing wider before he walks away, leaving you to deal with Matt and his smug look.

“Friends, my big fat ass,” he gloats as he opens the door to the lab.

He spends the entire two hours of his shift teasing you for it and you, ignore the way your cheeks grew hot after your friend bid farewell.

You sent Coryo a box of cookies, along with a good luck card, on the first day of the Eleventh Hunger Games. The Games itself lasted a total of nine days, and according to your Uncle Cas, as he’s putting on his tie, is a huge success. This only means your friend is going to be lauded for his stellar performance.

You had originally planned on going with your uncle to the victory party at the Academy the day it’s declared finished, wanting to congratulate your friend in person, but you fall ill with the flu the day before. Instead, you made a mental reminder to call him on his new number the next day.

The phone rings in your living room at around seven in the evening, just about an hour after your uncle left for the party. Your fever had been fluctuating for the past few hours, so you’re in bed when you hear it. You get up with difficulty, ignoring the way your vision spins a little and hoping whoever’s calling gives up by the time you get past your bedroom door. To your dismay, they don’t. You manage a weak ‘hello’ when you pick it up.

“Nellie. This is Coryo. I’m using Professor Click’s office phone. Your uncle mentioned you’re sick. How are you feeling?”

“Coryo?” you let out a soft sneeze that you stifle with a napkin.

“You’re not fine. I’m coming over.” Even on the phone, you can hear the concern in his tone.

“Are you calling from the party?” you ask, your voice a little rougher than usual. You lay down miserably on the sofa with the receiver in tow. “You can’t leave on my account, people expect you to be there. Congratulations, by the way, I heard everything went well.”

“Thank you, Nellie. But don’t change the subject,” he says.

“Relax, Coryo, it’s just the flu, I’ll be fine.”

He seems to hesitate based on the pause on the other line. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Go back to the party, have fun, bask in all the glory and all the compliments from the sycophants who want to suck up to you, charm all the powerful people in the room even more, did I miss anything?”

He laughs audibly on the other line. “You’re even funnier when you’re sick. Did you know that?” He says fondly, before adding, “Are you sure you’re okay alone?”

“Nooo, I’m dying and this my death rattle,” you reply snarkily and let out fake a cough. He lets out another laugh. “Go back. I’m sure they’re already looking for you.”

“Alright,” he sighs. “Thank you for the cookies, by the way. Call my number when you need anything. Get well, Nellie. For me.”

You hum in agreement and say a small ‘thank you’ as you put the receiver back.

The next day, several deliveries arrive at your doorstep: a container of warm soup from a five-star restaurant, another box of the same brownies, a blend of teas, and a large bouquet of beautiful white roses with a get-well-soon card signed by him in his usual neat cursive.

You think it’s sweet, no matter how needlessly lavish. Whatever did you do to deserve a friend like him, you wonder?

The Eleventh Hunger Games’ monumental triumph propels Coriolanus Snow to even greater popularity in the Capitol, just as you expected. The downside with that though is that it’s all over the TV, the ads, magazines, the papers; everywhere you go, left and right, whoever you interact with, every conversation, somehow the Games are brought up, and you’d have to politely nod along, shake your head, and fake a smile every time. With Coryo, thankfully, the topic becomes much more technical in nature, which makes it just a tiny bit more tolerable since it’s part of what you signed up for as your uncle’s apprentice.

Unfortunately, there isn’t much development to the project despite your tirelessly working on it. If there is, you wouldn’t know, because your uncle wouldn’t let you test it. Every time you bring it up, he brushes it off and tells you that his team at the Citadel is constantly improving it and performing the tests. You suspect he’s stalling, but you’re not sure what for. Despite the stagnancy, your uncle claims they’re happy with his updates on the communicuffs they used in the recent Games. You take his word for it but continue improving on the project when you can.

Before you know it, your second year in college begins, as does your closest friend’s.

Unlike your freshman year, you discover that it’s easier this time to navigate the Uni’s social culture. You find yourself trying to weave out of social situations significantly less than usual, and you no longer actively avoid the people you recognize like you used to. Even your uncle has noticed this change.

“You seem...different,” he had commented once as he sipped his coffee. It was during one of the rare days you had breakfast together.

“'Different’ how, exactly?” you asked.

“Happier,” he said. “I like this version of you more.”

“Really?”

“Much better than that version of you walking with a storm cloud above your head. I don’t have to keep wearing a raincoat around you anymore,” he joked.

And every time you reflect on the reason for the shift, all you can come up with is Coriolanus Snow. Like your friendship with him opened up a gateway of sorts. And if you’re being honest with yourself, you don’t mind the change at all.

Like he said, Sejanus would’ve preferred this compared to you sulking and shutting everyone out.

That doesn’t necessarily mean you’re going to start attending every upperclassman’s house party whenever you get invited.

“Sorry, Theo. Parties aren’t my sort of thing.”

Theophilus Braun, or Theo, a senior and one of your uncle’s new student assistants, has just told of one such party while you’re both busy sorting and labelling the hard drives at the private lab.

Coryo is sitting in your cubicle poring through an instruction manual with disinterest, quietly observing the interaction. He had free time today, he said, and he just wanted to spend it watching you work. Odd pastime, but you’re not one to judge. Sejanus had done it many times before.

“Come on, Nellie. There’d be lots of booze, lots of people...besides, it’s the finals, everybody wants to loosen up a bit,” Theo says as he seals a box of hard drives with tape.

“Oooh, posca and people. Wow, I’ve never heard of a house party like that before,” you say flippantly as you wave your lollipop in the air.

Corio brought a pack of them today, saying he recalls what you left him on the day of the tenth Reaping.

Theo pouts at your tone. “Easy for you to say, your finals are almost over. Mine’s just halfway through. I’m going to the party tonight and my goal is to get wrecked. Might help me take my mind off that test later.”

“What about you, Coriolanus? They’d be thrilled to see you, it’d be like having a celebrity for a party guest.”

“No, thank you,” he says curtly, offering no reason to decline.

You twirl the candy in your mouth as you catalogue how many of the hard drives need to be wiped of memory, ignoring the way Coryo is staring at you from behind the manual.

“Wait. Theo, your test is in three hours. Why aren’t you studying?”

“I...can’t leave with all this work,” he mumbles.

Coryo finally puts the manual down and chimes in. “You go. I’ll help her.”

You and Theo both look at him in mild surprise.

“Really? Are you sure?” Theo asks.

Corio just nods once as he rolls up his sleeves.

“Thanks, man. Appreciate it.” Theo breathes in relief as he packs his bag and makes his way to you. “Uh, Nellie? Can I talk to you?”

“Sure.” You look up from your catalogue. His expression alone is enough for you to guess what he’s about to ask.

“Have you...given a thought about...what I said?” he asks in a hushed tone as he runs his hand through his hair.

You flash him an apologetic smile. “I have, but I’m not ready for that kind of...thing. I’m sorry, Theo.”

His expectant look turns into mild disappointment, but he smiles in understanding. “Okay. If you change your mind...”

He bids farewell and you wish him luck with his test as he steps out of the lab.

Coryo was apparently watching the exchange sharply the entire time.

“What was that about?” he asks coolly, his brows stitched slightly as he lifts a disk in the air to inspect it in the light.

Licking your lips, you say, “He asked me out to the movies this weekend.”

Coryo’s posture stiffens a little. “A date?” narrows his eyes at you.

You nod to avoid talking with your mouth full of candy.

“Theophilus Braun, son of Department of Treasury Chief of Staff Rufus Rex Braun,” he says matter-of-factly. “The Braun senior is poised to replace the current and indisposed Deputy Secretary.”

“Indisposed?”

“Bed-ridden. Old age.”

“No wonder Theo’s under a lot of stress, what with his dad being on the verge of promotion and all. Imagine what kind of pressure he must be in to perform well,” you observe.

Coryo grins mockingly and raises an eyebrow. “And he’s relieving himself of said pressure by inebriation?”

“I guess he’s picked his poison,” you respond nonchalantly. You hand him an empty drive, and his fingers brush against yours for a fraction of a second.

You spend the next hour with him helping lighten your load, until the bell rings, signalling your next class. You thank your friend profusely for his help and promise you’ll treat him to coffee tomorrow.

Unfortunately, the work is just as you left it the next day, with Theo being absent from his shift. You chalk it up to a hangover.

He’s also absent the day after that. Instead, what you find on your desk is an evidently pricey arrangement of flowers, with a note that explains why he can’t make it today: he failed his last exam and this date is his scheduled remedial.

Coryo’s gaze hardens as soon as it lands on the bouquet. “Pink carnations?” he scoffs in obvious distaste. “Vile coping mechanism, horrendous choice of flowers.”

An unusually mean insult, but he might just be in a mood today.

“You and your family favour roses, I noticed,” you say. “Looks like Theo is skipping today.”

You expected him to be there on Monday, but he’s nowhere to be found, just when you need the most help from him in checking final papers. Having no choice, you assigned the papers to the other student assistants in the morning shift.

“Theo’s absent again today, Uncle Cas,” you complain.

It’s a rare night you get to sit down with him for dinner. At the moment, he’s taking out a dish from the oven, giving it a strange look before placing it on the table. You spy with a suspicious eye on the red-brownish lumpy...thing in the dish. Your uncle’s cooking, without a doubt, isn’t a mirror of his mathematical genius.

At least he’s a decent baker.

The decent-baker-terrible-chef in question sits down on the table with you and scoops up some of what he calls ‘lasagna’ on your plate and then his. You stare blankly at the tomato sauce, beef, noodle, and cheese amalgamation, half-expecting it to gain sentience and spout prophecies in tongues at any minute.

He draws in a knackered breath and says, “I’m afraid Theophilus will no longer be fulfilling his shifts, Nellie. He’s dead.”

You set your fork down slowly in disbelief.

“Apparent overdose,” your uncle continues. “They found performance-enhancing drugs in his possession.”

That explains a lot, in your opinion. “Maybe that’s how he’s been pulling those all-nighters. He talks about staying up late all the time during his shift just so he could study. Does his family know he had a drug problem?”

Your uncle takes a forkful of his cooking and chews slowly before swallowing with an unreadable look. “It would seem like it. In any case, they declined to have an autopsy performed. Probably for publicity reasons, too.”

“Wait. They were offered an autopsy? Are the authorities suspecting foul play?”

“They suspect poisoning,” he says as he wipes his mouth with his table napkin. “But it could just be tainted drugs. Makers of these drugs don’t necessarily have to conform to quality control. Besides, autopsies are a standard for cases like this, I think.”

The sombre pause that follows is one of deep thought.

“I feel bad, Uncle Cas,” you confess.

“Why?”

“He asked me out last week. On a date.”

“He’s lucky he’s dead, then. I would’ve broken his legs.”

His joke has less snark than usual, so you let it go. Acacius Innis only gets to use this humour around you, after all.

Instead, you give him an eye roll and say, “I said no. He took it well. He was nice.” You sigh, ignoring your plate entirely. A sudden thought crosses your mind. “Did they ever get to perform an autopsy on Highbottom?”

“I’ve no idea,” he says with a non-committal shrug. “Why do you ask?”

��No reason,” you say slowly. “I mean, they could’ve gotten the drugs from the same source. You know how drug labs manufacture multiple drugs at the same time? Maybe they used the same equipment or something...”

Uncle Cas raises an eyebrow at you, a look he normally reserves for when you’re being too inquisitive for your own good.

“Nellie, best you keep out of this, yes? And the drugs, too.”

You nod.

“This is fucking horrible,” your uncle mutters to himself in defeat, pushing away his plate with a grimace and neatly setting down his cutlery. “I’m going to order take-out. How do you feel about calzones and gelato?”

Thank goodness your uncle knows when to give up.

“As long as the gelato’s pistachio-flavoured.”

“That is why you’re my blood.”

You laugh as you clear the table of his failed science experiment and wash the dishes. Your housemaid, Brilla, would appreciate washing less of them tomorrow.

Shortly, you get to sit down in front of the TV with your uncle and the take-out dinner. You try to focus more on the food and the drama and less on that nagging voice in your head telling you the deaths of Casca Highbottom and Theophilus Braun could somehow be related.

A few days go by, and not a word of the Braun heir’s demise reaches the Capitol media. Rumours have been circulating so far on the campus about what happened to Theophilus, but so far, they don’t go beyond that: just faint whispers of him dropping out of college due to failing grades, of him possibly being drafted to peacekeeping as a consequence…

His family seems to have gone to great lengths to bury the truth and save face. They couldn’t even see the Theo you saw: studious, fun-loving, good-natured.

Then again, he must’ve been wearing a mask, just like you, just like everyone else trying to conceal an unsightly side of themselves that other people would be appalled to behold.

Your friend is a welcome distraction to your increasingly darkening thought process. He enters after a knock on the private lab door and makes his way to you with a warm smile.

“For you,” he says as he hands you a fancy, rectangular box wrapped in a crimson bow.

Wide-eyed, you meekly accept, grinning ear-to-ear as you unravel the ribbon and peek into the box.

Chocolates.

You pick up the note that reads, ‘Don’t let your uncle see this, or he’ll eat all of it.’ You cover your mouth to stifle your laughter.

“You remember?”

“How could I not?” His eyes twinkle. “Happy twentieth birthday, my dear Nellie.”

Before you can even utter your thanks, he pulls you close and plants a gentle kiss on your head.

You fight the heat threatening to surface on your cheeks and concentrate on calming down your racing pulse.

The latter proves easier said than done.

He releases you after what seems like forever, with a smirk that makes it seem like he knows the effect he has just induced on you.

“I should go. Dr. Gaul is expecting me.”

You whisper your thanks, and he tilts his head in acknowledgement before heading towards the door.

One call of his name on impulse, and he turns to face you at once.

“Yes?”

Too late to go back. Besides, you want him there, right?

“Would you like to have dinner tonight with me and my uncle, at seven? It’s just a small celebration, nothing fancy.”

The smile on his face widens by a fraction. “I would love to, Nellie. Tell your uncle I’m bringing the cake.”

You follow his tall form as he exits the lab.

You want him there. He’s earned your friendship, it’s the least you could do.

Enter Level 4

Author notes:

Please reblog and comment, it's always appreciated!!!

Whatchutink happened to Theo?? Hmm...🤔🤔🤔 also, what could Snowball's motives be here I wonder???

#dark!coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #young!coriolanus snow #young!coriolanus snow x reader #named!reader #or #x OC2ndPOV #dark!coriolanus snow fic #18+ only #dark!coriolanus #dark!coriolanus fic #dark!fic

[sitp-recs]

Thank you so much for your recs—they are fantastic! I wondered if you had any for Draco and Harry becoming friends at (and eventual lovers) at Hogwarts (doesn’t have to start with 1st year, but can!). Thank you!!

Hi there! Happy you’re enjoying the recs 😊 I got a couple recs, the majority is 8th year since I don’t really read canon rewrite AUs. I hope you enjoy these!

Thermodynamic Equilibrium by DorthyAnn (T, 5k)

Harry's far too hot. Draco's always cold. And somehow against all odds, together they create a perfect equilibrium.

Good Company by Greenflares (T, 8k)

With Hermione and Ron always together, Harry's return to Hogwarts to complete his education isn't exactly fun. Somehow, it's his unlikely friendship with Malfoy that keeps him sane.

Stand Back: I'm About to Perform Archaeology by Blowfish_Diaries (E, 10k)

A new Muggle Studies professor takes the Eighth Year students to work on an archaeological excavation. In which Draco is lazy, Harry is sweaty, Hermione is drunk, and Ron turns red.

Nice Things by aideomai (M, 22k)

The first thing that happened was Theodore Nott came back from France.

Makes Me Stronger by Lomonaaeren (E, 29k)

Rita Skeeter’s Harry James Potter: An Unnatural History is a best-seller, mostly due to the fact that Skeeter’s collaborated with a photographer who’s infused the pictures in the book with Harry’s actual memories. As Harry struggles to survive the storm consuming his eighth year at Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy becomes an unexpected ally.

On Our Way by evils (E, 30k)

Draco is trying to spend the summer keeping his head down, but a repair project and a certain snowy owl have other plans for him.

Eager for the Sky by @oknowkiss (E, 35k)

It was announced, just as the Triwizard Tournament had been, at the start of term feast. A year-long, international Quidditch varsity match — the inaugural Wizarding Academy Cup. In which Harry is Hogwarts' star Seeker, Draco is on the bench, and they both have a thing or two to learn about playing for the same team.

Like Lightning at Your Fingertips by potterwatch (T, 43k)

The problem with living with another insomniac is, eventually, they find out you’re one, too. When Harry and Draco return for their eighth year, they think they’ll see very little of each other. Then McGonagall assigns them to room together. And the castle starts breaking. And there’s that thing with Potter’s magic.

The July Tree by @oknowkiss (E, 51k)

Neither rain, nor snow, nor sleet, nor hail… nor well-meaning friends, nor questionable communication skills, nor seven years of hating each other’s guts can keep Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy from falling in love.

The Promise of Summer by Omi_Ohmy (M, 67k)

How was Harry supposed to know that coming back for eighth year would be so confusing? Everything is the same, and yet not the same. And nowhere is this more obvious than with Draco Malfoy. Harry finds himself once more watching and following Malfoy, trying to work him out. When they are drawn together to heal the castle, Harry doesn’t just find Malfoy - he also finds himself.

Azoth by @lol-zeitgeistic (E, 88k)

Now that Harry is back at Hogwarts with Hermione for eighth year, he realises that something’s missing from his life, and it either has to do with Ron, his boggart, Snape, or Malfoy. Furthermore, what, exactly, does it mean when one’s life is defined by the desire to simultaneously impress and annoy a portrait? Harry has no idea; he’s too busy trying not to be in love with Malfoy to care.

Helix by Saras_Girl (E, 93k)

Seven months after the end of the war, Harry is feeling lost. Fortunately, he is about to be offered an unexpected and sparkling chance to find himself again.

Changing Tides by carpemermaid (E, 109k)

Draco has spent half of his life spouting the things his father has taught him without much thought about how he feels about what he says. When he unexpectedly comes face to face with the Dark Lord, he grapples with the harsh realities of the world and struggles with his changing views on life.

Written on the Heart by who_la_hoop (E, 114k)

Unnerved by the attention he’s attracting from everyone – the Slytherins are the least of it, to be fair – and struggling with a raft of changes to Hogwarts itself, Harry wishes he could be happy that one constant remains: Draco Malfoy really fucking hates him.

Twist of Fate by Oakstone730 (T, 300k)

Draco asks Harry to help him beat the Imperius curse during 4th year. The lessons turn into more than either expected. A story of redemption and forgiveness.

#asks #magtops #Drarry reclist #8th year friends to lovers #slow burn

[theterrorreversebang]

Presenting, for your viewing and reading pleasure: the final collection of this year's Terror Reverse Bang, a feast of gorgeous artwork, beautiful fic, friendship, laughter, tears, …some horny. OK, a lot of horny.

You can find the AO3 collection for the event here. Summaries and links to the artwork below the cut.   

Thank you all for going on this fantastic journey with us.

Eat well and enjoy.

- ❤️, Charlie and Vio 

amateur operator (T, hickey/irving tozer/irving, 10.5k)

artwork and concept by entangled_system

fic by pointyshades

At an isolated research station at the top of a warming world, in the most inhospitable place on Earth for communications, John Irving studies signal propagation - and studiously avoids the obvious metaphor. John’s had a lot of practice at ignoring the obvious, but when an improbable random contact with an amateur radio operator calling himself "EC" leads to even more improbable regular contact with the same operator, not even John can ignore the ridiculous reality: a growing relationship with someone he knows only by their call sign; a relationship conducted half in Morse code.

John's real-life connections aren't going half so well, and neither is his research: his radio equipment keeps suffering accidents, and he can't stop getting into arguments with Sergeant Tozer, the man assigned to help him fix it. Frustrated, he turns even further toward his relationship with EC - and finds himself being urged down a path of paranoia as to who is actually damaging his equipment.

an arcane kind of murder (M, fitzier, 7.5k)

artwork and concept by pretendingday

fic by shakespeares_girl

At the Baronet Franklin's annual tourney, a series of murders begins. Francis is pressed into investigating, with the help of James Fitzjames. But Lord Franklin won't cancel the tournament, and the murders are getting more and more violent.

as per my last email (E, joplittle, 67.2k)

artwork and concept by mitarashi8

fic by manicpixiedreamjop

Edward Little has lived his life the way he thought he was supposed to. He went to a good university, got a good job as the head of PR at Erebus men’s magazine, and bought a home. He blames the fact that he hans’t dated since university on the fact that he doesn’t have time and not the fact that it terrifies him, and spends what little free time he has trying to pretend he isn’t miserable.

His neighbour Thomas Jopson has lived his life the only way he knows how. He fought his way from a childhood in foster care into a degree and a career that he loves, spending his days doing social work and his evenings volunteering with a local nonprofit supporting queer youth in the foster system. He plans his days down to the second, hardly allowing himself time for anything outside of work and sleep, but he is, at least mostly, satisfied.

When Edward’s boss is quoted saying something homophobic, it’s Edward’s job to clean up the mess, which leads him to the nonprofit that Thomas volunteers with. This new connection has the potential to turn both Edward and Thomas’ lives upside down. If only the two of them actually liked each other.

barghest. (T, joplittle, 10.3k)

artwork and concept by oughtnots

fic by derry_rain

Edward Little is a humble accountant in the late 1920s, but he has lately become haunted by visions of death: his own death, in the form of a great black dog not unlike one that bit him as a child. When his endless visions of ice and snow and the black dog won't end, he finds himself turning to a paranormal private eye: Thomas Jopson.

be that my cue to crave you (E, little/le vesconte, 9.6k)

artwork and concept by bilgewater01

fic by orchis

“If I could eat anything right now—”

“Henry.”

“Anything at all, from all the dishes and delicacies I've ever stuffed my face with—”

“Henry.”

“I think I'd go for an apple,” he finishes. “How awfully pedestrian of me. Nothing fancy, just an apple, and I don't even have the strong teeth for it anymore.”

“Henry.”

He huffs. “I hear you,” he says, and Edward can imagine him frowning, lips pursed. He wishes he could see him in the dark. “Tell me what you'd have, then, and I'll shut up about it.”

As the dark winters of the Arctic stretch before him, Edward yearns and craves and waits.

dear john (T, hodgson/irving/little, 16.6k)

artwork and concept by turnofthesentry

fic by mxjopsonfan

When John receives an anonymous love letter he resolves immediately to find the culprit. Little does he know that he is about to go on a voyage of self-discovery, realisations of deep affection, and three of her Majesty's naval Lieutenants showing how incapable they are of being Normal About Feelings.

ice wine (M, fitzier, 19.9k)

artwork and concept by o-rchidae

fic by melismata

Sir John, English wine pioneer, has survived every crisis since the 70s. Surely three bad harvests and a global pandemic aren't such a big deal? Fortunately, everyone else at Parable Wines agrees the business urgently needs saving. Unfortunately, no-one agrees how.

iceblink luck (M, fitzier, 30.4k)

artwork and concept by marella-moon - x

fic by perenial

October, 1987. With the Thatcher government entering its third term, Defence minister Sir John Franklin looks to offload two of his dockside London properties: one, a successful dance school directed by celebrated principal danseur James Fitzjames, and the other, a century-old boxing gym helmed by former middleweight Olympic hopeful turned disgraced misanthrope Francis Crozier.

In a show of generosity, Franklin offers Crozier the chance to buy out the gym he's poured over a decade of work into. It should be the opportunity he's been waiting for – except Crozier's barely keeping the gym afloat as it is, and Franklin's asking price far exceeds his means. With only one month to cough up the funds or forfeit the gym, Crozier finds himself backed into a corner, fighting for a piece of history he refuses to let go and against a past that's just waiting for him to give in.

matching such unlikes (G, fitzier, 7.5k)

artwork and concept by asparklethatisblue

fic by acephalous

In which Sir John tries his hand at matchmaking: after all who could be a more perfect match for his dear niece than James Fitzjames?

our flag means mutiny (T, hickey/gibson, 8.5k)

artwork and concept by o-rchidae

fic by borderparasol

Cornelius Hickey, William Gibson, and Solomon Tozer have successfully pulled off a grand mutiny, stealing HMS Terror to sail on the open seas and live their life free from the shackles of the Empire, plundering and making their living as pirates!

So...now what? And does anybody know how to fish?

provenance (M, jopzier fitzier silna/goodsir, 7.7k)

artwork and concept by kaupaint

fic by hangingfire

Three relics of the lost Franklin Expedition.

“Don't you get it yet? It must act like a recording, fixed in the floor and the walls. Right in the substance of them, a trace of what happened in there. And we pick it up. We act as detectors, decoders, amplifiers … It would have to be in the stone.”

—The Stone Tape, Nigel Kneale, 1972

reform your behaviour (E, irving/jopson, 9.4k)

artwork and concept by royaielfroot

fic by somelikeitred (ringofboubt)

After finding Hickey and Gibson in a compromising position, Lieutenant Irving intends to inform the Captain immediately. But when he finds Jopson first the Captain's steward persuades him to be lenient.

“Is it necessary to condemn the men -," Jopson considered his words, searching for the phrasing least likely to spook the lieutenant, "-over a desire for companionship? Is it so unforgivable for a man to be lonely?”

John studied him carefully; unable to formulate any response. Surely, Jopson could not be arguing that such vices were acceptable.

sent to the sea (E, annfitzrossier, 10.4k)

artwork and concept by brainyraccoons

fic by swanfloatieknight

After James Ross rescued them, Francis and James return to London in 1848. Francis lives with the Rosses in married bliss.

If only he could stop thinking about James Fitzjames, the bond they shared in the Arctic, and the last letter he sent that Fitzjames never replied to.

sweet to tongue, sound to eye (T, hodgson/irving/little, 10.1k)

artwork and concept by brimstone-cowboy

fic by unnecessary

After an Admiralty party bidding them farewell, the lieutenants get lost in Hampstead Heath. But not all is as it seems...

those wretched beings (M, multiple characters, 7.8k)

artwork and concept by melisusthewee

fic by notinmylab

A very literal take on the idea that colonialism is an infectious disease and that English ships are the carriers. Or, a zombie AU where Something Else is on the ice with them.

unerring devotion (T, jopzier, 7.5k)

artwork and concept by awhbeans

fic by yellow

Everyone else called Francis Frank, but in the quiet of their tent Thomas called him Francis.

Francis wore his two identities awkwardly, like an ill-fitting suit he couldn’t take off. He slipped into old fashioned speech and complained that people thought it affected. But Thomas liked it, just like he liked that Francis still let him call him Francis, and didn’t insist they were different people now. Quite the opposite.

If anything, Thomas was the one who had taken his two lives and separated them neatly, folded them and put them away. With Francis he could take out Thomas and put it on, like crawling into another skin. It was worn and battered but Francis seemed to like it best, and Thomas was glad of it.

---

Thomas Jopson and Francis Crozier are reincarnated. They find each other, and then they set out to find their missing men.

unknown by name or rank (E, joplittle, 17.1k)

artwork and concept by mitarashi8

fic by hypallepse

Years after the Great War, in a tiny illegal pub in the British countryside, Thomas met an awkward veteran and Edward a mysterious war nurse. They almost crashed in their desire to get to know each other, they shared an evening like no other, before having their night cut short by a police raid. How to find the other back with no memory of each other’s name or address? Why even try?

Both of them will stumble in the dark, battling the remnants of the war, unaware of the secret they will unearth in their effort to get that new chance at life.

#theterroreversebang2024 #the terror reverse bang 2024 #masterpost #the terror #the terror amc #amc the terror

[cloveroctobers]

OCTOBER PROMPTS 🎃 — 13. Tara Carpenter

A/N: The way y’all voted on that poll was a true landslide lol I guess I didn’t realize how huge the tara stans are. So here goes something for my final fall prompt, hope this doesn’t flop like scream 7 will 🤭🤫🫠 but this is a short and simple ending so I do hope you enjoy this.

PROMPTS are from HERE & HERE + I’m using: going to a pumpkin patch + “you look cold, do you want a hug?” + “you think someone died here?”

WARNINGS: slight language I think? Dark humor. Age-difference: with Tara being twenty-one and oc/reader being twenty-five/six + Chad and Tara never became a thing in this timeline!

<- read my previous october anthology prompt here.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✧˖°. ☼ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✧˖°. ☼ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✧˖°. ☼ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩ ⁺˚

Being at a pumpkin patch in mid-November when the skies were painted like pale ice in a frozen lake and the trees lost their copper leaves for good was questionable for Tara. The air no longer had its crispness to it but it started to feel more along the lines of a wild animal taking bites out of your face here in New York. However Tara couldn’t find herself complaining—well despite the fact that Sam turned this into a group outing—Tara couldn’t wait to see Johnnie.

Johnnie was Sam’s age, older than Tara, and easily became likable in Tara’s eyes although Sam often gave Johnnie a hard time even in the beginning. Of course they still had to be cautious but Tara always stood on the fact that she just wanted to live life after it’s been at risk of being taken away for good. She wouldn’t be as naive as last year but something about Johnnie had Tara’s insides turning into mush—in a good way though—not in a decaying guts kind of way.

The train ride was recommended by Johnnie to her family’s farm from the city and that became a whole debacle between the friends, until Tara waved her phone in the air saying that she already purchased a ticket while the rest could spend forever trying to figure out what they wanted to do. Mindy found this humorous how whenever Johnnie was mentioned, Tara made it her mission to be tuned into the conversation if she checked out.

Mindy was the first to pick up on the signs before Tara did and took great pride in Tara coming to her first out of the core four. Chad would argue against that saying he was actually the first since Tara did start to vent when they pulled a all nighter together. However he actually had no clue who Tara could be talking about and ended up eavesdropping when she chatted to Mindy one afternoon when he was supposed to be studying…basically pick a twin to believe at this point.

Tara couldn’t wipe the smile off her face on the train ride, fingers rapidly flying over her screen to the dimpled grin on her face when she spotted Johnnie helping out at the entrance of her family’s pumpkin patch.

“They’re with me, cousin.” Johnnie informs the family member with hair as white as snow, before grabbing up the walkie to contact someone else to head to the front and help out, now being off the clock with her friends here.

“Can we get more free perks for Christmas?” Chad asks as they briefly embrace and Johnnie rolls her eyes.

Johnnie folded her arms, “Why? So you can continue bringing your flings around and eat their tongues instead of enjoying the scenery?”

Chad frowned, “who are these flings that you speak of? I’m here enjoying the pumpkins with my favorite sister.”

As he goes to toss an arm over the curly haired girl’s shoulder, she shoves him away, “save it for the jury, Chad. I saw you eyeing that pretty girl with the shell earrings and racer jacket not too long ago.”

“I mean…she could be the one.” Chad couldn’t even bother to deny his wandering eyes.

Sam, Mindy, and Tara all share a groan while Danny snickers at Chad’s usual antics before being elbowed by Sam.

“Hey Tara,” Johnnie says, falling into step with the smaller girl; after informing everyone of the many activities the farm included.

Tara smiles up at her, “Hey Johnnie…remind me why we’re going pumpkin hunting so late into the season?”

“Well…I’m having a Friendsgiving next weekend at my spot and…that maybe partly true but I also wanted to hang out with you again before that.” Johnnie was honest with this, which made Tara slowly nod her head in appreciation.

Johnnie used to attend the same university as the three, received her degrees, started her business of creating designs on amputee’s prosthetics and moved to New Jersey two months ago to purchase her own home. So her having her shit together was definitely inspiring (and not to mention attractive) in Tara’s eyes and although she didn’t have everything figured out herself, one thing she was sure of: spending time with Johnnie felt right, scary yet comfortable and safe.

“Ohhh that’s right, I almost forgot about that.” Tara widens her eyes in realization, cursing to herself that she actually did forget about this but knew she could blame it on being swamped in school work, while Johnnie stumbles.

With a hand on her chest, she sighs playfully, “you wound me carpenter.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Tara replies with a longing stare as they approach the line in front of a few booths.

Johnnie leans towards Tara who doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath, “what’re you in the mood for?”

“…hmm?” Tara asks, quickly pulling her eyes back to the line when Johnnie tries to catch her eye.

Johnnie laughs, “the menu. Anything catch your interest?”

“Well,” Tara starts as the autumn chill washes over the attendees on the farm, making her hunch her mesh covered shoulders a bit and clasp her hands together, “what would you recommend?”

“Everything.”

Tara scoffs as Johnnie winks at her.

“Can you even see the menu up ahead?”

“I’m not blind.”

“Nah, just short.” Johnnie teases while Tara quickly tosses a middle finger at the older girl.

Johnnie laughs to herself, picking up on tara’s attire which failed to keep her warm on this breezy farm. So Johnnie takes the opportunity to stand behind Tara instead, who is now bouncing on her tippy toes to what may seem like she was attempting to see the menu but it was probably to keep her blood flowing better.

Tara’s almost ready to swing until her belly realizes the familiar rasp by her ear, “you look cold, do you want a hug?”

Before her mouth can fumble out an answer, tatted hands come into Tara’s view as Johnnie locks her arms across Tara’s shoulders. She doesn’t find herself going stiff but easily welcomes Johnnie’s touch. A small smile graces Tara’s lips as her eyes fall in love with the dainty details of ink that decorate Johnnie’s skin. The artwork tells a story of Johnnie’s big heart which some may view as a contrast to her androgynous exterior much like the striking scar through Tara’s palm. That same scar Johnnie lightly draws a fingertip over from time to time and does so right now as Tara buries her nose against the side of Johnnie’s tatted other thumb.

Tara can even smell the balance of scents on Johnnie’s warm skin, a light creamy but earthy scent that makes Tara envision curling underneath blankets and staring out at Misty mountains instead of crowded streets full of loud voices, and suspicious faces. A sense of serenity that Tara wasn’t sure she’d ever find until she met Johnnie.

“What ya smiling at?”

Tara pries her eyes open, knowing she had been caught but keeps her eyes on the line that she didn’t realize moved forward some. “Nothing. You just think you’re so smooth when you could have been said you wanted to hold my hand earlier.”

Johnnie quickly places a peck to Tara’s temple so fast that she thinks she imagines it, “I want to do more than just hold your hand,” Johnnie ends up whispering before unraveling herself from Tara, who has to fight to hold herself up right.

“S’orry.” She mutters to those behind her as Johnnie takes the lead, heading right up to the stand, falling into small chatter with the worker before introducing an awkward Tara.

Tara is wide eyed as Johnnie banters back and forth for a little before they both set eyes on Tara.

“What?” Tara raises a brow, finding that she’s zoned out again just gazing at Johnnie socialize.

“You strike me as a apple nacho’s kinda girl.” The male worker says while Johnnie pretends to think about it.

“I’d say a apple cider donut but you’re of course welcome to try whichever or anything else on the board.” Johnnie responds, “on me.”

Tara tilts her head to the side, “what’re you getting?”

“The apple nachos,” Johnnie states.

Tara nods, “then I’ll get the donut…as long as you share.”

“Sure, sure. Anything you want,” Johnnie beams before turning back to the man, “you heard the lady!”

“Yeah, yeah.” He fans Johnnie with a knowing look before shouting out to the cooks off to the side.

With a carton tray full of crisp apple pastries—nachos, a side of caramel, two forks, and a yellow bag full of mini apple cider donuts, the two continued traveling through the large field together.

“Where have these been my entire life?” Tara groans after savoring the dessert.

Johnnie laughs, “right up here on this farm, I take it you’re enjoying those nachos?”

“Enjoying? More like I’d love to marry them! Can’t you tell by the way I’m murdering these bitches?! Perfect crunch on the outside and crisp from the apple on the inside, all with a side of caramel sauce?! It’s so delicious to the point i can’t even apologize for the noises you’re hearing because it’s your fault and I hope we finish them before the rest try to get any.” Tara admits through her rant while Johnnie abruptly stops.

Tara lifts her head, ready to question what was going on but Johnnie steered them in a different direction, “then we better head the other way since they’re all up by the goats and llamas.”

“Good call,” Tara says peeking over her shoulder to see Sam all cuddled up with Danny.

Disgustingly so.

Johnnie’s family farm was nice to be at although the temperature was constantly dropping but there weren’t many people out this evening, which was fine by Tara. The further they circled around the farm the closer they got to one of the rides here. It was the Ali baba—the large swing on the boot of a bulldozer? The pair stood beside each other outside the gate, watching as a few faces disappeared higher into the now gravel colored sky from side to side.

“you think someone died here?” Tara asks around the donut she previously stuffed her freckled face with.

Johnnie glances at tara and rotates to her better ear, “huh?”

The air from the ride and the earth along with the carnival music made it a bit difficult but after tara finishes the donut she speaks a bit louder, repeating the question, “you think someone died here?”

A couple shoot Tara a nasty look as they exit from behind the fence and Johnnie smirks at them with a mocking wave, leaning against the metal gate. Tara let’s out a snort as she leans towards Johnnie.

“Where’s that coming from?” Johnnie sweeps Tara’s bangs to the side.

Tara shrugs, “apparently horror films are not just a one month thing with Mindy. We’re now on your favorite series: final destination.”

Johnnie dips her head in understanding, “Ah,” and almost feels flattered that Tara remembered, “well this farms been open for about fifteen years and that ride’s only been around for the past five maybe? As far I know…no deaths. Why? You wanna get on?”

“Hell yeah I do,” Tara nods with a grin, “and I don’t care that I may puke everything up. As long as you promise to hold my hand.”

Johnnie taps her chin before matching Tara’s smile after lightly pressing their foreheads together, “I think I can do that, babe.”

‘Babe?!’ Tara thinks to herself as Johnnie takes their trash to the nearest barrel before meeting Tara half way with her hand held out.

And Tara doesn’t hesitate as she slips her smaller hand into Johnnie’s tatted one. She gives Tara’s hand a squeeze, fingers interlocked which Tara gazes down at while Johnnie watches Tara. When tara flicks her brown doe eyes back to meet Johnnie’s, they smile sweetly once more, feeling like this could be the start of—nope not something new! but a romance worth taking a stab-wait that’s not right either! chance on.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✧˖°. ☼ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✧˖°. ☼ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✧˖°. ☼ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩ ⁺˚

#Spotify #queued #scream #scream 2023 #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x female reader #Tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega #sam carpenter #scream 7 #fall prompts #mindy meeks martin #chad meeks martin

[martwy-basen]

au in which — and hear me out — au in which after giving kuai liang the scar, bi han is completely devastated, pure shock on his face, his body literally just. stops. he never meant to hurt his brother. yes, they were just fighting, they know they are dangerous when they fight. they both thought they wanted to hurt each other, kuai liang bitter because of the betrayal, bi han furious because of the disobedience. they wanted to throw punches, they wanted the other to feel pain. but when bi han saw kuai liang holding his face; when he vaguely heard tomas' scream; when he felt himself exhale in relief after seeing a scar instead of a bloody, ragged hole... he could've gouged out his brother's eye. did he really want to do that just moments ago? bi han's brain short circuited, his eyes wide open. that gave kuai liang a chance; bi han did not try to defend himself, he gladly welcomed the hardness of the ground, the familiar cold of the snow. he saw his brothers, yes, two of them, standing over him. he needed to cradle kuai liang's face, needed to apologize. how could he ever choose power over his little brothers?

and yeah, this was supposed to be, like, two sentences long?? my eyes aren't working, i should be studying, yk how it is. the ending was supposed to be like, something something, bi han doesn't actually think his brothers will forgive him BUT THEY DO, THEY HUG, bi han is never evil in this timeline, something something. they love each other. the end

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat 1 #mortal kombat 2023 #mk1 #mk1 2023 #bi han #sub zero #kuai liang #scorpion #mk scorpion #tomas vrbada #smoke #mk smoke #lin kuei #lin kuei brothers

[milkywayhou]

You've Got Email (König x OC: Medical Student!Snow) PART III

Summary: When the Colonel from some Private Military Corporation group accidentally send KorTac's secret file via email to a random civilian girl and now they develop some weird relationship.

or

Snow now overthinking about how fucked up her situation can be

TWs: Slow burn (not really), Implies stalking behavior. I just wrote this for fun.

Words Count: 1.9k (The email contain 1.3+ words while the rest was Snow's 4Chan post)

----

From: [email protected]

To: Colonel_Kö[email protected]

05/13/23 at 01:38 am

Subject: A late night conspiracy ramble…

Hey!

Once again it’s a late night and these weary med student brain cells are firing off all kinds of…interesting theories and connections, to say the least.

For example, okay hear me out, but what if Big Pharma is actually run by ancient shape-shifting lizard people from the center of the hollow earth who feed on human adrenal gland fluid harvested during rituals conducted at Bohemian Grove, and they started the pharmaceutical industry just to get us all addicted to medication so we’re docile little cash cows?!

I know, I know, it’s utterly ridiculous…buuuuut it would explain a few things haha! Anyways, somehow my winding thought process led me back to pondering your own doubtless intriguing backstory, oh mysterious Colonel.

You’ve given mysterious snippets here and there, but never a straight history lesson, you sly dog. Care to unravel some of those shadows for this thirsty student? Like how’d you get into this line of work anyway?

Maybe share something to take my mind off lizard people conspiracies before this insomnia kills me. You’ve got me curious now!

Conspiracizing but also bedridden,

Snow

----

From: Colonel_Kö[email protected]

To: [email protected]

05/13/23 at 02:01 am

Subject: RE: A late night conspiracy ramble…

You’ve a vivid imagination, to be sure. As for my own history…it’s nothing so fanciful, I’m afraid.

I grew up isolated, with only books as company. Social skills proved…challenging. The bullying was constant. All I wanted was to disappear into the quiet of nature, far from the incessant noise inside my head.

By 17 I was desperate to escape, and the military offered just that. I dreamed of being a sniper – controlling chaos from afar through calm precision. But my frame and restlessness didn’t suit remaining still for long. They saw potential elsewhere. They assigned as an insertion specialist instead. It was difficult, but taught discipline. In time I learned to turn noise into focus, chaos into strategy.

Now I protect others as I wished to be protected then. It brings…solace, of a kind. Purpose, where once was only turmoil.

Get some rest, Snow. Sweet dreams.

König

----

From: [email protected]

To: Colonel_Kö[email protected]

05/13/23 at 02:14 am

Subject: RE: RE: A late night conspiracy ramble…

I see.

Thank you for sharing that with me. I can’t imagine how difficult those experiences must have been, but I’m grateful you found your calling in spite of them. It takes real strength of character to turn trauma into purpose like that.

Also, I should say the bullying says far more about their weakness of spirit than anything about you. Their loss, as it brought you to where you’re meant to be – helping people in your own way. I can’t help but smile thinking of a tiny bookworm König dreaming of sniping lizards in the woods! Well, you may not be in the trees anymore but it seems your aim is truer than ever.

Thinking on childhoods, mine wasn’t all sunshine either as an awkward kid. Let’s just say blending in was…challenging, to put it lightly. Between moving a lot after my parents split and living with various relatives, school was an escape into study. Seemed the safest route to gain some footing and make the family proud, at least. Kept me busy avoiding the realities outside books for a while too, I suppose. Somehow I suspect lonely bookworm me and you may have gotten along splendidly if our paths crossed back then!

Anyways, not sure where I’m going with this aside from reflecting our younger selves may have found solace in one another, strange as that sounds now in these roles. At least we’ve come into our own in the end, in our own ways. Small favors and all that.

Just a light note before sleep – rest well, König!

Your friend,

Snow

----

From: [email protected]

To: Colonel_Kö[email protected]

05/28/23 at 08:27 pm

Subject: Essay Woes and Cadaver Flashbacks

Ugh,

My apologies for this incoherent word vomit you’re about to endure. I’m approximately 5-7 days into an all-nighter essay crunch and my last two brain cells are DANCING.

This final assignment is killing me dead but at least after it’s over I can finally be done with med school! *insert jubilant celebration emoji* Of course that’s if I don’t starve to death first living off instant ramen. I’m positively wasting away without a decent meal. At this rate they’ll be teaching anatomy lectures using my lifeless body.

Whoever invents a magic food delivery service that beams freshly cooked meals directly to overworked students is getting a freaking Nobel Prize. A girl can dream, right? At this point I’d kill a man for a good pizza. *hideshypotheticalmurderweaponbehindback*

Anyways, in my spiral of delirium my thoughts keep wandering back to that fateful day months ago when I randomly received your classified KorTac email out of nowhere. Still bewildered how you even had my address to begin with…were you watching me, Colonel? *pretends to be frightened but is secretlyflattered*

Getting that file was kinda scary at first, not gonna lie. Reminded me of the first time we received our cadavers – that creepy feeling of being watched even after leaving the lab. Is that what it’s like being you, always paranoid someone has intel on you? :)

Anyways, enough gibbering – just wanted to share my pain and also wonder again how our wacky email friendship began! Stay safe out there in whatever shady places your work takes you. And send help – I mean, good luck with all the classified stuff!

Tired and Hangry,

Snow

----

From: [email protected]

To: Colonel_Kö[email protected]

05/28/23 at 08:40 pm

Subject: WHAT DID YOU DO

KÖNIG I SWEAR TO GOD

I LITERALLY JUST GOT A DELIVERY AT MY DOOR. IT WAS PIZZA AND IT WAS ALREADY PAID FOR

DUDE TELL ME YOU DIDN’T HACK INTO MY LOCATION OR SOME SHIT. HOW DO YOU KNOW WHERE I LIVE??

I’M FREAKING OUT A LITTLE NOT GONNA LIE. I KNOW YOU HAVE ACCESS TO SHADY TECH BUT PLEASE TELL ME YOU DIDN’T TRACK ME DOWN

I was joking in my last email! Sort of! Please say this was all just a coincidence. I don’t need some extra secret stalker on top of everything else ;____;

Explain yourself soldier man!!! My paranoia can only be quelled with answers.

Sending mildly panicked regards,

Snow

----

From: Colonel_Kö[email protected]

To: [email protected]

05/28/23 at 09:12 pm

Subject: RE: WHAT DID YOU DO

Snow,

I assure you, any capabilities related to surveillance are reserved strictly for operations.

As for your delivery, consider it a small kindness from one overworked soul to another. Now eat, regain strength, and get back to that essay. You’ve proven quite resourceful in pulling secrets from shadows. But some mysteries deserve to remain.

Worry not and carry on with your studies.

König

----

From: [email protected]

To: Colonel_Kö[email protected]

05/28/23 at 09:25 pm

Subject: Spill. Everything. Now.

I appreciate the pizza bailout, don’t get me wrong. But my paranoia has now reached DEFCON 1 levels and it WILL NOT stand down until I get some answers. So spill. Just how much do you actually know about me? Do you have my address on file somewhere? Photos? Socials? Pet peeves? Middle name??

I understand need-to-know for operations, but this is need-to-know for my own peace of mind. Please assuage these frazzled med student nerves and assure me you’re not some mysterious stalker Colonel (unless that’s just part of your charm). I’ll even send new Luna's pics in return! Consider it a debriefing – you give, you get. Otherwise the wheels will keep spinning in my head…

Sincerely (and only mildly obsessively),

Snow

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>>Anonymous

05/29/23(Mon)22:37:10 No:132926391

Colonel Stalker Dude is freaking me out

Image: [Confused pepe scratching head.jpg 230kb, 400x400]

>Be me, a totally tired out and broke student

>Remember getting those shady files months ago

>Thought Colonel dude was cool and weird pen pal

>Even started to like him after long talks

>But NOW he knows my address???

>WTF how long has he been watching me

>On one hand it’s creepy AF but kinda flattering a high rank dude cares

>Other hand I don't want a secret stalker or to get disappeared

>Free food is nice but feeling stalked is not cash money

>Used to have bit of crush but now I'm skeeved TBH

>What do? Can't go to cops cuz questions. No close friends/fam

>Too broke to move or change info

>Maybe he’s just lonely but also maybe he climbs in my window ;____;

>What if he takes my organs in the night like some human harvester?!

>Only protection is my cat Luna and she's useless in a fight ;_;

>Try to be positive and asking him how much he know

>Currently waiting for his replied while I was writing this post

>Anons pls help, should I keep talking to possible stalker man?

Don’t want my organs harvested but also don’t wanna waste a free food connection

Very conflicted and slightly paranoid this girl is in DIRE need of advice

Anonymous 05/29/23(Mon)22:45:19 No:132926405: >>132926391(OP)#

Sounds like a thriller romance novel lol! He probs just cares in his own intense way. Keep talking but be safe, maybe feel him out more? Could be nnothing ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Anonymous 05/29/23(Mon)23:16:08 No:132926439: >>132926405#

IKR it does sound like a book! But what if it’s a prequel to a snuff film?! I’ll try to subtly find out wtf he knows without pissing him off…

Anonymous 05/29/23(Mon)23:37:12 No:132926502: >>132926391(OP)#

LOL girl chill no one climbin in ur windows. He prolly just admires ur spirit. Keep lines of comms open, set boundaries if needed but relax!

Anonymous 05/29/23(Mon)23:45:01 No:13292623: >>132926502#

You’re right, I do overthink! I’ll calm my farm. Thank u stranger, maybe he’s just a bored soldier man and not a psycho (´。＿。｀)

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)00:25:31 No:13292684: >>132926391(OP)#

Change ur info anyway, maybe he won’t go to ur new stuff. And get some locks/alarms jfc. Play it safe.

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)00:42:44 No:13292692: >>13292684#

Can’t change anything, I used my student email! And too broke for moves or upgrades, these loans gotta last :’( but self defense is a must, thanks!

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)01:28:19 No:132922735: >>132926391(OP)#

Send Luna pics. Also tell col u feel weird, set ground rules like no stalking. Maybe he just wants friendship. Be safe!

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)01:46:31 No:132922757: >>132922735#

[sleepy_Luna.jpg 1,3mb 1000x1000] You’re so right, communication is key. I’ll lay it all out clearly and see how it goes. Thx fren <3

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)01:59:36 No:132922805: >>132926391(OP)#

Maybe he liiiiikes you ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) whatever happens keep us posted! We’re invested now lol

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)02:08:55 No:132922822: >>132922805#

omggg don't say that!! Now I'll be paranoid AND flustered X_X But I definitely will update y'all, this is quite the melodrama unfolding

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)02:15:36 No:132922811: >>132926391(OP)#

Girlll tell that stalker if he wants a piece he gonna have to pay your tuition first! Then maybe you’ll reconsider the organ harvesting. Gotta respect your worth sis 💅

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)02:23:12 No:132922834: >>132922811#

Omg you genius!!! If he’s really interested he can sponsor my broke ass med student life lol. Alleviate my debt and he gets unlimited Luna pics, win-win!

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)03:01:46 No:132922839: >>132926391(OP)#

Lmao girl you been reading too many thrillers! Military guys have ways of finding people, changing email won’t do shit. Just ask him wtf is up like a normal person

Anonymous 05/30/23(Tue)03:39:44 No:132922926: >>132922839#

Ugh you make a good point, confronting is smarter than hiding. But what if he locks me in a dungeon for being nosy?! I have no one to turn to if I disappear ;-;

------

From: Colonel_Kö[email protected]

To: [email protected]

05/30/24 at 03:45am

Subject: RE: Spill. Everything. Now.

Snow,

Let’s just say I know more than you think. But rest assured, your privacy and safety remain my priority here.

As for debriefs, some questions are best left unanswered, even between…friends. Maintaining mystique has its place too, no?

Focus on your studies. I’ll focus on ensuring no more interruptions are needed.

Now get some rest. You’ve an early lab tomorrow if I’m not mistaken.

Sweet dreams.

König

----

From: [email protected]

To: Colonel_Kö[email protected]

05/30/23 at 03:47am

Subject: DUDE.

HOW.

----

This one was short because I've been busy with other stuff hahah. It sure took some twisted turn hmmM? or maybe poor Snow just over reacted ;)

Also love, comment and reblogged are really appreciate! 💖

#könig cod #könig call of duty #könig mw2 #könig x oc #könig #cod oc #cod x oc #konig call of duty #cod fic #cod mw2