#hob having all this information and these skills in his head

[gabessquishytum]

Great minds.....another biker gang story

The Endless biker gang runs these parts. Headed by Morpheus "Dream" Endless, they control this area - protecting the weak and helping those who need it. This let's the town turn a blind eye to the gang's other shenanigans - if an asshole or two goes missing, no one really minds; if bikers pick out a person passing through,,,,,to keep, well hopefully they have skills useful to the town. And at least they've stopped having their "significant others" walk around town mostly naked (it was a thing for a while, Destruction tended to like his "people" naked). The gang is always helpful, but some times the lost & turned around, don't leave.

Hob is on a road trip; he's on summer break from teaching his kiddos and had promised himself nothing but tourists attractions and the open road. He is also using a paper map! Yes, no one uses paper maps anymore, but Hob wants to be authentic, take a classic road trip - car + map,,,,, get lost!

Obviously, Hob's map reading/navigating skills are not great. He's supposed to be at some kitschy tourist attraction, not a dusty bar in the middle of nowhere. Well, Hob figures he can at least ask the bar keep where he is to get oriented and where the nearest motel is.

When Dream sees the ass on lost man that walks into his bar, he knows he wants to keep him. Dream doesn't know if yet (but he'll learn it), no one will be looking for "Hob" until August when he officially has to be back at his school,,,,,,,,,2 months from now.

The Endless town has a school & children,,,once Dream unties Hob from his bed......he's sure he can convince Hob to stay.

Oh Hob, baby... this could only happen to you.

Hob is definitely getting the vibe that this town is weird. The lack of traditional law enforcement, the fact that people keep giving him odd, pitying(?!) looks... its all very odd. It gets odder when this guy in full biker gear approaches him at the bar. Suddenly all the patrons, bar staff, owner... they all disappear. Its just Hob and this guy. The guy doesn't say much, just pours Hob another drink and asks if he's lost?

Hob explains his situation. He asks if biker guy can help him find his way. And the guy says, sure. But I want something in return.

The guy is gorgeous, if Hob is being honest. His eyes are blue, but there's a darkness deep within them. His hair is jet black and his mouth is ruby red, and if he wants blowjob in exchange for information then Hob is absolutely going to agree. He'd suck the guy off just for the pleasure of it. And maybe he's gullible, but he follows the guy right back to what is obviously the nicest house in town. Obviously being a biker is very profitable in these parts?

Naturally a blowjob turns into sex, and Hob gets the living daylights fucked out of him until he all but passes out. Dream, the biker guy, is like a whirlwind in bed. Hob has never cum so much in his entire life.

So when he wakes up cuffed to the headboard, he does scream and protest...... but it's a little half-hearted. When his dick is that good, it's hard to really get mad at the guy. Especially when he brings breakfast in bed. Hob has, objectively, had worse mornings.

And Dream isn't sure if this man is crazy or just really slutty, but he's keeping him either way. He'll make Hob cum so hard, he'll forget he even had a life before Dream and the Endless town <333

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft #cw dubcon

[lenreli]

Day 12 - "Don't take me for a fool" [Human AU]

[AO3] Time for more getaway driver Hob & criminal Dream!

-

Morpheus enters the garage of the quite ordinary home, looking critically around as he follows the sound of metal-on-metal. Smirking, he finds what he was looking for under a car, legs sticking out. “Hob Gadling,” he intones, relishing as he sees Hob’s leg twitch, the sound of metal stopping as the getaway driver slides out from underneath the car, white singlet dirty with oil as Hob looks up at him, eventually sighing. 

“Morpheus of the Endless,” Hob replies as he gets a towel to wipe his dirty hands, and Morpheus tries to not let the shock show on his face, well-thought out plan disappearing in a puff of smoke. “Congratulations, you know how information gathering works.” Hob sighs and rests on the side of the dark green car he was working on. “Thought I should look into you since the last time,” Hob says with a shrug, and Morpheus scowls, not enjoying the constant feeling of being wrong-footed that Hob gives him. 

Well, maybe he does like it a bit, not that he’d say it. “I,” he starts, and then shuts his mouth as he realises that he forgot what he was planning to say, mind still reeling at hearing his name out of Hob’s mouth. 

“Are you here to kill me, Morpheus?” Hob asks with a tilt of his head, hands going into the pants of greasy blue jeans, and Morpheus can only shake his head. “So, why are you here, then?” 

Morpheus gapes, managing to get his thoughts together as Hob stares at him. “I ― do you not remember?” He asks, baffled and offended. 

“Sure I do. But why?” Hob asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Gritting his teeth, Morpheus salvages some pride to ― give, “because I want more of,” he breathes out.

Hob looks up at the ceiling, then walks towards him with an intensity that makes him step back ― until he hits a car as Hob grabs onto the lapels of his coat. “More of what? A relationship? My skills for only you to use? You’re not the first to do this, you know, so don’t take me for a fool, Endless,” Hob threatens, and Morpheus’s heart beats wildly as Hob lets go, nose scrunching. “Though, if you wanted more of a business thing, you’d kidnap me. Also not the first time.” 

“No,” he chokes out, mind swirling with all that Hob’s given him, “no ― just, a relationship. No strings attached.” 

He’s given a skeptical look as Hob crosses his arms, “and people have used relationships to also try and get information for who I’ve done jobs for, not to mention the last woman I was with I had to kill because she was an assassin with me as her mark,” Hob says, scowling at him. 

“You could just say no,” he says, and Hob raises an eyebrow, “truly. I do not care for ― whoever you do jobs for, I just,” Morpheus takes a deep breath, steeling himself, “I want you.” 

This time, Hob is the one who opens and shuts his mouth, looking even more confused. “I’m so used to people in our line of work just,” Hob gestures, as if Hob’s lists of what’s happened to him is in an itemised list in the garage. “You’re insane.” 

“So people keep saying,” Morpheus replies, sighing deeply as he steps forward, taking Hob’s grease-stained hands, “I noticed you didn’t say no.” 

Hob stares down at their hands, looking even more perplexed, “I don’t think I’m ready for a relationship right now. Sex, fine, but emotionally?” At this, Morpheus laughs, the sound horrible and braying as it echoes throughout the garage. “What?” 

“You forced me to reveal emotions I’d rather die to even speak, but you’re not the one ready for emotions,” he says, biting his lip to stop his horrible laughter. “I would be fine with that.”

“You are insane,” Hob says, something like awe in his voice ― though, Morpheus can’t think further on it as Hob moves forward, hands cupping his face as they kiss, nails trailing down his neck as their bodies press together, Hob’s body scorching against his. 

“Our jobs have nothing to do with this,” Morpheus breathes, cupping Hob’s clothed cock in one hand as Hob moans, the other’s stained hands quickly going to tear Morpheus’s pants open. 

“That’s the most sane thing you’ve said since you came here,” Hob mutters against his lips, and Morpheus whines the coolness of the car behind him contrasts with Hob’s heat, at the feel of rough hands stroking his cock. “Fuck it,” Morpheus hears as Hob bites down his neck, Hob’s other hand trailing up his spine under his shirt, “we’ll see how this goes, I guess.”

#dc #the sandman #dreamling #dreamling fanfic #dreamling smoctober #smoctober 2023 #dream x hob #hob x dream #hob x morpheus #writing #not sfw #once again i get carried away i guess #hob's been through stuff gfhgjgh

[slaymitchabernathy]

Field Mouse

It's nearly dinner time by the time he gets back from the Seam. Coriolanus walked her back to the house but he wasn't invited inside. "Next time," she'd told him, lingering in the doorway, "when my family isn't home."

He hadn't quite known how she meant that. Did her family not like Peacekeepers so she felt it was best to keep them apart? Or did she want the house to herself to do...other things? 

He was hoping for the second option. 

Smiley hopped out of the bunk the second Coriolanus walked in, "How'd it go?" Coriolanus shrugged, not wanting to give out too much information, "It went fine. I didn't know the Seam was that bad." 

His bunkmate chuckled, "Poor people in District Twelve are the poorest people in all of Panem, at least you found a pretty one."

Coriolanus hadn't thought of it that way, how Twelve was technically the bottom of the barrel when it came to the Districts, ranking all District Twelve citizens at the very bottom. Below the bottom if he was being honest. In the dirt sounded better.

He sat down on his bunk and mulled over it even more. What would his friends say if they saw him running around with some poor girl with tattered clothes and a sagging house? He'd be the laughingstock of the Capitol for sure. He'd have to keep this under wraps. He couldn't afford any loose ends if he left for the Capitol. When he left for the Capitol was more like it. He was getting out of here, one way or another. 

"They're having an officers test tomorrow if you're interested," Smiley says, pulling Coriolanus from his thoughts, "gotta be Capitol to qualify so I figured you'd be interested."

Becoming an officer meant higher rankings, it meant actual pay, a salary, and possibly being relocated to a higher-ranking District, closer to the Capitol.

It was all lining up for him. He had everything he could need right now. The girl, the job, the hope. 

"I am interested. Thanks, Smiley," he says before grabbing his towel, he ought to shower before lights out, wash all the sweat off of him. 

He could smell the whole day on him as he scrubbed himself down under the shower water, it was mostly sweat and dirt. But a hint of vanilla lingered. He'd see her again at the Hob on Friday, maybe steal a few kisses and slip his hand under her dress. 

Coriolanus fell asleep with a content smile on his lips. It was all lining up for him. Finally.

꧁ ꧂

The results from the officer's test still weren't posted. Granted it had only been two days but still! Coriolanus had been one of two people to take it and the other guy walked out halfway through it. Needless to say, he was a shoo-in. If not for his impressive skills both physically and academically, then it was by default. And he was okay with that. 

Still, it bothered him. Bothered him to the point where he'd asked Commander Hoff about it. He told Coriolanus that the test was reviewed in the Capitol so it would take about a week to get the results back. A whole week to find out if he passed even though he knows he passed. Ugh. 

He didn't let it sour his mood as he walked into the Hob though. It was Friday night and he planned on having a good time. Music was already playing and people already dancing. He scanned the crowd for Soarynn's blonde head of hair and found her dancing with her cousin Jett. Even though they were family, Coriolanus couldn't help but feel a bit jealous. She should be dancing with him. 

He pushed through the crowd towards her, leaving his friends behind as he went to claim what was rightfully his. Jett saw him before Soarynn did and he leaned down to whisper something in her ear before disappearing into the crowd. Soarynn turned around and looked up at Coriolanus, giving him a big smile, "You came!"

Coriolanus smiled back at her, that smile of hers was infectious it seemed. "I did. Hopefully, I didn't scare your cousin off."

Soarynn waved him off, "Jett's been keepin' me company till you got here. He's got his eyes set on some girl from town, keeps hopin' to bump into her but he never does. Too busy workin' I guess." 

Coriolanus couldn't help but wonder what Soarynn did for work. She hadn't really specified but she didn't look like she did a lot of hard labor from the looks of it. "You wanna dance?" She asks, taking his hand. Coriolanus looked around, it was mostly miners dancing with their girls, but he wasn't used to this dancing, it was so...District. 

He shook his head, "Let me buy you a drink." He pulled her along with him, leading them to the bar where he wrapped his arm around her, breathing in the scent of vanilla again. It used to be the smell of roses that brought him true comfort, the smell of his mother's silver compact. But that was back at home, so he'd have to settle for vanilla. 

They waited a minute for their drinks and he watched the band on stage put on quite a show. There was a girl, tan skin, dark brown curly hair wearing some ridiculous rainbow dress up there twirling around and singing. She looked over at them, taking in the pair before her eyes found Soarynn's and she playfully wiggled her eyebrows. Soarynn snorted next to him before turning to grab their drinks.

"You know her?" He asks, looking back at the girl who'd already gone back to singing. Soarynn hummed, handing him his drink and taking a sip of hers. "That's Lucy Gray Baird, she lives a couple houses down from us with the Covey." He raised his eyebrows, the Covey?

"Is that some sort of band name?" He asks, casting the band another glance. None of them looked related at all. Soarynn watched them for a moment before responding, "Kind of. They're all cousins one way or another, not all by blood like me and Jett. But they're all related some way or the other. The little one's Maude Ivory, she's got real authority." 

Coriolanus shakes his head and laughs, looking down at Soarynn, "People in District Twelve sure come up with some strange names for their children." Soarynn gave him a small grin and shrugged, "We're strange people, Coriolanus Snow," she drawls. She's got him there, and she knows it. "I could introduce y'all if you'd like," she offers. As fun as that sounds, Coriolanus isn't too keen on meeting this band of musicians. He'd like to hear some other music for a change, like Soarynn's moans. 

He shakes his head, "No thanks. I'd love to go somewhere more quiet though." She gives him a look that lets him know she's on the same page, "There's a shed out back." 

The shed is more of a shack and it's dark, but Coriolanus doesn't complain. Besides, everything more fun in the dark. Soarynn leads them to a desk in the back corner and he wastes no time in wrapping his hand around her waist, capturing her lips in a heated kiss. Soarynn responds just as eagerly if not more and her arms wrap around his neck, tugging him down to meet her height. He smirks at how low she needs him. His girl's on the shorter side, so tiny he could break her in half. 

He picks her up and sits her on the desk, her legs dangling off the edge. her hands go under his shirt, those nails scratching his back lightly, "Take it off," she whispers against his lips, tugging at the fabric. He's never been with a girl this straightforward, who knows exactly what she wants and how to get it. 

He gives in to her request and his hands leave her waist to tug his shirt off, showing her his sculpted abdomen, Soarynn let out a low whistle, "My, my, they sure whipped you into shape, pretty boy." 

Coriolanus rolls his eyes before grabbing her chin with her fingers, "I'd say it's only fair if you take something else off too," he challenges. Soarynn tilts her head and gives him a smile that's all too sweet, "You can take it off," she offers, gesturing to the pink dress she's wearing tonight. It's nothing fancy, old, and worn just like her other blue dress but this one has some embroidered flowers. Doesn't really matter when it's going to be on the floor in a few seconds. 

He's quick to grab the hem of the dress and tug it off of her, baring almost all of her to him. She wearing panties, white and lacy. Her breasts are bare to him as is the rest of her torso and he finally takes all of her in. She's underfed his girl, with her ribs poking out and her waist narrow. She stiffens up when she sees him noticing her rough edges, letting him know that despite how confident she appears, she still has insecurities. 

His hands go to her breasts, the perfect size for his hands and he leans back down to kiss her, rolling her rosy buds in between his fingers. Soarynn lets out a whine and her back slightly arches into him. He wonders how long it's been since she's been touched. "You ever been with anyone before?" He mumbles, pulling away to kiss up and down her jaw. Soarynn shudders when he pinches a little harder, "Does it really matter right now?" So she has. That's fine. He likes a girl with a little experience. He just hopes Soarynn's not a proper whore who's been run through by every miner in District Twelve.

He leans down to her collarbone and sucks hard, leaving a small bruise behind when he pulls away. "Nope," he answers, knowing he's never going to get a straightforward answer from her right now. His left hand lets go of her breasts and slips down to her thighs that are pressed together for obvious reasons but she immediately spreads them when she feels his fingertips.

"I like it hard by the way," she breathes, her own hands tangled in his hair. He has to swallow after hearing that. Any Capitol girl he's been with has only wanted it sweet and slow, but he supposes that he can be rougher with District girls who are far below any Capitol girl. 

So he doesn't even take her panties off, her just tugs them to the side before wiping a finger up and down her cunt, swearing when he feels how wet she is. Her hips buck when he grazes her clit, her hands settling on his shoulders as he slowly parts her folds. He wishes he could see this, see better in the dark, but their options are limited right now and he's not one to complain when he's got a perfectly good and willing cunt right in front of him. 

For a second he wonders if that's how she views him right now. A willing hand, a willing cock. Does she do this with other guys, other Peacekeepers? Just how much honey has this little bee had? 

"Hurry," she whispers, getting him to focus once again. "You're so wet," he murmurs, teasing her entrance with his finger. Soarynn whines, her nails digging into his skin, "For fucks sake hurry up" 

He doesn't like that.

He doesn't even think before he grabs her jaw, squeezing it hard as he forces her to look up at him. "Don't tell me what to do," he snaps, shaking her head for good measure. Her hand is on his wrist in another second and she digs her nails into his skin hard, she probably drew blood. He hisses and pulls away, glaring down at her but she's already glaring up at him, "I'm not one of your Capitol girls you can boss around," she tells him, sitting back on her hands, "if you're not interested there's the door," she juts her head towards the shed door he hastily closed when they got here. 

He swallows, not used to this type of behavior from girls. "Suppose someone found you here," he says, gesturing to her current state, legs spread, cunt bared for him. She gives him a wicked grin, "They'd be welcome to have me." 

She's a hornet. Not a bee. A fucking hornet. 

He's slipping his shirt on before he knows it, not even sparing her another glance before he walks out of that shed, fuming. 

He's moving so fast that he bumps into several people and the sound of instruments falling to the ground makes him cringe. "Sorry," he says, bending down to grab the closest thing he can grab which so happens to be a guitar. "It's all right, no harm done," a girl answers him. He stands back up to find it's Lucy Gray Baird, whom he's bumped into along with the rest of the Covey who's picking up their instruments. 

She recognizes him immediately, "You were with Soarynn," she says like it's an accusation. "You're correct," he answers her. Because he was with Soarynn. As in the past tense. As in he's never going to see that little field mouse again. That mouse that likes to dance with snakes. 

Lucy Gray looks behind him like Soarynn might be hiding behind him, "Well where is she?" The little girl, Maude something or the other pushes her way to the front and looks him up and down, hands on her hips like she means business, “Are y’all together? We saw you beat up Billy Taupe the other day. He had it comin’ though.”

At least these people haven’t lost all their senses. Coriolanus glances back at the shed, no signs of life coming from it, “She’s in there,” he nods in the general direction. Lucy Gray follows his gaze and she raises her eyebrows, “Ah, the shed.” What’s that supposed to mean? Was he really not that special? Was the shed her known place to take her toys?

Coriolanus is on the verge of spiraling when Lucy Gray pulls him from his thoughts, “Well I hope y’all had fun, but too much fun.” Coriolanus wants to tell her that he’s never going to go near her friend again for the rest of his miserable Peacekeeping service but he just nods before heading back to the Hob.

Ready to forget that little field mouse.

| Part 2. |

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

#coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus smut #coriolanus snow #hunger games #slaymitchabernathy #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #ao3 fanfic #soarynn snow #wattpad #soarynn nightingale #coriolanus x soarynn #coryo snow #staywithmealways #coriolanus x original character #coriolanus x oc #coriolanus drabble #coriolanus imagine #coriolanus fic #stay with me always

[dragon-kazansky]

Til death do us part | Helmut Zemo

Bodyguard AU! 🕶

Gender neutral reader

Collage by @realremyd

[Previous chapter] - [Next chapter]

Part 8

You have been back in New York a couple of weeks now. You had spent a few days recovering, at the word of Tony Stark, your boss, and then took on a few small jobs. They were jobs that didn't require you for more than few hours.

Standing outside nightclubs, escorting an official to a meeting, being present at an event. Nothing major like protecting a Baron from a group of individuals who wanted him dead.

If you were being quite honest, you were missing that assignment. You were missing him.

These little jobs were starting to feel dull. A part of you wondered if it was because you were worried. How were you suppose to carry on when you knew there were dangerous people out there?

Somehow, you just did.

Then one day things changed. You turned up at the headquarters at Stark's request. Everyone else was still stationed in Sokovia for the time being. You were beginning to miss them.

You check your suit out before entering the office, wanting to look your best for your boss. It always made you feel good to look good when working.

You knock on the door.

"Come in."

You enter the office and close the door behind you. Tony Stark is sitting at his desk. He had just got off the phone as you entered.

"Take a seat."

You sit down.

Tony places a folder in front of you on his desk. He sits back in his chair, links his fingers together, and looks at you.

You look at the folder, then at him.

"Open it."

You pull the folder open slowly and look down at the page in front of you. Now you were just confused. In front of you was a photo of Baron Helmut Zemo. The page looked pretty much the same as fine report you got last time.

You look up at Stark.

"What is this?"

"A job."

"You want me back on the assignment?" You ask, looking at him.

Tony shakes his head slowly.

"Read it."

You look down at the report and read it. The more you read, the more confused you became. The details were vague.

I, Helmut Zemo, request the presence of Y/N L/N at Castle Zemo, Novi Grad, Sokovia, immediately. Please note, they may refuse the invite and remain situated in New York.

He was asking for you.

You look back at Tony Stark. His expression doesn't give anything away as he remains seated in the same position looking at you.

"He is asking for me?"

"Yes."

"He wants me back on the assignment?"

"Maybe. I don't know. All I received was that file and strict instructions to show it to you."

You look back at the file.

"You can refuse."

You look at the Baron's name on the top of the page.

Helmut Zemo.

Was he giving you a second chance because he felt bad? The thought made your heart flutter.

You look up at Stark.

"I'll do it. I'll go."

Tony's expression doesn't change. You can't tell if he's happy about it or not. He just shrugs.

"Alright. I'll organise the flight."

He dismisses you right after that. You take the file and return to your room. So many thoughts are running through your head. Your should still ached, but you were confident you could go back and do the hob again.

You would happily take another bullet for him.

The very next day you were on the plane to Sokovia. Tony Stark saw you off himself and you sent a message ahead to your friends.

You: I'm coming back. The Baron has requested me.

You couldn't wait. You wanted to see them all, assure them you were fine, and most of all, find out why the Baron had sent out an invite like that.

You wanted to see him again.

The photo doesn't do him any justice. To understand just how fine of a man he is, you need to see him with your own eyes. It was incredibly unprofessional of you to be having such thoughts, but you couldn't help it.

The Baron is a very handsome man.

It was late in the day when you arrived. You had sent a message ahead to tell your friends what time you would be landing. Steve had replied to assure you the Baron was sending a car to pick you up.

Apparently, he had wanted to come get you himself, the Baron that is, but was too busy rearranging the meetings he was suppose to attend over the past couple of weeks.

Knowing that information made something within you stir.

The plane lands, you get your suitcase, and you head outside to find a sleek black car waiting for you. Bucky climbs out of the car with Steve and you hug them both, happy to be back.

Bucky takes your suitcase and Steve opens the door for you. You find it funny the way they are treating you.

"I'm not the Baron, you know."

"We know," Steve replies.

He doesn't say any more on the matter and gets back into the drivers seat. Bucky sits in the passenger seat and smiles at you over his shoulder. You get comfortable in the back.

"We are glad to see you back at work," Bucky says, smiling at you again.

"It's good to be back."

"Stark said he sent you on some small jobs."

"Yeah. They felt rather dull compared to what we have been through," you laugh softly.

"We've missed you," Steve says.

You smile.

"The Baron has missed you too," Bucky tells you.

You furrow your brow at him.

"He has?"

Bucky nods.

The Baron must really feel bad for the way he was with you. Everything indicates he was sorry. From him getting out of the car to check on you when you had been shot, to visiting you in the hospital, and now inviting you back to his estate.

You felt rather giddy.

The car pulls up the familiar drive with the bare garden and comes to a stop. Steve stops you from getting out on your own and opens your door for you.

You just roll your eyes.

Bucky grabs your suitcase and the two of them lead the way inside. They takes you up to Zemo's office, where Bucky then parts ways with you and leaves you with Steve.

Steve knocks on the door.

"Enter."

Steve opens the door and steps inside first. He steps off to the side and let's you enter after him.

"Y/N has arrived, sir."

Helmut looks up from the file he had been reading rather quickly. He stares at you.

Just as stunning as he remembered you.

"Leave us."

Steve nods and closes the door behind him.

Helmut stands up from his desk and gestures to the chair opposite him. You walk over and take a seat, looking at him.

He hasn't looked away once since you entered.

"I'm glad to see you have recovered," he says, starting off.

"Yes, it took some time, but I'm alright. Thank you for inviting back onto the assignment, sir."

He had discovered just how much he hated hearing you call him that. He wanted to hear his name fall from your lips, but even when he had requested it last time, you had said no.

"It is my pleasure, though I haven't officially put you back onto the team yet. I have a proposal for you," he says, sitting back down.

"Oh?"

Helmut pulls out a couple of pieces of paper that been stapled together. He sets them down in front of you and gestures to them.

You could tell it was a contract.

You pick them up and look at them. Silence settles over you both as you read.

He waits with bated breath.

When you have read the terms you look back up at him with a confused glint in your eye.

"This contract..."

"Yes."

"You want me to be your personal bodyguard?"

"Yes."

"To leave Stark Industries and work for you?"

"Yes."

You look at the contract again. He was asking for your employment, not just hiring you from your current status, but to be his personal bodyguard.

"You can refuse and I'll have you sent home immediately."

Though he didn't want that. He wanted you to stay. He knew, after that day, that in tour hands his life was safe. He also knew that deep down he didn't want to be parted from you.

Zemo didn't want to call it a crush, but there was definitely something brewing. He liked you, he really did. It was more than just a crush for him. He wanted to know you and he didn't know any other way to get that other than employ you.

You would be living here, working here, every day.

"The contract would be effective immediately," he tells you.

"What about Stark? He would have to know."

"Well, of course. Would you rather phone him before making a decision?" He offers you the phone sitting on the desk.

"May I?"

"Please."

You set the contract down and pick up the phone.

Helmut sits back in his chair and waits, watching and listening. His heart was hammering away in his chest.

The conversation over the phone is short. You glance up at him several times, agreeing a lot to whatever Stark was saying down the phone. Helmut tried his best not to let it show just how eager he was to hear what was happening.

You agree once more before hanging up the phone.

You look at Zemo.

He sits up straighter in his chair, looking at you with curious brown eyes.

You smile.

God, your smile was a beautiful sight, and you were smiling at him!

"Do you have a pen?" You ask.

That wasn't quite what he was expecting to hear, but he nods and takes a pen from his desk, handing it over to you. You take it from his hand, your fingers brushing against his. You didn't seem to notice, be he did.

He lowers his hand slowly as he watches you sign the contract.

Rather uncharacteristically he wanted to jump from his seat, smiling and cheering, but resists. You have no idea how happy you had just made him.

He remains composed.

You put the pen down and slide the contract back over to him, smiling.

"It's my pleasure to be your bodyguard, sir. I am glad to know you have faith in my skills to do such a job."

He smiles.

Helmut holds his hands out and you take it, shaking it firmly.

He was holding your hand. His heart was having a rave.

You let go.

He feels the loss immediately. Your hand fit so perfectly in his, he felt it belonged in his grasp.

Why am I thinking about you like this?

You stand up and straighten your tie.

"Permission to go get settled before I officially start working?" You ask.

"Permission granted. I shall see you later." He had no idea how he had kept his voice so calm.

You nod and take your leave.

Once the door closes behind you, Helmut drips his face into his hands and leans against his desk using his elbows.

You worked for him now.

He would see you every day.

Every day he would have to pretend he was falling for your charm. You had no idea the affect you had on this man and it was driving him crazy.

Would he be feeling this way if you hadn't saved his life? He had no idea.

All he did know was that he was over the moon you had taken the job.

If he could help it, he would keep you out of harm's way. That might be difficult considering the circumstances, but he never wanted to see you hurt like that again.

He still saw it in his nightmares.

You made your way to your given room. You would be staying here from now on. You would make it your own in due time.

You sat on the bed and smiled.

His own personal bodyguard. You had more than proved your worth.

You were proud of yourself.

Thank you, Baron.

You just had just break it to your friends. Speaking of, Bucky was standing in your doorway looking at you.

"What's on your mind?" He asks, smiling softly.

"Something happened."

For a moment he looks concerned and enters your room.

"What happened?"

You smile as you look at him.

"He hired me."

"I figured he would, that's why he invited you back, right?"

"No, he hired me. I work for him now. I signed his contract. I'm the personal bodyguard of Baron Zemo."

Bucky stands in silence for a moment. You can see him trying to work it out in his mind.

"He hired you as his personal guard?"

"Yes."

Bucky smiles.

"The man is so in love with you, oh my god!"

You stare at him wide eyed.

"He is not!"

"He definitely is," Bucky grins.

"Is not! It just means I proved myself. He doubted me and I showed him I could do it. Feel proud for me."

He smiles softly.

"I am proud, but I'm also not joking. I think he likes you. Zemo missed you while you were gone, and he had been cold and mean after finding out you had been sent home."

You shake your head softly.

"Coincidence. He had been attacked, he has every right to be cold and mean again."

"Y/N, listen to me. He missed you."

You shake your head again and stand up.

"You're delusional. He just trusts me. This does mean we are only colleagues while you're here."

Bucky sighs softly.

"That's a shame, but I'm proud of you. This is a big deal."

"Yeah, it is."

Bucky hugs you before making his leave. He was going to let Steve know about what happened.

You let him go.

You're not sure why, but you had an inkling things were about to change. Something was going to happen and you were going to be happy.

Perhaps it was because you were starting a new chapter of your life here in Sokovia.

Bodyguard to the Baron, what an honour!

@thesuitkovian @justfangirlthingies @belle82devart @zemosimp420 @anteroom-of-death @silverlambcaptain @that-stupid-head-tilt-thing @lieutenantn @daniielbruhl @awesomesauce-abbie @latenightartist-author @lazygurl05 @rumblelibrary @nonamec0s @shura-gorl @ginger-abreu @caligrl1992 @livvyshmiv @luciadiosa @vverliebt @tatooineisdry @charistory @somethingthatsaysbubbles @apparrio @alex-the-nb @thewrongkhristol @hb8301 @the-chaotic-cow @mssennimatilda

#marvel #zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo #au #baron helmut zemo #zemo #bodyguard au

[ieattaperecorders]

Something's Different About You Lately - Epilogue: Borrowed Time

Life goes on, impossibly.

Read on Ao3

---

Martin shifted the bag of groceries in his arms as he climbed the stairs, still feeling a bit nervous.

The dinner had been Jon's idea – his O&M instructor was covering kitchen skills, and he'd thought it would be fun for the two of them to try making something together. The recipe had sounded a little elaborate to Martin, who'd protested that he didn't cook much, but Jon promised that it wasn't beyond them. He added that Martin was ‘perfectly capable' in the kitchen anyway, and said it with such prim, knowing confidence that Martin hadn't even bothered to ask. Before he knew it, he was writing down a list of ingredients to bring over.

He supposed that was just going to keep happening, Jon telling him things about himself. It was . . . strange. Sometimes it was endearing, sometimes just annoying. Occasionally it made him feel sentimental and a little bit sad in a way he couldn't put his finger on.

The door to the flat opened after a moment of knocking, and he smiled as Jon appeared.

"Hi Jon, it's Martin," he said. He'd read online it was polite to say your name, to not assume the other person will recognize your voice. "I've got the groceries."

"I know it's you, Martin." His tone was light and a little condescending, and Martin felt heat rise to his ears. "Come on inside. You know where the kitchen is."

Martin slipped past him and set down the bag, pulling things out and arranging them on the counter as Jon followed him to the kitchen.

"The store was out of chili paste," he mentioned.

Jon shrugged. "We'll improvise, then."

"If you say so."

Jon began taking out cookware, placing things down wherever he found counter space. "Do anything interesting today?" he asked, over the clatter of pans.

"Not especially. Filled out a few applications, then took a walk," he said. "Met a really friendly dog in the park."

"Flattered that you tore yourself away to come here."

"Wasn't by choice, her owner wouldn't let me keep her."

"How unreasonable."

It was weird, not having to worry so much about money. Not that Martin was complaining of course, but there was still a voice in his head telling him he was being too slow and selective in his job search, that it was lazy of him. And he felt anxious dipping into the new funds too much.

He'd just about gone into conniptions when Sasha told him what she'd done while she'd been fiddling with Elias's computer. Embezzlement might not have been an escalation when they were already committing arson, but they could still get caught, and wouldn't a financial windfall point a lot of suspicion towards them? But she kept assuring him that it was untraceable, some hidden fund Elias had, ready to be drawn on by anyone with the account information. The running theory was that he'd been keeping it for his next identity, which . . . yeah, the less Martin thought about that, the better.

Fear of discovery aside, he couldn't deny it was nice having a buffer like this. There was space he'd never had before to think about where he wanted to be, what he wanted to do with himself. And with the bills taken care of, Jon could focus his time on recovering. At the urging of his O&M teacher (and some amount of prodding on Martin's end) he'd even started talking to a counselor every few weeks. It was ostensibly just about handling the emotions that come up with sudden, traumatic vision loss, and he doubted Jon would be discussing the more exotic traumas he'd been through. Still. It was probably good he had something like that.

They went about the business of prepping ingredients, talking idly about food, things they'd done in the past few days, updates from Tim and Sasha. Martin's initial nerves already dissolving into the steady flow of conversation. There was something comfortable, he reflected, in being around someone who was so comfortable with him.

"Would you mind--" Jon frowned, fiddling with the hob on the stove. "I've got this, I'm fairly sure. Just . . . make sure I keep the pan centered?"

"Sure."

He came to stand behind Jon, watching over his shoulder as he set the carefully oiled pan on the stove and turned on the heat. Martin was a terribly distracted spotter, his attention frequently straying from the pan to look at Jon's face, pinched slightly in concentration. There was a single bead of sesame oil on his cheek, and it made his intensely serious expression that much more charming.

Despite his concerns, Jon had the pan well handled as he heated the oil and added in the aromatics. Martin only noticed him drifting once, the flames going high on one side of the pan.

"A little left," he advised.

In a moment of impulse and bravery, Martin curved an arm around him – placing a hand on his elbow, then running it down his arm to cover Jon's hand with his own, guiding the pan carefully into place. Jon leaned back, fitting the curve of his body into Martin's and sighing deeply.

"God, I've missed this," Jon exhaled. "Just . . . cooking dinner with you. All these little domestic things."

His voice was so unselfconsciously fond. It made Martin dizzy, just how easily affection poured out of him.

In hindsight, at least part of Jon's strange, awkward behavior around Martin had been a result of him holding back, wary of letting his feelings show. He never held anything back now -- his demeanor going from nonchalant or haughty to unbelievably soft and loving at the slightest prompting. It still took Martin by surprise, inspiring so much unreserved affection in someone. It wasn't anything he'd usually associate with himself. It was strange, and lovely, and at times made him feel almost frighteningly powerful.

He leaned forward, kissing the soft skin just beside Jon's ear. Jon smiled, holding his pose for a moment before gradually returning his attention to the pan, shaking it gently to move the vegetables around. Martin kept a hand on his, now fully for the sake of touch rather than any pretense of assistance, letting Jon's movements guide them both.

"Did we cook together in that cabin a lot?" he asked.

Jon nodded. "It was one of a handful of things we could do that felt . . . well, like a date, I suppose. We couldn't really go anywhere since we were lying low. I mean, we could walk around the area, isolated as it was, but trips to the village were all short and functional. So preparing something elaborate together made an evening feel special," he smirked. "You used to get defensive, too, just like today . . . saying you didn't really cook, like you were trying to lower my expectations."

"In my defense, I never said I didn't cook, just . . . ." Not since mum left , he thought. "Not for a while."

"To be honest, we were both at a disadvantage in that kitchen," Jon continued. "There weren't a lot of modern conveniences there. The power came from a generator, and the stove was an ancient, wood-burning thing that neither of us quite knew what to do with at first. Took a lot of trial and error before we really managed."

"Sounds cozy."

"Oh yes. So cozy we almost suffocated ourselves before we figured out how to adjust the vents."

Martin smiled, listening to Jon describe the little kitchen in that place. The cabin in Scotland had supposedly been a remote safehouse the two of them laid low in, but the way Jon talked about it sometimes it might as well have been a romantic holiday retreat. He made it sound so nice that Martin once idly suggested they go see it someday. Jon had gone tense and quiet at that, had shaken his head and said softly that they had to stay far, far away from that place. That there was nothing good that happened there now.

Jon was mostly open about the things he remembered. But sometimes "open" meant he'd easily speak at length about something, and other times "open" meant he'd answer your questions with short, one-sentence explanations, volunteering nothing unless pushed. And anything about the police officers he'd apparently worked with fell solidly into the second category.

Sometimes it seemed like they might have been friends, but Jon was always adamant that no one ever try to contact them. Daisy in particular seemed hard to talk about. Martin did know about the coffin. Jon had told him in a soft, emotional voice how another Martin had stepped from his cloud of isolation to set out tape recorders calling him home, how it had been one of very few things that let Jon believe he hadn't given up on him yet. And he knew something had been different about Daisy after the coffin, some sinister force like the one that had kept them at the Institute had loosened its hold on her.

He also knew that Jon was terrified of her, that he said again and again she was too dangerous to go near. That something about her made him sad -- and, Martin suspected, guilty, though he wasn't sure why. It was a topic he'd decided not to push . . . if Jon ever wanted to talk more about it, he would in his own time.

There were other things, things closer to home for Martin that Jon had hesitated over. Once while he was recounting the events of those years he'd paused mid-sentence. Stammered that it wasn't all supernatural in nature and some of it may still happen, and was he sure he wanted to know everything? Martin imagined Jon thought he was being subtle, but it wasn't a hard guess.

He told Jon not to give him the date. It was obviously going to be within the next couple of years, there was no spitting out that apple of knowledge. But he didn't want to be able to mark it on his calendar.

It shouldn't have felt like news, that his mum was going to die soon. Shouldn't have been the uncomfortable weight in his chest that it was. She was ill, of course it was coming, it had been coming for a while, hadn't it? But maybe that was the problem. It had been ‘any day now' for such a long time, ‘any day' had stopped feeling like a reality. And he still wasn't sure what to do with this information, if it really changed anything. Should he try to get some sort of closure? How did you make the most of the time you had left with a person who refuses to see you?

Martin hadn't asked Jon how much he knew about his mum, that just wasn't a conversation he was eager to have. But the careful, hesitant way Jon talked around the subject suggested . . . something, at least. Just like how the gentle, quiet tone he got when he talked about the Lonely told Martin more than he really wanted to have explained.

There was only one thing Jon flatly refused to tell him about, and that was whatever Elias had done to him on the day of the Unknowing. When pushed, Jon had gone quiet for a while, then said he didn't remember. It had been a lie, and a bad one, and both of them knew it. But it was clear there was no point in asking for more.

"You like pizzelles, don't you?"

Jon's voice snapped Martin to the present. With a last squeeze of Martin's hand, he turned off the flame, moved away from the stove and over to the pantry.

"Um, dunno?" Martin said, pulling his thoughts back together. "Never tried them."

"Really?" Jon frowned, pausing halfway to the cabinet door. Then he shrugged. "Well, no matter. You will."

Martin rolled his eyes. Jon spoke with so much more authority than anyone deserved to hold over another person's cookie preferences, and he couldn't help feeling contrary.

"No. You stepped on a butterfly last week and set off a chain of events that forever changed my feelings on pizzelles, I hate them now."

"That's all right," Jon said, popping open the plastic package and arranging the cookies on a plate. "If you don't want these, there's also canned peaches for dessert."

"Oh, don't you dare --"

Jon snickered, picking out a broken piece of one of the large, thin cookies and holding it out, just short of passing it into Martin's mouth. With an annoyed grunt, Martin leaned forward, taking a bite.

Damn it. It was really, really good.

---

Jon sank into the couch, pleasantly full and a little bit tired. He leaned back and listened to the sound of running water coming from the next room.

Martin had insisted on doing the dishes, on the basis that Jon had done "all the real work" of cooking. He wasn't sure that was true, but didn't argue. Just asked that he leave everything in the drainboard when he was finished so Jon could put it away later. He knew he'd be frustrated for hours if the dishes weren't where he expected them to be.

There were so many frustrations in his life now. His O&M instructor had promised he'd learn new ways to move through the world, that in time the frustrations would be fewer and fewer, and he'd find himself capable of nearly everything he'd done before the loss of his sight. Jon believed her, but it didn't make the prospect of getting there any less daunting. Nor did it make the learning process any easier.

The worst were the things his instructor would never understand, that no resource or guidebook would mention. The dread that gripped him when he became disoriented and found a door where he wasn't expecting one. The phantom tickles on his body that prompted him to pat himself down for spiders again and again.

Still. He was alive. The others were freed from the institute, and he was there with them, to struggle and to mourn and to continue on.

A part of him would always fear it had been a mistake. That the Web, or the Eye, or some other power still had plans for him that would reach apotheosis someday. Maybe he saw the fear as vigilance, as though something was waiting for him to feel safe so that it could rip that security from him. And as long as he never allowed himself to be truly, entirely at ease, that day would never come.

Irrational, perhaps. But it was so hard to tell anymore which irrational fears were truly irrational, and which would one day manifest with teeth and claws.

Even if nothing ever came for him, they had only bought the world some time. One day, maybe soon, someone would figure it out and attempt a ritual again. Maybe there would be others out there who would catch it in time, postponing the end over and over, forever. Or maybe someone would do it next week, and Jon would be plunged along with everyone else into unspeakable suffering until Terminus claimed them all. He could follow Gertrude's path if he chose, devote his life to stopping rituals at the cost of everything he cared for. Even then one could slip past him, come from someplace he hadn't been watching, or had been made not to notice. At some point he was going to have to find a way to live with that knowledge.

He'd work on it. But for the moment . . . .

The sound of running water stopped. Jon smiled, scooting to make room on the couch, feeling the cushions sink and shift as they took the weight of another person. With a hmm that came out with more whine to it than he'd wanted, Jon found Martin's arm and tugged it towards him. With a quiet laugh, Martin obliged, leaning into him and resting his head against his chest.

"Better," Jon arranged their limbs more comfortably. Martin's hands were still cold, and he smelled faintly of dish soap.

"Glad to hear it."

Jon knew Martin found it amusing, how clingy he was. The first time he'd commented on it had been profoundly embarrassing. Part of it was just the way Jon was, but he also remembered the days after the Lonely. The skittish, uncertain moments of contact, the times when Martin stiffened at his touch but whimpered when he pulled away. The other days, when they could barely let go of one another, when Jon would plant himself beside Martin or wrap his arms over his shoulders, and he would relax into it, sighing with release. Both of them too grateful for the fragile miracle of each other's touch to consider breaking contact.

This Martin didn't remember those days, and if he ever sensed anything desperate or reverent in the way Jon clung, he didn't comment on it. Still, even if he found it funny, he didn't seem to mind how ardently Jon held on to him.

Jon moved a hand into the space between Martin's shoulder blades and scratched down his spine, the particular way he used to like. Jon felt him shiver with pleasure under the soothing contact, and a powerful warmth spread through him.

"God . . ." Martin whispered, "you really know everything about me, don't you?"

Jon snorted. "Hardly. In a very real way, we barely had time to get to know each other. And when we did, well . . . it was close by necessity. It was intimate, and intense. But there's still a great deal I've no idea about."

"You were never tempted to use those powers of omniscience to look inside my head?"

"Constantly," Jon said, with great seriousness. "But I never did. I promised."

Martin went quiet at that. Maybe Jon's reply had been a little intense, or maybe Martin hadn't actually realized that looking inside his head had been a possibility when he'd asked the question as a joke.

"Oh," he said eventually. "Um . . . good?"

"I have picked up a few things," Jon continued, speaking with quiet and fond admiration. "For example . . . I know you'd like a pet, but your landlord won't allow them so you keep plants instead. You can't say no to panhandlers. You have a favorite hoodie that you only wear when you're sad and need the comfort. You like old, careworn furniture, and rainy days, and sitcoms that were made before you were born. You're kind to people who aren't kind to you, but you never forget the unkindness."

"Wow. Okay," Martin made a soft noise, shifting in his arms, voice tight and quiet. "Okay. Y-You're, uh, probably going to kill me if you keep that up, you know."

"Trust me, you've survived worse."

He felt Martin move a little higher, slotting himself beside Jon and giving him a tight squeeze. Jon grinned as the breath was pushed out of him, all twenty-four of his ribs contracting at the assault.

That was another difference, one of dozens of subtle changes Jon couldn't keep his mind from analyzing. Martin wasn't ungentle, exactly. But he hugged Jon more tightly, shoved or poked him when he was annoyed, whereas the Martin in his memories had held back a little. Been more mindful of his strength, as if wary he might handle him too roughly. It had been subtle, a thing Jon hadn't even noticed until he had something to contrast it against.

It made sense, he supposed. The other Martin had seen Jon limp back to the institute with fresh wounds and new scars one too many times. This one didn't have to have those images in his head.

There were some things that were lost between them, Jon knew that. Memories too small and simple to explain, questions he couldn't ask anymore. Moments they would never share, both good and bad. But there was also so much they had gained. This Martin hadn't had an easy life, not by any measure. But he hadn't had to watch helplessly as the people around him died or disappeared or became monstrous. Hadn't been lost in grinning corridors, or attacked by Hopworth's hooligans, or made to feel the heat of the endless tenement fire. And for that, Jon was so, so grateful.

"You look thoughtful," Martin commented.

"Mmm," Jon sat quietly for a while sifting through his thoughts before speaking. "We should go to a movie sometime. When I'm up for going out out."

"That sounds less fun for you than me . . . ."

"Depends on the movie. I could listen, even without description. And I'd enjoy being with you," he said. "Or maybe a concert? Though I don't really know what sort of music you like . . . ."

"Really? There's actually a blank spot in your catalogue of Martin trivia?" he said sarcastically. "Surprised it never came up."

"You only ever used headphones at work," Jon bristled, feeling oddly defensive about it, "and we obviously couldn't bring our devices to the cabin. Too traceable."

"Hmm," there was a teasing smile in Martin's voice. "Don't know if I want to tell, now. Feels like I've got a secret."

"Oh, except . . . there was one song? I don't know the lyrics, but you used to hum it all the time in the cabin."

"What was it called?"

"I didn't actually ask. It sounded nice, though. Maybe we could listen to it together. . . "

"How'd it go, then?"

He hummed the tune from memory. It came easily to mind, connected as it was with images of Martin sipping tea or wiping down a countertop, a bright, easy smile on his face. After a moment, Martin burst out laughing.

"That's -- that's from a soap commercial!"

". . . What?"

"Floors and doors, walls and halls, Liquid Lather cleans them all," he spoke-sang along with the tune. "It was probably just stuck in my head."

Jon frowned, mildly disappointed. "Well. It sounded nice when you were humming it, anyway."

"God. If you want I can serenade you with an insurance advert sometime."

"No thank you."

"Or we could listen to your album from uni," he pushed, the satisfied smile in his voice growing.

"Thankfully we never recorded anything," Jon grinned ruefully, "so that's lost to time."

"Bet you could still sing some of it."

"Try me the next time I'm not expecting to live through the night."

Martin made a displeased sound at that, but said nothing.

"I'm sorry that you always have to come over here," Jon said. "I should probably be making more of an effort to get out of the flat. But it's so much still, even with a guide. I can do it if I have to, but I can't relax."

"C'mon . . . you know I don't mind, and even if I did it wouldn't be something to apologize for. You're going at your own pace."

"Suppose I'm just impatient with myself. It feels absurd, I've walked through a London warped by unfathomable terror, but now ordinary city life is overwhelming. I think I never understood how many people there are on every block until each one became another unpredictable factor to be aware of on my way to the damn corner store," he sighed. "It may be a while before I'm up for anything like a concert."

"It's alright," Martin gave his arm a gentle squeeze. "I'm good at waiting."

For a moment Jon's mind went to a dark, creaking bedroom, air heavy with dust and thick with terror. It's all right. I'm good at waiting. The same phrasing, almost the same tone. Maybe it was to be expected, little parallels like this. Given a person's linguistic habits and enough time it was probably inevitable, but every time something like it happened it floored Jon in the most wonderful way. Some small but meaningful part of the man he loved reflecting and echoing back at him.

If the world didn't end, if he didn't dissolve into spiders or die at the hands of some unfathomable terror, Jon swore someday he'd find the words for how moments like that made him feel. And if he had any courage left in him, he'd tell Martin about it.

"Though, as long as we're talking about that," Martin said, "I've been thinking . . . ."

"In general?" Jon teased.

"Sort of. I've been reading some stuff about adjusting to vision loss? And I know this is fast – well, maybe not fast to you – but it seems to me like it's probably easier, especially at first, if you've got a sighted person staying with you . . ."

He felt himself breathe in sharply, and Martin's words came faster, his tone careful.

"Not - not to do everything for you, of course! I know you can do things yourself. Just to make little things easier, and – you know, that aspect aside it – it might just be nice –"

"Yes," Jon said decisively.

"Because it isn't really just the vision thing – I mean, it's alright if you do need help but it's also alright if you don't – but there's other reasons – "

"My answer is yes."

A faint laugh came out of Martin and he slapped Jon's chest lightly. "Stop agreeing and let me finish."

"Sorry."

"I'm not suggesting moving in. That would be too fast, at least for me," he said. "I'd want to keep my own place, and I'd probably still spend some time there."

"Of course," Jon nodded solemnly. "Perfectly reasonable to want some space of your own."

"Yeah. But if it works for you, I thought I might get a bag together, y'know, just sort of stay for a while? I – hell, I wouldn't, uh, mind the excuse to cook more dinners with you? And I slept better than I had in a while the night I stayed over here."

"So did I."

"I just think it might be nice. If you think so too, of course."

There was a pause as Jon waited, not sure if Martin had more to say. After the silence had dragged on for a while, he spoke up. "Am I allowed to say yes now?"

Martin laughed, nodding against Jon's chest.

"Then yes. I'd be very happy to have you stay here with me."

"Cool. Cool . . . " Martin exhaled. " . . . I love you."

"And I love you."

"More than I'll ever know?"

There was a teasing smile in Martin as he echoed the words Jon had said to him back in the tunnel. Jon was quiet for a moment.

He'd meant those words when he'd said them. It hadn't been a romantic turn of phrase. He'd confessed his feelings in that moment with the understanding that Martin would never be able to see how deep they ran. That he could tell Martin he loved him, but he'd never be able to show him that. He wouldn't have the chance. He found Martin's cheek with a hand, turned his face towards him, then bent down and kissed him, once.

"No," he said. "Not if I can help it."

#tma fanfic #tma #jonmartin #food mention

[imagineclaireandjamie]

I know, I’m greedy... but anymore deep within? I’m so curious to see where this goes 🙏🏻 Also, bless you authors. This is a wonderful space full of talent and I’ve been reading non stop!

Deep In The Darkness Peering: PART ii Chapter TWO:

Ordinarily, Claire would have been asleep the moment her head hit the pillow. Tonight, however, her brain refused to allow her sleep and she sat up in bed, her mind going over their evening interactions.

As she lay alone, Jamie’s words were still rolling around in her mind. She hadn’t expected them but as he had opened up to her she felt obliged to do the same. Only John knew about her doctorate, even Glenna didn’t know. How she’d managed to keep it from her co-workers for this long, but she had. As a junior doctor she had busied herself with writing journal articles and publishing her medical notes under a pseudonym, somehow keeping her father alive through her own words. Once again John had been an angel, coming to her rescue and helping to get her a job as a nurse whilst keeping her medical training under wraps.

The muffled sounds of Jamie stirring drew her out of her fog as she glanced quickly towards the door. Half expecting him to settle, she rubbed her eyes. But just as she was about to reach across and turn her light off, a short, sharp cry bought her head up once more. Claire was exhausted so she didn’t question why she had failed to hear him earlier. Rising, she crept slowly over to her door, peeling it open as quietly as she was able as she waited to see if he would calm and continue into a more peaceful sleep.

His anguished cries, though, continued after a brief pause, subtle gaelic words floating down the corridor as Claire snuck towards her guest room.

Curled on his side, he had pressed himself as close to the wall as he was able to get; his legs tucked tightly against his chest as the duvet bunched between his thighs. She could feel the tension radiating off him as his face scrunched up as if he were physically in pain.

From her position in the doorway she could already see that the stitches to one of his deeper wounds were beginning to split, and his shoulder blades contracting, painfully, against one another just as blood began to seep through his nightshirt. Unable and unwilling to sit aside and watch without assisting, Claire crawled beside him, her hands shaking as she wrapped herself around Jamie, whispering soothing words against the back of his neck as she calmly massaged the tense muscles along the top of his accessible arm.

“It’s alright, Jamie. You’re safe, you’re home…” Without thinking too carefully about her words she rocked him backwards and forwards, the motion causing Jamie to release his legs as his breathing began to return to a more regular pace. She felt him inhale and exhale, the goosebumps on his flesh receding slowly as his whole body started to sink into the soft mattress.

For a moment she thought he’d woken as he shifted, the angular plains of his back now smoothed out as he stretched his legs straight. But it soon became obvious that he hadn’t as he stilled. Though his back worried her, Claire didn’t want to rouse him now that he was relaxed so she readied herself to stay by him. Her presence seemed to calm him, and though she worried how he’d be when he finally woke, fatigued pulled her under and her eyes closed as she rested against him.  

The next thing she saw was the sun streaming in through the thin curtains as she pushed herself from the empty bed. Beside her, it was clear Jamie hadn’t long woken himself as the sheets were still heated from his presence.

Bacon. The scent of it wafted through the room and she thrust her hair back into a rough pony before wiping the sleep from her eyes. Walking into the kitchen she caught sight of the back of him, his nightshirt still stained from the previous evening but he seemed unfazed by it as he made himself at home over her hob.

“I see you managed to start the gas off.” She said, announcing her arrival whilst skirting the obvious conversation starter.

“Aye,” he replied, turning a little to look at her as he spoke. He hadn’t flinched which meant he’d known her to be there which reminded her that he probably wasn’t that used to his own company. “It gave me a wee bit of a hard time, but I got it to work eventually - I hope ye dinna mind?” He phrased it as a question but she could see a momentary worry line curve into his brow.

Quickly, she shook her head and smiled. “Not at all, use anything and everything you need.”

“Would ye like one?”

“That would be lovely, I’ll put the coffee on.”

Tipping his head to the side, she could see that he’d already started the percolator as the black drops began to drip though the thin paper mask that had kept the grains contained whilst dry.

“Will you let me look at your back then? Just in case.” She broached the issue quietly but confidently as he stopped turning the bacon for just a moment before continuing until each carefully sat back in the sizzling oil. Silence surrounded them as the seconds slowly fell away and she began to regret speaking at all.

“Aye.”

Claire could tell from his half-whispered reply that the memory of it had stirred something altogether more unpleasant to mind and she was grateful that the awkward (for her) silence had given him the time he needed to process that. “I’ll be gentle, I promise.” With a cautious smile lifting her lips very slightly, she reached for her small medical kit - opening the small draw beneath the sink and placing it on the countertop as she searched for what she thought she might need.

Jamie turned the hob down to allow the bacon to heat gently before placing himself on a stool. Holding the base of his shirt, Claire caught him deliberating out of the corner of her eye.

“You can take that off - if that’s alright?” Choice was something that had been taken from him along with a myriad of other things and as much as she wanted to be there to help him through this transitionary period, she also wanted him to take control of as much as possible - even down to whether he wanted her to see his back...or not.

Luckily, he nodded briefly, the muscles clenching along the base of his jaw as he did so.

Once she had the ointment and antiseptic to hand, Claire turned to the task at hand. One glance let her know that it was just a simple procedure. The damage was slight, thank goodness and the stitches appeared to have held - though the tension in his back had caused them to split between the thin gaps causing the bloody mess on the back of his top.

“It might sting a little, but it isn’t as bad as I thought.”

“No A&E trips needed then?” He joked, hunching himself forwards as he prepared himself for her touch.

“Not this time.”

They were quiet as she worked to clean him up though she burned to ask him an endless ream of questions. It was only after she had passed him a clean shirt that she dared ask the first and most important one.

Waiting until he’d plated up their late breakfast and with a cup of freshly brewed coffee in front of them, she took one bite of her sandwich and swallowed before asking it.

“Has that happened every night since you arrive, Jamie?”

“The nightmares?” He asked knowing immediately what she meant.

“Yes.”

“Aye, and before that.” He answered honestly, seeing no need for lies between then.

“You weren’t speaking English.”

“It’s protection, you see.”

Claire could see the moisture building in the corners of his eyes and she wondered whether it was the right time to be pressing him into talking to her but she seemed to have started something that he wasn’t prepared to finish now. Continuing to eat her breakfast, she allowed him the chance to tell her anything he needed to in that moment.

“Less than 2% of Scots speak it. Most of the guards dinna have the skill and the English ones certainly don’t…” the observation hung in the air between them for a short while and Claire could have guessed the name of one particular officer but she simply nodded to acknowledge the statement, “...when yer faced wi’ the devil himself - you have to be prepared, aye?”

Just for a second her heart stopped dead in her chest as fear etched itself across his face.

“When did they start?”

“After my arrest. I dinna ken what happened that night, Claire. Sometimes I’ll see things, but they’re blurred and incoherent. In my dreams, though, I see things I think canna possibly be real and I’m trapped in my own body unable to fight free.”

All of a sudden all of those sleepless nights seemed to weigh him down and his shoulders slumped under the pressure of it. There was something completely raw about his admission and she made a mental note - now really wasn’t the time to press him for more information on the night of the alleged assault.

“But then, last night, all of a sudden it all seemed to dissipate. And I woke wi’ you holding onto me like ye thought I might drown.”

“It helped?”

“Aye.”

The haunted look had disappeared from his eyes causing Claire to unclench her fists and grin over at him.

“Thank you, Claire, Truly.”

#Anonymous #;Mod MBD #Deep Within The Darkness Peering #jamie and claire #outlander fanfiction

[nightqueendany]

Original Final Season 7 - Episode 7: A City Fit For A King

This entire episode and subsequent ones take place in various King’s Landing locations. The episode also takes place entirely at night, the Long Night has descended on King’s Landing and it will remain night until around the middle of Episode 10

Arya and Gendry 

Finally reunite, he jokes he was just going to be on his way to Winterfell to see her but she came to him instead, after they hear about the retreat of the North and the Wall falling, Arya tasks Gendry with making her a specialized weapon, Gendry is only too happy to oblige

Once team Stark arrives on the Greyjoy ships/with the dragonglass, Gendry teaches the other smiths on the Street of Steel how to work the dragonglass and convinces them to start making weapons for the coming battle against the Army of the Dead (he uses the Long Night as his evidence to convince them)

Team Stark/Greyjoy 

Arrive in King’s Landing, Bran successfully/stealthily gets a small party of them into the city to meet up with Davos, Tyrion, Jaime, Gendry, and Arya

Team Targaryen 

(Jorah, Missandei, Melisandre and Grey Worm) make it into King’s Landing, Bran/Tyrion know to look for them because of the raven from Summerhall

Sam and Gilly 

Also arrive in King’s Landing as there’s really nowhere to go with the dead coming south - much of Westeros that believes in the threat of the White Walkers is converging on the city

Jon and Daenerys 

Arrive just outside King’s Landing, their armies gathered there believe they are going to attack the city but Jon and Dany inform them that there is a much more important threat coming for them all - the Army of the Dead

Arya meets Jon and Dany outside the city gates and leads them secretly inside to meet with everyone else

Baelish 

Runs into Gilly in the thick of things, asks her what she’s reading, she shows him Septon Maynard’s diary, Baelish reads the passage about Rhaegar and Lyanna’s marriage, juicy stuff, the cogs start turning

Baelish later catches up with Howland Reed (whom he knows was with Ned when he found Lyanna dying of a “fever”), pumps him for information, what did he and Jon talk about back at Greywater Watch, what did Howland give Jon?

Howland is onto Baelish but accidentally lets slip the “gift” (Rhaegar’s harp) for Jon was something of his mother’s, Baelish’s spidey senses are tingling off the charts, he asks Howland if this has anything to do with Rhaegar and Lyanna’s secret marriage, Howland is taken aback, can’t answer, Baelish is satisfied, he’s figured it out, this is an even better secret than Dany’s infertility, it’s fucking Christmas for Littlefinger

Baelish confides in Varys, this news is mind blowing however neither can predict how Dany will react to this news (they don’t know Jon has told Dany yet), however, if she reacts in a way that derails their plans - marry Jon, name Sansa heir - they have already set up their contingency plan anyway

Bran

Tells Jon/Dany that the Night King has undead Viserion and while this initially worries everyone about the Night King’s arrival, Bran assures everyone that the Night King staying with his army rather than flying ahead. Viserion would only burn the living making them un-turnable so the NK would prefer his army to attack the living instead. Undead Viserion is only for fighting Dany’s living dragons

Bran and Arya have a private moment and he goes back to pestering her about her magical Stark blood. Arya still thinks it’s stupid - she’s the assassin, he’s the warg. But Bran reminds Arya that her assassin abilities rely on her becoming someone (something else). If she can turn into a different person with just a face, what else could she be capable of? Arya is reluctant, but finally allows Bran to blindfold her (like she was sightless at the House of Black and White) in order to help her see and Arya wargs Nymeria for the first time. Arya is stunned by what she’s just been able to do but realizes there’s not much difference between becoming someone else with a face and becoming her wolf. Bran tells Arya she’s always been the warrior in the family, he needs her to be a different kind of warrior in the fight against the dead

Bran convinces everyone they need to treat with Cersei so Cersei will open the gates of King’s Landing to allow everyone to take refuge in the city/defend the city as that’s where the AOTD are headed

Bran explains the Night King is headed to King’s Landing because one million people reside in the city - if the Night King takes King’s Landing, there won’t be any army in the world that can stop him (a city fit for the night king), they must protect the city/the people at all costs

Cersei 

Cersei sends word to Euron summoning him back to King’s Landing.

Team Stark/Targaryen meet with Cersei and the meeting is relatively brief, just a few key players - Bran, Jon, Dany, Cersei, Jaime, Tyrion, Qyburn, The Mountain - Cersei quips why would she let all Stark/Targaryen armies into her city, what if they’re there to pull a Tywin and sack the city, Bran points out they’ve been in the city for several days and hundreds of soldiers are already waiting to act if she doesn’t comply - they can either do this the easy way and leave Cersei alive and safe in the Red Keep, or they can do this the hard way and kill her before the dead arrive, Cersei reluctantly opens the city to all the armies and all the people of Westeros seeking asylum from the Army of the Dead

As they are leaving Cersei, Bran turns back to her and answers the question she’s been too afraid to ask but has been wondering since the very beginning: The one she’s feared, the one she’s been afraid of, the one who has cast her down and taken all she holds dear... it’s her past self and the memory of that prophecy haunting her all her life. The Younger, More Beautiful, Queen.

Episode title would come from a Bran line about King’s Landing being the perfect city for the Night King to attack. It’s where Aegon I landed so of course the new big “conqueror” of the series, the main “King” would have to “land” here as well - and he will have his own dragon to boot, just like Aegon I.

Episode 7 Inside the Episode: A City Fit For A King

1) Everyone in King’s Landing? Really?

I know, I know. But it makes sense. Season 7 nearly everyone converged on King’s Landing for the “summit” only to leave that same episode, and then the same thing happened in Season 8 with everyone converging on Winterfell only to leave it a few episodes later too. Plus, it makes the most sense for everyone to want to protect King’s Landing because of the city's population. “That’s more people than the entire North, crammed into that.” So it would be WAY more devastating for the AOTD to attack King’s Landing than to just hang around the North. As Bran would tell everyone in this episode, if the Night King takes King’s Landing, there won’t be any army in the whole world that can stop him. So it finally gives us STAKES for what would happen if the living lose. Like, real stakes.

2) Bran the Strategist?

It makes a lot of sense for Bran to be the strategist here and calling many of the shots because a) he’s all knowing and can see hundreds of thousands of battles into the past, what strategies worked, which ones didn’t, and b) we’re setting him up to be King here. To see Bran flex his skills and show them off was totally what was missing from Seasons 7&8, you know, showing the audience WHY Bran is the perfect person to be King because of his abilities - along with a more human Bran in general and remember, here he is normal Bran, just all knowing too, like Bloodraven.

3) Baelish figuring out R+L=J so easily?

Like I’ve said, Baelish is the information guy. He knows everything. He can put things together before anyone else can so it makes sense he would find this out about Jon on relatively few clues. Plus, he was around for the Rebellion. He’d be quicker to put this info together than say, Jon or Dany, who hadn’t been born yet.

4) Warg Arya?

FUCK. YES. Arya is already a warg in the books but I feel like this is also where all the HOB&W stuff was going in the show as well. Arya is showcasing her abilities and not only that, her magical powers will have a role in the endgame, unlike in 8x03 where she just stabbed the Night King with the Catspaw dagger - something literally any other character could have done.

5. YMBQ??

Yep, it’s Cersei’s past self. Sorry guys. I’m just convinced of this. I know the books suggest it could be Dany and there’s definitely a lot to support that. But Dany didn’t kill Joffrey or drive Jaime away or get Cersei imprisoned by the faith, none of it. It was Cersei herself. Cersei has been behind all her own downfalls so to me, the YMBQ is Cersei’s younger self, the memory of the prophecy, wanting it to not come true, and Cersei inadvertently doing everything to make the prophecy come true. 

As always, comments are welcome. 

Until next week!

To Read Previous Episodes:

Original Final Season 7: Preface Post

Season 7 Episode 1: Family, Duty, Honor

Season 7 Episode 2: Greywater Watch

Season 7 Episode 3: The Last of the Dragons

Season 7 Episode 4: Dragonglass

Season 7 Episode 5: The Storm

Season 7 Episode 6: Summerhall 

Season 7 Episode 7: A City Fit For A King (Current Episode)

Season 7 Episode 8: Protectors of the Realm

Season 7 Episode 9: The Battle For The Dawn

Season 7 Episode 10: ?

#anti got #anti D&D #game of thrones #bran stark #Arya Stark #Gendry Waters #jon snow #daenerys targaryen #petyr baelish #varys #Cersei Lannister

[everlarkficexchange]

The Midnight Train

Written by: @katnissdoesnotfollowback

Prompt 52: Submitted by @567inpanem. “I know what you want. You have money, but what I have are a very particular set of skills. Skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a dream come true for people like you.“ Sexually frustrated trophy wife Katniss commissions artist Peeta who immortalizes naked women after giving them the greatest O of their lives.

RATED E

WARNINGS: Contains explicit sexual content, dubious consent, incest (step-relation incest), age gap, implied underage, explicit language, suicidal thoughts, canon typical violence, shades of dark!Peeta (but really not that bad, some of you will probably laugh at my idea of dark-ish!Peeta), my brain wouldn’t let this go so here we go, all aboard on another crazy ride.

Length: A little over 10,000 words

A/N: While this may have taken a complete turn away from the original prompt, the basic elements are still there. That made better sense in my head. Hopefully it will make sense to you too by the end of the story and you are able to enjoy anyways! A thousand thanks to @stjohn27and @savvylark​ for pre-reading.

Her father died when she was seventeen. Her mother followed ten months later, on Katniss’ eighteenth birthday. They would starve or worse if Katniss didn’t begin working immediately. A future awaited her in the mines, they insisted.

A future that had killed her father. Drove her mother into despair and their entire family to the brink of desperation. And Katniss couldn’t stand the thought of spending almost every day of her life trapped underground where her father had died.

There were options, of course. A visit to one of the more lonely Peacekeepers guaranteed a handful of extra coins that she could stretch for a month, if Leevy Thompson’s information was reliable. She could hunt and feed her family that way, but hunting full time would look too suspicious. Bring too much attention to the way she flagrantly ignored the laws of Panem.

Katniss was looking for something more stable. More permanent. Prim was only twelve. She had seven Reapings in her future.

She knew that he wanted her. Knew it in the way his cold blue eyes followed her across the town square. Found her after every Reaping she survived. She knew it because he never looked away in shame when she caught him looking. Not even when she was thirteen and still figuring out how to deal with the breasts slowly emerging on her chest or the warm tingling sensation between her thighs late at night or when she’d catch a glimpse of the wrestling team at practice. She knew he wanted her because sometimes when he watched her, he licked his lips as if preparing to devour a feast. His fingers brushed absently over the front of his trousers.

It made her feel itchy and small the way he looked at her, because she knew she couldn’t ask him to stop. He was the mayor after all, and could have anything he wanted.

She could have married Gale instead. He was strong and a skilled hunter. A good partner she worked well with. But he wanted children one day and already had five other mouths to help feed. Their life together would have been a constant struggle.

So the day after she turned eighteen, Katniss put on her best blue dress, walked Prim to school, and instead of attending classes herself, she knocked on the imposing front door of the mayor’s mansion.

“I’d like to speak with Mayor Mellark.”

The maid who answered scoffed and made to close the door in her face.

“Who is it, Gaia?” His voice rang out clear and commanding as it did every Reaping Day when he delivered the speeches touting the Capitol. The same as it did before public punishments. Whippings and beatings and hangings, all of which he oversaw with a satisfied smile and ended with a clap of his hand on Head Peacekeeper Thread’s shoulder for a job well done.

She hated his voice. It made her shudder.

But today it gave her a slim chance at a future for Prim. The maid opened the door wider so the mayor could see her and she tried not to vomit in the perfectly pruned shrubs outside his mansion when he smiled at her.

“Come inside,” he offered the invitation with a wave of his hand.

Gale tried to persuade her not to do it. The second the announcement was made, half the Seam turned their backs on her. She had sold herself into the good graces of the one person they hated almost as much as they hated President Snow.

But it didn’t matter, she told herself. Prim would be safe. He promised her that Prim would never see the inside of an arena. He arranged for Prim to move in with the apothecary and his wife. The couple had no children and were more forgiving of their niece than they had been of their sister. They would train her as a healer and apothecary, and Prim would never have to stay in the mayor’s mansion. Katniss would not be allowed to visit her. It would be…beneath her when the mayor’s wife could afford to be seen by real doctors.

Prim would be safe. Katniss chanted it over and over inside her head as she signed the papers in the Justice Building. Again as the mayor draped a strand of pearls around her throat.

“A wedding gift,” he said.

Over and over as she danced with him in the square. As she posed with him and his three sons for wedding pictures. The oldest son sneered at her, a hatred unlike anything she’d seen before in his eyes.

“Levi. Go get a punch for your mother,” the mayor said after the pictures. “She’s looking flush.”

“She’s not my mother,” Levi snarled but still went to fetch the punch. He was the same age as Katniss and the only one of the three boys old enough to remember their mother – the baker’s second daughter. She had been friends with Katniss’ mother before Lily ran away from town to marry a coal miner named Everdeen.

Rye, the middle son, vanished as soon as he smelled freedom from the posing and smiling of the pictures.

Only the youngest lingered or seemed to offer any sort of kindness to her, his blue eyes curious and questioning, but not malicious. He never knew his birth mother at all. She had died bringing Peeta into the world.

Katniss watched as her husband — the thought made her tense up to keep from showing a physical reaction — ruffled the boy’s curls and spoke with important officials. Peeta stepped away from his father as soon as the touch ended. He moved closer to Katniss.

All for Prim, she told herself all evening long. Through cake and dances and well wishes that no one meant.

At least Prim was safe, she told herself when the mayor led her into the most luxurious bedroom she’d ever seen and told her it was hers. All hers.

At least Prim was safe, Katniss told herself as the mayor then led her to the adjoining room and told her this one was his. Two bedrooms for two people, each room on its own larger than her family’s old house in the Seam. She fumed at the extravagance. But at least she wouldn’t have to actually spend the whole night, every night, with him.

Then he kissed her and bit her lip. Dragged off the brand new white wedding dress, ignoring the sounds of ripping silk as he discarded it and growled that he was going to tame her, make her his.

At least Prim was safe, she told herself as she stifled her cries of pain in the pillow while the mayor slammed into her. Once. Twice. Thrice.

“Fuck,” he said and pulled out. “Touch yourself.”

“What?” she asked, unable to keep from looking at him. His dick was hanging in a curve towards the floor and streaked with a pinkish fluid.

“You’re not wet. Touch yourself.”

She hesitated and he sighed. Disappeared into his private bathroom and she thought perhaps she was off the hook.

Then he returned with two bottles. Pills clanked in one and he tossed one of them back, still watching her as she lay there in shock. He slathered the contents of the second over his dick and started to talk. The things he said frightened her. The things he said he wanted to do to her.

He stroked himself hard and entered her again. A dozen thrusts and then he flipped her onto her stomach. She stared at the door and held onto the sheets as he pounded into her.

Slap slap slap

Each thrust punctuated with a grunt.

At least Prim was safe, she told herself as the bedroom door opened and a wide eyed boy wandered in.

Slap slap slap

The mayor didn’t notice his youngest son watching them, or at least he didn’t stop even if he did. Should she say something?

But then the mayor was shouting in release and the boy was gone.

“Clean yourself up and go to bed.”

She did as ordered and stared out the window. She had known this was part of the deal. At least Prim was safe.

At midnight, she was still awake and heard the blare of a train horn as it left or entered the station. She couldn’t tell. She hadn’t know they ran this late. The Seam too far from the station to hear the horns from there.

The day after she married the mayor, Katniss set about doing something. She needed to do something before she gave in to the urge to claw her own skin from her body. With just her allowance, she now had more money to spend in a month than she’d ever seen before. She took the assistant cook and one of the maids with her and they shopped in the stores in town, then in the Hob. Whispers followed her in her fancy shoes and pearl draped neck. They weren’t too proud to take her money, at least, even if they wouldn’t look her in the eye or they spat on the floor as she left.

She ignored their disdain and their dirty looks and left her companions with Sae for a bowl of stew and a crust of bread. The servants seemed intimidated but did as the mayor’s new wife asked. While they were occupied, she bought all kinds of things she didn’t know if she’d have a use for.

And one that she knew she would.

The liquid glittered in the vial as the grizzled Seam woman explained she’d need a syringe to inject it but it would last for six months at least. It cost most of her allowance, but Katniss handed over the exorbitant sum without hesitating.

“I’ll be back for another in six months,” Katniss promised the woman who gave her a toothy smile.

When she returned to the mansion, she dealt with her purchases and then moved to head upstairs. The door to the office flew open and out raced Peeta, cheeks red and tear stained as he collided with her then recoiled.

“Don’t touch me!”

“That is no way to speak to your mother, young man. Apologize this instant,” the mayor commanded and Peeta’s jaw clenched.

He stared at the carpet as he muttered. “I’m sorry, Mother.”

“Good. Get upstairs. We’re done talking about this. And none of that drawing nonsense!”

It was only after dinner when her hip still smarted from injecting herself with a Capitol grade birth control that she heard the servants whispering and learned what had happened.

“Another fist fight. And the teacher caught him drawing in class instead of taking notes. Again. Mayor Mellark is sending him away to school.”

They clucked their tongues and shook their heads, bemoaning the poor sweet boy for being cursed with such a wretched father.

“Dad, I don’t want to go,” Peeta said just days later, sounding scared and plaintive at the train station.

“You’ll go and you’ll succeed. The Capitol has the best schools available. And hopefully, they’ll teach you some discipline and respect. Make you into a real man. Don’t embarrass me.”

The boy’s lip quivered and he glanced over at Katniss. She should hate this boy for everything he stood for, but as tears welled up in his blue eyes, she succumbed and bent over in front of him to speak to him eye to eye.

“It won’t be that long. You’ll be home for the summer break,” she assured him, surprised when he threw his arms around her neck and squeezed the breath out of her.

Then he picked up his suitcase and went without another word.

Peeta was only gone a month before he came home. Quiet and studious. He spent most of his time in the garden, drawing. But not even the mayor’s sons were safe from the Reaping.

Katniss almost wished it was her, but it wasn’t. Nor was it Prim, and she breathed easy for the space of two minutes. It was the mayor’s middle son that year. He died in the shadow of the Cornucopia, the last victim of the bloodbath at the start of the 77th Hunger Games. He was only fourteen years old.

The day after the Victor was crowned dawned hot and muggy. The Mayor spent all morning sequestered in his office. Right before the mid day meal, he summoned Katniss to him.

She bit back her tears as the room rang out with the slapping of skin and his guttural grunts. She could see the back of a blonde head through the ivory curtains covering the windows. The desk dug a furrow into the front of her hips as he swore and then slapped her ass raw. Her soft whimpers of pain got him hard enough to finish.

When she tried to move away from him, his fingers bit into her hips, holding them together.

“You’re gonna give me another son. I want a Victor. Strong. A survivor like you. Not a milk sap weakling like that pussy out there.” She tried again to get free and he wrapped a hand around her neck to hold her in place. “Don’t move. I want my cum in you as long as possible. Don’t move, baby.”

She tried not to shudder as he whispered about how good a mother she already was to his son. How he wished she had married him sooner. Then maybe she would have had a chance to turn his youngest son into a real man, but he feared it was already too late for Peeta. He pet her back and held her down for almost half an hour. All while she could see that same son through the window, sitting in the gardens. Maybe she could have taught the middle son her illegal skills to help him survive the arena, the mayor growled. When he finally let her go, he told her to be ready to get fucked often.

Several weeks later, long after Peeta had gone back to the Capitol, the mayor stood mid chew from the dinner table and walked over to her. He grabbed her hand and placed it over his hardening dick.

“My cycle started this morning,” she told him. His face contorted in disgust but he dropped her hand and walked away, grabbing his plate and leaving her to eat in the dining room alone.

When her period ended, he fucked her three times a day. He burned through half a dozen bottles of pills from the Capitol to do it.

“It’s only been a few months. Took my first wife a close to a year to conceive each of our boys,” he said as sweat poured down his face and her fingernails dug into her thighs to hold her legs open like he ordered her to do. “Give. Me. A. Fucking. Victor.” He bit out the words as his thrusts stuttered and he came.

A whole year of submitting to him.

She found solace in what she could now that she was the mayor’s wife and her woods were forbidden to her. Most had looked the other way when she was just Katniss from the Seam, but she was pushing it now by frequenting the Hob. Katniss Mellark, Mayor Mellark’s wife had no place poaching in the Capitol’s woods.

Katniss gave away money as best she could and people slowly stopped sneering at her. She renewed her contraband birth control shot six months after her wedding. Prim blossomed under the tutelage of the apothecary. The mayor’s oldest son moved to District Five to begin a career working for the government there.

Peeta called home once a month and reported to Katniss in a monotone voice that classes were going well and no, he hadn’t been in any fights. The reports that came home from the teachers described a model student. Bright, caring, hard working, quiet and well behaved, well liked by all his peers. The mayor grunted in satisfaction whenever he read the reports.

Katniss didn’t get pregnant.

He could have anything he wanted, the mayor, but she refused to give him this. The mayor’s house grew more tense and quiet with each passing month. The servants gave her pitying looks every morning she gently lowered herself into her chair for breakfast. The cooks learned her favorite foods and made sure her plate was never without something she loved. She used her ample funds to make sure the servants and their families never wanted. But she was powerless to protect their children from the Reaping.

Every night, she listened for the midnight train leaving District Twelve, longing to just climb aboard and vanish into the night. But then what would happen to Prim?

One day in early May, Katniss came home from afternoon shopping to the sounds of fucking in her husband’s office. A shrill pitched series of moans and loud thumping. The averted gazes of the staff. She watched curiously from the stairs, looking down towards the office door as the woman left.

“Pass the salt please,” she said at dinner that night.

The mayor smashed his fists on the table and shouted that she could damn well get it herself. He left the room and flipped over a serving tray on his way out.

Everyone ignored the sounds of him swearing and grunting from the conservatory later. Ignored the gardner as she slipped out after the sounds ceased, ducking her head and wiping her mouth as she ran from the house.

The gardner had three daughters all of Reaping age. All pretty blonde girls. Katniss couldn’t fault the gardner for seeking extra security for them.

The door between her room and the mayor’s was locked that night and remained locked.

“He’s infertile,” Helena, one of the maids, whispered as Katniss knelt next to the woman and helped her clean up the shattered crystal decanter, the most recent victim of his rage. “He found out right before your one year anniversary.”

“How?” Katniss asked and the maid pursed her lips to shake her head as one of the butlers passed by them, examining his cufflinks and not bothering to help.

“Doctor told him it’s because the pills he takes to, you know…help him,” Helena told her when the butler had gone.

Katniss could feel her cheeks turn pink as she scrubbed harder to get the bourbon out of the carpet. The pills to make him stay hard.

“Apparently it does damage if you take too many.” Helena squeezed Katniss’ shoulder as she stood when they were done. The touch felt like understanding.

She’d never felt freer than she did in the next two weeks.

The mayor refused to touch her beyond superficial or ceremonial events. In public they smiled, the picture of a thriving Panem family. At home, she listened to the walls echo with the sounds of her husband fucking everyone but her. Desperate to prove he could get someone pregnant. She didn’t want to fuck him. But she didn’t want anyone else punished either.

Year after year dragged on. Children died to the Games, twenty-three at a time. The name Primrose Everdeen never called at a Reaping. Never attached to tesserae.

“There’s a summer program for those interested in politics,” Peeta announced on the phone, around the time he turned fourteen, sounding serious but his voice cracking on a few words. He cleared his throat and asked her to tell his father. “I’ll be home for the Reaping, but then I’ll return here.”

There was always a summer program in the Capitol. But he always came home for the Reaping and stayed until the end of the Games.

Katniss spent hours socializing with high placed District and Capitol officials. She played hostess to them all. The mayor fucked her once every blue moon, just to remind her that she belonged to him. He never stayed hard for long and told her it was because she was no longer tight.

“Your cunt is used the fuck up. Who you fucking on the sly? Huh? Who you fucking on the sly, bitch?”

“The baker,” she said because she knew he wouldn’t believe her if she told the mayor the truth. Told him that he was the only one who had used it. She didn’t want to fuck anyone.

“I’ll have him killed in the middle of the fucking square. What do you want for him? Hanging or firing squad?” He grew harder inside her as he said it and her stomach roiled at the evidence of violence working to arouse him.

“Go ahead. Take your pick,” she said as the mayor finally came.

“You think I won’t? You’re not fucking the baker. You’d be stupid if you were,” he panted over her neck and played with her hair. She shuddered in revulsion and he took it for desire. He stayed on top of her and swallowed one of his pills and when he was hard again, he stood up and shoved her to her knees. “Suck until I tell you to stop.”

The year Peeta and Primrose both turned sixteen, Katniss somehow wound up meeting him at the train station, stunned at how much he had changed in the past year. The boy with the quivering lip was long gone, replaced by a boy — almost a man — who waved at her and smiled warmly in greeting, whose gait was now a confident swagger. He already towered over her and dwarfed her in breadth.

Peeta didn’t really look anything like his father beyond the blonde hair and blue eyes. The shades weren’t even the same. She wondered if his features took after his mother. She hoped they did, but her mental picture of the mayor’s first wife had already hazed over with time.

Peeta’s deepened voice, almost like velvet – so much softer than his father’s – sent strange currents through her as he sat across the table from Katniss, calmly eating dinner and explaining new models of government being debated in the dorm halls at his school.

“That will never work,” the mayor insisted.

“But—“

“No foolish talk at dinner!” the mayor said and Peeta jumped when his father’s fist hit the table.

Katniss kept her eyes on her plate. After dinner, she went for a walk in the garden and ignored the screams from her husband’s window.

“My father’s an idiot.” Peeta’s voice startled her and she jumped this time, heart fluttering as he stepped from the shadows.

“What would you know?” Katniss asked harshly. “You’re still just a child.”

“I won’t be for much longer. And when I’m not, if I’m lucky enough to have a wife like you, I wouldn’t be making love with anyone but her. I’d want her screaming not to please me, but because I’m the only one who can please her.”

She stared at his mouth, the lush lines of his lips as he smiled.

“I’d find every way to make you come and then discover twenty more just because I’d want you completely satisfied.”

“You shouldn’t talk like that. I’m – I’m your –”

“You’re not my mother,” he said, but it wasn’t cruel like the way his oldest brother said it. It left her panties wet. “Good night, Katniss.”

The day of the Reaping, Peeta stood in the square with every other child at risk. She found herself wishing safety for him as well this year.

His name wasn’t called. Neither was Prim’s.

As the Tributes made their way towards the Capitol, Peeta swam in the pool behind the Mayor’s house. His legs and arms powerful as he cut through the water.

Katniss watched him from an upstairs window. Unable to get his words about her out of her head. It wasn’t right. He was too young. He didn’t know what he was talking about, she was sure. Bold words he surely uttered to make himself sound older than he really was rang in her head. Her breasts grew heavy and her thighs slick with arousal with each successive lap he swam. She pressed her palm against the wall and her breath fogged up the window. No one had ever satisfied her the way he claimed to want to. She couldn’t give in to the illicit promise in his words.

He was still a child. And she was married to his father.

She turned away from the window and avoided him the rest of the time he was home. The morning he left, she faked a headache.

Two more years rolled by and Katniss listened to the whispers. Traded at the back door of the mansion with anyone who brought wares she could concoct an excuse for needing. Gale was one of her best suppliers. The mayor of Twelve served wild grown berries and fresh game, wild turkey and squash grown in secret just beyond the fence. Fish from streams in the woods, apples from the trees behind the town square. Guests from the Capitol and other districts marveled at the wild bounty of such a poor district.

Katniss owned shoes for every occasion and dresses to match. She filled the mayor’s closet with clothes made by merchants, the fibers plucked in secret from the woods around Twelve by Seam hands. Homemade remedies for sickness, old glass containers painted and dusted with shimmering powders, and rough hewn sculptures she claimed were art filled their shelves. In a way they were art, a story of desperation and starvation carved into loose bits of scrap wood.

She bought secrets with each purchase. Whispers of discontent. She followed dinner conversation assiduously, seeking the clues of arms and Peacekeeper movements. Signs of unrest in other districts. She felt she might burst with the information, not knowing where to turn with it or what to do as it built up inside her. She read the mayor’s Capitol papers and watched the news feeds, dutifully giving him highlights and reserving her analysis for herself.

The summer after he turned eighteen, Peeta came home for his final Reaping. Dinners were stiff and formal, the mayor holding tight to his anger at his son as Peeta touted the theaters, the arts and the museums of the Capitol and how bringing some of that culture to Twelve could help the people.

“They do not need art. Art is a distraction from labor.”

“Or art could be a form of joy that gives the laborer hope.”

The mayor stood abruptly at this. “Watch your tongue, boy.”

Peeta’s eyes flicked over to Katniss and dropped to the table as a smile played around his handsome lips.

“My apologies, father. I only meant that such hope would give them a reason to work harder.”

She managed to avoid Peeta for two days until one night she found herself hungry and walked the dark hall towards the kitchens. She ran into him there and he offered to cook for her while she sat and they talked. Words flew between them as fast as his hands worked and she soon found herself laughing, enjoying this easy version of him.

He told her about school and his classmates. The districts he’d been to on holidays with their families or on school outings. The beauty to be found in their world, hidden beneath the ugliness. The potential for the world to be beautiful again. He didn’t say that exactly, but it’s the foolish hope she heard in her head as he talked. Maybe their world could be good again, but so much would have to change first.

She watched his clever fingers as we worked and ignored the tightening in her belly when he licked them clean with a sensual smack. He caught her looking and smiled. The midnight train horn echoed through the night.

“When he told me to watch my tongue, do you know what I was thinking?”

“Peeta,” she tried to warn but he persisted.

“I was thinking that I’d like to watch my tongue working in and out of your wet pussy.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she whispered.

“Then teach me,” he whispered back. Heat curled in her belly and her body craved.

She left without eating and lay in bed, tossing restlessly until morning.

The next day, she saw him in the garden, sketching again. He really was quite talented. The mayor grumbled at him over dinner for wasting time on useless frivolities when he could be courting a wife of high position in the Capitol, engaging in politics, working to improve Panem, or a hundred other more important things.

That night, Katniss tossed in bed, once more unable to sleep. She could finally stand it no more. She ambled down the hallway, thinking she’d take a bath to relax herself, but was too absorbed in her thoughts to notice the shaft of light under the door. She walked in without knocking and came to a halt, gasping at the sight that greeted her.

Alerted by the sound, Peeta turned in the glass walled shower to face her and a smile slowly curled his lips up. She swallowed and her hand flew to her neck as she watched him. She couldn’t look away. Couldn’t tear her eyes away from his body. Toned and muscular with water running over him. His hair hanging over his ears and eyes, straightened and lengthened with the weight of the water saturating the normally curly locks. Blonde curls scattered over his chest, a dark trail of them leading her gaze down. Down to where his hand worked his stiff shaft in a steady rhythm. His teeth parted on a heavy breath and his lashes fluttered and still she could not move or look away.

“Shut the door, Katniss,” he said, barely audible over the sound of the water. She did as he said and leaned back on it as their eyes met. His hand pumped faster and his unoccupied palm flattened on the glass separating them. Steam curled through the air and he moaned softly right before his cum splattered across the shower door. Thick, milky white streams of it.

They stood there as he continued to pump himself. Until the last spurt coated glass and his shoulders heaved. Then he smiled and, still holding his cock with one hand, trailed two fingers of the other through his own semen, gathering it on the pads and offering it up to her.

“Want a taste?”

Her hand grasped wildly for the knob and she fled. Fled to her room where she paced and tried to quench the fire burning in her belly. But it was no use.

Katniss laid down on her window seat, dropped her hand to her navel and caressed, thinking of his fingers and lips and his intense blue gaze. His fit body and his charm and what it might feel like to have his face and his tongue between her legs. Her fingers in his hair. Slowly, her fingers traveled down her body, down to tug up the hem of her nightdress, over quivering skin as her thighs dropped open and her breathing grew ragged.

She ached for him to touch her as she’d never ached before. It made no sense. He was a spoiled, entitled Capitol brat. She should hate him with every cell in her body. But she came with a few frantic swipes of her fingers and the idea of Peeta’s tongue between her folds. She came hard and curled into a ball as the spasms wracked her body.

It was only as she lay there in the afterglow of release that it occurred to her. All he said was to shut the door. She could have left and then closed it. But she had stayed.

She had stayed because she had wanted to witness his pleasure. She wanted to take pleasure in watching him.

The shame of what she had done kept her in her room for five days until she had to leave it for the Reaping.

Prim was safe. Safe for real at last.

When Peeta left for a fancier school in the Capitol, one of higher education, Katniss braved taking him to the train station. He smiled at her and hugged her close, whispering that she’d be in his thoughts while he was gone.

In the autumn, Prim married the shoemaker’s youngest son. He moved into the apothecary and began training with her to take over the business eventually. Katniss was not invited to the toasting. But at least Prim was safe. By spring, Prim was pregnant and Katniss knew she would stay with the mayor, if only to keep that child safe too.

The next time Peeta came home, he was twenty and sporting a line of stubble on his jaw, his normally impeccable suit recklessly disheveled. Top buttons undone, tie loosened and swinging free, sleeves pushed up and his shoes scuffed. A hard edge in his blue eyes.

She followed him when he snuck out at night, telling herself it was because she didn’t want him to get in trouble with his father. Even the mayor’s son was subject to curfew.

She expected a trip to the slag heap or a shack in the Seam, a clandestine tryst with a woman.

Instead she watched him lean against a pole of the fence surrounding the district and light a cigarette. Trees grew close to this section of fence and cast shadows obscuring her view. She almost missed the papers passed through the dead wires into a gloved hand.

She left after that as Peeta stayed to finish his cigarette. He came home smelling of cheap perfume and smoke, with his clothes even more disheveled, a shirt tail hanging out and a smear of makeup on the collar, his hair messed up.

She stood there as his father lectured him about propriety and breaking curfew, about setting the example for the district as the mayor’s son, but while the words seemed harsh, the tone was proud. And once again, Katniss didn’t miss the handoff. This time it was a box of prophylactics. Capitol grade protection given to the mayor’s youngest son with a cheeky smile and a dirty wink. A pride and relief that “maybe he is just like his old man.”

Peeta entertained at dinners, making all the overprimped visitors laugh loudly and talk longer. Katniss held back a scowl at how easily he got them to open up, how deftly he flirted with both men and women alike. How easily he slid away with them to “show them the gardens.” But she guessed it was because Peeta was just like them.

Only he wasn’t.

Peeta treated everyone with kindness and respect. Dignity. From the diamond laced ladies of the Capitol to the lowest coal miner begging in the streets of District Twelve.

He snuck out at all hours and returned acting drunk or recently fucked, his footsteps loud and disruptive in the late night, but each time she followed him, all he did was walk along the District perimeter and smoke or disappear into The Hob well after the black market had closed down. Sometimes he wandered to the train station at night. She hid in the shadows and watched him laughing and conversing with the train workers, leaning against the back car and casually smoking a cigarette. Other nights, he played cards with Thread and some of the other Peacekeepers. She couldn’t stomach the sight of them laughing and talking boisterously.

And she couldn’t catch him with any women, try as she might. Or men. Not so much as one desperate Seam girl sucking his dick for a meal. There were the Capitol visitors who returned from the gardens flushed and bright eyed, but Katniss could never quite catch him in the act.

Katniss needed to know what Peeta was doing. It was consuming her.

She watched as he left with his father one day, carrying baggage and headed to the train station. The mayor had business in the Capitol and asked his son to see him off. He’d be gone for two weeks, and Peeta for at least an hour, giving Katniss plenty of time.

“I’ll take care of that, Meredith. I’ve got some energy I need to burn,” she told the maid and took the cleaning supplies from her hands. She ignored the profuse thanks as the woman hobbled away, her pregnant belly hindering her movements.

With a deep breath, Katniss entered Peeta’s room and set aside the supplies to quickly search his drawers. She grasped behind the furniture or up inside the drawers. Between the mattresses, she found half a dozen sketch books filled to the brim. Images of people from all walks of life, from the Districts, the Capitol, and everywhere in between. There were even some of her and the skill with which he captured every face took her breath away. Stunning landscapes and blindingly accurate portrayals of birds, animals, and plants. His father mocked him for his art, but Katniss wondered if he would if he knew how talented his son was.

In the bedside stand, she found nothing suspicious except an opened and half empty box of condoms. She dropped the box, scattering the foil wrapped packages as her gut squeezed in pain. Falling to her knees, Katniss gathered the items.

Her eyes flicked up as she tried to stand and she froze. Slid a hand beneath the bed and discovered a slit cut into the bottom. Reaching her hand inside, her fingers lit on an envelope. Her heart hammered in anticipation as she slid it loose. Leaving the condoms scattered, she stood and opened the envelope. Palms sweating as her eyes scanned the contents and her brain tried to deny what they meant.

“What are you doing searching my room?” His whispered words made her jump and spin. His fingers closed around her wrist and she stared up at him, struggling to gain her freedom. Peeta’s grip on her tightened, became almost painful. He smiled at her and her pulse fluttered, her skin vibrating beneath his hold.

“Let me go.”

“I can’t,” he said and the wavering note of desperation in his voice called to her.

Katniss did the only thing she could think of in the moment. She rose on her toes and pressed her mouth to his. His lips went pliant in seconds. Her fingers wove through his curly hair to grab hold of something steady as her entire world disintegrated.

Peeta was a rebel. A spy. A traitor.

As the pieces clicked into place, she fell back on his bed, dropping the damning evidence and taking him down with her as he moaned around her tongue and discovered her mouth with his. Her greedy hands searched under his clothes for skin. And her nails scraped over it when she found it.

“Do I have to fuck you into silence?” he whispered into her neck.

“Peeta, we can’t,” she whined, and yet her hands still grasped at the fastenings of his trousers.

“I locked the door. He’ll never know.”

They shed their clothes down to their underwear then he knelt on the floor and tugged her ankles until she was splayed before him, legs dangling over the edge of his bed.

“Fuck I can’t wait to taste you, Katniss. I’ll bet you’re delicious. Forbidden fruit always is.” She grabbed hold of his duvet and stared up at the carved and gilded ceiling, her breath raspy as his touch grazed her over her panties. “Soak these panties for me. Soak them with your need. Look at me while I touch you.”

Katniss lifted her head and their eyes locked together as his fingers stroked and pressed and his lips whispered kisses and words of longing and need to her thighs. She moaned and he shushed her. There were still servants in the house, after all.

When her panties were good and soaked, he slid them from her body and she tore off her bra, fondling her own breasts for him and pinching her nipples as heat settled firmly between her thighs.

“You are magnificent. You should be worshiped by someone who can appreciate how incredible you are,” he murmured and shoved her panties in his bedside drawer then shucked his own underwear. Katniss bit her lip to keep from groaning at his cock. Straight and thick, impossibly hard and embraced with coarse golden curls.

She wanted his cock but instead she got his mouth. He knelt again and inhaled deeply the fragrance of her arousal before latching his lips to hers, his blue eyes focused on hers, daring her to deny that she wanted this. That she needed him. She squirmed at first, a stranger to the sensations of a mouth there, but his wriggling tongue and insistent fingers soon had her writhing desperately against him. Then coming and pinching back a scream of relief.

“I’m gonna make you come like this again, Katniss,” he promised and draped her limp legs over his shoulders. “I’m gonna make you come like this until dinner.”

Peeta refused to relent. Refused to let her go. Making her come with his tongue pressed to her clit, inside her lips, then again on her clit with his finger slicked in lube and teasing her ass.

He did things to her she’d never dreamt possible and made her both curse and praise his Capitol education. As the sun sank lower, he finally stood and smiled down at her.

“Stay there. Please,” he said and with two dozen harsh strokes of his cock, he came all over her belly. When he was done, he gazed at her in wonder and gasped out two words. “A masterpiece.”

She lay there, soaked in sweat and his seed, her breathing harsh and her body exhausted yet still needy for more. She bit back disappointment as he put his shorts on and offered her bra to her.

Instead of taking it, she swirled her fingers through his cum and sucked it down her throat. His jaw dropped and she shrugged. “I wanted a taste.”

“Fuck,” he whispered and she stood, taking his undershirt from his hands and using it to clean herself. Then she dressed and slid out the door to go take a shower, hoping he couldn’t see the way her legs wobbled with weakness.

They didn’t speak during dinner. Not a word. But when he snuck out to the train station that night, she followed him. She watched him lean against the caboose and smoke a cigarette as he talked to the crews. When he finished that one, he lit his second and asked the crew about a new sign. They all looked in the direction he pointed, but Katniss watched him. Saw him affix something beneath the rear platform of the train car.

He waved good night shortly after and crushed his cigarette out as he left the train station. She cornered him and pushed him into the shadows.

“You’re a rebel spy,” she whispered and he grinned then turned on her so that his body shielded her from view, trapped her against the wall. Trapped her right where she wanted to be.

“And you’ve seen too much. How can I persuade you to keep this pretty mouth quiet?” He trailed his thumb over her bottom lip as he spoke.

“Kiss me,” she said and met him as his mouth descended towards hers. Their teeth clashed and pain radiated through her skull at the contact, but she refused to stop.

She wanted him. She wanted him for herself and since she’d turned eighteen and married the mayor, she had nothing she could call her own.

She wanted Peeta to be hers.

Her hands pushed at his jacket. He pulled her legs up and around his waist, pressed himself into her groin so she could feel his erection on her clit. He rocked his hips and swallowed her moans as they kissed. Then his lips trailed forbidden fire down her throat.

“Fuck me, Peeta. Fuck me hard and deep. Oh fuck I need you to fuck me right here,” she whispered as his hand ran up her thigh, up beneath her dress to the apex of her thighs. She twisted and thrust herself towards his fingers, desperate to have his touch on her aching nub.

“You want me to use my fingers or my cock?”

“Oh! Both,” she gasped and clung to him as his fingers entered her. One finger and then a second as she whined and bit into his shoulder.

“Fuck yourself on my fingers,” he urged and she rocked her hips, caught his thumb on her clit and cried out. He kissed her to silence her and then the train engine fired up, the loud noise covering the sounds she made as she came. And then their relieved moans as he entered her.

The second she felt his coarse hair on her lips, she moved. Rolling and rocking and unwilling to give an inch as he drove into her and she sang quiet praises at how well he filled her. How much he pleased her. He fucked her as the train warmed up. As the wheels squealed when it began to move. Her body arched and bounced and then sprang loose. She clung to his shoulders as her release rocked through her and coaxed his out of him too.

“Fuck, Katniss. I can’t stop wanting you,” he moaned in the dark. Right before the midnight train blared it’s horn.

They had two weeks. Two weeks of fucking in the closets, behind the Hob, in the middle of the night when the rest of the household was fast asleep. Katniss even risked taking Peeta into the woods so she could fuck him by the shores of the lake where she often fished as a girl. But it wasn’t all fucking.

She told him everything. About watching Prim grow from a distance and not being able to be a part of that. She told him about missing her sister and the longing she felt for her woods every day that she breathed. The desire she kept in her heart to watch their world burn so she could finally be free.

She told him everything. All the pent up knowledge of years of hunting with her father, how to survive in the woods. She spilled out years worth of gossip. Who was loyal to the Capitol and who was lukewarm, and those who were too eagerly loyal to not be hiding something.

They entertained together in his father’s absence and people remarked what a fine young man and model son he turned out to be, a line she taunted him with when she was grinding her pussy on his face later that night. He responded by throwing her off of him and then pounding her to a mind numbing orgasm with his cock buried inside her lips and his hand over her mouth to stop her ecstatic squeals from getting too loud.

“I’m a terrible son,” he whispered in her ear, his breath hot and his voice soft as she came.

He spoke about his brother who died in the games and the blows his father would strike his sons to discipline them, always on the back where no one could see beneath the fine clothes. He told her about the many faces he wore. The masks used to extract information and secrets. The mayor’s playboy wastrel youngest son with a talent for art and politics but no real ambition. Skilled at seduction and kissing secrets out of bored Capitol socialite wives. Women who needed a good fuck and an incredible orgasm and couldn’t find it in their marriage bed. Women who posed for him so he could draw them, after he’d made them come.

“As a souvenir for them to remember me by,” he explained with disgust in his voice. Then he told her it all started with his classmates’ mothers.

“Seduce me. Show me your best moves,” Katniss teased and he chuckled.

“Thought I already did.”

But he kissed her and reached for the pearl necklace she’d discarded on the bedside table when she’d shed her clothes. Peeta told her to get on her knees and she did so, eager to suck his cock, something she’d discovered she could take great pleasure in as long as it was Peeta’s dick in her mouth. Instead, he knelt behind her and threaded the pearl strand between her thighs. He slid the pearls over her panties, back and forth, the ridges created by the string of orbs catching on her clit. He did that and whispered to her about her spirit and her strength and how she inspired him. He whispered that she was his everything.

He teased her to the brink with the pearls and his words until she was so wet her panties stuck between her folds and her nails bit crescents into his thighs as she held him in place behind her.

“Now fuck me. Take me how you want me,” he told her and held the pearls in place as she lowered herself onto his cock so they rubbed over her clit and slid between her folds as she rode him and came with stifled moans, making the pearls slick with their sex. After, they lay in his bed as late into the night as they dared, listening to the midnight train leaving.

The mayor returned. Katniss rebuffed all of Peeta’s veiled advances and innuendos, constrained by the presence of his father. Peeta grew sullen. Her heart ached. Burst with pain, deprived of his touch. She wore the pearls every day and fingered them to seek strength.

The masks suffocated and chafed, but they continued the ruse. Peeta snuck out at night to send messages and information off to contacts in other Districts. They played their parts, entertaining their guests and gleaning every whisper of rumor and every drop of truth they possibly could.

The entire happy family took a holiday tour of the Arenas and Katniss tried not to show her disgust.

Then to the Capitol where she saw in blinding oversaturated hues just how deep the Game went. She saw it in a mirrored window as Peeta whispered into another woman’s ear, his words making the woman blush and giggle. Then they disappeared for hours. Bile rose in her throat when he joined her for breakfast the next morning.

“You were out late last night,” she sneered and the mayor laughed, commented on his son’s prowess with the ladies and Katniss’ overprotective motherly instincts. Peeta smirked at his father and slathered butter over his biscuit. But there was a brief look of pain in his eyes meant only for Katniss.

On the train back to District Twelve, she felt the walls closing in on her. Near midnight, she capitulated sleep and, checking the corridors, made her way to Peeta’s compartment, locking the door behind her. She slid a hand over his mouth to keep him from making a sound and woke him with a whisper. His body jolted and a knife glittered in the moonlight. He stopped himself right as the blade reached her throat. It nicked the pearls still draped around her neck and never reached her skin.

He dropped the blade and she dropped her hand.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

They whispered the words to each other on repeat as their bodies rocked with the motion of the train and the clanging bells as they raced through an unknown district covered the sounds they made as they both succumbed to euphoria.

“I fucking hate this,” she whispered as she lay on top of him, spent but unwilling to leave just yet and knowing that she must.

“Only a little longer and then we’ll be free.”

She slipped away in the early morning and cried into her pillow until she needed to rise and dress.

“It’s disgusting. What do they hope to gain?” the mayor said to his son as they shared a drink and watched the news reports from the Capitol. Rebels had taken control of Districts Eleven, Four, Eight, and Seven. Additional Peacekeepers were on their way to all other Districts. All officials were on alert to capture spies. Katniss watched from the doorway as Peeta brushed off his father’s concerns, placated him with assurances that the might of the Capitol would overcome. This was only a minor setback.

Fire danced on the screen, mesmerizing her. Hypnotizing and beautiful. This was how the world looked when it was burning.

The pair was so engrossed with their conversation, they didn’t notice Katniss in the doorway behind them. Or the change to a report on wanted spies and traitors. A technology genius and former Victor from District Three who had vanished. A pair of stylists from the Capitol and the famed film director, Cressida.

They were still absorbed as the screen switched to a grainy, shadowy picture of a man in a train station, identified only as The JabberJay, a suspected spy and rebel conspirator from the Capitol, real identity unknown. A breathtaking sum offered for any information that would lead to the man’s capture.

She held her breath until the picture changed. Her knees wobbled in relief that the mayor hadn’t even noticed his son’s back pictured on the television.

“You need to be more careful,” she urged at the back door as he slipped out into the night.

“I’ll be fine,” Peeta said with a smile and kissed her cheek. “I’ll be back before midnight.”

She couldn’t sleep. She paced and then wandered to the kitchen for a glass of milk. It tasted sour on her tongue as she waited. She sat by the window in her room and let her head rest on the glass as the midnight train blared it’s horn and still no sign of Peeta.

Katniss contemplated her options. She had no idea where to start looking for him. She’d put herself at risk if she just wandered the district aimlessly. And if she found him, she could put him in even more danger than he already was. It was better to wait and trust that he could take care of himself. He’d been a spy for years and knew what he was doing.

She woke stiff and unrested, and she stumbled from the window seat, downstairs to a household in uproar. The mayor shouting instructions to have the District turned upside down. His youngest son had disappeared.

That night, the mayor told Katniss to dress in her pearls and pretend nothing had happened.

“You tell everyone that Peeta went back to school early,” he growled and she nodded as she sat at her vanity to apply her makeup. She understood the game. She nearly gagged when he placed a hand around her throat to force her to look at him in the mirror. “My son is not a traitor…understood?”

She swallowed beneath his grip, her skin pushing into his and her windpipe constricting under the hold. “Our son is not a traitor,” she croaked.

“Good girl,” the mayor said and released his hold.

For weeks, she played the game. She knew the rules now since Peeta had told her everything he did. She walked late into the night delivering the packets Peeta used to. At first, she had no way of knowing if they fell into the right hands. But she smiled at dinners and fabricated stories about Peeta’s education in the Capitol, oozing charm and loving happiness for her husband.

She paid visits to Thread and the Peacekeepers under the guise of concern for her missing stepson and the future of Panem, but really to gain their trust through gifts of food and drink in a well crafted helpless rich wife act. There was no word or sign of Peeta but her visits were never fruitless.

At night, she listened for the sounds of the midnight train and held onto her memories, once more wishing she could just climb aboard one and vanish into the night.

But she had a new purpose now.

Months passed and she grew angry in secret. He left her here. If they’d caught him, they would have paraded him in front of a crowd and executed him publicly, gruesomely. Made an example of him. Which meant he’d left her. Peeta left her here to suffer and probably to die. At least, she would die on the inside without him.

Winter arrived and she contemplated ways to end her life. She had no one left. Peeta had lied to her and then left her. Used her. She was certain of it. He had seduced her and used her for the information she could provide. Worst of all, she had fallen willingly into his arms, had believed it was all real. Just like one of his Capitol lovers.

They lost District Six and then Ten to the rebels. Nine and Five were tenuous at best. Thirteen came out of the shadows and Katniss wondered if theirs were the hands reaching through the fences to grasp hold of the information she and Peeta had possessed.

Winter turned to spring.

Or maybe Peeta had been killed in quiet. Maybe Snow couldn’t risk such a high profile, publicly known traitor. The son of Twelve’s mayor, a favorite of Snow’s, a man who could have had everything and anything he wanted. Who else might begin to question the Capitol if he had betrayed them?

She had kept her shot to prevent pregnancy current for eight years, but in that moment of weakness, for the first time ever, she briefly wished it would have failed her. Just once. Then she’d at least have a piece of Peeta to love. The moment passed and she remembered that she couldn’t bear to bring a child into this life. Not even Peeta’s.

Katniss sank into her bath water and cried with her face hidden beneath the scented bubbles. It would be better if he were already dead. So she told herself that he was gone forever. At least he was free that way.

The longer Peeta stayed missing, and the worse things became for Twelve, the easier it became to convince herself. The mayor was angry enough in public for both of them. Punishments increased as the mayor desperately tried to hold onto Snow’s favor, and Katniss took more risks with what she revealed to the rebels.

She shook her head and agreed with the mayor’s disgust at the reports of assassinations, sabotage, derailed trains carrying Peacekeepers or supplies, many of which Katniss knew were at least partially her fault.

Her fault.

The words made her smile in secret. At night when she touched herself and bit back cries of Peeta’s name. He had left her, either by design or by death, but she still wanted him. She could understand him now. Even though he was gone.

Reports of new spies appeared on the news feed. They called her The Mockingjay and wherever her information aided the rebels, they painted the bird they named her for in red. As the months dragged on, the Capitol bled fear, the stench of it replacing all their honeyed perfumes. They whispered her name – The Mockingjay – over dinners, clutching their jewels and bemoaning what would be lost next.

Feeling the noose tightening, the mayor begged his friends in the Capitol to shelter him, just until this little rebellion was quelled. But fear is a powerful weapon, as is rumor. And everyone knew that Twelve’s mayor was close to being replaced. No one had space for him and his wife.

The year Peeta would have turned twenty-one, there would be no Reaping. The night before it was scheduled to occur, the mayor’s wife paid a visit to the main power substation and left two baskets of treats with the Peacekeepers guarding it. The baskets contained four bottles of cold beer laced with sleep syrup. Enough to knock them out for an hour. On her way out, she dropped an apple packed with explosives and a timing device. Dropped it at just the right spot to roll where she needed it to go.

Gale had helped her build it, his eyes dark and suspicious when she’d asked for it. She couldn’t tell him what it was for. She couldn’t put her old friend at risk if it failed.

She had sent word to the rebels weeks ago. Telling them in code what their window would be. Now it was up to them to take advantage.

When she was done, she went home to soak in her tub. Afterwards, she put on her pearls and satin robe over her nightdress. She braided her hair and waited.

District Twelve burned that night. Rebels swarmed over the deactivated fences and gunned down Peacekeepers in the streets. Screams rent the night.

The mayor barricaded himself in his mansion with his wife, holding several of the maids hostage at gunpoint. It wasn’t enough. Rebels and Seam and Merchant alike overpowered him and forced him to his knees on the front steps. They dragged Katniss out the door behind him, kicking and screaming. Fighting for her life. Putting on a good show because in reality, she welcomed death by now.

As someone held a gun to her bent head, she reached up and twisted the pearls around her fingers so the last thing that went through her brain before the bullet would be thoughts of Peeta.

“Stop!” Katniss risked looking up at the rebel in all black as he approached the steps, a familiar swagger to his gait. Her pulse stopped in disbelief. “Not her.”

“She’s the mayor’s wife.”

“No. She’s The Mockingjay.”

Katniss heard the mayor yelling obscenities at both of them as Peeta stepped into the light and smiled at her. She didn’t see the mayor struggling against his captors as he tried to get to her, her eyes too busy taking in Peeta – healthy and whole and alive and safe. Here, with her.

She heard the crack of the rifle butt on the mayor’s skull as Peeta ordered the rebels to let her go. She barreled down the steps and flew into Peeta’s arms, barely flinching when the rebels lodged a bullet in the mayor’s skull, silencing his furious tirade.

“You’re alive. You’re back,” she sobbed and he bent his head so that his lips just touched her neck, right above the pearls, and warmth spread through her. It felt so impossibly good to be in his arms again.

“I’m sorry I stayed out so late,” he whispered and she laughed as the rebels torched the mansion behind them, the flames crackling high into the midnight sky.

#Springtime Edition 2018 #katnissdoesnotfollowback #567inpanem #prompt 52 #late submission #submission

[artist-blogger-9]

Are Artists Born Or Made? Success Tips For The Self-Taught Artist.

Through formal training, artists are mentored and guided to improve and hone their creative skills. Via an art education, the artist gets an opportunity to explore and use various media, styles, and techniques, under the guidance of a teacher. When it comes to finding jobs and internships, having a degree in fine art is a great way to make you stand out and gives you a head-start over the self-taught artist.

While I have a great deal of respect for art grads, I believe like many others, that art is an energy that is fuelled by passion – the kind of passion that cannot be taught. I believe that art is a creative calling cant be taught.

#Indian paintings #Aesthetic paintings #Zen Artist Sabrina Gill

Shop these now at https://www.etsy.com/shop/RengeBySabrina and http://sabrinagill.in

I Am Seeking, I am Striving, I am In It With All My Heart

The achievements of renowned masters like Van Gogh, Monet, the more recent M.F. Hussain, bear testimony to the fact that the lack of an art degree, does not mean a lack of talent. Vincent Van Gogh studied art briefly at the Antwerp Academy, but this had little influence on his approach to art. Some of the world’s best and most famous artists never had an art education.

A huge number of art aficionados, curators, collectors, gallerists and others from the world of art, believe that an art degree can curb spontaneity and prevent creative people from demonstrating the true depth of their talent – creativity cannot be hemmed in, structured, or taught – it has to be expressed. American Art historian Barbara Rose claims that educated artists, at times, produce art that looks “like homework.”

Unlike “homework art“ that follows the rules, art made by self-taught artists conveys a spontaneous, passionate, unbridled energy. The self-taught artist, through a process of experimentation, trial and error, adopts a completely different approach to art. Undefined by rules, the art a self-taught artist creates are expressions of passion – a passion that cannot be tamed.

Disciplined and focused, self-taught artists work well alone. They learn and pursue only what is essential to the art they wish to create. Creatively, they are able to think out of the box, and continually experiment and innovate to perfect their style of art.

There is great freedom to creating without instruction. If you don’t study art, your approach to art is entirely different. Everything comes from within you – which has its merits and demerits.

You could argue that an art degree is necessary for artists to learn the techniques of their craft and the greatest benefit of going to art school is that the system prepares you and directs you towards a job and an art career. On the other hand, finding career opportunities and openings are a struggle for the self-taught artist.

So are artists born or made? Success as an artist requires and combination of talent, perseverance and enterprise. With no formal training, what is the best route to take to grow and carve a niche for yourself artist? “Today you can learn almost anything yourself if you have the patience and tenacity”, says Ignasi Monreal, a self-taught artist. The internet has made it possible for artists to master the nitty-gritty of digital marketing and social media marketing to promote themselves. Here are some tips for self-taught artists to succeed.

Motivation

Motivation is a prerequisite to success in any field. The motivation to be the best is what drives an artist to put in the hours and master the craft. Make every art session count and take your skills to the next level.

Do the groundwork – research the market

The first step in selling your work is to conduct thorough market research. This preliminary groundwork work can help you plan and build the right website, create opportunities to further your art career and establish an identity as an artist.

My advice to newbies in the field of digital marketing is to pay an expert to build a strong website. Subsequently, driving traffic to your website and marketing your art is a job that you alone can do justice to.

Build a strong online presence – showcase your work online.

As a self-taught artist, you control all aspects of your creativity and marketing strategies. The demand for your work depends on cultivating an inspiring persona— both, in person and online – build a website where you feature your body of work and chronicle your creative journey.

Performing in-depth research and following the steps listed below, will equip you with information and facts to identify and reach your target audience.

Stay abreast of the competition

Explore the kind of art your competitors are creating by checking online and at art shows.

Harness the power of Social media to market yourself and your work.

Set up a Facebook page, an Instagram and a Twitter handle and post your work regularly. Run social media adverts and create your social media target audience. This might seem daunting and overwhelming at first, but it is quite easy to educate yourself on social media marketing via Pinterest tutorials, YouTube videos and a host of online courses available on the subject. Learn the in’s and out’s of Search Engine Optimization (SEO) and drive traffic to your website by regularly posting SEO compliant blogs.

To sell your work, you also need to use your website to develop a presence on high-traffic platforms like Etsy. Along with talent and determination, you must smartly market yourself and your work. How well you execute and follow through with what you learn can help you create a standing for yourself in the art community. Here are links to tutorials, videos, websites that helped me understand the complexities of SEO, blogging, and social media marketing – https://pin.it/Ky4CnbP, https://pin.it/4iHS9Pi, https://pin.it/3ieNQot, https://pin.it/3CF6GiM, https://youtu.be/BXgYpJQlfuk. There are a lot of free courses on digital marketing, SEO, blogging that you could enroll in. Scour the pages of Google, YouTube, Pinterest and find those courses and develop your digital marketing skills.

Beat the competition

Beat the competition by pricing your products lower than your competitors. Set a price your competitors can’t match.

Be your own worst critic

It was easy to view your own work with rose-tinted glasses but in order to grow, you need to set very high standards for yourself.

Submit your work to competitions and galleries to get unbiased feedback.

Expect nothing, but aim to be the best

It is important to be patient and enjoy the process of becoming an artist, without high expectations. It is important to have unbound optimism. This is what propels you to move forward. In fact you should certainly not achieve everything you desired when you embarked on your creative journey- if you have, you did not dream big enough.

Connect with the art fraternity – stay current with art market trends.

For artists, hanging out at events like art shows, art inaugural events, art fairs keeps you in touch with art trends, art market trends, artists, buyers and helps you forge connections with potential buyers. Every interaction and experience with the art community builds your network, audience, and brand – never lose an opportunity to hob-nob with gallerists, curators and the likes. Attend workshop sessions conducted by artists who inspire you, get yourself mentored by your dream master artist and collaborate with fellow artists for group exhibitions, online shows, etc. Energy and passion are infectious so spend time with other artists to stay inspired.

Fall in love with the process of becoming the best artist you could ever be. The goal isn’t just getting there – it is also to have fun along the way. When you enjoy the process, your goal becomes a milestone, not a finishing line.

Shop these now on https://www.etsy.com/in-en/shop/StudioSabrinaGill

and http://sabrinagill.in/

[thefairefolk-rp]

Welcome, Mor! Your application for Alekto Bone has been accepted!

OOC INFORMATION:

Name/Nickname: Mor

Age: 22

Preferred Pronouns: She/Her

Timezone: Central Time Zone

Activity and Availability (Please answer in words as well as rating your availability from 1-10): For activity, 6 or 7 seems accurate. I will typically answer as soon as I can and write whenever possible, normally I can get replies out within 24 to 48 hours of whenever I see the post. Availability is at 8, I’m almost always on at some point during the day but my schedule is erratic and I am frequently occupied and so, while I may not be able to immediately reply or post, I am online and able to deal with messaging or lurking in the feed and able to read whatever comes by.

Have you read the rules and FAQ?: yes I have read both and the lore made available by your navigation pages.

IC INFORMATION: Desired Character: Alekto Bone Second Choice Character: Mordrid Fagan

What made you choose this character?: When I read through your character list, there were a handful that caught my eye immediately, this was one of them. I’ve played many characters in the past, on all parts of the moral scale, but Alekto, willing to give up everything for power and still seeking more after she got it, is something new exactly because she doesn’t care about right or wrong, all that matters is how a situation benefits her. “But, her own ambition for power overwhelmed her conscience.” This caught my attention because of what it suggests about the character. One, that she has something of a conscience even if it’s less to her than what she can gain from a situation, meaning that Alekto is more than just selfishness and greed driving her actions. Two, she’s private and cautious about others and clearly values her power, which means she wouldn’t have risked everything for a cause she wasn’t absolutely certain had a chance of winning or at the very least is so confident in her skills that she saw the reward outweighing the risk of treason.

It’s this mix of pride and ambition that contrasts against caution and what strikes me as fear of loosing what she has that drew me to Alekto as a character when I first read over the bio, along with the notion of playing a character who is so strongly driven by personal gain and gladly uses the power at her disposal, which is something I don’t get to do often. There’s a level of darkness in her that is very different from the “good” characters I usually play, and I would love to continue to explore the character as well as how she plays into the plot and interacts with others.

Are there any changes you would like to make?: No. Everything is wonderful.

Questions/Comments: This group is amazing, your plot and lore is so well developed and as an extensive para rper I love the fact that you guys rp in the same way. And you have hundreds of well developed characters that are open and available, which is incredible enough on its own. Thank you for all your help and please, if there are any problems now or in the future let me know. This has also become a thing out of the work of a few days: https://www.pinterest.com/bonesinthegrcund/alekto-bone/

Also the writing sample got long (not on purpose I swear) but I promise I can write shorter if needed and I tend to match length with whoever I rp with unless asked otherwise

Writing Sample (Must be 300 words or more, third person limited, in the character you’re auditioning for’s point of view): Fear was a powerful motivator. And yet, despite the knowledge of what happened to thieves in the Unseelie Court, and what happened to thieves who took from the royal family, the faerie captured by two of the Magi that morning for attempting to steal from the castle had still smiled and confessed with a nonchalance that made it difficult for Alekto to decide if he was brave or just a fool who still believed he could talk his way out of his situation. She settled on the latter, and had gleaned as much information as possible on the criminal. Hob, poor, a daughter and a wife. Desperate. The Archmage watched as the he was dragged forth in chains before the king in a public display to show off what happened to criminals, a warning to the people. She only half listened to the thief as he growled about the corruption of the Aven family and promised that there would be more like him, which was soon cut off by a blow to his back by one of the knights demanding silence.

While the poor shifted uneasily, the exception being the more malicious fae who looked as if invited to a banquet, the nobles previously leering around the room like vultures awaiting a fresh corpse had already quickly started to loose interest in the faerie that was already condemned even if he did not yet know it, as always only caring about such matters so long as they were an entertainment. There was little doubt that many watched the king and those leading his forces with the same attention, searching for weakness and leverage to use in the future. They were creatures of opportunity, just as Alekto was, and she gave them no such pleasure. Archmage; she had always believed the title suited her well, the black robes tailored to fit perfectly and glamoured to appear as if she was clothed in darkness itself, the position one she had carved and taken for herself by raw power and skill, not by the inheritance and bribery of the nobility. She made subtle changes to the magic around her appearance, a dangerous gleam in her eyes that extended beyond the natural, an increased sharpness to her features… and found satisfaction in the way some averted their gaze from hers the second they noticed that she was staring back.

For a second, the thief looked at her as he announced that he didn’t care what happened to him. It sparked something within Alekto that responded to the challenge, the corners of her lips twitching up momentarily in a way reminiscent of the smile of a predator. It had been the Magi that apprehended them, and it was the Magi that would be best suited to make him reveal his secrets when Oberon got tired of hearing him talk. It didn’t take long, his words changed from nonchalance to insult and the king’s expression darkened even more than the Archmage’s, cruelty and anger clearly showing with no need for a glamour of any kind to enhance it. Alekto stepped forward at his motion, the command simple and clear.

“Break him.”

Her robes swirled in the air as she moved, giving the appearance that she was gliding through the air rather than walking. Hob, poor… Alekto regarded his defiant expression and smile with contempt, tilting her head to the side and examining his shackled wrists and feet. A daughter and a wife… She stopped a few feet away from him, watched his face turn from stubborn hubris to horror as she brought forth the illusions of his child and spouse, realistic to a point that had it not been for the fact that they were not present moments ago, one could have easily believed they were physically there. Fear was a powerful motivator, but love was stronger. And when the glamour-created fae began to suffer and cry out in pain, when images rapidly flashed before the thief of his loved ones suffering his punishment and worse, he finally cracked, begging for it to stop and for his family‘s safety, all that bravado gone in an instant. Too real to be dismissed as an illusion, and the message was made very clear. The same could easily be done to the real versions of his family, the king already knew their faces.

The Archmage did not stop, listening intently to every word that came from the pitiful figure thrashing against his chains as he began to give out names and locations, attempting to bargain for the lives of his family. Desperate. Her attention only doubled when he mentioned knowing more, offering contacts and affiliations if his torment ended through violent sobs, though she showed no outward reaction. It was only when the thief had crumbled on the floor, reduced to nothing more than quiet begging and tears, that the king ordered it to finish. Alekto lingered for a heartbeat before complying, the illusions breaking and her magic withdrawing until once again the only glamours she held were the ones around herself. She cast a glance at the preening nobility, now silent and watching the tormented man before them. Oberon ordered that the hob be locked away, having gained yet another example to what happened to those who defied him. For Alekto, it was a display of her power and what she could easily do at a moment’s notice. And not a single faerie in the public could bring themselves to look her in the eyes after such a display.

Later that night, she glamoured her clothes and appearance to appear as a red-haired delicate wisp of a fae, far more the graceful Seelie than Unseelie and with no resemblance of her true self, and crept through the castle to the imprisoned thief with aid from her magic. The guards would later report that an unknown woman had snuck through their ranks unseen and released the prisoner, helping him escape and giving him more than enough time to leave with his family. The king’s fury ended with them being harshly punished for the failure, while Alekto had gained herself both respect and fear amongst the court as well as eyes and ears within the criminal affiliations plaguing it, something which would make her life far easier in the future. And she intended to take advantage of both to their fullest extent.

#accepted

[blondeswithbackpacks]

Rotterdam

We left Brussels on the 7:30 coach on Wednesday so it was another early start for us - and the noisy roommates, who had again stumbled in in the early hours. We both dozed through much of the journey, catching only a glimpse of Antwerp and arrived in Rotterdam by 10:30. Our first sight was the very grand looking central station and the ultramodern area around it. We managed to negotiate the ticket machine with only minor issues and hopped onto a tram that stopped just outside the hostel. We dropped our bags off and headed back to the station to grab some food and find our way to the zoo. We asked a woman at tourist information for directions and she told us all about the buses available but her upside down writing skills were so impressive it was distracting from the instructions. Nevertheless, we soon got onto a bus that took us to the new entrance of the zoo. At this point you may be wondering why in particular we had chosen to go to a zoo in Rotterdam but it all stems from Hattie visiting a Kiwi breeding programme in Otorahanga (New Zealand) where they said you could visit some of their kiwis in Rotterdam. We spent about four hours wandering around the zoo, not understanding a word of anything as it was all in Dutch, and we never saw a single Kiwi. However, we had a brilliant time there as they had an incredible array of wildlife from all over the world. The highlights for both of us were the butterfly house and baby Indian rhino. A trip to the zoo was just what we needed after getting up early and really put us both in a great frame of mind! After just about navigating our way to the other side of the zoo whilst seeing every single exhibit, we headed back to get some food and check into the hostel. We were very excited to find gluten free pasta (plus a little bit proud for having managed to do so even in Dutch) so stocked up quite a bit, forgetting the weight it would add to our rucksacks. We dumped our stuff on a bunk bed by the window in quite a large dorm room then went to the kitchen to cook dinner. We were pleased to find all the cooking equipment free again and quickly got started figuring out the unnecessarily complicated hob system. After some faffing around with the 'help' of a friendly French Canadian, we got our pasta boiling. This hostel had a much friendlier atmosphere and after dinner, we headed up to the hostel bar where we got chatting with the barman from Northern Ireland. Some his friends came into the bar at the end of his shift and they invited us to hang out with them. This is how we found ourselves on boat moored in one of Rotterdam's rivers with 2 Dutchmen, a Kiwi, a German and an Irishmen (no this isn't the start of a bad joke). We spent a nice couple of hours there before the seasickness of the bobbing boat got too much for Hattie so we returned to solid land. We embraced the Dutch culture a bit more by borrowing one of the bikes from the hostel and cycling to the city centre. Thankfully there weren't too many people around as the back pedal braking system really took some getting used to. We had a great night and it really felt like experiences like this are what travelling is all about. The next morning, we had breakfast, checked out and went off to explore the city. The weather was again beautiful so we started by heading down to the harbour to get some photos. We then went to the Euromast, a tower with several outdoor viewing platforms and a revolving glass elevator that gave us a great view of all around Rotterdam. The height didn't pose an issue for either of us until we were going up the stairs from the second viewing platform to the level with the elevator. Here they were far too open for our liking so that all you could see was the city way below you. We set off slowly holding the handrail until a group of older people started coming down the same set of narrow stairs. We had to abandon the safety of the rail and negotiated the rest of the way up literally clinging to the curved wall we were following. It certainly got our hearts beating quicker! Once back on terra firma, we went off in search of the cube houses that I'd read about a while a ago. By the time we found them, we were both hungry and I was suffering from a lack of coffee. In order to prevent a falling out, we grabbed lunch. Surprisingly, Hattie had no issue finding something suitable. I, on the other hand, was far too hungry to choose some food (don't question the logic) so wondered around the rather hot indoor food market a couple of times before settling on a simple tuna sandwich. I'm impressed Hattie didn't abandon me but I'm very grateful for her patience! We ate our food on the steps, in the sunshine, looking out at the square which, with its cube houses and helter-skelter style building, bore a resemblance to a fun fair. We then went to explore inside one the cube houses. Most of them are lived in or rented out on air b&b except this one which was used a museum. From the outside they look like yellow cubes balance on one corner so it's hard to imagine how they can logistically have rooms within but they actually are surprisingly spacious inside and have everything you need in a house spread over 3 levels. We very quickly got good vibes from Rotterdam and the people seemed nicer than in Brussels. The hostel as well was friendlier and it was much more what I was expecting from hostel-life. The only shame was that we had booked only one night here but I would really like to return one day. Next stop The Hague!

[nateronomicon]

Something for the Discord Part 2

Too big to fit in one post captain!

Skill Rank Descriptions: Rank 0 : You have no training in this particular field. In some cases, a dice roll can't happen because your character wouldn't know where to start or just wouldn't have the knowledge. But not always- hey, sometimes you get lucky! Rank 1 : Novice. Basic knowledge of this particular field. Most apprentices are at this rank. Rank 2 : Practitioner. Your know-how on this subject is solid. Most journeymen practitioners would be at this rank. Rank 3 : Professional. Your knowledge on this subject is broad and detailed. You would be capable of teaching this skill to others without a problem. Rank 4 : Expert. You are a master of the craft or field of study. In some cases, you are a leader in the field and people would look to you for consultation. Rank 5 : Legendary. Your know-how on this subject is unsurpassed. Your technique is borderline flawless. You can hide yourself at the top of a mountain and people would climb it to seek your tutelage. Some might even make it up!

Mental Skills: Academics: This skill represents a person's higher education, particularly in the Arts and Humanities. It covers everything from English to history, economics and law. Note that characters don't necessarily have to formal education to have ranks in Academics. They can be self-taught, reading manuscripts voraciously. Crafts: This catch-all skill represents a person's ability to make things as well as fix things with their hands. This ranges from creating paintings to constructing castles. It also covers repairing objects. Note that while a character might have the knowledge, sometimes they'll need the right tools to make use of this knowledge. Investigation: This represents a character's ability to solve mysteries through collecting clues and analyzing the evidence. Or perhaps they're really good at riddles or not confounded by logic traps and paradoxes. Medicine: Ranks in this indicate that your character knows how to treat injuries and illnesses, likely with herbs and poultices. Characters with 1-3 ranks can do basic first aid and simple techniques, but a character with 4+ ranks is the equivalent of a surgeon. Occult: This skill represents your knowledge of the supernatural. You not only know the various legends and traditions around the area, but you can also determine "occult fact" from "occult rumor". Characters usually learn this from forbidden sections in libraries, or from the oral traditions of their relatives. Politics: Your character can identify the heraldry of noble houses, how the local government works, and have a general idea of who to call in order to grease the wheels. Usually people acquire this skill after working for the local magistrate or a noble house. Science: This covers your character's knowledge of the physical sciences, as much as they apply in a medieval setting. It covers everything from biology, chemistry, geology, meteorology, and physics.

Physical Skills: Archery: This skill allows you to identify, operate and maintain most types of projectile ranged weapons, such as bows, crossbows, all the way up to ballistae. Note that to make one of these weapons or ammo for them, you'd need Crafts, instead. Athletics: This skill is a broad category of physical feats. It covers everything from boating to rock climbing; from swimming to leaping between rooftops to escape your enemies. This skill also covers throwing in combat, such as with slings or javelins. Brawl: This skill defines your expertise in unarmed fighting techniques. It covers all styles from formally-trained Kung Fu to a street tough that's seen a bunch of bar fights. Note that brawl can be used, with reason, with any body part capable of causing harm, so be creative. Larceny: This skill covers everything from picking locks to picking pockets to concealing objects on your person. Usually characters come across this skill the hard way. Ride: This skill represents your ability to control a mount, typically a horse, in hazardous situations. Note that you do not need to have ranks in this skill to ride a horse normally. It is assumed that riding is fairly common practice among travelers. Stealth: This is all about avoiding notice, whether it's slinking through the shadows, hiding behind objects or blending into a crowd. Survival: This is your character's expertise in living off the land, foraging, fishing or hunting. This can be used to identify hazards or tracks, and predict the weather to a limited extent. Note that this doesn't apply to influencing animals- That's Animal Handling. Weaponry: This is your character's skill with melee combat, from breaking bottles over people's heads, to fencing like a pro, to wielding a greatsword with brutal precision.

Social Skills: Animal Handling: This skill is an understanding of animal behavior, and anticipating their next action. Useful for avoiding confrontations with predators as well as training animals to do certain tricks. Expression: This skill represents your character's expertise in the art of communication, both to entertain and inform. This skill covers writing, music, and dance. Insight: This skill represents your character's ability to read others' body language and non-verbal cues. Your character can sense when people aren't telling the whole story, and also empathize with them. Intimidation: The time-honored tradition of influencing others through fear. This can be used to get information, coerce people into taking actions they otherwise wouldn't, or to get information. Torture is an aspect of intimidation. Persuasion: The time-honored tradition of influencing others through honeyed words. This skill is about changing minds through logic, charm, or sheer glib fast-talking. Most people have developed this skill through years of practice through trial-and-error. Socialize: This skill represents a character's ability to interact with others in a variety of situations. It allows one to "read the room".  This skill covers etiquette, custom, gregariousness and sensitivity. It can also be used to hob-knob with people of import, and to go carousing about the town. Note that characters don't need ranks in Socialize to be social in a variety of situations, but may not be schooled in the finer arts of social interaction. Or they could be courteous, but not approachable. Streetwise: Characters with this skill now how the shadier side of town functions and how to survive by the harsh rules of the street. This skill is useful for black market deals, gathering information, making contacts, dodging urban hazards, and avoiding both the law, and the wrong kind of people. Subterfuge: This is the art of deception. Characters with this trait know how to lie just right, either through talking, creating forged documents or a clever disguise.

Vice Descriptions: Envy: The Envious are never satisfied with what they have. They measure themselves against others- especially their rivals. They're never content with their place in life, and they covet what others have and believe they deserve it more. Envy can come from paranoia, entitlement, or a sense of self-loathing that they project onto others. You gain a point of willpower whenever you take something from a rival -real or perceived- or have a hand in harming that rival's well-being. Gluttony: Gluttons indulge in sensations to the exclusion of everything else. It's all about the appetite, and boy do gluttons have big ones! They're always chasing the next high, or want to try a new flavor or just need another orgasm to make things right. Gluttons can even be adrenaline junkies- they do things just for the rush. Your character gains 1 willpower whenever he indulges in a pleasurable activity at his or a loved one's expense. Greed: Like the envious, the Greedy want more. More, more, more! Unlike the envious, they don't want to take from others to spurn them- they want it because they want it. Note that while material things are common, immaterial things are equally sought after- power and influence, they want more, more more! The Greedy always have more than they can possibly use, because they believe that you can never have too much. You gain 1 point of Willpower when you take something at the expense of others. This must come with some risk, such as assault from the offending party, possible arrest, or loss of relationships. Lust: Like the gluttonous, the Lustful are possessed by uncontrolled desire and passion for something. While sex is the most common manifestation of this sin, it can be about virtually any activity- exercise, gaining knowledge, acquiring more power, etc. The kicker is that this passion comes at the expense of others, for the lustful don't care about the feelings of others- the only thing that matters is the fulfillment of their passions. Your character gains 1 willpower whenever he indulges in his passion in a way that victimizes others. Or puts him at significant risk. Pride: Pride is self-confidence run amok. The Prideful believe that they are right, and their every action is correct, even when the evidence would indicate otherwise. The Prideful cannot admit they are wrong, and will hurt or let other people suffer to maintain the illusion. They often lash out at people who question their decisions or their reputation. You regain one point of willpower whenever he exerts his own wants -not needs, that's more lust- over people at some risk to himself. Sloth: Evil succeeds when good men do nothing, and the slothful embody this truth. Often they put off the work until someone else has to step in to do the work for them. Putting in effort, and risking failure, isn't on their agenda. The fact that other people suffer from their laziness doesn't matter one bit. You regain 1 willpower whenever you successfully avoid a difficult task, but achieve your goal anyway, usually when someone else bails you out. Wrath: The Wrathful are angry people who's rage is very inappropriate and out of proportion to the slights received. They’re always looking for ways to vent their anger, and the wrathful usually seek out people who are of no consequence to them- the powerful picking on the powerless. A noble might burn down a whole village because a peasant attempted to punch him. Or a person cut off in traffic tries to drive the other driver off the road. Unlike most vices, Wrath is more specific. If a fight has already begun, then no points can be gained. The anger must be expressed in areas that are inappropriate and dangerous for the character to do so- in the sense of repercussions.

[crypticbeliever123]

Chapter 7 “Questions and Lies” Hope you like it! Let me know what you think!

Raph was just getting out of his gear when his teammates joined him, along with the team’s manager/Future Industries’ top engineer, Harold Lillja, a non-Bender but brilliant scientist and sports strategist whose game plans have gotten them the win on more than one occasion.

“Okay, so that third round was sort of… meh, but hey at least you got the win. That’s something, right?” Harold said in an attempt to cheer up the grumpy turtle.

“Yeah, it’s great. Ya know what would’ve been better? If nobody saw my face out there. Now the whole world knows that a mutant Firebending Turtle is part of the Future Industries Fire Ferrets and that I’m in Republic City. Do you know how many dangerous people could find me now?”

“Listen, dude, I get that you’re scared, especially since he-who-must-not-be-named is like the most dangerous guy ever, but just because he might come for you later doesn’t mean you can’t take a minute to celebrate your win tonight. He could be halfway across the world right now for all we know. Even if he saw the broadcast, which I doubt he would’ve, it would take him a good while before he got here. So relax, bro,” Casey said, wrapping an arm around Raph’s shoulders as he tried to put him at ease.

“Yeah, bro,” Mikey said as he and the rest of their family entered the room, “and speaking of… WHAT THE HECK, DUDE?! Why didn’t you tell us you were a Pro-Bender?”

“I’m sorry but this is a private area. You can’t just-”

“It’s alright Harold, they’re Raph’s family,” April mentioned.

“Oh. Okay then. Uhh, what’s his problem?” he asked of Donnie who was staring at him slack-jawed.

Mikey gave his brother a nudge, pulling him out of his dazed state.

“You’re Harold Lillja. The Harold Lillja. You’re one of the greatest scientific minds of the twenty-first century! Your work with anti-grav technology is mind-blowing. And is it true that you’re working on a new android bodyguard system?”

“I’m afraid that information is classified,” Harold replied, adjusting his eyeglasses before peering over them with a smirk, “but yes, yes I am. I actually based the design off of Raphael here, and to a lesser extent, the rest of the Fire Ferrets as well. It’s designed to look like a turtle, but it has Bending capabilities at the same levels as these four… or at least it’s supposed to. I’m still working out the kinks with getting the machine to Bend properly.”

“Classified, huh?” Angel teased.

“Alright so I lied. It makes things sound more important than they are. Sue me. Actually you know what, don’t sue me. I’m still trying to recover after my divorce.”

“A robot turtle with Bending capabilities. That… is… awesome.”

“Donnie. Focus,” Leo reminded him.

“Right. Yeah. Sorry.”

“So, exactly how much trouble am I in?” Raph asked Splinter.

“That depends on a few things. Such as, why did you lie about your Bending skills, why did you keep your Pro-Bending secret, and are you the Nightwatcher?”

“I lied about how good I was because I’ve got a few enemies that would’ve found me by now if word got out that there was a mutant turtle with amazing Firebending skills in Republic City and I kept my Pro-Bending a secret because it would’ve undermined the whole ‘I stink at Bending’ thing if you knew I played the sport. And I ain’t the Nightwatcher! Why would you even think that in the first place?”

“We saw you Bend that blue flame, Raph. And we saw you use that same technique when you were calming down that the Nightwatcher used the other night. You know, the one where you breathed out a white flame?” Leo replied.

“I didn’t breathe a white flame. You were just seeing things.”

“So we all saw things then? Bending a blue flame is rare enough. The fact that I have seen two individuals do so is incredible enough as it is, to suggest that I have witnessed three such individuals is next to impossible. Especially considering two of those breathed a white flame when controlling their tempers, which is so rare it was unheard of until the other night. Do you really expect me to believe that you could have both Bending and a temper in common with this Nightwatcher without you being one and the same?” Splinter asked.

“Yeah because in case you haven’t noticed I never took away no one’s Bending before.”

“Took away one’s- what like the Shre-” Harold was about to say before being shut down by the simultaneous glares of all four Fire Ferrets.

“Ehe-and I’m just going to stop talking now before I say something I’ll regret.”

“Good choice,” Casey said with a glare.

“Look, who cares if Raph’s the Nightwatcher or not? It’s not like the Nightwatcher was really hurting anybody and he stopped a bunch of bad guys from breaking some poor guy’s store. He’s kind of like a superhero. And anyway can’t we all just agree that Raph is AWESOME?! I mean did you see him out there in that ring? Dude, I can’t believe you’ve been holding out on us and-”

“Mikey, just because Raph is a great Pro-Bender doesn’t mean he can just go around taking people’s Bending and absolutely none of that makes him anything like a superhero,” Donnie insisted.

“Says you.”

“Look, my head hurts, and I’d really rather not deal with any of this right now. I’m outta here.”

With that Raph picked up an ice pack and pressed it against his head before moving toward the door, only to be halted by Master Splinter.

“Can you move, please?”

“No. Not until you have explained yourself. How do you know how to sever one’s connection to their Bending? Who taught you this method?”

“No one taught me anything because I ain’t the Nightwatcher. You’ve got the wrong guy.”

“I very much doubt that to be true.” *sigh* “I will give you one more chance to tell us everything you have kept from us and explain yourself. But if you do not tell me the truth I will have no choice but to take this to Chief Shen and have her interrogate you herself. Though I would much rather it not have to come to that.”

“So you’d turn me over to the cops and have them interrogate me the same way they would a common low-life just because you don’t believe that what I’m telling you right now is the truth?” *scoff* “Some father you are,” Raph said as he pushed past Master Splinter to leave the room and head back to the temple.

“He didn’t mean that, father,” Leo tried to reassure him.

He really didn’t. He’s had a bad father before. The absolute worst. And Master Splinter was nothing like him. Not at all. Raph sure could say some hurtful things when he got defensive. Not like he could help being defensive all that much. He’d spent most of his life on the streets or trying not to get killed. Survival was practically burned into his DNA at this point and if Splinter tried to get the truth about how he knows how to Bend so well out of him not only would that put him in danger, but it would put this new family of his in peril too. He couldn’t admit to being the Nightwatcher without making it even more difficult to separate himself from his past. There’d be too many questions, too many painful memories coming back up, too much pain, fear, and rejection if the truth of who he used to be came to light. No. He couldn’t handle that if they knew. Splinter, Leo, Donnie, Mikey, they were his family. If they knew, if they rejected him for it, if they saw him as much of a monster as the last person he called family had… no. No. That wasn’t going to happen. Not on his… Oh crap.

As soon as he opened the door to Splinter’s temple, there he was, his old foe and the one who taught him how to Bend lightning even better than the man he used to call father.

“Hiya, Raphie. How’ve you been?” Old Hob asked with a sinister grin and claws lit up with an electrical charge.

#Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles #TMNT #Avatar AU #Raphael #Splinter #Leonardo #Donatello #Michelangelo #Casey Jones #April O'Neil #Angel Bridge #Harold Lillja #Shredder #Karai #Old Hob #Firebender!Raphael #Avatar!Splinter #Earthbender!Splinter #Waterbender!Leonardo #Earthbender!Donatello #Airbender!Michelangelo #Earthbender!Casey Jones #Airbender!April O'Neil #Waterbender!Angel Bridge #Firebender!Old Hob #Firebender!Shredder #Waterbender!Karai #Pro-Bending