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#how dare you say he's abusive?

tmnt-obsessed-ace · 1 year

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I swear to fucking god every single time I see a person call 2012 Raph abusive I am gonna lose my fucking mind.

Did you even fucking watch the fucking show? Did you not see the character development?

Yes he smacks 2012 Mikey a lot but thats because they are fucking siblings! 2012 Mikey is a little fucking shit that constantly presses 2012 Raph's buttons.

They call each other names and make fun of each other BECAUSE THEY ARE SIBLINGS!!!!

Also did you not see how 2012 Raph is ALWAYS the first one to go after 2012 Mikey when he's in trouble? How he ALWAYS saves him when he's in over his head.

HOW HE FUCKING FROZE WHEN MIKEY GOT INJURED BY SNAKEWEED!????

HOW AFTER THE SEASON 2 FINALE RAPH STEPPED UP TO TAKE CARE OF EVERYONE!??!

HOW HE WATCHED OVER LEO FOR THREE MONTHS!?!!?

HE IS NOT FUCKING ABUSIVE YOU MORON HE LOVES HIS FAMILY MORE THAN ANYTHING FUCK OFF

Anyways if I didn't already have three big fanfics I would absolutely write a 2012 Raph centric one out of pure spite

#twitter is making me mad #ever just see the most horrendous take ever and need to fucking rant?#some people I swear to fucking god #that person also reduced 2012 Donnie to a simp so bad opinions all around #tmnt 2012 #I am a 2012 Raph stan #he loves his family so much #how dare you say he's abusive?#did you even watch the show?

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autism-alley · 2 months

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y’all headcanoning poseidon as purposefully sending medusa’s head back to sender knowing gabe would open it is like. entirely missing the point of sally jackson’s character and also SO fucked up if it was poseidon?? who used medusa’s head to kill an asshole man?? like!! what the fuck! not to mention sally jackson?? ms. sally jackson? who kills her abusive husband? who on multiple occasions rejected the help of the man who is both a god and her former lover bc she wants to build her life herself—? and who does it? “if my life is to mean anything, i have to live it myself.” those are sally jackson’s words. the abuse itself was already incredibly watered down in the show and that is upsetting. to have gabe accidentally kill himself because he’s a bumbling idiot waters down her agency against her abuse and is even more so upsetting. to have not just a man but a literal god kill her husband for her is so. do you not see how that’s even worse. and then add in that god being poseidon and the method of murder is medusa’s head? i don’t even have words to articulate it, just—

no matter how you cut it, narratively you only disrespect and degrade sally when gabe’s life is taken by any hand that isn’t hers, and having that hand be poseidon’s is just wild.

#WIIIIIILD TAKE #and i don’t even think some of y’all are hearing yourselves #sally jackson herself told percy he cannot kill her abuser for her #that her life only has value if it’s in her own hands #and that was said to her CHILD who Also suffered at the hands of gabe.#can you imagine how it looks disregarding that sentiment so a literal god can save her?#the god partly responsible to blame for medusa’s fate in the first place?#sometimes depicted as her rapist?#doesn’t look good!#as a disabled woman i am all for needing to be saved #wanting to be saved #not feeling shame in needing help #but sally jackson is not only Not one of those people #but someone who shaped so much of her identity around saving herself #how dare the show take it from her.#and for fans to rub salt in the wound?#i know y’all don’t mean it like that that’s why i’m not angry #but i want y’all to rly consider what you’re saying #pjo show crit #pjo show #pjo fandom #percy jackson #sally jackson #poseidon pjo #medusa pjo #ris raves #gabe ugliano

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57sfinest · 1 year

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okay as a Jean Enjoyer i feel like i need to say this because there are different genres of jean enjoyment (jeanres if you will). i am of the faction where i don’t really vibe with the whole “jeangst” thing (as it exists as a fandom phenomenon) and here’s why. so much of the stuff i see labeled “jeangst” is WAY too sympathetic to and forgiving of jean for my taste. like he’s woobified or there’s a lot of uncritical��‘poor jean harry is so mean to him and now harry’s amnesia ruined his life :(’ type stuff which is such a fundamental misunderstanding of him and his role in harry’s past & present and it skews how we view his dynamic with harry too. and i don’t mean this as “oh considering jean’s pov is bad!!1!1″ no i consider his pov all the time i am indescribably mentally ill about the torment that the jeanharry relationship puts both jean and harry through. but when we consider his point of view i really think that just ascribing him the simple role of ‘poor depressed punching bag’ strips him of all the interesting parts of his character & also contributes to a less nuanced and accurate understanding of harry as well (it makes it easy to villainize him for his addiction and mental illness, which in and of themselves aren’t moral failings-- harry was a bad person for his behavior, which is not the same as his addiction or his illnesses)

like, jean put himself in this situation. over and over again. yes he was likely forced into working with harry, but whatever’s going on between them is more than a workplace conflict. you look at luiga’s twitter and he’s said so much about jean and harry’s codependency and the other mentions of a very close and very unhealthy personal relationship. you see the way jean talks about his own role vs harry’s in the ending-- jean WANTS to be the poor victim, he wants everyone to see him as the helpless punching bag who is being such a saint by Putting Up With Harry And His Bullshit, look at me, i’m so much better than this stupid mentally ill addict! he’s like harry you are so unprofessional, and there is something wrong with you, and we are all so tired of putting up with you and your shitty behavior, but here he is sitting in a hotel lobby in a wig to harass harry while harry is actually doing his job!! like jean my love here you are reaming harry out about “doing his fucking job” sir what are you doing!! you are sitting in a hotel looking angry for 14 hours just in case your special little partner who you are definitely sooo mad at condescends to speak to you for a few minutes!! and you dragged poor judit out here too!! jean. girl. babe. it’s time to admit you are a massive hypocrite with an even bigger victim complex. you, a mentally ill addict, are losing your shit at harry for being a mentally ill addict. why don’t you meaningfully address the actual behaviors instead of just reminding harry that he’s an alcoholic every 2 minutes.

like i’m not saying jean should have infinite patience for harry after multiple years of mistreatment but damn dude the double standards are insane. jean is instigating a messy public breakup and being pretty abusive the whole time and then he’s like everyone feel bad for ME and not STUPID HARRY who is an ALCOHOLIC in case anyone forgot. he goes on and on about how much his life sucks and how much harry sucks and boohoo poor him he’s so depressed and beaten down by the shitkid etc but then in ANY sub-ideal ending you get there’s still something that tells you that he’s still taking harry back or at least considering it. in the cuno ending “he can’t leave you behind. he just can’t. one final time...” even in the worst ending “if you make it-- if you’re sober for 10 months-- tell us. i’ll work with you again.” jean babe if you hate him so much then stay the fuck away from him!! damn!! your codependency is showing!! your victim complex is showing!! just go get harry’s name tattooed on you at this point like at the very least it might get you some sympathy from people at the bar when they ask about what’s very clearly an Ex’s Name Tattoo

#this got out of hand. sorry #anyway yeah i disagree with 'jeangst' on principle because it's too nice to jean basically #you can be sympathetic to his point of view without being a Jean Apologist or completely erasing his role in a mutually abusive dynamic #i love to think about how much this whole situation hurts him. and i love to think about how a lot of it is his fault #it's so much more interesting for him to be a participant in his own victimhood #he's standing there goading harry into punching him and then he gets punched and is like HOW DARE YOU PUNCH ME!!#well sir you see if you tape a sign on your forehead that says kick me then eventually you are going to be kicked.#the jeanharry relationship as a form of self harm for both parties involved etc etc #using each other to punish themselves etc etc #just enough good in it to keep them going. just enough bad to make it bitter the whole way through. the push and pull of addiction etc etc #see a return to jean/harry partnership after martinaise would be so funny #jean tries to provoke harry says some shitty stuff etc and harry just like. starts crying or having a panic attack or whatever #and jean is like hold on this makes ME look like the bad guy. come on quick hit me. come on say something mean. call me a slur. please #or maybe harry goes right back to being an asshole depending on ur guy. and nothing ever changes and they hurt each other for ever and ever #until they succumb to the inevitable murder-suicide #kiwipost #jv meta #jean vicquemare #I HATE THIS GUY *beating him with one of those carpet dust racket things*

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necromancy-savant · 5 months

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re: your tags on that post about the overlap between conservative christianity and certain queer activist spaces, have you ever heard of messianic judaism and are you sure that’s not what you were raised? they’re basically christians who pretend to be jews

(if you find this an inappropriate feel free to just ignore me, i don’t mean to pry, just to open you up to possibilities)

Yes, I have! And weirdly, I was told to be wary of them and that they're not Jewish at all. My dad at least had the sense to know that. We were just very Reform, and while I don't want to say anything about the Reform movement as a whole, at this particular synagogue it felt, to me personally, too laid back for me to feel like anyone was taking it seriously or respected the congregation's intelligence it

#yesterday my brother was like do you remember Rock Shabbat and I was like hiss!! boo! how dare you say those words to me #it was acoustic guitars only with no drumkit even though we had an in-house drummer who was 90 and she was good #and they just played Debbie Friedman quietly with no energy which is the same thing they did every day #I was bored to tears #my parents have literally no idea what rock music is to this day #they have no idea what even 60s or 70s rock sounds like #it was also just growing up in an abusive family with people who never had any knowledge of Judaism themselves #my dad always said all his services growing up were in Hebrew and no one ever taught him the language #so he just went never understanding a single word of what was said the whole time #and did his whole bar mitzvah that way completely ignorant of what any of the words said #he doesn't know a single word of Torah because he doesn't know a word of Hebrew and has never had it translated for him #and he teaches kids at Hebrew school...#and pop Christianity and neoliberalism are his only real religions

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sunnami · 3 months

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❝i am half-agony, half-hope. . . i have loved none but you.❞

summary: how the marauders loved you in their time. featuring harry potter the time-traveller and sixth-wheel.

pairing/s: poly!marauders x reader. (james potter x reader, lily evans x reader, remus lupin x reader, and sirius black x reader.)

tags: reader is referred to as she/her and a mother throughout the whole fic[!], reader is a violent gremlin who craves blood but the marauders love you for that, implied child abuse[!], mentions of blood and violence[!], disgustingly sappy poetic fluff, no angst, happy ending, not proofread we die like finnick odair, edited: very minor detail.

note: there is little plot, it’s just the marauders and their adoration for you. thank you all so much for your kind responses to my first marauders fic :(( ilysm! i hope you enjoy this one as well! because there are parts when i was writing that i ended up kicking my feet in the air and smiling to myself.

“MY NAME IS HARRY POTTER. I come from twenty-years in the future, you’re my mum — one of my ‘em, actually. It’s complicated. And you’re married to James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black.”

You blink.

“Get the fuck out of my room!”

Harry James Potter has dodged many things in his life. Killing curses, jinxes, girls, Draco Malfoy, and Dudley’s sloppy punches, but he’s never had to dodge his sixteen-year-old mother’s fuzzy slipper before. (Godric, that sounds weird, even in his head.) He doesn’t know precisely how he arrived here. In the Slytherin common room, to be exact, in your dorm. Harry remembers duelling with Death Eaters, Hermione calling his name, and a flash of light hitting him square in the chest, then he remembers waking up in the cold tiles of the snake dungeon. He nearly throws himself off the window when he meets your eyes, bleary from interrupted sleep — it’s not often he gets to meet [read: one of] his dead parents, after all, three had been brutally murdered by Voldemort, and one killed by his own loony cousin. He misses Sirius, though. A lot. And right about now, he could do with some of Hermione’s nagging and brilliant plan-making.

At present — or past, Harry guesses — he watches you scramble out from your duvet, hand clumsily reaching for your wand as you snarl at him. He wonders if his mother knows that he’s encountered other creatures far more threatening than her. Oh shit, he realizes with all the forces of an angry Hermione Granger, isn’t this the last thing he’s supposed to do? But, well, Harry has given, and given, so much of himself all for the greater good — just this once, he’d like to see his parents alive and well. Even if they were currently trying to blast him into the walls.

“If you’d just let me explain, mum—!” Harry pleads, nearly dropping his glasses after dodging one of your stinging hexes. Godric, you’re crazy. “Please!”

“Stop calling me that!” You screech, eyes set ablaze. Harry finds that you’re quite dynamic with your attacks. A hairbrush, followed by a stinging jinx, then a thick History of Magic textbook — which rudely hits him in the face, but he doesn’t dare complain because you’re his mother, and he’s respectful like that — and after you’ve exhausted your breath, running him into a corner, and your nostrils flare with the stubbornness of a lion, you point the tip of your wand at him. “If this is another one of the Prewett’s shitty pranks, I want you to leave! You are in the girls’ dormitory beyond midnight, and so help me, if you aren’t walking out that door in the next five seconds, I will kill you and string you up by your bottoms for everyone in school to see! Maybe all your stupid rumours of me being a Death-Eater might come true after all!”

“You’re a Death-Eater?” Harry asks dumbly.

You growl furiously, and Harry figures that was not the right thing to say. “I wonder what McGonagall would say if I delivered your head to her on a silver platter.”

“Professor,” Harry corrects with a toothy grin. “Professor McGonagall.”

You slam his head against the wall.

Definitely the wrong thing to say.

Harry groans, little Dobby heads floating around his vision. Why was this so much harder than actually facing Voldemort? Quick, he needed to think of something, otherwise he’d end up eviscerated to ashes on your cold, stone floors. Harry is pretty sure you’d use his remains as decoration to send off a message to your enemies.

“You hate your father,” Harry slurs through the pain, remembering Remus’s stories of how you were the gentlest magical being he’s ever had the privilege to love — now that Harry thinks about it, Remus was being extremely biased, nothing about you is gentle at all. “He’s forcing you to marry someone old enough to be your grandfather. You love to read Muggle literature but had to stop when your father burnt your whole collection of books. Your favorite novel is Persuasion by Jane Austen. It’s the one book you carry with you everywhere, you could never get tired of it.”

Your grip on his shoulders falters, but the fury in your eyes crackles. “This isn’t funny.”

“It’s not meant to be funny, mum,” Harry croaks, voice cracking pathetically — strange how this is the most he’s ever uttered the word, mum; it’s a peculiar string of letters, foreign on his tongue. “You have tremors in your left leg from when your father cast the Cruciatus curse on you. One of your dearest friends is a Hogwarts house-elf named Pipley. You cheated on your Transfiguration essay once, and—”

“That’s enough!” You bark, eyes narrowed in dangerous slits. “I don’t know where you heard those from, you creepy, little stalker, but if you want to keep breathing, then I suggest you shut up.”

Harry scoffs — you don’t understand. Everything he’s learned about you is from Sirius and Remus. They talk about you with whispered devotion, your name like a prayer on their lips, their eyes glazed with wistfulness as though they could see you reaching out for them — but you were dead in Harry’s time. Yet, you might as well have been alive with their tales of you.

(“She’s a different kind of beautiful,” Sirius had said, a year after breaking out from Azkaban, sitting by the fire in Grimmauld Place, taking a swig of decade-old firewhiskey, “The kind of beautiful you don’t want to take your eyes off from because you’re afraid she’ll disappear from your eyes. But you won’t forget her, oh no, you’ll memorize the freckles and moles on her skin, the scars from her years, the light in her eyes, and the way she holds her head up high. You should have seen her, James, she. . . she was — is glorious.”)

“I told you,” says Harry firmly — although he loves his mother very much, she’s beginning to wear him out, “My name is Harry James Potter, I come from twenty-years in the future. You are one of my parents.” A lightbulb flashes in his head. He squirms in your hold, reaching for his robe pocket until he finds the thing he’s looking for. Harry dangles the ring in front of you, grinning in success when your eyes flash in recognition. “It’s—”

“A family heirloom,” You say breathlessly. The alexandrite winks under the light, a familiar gold band with the Latin inscription of your House words. “Where did you steal this from?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “You left it for me in my Gringotts vault. It’s my heirloom now. You have to believe me, there’s no way you can deny this.”

You take a step backwards, nibbling on your lower lip, as you stagger to your bed — Harry nearly stumbling to catch you in case you fell; adjusting to the living proof of time travel was quite difficult, he, of all people, should know. He exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “Magic, amirite?”

You throw a pillow at him, which he catches gracefully thanks to his Seeker reflexes, as you plop down in the comforts of your quilts. “Sleep. The other girls won’t be back until the end of the holiday. We can deal with whatever this is in the morning. It’s way too early for me to process the idea of a future Potter spawn following me around.”

Harry smiles. “Yes, mum.”

ONE THING THAT his fathers failed to tell him about you, and that Harry had to learn himself, was that you took ages to get ready. You sat on the chair in front of your vanity mirror, the birch wood legs whittled with snakes, and it was as though you had a Sticking Charm on the cushion. Harry didn’t know there could be so many creams, oils, and serums, and powders one put on their face. He blanches when you turn to offer him a cream for his under eyes. (“Suit yourself.” You shrug, turning to brush your cheek with dusts of pink. “Just saying, those dark circles aren’t doing you any favors.”)

“What am I like in the future?” You ask, a kind lilt to your voice, much like a warm hug, much like home.

Harry stiffens, shoving his hands in pockets of the robes that were twice his size — you had given him the garments of Lucius Malfoy to change in, which you apparently had stolen from his room. It’s come full circle, really, the Sorting Hat had once told him he would be great in Slytherin, and now here he was, looking fabulous in green — because he was about to hurl at the feel of the velvet on his skin, knowing slimy Lucius Malfoy had worn it. (“No son—” You pause with a tight purse in your lips, as if you still can’t accept the fact. Harry doesn’t blame you. “—no son of mine will be parading around in red of all colors, future or not.” And Harry finds that he really doesn’t care, so long as you call him your son.)

“Loved,” replies Harry gruffly, avoiding your eyes in the reflection of your mirror — they were piercing. One look and Harry wanted to spill all of his deepest, darkest secrets. He remembers the photographs in his album, the one he’s stared at so many times as a child. It’s a moving photograph of the five of you, fresh out of Hogwarts, each wearing a smile that stretched from ear-to-ear. Before Sirius and Remus, it was the only semblance of proof that Harry had — that you had once been alive. Remus is holding you by the waist in the picture, twirling you around as autumn leaves fell. You were — are — loved, and Harry thinks there’s no better description than that.

(“I bloody hated her cat,” says Remus with a roguish quirk to his lips, regalling Harry with more talks of his parents. “Sirius, too. We just never got along with the little creature. But your mother loved it, and we would have done anything to make her happy. She deserved it, you see. She deserved more than what I had to offer her, but still she chose me anyway. And I am a selfish man, Harry, I crave glimpses of her and the whispers of her voice. She has made me a mad man whose only reprieve is her touch.”)

You hum knowingly. “Stupid question, I guess. Since you aren’t allowed to reveal anything more about the future.” You sigh, gracefully threading your arms in the sleeves of your shirt, a green tie in the center of your collar. “Except, of course, when you gave me a heart attack in the middle of the night by telling me the last thing I want to become — no offense, I just don’t see how a relationship with those rowdy bunch would work. They get on my nerves far too much for me to ever feel anything other than disgust.”

Harry doesn’t need a mirror to see that his expression has contorted in confusion; brows knitted and upper lip crinkled. By their memories of you, you all were madly in love in Hogwarts. Damn. This just made his trip to the past a lot harder. No maze seems to be ever just a maze.

Luckily, you don’t notice him brewing a grand master plan to bring his parents together. Instead, you say, “But you don’t seem to be phased by any of this. If I had been thrown twenty years into the past, I would have puked my guts out twice at some point.”

“Thanks for the image,” says Harry with a scowl. Truthfully, it had either been a present with a noseless Dark Lord to face, trauma to unpack but really never have the chance to, or a past where all of his parents were alive, and a chance to talk with them for however long he has. He knows where he’ll be staying, thank you very much.

“Anytime,” You reply with an impish smile.

Your heels pad across the floor as you walk over to him, mouth clicking as you pat the top of his head, full of wild, untameable Potter hair. “You need a trim soon,” You mutter, frowning, as you brush the thick strands away from his eyes, then you gasp — and Harry knows exactly what’s coming next. “Oh, you’ve got Evans’s eyes. That’s freaky.”

“I know.” Harry grins.

“Here’s the plan,” You say as you lead him out of your room, making sure no one saw him walking out of your door and getting the wrong impression — because that would be so wrong on many levels, but also, explaining to someone else that the person beside you was a time-traveller was just complicated in general. The Slytherin dungeon is unfamiliarly familiar, eerily quiet, as the two of you made your way out. “Just say you’re Potter’s distant relative, twice or thrice removed, and you’ve always been here. If you lie to their faces enough, they’ll believe it eventually.”

“Will that work?” Harry doesn’t really mind — he needs a connection to James, his father, if he’s going to work out a connection between you and the others, because at the moment, it doesn’t seem like you’re too fond of them. There’s a tick on your jaw every time you mumble the word, Potter. Nevertheless, Harry decides he’s going to spend the duration of the holiday break trying to set you up with them — on the list of most insane things he’s ever done, living out the Parent Trap was high up the tally.

You shrug. “They’ve fallen for less.”

(“She’s got this adorable habit when she lies,” Sirius tells Harry, whipping up a stack of pancakes for their breakfast — Remus browsing through the morning paper. It’s the closest he’s ever been to a normal family. “It’s not obvious to her, of course, but I know her more than I know my own name. So we play along with it.” For a moment, he stops drizzling the maple syrup on the well-cooked batter, gazing at Remus fondly. “D’you remember that, Moony? She led us straight to one of her pranks, and we ended up covered in slug slime. She was so obvious — with her adorable fucking giggles. I need help with Charms, she said, and we knew right away it was a set-up. But it didn’t matter. I’d happily let her lead me to my ruin.”)

The Great Hall is the same as Harry remembers. Now that most have returned home for the holidays, those who stay back mingle with students from other Houses, sharing meals under the bewitched ceiling, their low murmurs and hushed Christmas greetings bouncing off the walls. Harry scours the four tables to find a hint of blazing red hair, or the scent of impending trouble. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to search very far. As fate would have it, James Potter finds you — and where he is, Sirius Black is sure to follow.

You’re barely seated when James comes bounding over to your table — more precisely, he struts, and Harry is horrified to ever be proven wrong by Snape, of all people. He ignores the roll of your eyes as he drags a leg over the bench, sitting to face you as Sirius occupies the space to your left before Harry can even sit down. He can’t even fathom how weird it is to see his parents as rambunctious teenagers. Lovesick, rambunctious teenagers.

“Morning, dove.” James preens under your glare, stealing a grape from your bowl with a boyish smirk. His hair looks as though he’s ran his hand through it many times. “You look ravishing today.”

“As always,” Sirius pipes in. “But that eyeshadow really isn’t complementing your skin tone, my darling.”

You smile at him, right before your lips twist into a cutthroat sneer. “Piss off, Black.”

James stifles a laugh as he shovels a mass of potatoes on your plate, then pumpkin pasties, and slides a steaming cup of Dragon Well tea in front of you.

“What the hell are you doing, Potter?” You reach over to smack his arm when he sprinkles apple slices and bacon on your breakfast.

“What does it look like?” James smiles lopsidedly. “You need to eat more, honey.”

(In the future, Sirius will tell Harry, “It started off as a joke, a way to get on her nerves — but then, it just became this thing about taking care of her, making sure she got enough sleep before her tests, wondering if she had breakfast or dinner, staying with her in the library, walking her to the Slytherin common room, and sending her stupid notes just to make her laugh. You don’t get it, Harry. I’d give my every breath to ensure her life. We all would.” Harry doesn’t see Sirius any more during that evening, but he hears a bottle crashing against a wall, cracking into a million pieces, and the masked sound of Sirius sobbing, and Harry decides to leave him alone for the night.)

Then, you tear your eyes away from James — he huffs, pushing your plate to you, mildly annoyed that you’ve deprived him of your eyes; they were his favorite part of you, you see, so expressive and full of life; James thinks you put the stars to shame — and thankfully, you remember that Harry still exists. You lightly smack Sirius’s leg until he gives Harry some room to sit. “Potter, meet other Potter. It’s the holidays, shouldn’t it be the perfect time to let go of House prejudices and spend time with family?”

James looks at Harry up and down. “You must be from dad’s side of the family with all that hair.”

Harry lets out a breath of relief. That was easy — way too easy. When he takes the vacant space in between you and Sirius, you dump all the available food on his plate, just as James had done for you.

“Eat,” You say with a tone of finality. “You look like the wind could snap you in half.”

“Yes, m—” Harry stops himself before he could finish his sentence, avoiding Sirius’s curious gaze.

“Wow.” Sirius pokes Harry in the shoulder and in the cheek. “You really look like a mini-James, you’ve even got his terrible eyesight.”

“Oi!”

Your fork clatters against the silverware as you turn to Sirius with a shrill. “Not that I do enjoy your company — because, trust me, I do not want you here at all and would very much prefer if you got out of my sight — but why are you here? The Gryffindor table is over there. Unless your housemates finally got sick of you, Potter, which I can definitely see happening.”

James chuckles, tossing another grape in his mouth without taking his eyes off you. “It’s as you said, isn’t it? It’s the time for putting aside House prejudices. And I think it’s a lovely day to enjoy a meal with my favorite snake.”

“Drop dead,” You retort, digging into your chicken with a little more force than necessary.

“Oh, dove.” James shakes his head, a teasing grin pulling at his lips. “It’s cute that you think death will keep me from you.”

(Harry’s been told before, probably by Sirius, that this line had been wedged into his wedding vows for you. “A dramatic one, James was,” Sirius chuckles to himself one morning, Harry and Hermione listening intently, “He always said he’d rather die than ever hurt her. There was this time in seventh year, they had a fight — it was ugly — and she had ignored him for a week. James cried in Remus’s arms begging him to cut his heart out, saying that he didn’t deserve to keep on breathing, not after making you cry.”)

“That is so creepy,” You say in disgust, scrunching your nose. Sirius chortles at your side. “I still wonder why Evans agreed to go out with you.”

“It’s all part of the charm, dove.” James winks. “It’s all part of the charm.”

Harry wants to barf, actually.

After breakfast, James then decides to introduce Harry to Lily, Remus, and Peter. (He’s gonna need the patience of a saint to not Avada Kedavra that rat on the spot.) Harry had spent the whole morning watching Sirius peel oranges and give them to you with a smitten look in his eyes — naturally, you gave whatever Sirius offered you to Harry, and each time Padfoot would visibly wilt. If he were in his Animagus form, Harry thinks he would be whining by now, tongue out and all. James and Sirius follow after you like lost puppies when you extricate yourself from the table.

“Where are you going?” James calls, hot on your heels as you leave the Great Hall.

“Away from you, Potter!”

And James actually sighs when you turn the corner and disappear from their peripheral vision. Seconds later, he turns to Harry with a blinding smile, “She’s definitely charmed.”

Harry chortles.

“Well, come on then!” James guffaws as he wraps an arm around Harry’s neck — this is so, so strange. They begin walking in the opposite direction of where you went. “I still can’t believe we’ve got another Potter here and in Slytherin. I think I would have remembered Minnie calling your name during the Sorting Ceremony. What year are you in?”

He’s supposed to start his sixth-year in a few weeks. “Fifth.” Technically.

“We should ask Lily,” says Sirius, hands in his pockets and ebony ringlets tickling his nape. “She’s got the best memory out of all of us.”

It’s odd, Harry thinks, meeting the person who’s got his eyes — or the other way around, as people have told him. It’s like someone carved out the emeralds of Lily Evans’s eyes and bestowed it upon Harry for safekeeping. She sits beside Remus Lupin, head resting on his shoulder, hands clasped together, as they enjoy the shade. Nex to them, oblivious to their intimate conversation, is Peter Pettigrew — with his rosy, cherub cheeks and innocent blue eyes; not at all the image of a pathological, cowardly liar. Their heads snap in attention as James boisterously cries for their name.

“Marauders — and Lily-pad — meet ickle Potter.” James lightheartedly whacks Harry on the back, to which Harry feels his lungs spill out from his mouth, he’s sure there’s an imprint of his father’s hand on his back now.

“There’s two Potters in Hogwarts?” Sea-green eyes look at him in scrutiny as Lily knits her brows. “How even is the castle still standing?”

James cackles like it’s the best joke he’s ever heard in his entire life, slapping his knee for dramatic effect. Oh, well, at least they’re buying Harry’s half-baked lie. At this point, it’s not even baked, it’s just wet, soggy, and poorly done. “Good one, Lily-pad!”

Sirius ruffles Remus’s shaggy blonde hair, canines bared in a wide grin. “This one here’s Moony, uptight prefect in the morning and absolute beast in the evening.”

Harry blanches. Surely he was talking about his furry problem, right? Right?

Remus doesn’t even flinch, just peels off Sirius’s hand from him and extends his hand out to Harry. “Please do not mind him. Remus Lupin, nice to meet you. Although, I can’t believe this is the first time we’ve met. We would have definitely remembered if we had another Potter in our midst.”

“It’s true, we Potters are just hard to forget,” says James, smiling cheekily.

Harry pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Mum didn’t take the Potter name. I’m part Dursley. Muggle.”

Lily hums, toying at the ends of her bright hair. “Dursley, huh? What a familiar name.”

“It’s a common one,” Harry assures her — not at all the names of the people who would take him in after they died. And make his life miserable.

“I suppose you’re right,” says Lily, unconvinced.

“And this is Peter.” James introduces the boy eagerly, pride in his voice — as though this isn’t the person who literally allies himself with Voldemort. As if Peter won’t betray his friends all because of fear.

“N–Nice to meet you,” Peter stammers with a nervous fidget, “Any family of James is a friend of ours.”

Harry’s eye twitches.

IT IS ALMOST COMICAL — the way their eyes land on your figure, bursting through the courtyard from the corridors, winter cloak swishing with every step, tendrils of hair swaying in the crisp wind, and head held up high, thick books under your arms. You pause in front of the Marauders, face blank, then you turn to Peter, greeting him with a: “Hello, only Gryffindor I can tolerate.”

Peter’s cheeks burn a saccharine hue of pink. Oh, no, no, no — absolutely not — Harry will not stand for a little crush Peter Pettigrew has on his mother. He needs James to act now. “Hi,” Peter replies shyly.

Lily quirks her lips. “Hello, princess, see your score for the Astronomy test yet?”

You scowl. “Zip it, Evans.”

The sound of Lily’s laughter fills the atmosphere — it’s the sort of melody that makes flowers bloom in deserts. “Had a bit of difficulty with the star charts?”

Sirius pinches your cheek — Harry thinks you’re going to murder him on the spot. “Difficulty? I think this one just slept through the whole thing.”

James snickers. “Must have been one hell of a nap, princess. You were drooling on my jumper.”

“I most certainly do not drool!” You gasp, appalled, eyes wide as you step away from Sirius.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “What? Is drooling too barbaric for the pretty, little pure-blooded princess now? Newsflash, pet, you’re just as human as we are.”

“Oh, you horrible, loathsome, infuriating—” You whip around to beat his chest with the course book in your grasp — it’s the kind of book Hermione would consider for light reading.

“Irresistibly attractive—?” Sirius supplies for you, grin widening with as he captures your wrist with his hands.

“In your dreams!” You shrill.

You exhale slowly, eyes closing, chest rising when you take a sharp inhale. You open your eyes and stare straight at Harry — for a moment he fears that you’ll bite his head off. “Harry, dear, will you accompany me to the library? I think I’ve found something important regarding your situation.”

Harry nods. “Is it time already?”

“Yes,” You say firmly. “And time is of the essence. Come on.”

“Wait!” Lily calls out to you as you turn to head back to the castle, Harry in tow — he tries to avoid the way James is glaring at your linked arms. “Hogsmeade next week?”

Your jaw falls to the ground — this must have been unrehearsed, if the others’ reactions were anything to go by; Remus had dropped his book in shock, Sirius looked like he couldn’t decide between applauding Lily’s bravery or shaking her, and James was somehow frozen in time. “Excuse me?”

“You’re excused, princess,” says Lily, dimples poking out of her cheek as she takes another step towards you. “You, me, Hogsmeade. A date. I’m sure you’ve gone on one of those before.”

Harry elbows your stomach as you stare at Lily in shock. It takes a few moments to break you out of your stupor. “A–And what makes you think I’ll just go with you?”

Lily shrugs. “I’m fit. Aren’t I, Remus?”

“The fittest,” says Remus without missing a beat.

You laugh incredulously. “Do you just expect me to go along with this? You’re mad, Evans.”

Harry glares at you. You need to go along with this.

“Are you scared, princess?” Lily’s face is inches away from yours, noses almost touching — Harry doesn’t know if he should keep watching this painful way of flirting — as she grins at you, happiness barely contained within her eyes.

To your credit, you don’t back down. (Harry has to say this for the masses: he saw your gaze flitter down to Lily’s lips for a split second.) “Stop calling me that, Evans.”

“One date, then.”

You growl in exasperation, eyes flickering to the boys behind her back — pretending not to hear their conversation. “I suppose I’ll have to deal with them as well?”

Lily beams and Harry swears sunflowers could grow in her direction. “We’re a package deal.”

“Unfortunately,” You utter — but Harry notices it, the lack of venom in your voice. You straighten your posture, nose lifted haughtily, “I choose where we’re going.”

“Done.” The sun peeks out from the cloud just as Lily smiles at you.

“And I want to—”

“Done,” Remus interjects raspily, peering up at you from underneath his lashes. “Anything you want, it’s yours.”

You fight a growing smile, but continue, “If we’re going out in public, you’re going to have to wear—”

“Done,” says James giddily, he looks as though he could kiss you in front of everyone without a care in the world.

“You can’t just agree to anything I say!” You flap your arms in frustration.

“Yes, dear,” Sirius teases.

“Do you know how much you piss me off, Black?” You squawk. “Because you are this close to—”

“You are so fucking beautiful,” Sirius confesses, every pretense shed raw from his skin, sincerity pouring from his words.

“I—” You falter, heat rushing to your cheeks. “You’ve gone mad.”

“It’s your fault, dove,” says James, eyes twinkling like crescent moons as he smiles. “You best take accountability for this.”

“You’re incorrigible — all of you,” You say as you avoid their gazes.

(But they were yours. Past, present, and future. They loved you so much that their soul was no longer their own — it was yours; yours to keep, yours to break, and yours to love. It would be unjust to ask them why they loved you. Do we ask why the sun rises each day without rest? Do we ask a daisy to stop blooming, or a tree to stop growing after it has endured storms and floods? After all, we do not ask why humans follow the light in a tunnel shrouded in darkness.)

“Come on, Harry, let’s go.” You reach for his hand, he notices immediately that the tips of your ears are pink, and your palms are warm with sweat. He barely sees Peter wave goodbye before you tug him in the direction of the castle entrance.

“Wait up!” Remus catches up to you two in quick strides, offering to carry your books for you — not that you agree, stubborn Slytherin that you are. “I’ll walk you to the library.”

“There’s no need for that, Lupin, thank you.” You dodge his eyes, lips tightly pressed together, nails slightly digging into Harry’s arm.

“Remus,” He says with a twinkle. “Call me Remus.”

“Alright.” You pause. “Remus.”

(In that moment, Remus wonders if you remember decking Lucius Malfoy in the face to defend him in your fourth year. He didn’t think he deserved to even breathe in the same air as you — the pure-blooded princess, dressed in clothing worth more than his life, adorned in jewelry he could only dream to afford, raised to believe she was better than everyone else. Then, you beat up Evan Rosier the next month in the courtyard, eyes ablaze, extravagant silk marred with grass stains and mud, and knuckles split open. You spit blood on the ground, looking at Lily then back at Rosier. “Red,” You say, kicking him one last time in the stomach, unafraid of McGonagall’s wrath growing louder and louder. “Just like everyone else. Like those Muggleborns you fear. We’ve all got dirty blood, Rosier. Suck it up.”

“I’ll tell your father about this!” Rosier bellows through bloody teeth.

“Tell him!” You grab his neck and slam your forehead against his. “Tell him that I decide my own future now!”

Remus doesn’t even have to think about it.

He falls in love.)

FUNNILY ENOUGH, IT’S LILY who gives you her heart first, before anyone else does. It’s the last month of her first year at Hogwarts — it still hasn’t quite sunk in yet that she was a witch. Her, not Petunia, but her — Lily Evans, the witch. Apparently, some people can’t believe it either. A girl from Ravenclaw calls her this foul word, she’s heard it a few times now but it always hurts the same. James and Sirius get into a fight for her honor, now faced with detention later this evening. But she can’t help but wonder, what if they were right? What if she really didn’t belong in this world? It was too good to be true, anyway. Perhaps she’ll just run a flower boutique with Petunia.

“Oi.”

The sound of your voice startles her, and she nearly topples over in the Great Lake. Lily catches sight of your Slytherin colors and resigns herself to another round of name-calling. “What do you want?”

“They’re wrong, you know,” You tell her, ignoring Lily’s question. You look down on her with your nose raised arrogantly — she wishes she could be like you. Born to be magic. “You’ve got a terrifying brain locked up in your head there, Evans. And they know it, too. They’re scared.”

Lily scoffs. “I’m just a Mudblood to them. There’s nothing to be intimidated by.”

You sneer. “Don’t say that word. You’re more than that. More than them. They’ve got long ways to go to prove they have a place in this world. But you — you’ve defied the odds and you were destined to become magic. You don’t have to prove anything. You have the right to be in the wizarding world and no one can take that away from you.”

Then, you pivot on your heels, not bothering to hear her reply. “You’re my rival now, Evans. Do keep up. We’ve got an Astronomy test tomorrow. I look forward to seeing how you do then.”

Lily just gapes. She’s certain there’s butterflies in her stomach. Her heart thumps wildly against her ribcage. Lily raises her hands to feel her blushing cheeks. There’s a light unfamiliar sensation in her stomach — like the urge to kick her legs and scream into a pillow, or more precisely, chase after you and hold your hand.

She stiffens.

Oh.

part two

#hp angst #hp fluff #hp imagine #hp x reader #james potter x reader #lily evans x reader #marauders angst #marauders fluff #marauders imagine #marauders x reader #sirius black x reader #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders fluff #remus lupin x reader

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evilminji · 7 months

Text

Actually? You know what would be darkly hilarious?

If, when the GIW can't get ghosts declared both malicious AND non-sapient/sentient? They push for "dumb animals" instead.

Which is accepted. Ghosts are animals. Checks out, says scientists everywhere.

HOW "dumb"?

What? Says the GIW, mid-victory high fives. They did not expect a follow up question. They SHOULD have, as this is the SCIENTIFIC community and that is literally their job, but here we are.

How. "Dumb"? The scientists repeate slower. What methodology did you use? What is your sample size? Are their different sub-species? Is this dimension like ours? Is Ghost the equivalent to Mammal? It says here their are humanoid ones.

What IQ are we talking about here and HOW DID YOU TEST??

A goldfish, parrot, and dolphin are all animals. WILDLY different levels of intelligence. You can't treat them the same. Technically speaking, WE are animals.

The GIW does not like where this conversation is going. Tries to shut it down.

.......well NOW the scientists are both offended AND invested. How DARE you try to push faulty science and hide the Truth from them! They're gonna do their OWN studies! *picks up the phone and dials that one embarrassing spiritualist friend they had in college* Hey! You still think you can summon ghosts? I'll pay you to try it for Science!

And like? As a Ghost? It's degrading as hell. But ALSO these fuckos just Whoopsie'd you into having both protections under the law, since animal abuse IS illegal, AND just put the ENTIRE planets scientific community on their asses.... by accident.

So you take a deeeeeeep breath you don't even need. Remember you're doing this for the little ghost babies and fluffy ghost animals. And show up at a research facility like "yes, hello, I am Ghost. Here for you to poke and prod at. Please ask me to name the object on the flash card or whatever IQ tests do these days."

Should you HAVE to prove your own fucking sentience? No. But? You do it. You're even polite about it. Ask for a copy of the study they plan to publish so you can BEAT some mother fuckers with it. The scientists nod in understanding and use the BIG font for your copy so it'll hurt more.

They've been there.

And just? Shitty people getting what they wanted only to have it blow up in their faces?? I see all these angst "but what if they were declared ANIMALS" prompts and I just?? Are we talking PARROT or goldfish!? One has the average intelligence of about a human 4yr old and the other is a FISH! People get RIGHTFULLY furious when you treat INTELLIGENT animals badly.

And would, in fact, adapt pretty easy to discovering one of said animal has become HUMAN lvl intelligent. It's easy to grasp the idea of human intelligence lvl dolphin or monkeys. Maybe there was some mutated strain, maybe in uetro tampering. Who knows. But if I tried to sell you a human intelligent housefly? Gold fish? Lizard?

You wouldn't believe me. There is some kind of trick at play.

So if GHOSTS are seen as animals? Everyone nods and then later? Someone comes in TV and very excitedly informs you "we found INTELLIGENT LIFE amongst the ghosts!" You'd believe it. Probably be really excited by your conversation starter for the day. Get a taco and move on with your life.

But? Having to willing sit for a barrage of testing? Is going to suuuuuuck so bad. Poor Danny. SATs all over again. For HOURS. At multiple facilities, just to be CERTAIN it's not a one off. All because he not certain he can insure good behavior from other ghosts and This Is IMPORTANT. He ALSO can't be certain it's even SAFE.

Might be a trap.

But if he has to do it again and again and again? Mexico to Bavaria to China to the Maldives? If this is what it takes for the scientific community to bitchslap the GIW into ORBIT before the UN? Hand him that pencil.

He has no where more important to be.

@hdgnj @nerdpoe @mutable-manifestation @ailithnight @the-witchhunter

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt #you wanna call me an animal?#well check mate!#SO ARE YOU #now they're asking what KIND of animal i am!#and THIS ghost is sayin SAPIEN!#i am in your scientific community #disproving your theories!#your studies were bad and you should feel bad!#danny phantom

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willsonlmt · 7 months

Text

Tim in the wayne manor living room telling bruce he is bisexual.

Tim: So yeah im bisexual.

Bruce: Well im proud of you no matter what and thank you for telling me.

Tim: Thanks Bruce.

Bruce: *sighs* Im glad that went well. I practiced alot for this.

Tim: You knew?!

Bruce: Oh no. I just thought itd be someone else coming out to me.

Tim: You thought it was gonna be Dick right?

Bruce: Absolutely.

A scoff comes from across the room. As they see Dick with his head in Wallys lap in the couch.

Dick: "how dare you say something so slanderous against me! You know what i dont have to take this verbal abuse." * Gets up and grabs Wallys hand.* "Come on honey were leaving."

Tim: Yeah i don't get how I'm the first.

#batfam #tim drake #bisexual #bruce wayne #dick grayson #red robin #nightwing #batman #are we sure he dick isnt bi #joke

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leviathanspain · 5 months

Note

Hey could you write a Finnick odair / reader where snow forces them to pretend to date like he did with katniss and peeta? The whole convince him and get married as a distraction thing? Thanks :)

the pretender

finnick odair x reader

synopsis: being reaped from the victor’s pool changed your life in more ways than you imagined

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

you were his favorite girl.

girl. you were a girl when you had been reaped, a girl when your feet stepped off the platform, more shocked that you didn’t immediately blow up into bits. a girl when you had committed your first kill. you remembered the sound of your knife slicing into human flesh for the first time. the ringing in your ears had become permanent after you had been too close to the explosion that had killed half of the tributes. an explosion that you had accidentally caused.

your rebellious spirit was fun at first, for the capital to laugh and delight in, until you stopped using the scripts that they had written for you, and tried to destroy the idea of the girl in their minds.

snow subdued you, tried to barter your family’s life with cooperation. unbeknownst to him, you hadn’t seen your family in years since they had abandoned you, for fighting against your father’s abuse.

“kill them. do whatever you want to them. just leave me alone.” your own words haunted you since the day snow had presented evidence of their murders. you didn’t dare flinch in his presence, holding a strong facade that you didn’t care, that they were beneath you.

as he left, irritated at your refusal to comply, letting ideas stir in his head with what to do with you, you broke down. tears shed as you realized that they were gone because of you, because you couldn’t let your anger go.

but snow liked you, he must’ve had a reason to keep you around for so long, and until just a few days ago, you hadn’t known why.

you breathed deeply as you heard your name called. it was deja vu, and suddenly you were back to the thirteen year old girl, who was so emaciated and starved that when her name was called, she believed she was hallucinating.

you looked crudely into the screen, not offering any smiles or sign of pride that you had been reaped, all over again.

“y/n l/n.” hearing your full name made you turn around immediately. you were slightly blinded by his blonde hair and pearly white smile.

“finnick odair.” you realized who the man was, quicker than you’d admit. the last time you had seen him was at a ridiculous capital party that snow had forced you to attend. finnick had been leaned against a wall, with two capital sluts hanging onto his shoulders, whispering in his ears simultaneously.

he smiled, not surprised that you didn’t say anything else besides his name. you had that tendency about you, to shoot down any attempt at conversation. even going as far to avoid it all together. “i’m glad you haven’t tried to run away, not after i had caught you eyes and you dashed off at that party. how long ago was that? three,” his speech hung onto the words, “four?”

“five months. it’s been five months, finnick.” you remembered his gaze, and remembered how your feet made you run at the sight. you had heard stories about finnick, and you weren’t exactly planning on ever talking to him.

“that’s right.” he smiled, “i hope you’ve been well since then. it was nice seeing you in something other than a bloody shirt.” his gaze suddenly seemed very far away, as if he was remembering exactly what you wore that night.

you shrugged, deciding to change topics, “everyone else is polishing their weapons,” you heard a guttural war cry, and saw another tribute lunge at a partner, “and methods.” finnick turned to the source of the cry and laughed slightly, “oh yeah? what’s your choice of weapon, again?”

“knives. anything long and sharp.” you always had an affinity for knives. it was second nature to you, an art of your district. your mind drifted away slightly to the array of knives that you had collected during your games. every tribute that you had slaughtered had a knife, and you collected them as a token. by the end, you had 23 knives, all representing a kill.

it had been upsetting when you went on your victory tour, to see the look on their family’s faces, but you had blurred out their emotions, and at the height of your submission to snow, had given out the same apathetic speech to every district.

finnick watched as your mind drifted back to reality. wherever you had gone for the better half of a minute, was a place finnick spent every waking moment, running away from.

he grabbed your shoulder, squeezing it slightly as he looked into your eyes, whispering your name, “hey, hey.” you focused on his eyes, gaze shifting to his mouth as they shaped the syllables of your name. you swallowed thickly, “im sorry-i…” you pulled away, his hand falling free of your shoulder. finnick watched as you exited the training room, your hands balled up into fists as you disappeared through the doorway.

“absolutely not.” you had spent your childhood under the thumb of one man, and you had barely made it out from under snow’s. this was only another way to get you under it once more.

finnick had his head bowed, having listened to snow’s pitch to make the two of you a couple. he needed something to distract the capital citizens from peeta and katniss, who everyone knew, was just a thorn in snow’s side.

“my dear, i really don’t think you have a choice in the matter.” snow’s eyes narrowed at you and you sighed, “what else is there left for you to do? im already being marched to my death, again, just speed the process up. poison me like you do the rest.” you took a good jab at one of the many secrets you had obtained, living in his cage.

snow laughed, “i would’ve done that a long time ago, y/n.”

just as you were beginning to argue again, finnick looked up, eyes catching yours. he held your gaze for a minute, blinking his wet eyes at you. there was something that was telling you that this wasn’t just about you.

finnick.

oh how could you forget finnick.

there was something clearly at stake for him too, otherwise why had he remained silent this entire time?

compliance was something he had to get used to, also under snow’s control.

“okay, fine.” you felt yourself swallow bile, “i’ll do it.” you looked at finnick, your future husband, and the reason why you were even agreeing.

“why did you do it?” his voice cracked, a raw noise as he looked over at you. you had been silent the whole time since leaving the meeting with snow. you shuddered with the strong winds, having been sat out on the stoop of the building, housing all the reaped former victors.

you looked at finnick, having caught his gaze, holding it for a moment, “my entire life i’ve been selfish, and i guess i realized that it isn’t always about putting myself first.” you knew the stories, heard the rumors. snow had barely played with the idea, making you like finnick, but you had always refused. there was nothing left for him to leverage, and so it never went anywhere.

but this, pairing the two of you was nothing short of cruel. finnick who has everything to lose, with you, who he probably didn’t expect to agree.

finnick hitched a breath, understanding what you weren’t saying. “thank you.” he breathed, “and im sorry.”

you stood up suddenly, nodding as you turned towards the entrance, “just-“ you cut yourself off, waving a hand as you continued inside.

he made the announcement. finnick had decided that with the pull he has on the capital, that he would be the one to do it. especially since he was so beloved, the attention from it was to challenge katniss and peeta’s.

you had agreed to play the part, and now you had to act like it.

there was loud cheering and applause from the crowd, and you were pushed out onto the stage, more cheers erupting as finnick stood up to meet you halfway. you kissed his cheek, grabbing his hand tightly as you two fluttered across the stage.

caesar flickerman was already standing there with a bright, capitol smile. “this is your lovely bride. we hear the honeymoon is the arena?” he looked at finnick who tipped his head back for a laugh, but didn’t answer outright.

you gave a soft laugh, “we just loved each other so much, we couldn’t wait.”

caesar looked at you, as if remembering who you were exactly, “wow.” he seemed truly amazed, perhaps even shocked.

finnick noticed the heaviness in the interview and turned his head at caesar, trying to keep the attention on the union rather than the individuals.

he grabbed your hand suddenly, clutching it tightly. as he held it for the rest of the interview, you staring at the faces in the crowd, more love struck than you, you wondered if he was trying to comfort you or himself.

“finnick.” you looked around behind you, only seeing peeta in front of you. the first few days in the arena had been a blur. you had stuck by close with finnick, who made it his mission to stay close to katniss. there was something he wasn’t telling you, but you didn’t once doubt him.

“finnick?” you whipped your head around and couldn’t find him. you were always in front of him, so he could remain in his eye line at all times. except you had failed to make sure he was in yours.

your ears started ringing as the panic set in. you scanned the trees and couldn’t find any sign of him or katniss, realizing this as peeta shared your same panicked look. your throat felt tight as you screamed his name, “finnick!” peeta suddenly took off, feet blazing towards more greenery. you had no choice but to follow, knowing finnick would’ve had you stick with peeta.

as you barely caught up to peeta, you saw him hit the floor as you ran up. whatever he had bounced off of was holding katniss and finnick back.

you looked at finnick, unable to catch his eyes as he looked up frantically. there was something you were missing, there were just bir-

“jabberjays.” peeta groaned out, “they can’t hear us, but they hear our screams.” he swallowed thickly, resting near the force field. katniss was knelt down at the edge, eyes tightly shut. you stared at finnick, at a loss for words. the panic in his face looked so real, you wondered who he was hearing.

you tore your eyes away, watching him suffer was not something you had signed up for. you felt defeated, unable to do anything as you and peeta sat like sitting ducks, waiting this torture out.

you hadn’t talked to him since the jabberjays. peeta had comforted katniss, in any way she’d let him. but they were different, you and finnick were different.

yes, you were married, he was your husband. but the issue was, you hadn’t much time to even begin to share intimate details, let alone have a good conversation. this was what snow wanted, an empty marriage to stir up all the attention.

except you knew your performance was failing. the audience could see right through you.

“hey.” finnick had snuck up on you. you had stayed a few feet away from him and the others, unsure how to handle it all. but it seems like finnick was trying to make it work. but it should be the other way around.

“finnick.” you breathed a sigh of relief unintentionally, hoping he didn’t catch on, you watched as he sat down on the sand beside you. he grabbed your hand, and for a moment you thought it to be genuine, until he raised an eyebrow.

right.

“i’m so sorry.” your voice hitched, and finnick steadied his gaze, “seeing you like that-“ you faked a choked sob, “i just couldn’t do it. i couldn’t look at you and see-“ you cut yourself off, throwing your head in your hands.

snow had to be happy that you were selling yourself off to protect finnick. but beside that heart to heart you had with him in the beginning, you had nothing else to go off of.

“i heard you.” finnick’s voice cracked, “you were screaming, these terrible, horrible screams.” he shook his head, as if he were hearing them all over again, making you realize that he was telling the truth. “and it wouldn’t stop.” he breathed. his breathing got harder and you found yourself kissing him to make him stop. finnick panted into the kiss, as if you had grounded him. you pulled back, catching his eye as you looked away.

your hand that he had been holding gripped his harder. you looked out into the water, watching as it’s dangerous waters moved, unsure on how you would survive this.

with or without him.

#finnick odair fluff #finnick x you #finnick odair oneshots #finnick odair angst #finnick x reader #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair smut #thg finnick #thg #thg angst #thg x reader #finnick imagine #hunger games finnick #finnick odair #finnick x y/n #finnick odair x you #thg imagine #thg smut #thg fanfiction

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