#ty for sending these bat!! <3

[polaroidcats]

51 and 63!!!

51. Are you a good liar?

hmmm I think I'm an okay liar? I am never sure if I'm a good liar bc whenever I lie it feels so obvious to me haha but I actually think it doesn't come across that way. I try not to lie much though, but ofc sometimes I do, usually just in situations like making small talk with coworkers or stuff like that, I'm very honest to the people I know and trust bc I see no point in lying to them!!

63. Which is cooler: dinosaurs or dragons?

Ohhh this was so much harder than I thought?? But dinosaurs! Dinosaurs are so cool!! (So are dragons, this really is a rude question, making me chose!)

Ask game!

#ty for sending these bat!! <3 #bat tag #ask game #Oh okay tag story abt the lying question #I do love lying in a way where it's very obvious to everyone involved that it's just a bit and it's for comedic effect #but I get really into it and sometimes then people who don't know me well start to question if I'm being serious #One time I held a passionate speech about how I think we should introduce more neoliberalist logic #into our work in an anarchist activist collective I was part of #and then some people started agreeing with me for real because they thought I was being serious #so that situation made me think maybe I am a believable liar #even though to me and everyone who knew me it was #very obvious I was just doing a bit #ok tag ramblings overrrr

[leejungchans]

Dunno if anyone has already sent you this but this is the TikTok @svtglitch sent the link to 👌

BESTIE ILY SO MUCH TYSM FOR SAVING THIS FOR ME 🤧🤧🤧🤧🤧🤧 also 12/10 agree with op if one day i stop having chanrot (which i highly highly doubt) please send me this video 😞😞💗💗💗💗 mullet chan i miss you come home your kids are waiting

#submission #and ty tawni for sending me this vid too if u see this 🥺💗 #megan 🦇💕 #bat-shark-repellant #moots <3 #lee chan bonk 🔨 #boyfie 🦦

[fae-tier-shit]

Hello! Take bat

Floof /silly

FLOOFY BOYYYY /POS

#I love when u send me bats #They’re so sweet #ty for the ask <3

[jeannineee]

Could you do headcanons on the Bat Boys + Lucien and Eris where reader puts them on a sex ban? Like how would long would they last until they start basically begging reader to let them touch reader.

I feel like Cassian and Rhys wouldn’t last that long and start trying to find ways to get reader give in lol.

Sex Ban with the ACOTAR Men…

a/n: this was actually really funny to write

nsfw under the cut (18+ please)

Rhysand:

He’s lasting maybe a week. MAYBE.

Rhys would also be cocky enough to think that you weren’t serious about banning sex

And then he’d be shocked when you follow through

He’d pretend to be unbothered

But he’d quickly turn to endless flirting to try and make you change your mind—mostly with his daemati abilities.

You’d be at an inner circle meeting or at lunch with friends and he’d send mental images of him fucking you, or you on your knees for him, etc.

“I bet you miss feeling me inside you,” he’d say into your mind.

You’re not leaving the bedroom for a couple of days when you finally lift the ban

Cassian:

Poor Illyrian baby isn’t making it more than a single day

He has a high sex drive so this would be a nightmare for him LMAO

He definitely pouts. Not obnoxiously, but he’ll wrap his arms around you from behind, placing wet kisses along the crook of your neck, murmuring how much he wants to feel you wrapped around his cock.

And when you say no, he continues telling you all the filthy things he wants to do you, smirking as he scents your arousal.

Tons of lingering touches—a kiss on the cheek, or a light squeeze on your ass as he walks by you.

When he’s finally had enough he’ll press his hardness into you from behind, practically whining.

And the way he nips at your ear makes it almost impossible to deny him.

Azriel:

He could wait for quite some time, honestly.

He has the self-control for it!!

However!! The longer you make him wait? The longer he edges you when you finally give in.

MAN he would have a field day when you finally lifted the ban.

He’d waste zero time in tying you up, be it with rope or his shadows.

For Azriel, he gets a lot of pleasure just from watching your pleasure. So he’d bring you to the edge, be it with his tongue, his cock, his fingers.

Only to pull away at the last moment. He wouldn’t stop until you’re begging him.

And boy does he love to hear you beg!!

Once he finally lets you come, he’s overstimulating you too.

He’s a lil mean but we love it.

Lucien:

Like Azriel, I feel like he could wait quite a while.

But he tries his absolute hardest to get you to break!!

Whispering what he wants to do to you when the two of you are at an important meeting or out in public, where you can do nothing about it.

Walking around the house shirtless—bonus points if he just finished showering or working out.

He definitely gets a bit more touchy than usual, constant hugs and kisses.

But when he’s finally had enough, this male is not above begging.

Good luck walking the morning after you finally give in ❤️

Eris:

He could go maybe two weeks before he becomes feral.

Definitely uses touch as a way to try and get you to give in.

Heated makeouts, his tongue exploring your mouth, as his thumbs caress your nipples; grinding against you, etc.

And then he’ll grumble when you deny him.

“Don’t forget how easily I can turn you into a mess,” he’ll say.

He definitely proves that statement when you end the ban!!

When you finally end the ban, he draws at least 3 orgasms from you back to back, and makes you beg for each one.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar headcanon #acotar fanfiction #acomaf #acotar smut #smut #female reader #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #rhysand x reader #rhysand #Lucien Vanserra #Eris Vanserra #Cassian acotar #acotar Cassian #Cassian x reader #Eris Vanserra x reader #Lucien Vanserra x reader #Rhysand smut #Lucien smut #Eris smut #Cassian smut

[mountainficss]

HHHIII .. any thoughts abt brat tamer wonwoo ??? HEHEHE HES SO AHDJWK I love him😭😭😭😭🙁🙁

-🦈

HIII BABE I MISSED U 🩶🩶🩶

i see wonwoo as someone who would be very patient, so it would take a lot of pushing to get him to finally snap. lots of teasing throughout the day for sure. you’d wear revealing clothing when you go out with him, low cut shirts and cute little skirts to show off your form. you’d cling to his arm as you walk together, pressing your chest against him and batting your pretty eyelashes. you’d give him the most innocent smile despite knowing that he can see right down your shirt. he’d huff and rip his eyes away from your cleavage, trying his best to keep his urges under control.

you’d constantly bend over or show off by giving him a little twirl, your short skirt giving him a glimpse of your ass every time you moved too much. “wonwoo, do you like it?” you’d grin, grabbing the sides of your skirt and spreading the fabric to show him how pretty it is. he’d swallow, clenching his jaw as he nods slightly. you knew you were pissing him off, so you’d just continue to fuel the fire.

once you get home you’d change clothes in front of him, stripping off your cute outfit leisurely just to tease him. you’d take your sweet time peeling off everything but your panties, slipping on a robe and tying it loosely so skin is still exposed. seeing you undress like that would be his breaking point, roughly grabbing you from behind and pulling you back against his chest. he’d reach around and untie your robe, letting it fall to the ground and pool at your feet. he’d pick you up and toss you on the bed, flipping you over so your ass is up in the air for him. he’d be standing at the edge of the bed, grabbing your hips and tugging your body towards him. he’d grab your panties and yank them down to where your knees are pressed into the mattress, not even bothering to take them completely off. the way he’d manhandle you would give you butterflies, and your stomach would do nervous flips as he shoves two of his fingers into your mouth from behind. he pushes them so deep you almost gag, but just as quick as he thrusts them in your mouth he’s pulling them out again. instead he’d opt to shove his wet fingers into your heat, eagerly fucking into your hole right away. “done being a fucking brat now?” he’d hiss quietly, listening to your wanton moans as you move your hips back against him to feel them deeper. you’d look over your shoulder, meeting his eyes with a devilish grin. “no,” you’d sneer. “i like pissing you off. you’re hot when you’re mad, wonu~” he’d say nothing, just scoff and thrust his fingers harder. his quiet confidence would do nothing but turn you on more. he’d intentionally bully your sweet spot, watching you squirm and grip the sheets below him. he’d feel you tighten around his fingers as you unexpectedly cum around him, your orgasm so powerful your knees almost give out. he’d slow down his thrusts, gently fucking into your heat to help you ride out your climax. you could hear the sound of him unbuckling his belt with his free hand, the faint clink of the buckle unclasping sending a chill across your skin. “need to teach you how to behave,” he’d mumble, using his fingers still coated in your release to stroke his cock. you know you’d be in for a looong night when you misbehave around wonwoo, and that was the goal <3

taglist: @imprettyweird , @jeonghanpill , @bangantokchy , @caratboy , @bewoyewo , @c-hanniehae , @wonvsmile , @haolovre , @aaniag , @writingbarnes

#thoughts #seventeen smut #seventeen #smut #svt smut #wonwoo smut #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo #seventeen wonwoo #svt #svt wonwoo #mountainficss

[anoa-eunoia]

Run - Dark! Tyler Galpin x Reader

Run.

Just run.

Don't look back.

Run.

Y/n kept telling herself. It had been almost 3 months since her and Tyler had supposedly disappeared and after building his trust up and convincing him she wouldn't leave no matter what she managed to make her escape in the dead of night.

So there she was running for her life bare foot in the snow knowing the second he arrived home and realised she wasn't there all hell would brake lose but what she didn't know is that he'd already been home and wasn't too far behind her. Her chest felt tight.

"Y/n." She heard his voice not far behind her she ducked behind a tree holding her breath "Baby, I know you're here... just come out and we can go home and everything will be okay." She didn't move a muscle until she thought he was gone before she started running again only this time she took a misstep before stumbling and landing on her ankle she let out a Yelp

"There you are princess." She heard from in front of her but she wasn't going down that easily. She stood up adrenaline masking the pain before she began running once again "stop running y/n. This isn't a game anymore, I'm not in the mood to play." He snapped before she buckled once more falling to the ground.

"No, No, No, get away from me." She practically screamed shuffling on her back trying to moved from him. He let out a menacing laugh as he stood in front her he grabbed her Cheeks, gripping so tight she couldn't breathe.

"Oh Princess did you think you could get away that easily?" He said pain shooting through her face he had definitely drawn blood for how tight he gripped her face. He had her now. She let out a loud sob, not out of fear of him. But because she was so fucking close to getting away but he HAD to notice she was gone so soon and start gaining on her in no time. He had the upper hand until she noticed a fairly large rock that she could just about reach

"What made you think I'd just let you get away?" He said she could hear the venom in his voice they heard a voice in the distance and while he was distracted by it she took it as her opportunity to grab the rock and with as much force as she could she hit him over the head with it causing him to fall off her her and with that she got up running faster than she had before pain shooting up her leg. She soon realised where she was when she saw a shed with its lights on in the distance which only made her run faster.

She got to the shed realising it was none other than Xavier’s studio . Y/n pounded on the door with everything she could turning back to see He wasn't to far away "PLEASE!" She yelled banging on the door harder before she felt an arm around her pulling her away from the house as the door swung open

"Y/n?" She heard the voiced Xavier before he realised what was going on

“Get off of her!" He yelled running at him with a bat in his hands

"Don't make me kill you Xavier.” Tyler said but Xavier didn't know what to do. He swung his bat only for Tyler to throw y/n to the ground before charging at Xavier hitting his as hard as he could knocking the wind out of him

"Leave him alone!" Y/n begged as Xavier only fought back this time getting thrown a few feet away his head hitting the ground leaving him on the floor unable to do anything

"Oh Y/n look what you've done, I can never trust you." She cried out again as he slammed his knee into her stomach his other foot stepping on her ankle sending her tumbling to the ground "God what am I gonna do with you now?, l can't have my Girl running away from me now can I?” He dug his nails into her face as tried pushing him off

"Stop please, I'm sorry I'll be good." She begged he shook his head

"oh it's too late for begging now Doll. I'll make sure you'll never leave me again." He said she could feel her vision getting blurry from the pain as she continued to try fight him off more concerned for Xavier’s safety if she blacked out rather than her own.

“Ty - please… I’m sorry, please Tyler. I love you!” she sobbed his hold on her loosened slightly as those last three words left her mouth

“Liar!”

“No Tyler I do, I love you!” She wasn’t lying she hated him more than she thought was possible but she did love him. He made her feel loved and wanted but in a fucked up way that made him need serious help.

“Say it again.” He said and in that moment she saw the Tyler she fell in love with all those months ago. The Tyler that would have never dreamed of hurting her. The Tyler that cried while they watched high school musical two. The Tyler that used to sneak into nevermore at night to read to her until she fell asleep. The Tyler that loved her not the Tyler that was obsessed with her.

“I love you.” She whispered her words hardly audible as she felt herself slowly drifting out of consciousness until she was completely out of it.

It was a matter of hours later when her eyes fluttered open. Her face burned as she came too and it hurt to breathe. It was only when she noticed Tyler sat across from her that she also noticed the chains around her ankles and wrists

“Ty… no please.” She said pulling at the chains tears streaming down her cheeks he just sighed before getting up from his spot crouching by her head.

“I’m sorry Doll, but until you prove that you’re going to be a good girl it’s for your own good.” He told her reaching up to wipe her tear away. She would have usually flinched but she’d given up. All hope she’d had of ever being free was gone.

He had won

#tyler galpin #tyler galpin x reader #tyler galpin imagine #wednesday #wednesday addams #wednesday x tyler

[laceswan]

The Spirit of Fate

The Smiling Princess, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt. 5

Finnick Odair x fem!dancer!reader

What if the equivalent of a Disney Princess was thrown into the Hunger Games? Sylke is optimistic and has an affinity for all that is gentle and sweet. What happens when she is placed in an arena and forced to kill or be killed?

Fluff and angst, strangers to lovers, T/W: canon-typical violence

Epilogue is out!

Finnick woke up with a startled gasp. With eyes wide open he was now incredibly aware of all that was touching his body. He could feel the suit from the arena clinging to his body, the cold air and the mask on his face, and a bandage on his arm. Looking around, he saw the inside of a jet much like the one had taken to get to the arena. Beetee and Katniss were in a similar position, lying on mats on the floor with bandages and wires monitoring them. Behind a frosted glass door he heard voices. Slowly, he stood up and walked over to the door. Inside, he found Haymitch and Plutarch sitting by a table and talking.

“You’re up.”

“I am. Where are the others?”

Plutarch stepped closer. There was sadness in his expression, but Finnick had half a mind not to trust it.

“Snow got to them before we could, there wasn’t any time.”

Finnick leaned against the table, his head hung low and defeated.

“Alright… what about Sylke, where’s she? Are we headed to the house or-“

This time it was Haymitch that spoke. He placed a hesitant hand on Finnick's shoulder.

“Finnick, I’m really sorry.”

Terror painted across Finnick’s face.

“We sent some people, but by the time they got there…”

Haymitch trailed off as Finnick sunk into his body. He let his body fall onto a chair, but had it not been there he would have just ended up on the floor. He assumed the worst. His hands flew to cover his mouth and muffle the little cries that came out. He’d already suffered her death once before, why again?

“Do we at least have her body? I want… I wanna give her a proper burial.”

His voice was shaky, but this was what needed to be done. He needed at least to say goodbye.

Haymitch looked to him with utmost pity.

“Son, she’s alive. They got her.”

And suddenly her death felt like a blessing. Burning emotion seized his body. It wasn’t even rage, nor terror, just pure anguish.

“No, no! You told me-you promised! You promised we would get her out!”

Haymitch sighed.

“I made a lot of promises. We’ll send a rescue team when the dust settles.”

Finnick nodded. His whole body was still stricken and trembling with agony, but he wasn’t one to throw a tantrum; especially not when he knew firsthand the nuances of covert operation in the capitol. Katniss, however, was a different sorry. When she heard about Peeta she did everything Finnick’s impulse had urged him to do. She screamed and shouted, even attacked Haymitch. She clawed and batted at him like a desperate animal, repeating that he made a promise, that he was a liar. Finnick could only watch, for once feeling pity, as well as understanding. Ten years ago, he would have done exactly the same.

When they landed in District Thirteen, Finnick, Katniss, and Beetee were sent to the infirmary. The lightning strike had presented some complications to Finnick’s health, so they dressed him in a white gown and admitted him to a small room with a thick glass door until he recovered. The room was probably white too, clinical and pristine, probably cleaned by the hour. But right now, it looked like it was coated in mustard gas. The lights buzzed with a sort of iodine yellow hue, washing the room in an ominously warm colour.

During his recovery, they allowed him few personal items-not that he had many to begin with. He was however, able to get some rope. When he was awake his mind would race. There was nothing to do, nothing to keep him distracted, his only task was apparently to recover. He could at least keep his hands busy, tying and untying the same couple ropes until there were blisters on his hands. It helped to move his hands, but not enough. Every second, his head was flooded with thoughts of her. Perhaps he had brought this on himself, refusing to think about her for so long in the arena, simply because there wasn’t time. Now, he had all the time in the world, and it felt wrong not to think of her at every moment. They were keeping her alive, he was sure of that much. They wouldn’t give up their leverage so easily. Was she in a similar room, white and cold with a similarly racing mind? We’re they hurting her? Or was she still just some pretty thing in a cage? Was she able to dance? A bittersweet smile came to Finnick’s face when he pictured her dancing. He saw her in a room just like his, in a gown just like his, dancing barefoot around the room with her eyes closed. It brought him comfort, the idea that she could perhaps maintain at least a little joy. But of course, thoughts of her dancing were followed by a much more somber and unfortunately likely possibility. In his mind, Finnick couldn’t help but wonder if they were restraining her. He saw her strapped fo a bed much like the one he had in the infirmary, struggling and begging to be given even a moment of freedom to move. He at least had that privilege. He could pace, sit on the floor, even dance if her wanted to. What if she couldn’t? Such questions plagued him mind. The span of morbid possibilities refused to be ignored, and so he listened to that dangerous voice. He fell into a spiraling rabbit-hole of ways she might have been hurting, only further enabled by his present utter inability to help her.

It affected his health too. The doctors called it a parasympathetic stress response, but all he understood was that it felt like shit. He was always tired but only sometimes able to sleep, he experienced phantom pain in random places, and everything took longer to heal. The time he spent in the infirmary was miserable. It was miserable for Katniss too. She had a nightmare once and came into his room. That night was perhaps his lowest point. It was when death looked so welcoming, so lovely a fate to experience, if only it would come sooner. The only thing that kept him alive was knowing the capitol wouldn’t let her die. He refused to die if she was still alive and hurting.

Katniss somehow recovered much faster. Finnick was a little jealous, that she was able to keep living her life even when Peeta was in the capitol. She was discharged, and not long after, Coin called everyone to hear a speech, which included those admitted in the infirmary. Finnick stood with the doctors and other patients, making a little patch of white in a sea of grey. Coin announced that Katniss was to be the face of the rebellion, and that in exchange for that, there were some “concessions”. Specifically the extraction the the victors held hostage in the capitol. The crowd began to clamor at the mention of Peeta’s name. They shouted and exclaimed, rejecting Peeta’s rescue. Katniss made her way over as Johanna’s name was announced.

“Finnick, I made the deal for Sylke too.”

Coin’s voice boomed through the hall.

“…and Sylke Fairinan”

Their was utter silence at her name. Some people looked a little confused. Finnick was just a little shocked himself as well. He never quite thought of Sylke as a victor. Hearing her name, her full name, announced like that to a crowd made her feel like a public figure, a celebrity, someone with an image and a life they hide from the world. But to him she was just Sylke, that’s what she’d always been. He hadn’t even heard her last name in ten years. She was always just Sylke, the angel that occupied eternal space in his mind and heart.

“Once freed, they will be granted pardon for any and all crimes committed against the rebel cause.”

The crowd once again resulted into vocal dissent and anger. A worries look quickly came to Katniss’ face. Finnick tried to console her, knowing the two of them were the only ones with loved ones hostage in the capitol.

“Good.”

She looked to him, concerned and clearly unsure of herself.

“That’s good, Katniss.”

For the first time in a long time, there was a small smile on his face. There was hope again, however small.

“If Katniss Everdeen fails to fulfill her duties, the deal will be off.”

That look of fear and heartache returned to both of their faces as the people filed out of the hall. It occurred to Finnick as he made his way back to the infirmary that his spirits were rather fragile now. That night, when he was alone, words couldn’t help but escape his lips. Even with Coin’s speech, hope was hard to hold onto. Finnick sat on the floor of his room, leaning against the bed with his head hung low.

“Angel, how do you do it? How do you stay smiling? I’m trying, I promise.”

His voice was quiet, speaking words meant only for him and someone miles away.

“I’m so tired.”

He cried quietly to himself, though did eventually drift to sleep there on the floor.

Finnick recovered slowly. While Katniss was filming propos and being the Mockingjay, he was in the infirmary. He wallowed, but with every day came a little more hope. Katniss and Beetee sometimes came to see him, bringing news of the rebellion’s plans. Smiling got easier, as did picturing Sylke dancing. The idea that she would be alright seemed more and more true. When the phantom pains and memories of Sylke finally became manageable, he traded in his white gown for a grey jumpsuit.

The whole of thirteen gathered one night to watch Katniss’ new propo. He was horrified by the bombing, he was angry with Snow for uncountable reasons, what he was not was triumphant. At the end, the symbol of the mockingjay came onto the screen accompanied by a message. Join the fight. The crowd chanted their celebration like they won a war. That sort of victory song always felt misplaced to Finnick. Blaring horns and happy voices when people lie dead on the battlefield. People showering him with gifts and congratulations just after someone died in his arms. But that was what the propos were meant to do. He looked to Katniss beside him, and she had a similar look of confusion and discomfort.

“You don’t like hearing a fight song at a funeral, huh?”

She turned her head to look at him. He continued, reminding her and himself of what they needed to remember.

“The more people on our side, the closer we are to Sylke and Peeta.”

She nodded. No matter how icky it felt, this was what needed to be done.

The days passed with incredible monotony. Every day was exactly the same, the same schedule, the same people. The only variety came in the form of news, speeches, broadcasts. One night, Finnick visited Katniss in her room and they watched Peeta’s interview. He was crying, and he looked terrified. Finnick in a way envied her, for she able to see Peeta’s face and know that he was at least physically healthy. But he also knew that the pain of seeing him say everything they couldn’t believe in was a whole different world of pain and confusion. In the short time he knew Peeta, the subject of rebellion or even government never really came into conversation. It was the same with Sylke. Perhaps that was the worst part; that what Peeta was asking of Katniss and the rebels seemed entirely possible. From where he was standing, he just wanted the violence to stop. He was most certainly being fed information, being manipulated by the capitol, but the root of his argument was something understandable. It was almost reminiscent of Sylke’s words in her interview so long ago. She was never one for violence or combat. Ever since the beginning, she favoured diplomacy, kindness, and compromise. Finnick couldn’t help but wonder if Peeta’s words were even that treacherous. They were currently entrenched in desperate times, and thus desperate measures were called for. But later, they would need people like Peeta, like Sylke, to remind them of the value of compassion. Finnick made a small promise to himself, that he would try to be one of those people, at least when the fighting was over. If they managed to win, he was going to try to be like her. To be kind, to have mercy, and to offer grace.

The next day, he went with Katniss to hunt above ground. It was calming for both of them, getting to move and use the skills they had honed for years. That familiar feeling of a trident sinking into flesh, the thwip of an arrow as it flies through the air, it brought them comfort. They did eventually sit down too.

“I’m glad we were able to come out today. I think you needed this after last night.”

She nodded.

“I don’t like watching those broadcasts, but I can’t look away. He’s so different already. What are they doing to him?”

Finnick was quiet for a moment.

“I don’t know. I think that’s the worst part.”

“It is. They could be telling him to say all that stuff and threatening to kill him, or maybe they’re actually convincing him it’s true. I don’t know what’s better.”

“I don’t think there is a better. It’s all bad when it comes to Snow.”

She murmured agreement. They were quiet again, listening to the birds and the rustling trees. Nature has such an ability to soothe, with her ambient noise and dappled light. It made them feel safe enough to talk.

“Is it bad that I just want this to be over? Sometimes I think he’s right, that we should just give up. At least then I could see him again.”

“I don’t think that’s bad, Katniss. I think it’s human.”

She looked unsure of herself.

“You miss him. And you want to be with him, so you can know he’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Do you want it to be over?”

“Of course. I just want to know she’s safe. That safety could come with a ceasefire, or with victory.”

“Yeah. But a ceasefire means she goes back to that mansion.”

Finnick clicked his tongue and tilted his head in agreement.

“And that’s why I’m here. If we win, we wouldn’t just be safe, we’d be happy. I want her to be happy.”

Katniss smiled.

“I think I could be happy with him.”

They spent a few more hours talking in the forest, confiding in each other as the only other people who could relate, who knew this special sort of pain. Their afternoon in the forest was a nice respite, but they did eventually need to return to the concrete rooms under the earth.

After the attack on the dam, another interview was broadcast. Peeta called it inhuman, begged her to stop. He looked so genuinely terrified. But what he was scared of was unclear. There was something just behind the camera, something that instilled and powerful fear in him.

“They’re coming, Katniss. They’re gonna kill everyone. And in District Thirteen you’ll be dead by morning-“

The broadcast was cut off as he was dragged away. Sirens began to blare, people filed out to level forty. If there was panic in the air it was hard to detect. People were calm and orderly as they rushed down the stairs, perfectly trained soldiers. That is, until water rained from above and the lights went out. People screamed, ran, let go of order in favour of getting to the bunker. People would scream each time a blast hit. When the night grew quieter, no one slept. They just kept waiting for the cracks in the ceiling to widen, for the walls to cave in and for death to arrive. Finnick sat in one of the beds, fiddling with the gold bangle instead of rope, which he had given to Katniss during the bombing. She had looked like she needed it more than him. In the quiet of night, Katniss walked over and sat beside him.

“He’s taunting me, using Peeta to punish me. I didn’t understand until just now, watching that stupid cat.”

“Yeah. That’s why he took Sylke too.”

Finnick sighed before continuing.

“After your first Games, I thought the whole romance was an act. We all expected you’d continue that strategy. But it wasn’t until Peeta’s heart stopped and he almost died that…"

He looked at Katniss directly, hoping to convey just how sincere and vulnerable this conversation was for him. This sort of openness wasn't exactly natural to him, but it needed to be said, and right now, she needed to hear it.

"I misjudged you. You love him. Anyone paying attention can see it.”

“How do you live with it?”

“I’ve been doing it for ten years. For five of them I thought she was gone. I did the whole self-pity thing the first time around. I had nightmares-I still do. But you learn not to give in to it. It gets easier.”

She listened, nodding her head ever so slightly.

“But then it happened again. And it takes ten times longer to put yourself back together than it does to fall apart, you saw how long I was in the infirmary. But if Sylke taught me anything it’s that little joys can keep you alive. They kept her sane in that house, and they’ve kept me going down here.”

Katniss didn’t say anything. They sat in silence for a while, and once Finnick started nodding off, she went back to her sister and mother.

In the morning, she was gone and thirteen was buzzing with action. Finnick was sitting, anxiously waiting for something he could do to help. Beetee was working through the capitol’s electronic system or something, there was a rescue team setting up, and all Finnick could do was watch. He had signed up to be on the team, but as a refugee and not a soldier, they informed him that he couldn’t. By nightfall they finally had a job for him. He was going to be a distraction broadcast so they could jam the whole system, and the team could safely get it. He stood on a pile of rubble and white roses, with stagelights warming his skin.

“This is Finnick Odair, winner of the 65th Hunger Games. I’m coming to you from District 13, alive and well. We’ve survived an assault from the capitol. But I’m not here to give you recent news. Instead, I’m here to tell you the truth. The truth about the capitol.”

He continued for what felt like forever, indulging in his whole story, the one he only ever told Sylke. The story of how after he turned sixteen, he was sold like a commodity to socialites in the capitol. That he wasn’t the only one, and if you refused, your loved ones were killed. That there was one girl who was dead to the rest of the world, but Snow brought her back just to sell her.

“Remember Sylke Fairinan? She was your princess. You dressed her up in fancy gowns and gold tiaras before she went into the arena. I felt her die in my arms. And then they started her heart back up and sold to the highest bidder. Lycan Indigo. He kept her like a doll, locked in a mansion for ten years. She’s alive. You kept your princess in a gilded cage. And what's worse, after ten years in that place, after slowly learning to find happiness there, you've taken her from it again. President Snow is holding her hostage, to taunt me. He is not the kind man he shows himself to be.”

Finnick kept going. He revealed Snow’s history of poison and assignation, the reason behind his heavy perfume, the bloody sores in his mouth, every secret he knew was a secret no longer. As he spoke, one or the people behind the camera spoke up.

“Okay, you can stop.”

“Is there a problem?”

“Yeah, it looks like they’re broadcasting Katniss now.”

Finnick nodded, unsure of what was going on. They went back down to find everyone looking incredibly distraught. He and Katniss sat in a room, silent, waiting for news. He once again had the rope in his hands, tying and untying knots to keep his hands busy. He had to think she was safe. He had to. Cause if he considered for even a moment that she wasn’t, he’d fall apart again. When Haymitch opened the door, their eyes show up.

“They’re back.”

All that needed to be said for them to get up and sprint to the landing area. Johanna was the first one they saw. She was gaunt, her head shaved, but a smirk was still on her face. And then he heard it.

“Finnick? Finnick!”

That voice he hadn’t stopped hearing for ages, but only ever in his head. Her name fell from his mouth involuntarily, quietly questioning if it was real as he ran towards the source of her voice. Later, people would tell him that they said each other’s names perhaps a thousand times in that single exchange. He would notice later that she looked weak, her hair was longer and had lost some of it’s shine, and that despite all that her spirit had in no way dimmed. Her eyes had lit up when she saw him walk in the room. And suddenly, it was as if there was no one in the world but the two do them, crashing through space to reach each other. They collided and lost balance, slamming against a wall, but they stayed there, clinging into one being. Indivisible. He whispered like he didn’t believe it.

“You’re safe…”

She pulled her head out from his embrace to look at him, nodding with a smile. Whether they were smiling or laughing or crying, even they didn’t know. Words fail to describe the joy, the relief, the wonder of being back together. When heart rates slowed and the dust settled, they finally spoke. Finnick had a smile the magnitude of which hadn’t touched his face in far too long.

“Hi.”

“Hi. It’s been a minute.”

As though they were one being, they burst into simultaneous and gentle laughter.

“Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

“No, no, I’m okay. They beat me up a little, but I’ll be alright.”

“They what?”

Finnick’s voice was hoarse, breathy. He knew that they would do that, and yet in that moment he couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe that someone would ever want to hurt her. Not even Mr. Indigo did that. But her smile clearly wasn’t gone. With a voice laced with affection, she put a hand against his cheek and reassured him.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. You guys got me out before they started my ‘treatment’. I’ll be just fine, I promise.”

“We should get you to the infirmary.”

“Okay.”

Still refusing to stop touching her, Finnick scooped her into his arms and carried her himself to the infirmary. On the way there, her head was nuzzled in the crook of his neck.

“I was right, you know.”

“Hmm? How?”

“I knew you’d come back to me. You didn’t win, but you didn’t have to. I told you, didn’t I?”

“You did. You were right to hope.”

She laughed to herself, closing her eyes. Even with her sunny disposition, her body was clearly exhausted.

“Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

As her body melted further into his and her breathing slowed, he continued walking. They didn’t put her in a room, apparently her condition wasn’t that bad, so she would only need a bed for a few days. Mostly bruises, a couple of open wounds, but nothing bad.

When she woke up, she found herself in a cold room devoid of colour. For a moment, she wondered if it was a dream. Sitting up, she looked around. Finnick wasn’t there, and neither was anyone else. The curtains were drawn. Had they moved her to a new place? We’re they starting her treatment? She hastily removed the IV from her arm, leaving the patch with the needle and luer connector, but no tubing. Whatever they were pumping into her needed to stop there.

“Johanna? Peeta?”

Silence. She heard faint chatter from just outside, doctors or scientists getting ready. Hesitant feet touched the ground. Her fingers brushed against the thin fabric of the curtain. Fear kept her from grasping it. What would she see on the other side? There was hope in her still that she was safe, that she wasn’t in the capitol anymore, but what if she was wrong? What if she was still there, destined to be Syren Indigo? What if she was wrong to hope?

“Hello?”

She heard footsteps. Fearing the scolding that might come should they find her out of bed, she laid back down and put the IV back against the luer connector, though not actually placing it inside. Hopefully she’d be able to fool them. The footsteps got louder. It wasn’t necessary, but she wasn’t ready to face them yet, so she relaxed her body and closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep. She heard metal rings scraping against a pole as the curtain was opened.

“Sylke?”

That was his voice. She wanted to open her eyes, see him, but what if it was a lie? What if this was the start of her treatment? She heard how it started with Peeta. They played him altered clips and all sorts of things. What if this was one of those?

“Oh. You’re still asleep.”

A chair was pulled up, and someone sat down. A warm hand smoothed out her hair. She took a long inhale. No perfume. The hand then gently rested on hers. She knew that touch, and it made her flinch. But still terrified, she kept her eyes closed. The technology of the capitol could do anything.

“Sylke? Are you awake?”

That was his voice. He sounded so real. Even if it wasn’t him, couldn’t she take a look? Even if it was fake, couldn’t she see his face again? That voice of temptation was so loud. What would be the worst that could happen? They were going to wake her up anyway. Slowly, hesitantly, she opened her eyes. And there he was. With those lovely green eyes staring right back at her.

“Hey, Angel. How are you feeling?”

She frantically searched his eyes, before looking to everything else around her. His eyes looked right. His face too. He was in a grey jumpsuit. Everything else was grey too. Behind him was what the curtain used to cover. It looked like a hospital. It was quiet, but not deadly silent. It didn’t look the same. The walls weren’t pristine white, they were concrete. The lights would flicker every now and then, nothing seemed quite perfect like it was before.

“Angel? Is everything alright?”

She looked back at him with terror in her eyes.

“Are you real? Are you really here?”

He moved closer to her, with nothing but love and affection in his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m real. We’re safe. We’re in thirteen, remember?”

“We are?”

“Mhmm. You’re in the infirmary right now, but they said you can be discharged in a day or two.”

He looked at the IV lying unconnected at her arm, and plugged it back in with a chuckle.

“That is, if you actually listen to the doctors and take the meds they give you.”

She smiled, a sad, bittersweet smile.

“How come you unplugged it?”

“I… I thought I was in the capitol. I thought they had moved me to start my treatment.”

“You said that earlier too. What treatment?”

“I’m not entirely sure, I didn’t hear all of it. But Mr. Indigo… when he visited me-“

“He came to see you?”

“Yeah. Almost every day for maybe an hour, he’d come in and talk to me, make sure they were treating me well, he even snuck in a couple things for me once. More recently he started mentioning the treatment. Said he talked to the doctors and convinced them to let me get the help I needed, so I wouldn’t be starting fires in my room anymore. And he said it would make me a real Indigo if I wasn’t already. I remember the words.

‘Syren Indigo. Got a nice ring to it, don’t it?’

I heard what they were doing to Peeta. I figured they’d do something similar to me. He wanted me to be his daughter.”

“Oh Sylke…”

The words to be said evaded him and he was left with only actions. He stood up and walked over to the bed, gesturing that she move over. She did, and he crawled under the covers, holding her close in his arms. His embrace was warm, comforting, familiar.

“Finnick. I don’t want to forget you. I don’t want to forget.”

He held her even tighter, placing a kiss on her head.

“You won’t, I promise. I’ll make sure of it. You remember how to waltz?”

She looked at him with a grin.

“Of course.”

“Then get up.”

He got out of the bed and offered his hand. The moment she took it, he placed a hand on her waist, pulling her close. With his other hand, he grabbed the pole on wheels from which a bag of saline fluid hung. Sylke rested her hand by his neck and with the other room Finnick’s hand, holding the pole as well.

“Do you remember?”

“I couldn’t possibly let myself forget. Not when I still owed you a dance.”

And with that, they swayed about the section of the room she had been allotted. It was just like she taught him that night, all those years ago. One, two, three, brush, one, two, three, brush. Swept up in the music they heard in their heads, the dance continued. He spun her around, lifted her off the floor, and always right on the downbeat. It ended when they let go of the pole and it rolled too far away. Sylke felt a sharp tug at her arm and the imaginary music stopped.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just maybe we should be more careful."

“Sorry. I guess I got a little carried away.”

Sylke laughed, wrapping her arms up by his neck.

“We both did. Once I’m out of here, we’ll get to dance properly.”

Finnick nodded.

“Soon.”

Finnick did eventually have to leave and resume his schedule. Sylke went back to sleep, clutching a pillow in his stead. Slowly but surely, a new world faded in. Her limbs were blocky, solid, and utterly incapable of movement. All that she had control over was her eyes, glancing around. In her periphery, she was able to figure out what exactly she was. She was a marionette, strung up on a stage. In the audience, right there in the front row, we’re the cold, wolf-like eyes of Mr. Indigo. He was watching her, with a hideous, inhuman grin. And then the music started. It was plucky, out of tune, like a harpsichord left untouched for ages. And she began to dance. Her arms and legs flailed about, and her torso was yanked up and down. She couldn’t open her mouth or even breathe, and yet somehow she kept moving. This dancing cage of hers moved without life or spirit. It had no bones, no muscle, only string that extended up into the vague darkness above.

Sylke didn’t wake up screaming or yelling. Her eyes merely flew open, tears already pouring down her face. Sniffling and quietly sobbing, she sat up and clutched the pillow in her arms. Johanna, from the neighboring bed, spoke up. Her tone was harsh, unsympathetic.

“What are you crying about?”

“I-I just had a bad dream.”

“Yeah? What about?”

“Mr. Indigo. He was looking at me, and I just…”

Words dissolved into sniffles. Johanna just laughed. There was venom in her voice when she spoke.

“Your scared of him? Seriously? That man visited you almost every day. He was so good to you-“

Heartache emerged from her throat.

“He loved you!”

A whimper escaped from Sylke and she clutched the pillow even tighter.

“But he…”

“He what? I heard him talk about you, he had nothing but love for you.”

"Please don't say that..."

She kept going, words flowing like a river from her mouth, with no hesitation or tact.

“Are you really that ungrateful? Everything he did was for you…”

She paused for a moment, a devilish smile growing on her face.

“… for his little Syren.”

“Please, just stop…”

Sylke took a shaky breath, shifting to look at Johanna straight on.

“I never asked for his love. I know he’s the reason I’m still alive, I know that it could have been worse. But that man took my life and made it his.”

The shaking stopped. Sylke regained her composure. She stood up and walked to Johanna’s bed, sitting down next to her. Their time in the capitol made them quite familiar with one another’s hardships. Sylke knew exactly where these words were coming from. She knew why Johanna was hurting, she knew that when one has no one, even unwanted love seems desirable. And so she spoke gently, hoping her empathy would be understood as such, rather than pity.

“Mr. Indigo didn’t love me as a person. He didn’t care if I was happy, so long as I provided entertainment. That’s not how you’re supposed to love someone.”

Johanna nodded, saying nothing. She knew she overstepped, she knew her words were impulsive. And now suddenly she felt a little guilty. Sylke had appealed to her humanity with just a few sentences.

“I know. It just hurts, you know?”

“I know.”

Sylke murmured more validation, placing her head on Johanna’s shoulder. She wanted to say that Johanna had friends here, people who loved her, but decided to let it be quiet. She’d say it some other time.

Sylke’s wounds took very little time in healing. She only needed to stay in the infirmary until the larger wounds had closed up, which didn’t take long. Really, they only worried about the cut on her side. She remembered when it was made. The blade was jagged and dull, dragging across her skin at a snail’s pace, over and over again. They asked her with every stroke what she knew. Of course Finnick hadn’t told her about the plan, she barely even knew he was a rebel. But they kept going. First there was a raised line of red, where the skin was raw and irritated. The blade tore further into her skin, but drew no blood. They grabbed her arms with and iron grip and threw her back into her cell, earning her a couple bruises. Once there was a film of yellow scabbing, they took her back out. Slowly, and again with the questions, they peeled it. With the layer of platelets gone, blood dribbled out of the wound. The flesh beneath was tender, and they took advantage of that. She answered each question honestly, but they didn’t like what she said. And with each answer they didn’t like, she received another swipe against her side with the jagged blade. Eventually, they gave up on trying to get information out of her. Sometimes they would try again, but never to that degree.

Now, she had a bandage wrapped around that area, gently changed and cleaned every couple of hours. The doctors were kind here, always making sure it was alright to touch her and asking if the bandage was too tight. Under their care, the wound closed up in no time. By then, all of her smaller cuts and bruises left only fading scars. Soon, she was given a drab grey jumpsuit and assigned to new quarters. It was a small room not unlike the infirmary in style. There were two small beds and a table between them, one bed for her and the other for a roommate. After guiding her to the room, the nurse previously assigned to her shut the door, leaving her alone in that room. She did not hear the click of a lock. Her schedule was to start tomorrow, for now she could settle in and find a place in the room for any personal items. Of course she had none, but curiosity led her to peak at her roommate’s. Everything was neat, folded, as though it was never lived in. The only signs of a human’s stay there were a couple of items on the table, seemingly the only personal items this roommate of hers had. Perhaps they were a refugee as well, with only a moment to have gathered items of sentimental value. Or perhaps residents of thirteen simply didn’t value material possessions all that much. Considering the lack of decor and personality in all parts of the place she had seen, that was in fact the case. Sylke allowed herself to fantasise for a moment about who this person might be. A coal miner from twelve? She had always wanted to see a forest, maybe they could tell her about them. A soldier from thirteen? One who had trained their whole life for combat, for revolution, and now finally had the chance to prove themselves? Or perhaps another refugee from the capitol. What if she knew them? What if one of the few people she was able to meet in the capitol had been a rebel, one who took a chance one night and ran away? They could exchange life stories, maybe become friends. But none of those turned out to be true. On the table, she found a golden bangle and a short bit of rope, neither of which told her about this person. She sat on one of the beds, hopefully the unoccupied one, and waited. She wasn’t tired, she’d slept plenty in the infirmary. So she sat, waiting for something to happen. The door slid open to reveal her roommate.

“Finnick?”

He chuckled.

“I asked them to put you in as my roommate, I didn’t know they’d actually do it. How are you feeling?”

“Good. Everything’s healing well, so I they discharged me this afternoon. I do still have to keep it bandaged, but the wound is much smaller now.”

“That’s great!”

He walked over to the bed and stood before here, a smile adorning his face.

“I can’t tell you how happy I am to have you here with me.”

She leaned into his touch as he caressed her cheek. The words “I love you” were not needed in that moment. There was a mutual understanding of affection, one that had been there for ten years. Though not entirely true, retrospect and nostalgia had a way of convincing both of them that it had always been this way, that this familiarity and affection was present since that first night they met. In some ways this was correct, there was always a connection. But the comfort in it had developed over time. Insecurity was able to fade away, they became more familiar with the other’s habits. And yet wonder was not lost. There was still a glimmer of shock, of flustered joy in moments of affection. Things between them weren’t perfect, but they were damn well close to it.

Sylke’s task in thirteen was to help in the kitchen. The food was boring, seasoned only with salt, and they often stirred in powders of vitamin supplements or something of that nature, because the people down here rarely saw the sun. She spent her days standing beside people she found to be kind, talkative in comparison to the Indigo household staff, and generally pleasant company. Life was certainly monotonous, but that was something she was used to. At least now, she wasn’t alone. During mealtimes, she would serve the food, watching everyone eat and chat from afar. On occasion, she would sneak away and sit by Finnick, but that often got her scolded by someone who cared far too much for rules. At the end of the day, the whole facility would get dimmer, and she would be back in her room with Finnick. The beds were made for one person, but they made it work for the both of them. In the mornings, she would wake up before him, needing to go and prepare breakfast. His arms held her tightly, unwilling to let go.

“Finnick, I need to go.”

His voice was deep, raspy, and barely awake.

“I don’t want you to go.”

She giggled and pressed a kiss to his jaw. His eyes were still closed, but a satisfied grin appeared on his face.

“Fine. Two minutes, and then I really have to go.”

He groaned, considering her offer, the sound vibrating through his chest.

“Okay.”

Running his fingers up her body, he attempted to feel for her face, too tired to open his eyes. His touch was gentle and yet possessive, still unwilling to let go. Once he found her jaw, he pulled it closer and planted endless kisses on her face. At some point, his eyes fluttered open. He was confronted with the image of her smile, a little tired and a little exasperated, but undeniably lovely.

“You’re beautiful.”

A little colour came to her cheeks.

“You know, you can’t keep me here forever. Do you want food today or not?”

He let a sigh as she got up from the bed.

“Alright fine, I concede. Just one more kiss though.”

She laughed, leaning down to peck his forehead before leaving. Once alone, Finnick’s mind couldn’t help but fantasise about waking up with her every day, and not having to rush off somewhere.

The explicit concept of marriage had come up only once or twice in their five years of exchanging letters. Far more common was talk of a hypothetical life they would have one day. A wedding was implied, but never really stated outright. Instead, they talked about days without urgency, when they could lie in bed for hours, dance in the kitchen instead of cooking, fall asleep on the beach, and all of this simply because they wanted to. But as the danger of revolution increased, both of them began thinking about the specifics of that vague life together. It didn’t take Finnick long to understand that he wanted to marry her. He mentioned it one night when the room felt quiet and too awake.

“Hey,”

“Hmm?”

“Would you want to get married? I know we’ve talked about being together, when it’s all over, but what if we did it now?”

She looked to him with wide doe-eyes.

“Now?”

“I mean here, in thirteen. Before anything happens-before anything possibly could happen. Just in case.”

She took a moment to think, sinking into his chest. If she had been falling asleep before, she was wide awake now.

“Okay. Just in case.”

“Yeah. That way if something happens, I’ll have been married to you. Another thing to help prove to the world that you’re here, and that I’m yours.”

She lifted herself to prop her head up on her hand, smiling at him. He soon followed, staring lovingly back at her.

“I like the sound of that.”

She placed a kiss on his lips.

“But nothing’s going to happen to you, okay?”

That was partially a lie. There was a reason they were doing this, a risk, and they both knew it. But after everything they’d been through, fate had to be in their favour. It would simply be wrong, to have done all of this, just to lose their happily ever after.

She reassumed her position lying on his chest after that, speaking softly to him, but also to herself.

“I used to picture my wedding, you know. When I was little, I had this image in my head of a white dress and a castle and a ballroom, like in the fairytales. I didn’t know who would be my prince or princess charming, but I knew that I’d love them. That was always the best part. I know we won’t be in a castle, but in a way it’ll be exactly like how I dreamed of as a child.”

He was falling asleep by that point. She lifted herself to look at his peaceful face. He looked calm and safe, lying next to her like he was sure, like everything in the world assured him, that this is where he was supposed to be.

“I love you, my prince.”

Plutarch explained that the wedding was going to be filmed. “To show the capitol that we’re alive and well” he said. Because of that, they were allowed all sorts of luxuries that thirteen didn’t usually permit. The hall was glowing with amber light and greenery they brought in from above. Finnick was dressed in a lighter grey than usual, with sturdy fabric that hugged his waist but got a little looser at the shoulders. He was also given something of a cape, but it only covered one shoulder. He looked somewhere between a soldier and a duke. For Sylke they made a dress fit for a princess. White of course, a colour held with some disdain in thirteen. The skirt was long and full, trailing behind her every so slightly when she walked. It was simple, no layers of tulle or golden jewelry to match, but it made her feel like herself, entirely herself, which was really all it needed to be. It felt like all of her, nothing held back or exaggerated for anyone.

She made her way alone down the aisle, smiling at the man ahead, the destination toward which she walked. He took her hands in his, this time with no iron bars between them. She looked into his green eyes, like she had so many times before, and everything felt right in the world. There was no sunlight or gentle breeze, no magnolias or birdsong, but there didn’t need to be. He was here, looking back at her with all the love in the world. When it came time for her to say her vows, she had very little prepared. She spoke truthfully, freely, saying everything that her heart told her to say in that moment.

“My darling Finnick. I’ve said to you before that I believe in fate. We were just kids when we met, and even then, I knew my story was tied to yours. I promise to love you, to cherish you, and to be by your side for the rest of happily ever after that fate allows.”

The smile on his face grew before he took a breath and said his vows.

“Sylke, my angel, you have my heart, as you always have, for all eternity. Whether together or apart, we will always be united, tied together by the strings of fate. I promise to protect you, to dance with you, and to love you until death do us part.”

They didn’t quite need to be told that they could kiss, but once prompted, they did just that. All of thirteen began to applaud, but neither Sylke nor Finnick could bring themself to care for the audience. Just as it had ten years ago, the watching eyes melted away, leaving only tenderness and love burning between the them.

The festivities began once the aisle and ceremonial decor was packed away. First was a slow waltz meant just for the newlyweds. The two of them had danced in their room many times before, but never with music. With a guiding melody, they were able to truly get lost in the movement. No longer was it necessary to count or concentrate, they could simply dance. They swayed and twirled about the room, never once breaking eye contact. When the music slowed to a halt, Sylke was securely nested in Finnick’s arms and lowered to a dip. There was once again applause as people came to join them on the dance floor. A more upbeat tune filled the hall as everyone started to dance. The sound of lively fiddles filled the room, and spirits were lifted. It seemed like everyone was having a lovely time, smiling and laughing with friends. For that night, war was but an afterthought. It was a respite from tragedy, a true celebration of all that is good and lovely, and its survival even in dark times.

It wasn’t long after the wedding that Finnick was sent away again. He and Sylke had a rather lousy honeymoon, spent mostly in their room underground or in the forest just above. Soldiers were slowly returning from the fight at the capitol, some injured, others returning for a dignified burial. Sylke was transferred to the infirmary when it got too understaffed. And then Plutarch called Finnick into a meeting. That night, Finnick sat waiting in their room until Sylke returned from her shift in the infirmary. She entered the room and gravitated to his hunched figure.

“Finnick, are you alright?”

She placed a hand to his face, suggesting that he look at her. His eyes were sad, conflicted, scared. Sylke saw his expression and quickly kissed him before anything more could be said.

“What happened?”

He shifted to make space for her on the bed; she sat down.

“Plutarch wants me in the capitol. They put together this squad for filming propos, he calls it the face of the invasion.”

He spoke so matter-of-factly, such that it was hardly a question: he would be going. There was no debate about it, both of them knew that. An all too familiar feeling churned in her core. Her chest became heavy and her throat strained. She croaked out a single sentence before leaning into his embrace.

“Come back to me, okay?”

He held her tightly, the way he wanted to that night outside the mansion.

“I will. I believe in fate.”

They fell asleep there, unsure when the trembling cries faded into unconsciousness.

Finnick left in the morning. Goodbyes were cut short by the arrival of a jet full of wounded soldiers. Sylke was pulled away by the other medical staff, parting with a fleeting kiss and a smile.

The infirmary was bursting with people. New patients arrived every day from the capitol, covered in wounds and burns and horror stories from the city. They told of abandoned streets full of bombs and traps set by peacekeepers. Every moment of peace or quiet we’re impossible to trust, they were left waiting for the inevitable bloodshed as they walked through empty streets. Sylke couldn’t help but wonder the state of the mansion. Had Mr. Indigo evacuated? What did he take with him? She pictured the house empty, devoid of the usual upkeep, dusty and alone. What about the household? Had they gone as well? What would they do without their jobs? Did that even matter when the city was under attack? Her imagination took her through each room and corridor. The office she’d only been in a few times, the dining room that could seat a dozen but never saw more than two, and of course, her bedroom. Soot still on the ceiling, dance slippers tucked hastily under the bed. The soldiers mentioned bombs and fire. What if the mansion was destroyed? The image of fallen walls, a pile of rubble and ash, arrived in her mind. A bittersweet sort of pain burned in her chest as she pondered such a possibility. That mansion was her prison, her gilded cage. And yet there were happy memories there. There were times when she smiled, dancing around her room or strolling through the garden. She found joy in that wretched place and thus made it slightly less wretched. The delicate China in the sitting room was beautiful, with hand-painted birds and flowers under the faintly cracked glaze. The furniture was soft, velvet or leather or brocade, but always unreasonably comfortable. And of course the magnolias. Those fragrant blossoms could distract her from everything bad. A lovely part of being human, isn’t it? The ability to be distracted, to find small joys, even trapped in a cage. She pondered all the things she loved in that house. The drapes and the garden and smooth feeling of the banister beneath her fingers as she walked down the stairs, all things she missed now. Was it bad that she missed it? Was that terrible, to think somewhat fondly of her time in the mansion? A part of her was sure that it was simply horrible. Mr. Indigo was a dangerous, horrible man, and thus his home was the same way. But he also gave her dancing slippers. He cared for her in his twisted, infantalising way. Johanna’s words sounded in her head. Perhaps, in a strange interpretation of the word, he loved her. Sylke couldn’t bring herself to fully accept that idea. Love was the tenderness she saw in Finnick’s eyes, it was the warmth in her chest when they were close, she was entirely and unequivocally sure of that. But as time went on, she continued to wonder, her mind volleying standpoints, if Mr. Indigo’s bizarre affection was also love.

Such thoughts bounced around the back of her head as she tended to those in the infirmary. Days slowly bled into one another, all monotonous and practically identical. She would wake up alone, eat with some of the other medics, and then go to the infirmary. After a long day, she would return to her quarters and lie on her side, reaching her arm out to where Finnick would have been lying beside her. And when the foggy darkness of sleep arrived, the day would begin again.

News from the capitol came every night. The whole of thirteen would go quiet the watching broadcasts. Just a day after they deemed Peeta well enough to join the “Star Squad” in the Capitol, that infamous anthem blared from the broadcast. The faces of every member of the squad was shown. Sylke had been working when it came on the screens. All faces looked to the screen in the room, stepping away from their work for a moment. She froze when she saw Finnick’s portrait appear. She hadn’t seen his face is so long, too long, but this was not the way she wanted to see him again. He couldn’t be dead, he promised. Why, after all this time, why now? After all the trials they encountered and survive, how could it end? Something was wrong, it was simply wrong. Fate wasn’t supposed to be like this, fate couldn’t be like this.

You said you would come back to me

Her perception of the world was cloudy. The hands on her shoulder, the steps she was taking, they didn’t register. Voices were muddled, nothing felt real. All she could do was mutter his name, repeat the same phrases, praying that someone would hear her, some great puppet master who could pull the strings of fate and make them right again. Her murmurs became sobs, and when her eyes were dry, when her energy was drained, she could finally sleep.

She woke to a sharp voice and someone shaking her awake.

“Sylke, get up!”

She pulled herself up, groggy and confused. For a moment, it was just like any other morning, and she almost bolted up, afraid of being late for the start of her shift. But then her vision cleared, and reality set in. She saw the medic uniform she was still wearing and the sad look on Johanna’s face.

“What happened?”

Johanna’s tone was careful and sympathetic.

“You kinda lost it after the broadcast. Don’t worry, you didn’t hurt anyone or do anything bad, you just kinda froze. We didn’t know what else to do, so we just took you here to rest.”

Sylke nodded, not quite sure if she could bring herself to stand up and start her day, as though nothing happened.

“What time is it?”

“I don’t even know. But they’re calling all the medics right now, so…”

Sylke didn’t move.

“They’re flying you guys out to the capitol.”

She still didn’t move.

“Sylke, that means you need to go.”

“I know… I just…”

Johanna placed her hands on Sylke’s shoulders and looked her square in the eyes.

“Look. I know you’re hurting. I know you just lost someone. It’s not the same but I lost him too. But Sylke we’re so close. And people are hurting in the capitol that don’t need to be. We need you to go out and help them.”

Sylke took a shaky inhale and nodded. With Johanna’s help, she made her way down to the hanger where medics were streaming into jets and strapping into their seats. Sylke followed suit, getting her jet assignment and sitting down on a cold metal chair.

The flight was a blur. They landed in district two and waited until the final stages of the battle to fly into the capitol to help innocent citizens. Soon, they were flown in and dropped off in the city circle. When the cries of countless people reached her ears, helping them became Sylke’s sole priority. The moment her feet touched the ground, she rushed to anyone and everyone that looked hurt.

“Are you hurt? Are you alright?”

“Where does it hurt? Are you bleeding?”

“Let me take a look.”

She was wrapping a splint for a woman with a broken leg when a familiar chime rang through the air. She looked up to see grey canisters on parachutes floating down from the sky. She froze again, remembering everything from years ago. She remembered the way Finnick’s eyes lit up when he saw a trident float down on an identical grey parachute. That had always been a sweet memory, but now it was laced with pain. She looked around, seeing the people stretching their arms out, welcoming the gifts. There was a flash, a boom, and then quiet.

Sylke’s eyes slowly fluttered open. She was lying on her back, on something soft and comfortable. There was quiet. A peaceful, calming sort of silence surrounded her. She noticed pain on her skin when she tried to get up. Her body was bandaged in random places, and the flesh of her arms and hands felt incredibly sensitive. Her body was sore, but she could move, albeit only slightly. She turned her head to look at her surroundings. She was in a tent, seemingly a medical tent, surrounded by equipment and kits she recognised as the portable medic kits that each person on the jet had been equipped with. Turning her head to look directly to the side, she saw someone lying in a bed like her own. They looked like him. Beneath the bandages she saw his face, sleeping peacefully with his eyes closed. She longed to believe that it was him, to enjoy that delusion and ignorance. But she knew it wasn’t. She knew he was gone. He wasn’t there, no matter how much she wanted him to be, no matter how much he should have been. Tears formed and fell quickly from her eyes. Quiet wails and sobs escaped her. She murmured his name, hoping beyond hope that it would will him back to life. The person in the bed began to rouse.

“Hmm?”

They sounded like him too, why did they have to sound like him? She curled into herself, ignoring the pain in such movement. She hid herself beneath the blanket, like a child afraid of the monsters beneath their bed.

“Hey, are you alright?”

That was his voice.

“Why do you sound like him?”

She wailed with a volume she hadn’t used in days.

“Sylke?”

“You sound just like him…”

Her whole body shook with sobs. She heard fabric rustling and quiet groans that sounded so familiar. There was a hand on the edge of the blanket.

“Can I…?”

“Go ahead.”

Her voice was dejected, entirely hopeless. The blanket was pulled away, revealing a face with cuts and bandages, seemingly some stitches as well, and sea green eyes holding a tender gaze.

“You look like him too.”

“Angel… I’m right here.”

“No you’re not! You died! I saw your picture, I heard the song, you died!”

“Oh sweetheart…”

The person sat down on the bed and gently lifted her to sit up as well. They then pulled her into their arms. That warmth was exactly the same.

“I’m right here, I’m alive. I got damn near dying, but I didn’t. I told you I’d come back to you, didn’t I?”

Finally, she let herself believe. Her grasp on him tightened.

“You’re alive? You’re safe?”

“I’m alive. I’m right here, Angel.”

A part of her still couldn’t believe it. Somehow, there was a shard of pessimism in her that refused to be tricked. And he could sense that. He understood all too well the spirit of self preservation that will do anything to keep itself from hurting. So he pulled away slightly to look at her.

“Hey, look at me, look at my eyes.”

She gazed up at him with scared, teary doe-eyes.

“Don’t you believe in fate?”

And with that, the last bit of denial shattered within her. A smile and then a laugh came to her face as hope returned to her spirit.

Taglist: @zulpix-blog

#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick x oc #finnick x reader #hungerverse #district 4 #district 1 #hunger games #catching fire #mockingjay #finnick odair x oc #fluff #angst #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair angst #thg #thg fanfiction #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #haymitch abernathy #johanna mason #beetee latier #plutarch heavensbee #75th hunger games #3rd quarter quell #mockingjay part 1 #mockingjay part 2

[quitealotofsodapop]

Part 3 of: @justweirddino sending in funny and accurate asks.

As always I have put transcripts in the alt image descriptions.

The Gold and Silver twins probs have a massive list of enemies and vengances they want resolve, but they're so absent-minded that they frequently forget just why they dont like that person/what they did. They def find their own names among their "black book" of enemies and are just puzzled.

They haven't unlocked his friendship events yet. Gotta feed and talk to Macaque everyday like a Stardew Valley npc before he unloads his trauma.

MK is willing to use the Staff if it means conflict resolution. He will use it to threaten others to be nice.

Oh gosh, I love the idea of Huntsman having legit rizz, but it completely flies over Sandy's head. FIshman is sweet but damn he bad at responding to obvious romantic signs. X3

Wukong saw glowsticks become a thing and would spend ages trying to figure out How. Why stick glow when cracked/bended? Why no heat? Why did people scream when he tried drinking the yucky liquid inside at the discotech? He did't have his Staff handy for their introduction, so the second the Staff is no longer sealing DBK, Wukong tries cracking the Staff to see if it glows. He breaks his knee instead. Macaque laughed while MK was just puzzled Why.

The second Macaque is gone; Wukong turns into a mega-bachelor again. Hyper impulsive, binge-watching Monkey Cop, eating nothing but peaches and takeout. The second Mac gets back from the moon, its like walking into a house after a frat party. He def yells at Wukong to clean up his mess.

Nudity is canon. Wukong busted out the furnace naked cus it burned his clothes off.

DEFINETELY. Wukong is gotdang short already (apparently less than 1.3m/4.26 ft in the book), and Macaque being just a little taller would get so on his nerves! XD Even if both monkeys (unglamoured) reach about the height of a teenager, Wukong is def wearing lifted shoes. Macaque taunts him about it endlessly.

Oh gosh, I have an idea for TMKATI-au in Chapter 3; where Pigsy and Tang are "whisper-arguing" in the kitchen while Shadowpeach are in the restaurant sheltering from the rain.

Pigsy: "I'm not about to harbor a pair of shady demons just cus they look pathetic in the rain!" Tang, the one who brought them there: "Aww, c'mon Piggy!" *whispers* "They're having a kid and it looks like they got kicked out or something..." Pigsy: *annoyed snort* Macaque, hearing the convo cus ears: "...Wukong do you honestly believe this place is safe?" Wukong: "Uh yeah - I order from here all the time!" Macaque: *judgemental glare* Wukong, laughes nervously: "Haha...Ok. I'm not 100% sure. Honestly I was thinking about how we're gonna get some food... You're in a... vunerable condition and I want to make sure we're at atleast fed and warm before deciding anything major. You know... future-wise." Macaque: *sighs tiredly* Pigsy & Tang, eavesdropping via kitchen counter: *looks at one another* Tang: *gives puppy-dog eyes* Pigsy, conflicted growling: "Grr... OK FINE! They can stay for some dinner and maybe crash on the futon for a bit. But once the rain clears off, I'm kicking them out!"

(Pigsy procedes to not kick them out, and instead over the course of the late-evening meal decides to hire Wukong/let the two monkeys stay in the empty top floor of the building. He's bad at saying no to Tang and bad at turning away sad-looking rain-soaked monkeys.)

I always love these ask-ins, even if I ramble a little off-topic with the ideas they gave me! As always ty @justweirddino !

I put the slightly rauchier ones under read more.

This one is 100% a line Tang has said aloud and in front of polite company without batting an eye. He has no shame.

Macaque and Wukong too. Gotta make sure anyone within striking distance knows that you're both taken. By eachother. Macaque says it to tease, Wukong says it as a warning.

And finally, an ask @justweirddino actually messaged me about ahead of time due to it being about a rather... spicy topic revovling around the immortal monkeys not understanding modern slang terms. Had to put it in two screenshot to fit.

XD

Nezha has most modern slang downloaded into his brain by the time he gets to earth. Not to use, but to decipher.

Wukong is def the person to remember a random detail from a movie trailer from years ago and take what the trailer says at face value. Also the thought of him randomly declaring that a movie mom is a MILF, serious-faced as the others look at him like he grew three heads (again), is sending me XD

#lmk #lego monkie kid #lmk incorrect quotes #incorrect quotes #suggestive language tw #sun wukong #lmk pigsy #lmk tang #liu er mihou #six eared macaque #qi xiaotian #lmk mei #long xiaojiao #lmk nezha #the monkey king and the infant #the monkey king and the infant au #lmk au

[liverpool-enjoyer]

footballers reacting to a younger teammate calling them dad

requested by sane max!!! ty for requesting <3 @calm-smol

leo: he doesnt say anything but he is a little confused. like yeah he has kids but he doesnt feel like hes a dad to his teammates. so next time he sees neymar he goes "do you see me as a father figure?" n ney chokes on his drink.

ney: it sends him into a crisis. like yes he does have a kid already but for ppl in their TWENTIES to be seeing him as their father??? he spirals, literally asking every one of his friends "do you think im getting old??" probly gets hammered that weekend to prove hes still Youthful.

milner: he always rolls his eyes when his teammates call him that cause he thinks theyre poking fun at his age. in his defense they kinda are but they also mean it affectionately!!

kdb: spends months adamantly disagreeing with anyone who says hes been treating erling like his kid, but when erling accidentally calls him dad one day he can deny it no longer. so he takes the L n accepts it.

luka: he thinks its sweet!! he'd ruffle the young players hair n if he continues to get called that he wouldnt rlly mind.

luis: now he sees himself as an older brother. so when he gets called dad he'd be like "would a dad do THIS" n then take the poor player in a chokehold n give em the noogie of a lifetime.

lewy: when gavi or pedri say dad to get his attention he jus goes "yes?" yeah this aint new its literally just wednesday. but the first time one of them call him that he gives them a big hug n is honored they consider him a father figure <3

sergio: he acts rlly irritated, but when hes talking to luka alone, he refers to the younger players as "our kids"

pep: "exCUSE ME???" yeah your ass is doing laps sorry bro.

klopp: girl have you seen this man??? dude has loving papa written all over him. n he loves his boys so much n treats em all like his own so he doesnt even bat an eye when they call him that anymore, he answers to it as much as he does to "boss"

#yeah its kinda ooc but *i* like the found family trope so get bent #wait no i take that back i would never tell yall to get bent i love you guys #found family dynamics >>> #n sane maxs mind >> #ty so much for requesting!! <3 #leo messi #neymar #neymessi #james milner #kevin de bruyne #erling haaland #luka modric #luis suarez #robert lewandowski #gavi #pedri #sergio ramos #modramos #pep guardiola #jurgen klopp

[sublimecatgalaxy]

Hi! Could i request prompt 2, 3 and 15 with trope 15 for Eddie Munson (stranger things)?

YESSSS the perfect pairing of prompts.

He hated when I kept secrets from him.

Overprotective isn't even a close enough word to describe how Eddie feels about me and my safety. It branches out more into an insane obsession, a need to keep me safe and sound. I'm well aware now as blood continues to drip down my thighs, that if Eddie found out, he would stray from the task at hand and possibly make things worse in trying to care for me.

'Hey." Eddie's shoulder bumps with mine as we make our way through the gloomy woods, my eyes looking down at my feet as I step over vines and muck. "You took a beating back there, you alright?" He asks, capturing my attention as I give him a strained nod, my chin craning to look up at him. His eyes flutter over my frame, checking for injury and much to my dismay, his eyes lock on my leg, brows furrowed in confusion. He stops walking causing Steve, Nancy and Robin to look back at us impatiently. "Who's blood is that?" He asks, his voice raising in volume as my eyes flutter shut in frustration and I can feel his frantic eyes on me, his hand reaching out to rest on my waist.

"Hey, what's going o-" Before I can answer Steve's question, Eddie has him pressed up against the nearest tree, arm under his chin as Steve gasps.

"She followed you in here and now she's hurt!" Eddie spits, Steve's eyes closing as he groans, his hand moving to rest on his injured waist as his eyes flutter shut from the pain. My hands rest on Eddie's shoulders as I tug him back, watching as he shoves Steve towards Robin and Nancy who both share a horrified look. My hands cup my boyfriends cheeks, forcing him to look back at me as he breathes violently.

"Let's just get to Nancy's house and you can take a look at it then, alright?" I offer breathlessly, my eyes flickering over his expression as he nods, his lips pulling down into a frown as he fearfully looks down at my leg once more.

By the time we get to Nancy's house and they begin inspecting, I'm ready to sit down. My body slugs against the couch as Eddie kneels hesitantly down on the floor in front of me, his hands carefully tearing my pants at the wound. He hisses at the sight of it, jaw gritting and he bites anxiously at his lip.

"'m sorry for scaring you back there." He mutters, wiping away the dirt on my skin around the wound, his eyes not meeting mine.

"I'm not afraid of you, Eddie. You could never scare me." My hand reaches down to brush my fingers through his damp curls, watching his lip tick up in a sad smile.

"Seeing you hurt makes me genuinely homicidal." He laughs sharply, reaching up to run his hands over his face with a groan as he listens to me chuckle.

"Then go take that up with the mutant bats who attacked me, not Steve." He rolls his eyes, pinching my shin before he works on tying the piece of my pants that he ripped off around the wound.

"How does that feel?" He asks and I send him a thumbs up, tugging him to come sit beside me on the couch. I immediately lean into him, relaxing as much as I can, my eyes closing at the feeling of his lips peppering kisses against my hairline.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- Taglist: @bubblebuttwade @rafelover2405 @leslienjazzy @sorceresss @grxnde-dwt @alex–awesome–22 @bunnietoof @niyamar1e @serialghost @plantlungs @geniusohn @akaliltimmytim @lilaalouuxx @xshariex @elliotsbeigeguitar @elle4404 @lelieja @srhxpci @joselyn001 @taysirene @spinkspanther @thedivineuphoria @peter-maximoffs @tsukishimawhore @poohkie90 @szlaco @distantsighs @nstyles4299 @wolflover384 @givemefoodandlovesstuff @vane28282 @yeswhatever33 @amirrahfranson @vvaalleennttiinna @f-mu @yaspillz @jeyramarie @skylievin@abbybarnes17 @jointherebellion215 @visiondaddy @steezysimfinds @its-ya-gay-boi-luigi @crunchytoenailsyum@glizzymcguirex @beth123lg @melovesmut @rafecameronswhore @ariianelle @write-from-the-heart @vampviolets@haylee-e@popehaywardssecretgf @honee-chai-tea @lokiandbuckywife @smoke-and-fire @officiallyunofficialperson@heyaitsklaudia@rosepetalsparks @bluetreecloud20 @scenesofobx @double-shot-of-tequila @1dluver13xx @colbysbrocks @iamasimpingh0e @smoke-and-fire386 @loveshineslikethesky @id-3-kbro @diorsitgirl @errorfound101-allideasburnedout @neverwillknowme18 @ellyskey @taylors-folk @loversjoy

#eddie #eddie munson #eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #stranger things fic

[you-ren-emy]

I'm going to go off about some random filler episode that's supposedly at least somewhat Deidara centric, because...????

Shippuden ep 457 "Partners"

Right off the bat. Deidara's voice is....so deep. I was a little surprised because I haven't properly heard it in so long

(my timestamps are broken so...it's not exact.)

3:03 his height difference with Pein is surprising... You'd never really notice how short he is unless you looked into it. Really, Deidara has quite the aura.

4:04 Although I LOVE his half up half down hairstyle, I also loved his low ponytail. Realistically, it doesn't make sense for him to just switch up his style like that, he coulda kept it for a little longer, you know?...but they don't really care, I'd think so. (but for the fact that we see him tying his hair up, which is pretty pretty, it's forgivable you know)

(Timestamp inexact) For a few seconds in the overhead frame where they overlook the sand disc, I notice that Deidara is now wearing his socks. This is set in the past, so Dei wore beige "khakis" and sandals instead of the classic dark desaturated blue pants with matching "ninja shoes" with those.... Socks that have a stripe going OVER the shoe. So in this shot, he's supposed to be wearing his old clothes. It's not like he could just go "Hey wait here Danna, I'm going to go change my pants." (Which is weird and out of character, I should also mention that he already calls Sasori "Danna" despite having met him just today, which means Sasori has done NOTHING to earn Deidara's respect just yet. The disgrace.)

Also, Why'd they send the new kid out for the important mission of "take down the rogue member of our group"? To be fair, Dei has spark. Power. And they know that, but...? Oh, gee. It's a filler episode...

Somewhere around 5:20 Deidara opened up his cloak to reach out for clay. There are so many errors in these few frames? First of all, his nails ARE NOT supposed to be painted black yet! Why, did they just stop along the road, halting their important mission to get his nails done? Ludicrous. My attention is pointed to his clay pouch since he was reaching for that, and the chain dangling between said pouch and the belt is missing. At least they remembered that he had only one pouch on his left side at the time. He still has the bottom half of his cute kimono jacket but... It's that dark, desaturated blue like his new outfit. And he has the crop top and mesh undershirt above the belt now so HUH????? They didn't forget his new, shiny ring but they did forget the consistency of his clothing and... It's just kinda sad. Feels bad for the animators.

I should also mention that within the frame, his front hair fwips and flows, exposing his other eye sometimes. Though there isn't anything drawn there, which is fine enough, but in the next few frames when he turned to look at Sasori to his right, Deidara SUDDENLY has his eye scope even though at that point, he was fresh in and probably didn't develop it yet. (Okay but I kinda found it endearing how enthusiastic he was to perform his art.)

Somewhere in 5:30 something, Deidara's face is a lil derpy which is cute

Orochimaru appears. Knows Deidara immediately, calls him a kid which Deidara's opposes to. Look...orochi is like... A grandpa compared to him, so, that's fair enough to say, isn't it?

Sasori sent Deidara to go lookout, which Deidara looked annoyed about. Sasori said that Deidara, unless he had any grudges, wouldn't have any reason to fight the snake man. Which, fair. At that point, he probably held nothing against...but he looked and sounded miffed about it. Maybe just because he wants to preform his art and not because of a mysterious grudge? I don't know. This is a filler.

...well crap I ran out of image slots. Here's to hoping your imagination still works because I AM NOT DONE!

Sasori is fighting using a dead guy's corpse, Orochi summons said dead guy from the grave, Deidara looks somehow cute looking down from above. But he's also supposed to be handsome...hmmph.

Dang. Feels bad for the third Kazekage over there.

NOOO THE IRON SAND RAINED UP AT DEI AND ended up destroying the wing of his ride somehow...? He's coming crashing down.... Poor guy.

9:00 Deidara is raining explosives! Not much to comment.

In the subsequent scene, he's descending FAST into the ground. Which means you can catch his eye scope EVEN IF HES NOT SUPPOSED TO HAVE IT YET

He's...getting a nice chance to shine, even if it's futile. Go, go Dei.

"After you two die, I'll resurrect you both in the same way."

...

Well...not you though, snake.

Gee, the Kazekage really has it rough being Sasori's puppet and Orochimaru's pawn at the same time.

5:48 something Dei's flock of creations are being sent after Orochimaru www, he gets to have his scene and his signature line is said! "Art is... An explosion!" And sounds so enthusiastic too!~ so glad he's happy here, blowing up the sand disc thing....

...though there is one thing to mention. And it's that his ring, though on the correct hand and finger, is on the upper part of his finger just under the nail for some reason.

Man, that explosion was so dramatic.

Heh, everyone's having a holographic zoom meeting. No comment here... Well, one. Deidara. He's very cute there.

Oh. Second half. Hidan's there. I find it funny how he has a modern day jacket as his original fit... Either that or he hasn't got a top on. Inconsistencies. I much prefer the jacket though.

Now....many a minutes later. 18:55. Deidara's there, fleeting cherry blossoms. Deidara's doing his thing, performing his art. He blows up a castle! He looks very happy, he's in his element, he's where he's supposed to be! I don't know what art makes him feel like...but it seems to be good.

Dei... always so flashy.

There isn't Deidara anymore, so, I'm signing out.

#this is just a filler episode but still #Deidara #naruto shippuden #akatsuki #i wrote this in four something in the moening im sorry #feels bad for the animators #at the very least #Deidara's good looking #never pause naruto you might just end up with an inconsistent character design #comeon. share your weird episode nitpicks too...or not?

[dropout-if]

i’m so sorry im sending in so many asks, i have severe dropout brainrot. i’m just curious, who out of the ros would be down to get matching tattoos with mc at some point? <3

Heyy dw I'm on my way home atm so answering asks is really getting me through the long ass wait😭💕 ty!

Right off the bat, only Uma and Wanda would be down. Kai would initially say no. But they'd be really easy to convince tbh fkskfls.

Statler only has one tattoo, and they're really indecisive and sentimental, I think they would go back and forth between accepting and saying no for forever.

Travis believes it's bad luck (he even rejected Uma when they proposed a similar idea some years ago). Which is funny because he's usually really rational gmsmfms

J doesn't even want tattoos. But they'd suggest temporary ones to meet MC in the middle.

#dropout if #dropout #ask #ros #j gray #kai alofa #statler amani #travis camaro #wanda pavon #uma bharat

[gods-graveyard]

✨️When you get this ask you have to put 5 songs you listen to, post it, then send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers (positive vibes are cool)🎶

Im one of your fav? hehe nice- (also ty for the chocolate bar)

OKAY- Since ive done multiple song shit in the past these are new songs Ive just started listening too (embracing the y'allternative lifestyle))

1. Ain't no Grave by Crooked Still

Biblical song about death, the rapture etc from a woman who even death wont hold her back from fighting her way to ascension- even if she has to fight god and his armies herself.

2. Devil's Backbone by The Civil Wars

Sweet religious girl falls in love with a sinner boy and is stuck between the teachings that "a sin is a sin" but seeing her love as someone who didn't have a choice for a holy lifestyle, and begging the lord to forgive him anyways on her behalf.

3. Hades Pleads by Parker Millsap

This boy is trouble, but singin you a sweet song trying to drag you under like Hades did with Perseophone. The lyrics are both a warning and a proposition flipping between "Im a bad idea" and "I will worship you like you deserve to be worshipped" aka i'm a sucker.

4. Australia by The Shins

One of those classic "exestential crisis but with an upbeat tune" about running out of time and desiring to run away from shitty circumstances with a divine intervention or some fantasy whisk away from an ordinary tragedy of everyday life.

5. Cavalry by Shayfer James

I already adore this artist and its just his newest release. I would try to sum up the themes going on here but theres SO MUCH to interpret. Though one of the major baseline themes is People are going to be people, and you better find out what people you side with before your batted around like a cat with a mouse.

ALSO NOW ASKING YALL-

@eggs-mushrooms-moths-and-gay @addsalwayssick @adharastarlight @anarchyantichrist @starman-waitinginthesky81 @starsmacabray @wolfstargazer @orcusnox and @pademelonluck (since you asked me as well)

#mutual ask #tumblr asks #song recs #yallternative #southern gothic #its the texas in me yall #and i love a lil religious symbolism

[redrobin-detective]

fight or flight

Bruce would not consider himself to be an impulsive man. Quite the opposite, he had singularly dedicated himself to his task of ridding Gotham of crime since he was child. He vetted all of his teachers thoroughly and only acted on evidence he could support. Bruce Wayne, the Batman, was not a man prone to fits of emotion. And yet he cannot explain why, when an obligatory appearance at the circus turned tragic, he took home an orphan boy.

“Dick, I’m coming in,” Bruce said, opening the door to the room the boy had been staying in. “Alfred wants to know if you’re coming to dinner.”

“I don’t want anything from you!” Dick screamed, lobbing a shoe at Bruce which he dodged. The room was still in a state of disarray; nightstand knocked over and covers pulled violently off the bed into a protective pile on the floor. The sight was achingly familiar. “You can’t keep me here! I want to go back to Pop Haly!”

“We’ve been over this,” Bruce said softly, opening the door a bit more. “The circus is European, only here on temporary visas. As they aren’t blood relatives, they cannot legally take you in.” Aside from the chaos of the room, a framed picture of Dick’s parents was placed on a place of honor at the windowsill. Bruce unfortunately had to nail the window shut after Dick made 3 very daring escape attempts. “Besides, you and I both know you’re not planning on going back to the circus, not yet.”

“You don’t know anything!” Dick hissed, barring his teeth. “Get out before I make you!”

“I understand, Dick, believe me I understand,” Bruce said heavily, some of the Batman’s gravelly tones leaching into his voice. Bruce had done a lot of thinking in the past week, wondering just what had compelled him to offer himself as a temporary foster parent. He thought maybe it was because he feared for the boy’s safety if Zucco decided to silence him. Perhaps he thought it too cruel to send an innocent child to a juvenile detention center for reasons beyond his control. But, when the hour was late and he’d returned from patrol and was stripped of Batman and Wayne and was just Bruce, he knew.

He knew by the look of devastation and roiling anger in the boy’s eyes that no one, not the police or social workers or circus family would be able to help with. Bruce wasn’t sure that Dick could be helped, he himself was living proof, but he had to try. Because if he didn’t, the last of the Graysons would die trying to complete his revenge.

“No you don’t!” Dick roared, pushing himself out of his self imposed little nest. He threw another shoe which Bruce side stepped. “Because if you did, you would let me go! That-that bastard is still out there after killing them, after making them fall!” He took in a deep breath as grief washed over him before the anger returned twice as strong. “I know how this works Mr. Money Bags. We’re carney trash, we’re nobody, no ones gonna go after the killer.”

“Dick, I’ve been involved with the investigation, the police are doing everything they can.” Bruce explained, daring to step closer. Admittedly, the police couldn’t do all that much. There wasn’t a lot tying Zucco to the scene and that’s not even getting into the complicated Falcone-Maroni family mess that Zucco was protected by. There was a chance Zucco would skate by, ordinarily but- “and if they can’t then Batman will bring him to justice.”

“Batman!” Dick laughed, loudly and harshly. “And you city folks call us the freaks, you got a freaking bat monster out there solving your crimes Well I don’t need him, I don’t need any of you! They were my parents, I need to make sure Tony Zucco knows what’s coming to him and why.”

“Is that really what you want?” Bruce couldn’t help but ask. “To kill? To possibly be killed yourself?”

“Yes,” Dick said his eyes angry but filled with tears. “I can’t live in a world where their killer is free. I’d rather die myself.” Bruce’s chest became painfully tight, uncertain and afraid of what to do. It was like walking on landmines, knowing one wrong step will end in catastrophe.

He wondered if this was how Alfred felt every day for the past 15 years, watching Bruce drown himself in grief and anger. He knows very well what Dick was feeling, that pain and single minded rage. He wished he’d been better at managing himself if only so he could know how to help this boy now.

“I don’t think that’s what your parents would want, they’d want you to live, Dick, and this isn’t living,” Bruce said and realized he’d stepped on one of those landmines. The anger in Dick’s eyes turned physical and soon there was a furious acrobat in his face.

“You don’t get to talk about them!” Dick screeched, clawing at Bruce’s arms with impressive strength. “You don’t get to talk for them! You didn’t know them and now they’re dead because of assholes like you!” Batman had 36 ways of disabling the child but significantly less in ways that wouldn’t harm Dick. small, powerful hands clawed at his arms. Well defined legs kicked at him and elbows jammed at him.

But Bruce was larger, older and significantly heavier than the boy. He would bleed, he would bruise but he would survive. Gotham gave him worse on his easier nights. And some part of him couldn’t help but hope that the physical release would help Dick. God knows Bruce had destroyed enough property when he’d been an angry, grieving child. He would endure a thousand cuts if it meant he could ease even a small part of his charge’s pain. It was never that easy but, as Alfred used to say, hope wasn’t a dirty word.

Eventually, Dick wore himself out and his attacks petered out and he ended up slumped against Bruce’s chest. He put one hand on Dick’s shoulder to steady him but was he supposed to hug? Would Dick want that? Could he even offer it? It was easier to focus on the physical pain and on Dick’s quiet, little sobs.

“I hate this, I miss them so much,” Dick cried. Not knowing what else to do, Bruce ran his fingers through the boys wild hair. “Mr. Wayne, please, just let me go. I don’t wanna be here and you don’t want me either. Just turn your back, say I snuck out and you couldn’t find me. You’re rich, you won’t get in any trouble, not over someone like me. Please.”

“I can’t do that, Dick,” Bruce sighed, he pulled Dick closer as the boy tried to wiggle away. “I know it’s hard but I’m doing this because I care about you and because I want to give you what I never got, closure and a chance to heal. Dick, look at me,” The boy refused and Bruce pinched his chin as gently as he could and made him look. “Richard Grayson I promise you on the graves of my murdered parents that Tony Zucco will not remain free for longer. I will make sure he pays for what he did to you. And once he is caught, it will be up to you to figure out what you want to do with your life, the last gift your parents gave you.”

Dick didn’t say anything, just pulled himself out of Bruce’s grasp and fled back to his nest. He buried himself under the blankets and was silent save for quiet sobs and hiccups.

“You don’t have to come down if you don’t want to but you do need to eat, I’ll put something in front of your door.” Bruce made his way towards the door. “If you don’t keep your strength up, you’ll be in no state to help catch Zucco.” Dick peeked his face out behind the blankets.

“I’ll see if I can contact Batman, ask about his progress on the case. Maybe see if there’s anything you can do to help, get you involved,” Bruce said even though internally he was screaming. He wanted more than anything to keep Dick safe, away from all this. But the Bat inside him knew that Dick would never settle, never allow himself to grow past this tragedy until he sunk his teeth into his parents’ murderer. Nothing else to say, Bruce closed the door.

“Is the young master coming- my word, Master Bruce!” Alfred exclaimed when he walked into the kitchen. He’d worn long sleeves but Dick had sharp nails and blood was seeping through the fabric, he’d even gotten a few swipes at his face. One scratch just below his lip to the neck stung in the cool air of the kitchen.

“No, he’s not coming. I said we’d set something outside his door,” Bruce said. He didn’t fight back when Alfred pushed him onto a chair and began examining the injuries. He’d been caring for Bruce his entire life, from his very worst up until now which arguably wasn’t much better. “I don’t know how to help him, Alfred. I know his pain, I feel it but I never figured out how to help myself much less others.”

“Oh my boy if there was a cure all fix for grief, I’d put it in a bottle and be my own billionaire,” Alfred sighed, dabbing at the cuts. “All you can do is be there for him, offer love, safety, understanding. I can see the Young Master Dick is a kind boy, that this anger isn’t in his nature. One day, with the proper support, he’ll be able to move past this tragedy.”

“And we’ll get him to a real home,” Bruce sighed. He went to pick at one of the scratches but Alfred’s lightly swatted him away.

“So you still intend to send him away once this Zucco business is settled?”

“He doesn’t want to be here, he’s made that clear,“ Bruce stated. “Besides, with my work... it’s not safe for either of us to have attachments. Once Zucco is brought to justice, he’ll be safe in a regular foster home. He can he be happy there.”

“Will he, Sir?” Alfred tutted. “Because in between the young master’s bouts of grief and violence, I have spoken with him at length. The lad wants nothing more than to fly again, like he did with his mother and father and extended family at the circus. And, forgive me for being bold but I doubt a traditional home will allow him that privilege.”

“What are you implying? That he should stay here?” Bruce scoffed

“I’m not telling you, either of you, what to do. But you brought Master Dick home because you sensed a kinship, forged a connection not of logic but heart. He is so much like you were back then, Master Bruce, maybe he needs your unorthodox methods to stop fighting and start flying again.”

“Well, first of all, Tony Zucco needs to be brought to justice,” He said, standing up suddenly and stalking towards the grandfather clock. “If you need me, I’ll be down in the Cave reviewing his safe houses. Please ensure the boy is fed and he doesn’t find any other windows to crawl out of. I might not make it in time the next time he tries to run.”

“Of course, Sir, happy hunting.”

#hour prompt #slightly over the mark but only about 5 minutes or so #ever since my last prompt Ive been obsessed thinking on feral dick and an awkward bruce #on how they had to learn each other how bruce in a way had to finally confront his own grief to deal with dicks #Batman Year 3 and dark Victory remain my favorite canon Dick origin stories #so took inspiration from there for the details #but B absolutely looked at Dick and realized the kid would get himself killed bc no one else understood #impulse took him in and then blue screened bc he had no idea what to do #Dick sneaking out tracking down Zucco getting his ass beat until Batman saved him and he put bruce and Bats together is what saved his life #i dont think dick could have gone to a normal foster home #i dont think he would have done well would have probably run back to the circus #he needed someone like B to understand him #they helped each other heal which is why their relationship is soooo special but also so disasterous #anyway here's wonderwall

[i23kazu]

HASKJDHASDKH TY FOR THE KYRO LOVE OMG 🥹 UR SO SWEET FOR THAT AHHHHHHHH <333333

and for yongjia.......... omg i'll take anything but something to do with his relationship/dynamic with his sister? i havent heard much abt kailah so far :(((((

(angst stuff is good too if you so wish eheheheheh)

SPSPPSPPSP!!!! I GOTCHU HEHE (psps. if anyone would like to be tagged when i post yongjia things, let me know! the support for him has been overwhelmingly sweet :"D ^^)

about yongjia and kailah

aaauuhh the twins. the twinnytwintwins

so yongjia is older than kailah, right? he's older by 4 mins... people expect him to hold it over kailah's head (like all big siblings do) but in reality, kailah holds the fact that she's younger over his head proudly

"yongjia can you help me pick up something on the way home?"

"no."

"but won't you do it for your most darling prettiest coolest most wonderful ever little sister? pleaaaaaase?" with batting eyelashes and all.

and of course he can't say no, that's his twin...

i mentioned yongjia dyeing his hair in order to be different from kailah when i first posted the oc list! he really went through a phrase..

he got sick and tired of people comparing him to his sister. growing up, they had the same everything. it was the "you're twins, you should have similar things!" mindset that the people around them had

he got sick of being called the quiet one. the antisocial one. the aloof one. the boy who they couldn't figure out why he didn't want to make friends, when his sister could surround herself with them so easily?

it did affect him little by little – he tried to do the same things that kailah did.. maybe it'd make him more likable? his analytical brain just tried to figure out why she was so much better than him. maybe if he changed, they would be on the same level and people wouldn't be able to compare them anymore.

i don't think it affected him that much until he snapped at kailah :') she asked for a wrestling match/tickle fight and he just broke down. he's not one to fight, he disliked play wrestling, he didn't enjoy boxing, he exhausted so much energy trying to be in high spirits all the time and he just couldn't.

kailah just wrapped him in a hug for a solid 20 minutes while he sat there and cried.

after that incident, he swore never to change himself to be like someone else. as a small, tiny (or not so tiny) act of rebellion .. he dyed his hair light brown so that it'd be different from kailah's.

if you think she was upset by it – she wasn't! in fact, she helped him to apply it and everything. it was quite sweet :3

but also yesss. the twins have a good relationship. there are times where yongjia still needs to fight the green demons, but she's always there to reassure him that he himself is enough and that should be good enough for him alone :')

occasionally, he's the one who sends kailah into fits of full-on belly laughter. and it's usually done with the most deadpan face known to mankind..

he's sweet. and she can be incredibly considerate, despite how brash she can be sometimes

they complete each other hehe :3 i love my heart and mind twins so much

#[📥 message received!] #i hope this was okay HEHEHEHE i rambled a lot #divider from cafekitsune

[cosmic-carpals]

went to the rays-guardians game last night and had the time of my Life. i’ve been a lifelong rays fan and i’ve never seen the trop that packed (sell-out!). i really thought they were gonna lose, since the bullpen was not really killing it and the offense wasn’t materializing as much as they sometimes do, and people started leaving (as usual) before the 9th to beat traffic, but that last inning was electric. down 5-3, no outs, josh lowe starts a rally with a single and is sent home by yandy diaz doubling (almost a homer). 5-4, one out (bethancourt grounded out), with the tying run on second, wander franco comes up to bat. through the whole game, clips of his walk-off homer from the night before have been playing, and people start standing, anticipating a similar result. heartbreak; he strikes out. 5-4, two outs, and brandon lowe is up (annoyingly, to cheers of “let’s go brandon”). a wild pitch lets yandy take third, and b lowe singles, sending him home. 5-5, two outs, winning run is on first, and randy arozarena, the beloved of rays fans and team mexico fans alike (not mutually exclusive), is up to bat. my hopes are high, my expectations are low. he hasn’t been the same since the home run derby/asg. everyone is standing now, and chants of “RAN-DY! RAN-DY! RAN-DY!” are filling the stadium. someone next to me comments “no pressure, right?”, and i gleefully inform her that randy is best under pressure; if the rays could somehow manage to convince him that every game was the most important of his career, we’d go 162-0. brandon lowe steals second. the count is rising. everyone is yelling. then, boom; randy hits it into center field. the screaming gets significantly louder; it looks like it’ll be caught. but it isn’t!! the outfielder drops it, and brandon lowe scores. rays win, 5-6, the BWAHHHHHH goes off, and randy is mobbed at first. incredible ending. i’m going to be riding that high for Days.

#baseball #tampa bay rays #cleveland guardians #randy arozarena #josh lowe #yandy diaz #wander franco #brandon lowe