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the moon has nothing to be sad about, staring from her hood of bone (happy birthday, ilse!)
There are some nights you try to remember a time when this wasn't happening, when there wasn't the abysmal stretch of black instead of a horizon, when the air wasn't tinged with smoke and screams. You try to think back, to carnivals and sewage problems, and find that there is something precarious even then, something waiting to tip over and spill.

Because when you think back, you remember how foolish you were, to think that the sheep would never pull the wool from their own eyes. Because eventually, every one of those memories comes back to that numb feeling of shock when you see a report on the news and it's worldwide, it's a beginning of a new era to come, and your friends only have faces on the crinkled surfaces of wanted posters.

You think back but you're constantly dragged to the present, and they try to soothe the wound of what this world has become by rewarding you with hollow titles like hero and savior. You only think of how, to someone else, you're a rebel, an insurgent, a threat.

There are two sides to every story, you've always known that. But both sides are screaming at you and you can hardly find any sense in either one of them to deem them right.


-i z z y-

In her 1962 poem, Lady Lazarus, Sylvia Plath wrote, "Out of the ash, I rise with my red hair, and I eat men like air." You don't know why the quote keeps bouncing around in your head, an errant thought amongst many, but you cling to it like armor. Red hair was always symbolic of courage; see: Ginny Weasley, Amelia Pond, Donna Noble, the Black Widow. Red was fire and passion and heat. You thought you never quite fit the description.

Out of the ash, I rise with my red hair, and I eat men like air. Lady Lazarus. Rebirth. Remaking. Other thematic devices. You never really liked Plath; Laurie made you appreciate her more. It sticks to you. There's something cosmic and dark and dramatically appropriate about it.

They came for Redgrove on the third day after the news report. You remember Rory, face ashen, telling you to get out, shoving a knife and a gun and a backpack into your hands. They would have spared you, if you turned with the crowd. But you ran instead, took the knife and the gun and the pack and ran in the other direction. You tried to find Eli, but the Tuckers were the first to be found. They took the biggest target first, let the rest scatter. All you found was an empty house and the silence. In the distance, the marching of boots on dirt.

Beside you, the fluttering of feathers. Seylin.

(You remember the clear look in his eyes, and he never was a child, never was quite as innocent as you'd expected. Because you knew that he knew what was happening, and he knew, illogically, what would happen next. Because then there was the screech of an alarm and he tapped your shoulder, sent you away but not before you had time to see the men behind him, not before you could cry out for help.)

You don't know where you are and you don't know who else is left. Seylin's captured. Eli's captured. Rory's missing. Laurie's missing. You used to think sometimes, in moments of doubt, that you wouldn't do well on your own. But all of them, they've given you the strength you needed without any of you knowing it. They stepped away, and you stepped up.

Towns and cities blur by, yielding the same results. Some have become empty. In the distance, you see camps and you don't need to wonder what they're for. You think you're still somewhere in Texas. You keep walking because you must. You keep thinking of Plath and other random things, things like Eli's smile or horror movie night at Laurie's or taser lessons.

You happen upon the rebellion purely by circumstance. They surround you and take you in, you not raising your gun and keeping a clear head, and bring you to a man in rags and with a fresh-looking scar running down his eye. When he asks who you are, the feeling of a gun's barrel weighty against your scalp, you tell him. You tell him that you're Izzy McKay, that you literally wrote the book on supernatural creatures and he wouldn't know a damn thing if it wasn't for you, your voice matter-of-fact and clear and unwavering.

Months later, and the gun barrel against your skull is just another memory faded by footsteps and you're not running away anymore. You're running towards something, towards Eli and Seylin and Rory and Laurie. You've become expert at infiltration, because you've always been quiet, never the one to blow up or destroy or wreck, but you get the job done. And one night, you're walking down the halls and looking through cells, when there's a man in front of the bars and a gaunt but familiar face behind them. The gun has never felt lighter in your hands. You hit the guard once, right in the temple, and he goes down right when he turns to see you. But the keys are in your hands and Eli's arms are around you and Plath is still bouncing around in your head.

Out of the ash, I rise with my red hair, and I eat men like air. You're not devouring men, you were never as vicious as your friends used to be, but. You know damn well that two of three ain't bad.


-m o n t y-

The coin flips. Heads, tails, heads again. Washington winks goodbye as you flick him again, watch the glint of silver in the light. You don't feel angry. Tails, tails, heads. They don't have a devil's trap for you, or any sort of wards that prevent teleportation, that prevent shapeshifting, that prevent spells from going on. Heads, tails, tails. You're in the low-level threat area. You smile at the thought, think of what Leanna might've told you. Underestimation is your greatest weapon, cutie.

You call heads, and it will always be heads. The wards will burn you alive if you try to use a spell, try to break yourself out. You heard it once. Probably not one of the witches you knew. You call tails, and it will always be tails. Stow away the quarter when the guards pass, look appropriately oppressed as they leer in. You don't feel frightened.

Flip the coin fifty times, call it heads. Every time, heads, with a knowing smile from good ol' George. One hundred times tails. It happens. Leprechauns aren't as much of a threat to the world as skinwalkers or demons or angels. You're just at risk of ruining a little fun. Call it three times to land on an edge. It happens.

Muttered breaths to yourself, the flip of a coin, and a slow smile.

Scientists haven't developed a ward for leprechauns yet, can't contain luck and possibility. Can't stop bad luck. And it's just terrible luck when the gate unlocks, a telltale velvet beep that has never sounded lovelier. It's just terrible luck when the cages of the rest of a very pissed off Cellblock Nine are opened.

You step out whistling and flip a coin. Heads, you call loudly enough to draw the guard's attention. You never know if it did land on heads.

You just left it embedded in that bastard's skull and moved on. Because luck is always on your side and now you are very, very angry.


-c h a n c e-

The four of you, by some miracle, end up working together again, and you're all like clockwork. Studying the camp, knowing the location, knowing which guard will be where and precisely when. You don't allow yourself to become part of a unit, to become what was always expected, because you don't know what to say to any of them except for commands, for plans, for suggestions. You all know what you're getting into it for, and it just so happened that they were all in the same place.

Felix kills one of the guards first, when they're on the perimeter, and she melds in like a chameleon as you, Pros, and Luck prepare. Guns locked and loaded, knives at the ready, eyes set on the prize ahead. One round, two rounds later and she's waving you in, and you feel the telltale thrill of a plan actually going right so far.

(You still remember when they came upon Redgrove, it was so quick and precise and horrifying. Dallas was gone before you knew it, and the threat was larger than you had thought, an army at the outskirts of town. They took everyone you had known and loved and laughed with in hours, and began to set up camp in town like it was the center of everything. You had found a way out, you're clever like that, and you were off into the horizon before they could catch you, looking only for some way to stop. The rebellion was easier to find.)

You all go in together, Luck in front and Felix in back, both acting as lookouts and Felix preparing a story about leading you back to your cells, something that makes the bare minimum amount of sense to give a guard pause right before there's a knife in his throat. Felix has the keys, and she hands them to you as you go to find the skinwalkers and weres level, cell numbers ready on her lips. But you all know anyways.

Family is the most important thing. Maybe that's why you all help each other now, some sentiment out of mutual need. Maybe that's why no one has fought or bitched or moaned in the past few days, or at least kept it to a minimum. You all cooperate for once, and you all cooperate now, falling into place as you start slowly down the hallway, guns at the ready and Pros already firing a silenced bullet into the throat of a guard as Felix takes out the cameras.

They're all pretty close to each other. Alex and Isaiah and Danny. You release them swiftly as you can and risk pulling Danny into the biggest hug you can muster, knowing that you'd kiss the life out of him if you had the time. But you see them all joining hands, Luck and Alex, Pros and Isaiah, and you take Danny's and pull him along and you get it, in a fleeting moment.

Family is the most important thing. But family isn't some fractured fairytale, a weapon made out of human flesh and bones. Family is Danny, curled up against you as you watch Star Wars, his heartbeat only a beat off from yours. Luck and Prosper and Felix just have their different versions of it, but you all learned the lesson the very same.

when the mirror won't recognize me, effie-centric
carrying through the events of mockingjay

She tries not to let the fear show in her eyes when they come for her. But when they sieze her wrists and begin to drag her away, she cannot help but let out a sound, a half-strangled laugh of contempt mixed with a squeak of terror. She cannot help but be appalled by their behavior (manners, bad manners, she bites it back) and she has half a mind to yank her arms back, reclaim herself and tell them exactly who they're taking. She is Effie Trinket, not some common prisoner.

She does not yet that there is not much of a difference. When they put her in shackles and she feels the cold, unyielding metal against her corset, she grits her teeth to keep from screaming.

She doesn't know anything about District 13, about Haymitch Abernathy's plot, about the Quarter Quell situation. She repeats it in the same polite, flat tone, and she knows it isn't the answer that they want.

She keeps singing the same songs until the sharp, foreign taste of blood fills her mouth. The pain comes as a surprise to her, somehow makes it real, like something clamping onto her. The shackles weigh more heavily than before and keep her from clawing out her eyes to make it stop.

Portia and Peeta's stylists are dead. The Capitol executed them on live television. Someone tells her she'll be next.

Her hair tumbles down to her shoulders, limp and faded from the light violet it had been before they took her. Her lips are dry and her skin is sallow and her nails are yellow and cracked. She feels old, much older than she is, when she looks up and watches them put a bullet into Portia's skull.

She thinks of all the children she has brought here, led like lambs to a slaughter, and she thinks of a hot afternoon and a ringing silence and a name on paper that changed everything. Effie tilts her head back and laughs.

The odds were not in her favor, she had realized too late.

When the rebels come to retrieve her, she demands a stylist.

"Can't that wait?" a woman snaps at her, impatient, as they pull her through the halls, fingers tight around her wrists. Effie's head snaps up then and she wants to yank herself back, she wants to claw into their arms until they let her go. But she does not fight, not with her fists and her nails and any part she could use, not to draw blood.

"It certainly cannot!" she snaps instead, her tone enough to make the woman falter. "I think it's very important that Katniss has a familiar face, and no one would recognize me looking like this." They look at her with pitying eyes and she bites back more comments, threats and insults, because she always was polite and now is no time to stop. They consent before she has time to think up of a better argument, and whisk her away to Katniss' stylist team, thankfully still alive.

Having everything styled and put back in place is a relief, as if she has found herself again within the make-up and the wigs and the heels. She dons the white, shocking mask of powder like armor. When she looks at herself in the mirror, it's hard to see a difference, but she finds it in her eyes. Her stare is hollow despite the smile she is so accustomed to faking, and she cannot rid herself of the emptiness.

She will always have scars, she knows. But it's all right. She can always cover up the uglier ones and pretend that they were never there.

She smiles to herself again and remembers so long ago, when she was with a girl with fire in her eyes and a boy with a kind smile and a man with liquor on his breath.

It's going to be a big, big, big day.


(a birthday fic-a-thon for all of kelsey's wonderful do no wrong characters. i hope your birthday is the best bb)
-all prompts must concern one of kelsey's characters in some way because it is her birthday and they're great characters
-feel free to get interesting with prompts! a phrase, a situation, or simply requesting headcanons works
-graphics/drawings/etc are also accepted
-please participate and make this girl's birthday even greater; she absolutely deserves it!

(a birthday fanmix for all of kelsey's wonderful do no wrong characters; happy birthday, love!)

"we play pretend, but death is too real" - ashton hewitt
1. "something wrong" - bang gang
i can't cry anymore,
can you heal what is wrong?

2. "baltimore's fireflies" - woodkid
what is the price, am i supposed to pay
for all the things i try to hide?
what is my fate, am i supposed to pray
that trouble's gone with the sunlight?

3. "wrong" - depeche mode
i was born with the wrong sign, in the wrong house,
with the wrong ascendancy.
i took the wrong road that led to the wrong tendencies.

4. "robot boy" - linkin park
and you think compassion's a flaw, and you'll never let it show
and you're sure you hurt in a way that no one will ever know.
"find a stray, make him family" - bellamy lancaster
1. "wasteland" - woodkid
most of what i used to be had vanished in the waves,
the memories of the boy i've been were drowning and you saved them

2. "nightcall" - kavinsky & lovefoxxx
there's something inside you; it's hard to explain,
they're talking about you, boy, but you're still the same

3. "wear it like a crown" - rebekka karijord
how am i so afraid of losing everyone,
never been afraid of being lonely,
now i'm becoming the one i'm most scared of being

4. "soldier on" - the temper trap
soldier on, soldier on,
keep your heart close to the ground
"i'll be my own hero; i'll rescue myself" - danny mulryan
1, "lights" - ellie goulding
you show the lights that stop me, turn to stone,
you shine it when i'm alone
and so i tell myself that i'll be strong
and dreaming when they're all gone

2. "twilight galaxy" - metric
did they tell you, you should grow up,
when you wanted to dream?
did they warn you, better shape up
if you want to succeed?

3. "into the ocean" - blue october
i want to swim away, but i don't know how,
sometimes it feels like i'm just falling in the ocean

4. "full moon" - the black ghosts
in the full moon's light i listen to the stream
and in between the silence i hear you calling me,
but i don't know where i am and i don't trust who i've been
and if i come home now how will i ever leave?

5. "mowgli's road" - marina & the diamonds
there's a fork in the road,
i'll do as i'm told.
well, i don't know who i want to be.
"refused to be buried, refused to be forgotten" - evelyn buford
1. "psyche" - massive attack
rip the cage out of your chest,
let the chaos rule the rest.

2. "rocks and water" - deb talan
and i don't fear the dark anymore
'cause i've become all that.

3. "oh my love (feat. katyna ranieri)" - riz ortolani
a day, a brighter day, when all the shadows will fade away
that day i'll cry

4. "there was a whisper" - bang gang
there was a chill, there was a sound,
there was a whisper that i found

5. "help i'm alive" - metric
i tremble; they're gonna eat me alive,
if i stumble, they're going to eat me alive
"fordham; it says enough" - felix fordham
1. "got you by the balls" - ac/dc
she won't come across,
unless there's money in her hand
and she's calling all the shots.

2. "dust bowl dance" - mumford & sons
well, yes sir, yes sir, yes, it was me,
i know what i've done 'cause i know what i've seen
i went out back and got my gun,

i said, "you haven't met me, i am the only son."
3. "combat baby" - metric
combat baby, come back baby,
fight off the lethargy, don't go quietly
combat baby, said you would never give up easy

4. "my first lover" - gillian welch
he was always tryin' to bring me down,
but i was not waiting for a white wedding gown

5. "run right back" - the black keys
she holds it all up under
that pretty head of hers, oh,
it comes screaming out
in an electric shout
"a deal with death (read the fine print)" - floyd penrose
1. "i'm good, i'm gone" - lykke li
working in the corner,
peeking over shoulders,
waiting for my time to come

2. "trouble is a friend" - lenka
trouble he will find you no matter where you go, oh, oh
no matter if you're fast, no matter if you're slow, oh, oh

3. "superstition" - the kills
superstition is your modern eye
with original skin and original lie

4. "head like a hole" - nine inch nails
black as your soul,
i'd rather die than give you control

"eyes like ice" - grayson calloway
1. "the hand that feeds" - nine inch nails
cause you do what you're told,
but inside your heart, it is black and it's hollow and it's cold

2. "beautiful world" - carolina liar
and this city is endless,
i'm as cold as it's stone,
yeah the city is endless,
and i, i'm walking alone

3. "front row" - metric
he's not perfect, he's a victim
of his occupation

4. "nothing & nowhere" - emily haines & the soft skeleton
maybe all my possessions were priceless,
truth is all my possessions, i somehow lost 'em

"she grins like a lion" - rory archer
1. "special death" - mirah
but it's a special death you saved for me,
the brown-eyed daughter

2. "runaway" - yeah yeah yeahs
i was feeling sad, can't help looking back,
highways flew by

3. "dog days are over" - florence + the machine
run fast for your mother, run fast for your father,
run for your children, for your sisters and brothers,
leave all your love and loving behind you,
can't carry it with you if you want to survive

4. "warrant" - foster the people
i've been away, been running to save my head,
yeah, the warrant's out and i'm almost dead,
i won't say what i've already said

"a chill running through my bones" - rowan winters
1. "riverside" - agnes obel
i walk to the borders on my own,
fall in the water just like a stone,
chilled to the marrow in them bones

2. "wishing well" - the airborne toxic event
you just might end up somewhere in a fight, in a fight
or caught in your room on a concrete shelf
fighting all alone with yourself, yourself

3. "iron" - woodkid
i'm waiting for the call, the hand on the chest,
i'm ready for the fight, and fate

4. "shake it out" - florence + the machine
and i've been a fool and i've been blind,
i can never leave the past behind

"don't let them get you down, kid" - seylin
1. "heartlines" - florence + the machine
just keep following the heartlines on your hand,
keep it up, i know you can,
keep following the heartlines on your hand, 'cause i am

2. "october" - the broken bells
ground your sense of self-worth, 'cause the spark of morning burns
and all of your searching eyes can scold your tender mind

3. "rock what you got" - superchick
rise up you lost ones, claim your crown,
you were born to rock inside your soul

4. "for everything a reason" - carina round
so they say, lord, for everything a reason,
for every ending, a new beginning

"the fallen, the forgotten" - judas
1. "thistle & weeds" - mumford & sons
spare me your judgements and spare me your dreams,
'cause recently mine have been tearing my seams

2. "lover to lover" - florence + the machine
there's no salvation for me now,
no space among the clouds,
and i've seen that i'm heading down, but that's all right

3. "when things explode" - unkle
i saw my fears in your eyes,
you saw your fear in mine,
we watched it burn together

"the disgraced son, the boy who could see ghosts" - tracey booth
1. "roll away your stone" - mumford & sons
it seems that all my bridges have been burnt,
but you say that's exactly how this grace thing works

2. "back against the wall" - cage the elephant
i'm stuck here in-between the shadows of my yesterday
i want to get away, i need to get away

3. "down by the water" - the decemberists
i was just some towheaded teen,
feeling 'round for fingers to get in between
down by the water and down by the old main drag

4. "falling" - florence + the machine
when i'm falling, i'm at peace,
it's only when i hit the ground, it causes all the grief

"the girl who had forgotten" - wren abbot
1. "when under ether" - pj harvey
when under ether, the mind comes alive,
but conscious of nothing but the will to survive

2. "only if for a night" - florence + the machine
and i heard your voice as clear as day
and you told me i should concentrate;
it was all so strange and so surreal
that a ghost should be so practical

3. "somebody help me" - full blown rose
it's like the morning never comes,
i feel the burden of confusion,
always searching, on the run

4. "i go to sleep" - sia
i look around me
and feel you are ever so close to me;
each tear that flows from my eye
brings back memories of you to me


wow let's talk about how remotely unapologetic for that terrible graphic fight me
weee are doing another fic meme but instead of sex (though you can have sex if you want??) we are going to have a song of ice and fire, or the game of thrones au fics
-all prompts MUST somehow deal with asoiaf au
-we are not going to argue on one fixed set up for who does what in this universe, because that's dumb and fun ruining. things are up to your own interpretation.
-your prompt can be a specific au situation (for example, dominic and felicity as king and queen of westeros and lando cast down in the rebellion, lando pov, etc etc) or it can be a simple prompt of wanting to see where others think certain characters would be in this au (this would probably just be a couple/character and a one word or phrase prompt?)
-i am not going to deny kink meme prompts because why would i want to
-some fills may be explicit so you're warned here

Just a Scratch, A Song of Ice and Fire, Arianne Martell/Arys Oakheart, cunnilingus, hard, scratch
It's just a scratch, he tells himself, fingers brushing gingerly over the mark, a crimson red against his tanned skin. Anyone could have a scratch. He is a knight, after all, and they get plenty of scratches and worse. Marks of valor, he'd learned. Marks of being a real man, his father told him. The marks of real knighthood.

But Arys suspects that a true knight of the Kingsguard would get his scratches protecting his king, not fucking his princess, not burying his screams into her shoulders as she clenched around him, nails raking down his back until they drew blood. The fire in Princess Arianne's eyes then were hotter than anything he had ever felt or tasted in Dorne; he was surprised she didn't consume him at that moment.

He looks at himself in the glass, looking at the family of lines carressing his back, his lips, the teeth marks on them that are not his, the marks all over him, all thanks to Arianne's wicked mouth. He shudders at the thought and runs his fingers over the worst scratch, knowing that they should itch or ache. This one seems to burn, and every time his fingers ghost over it, it flares, bringing the flashes of that moment through his mind. In the sweltering shadows of some abandoned, ruined place in the middle of Sunspear, he was no longer a knight. He was a man given into temptation, a man ridden and scratched and marked for his princess' pleasure. A knight, perhaps, Arys thinks resentfully, running his fingers along a dark purple gift left upon his hips (he had uttered a protest, but by the time it formed words in his head, Arianne's lips had left the jut of his hipbone and found his cock, wanting and aching despite his objections). The Wanton Knight. Were he anyone else, he might've laughed, but Arys Oakheart just feels his new brands of shame and dishonor, again and again until he has memorized each one.

"Do you recall your vows now, ser?" Arianne Martell asks softly, drawing from the shadows. Arys turns to look at her, look at the thin fabric that passes for her gown for now, eyes drawing to her breasts, her thighs, the space inbetween. He swallows thickly, tries to put on a stoic face. He must leave. He cannot submit again. "Every time I wake, expecting to be in your arms, I find you instead worrying over those marks. Rubbing them enough will not make them go away." Her smile is slow and wicked as she shrugs off her robe, and Arys thought she has never looked more beautiful. "You have broken your vows before tonight, Arys. I doubt you can repair them. Why not break them again?"

Arys thinks it's a compelling argument, and he doesn't have much time to think elsewise as the princess crosses the room in two swift strides, pressing her warm body against his. He feels himself stir and his breath hitches as Arianne catches his mouth against hers, the kiss teeth and tongue, and her need is urgent judging by the way she grabs hold of his hair and pulls herself impossibly closer. Arys moans against her mouth as they fumble towards the bed, collapsing back onto it with a soft thud and a faint laugh buzzing against the knight's lips. They break apart and Arys finds his mouth busy, trailing kisses along her collarbone before finding Arianne's breasts, tongue and teeth setting the woman to whining and arching into him (when she first requested it, Arys had balked at such behavior, at being anything but gentle and protective over his princess, until his princess showed him how with her clever smile and her dark eyes). Arianne begs, fingers entangled in Arys' hair, begs for more, and however damned a knight he is, he will still serve his princess.

When Arys' tongue finds her cunt, Arianne bucks against him with a soft moan, not bothering to clutch the sheets when he is readily available. Pain stabs through him with each pull, but he draws more pain as he draws circles around her clit. They continue on like this for a while, Arianne writhing beneath Arys' well-taught mouth (she is everything he knows, everything his body reacts to, and it all comes naturally to him now, a thought that shames him and makes him harder than ever), before she pulls him back up to her, guiding him. They both moan this time as Arys sinks into the woman, and he grabs her hips hard enough to leave bruises as he begins to thrust.

"Arys," Arianne whispers, guiding him again, sinking her teeth into his neck. The pain spurs him on, driving into her cunt again and again until the princess moans and her nails find his back again, leaving fresh marks. The feeling of blood and pain mixed with the tight paradise of Arianne makes Arys want to scream as he comes, still thrusting into her. She finds her release near the same time, meeting his thrusts eagerly, whispering his name into his ear again and again. They rest then, chests heaving, Arys carefully holding the princess, but he can see himself in the glass across the room. New blood, new marks, new gifts from his lover.

It is just a scratch, he tells himself then. It is more than a scratch, he knows; it is everything, but Arianne and the bed are so warm when the white cloak abandoned in the corner seems so very cold.

(after the fun and success of participating in one of my other rp's kink memes, i figured why not?)
okay so hi hello yes, we're doing a dnw kink meme
the rules:
-leave a couple you want to see with a kink you want in the comments, for example: edward/jack, bondage or katie/tracey, dirty talk, etc etc
-couples don't have to be canon because that's not any fun you guys do what you want
-man idk what else to put so yes
-also lol this here is your warning: this probably will get explicit in some prompts/fills, so if you don't like it, don't read it?

have at it!