#Catching Fire Audiobook

[heavensbeehall]

"Catching Fire", Chapter 26

Part 3: The Enemy

Chapter 26: Our Alliance hikes to the Lightning Tree of Doom. Johanna and Katniss take off with the coil, but it's cut. Johanna hits Katniss, removes her tracker, and attempts totrick the Careers into following her. Brutus says Katniss is as good as dead. A cannon goes off (Chaff, killed by Brutus), making Katniss afraid for Peeta. She follows the wire back to the Lightning Tree only to find Beetee, injured, with Peeta's knife wrapped in wire. Peeta calls for Katniss. Katniss calls for Peeta, hoping to draw any attackers to her and the Lightning Tree. Enobaria and Finnick arrive. Katniss prepares to shoot them. Another cannon goes off (Brutus, killed by Peeta). But Katniss remembers Haymitch's advice to remember who the enemy is so she sends her arrow into the "chink" in the force field's armor. She is paralyzed by the lightning and can't reach Peeta or his pearl. (Sadface).

Thoughts:

-- I have been listening to bits of the audiobook while reading along and I have decided that I like Tatiana Maslany as Katniss better than Carolyn McCormick, the original narrator. McCormick sounds younger, but Maslany--even though I know her from other things--is more Katnissy in a way I can't describe. Anyway, just in case anyone is considering downloading either edition.

-- It's funny that Katniss is so convinced Peeta could convince anyone of anything, like he could charm the skin off the snake. Because I can't think of one instance when he convinced Katniss to do something she didn't want to?

-- If neither Brutus or Enobaria followed Johanna very far, then where the fuck is she during all of this?

Quotes:

The alliance is over. Finnick and Johanna must have had an agreement to turn on us tonight. I knew we should have left this morning

Katniss thinks Johanna tried to kill her but just didn't get the chance because Brutus and Enobaria showed up, which is silly. If she wanted to kill Katniss, she'd have hit her with an axe not the wire coil. Sometimes our girl is a bit slow.

There's a much deeper alliance based on years of friendship and who knows what else.

Wait does Katniss think Finnick and Johanna are fucking? Hilarious.

The boom of a cannon pulls me up short. Someone has died. I know that with everyone running around armed and scared right now, it could be anybody. But whoever it is, I believe the death will trigger a kind of free-for-all out here in the night. People will kill first and wonder about their motives later.

This is Chaff's death. As I've mentioned before I am very confused as to what he was up to. Did Peeta run in a different direction that Finnick? Because that seems dangerous. If Brutus was following Johanna, how did he come upon Chaff? Or was he helping Johanna and Peeta just happened to see it? I am vexed by the Chaff situation.

The moan must have been involuntary. [Beetee]'s not conscious, although I can see no wound except a gash below the crook of his elbow.

So Finnick cut out Beetee's tracker before he ran? Or did he do it himself?

[Beetee] and I will soon die. Finnick and Enobaria will die. Peeta is alive. Two cannons have sounded. Brutus, Johanna, Chaff. Two of them are already dead. That will leave Peeta with only one tribute to kill. And that is the very best I can do. One enemy.

Okay let's say things go as Katniss plans here. Do we think Peeta could take Johanna? I know he's bigger than her, but I am leaning towards no if she has an axe to throw, but I am not sure she does at this point.

I have always known who the enemy is. Who starves and tortures and kills us in the arena. Who will soon kill everyone I love. My bow drops as his meaning registers. Yes, I know who the enemy is. And it's not Enobaria.

I really like this bit. In the movie it is just Finnick. But there is something about the fact that Enobaria was not part of the alliance at any time which makes me think of Cato's death, and even Coral in the latest movie. The Careers might seem evil to the outlying districts, but this is another deception on the Capitol's part, it keeps them fighting one another instead of the Capitol.

[smallpapers]

THG artdump bc guess who’s just spent the past week binging the hunger games audiobooks and movies

[segaynus]

Rip Spruce you would have loved Bonnie and Twill

Rip Bonnie and Twill you would have loved Spruce

[assim-eu-sou]

I think it’s very telling that the first sentence of the Hunger Games prequel is Coriolanus Snow complaining about the food he has to eat before heading off to observe the reaping

[sugarcarnation]

successfully didn’t do any work until now. will this streak continue

[peettamellarrk]

pause.. i just heard my cousin listening to the Catching Fire audio book and the reader pronounced Gales moms name as “Huh-Zel” like girl ive been reading her name as “Hay-Zel” for the past 13 years wtf 😭💀

[snowangeldotmp3]

of course they’d take the hunger games off netflix the moment i start reading the book

[patrickzvveig]

got caught up in school work and couldn't read but i found out that Suzanne Collins has posted the entire hunger games trilogy on spotify to listen to FOR FREE (granted you have premium) :)!! There's even a special edition with Tatiana Maslany (Orphan Black, She-Hulk) narrating!

I've never seen an author do this before, I think this is amazing and super helpful for a lot of people who may want to engage with the books but don't own them and can't buy them/take them out of the library.

Thanks Suzanne!!

[audiobookfree78]

(via Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins)

Get this Audiobook for FREE NOW! 🎁 30-Day Free Trial → Click Here: www.bestaudiobookshop.online

[winterburning-zip]

Tatiana Maslany really popped off with the hunger games narration, it really feels like a story meant to be spoken

[tamaharu]

tatiana maslany you will ALWAYS be famous

[pseudowho]

The Voice, Part 1/2

VoiceActor!AU. Nanami Kento is the most acclaimed and beloved voice actor of his generation. When the mysterious woman of his dreams is swept away from him in a moment of passing fates, will he ever find her again?

Full credit to @delirious-donna for dropping this into my head fully formed.

The next part will be all smut. No apologies.

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It began with anime; the first embers of your gentle obsession sparked to life, and you felt like the woman who had discovered fire. The voice. His voice.

You were not the only one, you were sure, as you diligently bought audiobooks in his voice, the words steeping in whiskey and smoke; played games with his voice threaded to the soul of a character; watched his voice brought to life on screen, and his characters were tinged with gold.

He was faceless; Nanami Kento, the most beloved voice actor of your generation, was a man of mystery, preferring to stay out of the limelight with stubborn insistence. You did not mind. His voice was enough, for you, soothing loneliness, companionable and smooth. It balmed the sores of your soul.

News outlets hunted for him. People gave up family members and colleagues, touting them as the owner of the voice belonging to Japan's beloved master of the spoken word. You knew they were wrong. Again, you didn't mind. Your obsession held no possession; there was no bite, no ownership.

You simply allowed the dulcet tones of a stranger to lick you to sleep every night. You simply dreamed of knowing him better. You simply dreamed of his voice, guiding you through your peak. In all other ways...you were perfectly 'normal'.

Heading to work in Tokyo snow, you caught yourself slipslid into the downstream of Tokyo commuters, flowing into Shibuya's subway. The crowd undulated in one direction, shoulder to shoulder, and you squirmed through, pressing through the sweat-coffee-toothpaste-cologne miasma until you claimed a spot on a train.

The people packed around you. Your back pressed to another, much broader, much firmer back, and you were quietly thankful for the stability it afforded you. As the train moved, and you wobbled, crying out, you felt the back stiffen and move with you, as if to anchor you. You were, again, grateful, and had to be so without words, corseted by societal expectation.

The train clatter-clattered through the twisting wormholes of the underground, dipping in and out of orange lights. You had just begun to relax, chilly from the morning snow, warmed by the back against yours.

The train screeched to a halt, halfway through a tunnel. The bodies around you cried out as one, shunting forwards with inertia. You heard a grunt of surprise from the back against yours, rumbling through you, a brick wall as you fell against him with a squeak. The cries died out. A few solitary noises of complaint...until the lights went out.

Plunged into darkness, you felt the collective heartrates rise, slow and mumbling, while yours rose exponentially with your breaths. You felt a chilly sweat down your spine, trapped in the dark in a tin can with nobody and no-one and you only barely heard the tannoy announcement apologising for a fault on the line and you'd be moving in a few minutes but it was a few minutes too long and--

"Hey. You're okay. Take my hand."

The back pressed to yours rumbled; it was the only thing that told you you hadn't imagined the voice. The voice. That voice. Other voices around you began to chat, too, societal norm sidetracked by shared peril.

"Just take a deep breath. With me. Take my hand."

Long fingers in the dark. A broad, warm hand clasping yours. You clung, reaching your other hand back to clasp his other hand, too. You stood like this, back to back, both hands plaited, while you gasped, hyperventilating.

"It won't be long. We'll get moving again. You're safe. You're safe."

You couldn't catch the tears before they fell, tumbling down your cheeks as you hiccuped, and apologised.

"--God I'm-- so stupid I-- I'm so sorry-- thank you--"

"You're not, I...I feel it too. It's alright. It's alright."

You couldn't believe what you were hearing, absolutely certain to your very core that this man must be the very same man you listened to every evening. The secret voice. The man of mystery. You felt yourself calm, dreamlike as you spoke, stroking a thumb against his palm. You respected his choice for anonymity.

"...are you okay?"

A pause. You felt his back stiffen against yours.

"I'll...be fine. I avoid the subway, usually, but work necessitates it today. I have no logical reason to hate it. There's no reason I should be scared."

You smiled, soft. "A phobia isn't logical. You can't reason your way out of it." You bowed your head, eyes closed in the dark, your heart bounding, unable to pretend you weren't hopelessly, ruinously in love with this man, now you held his hands in your own in some bizarre twist of fate. "And...thank you."

"No. No...thank you." He paused, tapping his fingers against your hand, jittery with his own restrained terror. His words tumbled, unbidden. "Shit, I hate it down here."

"Trauma from an alternate universe or something, huh?" You joked, gentle as you held him, now. "Just...think of it as night-time. In your bed. Calm, and dark, and warm."

"...not usually this many people in my bed--"

"--oh really? There are in mine--"

He laughed hard, kindling a blush in your cheeks, and you rested your head back against his shoulder, glad he couldn't see you. He spoke again, his voice smiling.

"Well if you keep picking up strangers in trains..."

"You call it 'picking up strangers in trains'. I call it 'Tuesday'."

The theatre masks flipped, comedy overtaking tragedy, your worlds reduced to just each other, in the dark. You talked, and talked, all easy banter and comfort. You raised his hand in yours, and he felt a tug in his gut as you accidentally wiped the tears from your cheeks with his plaited finger instead of yours.

"Using strangers as handkerchiefs now?"

"I haven't had my coffee yet, hush."

"What's your usual order?"

"I like a vanilla latte. Why?"

"So I know what to get you."

He felt a matchstrike of success as you squirmed against his back, pressing your plaited hands to your forehead. He let his eyes drift shut, sick of being lonely, maybe ready to let a stranger into his odd, isolated little world--

"...I'd love that. Thank you. And...your voice. I--"

The train rattled to life through the pitchcast tunnel, and he grunted, bracing himself as you fell against him again. He felt a spark of happiness, a lurching joy that you'd mentioned his voice, perhaps knowing who he was all this time but treating him like any other person and shit we can go out for coffee but is it too soon no no she'll respect the secret I've got a feeling she will--

The train lurched again, in the dark, and he heard you squeak as you fell away from him, the startled thump-thump and cries of strangers shuffling in this tin can. A white-orange light appeared at the end of the tunnel, the train rushing towards it, but his hands were empty.

You scrambled to get up from the floor, nobody's hands reaching down for you like his had. As the train bathed in light, you were hidden, masked by legs and bags, and you couldn't see each other, not that you'd know who you were looking for. You rummaged frantically, to get up, get up, come on you silly bitch, and you couldn't, and the train stopped, the doors opening with a tiny announcement.

You opened your mouth to call his name-- and clamped it shut, immediately, face twisted in conflict.

You managed to stand, and turn just enough to see a sea of black hair with pink tips and brown hair with ombre highlights and honey-blond undercut hair neatly parted and a head above the rest and no hair all shaved off and--

The teeming crowd pushed you off the train. You left your heart behind with a man who could not pick you from the crowd, despite his frantic eyes hunting, and hunting and hunting.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Nanami Kento's stomach ached with lost potential. Sat in his chair at the recording studio, the staff there sworn by non-disclosure agreements, Kento read the same line over, and over, and over.

No amount of practice could inject it with enthusiasm, and he snapped, growling his way through the line and pressing his forehead into one broad palm. His agent piped up.

"Oh! That one was good. Stick with that--"

"No, no..." Kento rumbled, miserable. "Not like that. It doesn't suit the character, I just...I'm not in the best frame of mind today."

Kento felt dirty even admitting it aloud, a consummate professional who laid aside his true feelings for those he needed to portray in recording. His agent's eyebrows flicked up, and he sat beside Kento, nervous.

"That's...not like you, Nanami." Ijichi eked out, hesitant. "What's wrong?"

Kento slopped his script onto the side, hands plaited in his lap. He knew before knowing that the only way he would be able to find you, was exercising his own influence over the media world. If Nanami Kento was looking for someone, the whole of Japan would stop to help him find them. And, yet, it was risky. And dirty. And risked scaring you away.

There was no way you could know each other on the quiet Tokyo subway system, unless he decided to go completely gung-ho and stand at a station with a sign looking for The Woman In The Dark Who Held My Hands On The Train And Made Me Laugh which is fucking mental frankly but not mad if it works and it's worth the risk I think I want to know her want to know--

"Ijichi." Kento's agent perked up, his tired face pinched in servitude. "I have a favour to ask. A big one."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

After that morning, listening to Nanami Kento's recordings simultaneously fell flat and elated you, all at once. While their power spun gold through you, with the backdrop of real life connection with him, that peak then crashed, falling into the despondency and despair of knowing you would never have that intimacy with him again.

You couldn't approach him, in any form. Even his agency was a closely guarded secret, and anyone who did find out was swiftly dealt with, you were sure. Hordes of fans fawned over him. You were thrown into obscurity by the sheer volume of the clamouring masses.

The darker, self-loathing part of you seeded the doubt that he'd even want to hear from you. You swung between certain misery that you had imagined such intimate chemistry, and elation over the significance of the moment you had shared.

Weeks passed. You looked at every stranger on the train, sometimes trying to catch their eye, as if that gold thread would connect between your pupils. Any man could be him. All you knew was his voice, the touch of his skin, and the feel of his hands in yours.

One morning, alone and queuing for coffee, it all changed. Your jaw dropped to see the news splashed across a Tokyo billboard, its newscaster silently helped along by subtitles.

The voice of Japan, Nanami Kento, searches for mystery woman!

You froze, your whole body blooming into fine botanicals, brought to life like a greenhouse in summer.

You abandoned your place in the queue, stumbling out of the coffee shop doorway with a little dingaling from the bell above you. Wide-eyed, your shoulder bag dropped to the floor, and you stood, famous in anonymity, caressed by the eyes of millions and none all at once.

**Are you Nanami Kento's mystery woman?**

**Hundreds have already come forward, claiming to be the one!**

**The search begins!**

You grabbed your phone, clamouring to access the same newscast on your screen, shoving your headphones in with trembling fingers. The voice of the anchorwoman fed into you.

"...have already come forward, and Nanami Kento is yet to find his mystery woman!

When the subway train he was travelling on was plunged into darkness, Nanami-san reports talking to a woman who was separated from him when the train began moving again.

Now, unable to stop thinking about her, he has recorded her this message:"

You clenched within, clutching at your chest to hear Nanami Kento, speaking to you again, and your eyes filled with tears, threatening to spill over in one great hiccup.

"I'm not sure how to begin this. To...the woman who held my hands on the train. I'm not ready to leave it there. We had more to say to each other, and I know that you knew who I was the whole time. Knowing that you put that aside, to treat me with kindness, as a stranger...is more important to me than you know. I know you'll be able to answer questions that no other woman can."

His voice paused, and you pressed your fingers to your lips, now weeping in silence in the bustling Tokyo street. He spoke just once more.

"I owe you a coffee. Please...come forward."

As the recording ended, you gasped, a great breath of relief leaving your lungs. Your throat burned with having held your breath throughout his whole message to you. A helpline number rolled across your screen, and you spoke it aloud to yourself, still sniffling, shaking fingers punching it into your screen, until you looked up, and froze at your own reflection in the window.

You felt a familiar pang of disgust with spotting yourself reflected back at you. Your face was puffy, tearstained and mascara-smudged. You drank down every flaw, feeding it into the same positive feedback-mechanism that had fed your own self-loathing for years. Your finger stopped, hovering over the call button.

Nanami Kento was sure to be disappointed. Your hand slumped, your phone resting against your thigh, a number uncalled. Your heart squeezed so tightly, your chest hurt. You deleted the number off your screen. You abandoned your coffee. You walked to work, unable to face another subway journey, knowing for certain he wouldn't be there.

You were sure another woman would come forwards, able to convince him that she was the woman he was searching for.

Between recordings, Kento hurried back to the phone, set up exclusively for him in the studio. He answered call, after call, after call, coolly rejecting woman, after woman, after woman.

You were inimitable. Kento waited. Your call remained uncalled.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Another week passed. Kento's lines went unrecorded as he worked his way through thousands of calls, each one a fake, a phoney, desperately trying to fit their foot into a glass slipper not made for them.

Pulling at his hair, shrunken by despair, Kento slumped with his face in his hands. He felt a coffee nudged in front of him. Ijichi sat beside him, always with a baseline air of nervousness.

"Have you considered," Ijichi began, considerate, "that she's worried about how she looks?"

Kento lifted his face out of his hands, staring into the silent recording booth, fingertips steepled against his chin. His voice dragged, heavy with the effort of another conversation he didn't want to be having.

"I have." Kento responded, thoughtful. "I just...hoped it wasn't that. I'm also aware that...perhaps she doesn't want to meet me, like I want to meet her." Kento paused again, the silence gravid between he and Ijichi, Ijichi's eyes downcast as he listened in concern.

"I should think that's unlikely." Ijichi replied, following Kento's gaze into the recording booth. "If what you've told me is accurate, and I'm sure it is, you two shared an irreplaceable moment. There's no way she could have missed the news, it's the talk of Japan. You felt no ring on her finger, so she's probably neither engaged, nor married. She hadn't finished speaking to you, before you were interrupted."

Kento listened, eyes sinking closed, jaded and exhausted. His hope rotted with rejection, his efforts rust-nibbled and tainted with the embarrassment of pouring himself into the open, vulnerable as he had never been before-- except, with you.

Kento was forced to face that, for whatever reason, you did not want to find him. Despondent, his belly full of rocks, he eyed the connecting cable at the back of the phone.

"I don't think I can handle another woman pretending to be her, Ijichi. I think...I think I'm done. She deserves peace and quiet. I think it's time to call it a day."

Ijichi made the briefest noise of despair, moving to stop Kento as Kento grabbed the cord in the back of the phone, ready to cut it off.

The phone rang.

Ijichi's eyes flicked to Kento, eyebrows rising up to his hairline.

"...just one more?"

"...I don't know, Ijichi. I'm tired of the disappointment. This has been a fool's errand, some horrible wild goose-chase. I'm supposed to be a professional, and I'm so behind on my recordings, and--"

"They can wait. Just one more."

Kento sighed. The phone continued to ring, and with one huge hand, Kento silenced it by picking up the receiver.

You held your breath, sheltered from a storm in a phone booth, chilly with the wet and anticipation. Closing your eyes in the Tokyo nightlights, you could almost be in the tunnel again. You clapped a hand over your mouth to hear his voice, weary and hesitant, but him.

"...hello?"

You gasped, a single great sob bursting forth. Silence on the other end of the line, as you babbled, sniffling, almost drowned out by the slamming of the rain against the glass.

"I-its me, it-it's me. I'm...I'm the woman from the train."

Silence again. A deep, uncertain rumble.

"If I buy you a coffee...what would your order be?"

"A vanilla latte."

Silence again, an ember of hope. "I called it 'picking up strangers on trains'. You called it--"

"'Tuesday'." You laughed, bubbling through your tears.

Kento clasped a hand over his mouth, his face crumpling, his eyes welling up as roses bloomed in his mind. He took one deep shuddering breath, blowing out before his chest could burst with the anticipation.

"Instead of a handkerchief, you used..."

You laughed, and Kento's face finally cracked, laughing himself as a couple of tears crept down his sharp cheekbones.

"...your hand. I used your hand. Rudely."

"Oh, god. Oh my god. It's you."

[mostlysignssomeportents]

That means that for a work to be eligible for copyright in the USA, it must satisfy three criteria:

1. It must be creative. Copyright does not apply to non-creative works (say, a phone book listing everyone in a town in alphabetical order), even if the work required a lot of labor. Copyright does not protect effort, it protects creativity. You can spend your whole life making a phone book and get no copyright, but the haiku you toss off in ten seconds while drunk gets copyright’s full protection. 2. It must be tangible. Copyright only applies to creative works that are “fixed in a tangible medium.” A dance isn’t copyrightable, but a video of someone dancing is, as is a written description of the dance in choreographers’ notation. A singer can’t copyright the act of singing, but they can copyright the recording of the song. 3. It must be of human authorship. Only humans are eligible for copyright. A beehive’s combs may be beautiful, but they can’t be copyrighted. An elephant’s paintings may be creative, but they can’t be copyrighted. A monkey’s selfie may be iconic, but it can’t be copyrighted.

The works an algorithm generates —be they still images, audio recordings, text, or videos — cannot be copyrighted.

For creative workers, this is huge. Our bosses, like all bosses, relish the thought of firing us all and making us homeless. You will never love anything as much as your boss hates paying you. That’s why the most rampant form of theft in America is wage theft. Just the thought of firing workers and replacing them with chatbots is enough to invoke dangerous, persistent priapism in the boardrooms of corporate America.

- Everything Made By an AI Is In the Public Domain: The US Copyright Office offers creative workers a powerful labor protective

THIS IS THE LAST DAY FOR MY KICKSTARTER for the audiobook for "The Internet Con: How To Seize the Means of Computation," a Big Tech disassembly manual to disenshittify the web and make a new, good internet to succeed the old, good internet. It's a DRM-free book, which means Audible won't carry it, so this crowdfunder is essential. Back now to get the audio, Verso hardcover and ebook:

http://seizethemeansofcomputation.org

Going to Burning Man? Catch me on Tuesday at 2:40pm on the Center Camp Stage for a talk about enshittification and how to reverse it; on Wednesday at noon, I'm hosting Dr Patrick Ball at Liminal Labs (6:15/F) for a talk on using statistics to prove high-level culpability in the recruitment of child soldiers.

On September 6 at 7pm, I'll be hosting Naomi Klein at the LA Public Library for the launch of Doppelganger.

On September 12 at 7pm, I'll be at Toronto's Another Story Bookshop with my new book The Internet Con: How to Seize the Means of Computation.

[frvnkcastles]

With frank being a big reader, van I ask for a reader that struggles to read out loud? Like reading is fine in her head bur when reading outlook they stutter, have to start again and use up all aor in one part of a paragraph and has to take a stuttering breath which annoys the reader but frank finds it adorable that they keep trying, just to read out a passage of a book they love to Frankie?

MY OLD ACHES ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: You want to read to Frank despite your difficulty to do so, and he’s all ears.

Warnings: Reader has a(n occasional) stutter, fluff, feminine nicknames, language

Word count: 1.3k

Author’s note: This is a really sweet one for a change :) This is also something I sometimes struggle with (I swear you guys go straight into my brain and pull these requests out of there) so I knew exactly what I wanted to do with this! I hope you like it anon <3 Also, I really love it that the show made Frank a reader, that’s such a cute little detail.

There were very few things you loved as much as you loved Frank reading to you. You adored the way he’d caress your hair with one hand, your head on his lap, while his other one would support the book he had gotten immersed in as of late, and you loved listening to his soothing, deep voice — one that you often joked should be making audiobooks.

What made it so sweet, though, was that he didn’t just do it to appease you. You had quickly learned that it was one of the many ways he displayed affection, opening up that personal space of his to invite you in, sharing with you the passages that he felt the most connected to and sometimes, not always, explaining the reasons why. He wasn’t a man of many words, and elaborate confessions of love definitely weren’t his method of communicating his feelings for you, but he still cared about you deeply and he let you know as best he could.

Bonding over books was what had brought you two so close together, in the first place. You had met at a bar, which was less romantic than your favorite bookstore just a corner away from your apartment, but the conversation had swiftly been steered into the literary pieces that held the most importance to you. And so, you had probably been the only two people in the crowded bar rambling about books, but he had met your passion with equal fire and you instantly knew you had met someone worthy of your time. Your relationship had grown with you both recommending books to one another, and before you knew it, he was interlocked with every part of your life in such an intricate way that you couldn’t have weeded him out even if you wanted to.

One thing you had tried to keep from his attention for as long as you could was the fact that while you were a relatively quick reader, you couldn’t do it out loud for the life of you. When he had asked you to read the synopsis of your favorite book just to fully reel him in, you had hastily made him do it for himself, the blunt refusal admittedly catching him off-guard but he hadn’t thought twice about it.

It wasn’t until you had spent months together and he had started to sleep at your place more often that you began to see every side of him, and in turn, it made you more comfortable around him. You felt like you could finally let your walls down and face your insecurities head-on for the sake of having that special, intimate moment of reading out loud with Frank.

”I’d like to read to you if that’s okay”, you spoke up one night when Frank was settling into bed next to you, where you were already seated against the headboard, your favorite book in your nervously fidgeting hands.

Your idea got Frank’s eyes to widen with surprise, but the smile that curved his lips upwards was happy to hear it. ”That right? Shit, I’d love that, darlin’. What are we readin’?” he asked, nestling close to you and observing you curiously. You swallowed, a little anxious, but you really wanted to try for him.

”My favorite book. I know you already read it for me but there’s a few passages I really like”, you explained, and nodding, Frank insisted you held his entire attention. Taking in a deep breath, you opened the page where your trusted bookmark sat, but before you began, you gave Frank a shy look. ”I—I don’t really read a lot out loud. You’ll… you’ll see why. Just go easy on me, okay?” you pleaded, and with concern bleeding into his gaze, Frank rested his hand on your bare thigh and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

You licked your lips before giving the first passage a go. You knew exactly what the words were and you knew exactly how to pronounce them, but as you read them out loud, you stumbled and got tongue-tied and it caused heat to creep up your face. You could feel Frank’s stare on you and it seemed to only make your stuttering worse, but you tried to push through the difficulties. You had to restart several times, and you were sure Frank was losing track of what you were saying, but you refused to stop until you had managed to get the sentences fully out.

With an awkward inhale, you realized you had once again used up all your air without controlling it properly, and it got you to huff in frustration. Frank reacted instantly, silent to not interrupt you, but he gave your thigh another squeeze to assure you he was still listening. His hold on you gave you the courage to keep going, and eventually, you finished the passage, sighing deeply once you did and closing the book on your lap.

You were nervous to look at Frank and face him, but when you did, you found nothing but admiration staring back at you. There was a small smile on his lips and his eyes twinkled with love, uncharacteristically soft as he looked at you, his head resting on the back of his hand while his other one still held your thigh in a firm grip.

”Sorry—”, you began, but he cut you off with a shake of his head and a kiss on your lips, leaning in just enough to taste you and swallow your apology for you.

”Nah, don’t even start with that, sweetheart. It was beautiful. You did real good”, he whispered against your mouth, so close that you could feel the stretch of his smile.

”You don’t think it was annoying? You don’t have to lie to me, Frank”, you sighed, preparing for the disappointment he was bound to deal you. You certainly found it annoying yourself. But still, endlessly, there was a gaze of sheer adoration and respect in Frank’s deep eyes.

”I ain’t lyin’, pretty girl. I think it’s fuckin’ adorable. I don’t

mind in the slightest”, he promised, frowning at your expectations, his hand traveling up from your thigh to your cheek to caress it tenderly. ”Could listen to ya all night. And shit, I love that you wanted to read it to me. Didn’t even give up once”, he continued, effectively making you flustered with the praise that rolled off his tongue so easily — it was no issue when he meant every word of it.

”You really think so?” you asked sheepishly, surprised that he was being so sweet with you. Then again, he had proved time and time again that he was absolutely smitten with you, and he had never made you feel bad about anything.

”Fuck yeah, I do. Y’know I love readin’ to you but I wouldn’t mind switchin’ places every now and then. Means the world to me that you wanna share”, he confirmed, his voice loving and his hold even more so, drifting down to your hand to envelope it in his own.

Growing giddy, you broke into a smile and kissed him again, harder this time. He didn’t mind — he leaned into it, holding you close with the book falling somewhere between the sheets. Your gratitude and appreciation for him were obvious as you moved your lips against his, and he pulled you onto his lap, his hands gripping your hips as you towered over him.

With a grin, Frank broke the kiss to catch his breath and allow you to do the same. ”Easy, sweetheart”, he chuckled, ”still wanna hear why you picked that passage of ’em all.” You stifled a giggle, aware that you were getting a little carried away, and so, you settled down by turning around and shifting yourself between Frank’s legs, your back on his chest.

And so, you told him all about the passage and what it meant to you, feeling validated and reaffirmed in a way that had convinced you to read to him again sometime soon.

[evanbuckwad]

Ooooh Buck & Tommy - S

ooo ok! thanks for sending :)

He knew he should've come by sooner. Tommy had been standing in line for the new coffee shop for 45 minutes now. He'd torn through eight chapters of his audiobook, changed what food he wanted to order three times, and debated getting out of line five. He would've left, if not for the promise of the best Tokyo Fog in town. Eventually, he makes his way into the actual shop, pulling his earbuds out and surveying his surroundings. It's cute, and up to code, with a shiny red fire extinguisher behind the counter, positioned and spaced appropriately. After all his years working in emergency services, he can't help but observe protocol in a new place. Lodged closely together, he feels the exhale of a small laugh from the man next to him. "LAFD?" Tommy turns to him and catches on a pinkish red mark by the man's eyebrow first. He notices, and absentmindedly brushes it with the back of his hand. "It's a birthmark."

"Sorry," Tommy starts. "I didn't mean to stare." "Nah," the man replies, "I'm used to it. People usually think it's a mark from the job." "Are you a firefighter?" Tommy inquires, trying to determine if he's ever seen this man before. "With the 118. Evan Buckley." The man — Evan — holds his hand out for a shake. Tommy laughs out loud. "Tommy Kinard. I actually used to be at the 118. Even before Captain Nash arrived." He quiets the voices in the back of his mind that notice the callouses on Evan's hand as they shake, his clear blue eyes and plump pink lips. Tommy's much more comfortable with his sexuality these days, but has only just met this man. Even if he is already captivated by the way his eyes light up as he laughs. "No way! I think only Chim and Hen have been there longer than Bobby. Did you know them?" Tommy begins to debate how to answer, how they knew each other, but not the best version of him, when a loud "next!" is called. Evan gestures in front of them, indicating that Tommy should place his order. "Hi, uh, one Tokyo Fog and a cheese danish, please. And," he turns around, looking at Evan, who's surveying the options on the board like he hasn't thought this far ahead. Tommy smiles to himself. "Whatever that man gets." The cashier nods, ringing him up and motioning to Evan to place his order. Confused, he comes up and, after trying to argue that he should pay for himself, finally asks for what he wants. They move off to the side and soon grab their treats, Evan holding the door open for them to head back outside. "You didn't have to do that." He tells Tommy, drinking from his travel cup. "I owe you one." They reach the street corner and realize they're off to walk in different directions. "Let me buy you a beer sometime." Tommy lets himself smile softly, not allowing himself to read into the sentiment beyond basic friendship. Gesturing to his full hands and the illuminated walk sign, he nods up to Evan. "Tell Chim to give you my number. Hen should have it, too, but I at least know Chim does." Tommy begins to walk backwards, towards home. "I'll tell you some old 118 stories over that beer you promised." Seeing Evan's smile break out empowers Tommy to give him a wink before he turns around, humming the song stuck in his head. Yeah, he thinks. This could be the start of something good.

send me characters and a letter for a little story!

[incorrectbatfam]

Do you have any Cass headcanons? :0

She cuts her food in half before eating it so she can see what's in it and fillings won't take her by surprise

That said she also loves a good jelly donut and Duke will bring her a box if she's having a bad day

Cass expresses her feelings around Selina the best because she can use cat analogies

Though she's trained in reading body language, tones and inflections still confuse her from time to time

She doesn't have her ears pierced. She doesn't like the idea of something going through her or things dangling around her neck

The lights in her room have a slider rather than an on-off switch

Steph gets her a squishy octopus keychain that Cass wears on her waistband and subconsciously fiddles with

She won't be caught dead in corduroy pants

One time Alfred asked her to bring the chicken out to defrost it… so Cass brought it out to the yard. After that, he makes it very clear to leave it in the kitchen with a bowl to catch the juices

Her pet peeve is when people are too vague. Tim is the first to catch on. Instead of saying "can you grab the files" he'll say "can you bring me the Arkham case from last December"

She sleeps with 4 blankets

She, Kate, and Babs organized a demonstration in front of a PTA meeting when they were talking about removing the Stonewall riots from the curriculum

No matter what happens during the day, she always starts and ends with fixing the part in her hair with the same 50-cent comb she got three years ago

Part of why she likes ballet is because she has to focus on how her body moves, which distracts her from whatever else is stressing her out

Her first allowance is spent on a pair of headphones that she listens to audiobooks or Killswitch Engage on while riding the subway

If Cass gives a disapproving glare then Jason puts the lethal weapons away

Her most-watched video is a documentary on how her motorcycle was assembled

She's not a fan of Bath and Body Works. The smell is kind of like if a perfume truck tipped over in front of a sugar factory and they both caught on fire

At any other store though, she'll start straightening the racks as though she works there

She once told a businesswoman that her face looked like a buttered skillet… in front of a whole gala

One time she and Dick visited Central City to help with a Pied Piper case. While Dick was telling Rathaway off in sign language, Cass stopped to adjust his thumb half a centimeter

If they're going to a new restaurant, Bruce makes sure to send her pictures of the place and the menu ahead of time

She once detoured from patrol to look at a semi-interesting café ad

She won't say it out loud, but her favorite sibling is Damian because he doesn't ask questions and has all the animals