#I CAN'T BELIEVE I NEARLY FORGOT TO REBLOG THIS HERE

[cassiabaggins]

Too Bitter, Too Sweet (part one)

A chance encounter gives you a once in a lifetime opportunity: the chance to reunite with your first love, Leon Kennedy.

Fluff and Angst

Words: 4k

Warnings: none. Just Leon being awkward. NO SMUT

(April is an oc, she is VERY briefly mentioned because I couldn't resist)

Reblogs and comments appreciated! Cross-posted on ao3.

You can hardly believe what you're seeing. He's older, with longer hair and a hardened look, but you'd recognize him anywhere. Leon Kennedy, your first love and college boyfriend. 

You're approaching him before you can think about it. 

“Leon?”

He freezes, startling a little like no one has called his name in forever, and turns to stare at you. There is no spark of recognition in those baby blue eyes. 

“Uh, hi?”

“It's me, Leon. Y/N. From college? We… were close.”

Close is an understatement. The two of you had dated for almost a year, but he doesn't seem to recognize you or remember. You suppose you can't blame him. It's been nearly ten years and you've both changed quite a bit.

A beat. Another. 

Then his eyes widen and a soft, shy little smile blooms across his face. “Y/N,” he murmurs, then laughs, running a hand over his hair. “Wow. Hi! You look… different.”

You giggle. Oh Leon. He's really not changed at all. “Different?” You ask.

“It's a good different!” He hurries to say.

“It's good to see you again,” you tell him. 

He nods vigorously, his hair falling into his eyes. “You, too.”

He looks around the area, as if trying to figure out what you're doing here. “What are you doing in D.C.?”

You adjust the strap of your purse. “I'm here for work,” you explain. 

Leon puts his hands in his pockets. “Work, huh? You passed the bar, then? That's amazing.” 

You feel your cheeks warming. “How'd you know I was a lawyer?”

“Because that's what you were studying in college,” he replies. “It wasn't that long ago. You think I forgot? Besides, how many different jobs are there to be done in a courthouse?”

You laugh softly, and Leon grins, clearly pleased that he made you laugh. His smile is exactly the same as you remember it, slightly lopsided, sweet, and genuine. It makes you remember easier times and how he used to kiss you. You shouldn't be thinking about him like that… it's been almost ten years, there's no way he doesn't have a girlfriend.

“Are you still in law enforcement?” You blurt, desperate to distract yourself.

Leon shifts in place, and you think his smile falters slightly.

“Something like that,” he says ambiguously. 

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It's hard to explain,” he replies, scratching the back of his head. “Uhm… it's government stuff.”

He's clearly uncomfortable, so you stop pushing. 

“Do you like it?”

“The people I work with are great,” he says.

Not exactly an answer. 

“Well, that’s good,” you say, adjusting your grip on your purse. Leon opens his mouth to reply, but is interrupted by the sound of a jaunty ringtone. 

“Shit,” he mumbles, quickly pulling a cellphone out of his jacket pocket. He frowns when he sees the caller I.D. “Uh, one sec, I have to take this.”

He steps away to answer the phone, and you watch him for a bit, wondering if you should leave. But you can’t bring yourself to. You’ve only just met him again, and just like in college, he fascinates you. But this time, a little over a decade later, there’s so much more to him. Not just physically, though he’s certainly bulked up a bit over the years, but there’s a darkness and mystery to him that excites you. Besides, what woman hasn’t fantasized about reconnecting with the one that got away? 

You’re shaken out of your thoughts by Leon approaching you again. He looks apologetic. “I have to run,” he says. “I’m sorry. But it was really nice to see you again!”

You don’t want him to leave! You want to keep talking to him! You want to know if he’s happy, if he’s got a wife or a girlfriend, if he still likes listening to metal, if chocolate icecream is still his go to flavor.

But he’s already walking away.

“Leon, wait!” you call. “Before you go!” 

He turns and you reach into your purse and pull out one of your business cards. He takes it with his left hand and peers at it. There's no ring on his finger.

“What’s this for?” he asks

“Just in case you need legal advice,” you joke. “Or if you just want to catch up.”

He smiles and fishes his wallet out of his pocket. You catch a glimpse of some sort of badge as he tucks the card carefully inside. “I’ll do that,” he says, and then he's gone.

You settle into your temporary office and log into your computer to begin going through case files. It's humdrum work, but necessary for the success of your client's appeal. But, not five minutes into this, your work phone starts ringing.

Expecting either your boss or a paralegal, you pick it up and introduce yourself by name.

“Uh, whoa,” says the person on the other end. “That was fancy and professional.”

You'd know that voice anywhere.

“Leon?”

He laughs awkwardly. “Yeah, hi. How're you doing?”

You lean back in your seat and twirl the phone cord around your finger, a bashful smile spreading across your face. “Well, not much has changed in the last 20 minutes, to be honest. But it's nice to hear your voice again.”

You can hear the smile in his voice when he replies. “You, too. I hope I'm not interrupting something.”

“You're not,” you assure him. “Although I'm not technically supposed to take personal calls on this line.”

“Yeah, I figured that,” he replies. “But this is the only way I could really contact you.”

“Oh yeah?” You bite your bottom lip, trying to fight a smile. “And what was so urgent that you just had to call me?”

There's rustling on the other end, Leon must be switching the phone to his other ear. He takes a deep breath and lets it out, like he's nervous. Your heartbeat speeds up in anticipation. 

“Well,” he says. “I was just thinking how nice it was to talk to you again. I was hoping we could do that again. Soon. Maybe over coffee?”

It takes all your willpower not to squeal like a teenager. But you're a professional. 

You clear your throat and try to act nonchalant. “Coffee sounds nice.”

“Great!” Leon sounds thrilled. “It's a date!”

“A date?” you tease.

“Uh… I mean… only if you want it to be,” he hurries to clarify. “You still have your maiden name on your business card and I didn’t see a ring, so I assumed— fuck, do you have a boyfriend?”

He meant a date date. You feel a thrill of excitement.

“No,” you say quickly, “no boyfriend. No fiance or husband either… I’m single.”

“Oh, good,” he says, and you almost laugh at how relieved he sounds. “I don’t have any of those either.”

“You don’t have a boyfriend or husband?”

“No wife or girlfriend, either.”

Oh, so he’s got jokes now. You giggle again. God, when was the last time a man had you laughing like this?

“I'm only in D.C. for the summer,” You explain. “Just until the case is over. I don't know many places to get coffee.”

“Well, you're in luck,” he says. “Because I do! I know the perfect place!”

The coffeeshop he recommends is a tiny, hole-in-the-wall place with the best espresso you've had in years. You and Leon plan for only an hour at most, but stay there chatting for nearly two. He even walks you to your car, and as you drive away, watching him wave goodbye in the rearview mirror, you realize that you had done most of the talking. At first, you want to shrivel up and die from embarrassment. Everyone always says that you talk too much, and there you went, yammering away…

But Leon had asked me out again, the other half of your brain pipes up. And he never disliked you talking in the past!

Emboldened by this realization, and determined to eek more information out of Leon next time, you continue on your way.

And so, one coffee date turns into two, then three. Reconnecting with Leon is… it's just amazing. He's older now, hardened by life in a way you can't quite fathom, but he's still so handsome and sweet and attentive. You can forgive his slightly awkward mannerisms and weird schedule and how cagey he is about his job. The first point is nothing new, of course, it's part of what charmed you in the first place, all those years ago. The weird schedule you chalk up to his job, and if it really is government stuff, you can understand why he's so secretive.

Of course, he can't stop you from daydreaming about what his job is, and your imagination thinks up all sorts of dashing occupations. Secret Service, CIA, FBI, Homeland Security… It's fun to imagine him as the dashing hero, leaping in to save the President himself from an assassination or single-handedly stopping a foreign spy organization. He probably looks hot as hell in a fancy suit, sunglasses, and an earpiece.

Coffee dates are nice and all, but you find yourself wanting more. You hint at it a fee times, Leon is oblivious as ever, so you ask him directly. 

“We should get dinner,” you say, pausing by your car. Leon has walked you out to it, just like he always does after your coffee dates. “Somewhere romantic.”

You raise your eyebrows at him expectantly. He's quiet for a second, staring back. 

“I thought you liked coffee?” He asks, looking like he thinks he's seriously misjudged the situation. You just laugh, putting your hand on his arm.

“I do!” You assure him. “But I also like pasta and wine.”

Leon looks relieved. “Oh. Well, I do know a good Italian place!”

You beam. “Yeah? Is it nice?”

“Very,” he assures you. “Very hard to get into, but I can pull some strings.” He winks. “Perks of the job.”

You aren't sure if he's joking or not, but you like the idea of it, at least. 

“Exciting,” you giggle, leaning close to him. “Should we go this weekend?”

Leon's face falls. “I can't do this weekend,” he admits.

“That's okay!” You're quick to reassure him. “We can do next! Or the one after.”

“No, next weekend is perfect,” he says, looking relieved. “I'll have to make a reservation, but I'll call you, okay?”

You let out an excited squeal and throw your arms around Leon's neck, kissing him before you can think.

This is the first time you've kissed since— well, since you broke up the first time. You almost pull away, but Leon cups the back of your neck and kisses back.

He's a better kisser than he used to be, that's for sure, and the whole thing leaves you breathless and weak-kneed. 

He grins at your dazed expression, licking his lips and looking very pleased with himself.

“Next weekend, then?”

You reach up to wipe away a smear of your lipstick off the corner of his mouth. 

“Next weekend,” you agree.

Leon promises to pick you up at 7 PM on Friday night. The two of you text back and forth almost nonstop as the night approaches, exchanging phone calls whenever possible. You're so excited that you even pick out your outfit days in advance.

Then, one day, the communication from Leon just… stops.

It's a day before your date, so you try not to worry too much. Something probably came up. But you find yourself checking your phone almost obsessively. No reply.

You push down your worry and get yourself ready for the date. You choose your favorite set of lingerie to wear under your little black dress, just in case, and probably spend way too long on your makeup.

Nonetheless, you're ready a good hour before he's scheduled to pick you up. You wait nervously for an hour, pacing your hotel room, then snap a picture of yourself to send to him. No answer. By 7:20 PM you're furious with him. By 7:45, you're in tears.

At 8 PM, you're pissed AND crying and a knock sounds at your door. You tear it open, ready to give Leon a piece of your mind, but stop in your tracks. 

Leon looks like shit. He's wearing a rumpled suit and his hair is a mess. Deep shadows show under his eyes, a bruise is forming on the left side of his jaw, and his chin is covered in three day old stubble.

He thrusts a bouquet of flowers into your arms.

All your anger drains out of you, all at once, replaced with concern.

“What *happened*?!” You blurt. Leon flushes. 

“I'm sorry,” he says. His voice sounds hoarse, like he's been yelling for twelve hours straight. “It was a work thing.”

He scratches the back of his head and the movement raises his rumpled shirt, allowing you to see the ugly yellow-purple of a bruise on his hip. 

“A work thing?” You prompt.

He winces. “I can't… tell you.”

What the hell?

“What do you mean you can't tell me?”

“I mean I can't tell you!” He snaps, his eyes darkening for a second. “Okay?”

You can't help but flinch and Leon's shoulders slump when he catches it. “I'm sorry,” he whispers. “I just… can't.”

You wonder if he can't or won't… but you don't press it. 

“You want to come in?” You ask softly.

“I thought we had a dinner reservation?” He asked, glancing at his watch.

“We did,” you say. “But you're an hour late. We missed it.”

Leon, somehow, looks even more forlorn at those words. “I'm sorry,” he says again. “I was in a different timezone, I didn't reset my watch and—”

“Leon.” You interrupt the beginnings of a spiral with a firm voice. “It's fine.”

You step back from the door and wave him inside. “Come on. I want to put these flowers in water.”

Leon shuffles in after you. He stands there, in the tiny entryway, and looks around your hotel room, shoving his hands in his pockets. You don't really have a vase for the flowers, come to think of it. Fancy hotels like this come with all sorts of amenities, but vases are not one of them. You waver for a moment, before grabbing the complimentary ice bucket and filling it with water from the bathroom sink.

Leon watches silently as you arrange the flowers, before speaking up.

“I should have brought a vase, too,” he says. “Sorry. I didn't think—”

You smile at him. “Hey, don't worry. It seems like you have a lot on your mind.”

He cracks a wry smile. “You're telling me.”

With the tension leaking away, you lean forward and smell a rose.

“Are they still your favorite?” He asks.

“I'm sorry?”

Leon gestures toward the bouquet. “Pink roses. Are they still your favorite flower?”

Honestly, pink roses haven't been your favorite flower since college… but the fact that Leon remembered that they were immediately bumps them up to number one once more.

“Yeah,” you whisper. 

And Leon beams. 

You don’t notice him approach you until his hand smooths down your back. You turn to look up at him, taking in his tired eyes and apologetic expression. You wonder again what his job is, and then wonder if you really want to know. Maybe ignorance is bliss.

“I’m sorry for missing our date,” he says softly. “Let me make it up to you.”

“We could try again tomorrow,” you murmur, turning fully to face him. “Or next week, if that doesn’t work out.”

“Sure,” he replies, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head. “But I was thinking of doing something a little more… immediate.”

He bends to kiss you, tender and slow, and you let yourself lean into it. Leon always kisses you like you’re the most delicate, precious thing in existence, he touches you like he’s afraid you’ll break, and you know he means it. You know that you matter to him.

You’re breathing heavily when the two of you finally part. Leon pulls back slowly, his eyes searching your face, looking a little shy but also a little proud of himself. He licks his lips, glances past you at the bed, then meets your eyes again.

“Wanna move this over there?” he asks, gesturing toward it with his head. Your heart skips a beat with anticipation. 

“Sounds good,” you breathe.

That night, you fall asleep in Leon’s arms, well and truly satisfied in a way you haven’t been in a long time. He’s clearly more experienced and more confident than the boy you slept with in college, but he’s still him. Still adoring, still attentive, still a little shy. 

He pretty much lets you take the lead the whole night and while he doesn’t say it outright, you get the impression that he just wants to be taken care of. If you notice tears in his eyes at the end, you don’t comment on it and neither does he.

He drops off soon after you finish, lying on his back like a soldier. You watch him for a few minutes, admiring the curve of his jaw and the slope of his nose, the dimple in his chin and the moles on his neck. There’s a scar on his cheek that you didn’t notice before, a thin white line nearly hidden by his stubble. You wonder how he got it. Probably doing something heroic, knowing him. You fall asleep entertaining little fantasies of Leon being a hero and saving the day.

You're awoken by Leon stirring in the bed next to you. You don't worry too much. You're a light sleeper after all.

You puff your pillow and get comfy again. Behind you, Leon stirs again, a soft groan escaping him.

You roll over, a little concerned. He has his arm slung over his face, but you can see a frown on his lips. He's breathing heavily, but you don't want to wake him up if you don't have to. He looked so exhausted when he came here earlier. It's probably nothing. You close your eyes again, but another soft groan from Leon has you opening them again.

You push up on one elbow, a little frown on your face. He's probably dreaming about something, but you can't tell if it's good or bad. His arm drops off his face, his fingers balling in the sheets. 

“No…” He mumbles. “Please…”

A nightmare, then. You sit up fully and reach for him, but before you can touch him, Leon flings out his arm, inadvertently smacking your hand away, and cries, “Ashley, no!”

Ashley? Who the hell is that?

You shake your head. Now is not the time for that, not with Leon in the midst of a night terror.

You reach out again, grabbing his shoulder and giving him a harsh shake.

“Leon!”

He doesn't wake right away, his head tossing side to side and his face screwed up.

You try again.

“Leon! Wake up!”

Leon jerks upright and the world spins sideways, your back hitting the bed with a thump and all the air rushing out of you. A weight presses down on you, arms pinned above your head.

You glimpse Leon above you and faintly register that the force across your neck and shoulders is his forearm. He doesn't seem to see you, even though his blue eyes are wide with terror.

“Leon?” You croak out.

“Fuck,” he gasps, suddenly seeing you. “Shit. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

You're able to catch your breath again as Leon scrambles off you and through the ringing in your ears you hear him stumbling around the room. You sit up just as the bathroom door slams closed.

Behind it, you hear retching.

You don't know what to do. You sit shell-shocked in the bed, surrounded by rumpled blankets and pillows and stare at the thin strip of light shining from beneath the bathroom door. You rub your hand over your sore clavicle.

What on earth was that? Why would Leon react like that after being woken up from a nightmare? And who the hell is Ashley? It was like Leon didn't even see you when he woke up, like he was stuck somewhere else, living through something horrible. What has he gone through in these ten years you've been apart? Does it have anything to do with his beat up appearance earlier? With the scars you noticed on his body? Did this Ashley have something to do with it? 

Bzzzzzzzt-bzt-bzzzzzzzzzt-bzt-bzzzzzzzzt

You're torn out of your that's by Leon's cellphone, vibrating on the bedside table. Jesus Christ, who calls at— you check the alarm clock next to the bed— 4 AM?

You untangle yourself from the covers and pick up the phone. Should you answer it? Leon doesn't seem to be coming out anytime soon and it seems urgent enough that the caller is attempting to reach him in the middle of the night.

You lick your lips nervously and flip open the phone, raising it to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Where's Leon?” The voice on the other end demands. It's female. “Who are you?”

You want to ask the same thing, but you're the one answering a phone that isn't yours. You introduce yourself and the woman on the other end blows out a sigh.

“Oh,” she says bluntly. She clearly knows who you are even if Leon has never mentioned her to you. “Well, can you give Leon the phone? It's urgent.

She doesn't have to sound so annoyed!

“Sure,” you say, sliding off the bed. “Who should I say is calling?”

“April.”

Not the mysterious Ashley, then. That makes you feel marginally better for some reason. 

You pad over to the bathroom and knock on the door.

“Leon? Your phone rang.”

“...Let it go to voicemail,” he mumbles hoarsely from the other side. Oops.

“I already picked up for you,” you reply sheepishly, feeling for all the world like you've made a massive blunder. “It's someone named April?”

“Goddammit,” he mumbles, and the door swings open. In the harsh fluorescent lights he looks like a fucking mess, far worse than he did earlier than night. You can clearly see the bruises, cuts, and scars on his naked torso. His hair is rumpled, his hairline beaded with sweat. He barely meets your eyes, just takes the phone ever so gently from your hand and raises it to his ear.

“Hey, April…” He says tiredly.

You can't hear what she says in reply but you don't want to leave Leon alone, either. He looks like he's about to fall apart for God's sake. You lean against the doorframe and study him. 

You can't stand the way he's hunched in on himself like he's trying to make himself look smaller than he is and the exhausted, defeated tone in his voice makes your heart ache.

“Okay,” he whispers into the phone. “Okay. I'll be there.”

You're pulled out of your contemplation as he snaps the cellphone shut, looking up into his eyes. 

“Is everything okay?”

He grunts noncommittally. “I gotta go.”

Go? At 4 AM? Where?!

“What?!”

Leon scoots past you cautiously, not even meeting your eyes.

“Work,” he mumbles.

You turn, staring at his back incredulously as he pulls on his pants and shirt. “What do you mean work?” You challenge.

“Something came up.”

He doesn't turn toward you so you're left staring at the stiff line of his shoulders as he buttons up his shirt. 

Some random woman calls him in the middle of the night and he's immediately running at her beck and call? Something like jealousy rears its ugly head.

“Who's April?” You ask, not liking the nasty tone in your voice. 

Leon doesn't react. “A friend,” he says vaguely, pulling on his suit jacket.

“A friend calling at 4 AM about work,” you say disbelievingly. “Right.”

That gets a reaction. Leon turns to face you fully and the defeated look on his face immediately tosses all your jealousy and anger out the window. He looks like a kicked puppy.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers. “I wish I didn't have to go.”

You cross the room and pull him into a hug, resting your head on his chest. Leon clings to you, nuzzling his face into your hair, and rocks you side to side. The two of you stand like that for a few minutes, then Leon lets out a long, exhausted sigh.

“I have to go,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your hairline. “I'll call you as soon as I can and I'll make it up to you, I promise. Anything you want, I'll do it for you.”

You tilt your head back to meet his eyes. “I want you to be careful.”

He nods. “I can do that.”

“And I want you to take me out on a proper date when you're back,” you add, smiling a little to show you're not too serious. But Leon nods determinedly. “Got it. One proper date, coming up. It'll be awesome.”

He cups your face in his hands and ducks his head to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

“See you soon,” he promises, then he's gone.

You watch him walk down the hall, away from you, and can't help but feel like he's walking out of your life, too.

Taglist: @hiya-itsamber

[sanguineterrain]

For the drabbles!!

Can you walk? I need you to walk for me! With Dick, if that sounds interesting to you!!

Loved the Drabble you posted, you’re a talented writer!

thanks very much nonnie 🥺❤️ wanted to switch it up and whump dickie boy >:)

"can you walk? i need you to walk." - dick grayson x gn!reader. tw: injured dick, bullet wound, reader tasers a bad guy. dick's not dead i prommy!! Loosely based on the Nightwing 2021 comics.

prompt lists are here! i reblog all fics to @sanguinelibrary

****

You wake up to the beeping of the distress signal. Instantly, you're awake, fumbling for the comm bud to put in your ear.

"—in, do you copy? Nightwing needs help, he's—"

"Where is he, Babs?" you ask, flinging the sheet off of your legs and jumping into your suit.

"Blüdhaven City Hall."

"What the hell? Alone?"

Barbara sighs. "Yes. I didn't know until the mayor texted."

Anger flares. You tamp it down because Barbara hasn't done anything wrong, and it's not fair to snap at her for Dick's stupid choices.

Besides, the anger is only to mask the chilling fear that bubbles up.

You stick to the rooftops like Dick himself had taught you when you were first getting the hang of the vigilante thing. You're more like Barbara in that you prefer to stay on the sidelines and help.

But if Dick is in trouble, you're there.

Your heart pounds; you can barely hear the instructions Barbara's giving you as you approach City Hall.

"Is he conscious?" you ask, interrupting her.

She doesn't answer at first.

"Oracle," you press, gritting your teeth as you descend down the roof access stairs. "Is he awake?"

"I don't know. I lost his comm link."

The fear sharpens. Your heart beats so fast, you're afraid you might collapse.

"He's alive, though. His suit vitals are still elevated."

You run faster, flying down the stairwell. It takes some searching to find Dick since his mask camera is also destroyed, according to Barbara. But you manage to track him down relatively fast.

Dick is bound to a chair, puddles of blood at his feet. You rush over and pull at the knots without thinking, growing frustrated when they don't turn loose.

"Blade on your left side."

You startle hard at Dick's voice. He lifts his head slowly and you stifle a gasp at his face. One of the lenses of his mask is cracked. His cheek is bloody and nearly black with bruises. His suit is torn and dirty.

They'd left him for dead.

"I found him, Babs."

You hear her sigh of relief. She starts to organize your exit route. You're only half listening as you slice through the ropes with the blade you forgot you had in your left pocket.

Dick's arms hang at his sides even after you free them. They'd done a number on him.

He watches you as you free his legs next.

"Suit looks good on you," he says, head lolling. "Peak design, if y'ask me."

"You're so stupid," you say, bowing your head so he can't see the tears that sting your eyes. "This was an idiotic thing you did, Dick."

"Alias names only in the field," he reminds you.

You yank the rope harder than you mean to and free his legs.

Dick has to use his whole body to push himself off of the chair. Even so, he stumbles, and you rush to catch him. Your heart jumps to your throat. Of course he'd hide how bad his injuries are.

"Oracle, call Batman."

"No," Dick grits, shaking his head. "Don't call him."

"You can barely move. I can't carry you myself."

You wish you could. As furious as you are, you'd carry him home.

"Am I calling him?" Barbara asks in your ear.

A door slams somewhere upstairs. Cold sweat erupts all over your body. Dick looks at you, and you know he heard it too.

"Guys, am I calling Batman or not?"

"No, we can do it," you say against your better judgment. "Can you move?"

Dick nods rapidly, though you don't totally believe him. You sling an arm under his arm, then wrap your other arm around his waist. He puts nearly all of his weight on you, though you can tell he's using what little strength he has left to try and shift his weight.

The two of you go like that, Dick half limping. You try not to think about how his blood stains your suit.

You move slowly, which unfortunately means that the goon upstairs catches up to you. He pulls out a gun, and Dick shoves you aside before you can advance. He pays the price for it when the goon shoots his leg.

Dick screams.

Quick as Flash, you grab an escrima stick and charge the taser to two thousand volts. Then you ram it into the goon's gut.

He drops like a sack of potatoes. You don't check if he's breathing.

"We don't kill," Dick says as you return the stick to his back holster.

You harshly cut the goon's shirt with your blade and tourniquet Dick's bullet wound. He hisses in pain.

"I didn't kill him," you snap.

"You could've. What the hell was that?"

"That was me stopping him before he blew your brains out!" you shout. "That was me making sure the commissioner doesn't have to fish your body out of the river!"

Dick's head thumps against the wall. His suit is slick with blood. "That wouldn't have happened."

"You could've died tonight, Dick! Why can't you get that through your head?"

His eyes close for too long on the next blink. You kneel in front of him immediately, shaking his shoulder. He grunts.

"Dick, no. Wake up. Don't do this, you gotta stay awake for me."

"'M awake," he says groggily. "I'm..."

"Oracle," you say, panicked. "Vitals."

"His heart rate is sluggish; he's lost a lot of blood. You have to—"

"Dick," you say, shaking his shoulder again. "Dickie, you gotta get up. Can you walk? I need you to walk for me."

"'Kay," he whispers, barely lifting his arm.

"Okay, I've got you. Ready? One, two—"

You lift him and stagger under his full weight.

"Sorry," he murmurs, and you feel sick.

"It's okay. You don't have to apologize. I shouldn't have yelled, I'm sorry. Stay awake, okay?"

He hums. You manage to establish a decent gait between the two of you. Dick stumbles along, trying his best to walk independently.

You're almost out of City Hall when Dick collapses. This time, he doesn't get up.

"No, no. Wake up, Dick, wake up. Come on, come on!"

You shake him as hard as you'll let yourself. Dick doesn't stir.

"There's so much blood," you say, your hands sticky with it. "B-Babs..."

"I'm sending help right now. B's on his way, okay?" She sounds just as wrecked as you feel. "Just hold on."

You cradle Dick's head and suck in gasping breaths, keeping pressure on his thigh.

That's how Batman finds you, shaking and hunched over his son.

[kairiscorner]

May art thou request a Model!Miguel x Reader? Really love all your work. :D

OHHHHH OFC MY LOVELY 💖💖💖 yk, if you want, you can send a more custom request for that pairing/prompt :D BUTTTTT I HAVE AN IDEA, AND I HOPE YOU LIKE IT 🤭

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

model!miguel o'hara x gn!make up artist!reader (headcanons and drabbles)

model!miguel is just your average guy behind all the advertisements and publicity this beautiful man gets. he lives his life one day at a time, having less free time than anybody else, even though he doesn't work a 9 to 5 job or have any family or partners that need tending to right away.

model!miguel used to live alone, in a quaint little apartment, catch the morning and afternoon trains to and from his previous job as an intern at alchemax. he hated it there, he felt so suffocated working at a place like that—and though he didn't have much trust in the modeling industry, he took it anyway, because posing for a camera in different poses and outfits was much more preferable than doing inhumane experiments on human subjects.

model!miguel was never the talkative type; he had a mouth that sprinted as opposed to just running, and he was usually really quiet and reserved when not bothered nor spoken to.

model!miguel was that distant co-worker of your model friends, and they always praised and complimented him for his looks, his ability to improvise, and to always captivate the camera readers, the audience; though the only complaints they had was that he never wanted to do anything outside of work, never wanted to talk to anybody... but you, who he found interest in for one thing.

model!miguel met you, a makeup artist for a bunch of amateur models, scrambling from here and there just to get back an eyeshadow palette you lent to the one doing his makeup. you were so out of breath and exhausted by the time you got to his dressing room, you looked like you ran a marathon to get there.

model!miguel couldn't understand a word of what you said, he looked at you in confusion as you wearily pointed to the eyeshadow palette you needed, and a few brushes you forgot to take back from them. "these?" he asked you as he takes the eyeshadow palette and the brushes you were pointing towards. you nod and wobble over to him, nearly falling into his arms as you stumbled; and you did, you did stumble—but he caught you.

model!miguel had amazing reflexes, and... an amazing body to boot. you were as light as a feather in his big, muscular arms–they were a lovely, brown tan with specks of gold when the light hit his skin; his lips were voluptuous, you wondered if they were natural because you've never quite seen lips like those, and... and his eyes–your friends were right, he was captivating, in every sense of the word.

model!miguel held you up and tried keeping you up on your feet, holding your hands so you wouldn't wobble over. "easy now." he whispered repeatedly as you slowly regained your balance and tried shaking the fatigue off. "hard to believe someone actually gives a shit in this place about their job, the makeup artist for me just dashed off the minute some younger model with dimples showed up and forgot all about me." he said with a frustrated huff. you asked miguel if his makeup was already done, to which he chuckled and shook his head at.

model!miguel sighed as he checked the time on his watch, it was five minutes until the shoot, and he wasn't even prepared in the slightest. "well, guess i'll be checking out job listings later. i can't deal with this anymore, it's humiliating." he breathed out in exhaustion as he went on his phone to check for online job listings.

model!miguel least expected the feeling of two smaller hands on the sides of his face, they were cold and a little moist, but they were definitely soft. he heard you muttering under your breath as you reached for some powder and a compact puff. you hesitated, remembering you weren't supposed to handle more popular models–that someone else was going to take care of his makeup for him... right?

model!miguel looked at you with a raised eyebrow, expecting you to do something. "um... you gonna do anything or...?" he asked you, snapping you out of your hesitated trance and stuttering out how you were a mere amateur at being a makeup artist—you didn't feel right doing his makeup when someone else was in charge of you. miguel sighed and gently held your wrist, bringing your hand closer to his face.

model!miguel had a soft expression on his face as he looks up at you. "i seriously don't think they're gonna come back on time before the shoot, it's not worth it to wait for someone who can't even remember you were here." he muttered as you looked back at him, feeling a little struck by his words in a way you couldn't describe, couldn't put your finger on. "sorry, did i overstep a boundary? you, um... you don't have to do it, though, i'll tender my resigna—" you agreed to do it.

model!miguel stayed silent as you puffed some powder on his face to keep him looking all matte and not glossy, to give him a more... natural look, as you would put it. you didn't put any makeup on him, you figured that putting any makeup on a man as gorgeous as him to look 'more appealing to the camera' was a damned crime. you combed through his hair though and told him he looked amazing, in about eight different ways.

model!miguel was surprised; you were nothing like the makeup artists he had before you, who were all stuck-up and did as they were told to, slather makeup on the models and send them off to the set. he knew you were actually passionate about what you did, you had a keen eye for beauty, natural beauty—and you smiled, enjoyed it at every moment you could.

model!miguel thanked you for freshening him up, with you telling him it was no problem, while smoothing out the creases on his shirt—even though that wasn't going to be what he was going to wear—you wanted him to look good, and feel good, by everything you did for him.

model!miguel appreciated your help, though he never really noticed small gestures and things done for him like that before, he now has a sort of throbbing feeling in his chest and a hot fuzzy feeling on his cheeks when he felt your hands roam across his chest, abdomen, and shoulders as you tried smoothing out his shirt. he liked the feeling of your hands, the little tongue flicks you do when focusing, and the little grins you show off when you get all excited and happy about something—but the mundane and exciting parts of the day.

model!miguel cleared his throat as he began to thank you, but faltering in embarrassment as he realized he never asked for your name. you introduced your name to him and instinctively reached a hand out for his—feeling all bashful now because you literally spent five minutes in the dressing room with him and not even telling him your name, introducing yourself like you were a stranger to him all over again. "what a... wonderful name you have. i'll definitely remember this one, i won't let my poor attention to names get the best of me when it comes to you," he told you, adding your name with a sweet smile at the end. it was a brief smile, a brief, tender moment that made you smile, as well.

you may not know it, but, when you two stepped out of that dressing room and went your separate ways... he hopes he can ask you for more than your name, more than just what makeup would look good on him for the next shoot—he wanted to ask you if you were interested in... going with him to the park maybe, and just, sit on a bench with a couple of coffees in your hands and get away from all the cameras, attention, and just breathe with him for a bit.

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @hearts4gabri @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok @fictarian @yuridopted0 @simsrandomstuff @luvstarrstruck @popeheywardssecretgf @meeom @arachnoia @melovetitties @fable-library @ophanimgold @smokeywhalee @capnshtfce

[yellow-faerie]

Prompt List 5

I have made another prompt list! As always, feel free to reblog for your own use, and please send in prompts for any of the fandoms I write for!

"Don't try it. Don't you dare."

"Does this shirt look OK?"

"No-one here compares to you."

"If you were performing on the roadside, I would take money away from you."

"If you keep looking at me like that, I might have to kiss you."

"Was that a threat? Were you threatening me?"

"No! It's my wedding day, you're not allowed to die on my wedding day!"

"Isn't it funny? [He/She/They] actually made me feel loved."

"Well, it seems like you misunderstood."

"Did you know? Did you?"

"Take it, I don't need it anymore."

"This world sometimes feels like it's slowly dragging me down, but when I'm with you..."

"You let me cry. I don't think I've ever had that before."

"You're ridiculous; you know that, right?"

"Let's go get ice cream and take a walk through the park - pretend we're a proper sappy couple, like the ones you see in movies."

"You are my home and my heart and there is no-one else I would rather have at my side."

"That is not safe, please tell me you didn't do that."

"First of all, we're not dead, so jot that down."

"I'm pathetically in love with my best friend and I don't know what to do about it."

"That is...a really big spider. Hey, [name], come and deal with this spider!"

"Sometimes I wonder if maybe everyone would be happier if I'd never been born."

"Oh please be alive, please be alive, please - oh thank fuck."

"Oh no. I'm fucked."

"Regretting coming to work yet?"

"Look - and I mean this in the nicest way - but you look like shit. Get back into bed and I'll bring you something warm to drink."

"If that film is still on the TV, I'm going to kill you."

"Come here. Let me do your hair."

"[He/She/They] are literally the most perfect person on this planet. So no, I will not be asking them out."

"You have no idea how much I want to deck you right now."

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, stop worrying so - ow, ow, ow! OK, yeah, maybe I need a little help."

"Stop right there!"

"How do you feel about discussing the divorce over a nice, candlelit dinner?"

"Come on, there's a family barbecue, we can't be late!"

"You know something? There's nothing that beats the feeling of waking up next to you each morning."

"You're the best [brother/sister/sibling] I could have ever asked for."

"Remember when our parents used to do that?"

"I want you to walk me down the aisle. Not anybody else."

"You don't get to tell me what to do. Not anymore."

"Kiss me. Kiss me until I forget my name."

"How many times have I died already?"

"Time travel? Really?"

"Take one look at me and decide for yourself whether I believe you."

"I woke up this morning and forgot you were dead."

"[My parents] are arguing again. Can I stay with you tonight?"

"Autumn's nearly over. You ready?"

"Come on, you need to pack. Quietly. We're running away."

"I missed you. Why did you leave?"

"Of course I didn't forget you. How could I ever forget you?"

"Love me. Please, please, love me."

[jerzwriter]

What's happening...

So, the fandom is very small, and demand for content is extremely low, but I still wanted to put this together... perhaps it's more to wrap my own head around future projects. But in case anyone is interested, I figured I'd share.

Open Heart: Ethan World

I'm wrapping up A Different Fate and What Happened in Vegas. The former will be done very soon (I hope this week), and I intend for Vegas to be completed no later than August.

I'll be focusing on getting Ethan & Kaycee hitched this summer. They'll be having a "surprise wedding" and some other exploits along the way.

Dr. Eva Mendez (F!OC) will finally be introduced as an LI for Ethan in my Tobias x Casey world. I plan on concentrating more on that universe, so we'll be seeing more of her and Ethan there.

Open Heart: Tobias x Casey World

I've long wanted to close the gaps in their story and haven't been able to do it. So I plotted a way. This will be a series of stories that will fill in the gaps, starting with the end of the chemical attack, bringing us to how they finally ended up together (after all this time, I can't believe y'all still don't know how that happened! lol). This will be in sequential order, but since it's filling "gaps" it will be a little... unique.

Once this is completed, I'm wrapping up their long-abandoned wedding (and Ethan and Eva fit into that). Then we'll see a little more of their future.

My secondary focus for T/C will be the angsty alternate universe What's Forever For? There, they are recently divorced, even though neither truly wants to be. What obstacles will they face as they try to co-parent their son? Can they transition from husband and wife to friends? Will others step in to complicate things between them? Will they ever find their way back to each other, or will they determine love doesn't always mean you end up together?

Oh, nearly forgot! @choicesprompts is running a rewrite challenge to place our characters into scenes from other movies/books, etc. Well, I have a little something planned for Tobias & Casey, and it will be based on this...

Wake the Dead:

The conclusion of Eli's past story will be up within the week. It should have been done, but warning, it's sad... and I have had too much sad things going on IRL to concentrate on this, but now I want to wrap it up.

Once that's completed, I will focus more on Eli x Zoe, as opposed to Eli alone. There will also be more appearances from the other friends at Olympus. I know it's not a terribly popular pairing, but I adore them and these days, that's good enough!

Crimes of Passion:

I don't know exactly what lies ahead for Trystan & Carolina, but I assure you... there are things ahead for Trystan & Carolina. I adore these two and am having so much fun learning more about them. As CoP2 continues, I'll see where my HC for this dynamic duo goes.

One thing you may notice is missing is Reset. I've been back and forth on that, and honestly, I don't know where that stands right now. It would be a huge effort, and motivation is lacking. The most I can say is I'll keep you posted.

In lieu of what used to be Six Sentence Sunday - if you'd like to see snippets for any of the above, let me know via comment, reblog or ask, and I'll hook you up!

I know we're much smaller, and this is all fun and self-indulgent at his point - but for those of you who are still here and still support my work - I want to let you know just how much it means. Thank you... from the bottom of my heart.

Tagging all my lists separately. If you wish to be added/removed/or put on a different list - reach out to me via DM or comment here. Thank you!

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 30

The Blind Banker

"The Blind Banker"

What makes me sad about the Sherlock episodes is I don't think I'm ever going to be able to formulate any fun little games like I have for Supernatural (and may yet develop for Doctor Who). They just come up too infrequently.

I forgot how weird the cinematography in Sherlock can get. There was just this really small segment where...it felt like when a video games frame rate drops. Lasted like 10 seconds and then........like, why did you do that?

Moffat, I think, should be allowed to come up with concepts, but not be allowed to write...and especially not write female characters. This is the coldest take I may have ever had. It's just this poor museum worker...

Man, I've either skipped this episode a bunch of times or just paid far less attention during it because, while I can recall a FEW scenes and something of a general outline for the mystery, there's an HOUR AND A HALF OF STORY. And I know I can't fill in that much from memory.

Yeah, there's a life or death fight with a guy with a sword at 221B, but OMG JOHN IS ME. I prefer using the self-checkout when shopping, but because I know how. to. do. things. right., it's so frustrating when the machine doesn't cooperate. I very recently got to the end of all my scanning, everything was bagged, I was just down to PAYING and the computer decided to call for assistance. Not me, the computer, for no discernible reason. Anyway, John, I feel your pain

"I had a row with the chip and PIN machine" "You had a row?" "Sort of. It sat there and I shouted abuse." Well, now he's just me with every machine I have at work.

(Guys, we're less than 10 minutes in. I'm...extremely sorry for how long the Sherlock ones get. In my defense, this was my main obsession of the three back in the day.)

I'm sure somewhere on this website there's a gifset of Sherlock going around this office, dipping between the cubicles alongside gifs of David Tenant doing the same in Partners In Crime. I probably reblogged it back in the day (but that might have been before I really started tagging things)

Sure, some of the deductions are bullshit, but figuring out who the message was for was pretty impressive. Also, I will also never be mad at him putting the cops to shame.

Ok. I'm starting to remember, this is a smuggling ring...backed by Moriarty question mark??? I know he gets a mention at the end (sorry, we're now four weeks out from seeing him and i'm going to be ANNOYING)

--At this moment, 8:10pm, I've paused for the gazillionth time, but this time to go through the tag for the episode...and it's a shock to know that this is either THE episode with THE tight purple shirt that is the entire reason I use purple for the Sherlock titles or it's just the FIRST one with it. Omg. I've been scrolling and scrolling the tag for ages trying to find anything with that shirt in its actual color. You couldn't escape it ten years ago. Now? Nothing.

THIS shirt. God. I have to do EVERYTHING around here--

You can kind of tell that John's never done anything wrong ever in his entire life (save for the murder last episode, but even that was to defend someone who was about to be murdered-ish) by the way he didn't run the second Sherlock and the graffiti artist started running

One thing about John (and possibly just Martin Freeman) is that he really know how to yell at someone while barely raising his voice. I mean, suuuuure, is Sherlock getting attacked and nearly dying? Yeah, but John's annoyed with him.

Also, I didn't say this before, but I meant to...Sherlock's a lot better at lying to people to convince them to do things than Dean...or Sam, honestly.

Oh! Oh! Ohhhhh!! The number pairs are like...page number, word number of some book from that library book!! I'm piecing it together now!

Omg this Scotland Yard detective is insufferable. At least Lestrade knows he's outmatched and needs Sherlock's help. This guy won't believe there's a serial murderer even with three victims until Sherlock can prove it. Like won't even investigate it? At all??

I love Molly but I loathe how easily she gets played by Sherlock. How easily she's manipulated by him. The slightest compliment. Not even a compliment, honestly. First he just notices her hair is styled different, then says it suits her better like that. Dude. Stop falling for this, girl.

Look, I like Sarah and John, they're cute, but also my aro-spec ace ass could never accidentally (or not) say "good" when someone says they don't have a significant other after. ESPECIALLY if I've accused them of slacking on the job due to said non-existent partner. Good LORD.

How are you so bad at hiding that you almost get caught that easily??...No, you DID get caught that easily. John was right. You don't think anyone can compare to your massive ego, Sherlock.

You know what? The Black Lotus had every right to do what they did. The banker and the librarian were just two more in a long line of the English going to distant countries and taking shit that ain't theirs. They had every right to kill them over an artifact worth MILLIONS that the banker's secretary will now have to hide for the rest of her life.

Mrs. Hudson takes such good care of her boys.

Sorry, but if I got kidnapped and almost killed after a date where my date's roommate crashed to drag said date into solving a mystery with him, there wouldn't be a second date. There would only be my permanent 'fun fact about me.'

[sukibenders]

Do you want to talk about how, since the stills of bridgerton s3 dropped showing Kate with Anthony and Kate with her Bridgerton family, all you and the Edwina stan accounts you reblog have talked about is Edwina and Mary? Has it ever occurred to you that desi women, like me, are so excited to see a dark skinned brown woman, like us, be happy and adored and loved? A whole desi romantic icon in the flesh in western media. Here you and your buddies are, the majority of whom openly hate Kate, (and are uncomfortably possessive over Edwina (I don’t include Mary because y’all don’t actually care about her nearly as much as you state)) and are vitriolic about her in their posts, are now concern trolling with “Kate Sharma deserves her own family, Kate Sharma deserves her own friends, Kate Sharma deserves a better man”, when hardly any of you gave a damn about her until you didn’t see the desi woman you wanted to see. If I’ve missed even one comment from you (your own or reblogged), saying ok Kate Sharma we see you, this brown girl deserves her happiness after all the trauma she went through, we love to see it! Please correct me. So determined to be the Sharma white knights we didn’t ask for you all forgot to do any uplifting at all.

Okay now you're taking a lot of stuff that I post out of context and, personally, I feel like you're pushing something on me that was never there. I'm happy that you are excited about Kate being loved, especially as a dark skinned brown woman, but my issue was never her being loved or saying that she didn't deserve it over Edwina. I can wish for BOTH of these women to be happy and loved, rather than piting them against each other, without overshadowing the other. I don't know why people think that it's impossible, or that having Edwina interact with the Bridgertons within itself is taking away from Kate. She's still viewed, by myself and many other Edwina fans that you say you know, as the viscountess and is perfectly loved and happy with her family even if Edwina is there (because she also is Kate's family). It's not uncommon for siblings to be cool with their siblings in-laws, there's nothing adherently wrong with that and it doesn't come from the guise of wanting to outshine Kate, at least for me and the people I follow (we also include Mary a lot of times into the family but not many hate on that idea or drag her character, and it leads me to believe a reason why that's directed at Edwina so much is because you view us as wanting her to take what Kate has which is far from the truth because many of us want Edwina to have something for herself too---for me, it's a prince). Correct me if I'm wrong, but your point of view seems like you just want Kate separate from Edwina (+ Mary) in regards to their family now that she's married to the Bridgertons, and want to keep that family all for herself, and that you don't like them (as par your "Sharma white knights" comment which is a choice). That's fine if you want that, and I'm sure that you can find others who do, but please don't come here to my page, or others who don't want what you want and send stuff like this even though it's completely untrue.

Because if you view being critical over some choices that a character does as "hating" them then I can't help you with that and you should just block me. I don't hate Kate, and I'm perfectly able to be critical of her while still wanting her to happy and loved. She isn't perfect and that's fine. If I did hate a character, as by example of some of my other posts outside this fandom, it would have an anti character tag but it doesn't. Because I don't hate Kate. I don't know where you also tied this into me hating to see a Desi woman having a happy relationship in Western media because, respectfully, that is a very big stretch. I'm happy about the Kate and Anthony stills (which I've reblogged but I've never been one to get up and excited just by a few pictures, from any fandom, until actual video content drops but that's just me) but that doesn't mean that I can't be critical about their relationship, specifically how Anthony treats Kate and is given more scenes to his backstory in comparison to her. We see more about him, are able to see more of him on a deeper level more than we ever see with Kate, which I've called out before. Many anons that I receive, similar to yours but also different, always assume that I hate Kathony or Kate because you don't like some of the stuff I say, but it literally calls out Anthony's behavior and how he acted towards Kate (which was wrong, never got a full apology for, but some of y'all skip past that). Him calling her the "bane of his existence", or constantly making her seem like she didn't know what she was talking about (pretending to be someone different in front of her sister and mother) or putting her's and her sister's reputations at risk by playing with their emotions. Me calling all that out makes me hate Kate? Makes me not want her to be happy? And I even call out the writers, multiple times might I add, about how unnecessary the drama that they added ends up being pointless and takes away time from what's actually important. Some of you are quick to hate on Edwina and her storyline, saying that it's overshadowing Kate but that's to blame the writers, who also added more plot for Penelope and her family which was not needed (especially since she's getting her own season, this one should have been about Kate solely as similar as it was to Daphne's). I'm happy for Kathony, but the writers irk me because they didn't have to shove so much angst onto us from the beginning. If they wanted to portray them as a happy couple from s2, as I said, they should have cut the "I'm planning to marry your sister" plotline short by the bee scene (which happens in the books) or scrapped it as a whole. By doing that, plus removing the Featheringtons, you could have more opportunity for Kathony to be together without so much angst falling over them (adding Anthony apologize for his behavior and make him seem like less of a prick, as well as provide more room for Kate as a character and a look into her own backstory). Back to the Sharma white knight thing, listen and I mean this with respect, I don't care whether or not you "asked" for me or any other page to be (just like I didn't ask for you to be in my inbox), because it was never about trying to adhere to what anyone else had to say. It was about us calling out poor writing choices, making better plotlines and finding ways to give these characters better respect than the narrative did. If you can't see that and just view it as me mindlessly supporting the Sharmas (which, when I say that name I also still involve Kate, even though many of you want to remove that aspect from her now, correct me if I'm wrong if you don't) then I can't help you.

And the line "hardly gave a damn about her until she didn't fit what I wanted to see" is very wrong, and while you have a personal connection with these characters that I won't understand and do respect, I won't tolerate you painting what I say in a different light just to fit what you believe. I never put Kate on a pedestal, especially not as a woc, and even put out multiple ways that could have relieved her stress and given her more scenes for happiness. Some of which does include being with Edwina and Mary because they are her family as well. If you don't like either of them, which it reads like you don't, and just want the Bridgertons to be her new family, fine, have at it. But don't come here, or to other pages, expecting them to do the same because some want the Sharma family to heal and be happy together alongside the Bridgertons, not without. That doesn't even remotely mean that we want to take away anything from Kate, as has been said before. If you don't like anything that I've ever posted about Kate or the Sharmas or Bridgerton at all, then why did you come here and send me an anon when you could have just blocked me? Respectfully, have a nice day.

[weevilcore]

hello :3

my name is Ivory, and this is my tumblr blog, which I have had for 8 years! I've tried to tag all my posts and reblogs from 2020 forward; the others are in the past and should stay there lol

I am 21, and my main interests are autism (which I think about near 24/7) and animals (which I am studying in school). I am from the US

I am autistic (level 1) and ADHD (primarily inattentive)

that is the TDLR, now for the extended version...

Special interests:

Autism. Since being diagnosed in 2021, autism became my special interest, and I think about it nearly all the time. right now it is at, I would say, a fairly stable level of interest. Things I research right now include how higher support needs autistics experience the world, including AAC and discrimination.

xQc. I'm hesitant to include him here. I feel like this interest is almost 'in remission', which is almost certainly an inappropriate phrase here. xQc is a twitch streamer who streams a variety of games and reaction content. he streams for like 10+ hours per day, so he is an essentially never-ending source of content.

He is a very over the top personality, and exceptionally candid compared to other top streamers. Yet when he gives his opinions on things, even if I disagree with his conclusion or how he delivered it, I can always see where he's coming from.

I relate to his awkwardness, and he is very honest which I appreciate.

I also think it's fun to see how different his life is from mine, like he moves like 2x per year, and he buys all new furniture every time!

X was certainly a special interest last school year, but now as I go to in person school and work, I see a lot more people. Streaming is almost a stand-in for socialization, and now that I have in-person socialization, I'm not as interested in X's life.

Animals are another strong interest for me, although I don't know that it qualifies as a special interest, but maybe it does! I guess it's not a super technical term, so there aren't clear guidelines on that... anyway:

I love whales and all cetaceans! I know it is kinda controversial to like dolphins (they are sorta violent) but I like them. I also like beluga whales, these are the two I have stuffed animals of. But I love all whales!

I also like manatees and aardvarks, the reason I list them together is because they are 'closely' (not that close) related - they are both afrotherians, along with the elephant! I have actually seen a manatee in the wild :D

similar to the aardvark, is the anteater! I love the anteater and how the babies ride on the mother's back! it's so cute

speaking of babies on mothers' backs: the opossum! I love the opossum and I think they are so cute! The virginia opossum is the only marsupial in Canada and the US and so their pouches are so curious to me.

Snails!!! I can't believe I almost forgot! Snails are so cute and slow and my favorite invertebrate. I have a snail squishmallow who goes with me to school. I want to get snail pets in the near future.

humans - not really a favorite animal, but I love learning about our evolutionary history - Stefan Milo on YouTube is a great source of information on this topic

--tags--

#orange - funny tumblr posts I reblog, I didn't want to just tag them 'funny' or something, because I thought that would be rather presumptuous, like saying a joke and then telling you to laugh. but I do find them funny

#purple - more serious tumblr posts. they are on a variety of topics, but autism posts I tag with #autism instead

#animals - literally anything to do with animals, and I will also tag the post with the specific animal so I can find them later (not humans tho!)

#my addition - when I add something to a reblog

#mine - for posts I create

[quacksonholland]

Two fiancées in love

Sooo, I haven't posted anything in months, and I'm so sorry lol. I've just really not been motivated to write at all. It's like whenever Tom goes MIA I get writer's block lmao !! Anyway, here's this little blurb I wrote months ago and forgot about, it's not much but I hope you like it mwua mwua xx

Warnings: Just fluff, fluff, fluff + Tom and reader are gross (they're too in love with each other istg), I'm not a native speaker, so typos.

wc: +600

Masterlist

•••

"You know, I never thought we'd end up like this." Tom said one day, while he was brushing his teeth and you were reading in bed.

"How do you mean?"

"Like, together. Romantically." He tried to say, nearly spitting all the toothpaste foam in his mouth.

"Really?" You said, and he nodded. "That's funny." A laugh escaped your lips and Tom tilted his head.

"What – are you laughing?" He asked, still confused. Tom spit the toothpaste and washed out his mouth with water.

You just smiled, cuddling further amongst all the cushions and thinking of the early days of your friendship.

"I actually fantasized about us all the time. I was so in love with you." You confessed, and it was his turn to be surprised. "But I never did anything about it because I thought that after filming you'd stay out of touch and we'd never speak again."

"Oh, wow. Glad to see you had faith in us since the very beginning." He mused, finally making his way to the bed. As soon as he got under the covers, your limbs were entangled and he planted a kiss on your cheek "Thank God we made it."

"Yes, thank God. Or maybe thank me for keeping the spark alive while you spent months out in other countries at the very beginning of our relationship." You said with a little smirk, as he gasped dramatically.

"I beg your pardon? Who was the one that sent the other flowers every single Friday? Or the one that paid off his brother so that you could have your favorite meals everyday? Yeah, I didn't think so."

"Oh, poor Sam."

"Poor me. I spent over two thousand pounds for that twat to make you all that food."

"Wha– Two thousand!? Thomas Stanley Holland!" You gasped, hitting his arm playfully.

"Oh God, not the full name." He pretended to be scared but chuckled nonetheless.

"Why on Earth would you spend so much money?"

"I love spoiling you darling, you know that already." Tom smiled with a wink, before a happy grin was plastered on his face "Anyway… Did you know there's only two hundred and twenty-seven days left for you to be my wife?"

You giggled as you hugged him tighter, his hands on your waist as he simply stared at you, eyes filled with adoration. "Can't believe you are counting the days."

"How could I not be, my love. I am so excited for us to get married." Before you could even think of replying, he kissed your lips softly, with the same gleam in his eyes that was present the day he asked you to be his.

"I love you so very much." You whispered, him pecking your lips once more to let you know he feels just the same way.

"And, it's not the only reason, but once we get married we are actually a hundred percent free to make babies, and to be honest, I'm down for doing that without – ow!" You slapped his bicep as you shook your head with disapproval.

"Can't believe your only motive behind asking me to marry you was to get me pregnant."

"Did not say that! I emphasized the fact that it's not the only reason."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, Holland. Just shut it already." You tapped his cheek before snuggling back on his chest.

"Aye aye Mrs. Holland."

"Not yet babe."

"Can't wait till you are."

You feel so much love for this man sometimes you wonder if you're going insane. Is it really considered medically normal to feel your heart swell as much as it does every day? You swear, there's no way you'll get tired of him.

He's your best friend, the love of your life, and everything you'll ever wish for.

•••

So this was it! Hope you liked it!

Reblogs and comments are appreciated!

•••

TAGLIST:

@marvelgurl

@crvshnburnn

[erstwhilesparrow]

skimming videos both so i can mark them as played on my own account and so i can have more notes for my future Terrible Machinations:

forgot to mention in earlier reblog but fae AU for renchanting / third life makes sense to me now. martyn spends so much of those last few episodes going "i can't fight you until you hit me!!" and going for distractions and bargaining* and the. focusing on the technicalities of a rule in a life-or-death situation. looking for loopholes both here and in tango's game. it's not something i've thought through entirely but it's like. Yeah. I See It.

(note re the above: bargaining is a word which here means shouting demands up a hillside and getting basically ignored.)

sudden memory of watching the start of etho's 3rd life pov as it was coming out and getting so stressed about his tree burning down i stopped watching. (this was not the only reason i stopped watching but like. yeah. actually i do remember I Also Had To Adjust To This Game because i'd been watching hermitcraft before this.)

i could swear jimmy's eyes are a different colour than they are in later seasons

LITERALLY in the first episode martyn is already talking about defensible positions and what's best for a combat situation

this is jumping ahead because i just remembered: Important To Me that during that one confrontation with scar, when there is still Some plausible deniability re: martyn's loyalty to ren, he drops a golden apple into ren's inventory in anticipation of a fight. martyn....

"ex-squeeze me." / "uh, no thank you, i'm married."

yeah yeah my liege == my love, milord just as a matter of habit, etc etc, but he does spend like half the season calling ren boss. i think he calls ren boss at least one more time in the latter half of the season. like on one hand Martyn Is Like This The Whole Time and on the other hand It Matters To Me That He Doesn't Get To "My Liege" Until Later

sorry just got to a part where tango goes "shine on you crazy diamond" and i just wanted that written down

i'm sure this is in the pre-limlife mean gills post but. scott punching martyn into range to trigger a raid. i'm not really gonna do anything with that but it feels important that i note it happened.

JOEL AND MARTYN IS AN UNDERRATED DUO. I BELIEVE THIS FIRMLY EVEN IF THEY DON'T INTERACT ONE-ON-ONE THAT MUCH. the magic tree trick with flower husbands. joel very briefly in the red army. joel and his pack of dogs hunting martyn vs martyn who is the dog in this relatinoship. martyn going to joel's house and waiting for him there?? COW HEIST.

bdubs made the lower shield resource pack??? (i was surprised when i first learned this, i am surprised again now)

i need to watch etho's pov. this is true of nearly everyone but like. are etho and impulse hanging out?? are they friends (in character)?? etho's alliances are. bizarrely opaque to me.

end of episode FIVE and martyn tells etho he doesn't have a place -- "i'm still kind of living off the land" -- as if ren hasn't been calling martyn his business partner, as if he doesn't hop up on renchanting's roof like it's already home to him!! (i mean. okay. he also admits to "partly living out of renchanting." [gestures. you get the idea.])

he also lists "rescue grian" as one of the things on his todo list at the end of episode 5. augh......

jimmy's chick chance game is from before even 3rd life. i'm not convinced the math he describes is correct, but the game exists.

a bored and unattended martyn will do heists.

ep 6 is the crown. because of mcc. the red king exists because of mcc. i love mcrp. i fucking love it here.

ep 6: "As the hand of the king, i order you to stay put!"

martyn's REALLY good at conveying how stressful it is to have people in dogwarts

end of ep 7 for Excellent Bdubs Moment.

ep 8 martyn learns the pufferfish trick

it KEEPS HAPPENING!! people's bases get destroyed and they forced to go on the run!! (also thinking about double life) (this is weirder in limited life because the map is. such a wreck from the start. you can see the line from here to there, huh? people... give up on building beautiful things.)

oh yeah, side thought: bet it'd be interesting to look at how rules / game setup change between seasons and see what causes / effects are? thinking about: red-green alliances (REN GOING RED FOR DOGWARTS IS SO. AUGH.), and the fortress and village being there at all, and tnt recipe changes

people putting dead people's stuff in chests. i think they do this less as the season goes on? hm. putting stuff in a chest as minecraft funerary rite? this feels like an incomplete thought; perhaps will return to it later

etho should be Around for late dogwarts shenanigans more. admittedly i have a very skewed impression of the fandom's impression of dogwarts but. He Should Be There.

ren gets killed by scar and martyn dies less than a minute after.... Things That Make Me Want To Start Biting. i'll follow you to the ends of the earth, martyn said. through death and beyond........

HEY WHAT'S UP DID WE KNOW THAT THIRD LIFE IS SO SO SO SO GOOD.

[juiceinpanties]

10 Things You Hate About Eddie Munson, pt 4

Pairing: Eddie Munson/afab!reader

Rating(s): Chapter: E; Fic: E

Tags: eventual smut, penetrative sex, oral sex (both m and f receiving), fingering, subbie!Eddie, masturbation (m and f), fake dating, van sex, secret relationship, antagonistic relationship to friendship to lovers, casual sex, not-so-casual sex, phone sex, drunk reader

Summary: Your best friend, Nancy Wheeler, is absolutely dying to date Steve Harrington, but her parents have the weirdest rule: Nancy can't date until her friends (e.g., you) do. Nancy begs you to date someone, anyone, and eventually you agree. Meanwhile Steve offers to pay Eddie "the freak" Munson to ask you out. What could possibly go wrong??

Notes: This is, quite obviously, a 10 Things I Hate About You au, with a slight twist. Throw in some fake dating, a 90s setting, and here we are. Thanks to @tonybourdain​ for dragging me in and continuing to enable me. She helped me entirely rewrite the pone scene because it WAS NOT WORKING as it was.

Please note the tags. Smut ahoy!!

Feedback is always welcome and appreciated and PLEASE reblog! Completely blank blogs that just like will be blocked because I'm gonna assume you're a bot. I've been here a long time.

In case you wanna read on Ao3 instead

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

You can’t stop thinking about Eddie.

It’s nearly 10pm. Homework is done, dinner is eaten, excuse is made to parents about why you left school after lunch. And you can’t stop thinking about Eddie Munson and his wide cow eyes and his soft, yummy lips and his big, gentle hands.

It’s like freshman year all over again. At least this time you’re not scribbling his name in your notebook with little hearts everywhere.

You change into your usual sleep uniform of panties and a t shirt and fall back into bed. Maybe you can read for a while, get him off your mind so that you can sleep.

That lasts about 20 minutes. Ugh. This is exactly why you don’t date! You’re far too busy to worry about dumb boys! You toss your book aside and run downstairs for a snack.

You’re on your way back to your room, granola bar in one hand and glass of milk in the other, when you head your private line ringing. You mutter a curse and run to catch it.

“Hello!” you say, breathlessly.

“Hello, did I interrupt something?” It’s Eddie.

You roll your eyes. “Me, running away from you.”

“Haha. Geez you’re so mean.”

“Uh huh. Hang on.” You put the phone down and shut your bedroom door, then climb back into bed and grab the phone again. “Okay, hi. What’s up?”

He grins and plops down on his bed. “I wanted to ask about tomorrow.”

“Hm?” You unwrap your granola bar, but then realize you can’t eat it while talking to him, so you set it aside and sip your milk instead.

“Tutoring? Did you forget?”

“Of course not. I’m just wondering what questions you have.”

He fiddles with the blanket. Maybe this was a mistake. He doesn’t actually have any questions about tomorrow; he just couldn’t stop thinking about you and wanted to hear your voice.

“Uhhh oh! What should I bring?”

You make a face. “Your chem book. Pens and paper. Your brain.”

“Cool, glad you mentioned the last one. Probably woulda forgot.”

You giggle just a little. “Blood flow issues again?”

“Ha,” he says on a breath. “Not right this second, but it’s definitely possible.” He pauses and drums his fingers against his thigh. “So, uh. How’s your evening been?”

“Fine,” you say. “My parents got a call from the school, but I think I calmed them down.”

“Oh shit that’s good. Can’t believe you ruined your perfect attendance record for me.”

“Uh huh, I’m turning into a juvenile delinquent. Cutting class to make out with Eddie Munson in the back of his van.”

"Hey, I just invited you for fries! You kissed me first."

"So I did," you say. "I guess I'm a sucker for pouty lips and big brown eyes."

"My lips are not pouty!"

"Mhmm, sure they are."

"Hmmph," he snorts. "If mine are yours are too. Big, soft, pretty lips. Big, bright eyes." He lets out a long breath. “I can’t stop thinking about you, pretty girl.”

You blush and shift in your seat. Pull the sheet up over your bare legs. His voice is a little low and rougher than usual and it makes you go warm all over. “I was—struggling with something similar,” you admit.

“Oh yeah?” He glances down as a bulge starts to grow in his boxers. Oh geez. Just your voice is doing this! He’s in trouble. He gives it the tiniest stroke with his fingertips.

"Eddie? What was that?" you say as he makes a soft, breathy noise.

"Huh? Oh, uh, nothing." Shit. He's gotta be more careful.

"Hmm." Your bed creaks as you finish off your milk and set the glass aside.

"What was that?" he says with a grin.

"Nothing! I was putting my empty glass on the nightstand."

"Ohhh, I see. Just being a good girl, all tucked in to your bed with your little snack," he says, his voice going rough as he talks. The image is Too Much. He bites off a groan as he rubs his bulge again.

"You okay?" you say. You maybe sort of suspect what that noise was, but surely you're wrong.

"Yeah, yup. I'm good. You?"

You lick your lips. “I want—to kiss you again,” you say. "I mean, if you—would like that. You seemed to like it."

“I’d love that,” he murmurs. “I’d love to be kissing you right now.”

You muffle another giggle. “You could sneak in. You were so good at it last time.”

"That's true! Sneak up to your room, crawl in your bed with you, and...study for chem!"

You laugh and grab your favorite bear from the pile by your bed. Rub your cheek against its soft fur. "Study, huh? What a responsible young man!"

"That's me! Eddie Munson, responsible—young—man." His voice stutters a little as he grips his erection and squeezes.

"Eddie Munson, clearly up to something. What are you doing?"

"I'm—shit. You're suspicious, huh?"

"Mhmm." You run your hand over your chest, across your pebbled nipples. The cotton of your shirt rubs the sensitive skin and you let out a tiny breath.

"Havin' another drink?" he says with a smirk.

"Oh, shut up."

He laughs and pulls his shorts down enough to free his cock. He grips the shaft and runs his thumb over the swollen head. This time he openly lets out a rough breath. "I'll just be quiet," he mumbles. "Just listen to you talk."

"Uh huh," you say. You tug one of your nipples, and then shove your shirt up with an impatient little growl. "As you do what?"

"Nothing. Why, what're you doing?"

"Nothing." You bite your lip around a breath as you continue to play with your extra-sensitive nipples. "What are you working on in chem right now?" you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Mmmm." He rubs his thumb up and down against the vein on the underside of his cock. Presses against the spot where the head meets the shaft and circles. "Covalent bonds," he manages.

"Oh good." You give up and press a hand between your thighs. You can feel how wet you are through your cotton panties. "I'm fantastic at covalent bonds."

"Uh huh. I just bet you are." He grinds his palm against the tip of his cock and grips it again to stroke the entire length. "What else are you good at, princess?"

You shiver at his tone, the roughness of it. "Lots of things," you breathe.

"God I bet you are."

You give the tiniest moan and shove your panties aside. You run your fingers up and down your dripping slit, over your slick labia. Then you push your fingers into your mouth and suck the taste of yourself off of them.

"What's in your mouth, baby?" he murmurs. "Don't lie."

"My fingers," you whisper.

"Oh? They get all sticky? Something nice and sweet on them?"

"Uh huh!" You feel drunk, dizzy, and if you don't come soon you're going to lose your mind.

He licks his hand and grips his cock again. Gives it several rough tugs before settling in for a slow, easy stroke. "I'd love to taste something sticky and sweet," he says. "Something soft and pink."

He smirks at the sound of your little whimper. Fuckin A he wants you. "Bet you have somethin' like that," he murmurs. "Bet it's just for me."

"Uh huh. A nice yummy snack." You circle your fingers around your clit and bite hard on your lip. "You have anything for me?"

"Oh yeah," he breathes. He strokes faster. "God do I have somethin' for you."

"Good," you say as you wiggle your hips and thrust two fingers into your cunt. "I want it, Eddie. Want to—want—to help you with your—bonds."

"Yeah," he grunts. "Molecules and shit."

"Periodic table!" you gasp as you fuck yourself. You squeeze the phone between your shoulder and chin so you can use your other hand on your clit.

"Gonna study so hard," he says. He's bucking his hips, fucking up into his hand, squeezing his shaft and stroking over the head in desperation. "So fuckin' hard, princess."

"Good! That's so good, so good, Eddie! Love it when you study hard, love it when you're such a good student for me!" You can't hold back a whine as you circle your clit. You're close, so fucking close.

"Gonna ace that test just for you. Make a big fat A just for my pretty little tutor." He's gonna explode any second. "Gonna—fuck—you're so fuckin' good!"

"Eddie! Love that, so proud, so good!!" You come hard, nearly drop the phone, moaning and whimpering with shaking thighs and throbbing cunt.

"Fuck!" he gasps and can't hold back another second. He makes a mess, painting his tummy with hot, thick come and whimpering your name over and over.

You're both quiet except for your rough panting. You lick your fingers clean and clear your throat. He grabs a towel and dabs at his stomach.

"So," you finally say. "See you at school tomorrow?"

"Yep. You want a ride?"

"No, Nancy'll take me. But if I could get a ride to your place?"

"Sure, no prob. Then I'll run you home in time for dinner. After the tutoring."

"Such a nice boy. Goodnight, Eddie."

"Night, princess. Sweet dreams."

"You too," you say, then hang up. You fall back against your pillows with a soft groan. Okay well THAT was a thing. An incredibly hot, delicious, amazing thing. You get up to grab fresh panties and head to the bathroom. You think maybe now you'll be able to sleep like a baby.

You only see Eddie in passing until school's over the next day. You're standing outside talking to Nancy when he cruises up. He stubs out his cigarette and grins. "Hey, Nancy. Hey, you ready to go?" he says to you.

"Yep. Got your chem book?"

He pulls his book bag around and pats it. "Plus a notebook and THREE pens. I'm as prepared as a goddamn Boy Scout!"

You can't help but giggle. "Come on, Foz. Let's see how much covalent bond info we can shove into that brain of yours before the clock strikes 6:30." You wave at Nancy, who's grinning like the cat who ate the canary, and follow Eddie to his van.

He opens the door for you, as always, then hurries around to his side and jumps in. "I picked up some Diet Coke," he says. "I know that's your drink."

"Yeah, it is. Thanks."

"Sure. I also, uh. Cleaned up a little. Wayne and I aren't the neatest pair."

He seems nervous. You reach over and give his skinny thigh a little squeeze. "It's okay, Grove. I'm sure you did great. I'll be there to tutor you, not critique your interior decor."

"Right!" he says. He gives you a quick grin. "And I really do need to pass this test."

"You will," you say. You pat his leg and pull your hand back. "It's next week, right? We can study today and maybe sometime over the weekend. I know you've got Hellfire tomorrow."

"You know I wasn't bullshitting when I asked you to join. You can, if you want. We'd love another member."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

Your mouth quirks. "Do I get a shirt?"

"I've got one at my place I can give you. It's clean and everything!"

"Oooo, you spoil me!" You grin at each other before his eyes flick back to the road. "Sure, I'll come check it out," you say. "I play a high elf healer. Rhiannon. After the Fleetwood Mac song."

You wait for some judgmental or snide comment, but he just nods. "Pretty good band," he finally says.

"Wow. How much did that cost you?"

He lets out a rusty breath. "A lot, babe. Not gonna lie. That one was hard. Though it coulda been worse."

You giggle and settle back in your seat. "I'm proud of you."

You chat casually the rest of the ride, almost like friends. Neither of you mentions last night. It's like it never happened. Part of you wonders if he regrets it, but you decide that no, he's just waiting for you to bring it up first. He doesn't want to pressure you since you made "no touching, no kissing, no bullshit" your very clear rule for this thing you two have going.

Last night definitely counts as "bullshit."

You get to his place and he grabs a can of root beer and a can of Diet Coke from the fridge before leading you back to his room. You take a moment to study his posters (it's only fair; he's seen yours) and notice the fact that there are clean sheets on his bed. Wow, he really did clean up.

"Have a seat," he says. "Sorry I don't have a desk or anything."

"It's okay," you say and drop down onto his bed. "I think I can handle it." You kick off your shoes and scoot back, dragging your backpack with you.

He hesitates a moment before climbing up next to you so that you're sitting side by side against the headboard. "Okay, um. Chapter 3," he says as he pulls out his textbook.

You grab your book and notebook and flip open to the relevant chemistry notes. "Okay, first you explain to me what covalent bonds are."

His forehead creases and he haltingly explains the concept. He actually has it down pretty well.

You get through bonds quickly and move on to other topics on the test, and before you know it two hours have passed.

"Shit," he says with a glance at his watch. He scrubs his face with both hands. "My brain hurts."

You pat his head, grinning. "Poor brain. Needs a break, I think."

"Uh huh. Want a snack? I can make some popcorn."

"Yeah, that'd be good. We can quit for the day, if you want. Put a movie on for our last few hours. There's a point of diminishing returns with all this."

His eyes crinkle as he smiles at you. "You were readin' my mind, princess. Movies are stored under there," he says, pointing. "Pick one out while I go make the popcorn."

He hops up and you crawl off the bed to check out his movie collection. Slashers and porn. Porn and slashers. Hm. Nothing super surprising, except maybe The Never-Ending Story. But that's a classic.

Since it's only a few weeks away, you decide on Halloween and push the tape into the VCR. You pause it and put your books away before settling back on his bed.

He comes back with a huge bowl of popcorn and two fresh sodas. "Hey," he says. "What'd you pick?"

"Debbie Does Dallas," you say, straight-faced.

"What? That's not even—" He scowls as he catches on. "Very funny. Jerk."

"That's a lot of porn, Munson."

He shrugs and plops down beside you. "I'm a growing boy. I have needs."

"Uh huh. For tits and serial killers, apparently."

"Nothin' wrong with tits. And serial killers are built into the fabric of American society. Did you know there's something like 50 serial killers active in the US at any given time?"

You look at him, wide-eyed. "Are you serious?"

"Yep. And, I mean, Hawkins is...well."

"Weird," you say.

"To put it mildly. Anyway, the horror movies are kind of an escape. They're so ridiculous." He hits play on the remote. "Take this one, for instance," he says, recognizing the opening credits. "How many different ways does Michael Myers die in just this one movie? But he always comes back."

You reach for some popcorn and munch on it thoughtfully. "The futility of fighting against the inevitable existential pull of 20th-century ennui?" you say.

"Yeah, that, and also you can't trust in institutions. The cops are rarely helpful in slasher movies. The government or anyone like that never is."

"Adults aren't usually at all. Kids and teenagers have to fight the monster."

"Exactly. Kids at summer camp, kids having nightmares, kids babysitting. At the end of the day you can only trust your friends to have your back, and even then they might get stabbed," he says. His expression is intense, his eyes big and bright, and you realize you could sit here and talk movies with him all afternoon.

You lean over, grab his shirt, and pull him in for a kiss. He sits back in surprise. "What was that for?"

"Nothing. Continue."

His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. "I lost my train of thought."

"Oh," you say. You take the bowl of popcorn and set it aside. "Oops." You crawl into his lap and push him back against the headboard with one hand and grip his hair with the other. He stares up at you, astounded, and his big eyes flutter closed as you lean down to kiss him again.

"So," you murmur between kisses. "Do anything fun last night?"

His hands run up and down your back and he nips at your lips with his. "Chatted on the phone with this hot girl I know."

"Lucky girl." You pull his chin up and kiss him hungrily, your tongue sliding into his mouth. He moans and moves his to meet it. His hands go still as he hangs onto you and you slowly start to rock against him.

"Don't get hard," you breathe against his mouth.

He lets out a stuttering laugh. "I'm only human, babe. You doing—that—is gonna lead to a hard dick every time."

"Mmmm I should stop, then. We have a movie to watch."

He bites your lower lip. Tugs. "Whatever you want, princess. I am at your service."

Oh. You like that. "Hm," you say as you slide off his lap. "Maybe if you're a good boy I'll suck your cock during the movie."

He sits up. "I'll be good! I swear! So good! The best!"

You giggle and kiss his cheek. "Watch the movie, sweet boy. I guarantee you'll enjoy it."

[hobipaint]

A Story Told On Sand

summary: The setting sun gives time for Jungkook to cherish his family.

↳ pairing: jungkook x reader

↳ genres: fluff, like so much fluff, established relationship, slice of life au.

↳ word count: 1.4K

↳ disclaimers: none.

a/n: A completely self indulgent Jungkook fluff drabble written at two at night haha,, I was really going through it. Written for the @bangtanwritingbingo prompt no. 14 - watching sunsets/sunrises, and for @btscreatorscorner June workshop- writing from a member's POV! a massive thank you to @jikookiekosmos for making the banner for me😭 and a massive thank you to @vaekth and @joonscore for bearing with me because I just kept talking on and on about this in your dms lol.

Jungkook leaned back, eyes shutting close as he felt the breeze kiss over every inch of his skin. The warm sunset was only just spreading across the sky, a bright yellow turning to a scarlet - as if the sun was blushing at the idea of leaving the sky, it's lover. 

"It's nice," You sighed, hands resting over his as you looked at the sunset. 

Jungkook looked at you, smiling, and hummed in agreement. "I like this scenario, you know. A sunset, the kids are playing in the sand, and your hand in mine. My day is coming to a good end." 

You turned to face him just as he lifted your joined hands to his mouth to leave a small kiss. You smiled, with your other hand coming up to pull your hair to the side, and Jungkook remembered why he fell in love with you all over again. He looked at you, your eyes sparkling in the deep orange of the sunset, keeping his eyes locked with yours as he pulled you closer. 

Kissing you never got old. 

His lips softly settled on yours, the feeling of them feeling right. Your scent- an unlikely mix of mint, from his perfume, and chocolate, from baking with the kids earlier today- filled his surroundings - and he didn't want anything more. His hand clasped yours, thumb tracing small universes over the back of your hand - universes where it was only you, him and your family. You other hand languidly traced up his arm, curling behind the nape of his neck to pull him closer. He felt you smile, nearly giggle, and it was only seconds before the two of you pulled away and just laughed. It felt good to be here. It felt good to be with you. 

The setting sun cast beautiful spells over the waves that were splashing and playing around in the sea, washing them in shades of burnt red and gentle yellows. The glimmering swell of water that leaped over the sand had your children squealing in delight, running away from the wave. You waved them over, watching as they ran helter skelter to collect their sand toys before running the two of you. 

Jungkook spread his arms out as his daughter ran to her father, not minding the sand that stuck to her body as she leaped on him - squealing in happiness at being reunited with her partner in crime. You reached over to ruffle her hair, eyes crinkling as your son walked over and buried his face in your lap, finally exhausted with the events of the day. 

It was a vacation for you and him - time to spend with family. There were so many highs and so many lows in your daily lives that it was exhausting, even if you loved your work - and you both needed that break, even if it was only for a weekend. Now, as he watched the waves crash into each other and then end in bubbles, he felt that peace he had wanted. 

"Tomorrow, we will go back to the city. Right, dad?" Your daughter sat up and spoke to Jungkook, his hand coming up to caress the hair that flew wildly behind her, settling it behind her ear. "Yes, my bunny. We're going back tomorrow." 

"Good!" She beamed at him, and Jungkook felt his heart swell. She took his palm, and he couldn't help but be amazed at how wonderfully she had grown up - he remembered when he would walk her around with her clinging onto his pinky finger only, and now her hand fit in the palm of his hand, big enough to clutch his hand and swing it while playing games. "I wanted to show you a drawing I had made for you and mommy." 

You turned towards your daughter while petting your son's head, fingertips gently untangling the heap of curls in his hair as he slept soundly. "What drawing, baby?" 

"I made a big girl drawing. Teacher had said it was really good!" Your daughter beamed, missing incisors displayed in a beautiful smile that strangely reminded Jungkook of your own -upper lip quirking in a way that he thought only you could, till his daughter first beamed at him. The thought made him smile.

"Really? I can't wait to see it then, bub. We'll pin it on the fridge too!" You cheered for her, her eyes widening in happiness and surprise at the sudden announcement. She jumped onto both of you, nearly knocking her brother off his mother's lap as she squealed again, screaming to the waves in the distance about how she loved her family. "We will be here forever!" she said, happily clapping.

After a few more moments of excited babbling - including a certain confession she had received from a classmate ("I promised not to tell anyone, but I didn't want to hide it from you! He said he loved me!") Jungkook's shocked exclamation at his baby getting confessions, you laughing, and her defending her 'friend', she was peacefully dosing on Jungkook's lap. His hand went to softly pat her hair, humming a soft lullaby - the same one he had sung to her for years- for all the times she wouldn't sleep at night. 

Eight years, and she still paraded up to him at night to demand the lullaby, and Jungkook would simply cherish that time as he would caress her head, wishing her sweet dreams and tucking the blanket in. "It's to keep the monsters away, " he'd hear her murmur everytime, and he'd smile before returning to his wife and son in the next room, softly patting his son's cheek, kissing his wife good night, and falling asleep. 

Looking at you now - your eyes paying attention to the two year old that had curled up in your lap - he held back the sudden urge to shout in happiness like his daughter had. That's what he felt. Overwhelmed with happiness. He didn't believe that he actually got to live with this euphoria in his life. One look at the three of you made him feel so proud, so responsible, and so loved - he simply couldn't put it all into words. 

Your head came to rest on his shoulder, and Jungkook leaned his head over yours, hands finding each other. You squeezed his hand tightly, and sighed - and he understood you. This silence, this time - it all meant so much for the two of you. 

"Once we go back, we're probably not getting time like this again, are we?" You whispered, letting the words fly away with the breeze. 

"Maybe. Who knows, I'll whisk you away on a getaway next week?" He smiled, and though he couldn't see you, he knew you were smiling, too. 

"Maybe? What about our daughter's annual day, mister? Forgot so soon?" You laughed as you spoke, punching his arm playfully. "I guess my husband is turning old already." 

"Hey!" Jungkook said, trying to fake his anger even if he couldn't take the smile off his face. "I remembered it, of course I remember! I had to learn the ballet routine as well!" You laughed again, the sound familiar and known to him- his heart beating a happy beat. "I twisted round and round, over and over, and nearly ripped my pants."

"Mmmm, and I didn't see you complaining after this baby appreciated you." Jungkook watched you caress your daughter's hair, then her cheek, and settle on the sand. "You went for it all the way." 

"I would always go all the way for her. And for this pumpkin too." He pointed at his son, and you giggled. "And for you too. You're my world, you know that?" 

You raised your head to face him, Jungkook almost complaining at the loss of your body heat right near him. "And you're mine. You, and our kids. You're all my everything." 

Jungkook's eyes softened, pulling you closer for you to rest your head on him again. You leaned against his chest, and Jungkook bent down to kiss the top of your head before leaning back to bade goodbye to the sun. 

"I think sunsets look the prettiest, don't they?" You marvelled at the sky, lush shades of warm orange letting hints of blue peak through as the sky prepared for nightfall. 

I think everything looks prettier when it's with you, Jungkook wanted to say, but he lets the babble of the returning seagulls fill the space. His hands wrap around you, letting his eyes look to the sky once again, awed by everything around him now. This was all he needed. 

"I love you," he murmured, pressing another kiss to his lover as the sun set upon the evening. 

a/n: I'm not really sure if this would be drabble length or fic length, but I'd like to think of it as a drabble. Writing this was really warm and comforting for me, so I hope that it gave you a similar feeling. I'd love to hear any feedback you have either as a comment, reblog, or as an ask! Thank you so much for giving your time to my work 💞 love, hazel 🤗

masterlist

[mutants-and-soldiers]

The Proposition (Ch. 1)

summary || You've been thinking about Steve's proposal a lot. Part of you wants to decline but a bigger part of you wants what he's offering.

pairing || alpha!Steve x omega!Reader (Past alpha!Bucky x omega!Reader)

word count || 3,706

warnings || A/B/O, eventual smut, therapy talks, kink negotiation, lots of dialogue — 18+ ONLY//MINORS DNI

notes || I can't get this story out of my head, really! First chapter is all about setting up the smut so I apologize but I believe in talking things out. Thank you to everyone who commented on the first part of the series! I'm going to try and be better about answering comments from here on out! Keep the comments coming, I love hearing from you guys so much!

You can also read it on Ao3. Do not copy, translate, rewrite or repost any of my work, even if you credit me. I always welcome comments and reblogs!

Sequel to Helping Hands: One Two Three Four Five

Divider courtesy of the talented @firefly-graphics

After so many years of going to see Dr. Beta, you were used to the routine when you stepped through the doors. It was late in their work day so you were the only person in the office other than Valarie, the receptionist, who gave you a kind smile. “Good afternoon,” she said, typing something onto her computer. “Dr. Beta’s just about ready.”

“Thanks, Valarie,” you say, setting your bag down to take off your suit.

It had been weird the first time Dr. Beta had demanded you not wear the suit during your sessions. You protested but in the end, she won out. There were a lot of reasons for choosing a female-only office but this was the biggest one. They accommodate you so much just to make you feel welcome and safe in your own skin. It was one of the few places that you could take the suit off and feel comfortable.

The suit was just being zipped up into your bag when the door to the doctor’s office opened. Dr. Beta was a matronly middle aged woman with plenty of laugh lines and crow's feet from years of laughter and joy. She was a kind beta who had done wonders for your mental health and self esteem. Without her, you probably wouldn’t have gone through with the job proposal.

She called your name with a gentle smile, “You ready?”

“Yep,” you smiled, walking over to step into the room. The blinds were closed tight but there were several lamps around the space that allowed a soft light to keep it illuminated. The wooden diffuser was pumping out the soothing smell of lemon and sandalwood. Dr. Beta had always said the lemon helped cut the potency of your powers but you weren’t sure if that was true or if it was something she said to make you feel better.

The two of you settled into your usual spots before the doctor asks, “Anything new since we last saw each other?”

It had been a month since your last session. The milestone of going monthly instead of bi-monthly had been huge for you. There was a time that you saw her weekly, which was when you were at your lowest. You were glad to be where you were.

“Where do I even start?” you laugh, leaning casually back on the leather couch. The cold material felt nice on the bare skin that peeked out from your denim shorts and athletic tank top. “I’ve been meeting regularly with three guys to run with them every Tuesday and Thursday. We also go out for drinks and the game on Sunday.”

“Wow, that’s fantastic!” she gushed, genuinely excited for you. She even sat her clipboard and pen down to lean forward with her elbows on her knees. It was something she only did when you made some kind of...positive choice in your life. The way it made your chest swell with self pride was silly and kind of childish but the woman had always been extra motherly to you. “Clients?”

“One of them was,” you nod, trying to keep the flush of excitement from making you seem too eager. “They’re really nice guys and they invited me to start sparring with them next week after our runs.”

A gentle look crossed the doctor’s face that had you melting. It was a look that she gave when she was proud and the way your name came out of her mouth spoke volumes. “I’m so proud of you,” she said aloud even though you knew it by her body language. “It’s been a long time since you took time for yourself in your personal life. Are they on your level of martial arts?”

“Better!” you said, excited to have a good challenge.

“Better than you?” she laughed, sounding incredulous. “I’d have to see that to believe it!” You join her for the laugh. “Anything else?”

Your mind flutters to a certain blond and his proposition but decide to keep that to yourself for now. It wasn’t good for you to hide secrets from Dr. Beta and you usually didn’t, however, she would definitely encourage you to take him up on the offer. You didn’t think you were ready to come up with reasons (lies) for why you couldn’t do that yet.

“Not really.”

She nods, grabbing her clipboard to flip the paper. “Dr. Noland said you were going to get your heat early this time around. She said you mentioned you might know why?”

Damn it. You forgot how much the two doctors communicated between each other about your health. It was the program you were in and, while amazingly helpful, could be very annoying at times. Case in point, now you need to make a choice on whether to point blank lie to Dr. Beta or just tell the truth. Lying by omission was much more your style.

“Yeah,” you sigh, resigning yourself to the conversation. “The last client I helped had...intense pheromones. I think it may have kicked me into my heat cycle early.”

The doctor’s hazel eyes widened in shock, “Even with the suppressant you took?”

Nodding, you look away for a second. “The client was a super soldier,” you admit, running a hand through your hair in frustration.

Understanding blossomed on her face when she made a guess as to who you were talking about. “Well, that might do it, for sure,” she nodded, making a note. “Still, I’m going to have Dr. Noland change your suppressant just in case it’s not working.”

She stood up, going over to the cabinet behind her desk. She took out a large bottle, tossing it to you, that had heat vitamins in them. Another bottle was thrown your way full of pills specifically for healthy slick production. The last thing she came over with were a few vouchers for omega-centric energy drinks and heat-snacks.

“I know you hate this question but I am legally required to ask,” she chuckles. “Do you have someone you trust to help you through your heat?”

You hesitate. “No.”

Her head snaps up, hazel eyes pinning you to the spot. “You hesitated. You never hesitate,” she points out with far too much excitement. She sets the clipboard down, doing the lean again. “Do you have someone in mind?”

Well, the cat was out of the bag and now you couldn’t lie because she would never believe you now. “I was...propositioned,” you admit, feeling stupidly relieved that you had been honest with her. She had conditioned you so fucking well to feel better when you told the truth as opposed to lying. It had been a ‘bad coping mechanism’ you created during your childhood to gain some control of your otherwise uncontrollable life.

“By one of your new friends?” she asked, already getting the gist of the conversation. “Was it your client?”

“No, not my client but his...best friend,” you whisper, feeling a little embarrassed that you were having this conversation.

Dr. Beta is quiet for a moment, contemplating how to ask the question. “What’s the big deal then? Why not take him up on the offer?”

You cringe. “There are…a lot of reasons but I’m sure you’re going to make them seem like they’re not problems but things I’ve blown up in my mind.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “You know your feelings and worries are valid! I just help you see things in a more logical light. I think you should really talk this through with him but...would you like to practice with me?”

You bite your lower lip but give a heavy sigh when you realize there’s still nearly forty minutes left of your time with her. “Fine. It can’t hurt.”

You sat in the booth twitching with your napkin. You and the owner were good friends from back in your academy days so he allowed you to pay a certain amount for the whole rooftop terrace. It meant you could enjoy a meal with someone without having to wear your suit. You also got the same female server every time who knew your situation and didn’t care.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” you heard a familiar voice say to your left.

Not really sure why, you stood up when he approached. He was wearing a thin blue zip-up jacket over a blue and white plaid button up shirt that was unbuttoned enough for you to see the white t-shirt he had under it. His jeans were dark and fit far too well around his massive thighs. A plain blue ball cap sat on his head and some fake glasses to help hide his identity. The smile he gave you was enough to make your preheat brain purr.

It took you by surprise when his big arms wrapped you up in a hug that smothered you in his masculine scent. Your hands touched his back, hugging him hesitantly. The squeeze lasted a little longer than you expected, just enough for your head to be perfectly swimming in his pheromones.

You pulled away when he did, allowing him to sit at the far side of the table, facing towards the rest of the area. He had insisted that you come without your suit so it was the least you could do to keep the waitress from noticing his erection.

“It’s okay, I ordered some water for us,” you smile, genuinely happy to see him. It wasn’t often that you saw any of the three men individually. They usually hung out in a pack and you were happy to know that you fit into the group pretty well. “Get whatever you want, Steve. It’s my treat.”

He gave you a look. “I would prefer it if you let me pay.”

Your heart gave a hard thump in your chest. There was something about the way he said it that was just short of a command. You look into his blue eyes, trying to gauge his intent before setting down the menu. “Is this some old-fashioned pride I see leaking through?” you tease, giving him a mischievous grin.

“No, I just figure it was only right that I buy you lunch before helping you with your heat,” he said so casually it made your face heat.

“What makes you think I’m going to agree?!” you laugh loudly.

There is a knowing glint in his eyes that makes your stomach flip. “Isn’t that why we’re here? Alone?” he questioned easily, looking up just as Julia came to the table.

“Welcome back,” she greets you, setting two empty glasses and a pitcher of water down on the table. “My name’s Julia.”

“Nice to meet you Julia,” Steve responded with a neutral smile. It caught you a little off guard because it...definitely wasn’t the smile he gave you. Was it just part of his disguise?

You both ordered a beer and your entrees. It wasn’t until Julia walked away that you focused back on the alpha across from you. He was already looking at you with an intense expression. You feel like he’s basically prying into your soul.

“I...spoke with my therapist yesterday and…” you start, finding it very hard to talk about this kind of thing. It was so easy to soothe your clients but so hard to give yourself a break. “She...convinced me to talk with you about my...worries.”

His expression softens a bit. “I’m willing to work with you,” he soothes, reaching out to take your hand. His fingers curled around yours, warm and solid. “Tell me everything.”

You take a deep breath. “I’m not afraid of hurting you,” you blurt out. “You can take me even on your worst day. I’m...embarrassed to count myself among the small population of omegas that go...feral during their heat. I...fight my partner. Dr. Beta says it's because of the trauma I experienced. Trauma doesn't just disappear during heat...it gets worse. I’m just not the usual kind of docile omega that society seems to exemplify.”

He looks up to alert you that Julia was returning with your drinks. He didn’t speak until she was back inside the building. “Truthfully, I’m actually more intrigued than put off by the notion,” he finally said after taking a sip of his beer. “Do you fight the whole time or just in the beginning?”

It wasn’t a line of questioning that you expected so you gaped at him like a fish out of water for a few seconds before finding your words. “I don’t...know,” you admit sheepishly, sipping your hard cider. “I’ve only been with one alpha during my heat and he had to go to the hospital a few hours into it.”

Something dark and tempting flashed through the blond’s eyes. “How do you feel about restraints?”

Your core throbbed at the simple question. It probably showed on your face because his smile started to widen in understanding. “Yes, that’s fine,” you breathe, trying not to think too hard about the implications.

“Would you prefer to do this at your house or in my suite?” he asked as if you had already agreed to the whole thing.

Your mind screamed at you to say decline. It was dangerous and there were so many things that could go wrong. Your omega brain though had already bought into the whole thing. You wanted this big, powerful alpha to hold you down and take you in the most forceful of ways. You wanted him to restrain you to your nest and have his way with you until the heat fog cleared.

“Wait, wait,” you say, trying to finish your thoughts before deciding anything. “I’m serious when I say I’m insatiable. I don’t have any refractory period between one wave and the next.”

Julia opens the door, alerting you both that she was coming out with food. You both wait until everything is set and she walks away before continuing. The food smells delicious so you grab the burger and bite into it. You always craved red meat before your heat so when the flavors burst across your taste buds, you hum in appreciation.

Steve took a few bites of his own meal before responding. “The super soldier serum makes it so I don’t have any refractory period,” he shrugs casually with a smile. “I’ve never met someone who could keep up with me so...I’m interested to see if you can. Any other worries?”

Heat blossoms across your cheek and in your chest. “I don’t want our friendship to be jeopardized,” you finally admit after finishing half of your burger. You grab some of the fries and eat them while thinking.

“Did helping Bucky keep you from being friends with him?”

“No, of course not,” you sigh, running out of excuses. Dr. Beta had been right, talking with him had definitely made you a little more comfortable with the idea. “Fine, okay, I accept your offer.”

“My place or yours?” he asks with a genuine smile.

You mull over the question for a bit before shrugging. “I have all of my nesting supplies at my house so we can do it at mine,” you chuckle, feeling a little nervous but excited too.

He nods. “Do I need to bring any supplies? Snacks or drinks?”

The two of you continue talking about the logistics of your heat while you finish the food. It makes you feel a lot better knowing you wouldn’t have to go through with it alone. You had already taken the initiative to send a message to all of your clients to let them know you would be out for your heat. You even went ahead and took an extra week just for yourself.

After you pay and you have your layers back on, the two of you stand outside the doors to the restaurant. You don’t want to leave him, truthfully. He smelt so good and you were so close to your heat that it was hard to separate from him. “Thanks for talking with me,” you smile despite the bonnet covering everything but your eyes. “I’ll give you a text when I’m ready.”

“Of course, thanks for lunch,” he chuckles, leaning down to kiss your forehead through the layers. “Here, take this for your nest.”

He shucked his jacket and offered it. Your hand reaches out to take it slowly. “Thanks but this might just push me into it faster,” you laugh brightly, holding the large jacket close to your chest. You could smell the scent of him even through all of your layers. It made your head foggy.

“That’s the idea,” he smirked, turning towards the tower with a wave. “Just let me know when you want me to come over.”

You watch him walk away, eyes lingering on the way his biceps stretched the fabric of his shirt and down until you stared at his toned ass in those jeans. It was obvious how close you were to your heat when sweat started to form along your temples and slick started to dampen your panties.

Once you got back home, you arranged your snacks and vitamins on the counter so they were easy for Steve to find. He might need to feed you for the first few waves because you weren’t sure if you’d be coherent or not. Then you went into your extra bedroom that you used for your heats and started getting it ready.

You pulled out all of your slick-resistant pillows, cushions and blankets from the closet to make a nest on your king sized bed. It was a nice four post bed that had your mind in dark places. All you could think about was being restrained with cuffs around one of those posts while Steve fucked into you.

It didn’t take long before you needed a pad for all of the fucking slick that was making everything so annoying. The nest took a lot longer that you would like to admit because it just didn’t seem...right. You’d never had this kind of issue before but your omega brain wanted Steve to be comfortable and happy too.

Looking back at the closet, you debated on whether or not you wanted to pull out the box of toys. You weren’t sure if Steve would want them or need them or…

“Fuck it,” you mutter, grabbing your phone to send the alpha a quick text. Toys or no toys?

You were adding his jacket to your nest when your phone vibrated in your pocket. Instead of the one or two word answer that you expected, it was...something else.

Definitely toys. I’ll enjoy teasing you until you’re begging for my knot.

Fuckin’ hell! Was this the same blond with the surprisingly boyish face that you had met during lunch today? The same guy that Sam teased about being an old virgin?

You didn’t think the pad was going to hold up to all of the slick that gush from you at the text. How does one respond to a text like that? You grabbed out the delicate pink box out of the closet, wincing at the color because it was the only color that the shop had to store your toys. Omegas were feminine right?! They liked pink, right?!

Laughing at yourself, you set the box on the little table in the room. You opened the lid and set it to the side so you could look at your assortment of toys. It was a collection you started when your first heat hit you at sixteen. You had been a late bloomer because of your constant martial arts training, which stilted your omega hormones.

It had all the necessities and even some extras. You had your typical knot dildo, a vibrator, a clit vibe, a few different types of condoms for when you weren’t in your heat, a bottle of lube that encouraged slick production, a bottle of regular lube, and a few different sized anal plugs. The last few were just because you enjoyed the feeling of being full when having sex.

Quickly you took a picture of the box and sent it to Steve as a reply. It was the best you could come up with. You had never really been good at those kinds of things. Well, you’d never had someone try and sext you.

Happy that everything was prepared, you cuddled under your fuzzy blanket in your nest. Comfort flooded through you as you nuzzled into the man’s jacket, deeply taking in his scent. It was nice and musky and made you feel warm and safe.

The phone buzzed. You’re okay with anal during your heat?

Your pheromone idled brain made you giggle, “Consent is important,” before you could text him back. Yes, I like being stuffed full.

It didn’t even register how inappropriate the text sounded before you hit send. You were obviously a lot further along than you had previously thought. The subtle throb of your core was starting to get worse but you weren’t too far gone to see his last text.

Good to know. Get some rest. Need me to come out and check on you before dark?

You groaned as a cramp hit your pelvis, slick becoming an issue. It simultaneously hurt and felt good. You were so distracted that you couldn’t answer the text message. Everything was suddenly too hot so you threw off your clothing, slipping your hand down to brush against your clit. It was already so sensitive it hurt but you needed relief.

It wasn’t enough and you knew that it would be futile to try and get yourself off with just your fingers but your brain wasn’t working. You groaned helplessly as the lackluster orgasm washed over you. It wasn’t enough, so frustratingly not enough. Sweat dripped down your cheek from your hairline making you kick off the blanket so you could turn over.

You didn’t care how it looked with your ass up because the scent of Steve on the jacket helped clear your head a little. It made your core throb but it also helped you become coherent. Enough so that you grabbed the phone and typed in a one word response that only said:

Now.

Credits for the pictures in Moodboard:

Unsplash photographers:

1. Kelly Sikkema

2. Vulkan Olmez

3. Toa Heftiba

Like, comment and reblogs are always welcome! Thanks for reading!

[belladonnix]

Bog Witch; How To Grow Mushrooms

Ahhhh who doesn't fucking love mushrooms?

Oh you? Then skiddadle this post isn't for you >:(

Anyway, I've been desperate to get into the art of foraging, where I am in the northern hemisphere we're just breaking into spring - soon there will be lots of young shoots and spring greens to monch and cronch on. However what I am most anticipating and excited for is Mushroom Foraging.

Unfortunately, other than the fairly uncommon Morel Mushroom which is usually available between March and May, there won't be any mushyrooms to forage until July at the earliest. And why would I wait for that when I could just buy a fuckin mushroom home grow kit and do it MYSELF.

This is some jank sketchy Oyster Mushroom kit I bought on ebay, I recommend if you wanna grow your own kit to buy an actual reputable one. But I'm poor AND impatient so here we are.

26th February 2021;

So the kit came like this. I didn't get a picture of the patch on the back but I'm assuming it's kind of a self healing injection site. The pack came precultured and all I had to do was cut the + in the middle of the package, soak it in water and spray it every couple days until the mush goblins come and provide me with a bountiful harvest.

More expensive kits come with your substrate and mycelium culture separate and you have to inject the culture with a syringe and needle through a self healing injection site. Other kits come precultured, like this one, and most of the time all you'll have to do is cut, soak and spray. There are pros and cons to both and I hope to get more expensive kits in the future so I can compare the 2, if you guys would like to see that.

So I cut the cross in the pack and laid it face down in some filtered water (it doesn't specify that filtered is required but I can't imagine chlorinated does much good for it). I was originally concerned that because the substrate was cracked that it would be crumbly and fall out of the bag into the water but it retained its shape and somewhat "fused" back together after soaking. The instructions said overnight but I, having no short term memory, period, forgot and left it for almost 24 hours.

2nd March 2021

4 days later

Would you believe me if I told you these 2 pictures were only taken 5 hours apart? And the fuckers are still going.

Please note that mushrooms and fungi don't photosynthesise. They have no chlorophyll and therefore cannot turn sunlight into energy via glucose. A lot of mushrooms get their glucose from their host plants (i.e. trees, roots underground, etc.) Which I think is why seed and sawdust are great substrate for mushrooms like this to grow in.

Mushrooms ARE however photoSENSETIVE and will grow toward light sources, contrary to the popular belief that they ONLY grow in the dark, which is why most mushroom kits are provided with a box that covers most of the culture apart from where you want the mushrooms to grow from.

Direct sun however is likely to damage them or stunt their growth so either a light shady place or out of direct sunlight will do perfectly.

3rd March 2021

Overnight growth! An insane jump in size this morning at 11am, this photo was taken just 20 hours after the last.

What's even better? The fungus is now PINNING!!

The pins like to be kept super hydrated until they form proper mushroom clumps or baby mushrooms so I'll spray them daily until then, then every other day.

4th March 2021

Overnight explosion in size. Looking very very closely I can see the gills are opening just a little. Looks like I didn't need to wait long for baby mushrooms after all.

5th March 2021

Das a big boy. At this stage the gills are starting to become more apparent and they're starting to smell more and more like mushrooms!

There's some yellowing on some of the caps so I'll have to see how that goes but some of them should be okay to eat.

6th March 2021

Yuh uhhhh. I would say these are about done! See that some of the caps are yellowing on the sides and even closing upward? We don't want this to happen to anymore of them so we'll pick them now.

Hold at the base and twist to release the CLOMP .

I immediately took them to the kitchen to prepare them, split them into 3 sections; cooked one, stored the other 2.

Incredibly Important Initial Impressions;

Not disappointed in the least; fried with a lil olive oil, some butter and some garlic, they have a slightly chewy but buttery texture. Taste wise, I'd say they're not your average button mushroom from the supermarket. They're meatier, earthier, and have a slightly but pleasantly bitter after taste. Hardly noticeable but very welcomed.

They unfortunately don't taste like oysters OR the souls of the damned.

What am I planning on using them for?

Well I'm going to be cooking one of the other clumps for my mum, since she can't eat garlic her's need to be cooked separately. As for MY other clump, I'm going to prepare it and have myself a heavenly Ramen Feast tonight.

Conclusion

I had a lot of fun growing this, especially since it didn't take nearly as much time as I initially thought it would. My aggressively impatient brain is grateful for that.

If I grew more kits in the future and you would be interested in seeing me document them, let me know in your reblogs!

Yours sincerely,

Local Bog Cryptid xoxo

[katnissmellarkkk]

Summary: At the Seventy-Fourth Reaping for The Hunger Games, volunteering is outlawed, thanks to a tribute four years prior. Because of this, when Katniss’ sister Prim’s name is chosen from the bowl, there’s nothing she can do but hope that Peeta Mellark, past victor and now Prim’s mentor, can somehow bring her sister home alive. (Obviously heavy on Everlark.) 

AN: Hi! I don’t really have a big author’s note or anything--at least, I don’t think I do? We’ll see how long this trails on--but this is one of the fics I’ve been working on for a while. It’s multi-chaptered so there’s gonna be a lot more coming in the future, but this first chapter is honestly a little similar to the original book, with some (significant) deviations here and there, but after this first chapter, this story becomes extremely different from canon. I gotta thank, obviously, @rosegardeninwinter​ for a). making me my pretty lil banner and for b). reading the million, unpolished, unedited screenshots of my drafts that I’m sure ya’ll got tired of really quick. And also for encouraging me to write this in the first place. And also, I gotta thank everyone who liked and reblogged the lil story edit I posted months ago for this concept. It really encouraged me to write this concept out. (I’m talking about this edit right here if you forgot or never saw x). Okay, anyways, I’m talking too much but thank you! Also link to this story on AO3 [x].

Chapter One :

I stare out into the sky, introspective, as I wait for familiar footsteps to approach. The footfalls of my hunting partner, my friend even, Gale, still remain absent, despite our longstanding agreement to hunt on Reaping Day, no matter how hot it is, or how scarce the game, or how worried we may be deep inside.

Of course, how could a couple kids from the Seam not worry about Reaping Day? At least a slight bit, deep down?

Reaping Day. The day that decides the almost absolute fate of a lucky—as our assigned escort, straight from the Capitol itself, so proudly proclaims—boy and girl.

We're District Twelve. The smallest and one of the poorest districts in the country of Panem. There's an almost guarantee that whoever gets their name picked from the reaping bowl, even the strongest eighteen-year-old boy in the district, will have an almost sure fate of death. Likely before the number of tributes drops below twenty.

Tributes from our district almost never fare well inside the arena.

Almost never.

We have had a few winners in history, two of which are still around, but a few out of seventy-three games isn't inspiring much hope in anyone today.

The wind breezes against my arms, prickling the hair at the back of my neck, and I'm struck by the memory of being out here, in the forbidden territory of the woods, outside our district limits, when I was just a kid. When my dad was the one hunting and I was just along for the ride. Just along because I wanted to be with him. When I used to blindly trust him and my mother, when I thought he'd live forever, when I was too young to truly grasp the concept of the Hunger Games. When I was too young to truly grasp the concept of the world in which we live.

When I was eleven my every illusion was shattered violently. Almost as violently as the death in which my father must have endured, underground in those mines, as they exploded.

I remember hearing the alarm at school, blaring so cacophonously over the speakers that it shook the schoolrooms themselves. I remember blindly grappling through the scurrying bodies of my classmates, until I found my way to my little sister, Primrose. Her room was completely empty, but she still remained, sitting behind her desk with small folded hands, waiting for my arrival with excessive patience.

I'd always coached her on what we'd do, if there ever should be a mine accident. I made sure she knew the drill, just as I knew it. Like the back of my hand. Like a prayer or a lullaby. I could recite it in my sleep. Because my father had just as sternly instilled it into me.

I wove my way through the chaos of bodies and white-hot panic, towing Prim only inches behind me by the hand, as the kids from town lingered in the hallways, their classic, bright blue eyes large and their voices all quivering, and as the kids from the Seam dutifully made their way to the nearest exits, hoping and praying and begging silently that it wasn't their parent who had been hurt. Hoping the accident hadn't taken what was typically the sole provider in most households, here in the poorest section, in the most impoverished district.

Prim and I must have not hoped hard enough, because we learned almost immediately upon finding our mother, who was now immobilized with grief, her characteristic gentle smile eviscerated and in it's place, a blank stare, void of any life at all, that our every fear from hearing that alarm were coming true.

My mom was supposed to get a job. She was supposed to find a way to provide for us, to take care of her two daughters, who were grieving her husband just as much as she was.

But instead she lay in bed day after day. On the good mornings, maybe if Prim begged and pleaded, she'd move to a chair, in front of the fireplace and stare at the flames with the same vacant expression that had replaced the loving, kind woman who'd raised us.

The money from the government, the minuscule amount of money given to keep us afloat until our mother found work, ran out. The meat our father had hunted, the plants he'd saved, ran out. The food we had the small luxury of sometimes buying—or more times than not, trading for—quickly ran out.

And our mother still did absolutely nothing.

I take a deep breath now and try to force myself to forgive her. Forgive her for not being strong enough to keep going, forgive her for not caring enough about her own children to keep them alive in the face of her grief, forgive her for being so in love that losing my father had almost killed her too.

I know it's what my father would want. And I know it's something I can't let myself do. Because if I let her off the hook, it's like saying it's okay that she almost let Prim wither away to nothing. Forget me. I will never forgive her for almost taking my little sister away from me.

Our mother did absolutely nothing until Prim's ribs were prominent, until my stomach was nearly hallow, until our cheekbones were so blatantly obvious you could count them from down the road.

And all my fears, all my resolve, to keep the three of us together as a family, went out the window. There was nothing left to do, but wait for me and Prim to be taken to the Community Home, with the other orphans or kids from unsafe families. Kids who still remained too thin, who's eyes told stories no ear wanted to hear, who still wore bruises upon their skin like freckles from the sun, who looked nearly worse than the corpses I encountered every winter, while walking from the Seam to town. Those corpses were the unlucky ones who'd actually starved to death, who had sat down to merely rest, because they had no substance to carry them any further, and somehow never got back up.

On that day, at eleven years old, living in the Community Home sounded no worse than living with the immobilized shell that had once been my mother. My resolve to hold out until my birthday, until I could get the tesserae that would feed my family for an entire year, was shattered by the harsh raindrops pelting me from the grey, unforgiving sky.

I vaguely heard the baker's wife, the mean-spirited woman, with her deeply embittered, hostile blue eyes that somehow seemed black, scream at me, calling me names, shooing me from her property.

I'd simply wanted to rummage her trashcan, so desperate for any small morsel to take back to Prim, any motivation to take even another step forward, when I felt her rough and calloused hands shove me away.

I toppled over, my legs already weak and shaky from lack of nutrition and substance. My depleted form laid on the ground, my eyes bleary from exhaustion and the shivering wind and rain.

The witch went back inside the bakery as I scarcely conjured up the will to sit upright. I was beyond done. The fighting to even gain a fraction of my mother's awareness, to get something, anything, to feed myself and my starving sister, to even stand up, became overwhelming and I felt the last bit of my resolve crumble from deep inside.

Let them come and take me and Prim to the Community Home. I don't care any longer. Let them come.

Out of the corner of my eye, a boy exited out the same backdoor the witch had gone through. He was carrying a bag of trash in his hands and my famished mind focused on that first, focused on what could be inside the contents of that bag, on what a baker could potentially be throwing away, before I realized the boy was in my year at school. I knew him, or at least, I knew his face. But he stuck with the other blonde-haired, fair-skinned town kids and I didn't even remember his name in that moment.

In hindsight, that's absolutely hysterical now.

But he evaporated as soon as he'd appeared and I closed my eyes and let the rain drown me, hoping perhaps I could be swallowed up within the downpour itself. Hoping that perhaps I'd never have to face the reality that I was out of options and I had nothing of subsidence to take home.

But then I heard a clatter and a clang and the sound of a scream. It was her, the witch. She was screaming and calling someone names my own mother had never even uttered in my lifetime.

I mentally prepared myself for her to come back outside, to drive me away with a stick or a knife. Or possibly even a hot, scorching prong.

But it wasn't the witch. It was the boy, the one from my year. The one I thought went back inside after taking out the trash, that I believed didn't even notice me before.

He was carrying bread. Two loaves, in fact. The crusts were black and burned and the welt across his face told me, without a doubt, that he was the target of the witch's insults. That he was the victim of whatever clanging noise I heard.

And though I was the one starving to death, I didn't envy him having her for a mother.

I remember vividly, the most crystal clear image I have of this day, the boy checking and making sure the witch's attention had been claimed elsewhere. And then, without even glancing in my direction, he tossed one loaf of bread to my feet. Seconds later, the other followed.

He didn't hesitate to head back inside after that, and I've spent more time in these last four years than I'd more than likely care to admit, wondering what possessed him to commit such an act of kindness. No one was kind for free, I'd learned by that point.

And yet, as I shook myself forcefully out of my stupor, and carried the loaves back to my house at the edge of the Seam, I had no explanation for his simple act. I had no basis to explain why he would help me, when no one else ever had.

The next day, I saw him at school. I passed by him in the hallway, and saw his eye had now blackened, his cheek welted, but somehow he still managed a joyous smile. He didn't notice me then. He was surrounded by his friends. Like always, he was surrounded by a constant crowd.

He is, after all, one of the most charming and sweet people Panem's ever known.

Later that day, when I was about to walk home with Prim, who was excitedly chattering about the leftover bread awaiting us on the kitchen table, the bread I'd brought home the night prior that had filled our stomachs for the first time in months, I caught the boy looking in our direction. My grey Seam eyes met his baby blues for a microsecond, before he looked away. I snapped my gaze downwards too, embarrassed, when I caught sight of a dandelion.

It was that moment that a bell went off in my head. That I saw how I could survive, how Prim could survive. How, through the things my dad had taught me, I could keep me and my sister alive.

After that day, I could never stop associating the boy with the bread, the one who gave me hope, with the dandelion that reminded me I wasn't doomed.

I never stopped associating him with his simple act of kindness, even when he became famous for some much less appreciable acts.

And I never stopped kicking myself for failing to thank him, for saving my life and my family's life, before he was whisked away, to a land far from Twelve, called the Capitol. When he later returned, now a part of a much more elite social class, thanking him for his kindness became even less of a possibility.

A girl from the Seam had no business seeking out a boy from Victor's Village. Even if I did have the guts.

Though he isn't exactly in good company here in Twelve, seeing as the only other person who holds the same title is a drunken, middle-aged man who can barely form a coherent sentence most days and lives like a hermit by his own volition.

My thoughts are interrupted by the quiet—almost as quiet as mine, but not quite—steps of Gale.

"You're late," I state without turning around, pulling the cheese from my pocket. "You're lucky Prim's cheese held up under the sun."

But Gale pulls something even more impressive from behind his back. "This will probably go nice with it," he says and I almost gasp.

Fresh bread is so rare in our district, generally reserved for the Peacekeepers and perhaps a merchant who is having a good day. Here in the Seam, fresh bread from the bakery is as common as new school shoes.

Gale updates me on his day as we split the bread and cheese and have our own version of a small feast. He'd gotten to the woods early, while I had been still at home, and shot a squirrel to which he traded for the bread.

"The baker really went for that?" I ask in disbelief. The baker was a subdued, large man, who resembled all three of his sons quietly strongly, and was one of my dad's best customers. Sometimes I think he still trades with me and Gale out of respect to my dad's memory, but a simple squirrel for a loaf of fresh bread isn't common.

"I think he was feeling generous this morning," Gale suggests a little snidely, his bitterness leaking through. "Besides. It's not like the Mellark's need the money they ask for bread. They could easily skim off their precious son and he'd probably never notice."

Gale has a special affinity for hating anyone and anything associated even minimally with the Capitol. He was lost his father in the same mine explosion I lost mine in. But whereas I don't let myself get too worked up over the inequities between the town and the Seam, and especially between us all and the victors, Gale takes a special pride in fuming over the things he cannot change.

I don't mind listening usually, since neither of us can speak our minds in public or even within our own homes, out of fear small ears will pick up on our words and repeat them elsewhere. But today, I just don't have the energy to be a sounding board.

Instead I take a segue towards a slightly different topic, but one, without a doubt, weighing on both our minds. "Prim has been having nightmares of the reaping," I murmur solemnly. "She's convinced they're going to call her name."

Gale shook his head, his demeanor becoming more subdued now. "Least Prim's name is only in there once, Catnip. Rory had to take tesserae this year."

I nod silently at that admission, knowing what it must have cost him to even allow his little brother to take additional risks of being called. Knowing it meant his family of five must be even more hungry than he leads on.

We don't say much more after that, only lingering in the woods long enough to catch some additional game from what I've already collected, and hurry back to town to trade.

As we walk back to the Seam, having divided up our goods evenly, Gale murmurs suddenly, "I might be able to stomach the idea of Rory's name being in that bowl six times if we were still allowed to volunteer."

I bypass his words the best I can. I don't want to think about what Gale must be going through, making himself sick with worry, not for himself but for a sibling in which he considers himself responsible for. And, as it happens once in a lucky moon, I feel grateful that my tesserae is still sufficient for a family of three, and I don't have to worry about Prim the same way. Her one entry pales in comparison to the thousands that are piled in that bowl.

Still, the silence between us as we walk is deafening and I can't take it any longer as we come closer to my house. "At least then, you'd get to see the Capitol," I say lightly, as a means to brighten his mood, even just a little.

At that, Gale rewards me with a humorless smirk. "Generous of the president, isn't it? To allow us district people to experience the great Capitol firsthand while they slaughter our family."

And it's true. Just a few years ago, it was allowed to volunteer as tribute in the place of whoever's name got chosen, as long as you were the same gender and between twelve and eighteen on Reaping Day.

But four years ago, when a twelve-year-old boy volunteered for his seventeen-year-old brother, an outrage sparked across the entire country. People are never happy, in any district, to see a twelve-year-old be chosen for the games. They're the youngest, the smallest, the most innocent, and never in history had a single one made it past the Final Fifteen in the games.

So when one volunteered, the country wasn't pleased in the slightest. However, like always, the anger was contained by Peacekeepers in a matter of weeks, and promises came pouring out from the Capitol that a change would be made after the games that year to ensure never again would this situation occur.

And it never again could. Because three days after the Seventieth Hunger Games, President Snow announced that all volunteering, from that point forward, was officially banned.

This new law is even more ironic when you realize that the twelve-year-old volunteer from that year became the youngest victor in the entire history of the games.

Still, I suppose the president was feeling generous that day, and he threw in a bonus treat for us in the districts. Now when someone is chosen from the reaping bowl, though their fate is sealed definitively when their name is uttered, they get to choose one family member to take on the train ride to the Capitol with them, to get a special viewing of the games with the mentors and the sponsors and the past victors, to get to experience the wonder that is the mysterious Candy Capitol firsthand.

However, when all is said and done, twenty-three family members must ride the train home alone to their districts, with their loved one in a casket beside them. The thought chills me to the bone and I shiver as me and Gale wish each other good luck. We probably won't see each other again until it's time for the customary dinner we all try to put on with our neighbors to celebrate, even minimally, that we've survived another year unchosen.

Prim is already wearing my first reaping outfit when I enter the house, though it is a bit large on her. She's slimmer than even I was at Twelve, despite her having months on me when I attended my first reaping.

I get ready quickly, if only because I want to spend time with her before we have to go. I protect Prim in every way I can but I'm powerless against the reaping.

Still, she's only entered once and that's as safe as anyone can get from being chosen. It's almost unheard in the Seam to be that safe from the games.

But my sister never did appear like she fit in here anyway. Her golden blonde hair and sky blue eyes resemble the merchants, not the Seam, and her and our mother stick out like sore thumbs next to our neighbors.

Our mom is restless now, busying herself with preparing the food for our small feast tonight and braiding Prim's hair and then mine.

I still haven't fully forgiven her for leaving us when we needed her most, but I also can't imagine how difficult it must be to have to send both your children off to be potentially chosen for an absolute death. And I let her hug me as I guide Prim out the door.

Attendance is mandatory for all in the district, but the ones viable for being chosen and those just watching don't typically enter together.

I guide Prim by hand into town, the walk feeling longer than it did with Gale. Perhaps it's the trembling twelve-year-old I'm towing, or perhaps I'm more afraid than I'm even admitting to myself.

After all, unlike my sister, I have twenty slips with my name splayed across this year. It's not as a bad as someone like Gale, who has forty-four chances of being called. But it's not as safe as the kids from town, who likely only have to worry about a handful of slips with their names.

Its not that they're rich by any standard, but they get by better than those in the Seam. Even if they're hungry, they're not at risk of starving, and no one is going to sign up for tesserae unless there is no alternative.

A year ago, my mother let it slip once over dinner, just out of the blue really, that my father had always sworn no child of his would be in need of tesserae.

I shake my head, as if to physically rid myself of the reminder. I don't want to dwell on what my father would feel if he were here. I don't want to be reminded how different things would be if he hadn't died.

I help Prim sign in and then drop her off, as gently as I can, with the other girls her age. At the last minute, she pulls on my hand, yanking me back to her with surprising force.

"Prim, I have to go stand with the sixteens," I say as she leans up and kisses my cheek.

"I just wanted to say I love you," she whispers softly, her big blue eyes so terrified, and then she steps back into the crowd of twelves surrounding her.

I sigh softly and give her what I hope is a reassuring smile. She truly is the best of our parents. Kind, smart, level-headed. She's funny and resourceful too, even if she can't take hunting animals herself.

She is the only person I'm certain that I love. And just about the only thing that keeps me going most days.

As I make my way to the sixteens, straightening my mother's dress on my hips, I check the clock. Only five minutes before we start. Before our lovely Capitol escort, Effie Trinket, reads off two names in her distinctive, afflicted accent. Before two kids know they're never coming home again.

This place isn't much. But it is all we've ever known, and no one wishes to leave it.

As more people crowd in, I begin to pick up an excited buzz in the girls surrounding me. Already knowing what I'll see, I crane my neck just the same, to peer up at the stage ahead.

Sure enough, I see exactly what I knew I would.

There's four chairs set up on the stage. One for Effie Trinket, because no one from the Capitol could ever bear to stand for more than three minutes at a time and she must have a seat to relax in before she calls out the names and sends two of us—a lucky boy and girl, as she says it—to the slaughter.

One of the other chairs is occupied by Mayor Undersee. A man who looks like he's been beaten down by life too many times as it is and would rather be anywhere but here. His daughter is my age. She sits with me at lunch, since Gale is two grades ahead of me and we rarely see each other at school. We make polite small talk but other than that, I barely know anything about her, and by association, her father.

However, it's neither of them that's stirring up the buzz within the crowd—admittedly, more so with the female portion of the crowd—and it's definitely not Haymitch Abernathy, who's stumbling on stage right at this moment. He managed to win the Fiftieth Hunger Games and I still can't imagine how. He's a paunchy man my mother's age and he's never sober, on the rare time he's even seen in public. Today is no exception, as he flops onto a chair gruffly, and murmurs something unintelligible with his eyes closed.

No, the murmuring, the now batting eyes and coy smiles, the soft vibrato still traveling within the crowd, are all because of the last guest of honor, walking upon the stage right behind his old mentor.

Peeta Mellark.

Winner of the Seventieth Hunger Games. Youngest ever. District Twelve's first and last volunteer. The twelve-year-old that changed the rules for the entire country.

The youngest mass murderer in history of Panem.

And now one of it's most beloved celebrities.

Peeta is smart—brilliantly smart—and he's always been charismatic. Even at twelve, he had the Capitol audience, as well as every single soul watching on television at home, eating out of the palm of his hand.

It doesn't hurt that at sixteen, he's become quite a looker. His blonde curls, his blue eyes, those long lashes and bubblegum pink lips. His fair, perfect skin that has not a blemish in sight. His toned, muscular body and devastatingly genuine smile that no one can help but fall in love with.

He's also the boy who saved my life. The one who committed the simple act of kindness, knowing it would cost him, to help me.

I never thanked him. And now I never can, as I'm sure he has zero memory of me. After everything else that's happened to him since, after the last four years of living as a Capitol darling, as one of the country's most cherished victors, he'd never remember the starving eleven-year-old he threw some burned bread to in a rainstorm.

But I remember him. I don't know if it's what he did for me that day or what he did for his brother only a matter of weeks later, but something about Peeta Mellark crawled under my skin four years ago and ever since, I've never been able to completely shake the feeling I get inside upon seeing him.

I break my gaze away, refusing to stare at the boy, who I will always accredit as the one who saved my life. I venomously refuse to gawk at him, like every other girl in the district.

He rarely comes out of his house when he's home here in Twelve, and I know the overzealous amount of attention he receives just by going to his parents' bakery has to be at least a part of the reason. Unlike Haymitch, who has lost his clout and his appeal with age and with deterioration, Peeta has only gained more and more notoriety as the years pass by.

You'd be hard pressed to find anyone in Twelve, outside of a few outliers like Gale perhaps, who'd say a negative word about Peeta Mellark.

Of course, rumors about his random and long stretches spent in the Capitol itself are always floating around, no matter what time of year it is, but they don't affect his public persona or anyone's opinion of him. He is, after all, the most valuable figure Twelve has and perhaps the only thing we can take any pride in.

Effie Trinket steps up to the microphone just as I turn my head away from the stage. "Welcome!" She greets, so vivaciously, so brightly, I can't imagine it even resonates in her head that she's just moments away from announcing two of our impending funerals. "Welcome, everyone! To the reaping for the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games!"

I can't even bear to listen as she prattles on, with too much confidence and dignity for someone dressed in every neon color known to man, speaking in such a peculiar accent, with a thickly painted face that is so blatantly visible to the every eye here today, even in the back row. Doesn't she realize how ridiculous she is to us? Doesn't she realize how wrong it is to preach about the morals and disciplines of the Capitol, in such a prideful voice, when they're the ones about to murder us for entertainment, and in repentance for a long over war that only a few elders can still remember?

As I advert my eyes, my gaze travels once again to the back of the stage, and I'm more than a little surprised to see Peeta Mellark with a similar expression as mine. He, too, is shifting his eyes elsewhere, away from his own escort, looking sick to his stomach.

Of course, it still can't be easy for him, even with his own games four years in the past. He was a literal child when he volunteered and it's fact that he didn't understand what he was getting himself into when he took his brother's place that fateful day. His innocence was stolen as soon as the countdown ended and talk still circulates, even in the Hob, that he wakes up screaming most nights, calling out the names of fallen tributes. Though those words are not given much weight in the Seam, as we all know, people get bored in this tiny district and bored people begin to spew lies whenever encouraged.

Effie continues, in a long overdone mantra, one I could recite in my sleep, the same one she spews every year, that two kids from every district must be chosen to battle to the death in a new and invigorating—one of her favorite words—arena, in order to pay for the blood shed during the rebellion and war, in order to ensure we'll never again even think to rebel.

It would almost be easier to swallow, this whole charade, if the people sent from the strange land of the Capitol would just be honest and blunt with us. If they'd just admit that they see us as lesser than, as animals or beasts of some sort, as less than human beings. It'd be easier if the Capitol spokespeople would just outright say, "we'll take your children, we'll starve your district, we'll ruin your homes, we'll broadcast the deaths of those you love most, all to keep you too powerless to fight. In order to make sure you never are able to stand strong, we have to kick your legs out from under you first."

Instead of being honest though, Effie Trinket is reiterating the Treaty Of Treason, in a tone so serious that it takes all the self-control possible to stop several boys standing in the fourteens from bursting out laughing. Her accent and a serious tone do not mesh well together.

Once she's done though, my heart automatically skips a beat. Because, after four years of standing in this square, I know exactly what's coming. "Ladies first!" Effie announces and I feel a bead of sweat glide down my forehead, both from anxiety and from the overload of heat. Reapings always take place in the start of the hottest month of the year.

Standing in my mother's well-crafted dress, one of the most luxurious pieces of clothing we own, only makes my perspiration worsen, as the dress was clearly made to keep the wearer as warm as possible.

Our district escort makes her way over the bowl containing the names of every girl eligible to be picked in the entire district and I feel myself take in a breath involuntarily.

There's twenty chances she's going to call out my name. Twenty chances I'll be sent to an almost imminent death. Twenty chances Prim will grow into her teen years, and later adulthood, without a sister.

The gut-churning fear I'd repressed all morning, in that moment, overtakes my entire being, curling up like a ball in the pit of my stomach, as I do my best to listen on baited breath, somehow expecting to hear my own name spoken through the raucous microphone for all to hear.

Don't be me, I whisper inside my head, more fearful than I'd ever admit out loud. Don't be me. Please, don't be me.

And, as it turns out, it's not me.

Instead it's the name I never in a million years thought I'd hear. The name I believed to be so safe I didn't even allow myself to worry about her.

"Primrose Everdeen!"

[fangirlovestuff]

The Heart Wants What it Wants - Chris Evans x reader pt.2

a/n- Hey lovely people, welcome back to angstland, hope you enjoy your stay, likes and reblogs are welcome. Summary is once again an angsty pinterest post. Enjoy hehe <3

part 1

Summary: It’s hard to wait around for something you know might never happen; but it’s harder to give up when you know it’s everything you want.

Warnings: angst, age gap

The next morning you woke up alone, the light hitting your face from the window. Apparently, Chris had decided to save you the awkwardness of the morning after and left early, which you should be thankful for.

But you weren't; not really. You felt your heart clench as you registered that the night was over, that he's gone and not coming back. You both knew what happened could never happen again, you had agreed - just for tonight. Yet, you couldn't help but feel suffocated by the bittersweet memories of the previous night. It wasn't just the sex, which was admittedly better than anything you already experienced. More than the physical connection, you felt an actual emotional connection with Chris. You were mourning the loss of that connection, not the sex.

The intensity of the realization shook you from your reverie. You got up and took a shower. This was just for one night and you knew it. Don't get all mushy now, you told yourself as you went through your morning routine, determined to ignore the odd feeling of sadness in your chest.

And life went on, as it always does. You acted in more movies, made acquaintances in Hollywood as you continued to build your career. Scarlett and you were still very close, but she finally let go of the Chris thing.

You wished you could finally let go of the Chris thing.

You'd managed to avoid seeing him again, keeping your distance in events like you did before. You kept telling yourself that "out of sight out of mind," and that you'll get over it eventually. You dated around for a while, never long enough for the paparazzi to have an opportunity to catch you together. Then, you started aiming to get more serious in your relationships, hoping that would help, but it didn’t.

Every one of them, as charming or handsome as they were, wasn't who you wanted. You could never stop comparing them to him. You were trying so hard to find the right person, to move on from this stupid fling that happened years ago. But there was always a tiny, persistent voice in your head telling you that you'd already found the right person, you just let him go.

And you wanted, so badly, to be able to let him go and forget about him. But you couldn't bring yourself to do it. You watched every single one of his movies when they came out, sitting alone in the back row of a local theater so you won't get recognized. You read the gossip, the news. You felt so incredibly stupid. In every relationship you had, there were other reasons you broke up of course, but somehow you always came back to him in your mind. You tried to keep yourself safe, away from the flame, but you just couldn't, and the consequences were evident. You got burned.

You broke up with your most recent boyfriend a month ago. But that's not the reason you were drinking alone on the night before your 24th birthday. You were in one of those hole in the wall bars, sitting on a couch in a corner of the room so you won’t get recognized.

Apparently, that didn’t help, because a man was getting closer to your table, shaking you from your melancholy thoughts. You put on a fake smile, ready to great the fan, but then you realized – it was him.

His electric blue eyes met yours and you realized you had nowhere to run or hide. Why would he even want to see you? You were the one hung up on him for five years, and even you didn't want to see him right now. Your heart fluttered in your chest at the sight of him, his shirt tight over his biceps, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he took the liberty of having a seat on front of you, and oh my fucking god he ages like fine wine and it's so unfair. You had seen pictures of him, obviously, but seeing him in person made you remember how captivating he is, how you wanted to be as close to him as you could. But right now, the closest you could afford was miles away, you reminded yourself.

"Hey," he started hesitantly.

"Hi Chris," you said, your voice coming out as a whisper.

"How've you been?" he asked, trying to start a conversation. You let out a sound between a chuckle and a scoff. "Seriously, what's it been, four, five years? There must be some interesting stories," he tried again.

"Look, I appreciate the effort, but I'm fine. I'll be even better if you left me alone."

He swallowed, his eyes darting down before coming back up to meet your determined gaze. You felt like if you caved now there would be no coming back at all, no healing for your heart.

"Okay," he said after a beat. "I'll leave. I just have one question. Please." You nodded your head for him to continue.

"Are you happy?"

Your intoxicated brain took a moment to register the question, and then your thoughts started racing. What kind of question was that? Why would he ask that?

Were you happy?

"No." The answer was out of your mouth before you managed to stop it, sitting heavily between you. "But is anyone really?" you said, trying to correct yourself. "Ya know, like happiness is supposed to be the constant pursuit of happiness or whatever," you chuckled lightly. "So, um, yeah. I answered your question." You looked at him expectantly.

"Me too."

Maybe it was the alcohol, but something inside you snapped. "Fuck off," you scoffed. "Sure, yeah, what could you possibly be unhappy about? Your career is thriving, your family's well as far as I've heard, and you've probably got a girlfriend or something. Your life must suck so bad." You mocked, your anger evident on your furrowed brows and fiery eyes. "You have everything you could possibly want."

"Oh, and you don't?" he asked, his blue eyes filled with emotion. Whether it was anger, concern, or something else entirely, you couldn't tell. You bore your eyes into the table in front of you, averting his gaze. You couldn't let him win, couldn't let him know you spent the last five years pining for him, the stupid, handsome little sh-

"And for the record," he made you lose your train of thought, "I don’t have everything I want. I can't. At least, the chance I could is close to zero. Believe me, I've done the math and thought it over for the last five years," the words left his mouth in a voice so low it was almost a growl. Your head snapped up, your eyes meeting his fiery ones. It’s weird, how the color blue is usually considered cold. In that moment, nothing about him or you felt cold.

Your breath trembled, you suddenly felt warm and dizzy. His eyes made you realize what you were avoiding all along – what you could have with Chris. All this time, you convinced yourself he forgot about you. That he didn't want you, that he was out of your league and he knew it. You never allowed yourself to think what if- if he liked you back. If he wanted you too. You almost laughed out loud at the thought, but maybe it wasn't as unrealistic as you thought it was. You never allowed yourself to hope that there was really something there – a connection, a romance – even though you felt it from nearly the first minute you laid eyes on him. The narrative you'd created was that it was one sided, that not being with him was your pain only. But now you were overwhelmed with hope for something else, something more. Your mind filled with thoughts about it, or maybe they were there all along and you just paid them no attention. About the kind of life you could have together, how perfect it could be - Chris making you breakfast, going on walks together, you holding his hand whenever he felt nervous. The visions kept flooding your mind, even of mundane things like helping each other read lines and-

But there would be no lines to read. No movies to make. No fans to greet. If you had that with Chris, you'd both need to stop doing what you love. That reality seemed almost inevitable. The critics will slay away at the both of you. Public image is pretty much everything in this business, and dating would ruin yours, both of yours. And that would be unbearable for you and Chris. You couldn’t give up your dream for love, could you?

"Hey," Chris' low voice shook you from your reverie. "You here?"

"Yeah, unfortunately," you whispered, almost voicing the wish to move to a fairytale land where love always won.

His eyebrows furrowed, but he didn’t push. "Look, I'm sorry for springing on you like this. But there wasn't really any other way, since you were adamantly avoiding me, which I get. I just," he sighed and moved to stroke his hand over his beard, "I just needed you to know. I'll go." He got up from the chair, turning his back to you on his way to leave the table.

"Chris, wait." The words were out of your mouth before you had the chance to stifle them back into your throat, or to think about what you wanted to say to him. He turned around but stayed standing, waiting patiently for your next words.

"I… I'm sorry too." Tears flooded your eyes, but you didn’t let them out. "I can't… I can't give up on my dream job. Which means I should have probably given up on you. On us." His eyes were shining, mirroring your own. "But I couldn't do that too. I wish I could, or you could, to spare us the pain. I just… please Chris, give up on me. Tell me what you need to hear and I'll say it, I promise I'll say it but please don’t make me be the person that causes you pain. I could never bear being that."

He stood still, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. After a beat, you couldn't stand the silence. "I hate you, is that what you wanna hear? I hate you, go away, I don't want you." Your heart nearly shattered to pieces at the words, the lies that you both knew were lies. Even you weren't that good of an actress. The tears were now flowing freely from your eyes, ruining your makeup but you didn't care. The only thing you could care about at the moment was Chris, and you cared about him so much it physically hurt.

Chris made his way over to you, sitting down beside you. He took your hand in his, intertwining your fingers and kissing the back of your palm. You turned your head to him; tear tracks down your face. Your eyes met his aching ones and you let out a shaky breath. He was beautiful, and you couldn't help but get closer to him. Your heads pushed closer, and like puzzle pieces fitting together, your lips touched in a tender dance. Your hand went up to cup his face, his went to yours, caressing your cheek with his thumb as your lips pushed against his soft ones. The kiss wasn't starved like the last one you had; it was gentle, hesitant almost. You hated it, but you were saying goodbye.

You pulled away slightly, your foreheads staying touching. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips as you pulled your hand away from his cheek. He pulled away from you as well, his breath somewhat shaky as he put some distance between the two of you. "I'm sorry," you whispered.

"I know. Me too."

He got up and walked away. He didn't even look back. You knew it was because he didn't want to make it harder on the both of you, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

That night you went back home feeling numb. It wasn't even the alcohol. Leaving him behind left you feeling drained and empty. You felt helpless, like you were struggling to keep your head above the water but didn't have the strength.  

You changed into pajamas mechanically and climbed into your bed. As your head hit the soft pillow, you felt your heart smash to pieces in your chest. If you were feeling numb before, now in the safety of your bed you felt everything – love for him, anger at the world, grief over what could have been. Tears started flowing from your eyes once more, and you sobbed quietly, your whole body trembling. You didn't know what was worse – the numbness or this.

You cried yourself to sleep that night, and the next one, and the one after it. You got to be more stable as time went on, going back to business. But the ache inside your chest stayed, and you had a feeling it would never really go away. Once something is broken, even if you try to fix it, there will always be cracks.

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