#celebrity female anchor

[shivblog111]

Celebrity Female Anchors in Mumbai: Bringing Events to Life

Anchoring Services in Mumbai Why They Count Mumbai, frequently appertained to as the megacity of dreams, is also the center of grand fests and high- profile events. From elaborate marriages to star- speckled commercial functions, the megacity hosts a myriad of events that demand exceptional association and indefectible prosecution. This is where the part of an anchor becomes necessary. A womanish anchor in Mumbai is n't only a presenter but also an imitator, middleman, and occasionally indeed a extremity director. Her liabilities range from drinking guests, introducing speakers, and managing stage dynamics, to handling improvisational situations with poise and charm. The presence of a seasoned anchor ensures that the event progresses easily and remains engaging for the followership. significance of womanish Anchors for marriage Events marriages in Mumbai are synonymous with majesty and extravagance. They are n't just observances; they're fests of love, culture, and heritage. A womanish anchor in Mumbai for a marriage event is frequently preferred for her capability to connect with different cult and manage the event's inflow in a culturally sensitive manner. Her part is critical in making sure that the guests are engaged and entertained, the rituals are admired, and the overall vibe of the marriage remains joyful.

[its-avalon-08]

bound by heartbreak (cl16)

✦ pairing - charles leclerc x female!reader

✦ genre - coping with death, angst, alot of tears, happy ending

summary: bound by tragedy, charles leclerc and y/n bianchi, sister to the late jules bianchi, find solace in each other. on the somber anniversary of jules’ passing, their grief collides, pushing them to the brink. as they navigate the complexities of loss and guilt, their love and support become their only lifeline.

The weight of the world seemed to press down on Charles as he stared out of the Monaco apartment window. The city, usually a vibrant tapestry of lights and life, appeared muted, a reflection of the somber day. Today was the anniversary of Jules Bianchi’s death, a scar that wouldn’t heal, a wound that reopened with every tick of the clock.

His phone buzzed, pulling him from the abyss. It was Y/N, Jules’ younger sister, his anchor in the storm. "Hey, are you okay bebe?" her voice was a gentle caress, a soft whisper in the chaos of his mind.

"I’m trying cherie," he managed, his voice barely audible.

There was a long pause, the kind that held more meaning than words. "I know," she replied, her voice trembling slightly. "I know charlie. I just want you to know that Maman is having a lunch tonight to celebrate Jules. He would want you to come." Charles swallowed a lump in his throat and then agreed. The loss was unbearable but Y/N made everything better.

They had shared a bond forged in grief, a silent understanding that transcended words. Y/N was more than just Jules’ sister; she was his confidante, his solace, his love. Their relationship, born from tragedy, had blossomed into an oasis of support in the desert of their shared pain.

Later that evening, they sat on the terrace, the city lights twinkling like distant stars. A gentle breeze carried the salty scent of the Mediterranean. Y/N reached out, her hand finding his.

"Remember that time Jules taught us how to make pasta?" she asked, a small smile playing on her lips.

A wave of nostalgia washed over Charles. He could almost hear Jules’ infectious laughter, see his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Yeah," he replied, his voice thick with emotion. "He was a terrible chef, but we had fun."

They laughed, a bittersweet sound that echoed the complexity of their feelings. Sharing memories of Jules was their way of keeping him alive, of honoring his spirit.

As the night deepened, a silence fell between them. It was a heavy silence, filled with unspoken words and unyielding grief. Y/N stood up and walked to the edge of the terrace. She looked out at the vast expanse of the sea, her silhouette a stark contrast against the city lights.

Charles watched her, his heart aching. He knew that look, the mask of composure slipping, revealing the raw pain beneath. He stood up and joined her, wrapping his arms around her from behind.

"It’s okay to not be okay," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Y/N leaned into his embrace, tears silently tracing paths down her cheeks. "I miss him so much, Charlie, it's not fair. Why was he taken away so young? He never got to see me grow up, fall in love with you or make a family. I'll never get to see him again and it hurts." she sobbed, her voice muffled against his chest.

He held her tighter, offering silent comfort. Charles spoke up after a moment, "You know cherie, Jules spoke about you every second he could. He loved his little sister and I know for a fact that he is looking down at us smiling, knowing that you'll be okay. Maybe even wanting to chase me with a broom for dating you." They laughed as they cuddles closer. They stood there for what felt like an eternity, the city lights blurring into a kaleidoscope of emotions.

Later that night, as Y/N slept peacefully, Charles woke with a start. A cold sweat drenched his body, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The nightmare, a recurring visitor, had returned. It was always the same – the car, the crash, the helplessness. He remembered watching the screen, as Jules's car went under the safety vehicle and the pure agony on Y/N's face.

He stumbled out onto the terrace, the cool night air providing a momentary respite. He leaned against the railing, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The pain was overwhelming, a physical ache that consumed him. He was strong, he was Charles Leclerc, but even he had his limits. His body trembled, a silent earthquake within. The memory of Jules, sharp and vivid, was a relentless tormentor. His mind replayed the accident on an endless loop, a horror film he couldn’t escape.

He was alone, or so he thought. The weight of the world was crushing him, and he couldn’t breathe. The guilt was a suffocating fog, a constant reminder of his own survival. He was a Formula 1 driver, a man of speed and precision, but in this moment, he was nothing but a broken vessel.

A soft touch on his arm startled him. He turned to find Y/N standing there, her eyes filled with concern. She had woken up, sensing his absence from the bed.

"Charles?" Her voice was soft, a gentle anchor in the storm.

He tried to compose himself, to mask the turmoil within, but the facade crumbled. Tears, hot and uncontrolled, streamed down his face.

"I’m so selfish Y/N," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the city's hum. "I’m the worst kind of person. You lost your brother and I'm crying and making this about me. What kind of person does that?"

Y/N stepped closer, her arms opening wide. Without hesitation, Charles fell into her embrace, his body shaking with sobs. She held him tightly, her warmth a comforting shield against the storm raging within him.

"You’re not selfish, Charlie," she said softly, stroking his hair. "You’re hurting, and that’s okay. We’re hurting together. You lost Jules just as much as I did. He was your godfather bebe. You loved him and he loved you. Of course you're in pain."

"But it’s different for me," he protested, his voice muffled against her shoulder. "I survived. I’m still here, living my life, while he... he’s gone."

"And that’s incredibly hard," Y/N acknowledged, her voice filled with empathy. "But that doesn’t make you selfish. You’re grieving, Charles. You’re allowed to feel everything you’re feeling."

"I just want to make it stop," he confessed, his voice barely a whisper.

"I know," she replied, her voice steady. "But it won’t stop overnight. Healing takes time, and it’s a journey we have to take together."

They stood there for what felt like hours, the city lights a distant blur. In the quiet of the night, they found solace in each other's presence. It was in these shared moments of vulnerability that their bond deepened, a testament to their resilience.

Eventually, the intensity of Charles’ emotions began to subside. Y/N continued to hold him, her presence a constant source of comfort. Slowly, the storm within him began to calm.

"Thank you Y/N, I don't know what I could do without you." he whispered, his voice hoarse.

"Always cherie," she replied, squeezing him tighter.

They stood there for a few more moments, the silence between them filled with unspoken understanding. And as the first light of dawn touched the horizon, they returned to the apartment, hand in hand, facing the new day with a renewed strength, born from their shared sorrow and unwavering support.

As the first rays of dawn painted the sky, a sense of calm washed over him. He took a deep breath, the salty air filling his lungs. He would face the day, one step at a time. He would be there for Y/N, as she had always been there for him. Together, they would carry on, honoring Jules’ memory by living their lives to the fullest.

The sun rose, casting its golden light on the city. A new day was dawning, filled with hope and resilience. And as the world woke up, so did Charles and Y/N, their hearts heavy but unbroken, their love for each other a beacon in the darkness.

[avocado-writing]

Astarion x Reader

Astarion x Mage Apprentice!Reader* & Pt2*

Mistaken Identity

heart, home*

chilly

Astarion x Rogue!Tav Headcanons

Astarion’s Pre-Cazador Love

Virgin!Reader Feeding*

Gentle Cuddles

Pampered

Scotophobia

Anchor

Fangless

Training*

Where He’d Take You In The City

although I was burning, you’re the only light*

Gale x Reader

Good Boy* & pt2

Karlach x Reader

Burn Heals*

Halsin x Reader

Sneaking Off*

Bred*

Wyll x Reader

Giving In & Part 2

Teasing*

Misc

Kiddo (Gortash & Reader, platonic)

Lists

Supportive Headcanons

Shy Reader Kisses

Reader Often Ignored

Short Reader

Ascended Fiend Raphael HCs*

Dirty Headcanons*

Socially Anxious Reader

Companions help Reader in Pain

Pregnancy & Parenthood Headcanons

Reader Waiting for Rejection

Reader Worried Nobody Would Want Them

Reader Wearing His Clothes

Roadtrip AU

Comforting Headcanons

Trouble Sleeping

Reader Who Hides Their Face & Female Companions

Reader Who Says They’re Glad They Met Him

Reader With Skin Condition

Reactions to Calling Companions Mummy/Daddy*

Reactions to Companions Calling You Mummy/Daddy*

Reactions to You Hiding an Injury

Reader Sad About Being Ignored

BG3 Men Reactions When You Tease Them*

Companions Realising They’re In Love With You Mid-Battle & Reverse

Companion Reactions to a Reader Who Can Change Sex

Modern AU Picnic in the Park

Bard!Reader Serenading Them

Reactions When You’re Self-Conscious About Your Laugh

Halsin & Astarion Realising You’re Strong

Reactions When They See You Self-Destructing

Birthday Celebrations*

When You Think Your Love Is Unrequited

Reactions When You Say Their Love Will Pass

Reactions To You Drinking The Elixir of the Colossus*

How Female Companions Go Down*

Reactions When You’re a Selkie

Reactions When You Become Dominant*

Companions Help You Get Fit

Rainy Day Cuddles

Reactions to a Reader Who Loves to Cook

BG3 Ladies & Breast Play*

Reactions to You Coming Out as Ace

BG3 Ladies’ Reaction to a New Facial Scar

Pregnancy Cravings

How the BG3 Ladies Cuddle

Companions Falling For You Mid-Performance

How the BG3 Ladies Talk in Bed

BG3 Men & Reader Who Can't Read

Reactions to Awkward Comforting

Saying You Love Them Mid-Argument

[dreaming-medium]

Thanksgiving With You

Relationship: Lee Minho x reader

Tags: Pure fluff

Summary: Your plans to go home to America for Thanksgiving are uprooted the night before you're supposed to leave. Unable to stand seeing you upset, Minho decides to take matters into his own hands and make sure you get to celebrate no matter what.

------------------------------------------

The TV was on in the shared apartment, all of the boys were laying all over the couches in various comfy positions. Legs tangled up in knots, blankets draped over different laps. 

Living in the same building as one another definitely had its perks, that’s for sure. Even if everyone starts their days in their own apartments, by dinner time, everyone congregates to one. 

Today, you and Minho’s apartment was the lucky winner.

When you answered a roommate ad two years ago, you didn’t know it would come with seven other men on top of that. But, you wouldn’t change anything that’s happened since then.

Felix’s head rests on Hyunjin’s lap while he plays on his phone with Changbin watching over his shoulder. Seungmin takes up two seats while Jeongin sits on the ground next to his legs. Minho is lounging in the corner seat of the couch, Chan on his left, Jisung on his right. 

For the first time, they’re all silent. Each of their conversations were cut short when a news broadcast cut through the movie they were “watching”.

A female news anchor sat behind a desk looking directly into the camera. 

“We interrupt your program with a breaking news report from The National Weather Service. Please be advised that there is extreme adverse weather expected to affect Seoul beginning tomorrow. All airports, roads, and businesses will remain closed starting tomorrow, November 22nd, until further notice.”

Normally, none of the boys would care about a storm. This meant time off from work, time to relax and stay inside while everyone gets some much needed rest but…

“Minho!” your voice calls out into the living room. Your roommate perks up off the couch, tearing his eyes away from the news broadcast. “Can I borrow your neck pillow? I’m going to need it for the flight. Sixteen hours on the plane is going to be killer without it.”

His jaw clenches and he looks around at the other boys on the couch who all have equally flustered expressions. They each stare at one another like deer in headlights. 

“Ah,” he hums and looks around the room. 

Oh, you were so excited to go home for Thanksgiving, how was he going to tell you that the airport is closed due to the incoming storm? Why does he have to be the one to break the news to you? 

The news anchor continues talking about the snowstorm, predicting record levels of snowfall and high speed winds. 

All month, all you could talk about was how much you missed Thanksgiving: the turkey, the parade, the pie, everything. 

He didn’t really understand it.

“Minho?” You ask again when he doesn’t answer. Your figure appears in the doorway into the living room. 

As soon as you stand in front of all of them, their heads snap towards you.

Your eyes widen, obviously startled. “Guys?” You ask, laughing nervously. “Why are you all looking at me like that?”

Felix moves a bit, his mouth opening to say something before the news anchor cuts him off again. 

“Again, we repeat the broadcast:  Please be advised that there is extreme adverse weather expected to affect Seoul beginning tomorrow. All airports, roads, and businesses will remain closed starting tomorrow, November 22nd, until further notice.”

Your mouth drops open and you step further into the room to look at the TV. 

“What?” You say to yourself, your heart dropping to your stomach. Everyone else’s does as well from your devastated tone.

Chan reaches forward with the remote, turning the volume up for you to hear. 

“No, no…” you whisper.

Minho watches you, feeling his own heart break for you. 

“M-Maybe I can book a flight for tonight. The storm starts tomorrow, maybe I can get out at the last minute.” You practically run back to your room, frantically looking for your phone. 

All of the boys stay silent. 

Apple pie this, mashed potatoes that, homemade pineapple … something. Minho couldn’t remember what you had said. You would always talk too fast when you were excited. 

It only got harder for him to understand when you would go into English. 

On top of all of this, you haven’t been back to America since you moved here two years ago. It was going to be your first time home.

You were just so busy when you started your new job that there was never any time to take off. 

And now that you finally could? It’s falling through your fingers. 

“Such a shame…” Hyunjin is the first one to break the silence. His voice carries the same sadness that they all hold on their shoulders. 

Minho keeps looking down the hall where your room is, hoping to try and hear anything— any news of an earlier flight, a phone call, anything. 

Only a few moments pass before Minho gets too antsy to sit still. He stands up from the couch and makes his way down the hallway. 

Your door is cracked open a bit. 

When he gets closer, he hears you on the phone. “N-No, you don’t understand, I was going home for the holidays— Yes… Yes I understand that everyone else is too, b-but I haven’t been home in two years.”

You sound so heartbroken, it’s physically killing him. 

“There are no open seats? ….. the 5:30 flight? That’s in… that’s in ten minutes I live forty minutes away from the airport!”

Minho leans against the wall behind him, your open door to his left. 

“There’s nothing else? … No, I understand. Thank you very much for your time... You as well.”

There’s a long moment of silence and a thump against your mattress. 

Ten more seconds pass before he hears hiccups and sniffles coming from inside your room. That’s when Minho caves in, coming up to your door frame. 

He can never withstand hearing you cry, on the rare occasions that you do.

You look so small curled up on the edge of your bed, your head in your hands. Your suitcase is open on top of your bed with various clothes and toiletries all over the place. 

Your shoulders shake as you sob quietly into your hands. 

A frown pulls at his face. Minho reaches up and knocks gently on the doorframe. 

Your head shoots up in surprise, hands furiously wiping away the tears under your eyes. 

“Oh, hey Minho!” You try to smile, but the tears won’t stop, but you continue wiping them away. “Sorry, um… I don’t think I need your neck pillow after all.”

A sob wracks your chest. 

“Sorry,” you apologize again and wipe the tears some more. 

His frown depends and he walks over to the bed, taking a seat directly next to you. 

“You don’t need to apologize, Y/N.” 

You sniffle and look down at your lap, the sleeves of your sweater coming over your hands. “It’s dumb to be this upset, I know. I was just really looking forward to Thanksgiving, you know?”

His entire side is pressed against yours. His warmth seeps into you in a comforting manner. 

Minho listens to you carefully. He’s never been the best at comforting a crying person, he knows that, but he’s learned that all you ever crave when you’re upset is someone to listen. 

“We have this tradition in my family, god, it’s been so long since I’ve been able to do it,” you sniffle and wipe your eyes. “We wake up around nine, and my sister and I make cinnamon rolls and watch the Macy’s parade from New York while we eat them. Then, while we get ready we watch the National dog show and ugh…” 

He leans back on one of his hands placed behind you on your bed. The cogs in his brain are already turning. 

Cinnamon rolls… Parade…

“God, I really missed my mom’s Pecan Pie.”

“Pecan Pie.” Minho mouths to himself. You don’t see it. 

You sniffle. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he whispers to you, his hand coming up to rub your back gently. 

“It’s alright, there’s always Christmas. The airline said they can move my ticket without me losing money. I guess it’s better to go then.” You hum and wipe the tears off your face again. 

Not knowing what else to say, Minho stays quiet, his hand continuing to rub up and down your spine. 

He knows next to nothing about Thanksgiving; it’s an American holiday. All he knows are the little things he’s seen in movies: turkey, hats with buckles on them, eating until you explode. 

What parade did you say? Macy’s Parade? Okay…

Minho loses track of how long you both sit there, you trying to pull yourself together while he rubs your back. 

His eyes dart around the floor unfocused as he makes a mental checklist in his head. He’s definitely going to need to employ the help of the seven other men in his living room if he hopes to pull this off. 

“Thank you, Minho.” Your voice pulls his attention. He looks over at your face, hand pausing between your shoulder blades. 

Your eyes are red rimmed and cheeks are rosy from all your crying. A sad smile sits on your face that doesn’t meet your eyes. 

“You don’t have to thank me,” he responds, getting a bit flustered under your gaze. 

You move your head to rest on his shoulder, like second nature, his arm wraps around your shoulders and keeps you close. 

Butterflies swirl in his stomach at the contact. Yes, you’re his roommate, but it was in the last six months or so that his heart started seeing you as so much more. 

It all started with you cooking his favorite dinner when you knew he had just had one of the worst days of his life. 

He had texted you around noon complaining about the rough day he was having, you consoled him shortly, and that was that. 

The day had dragged on, getting worse and worse; he opened the door to your shared apartment around midnight to find you moving around the kitchen. 

When he peered over your shoulder and saw his favorite meal, his heart melted. 

“To cure your bad day,” you smiled at him. 

He fell so hard for you, there was no coming back.  

Minho turns his head to rest his chin on the crown of your hair. 

“Well, I have off work; maybe I can take the day to catch up on a project without being bothered to join meetings.” You trail off. 

“Or you could take the day to relax.” He chuckles. 

You pause. “Nah.”

He laughs again and hugs you close. 

“I better unpack everything.” You peel yourself out of his arms. Minho’s body already feels so much colder without you pressed against him. 

“I’ll leave you to it.” Minho stands up from your bed and makes towards the door. 

“Minho,” you grab his attention. He turns back to look at you. 

You’re smiling at him again, but the sparkle is missing from your eyes. 

“Thank you, really.” 

“Of course, Y/N.”

Minho pulls your door closed behind him and makes his way down the hall. He has a mission and a checklist. 

And he needed to get to the grocery store tonight if he wanted to pull it off.

----------------------------------------------

Three quick knocks rap against your door at 9:00 AM sharp on November 23rd. 

With a disgruntled groan, you shift around in bed and pull the blankets up over your shoulder more. 

After a few seconds, the door cracks open slowly, the hinges creaking loudly in the silent morning air. 

A huff-like laugh forced through the invader’s nose. 

Slippers pad against the carpet of your room and the mattress dips down on the side of your bed. 

Gentle, warm fingers push your hair off your forehead. Your eyes squint a bit and you snuggle further into your blanket. 

“Minhooo…” you whine without opening your eyes. “I have the day off, remember? I don’t need to wake up.”

“Ah,” he hums, fingers still carding through your hair. “But the parade is on.”

Your brain is still booting up. All your movements pause, your eyes snap open and you look at the man sitting on the side of your bed. 

He’s in his cooking apron; the blue one you got him for his birthday last year. 

“What?”

That smirk of his spreads over his face, his eyes squint the more he smiles down at you. “The parade is on, Y/N, don’t you want to watch it?”

With wide eyes, you stare at your roommate. “The.. parade? The Macy’s Day Parade?”

He hums with a beautiful, genuine smile. “I didn’t think you wanted to miss it.”

You sit up and kick the blankets off, leaping out of bed and down the hallway. Minho’s laughter follows you. 

Sure enough, playing on your TV, is the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, from New York City. 

“Wha…” you trail off. If it’s 9 AM here… it’s only 7 PM the night before Thanksgiving in New York, how is he…?

Your eyes scan the TV to see the small graphic that displays “2022” in the corner. 

He’s playing a recorded broadcast of last year's parade. A laugh of disbelief bubbles out of your chest and you whirl around to look at your roommate standing in the hallway. 

“Minho!” You squeal. 

“We still have to bake cinnamon rolls, come on.” He waves you to follow him to the kitchen. Your jaw drops and you can only stare at him. 

Minho looks over his shoulder and sees you’re not following him. “Are you coming? I’m not baking them by myself!”

Another snort of disbelief forces its way out. Your one hand reaches over and pinches your arm. 

“No, I’m awake,” you whisper to yourself. 

The sound of the parade announcers talking in their thick New York accent makes you feel right at home. There was a specific sound quality of audio that comes from these events and it brings you right back to the East Coast. 

Minho walks into the kitchen and you follow after him with an extra spring in your step. 

———————————————

“And here comes Snoopy and his good friend Woodstock!”  The TV announcer says happily. 

You take another bite of your cinnamon roll, chewing happily and watching the TV. Doongie  curled up next to you, tail swishing around. 

Minho can’t decide what he wants to watch more: you or the TV. You’re positively beaming, and he hasn’t even told you the best part yet. 

He scratches Soonie’s head absentmindedly.

There’s a couple knocks on the door.

“Come in!” Minho calls out. 

The door creaks open. “Minho, your timer went off. I think you need to baste the turkey.”

Your head whips around to see Felix poking his head into the apartment. He makes eye contact with you and his smile brightens instantly. 

“Hi, Y/N! Happy Thanksgiving!” Felix chirps from the door. 

“Thank you?” 

Minho stands up off the couch, “Thanks, Felix, I’ll be right over.”

“Gotcha, see you soon, Y/N!” Felix closes the door behind him. 

You look up at Minho. “Turkey? You’re making a turkey?”

He stands in front of you and smiles. “I am, you can’t have Thanksgiving dinner without turkey, right?”

“You– Are we..?”

“We are. But not until after the parade, and the dog show, of course. I told everyone to come around 2:00, that works, right?”

You stare up at him, cinnamon roll still in your hand. 

“Y… Yeah, that works.” You truly cannot believe your ears. Are you sure you’re not still sleeping? Do you need to pinch yourself again?

“Good, I’ll be right back.”

Minho moves past you towards the door, scratching your head a few times as he passes by. You make no move to fix your hair after he leaves. 

Slowly, you take another bite of the roll, eyes spacing out watching the parade. 

Inside your chest, you can feel your heart stutter and swell, heat rising to your cheeks and turning your ears red. He’s really doing so much for you, isn’t he?

----------------------------------------------

“Y/N! Come on out, Chan and Jisung are here and Jeongin needs help with the mashed potatoes!” Minho calls down the hall. 

Like a kid on Christmas, you peel down the hall, adjusting the earring you’re wearing. 

You’re in a black turtleneck tucked into a cute light brown pencil skirt with black tights and fuzzy socks. The most typical Thanksgiving outfit. 

Your favorite jewelry adorning your body. 

The four boys turn around and greet you happily. Each of them in their own fuzzy sweaters and comfy pants. 

“Happy Thanksgiving!” They all say to you in unison. 

“Ah, happy Thanksgiving!” You cheer back and wrap Jisung and Chan into a tight hug since they were the closest. “Thank you so much for this!”

Both of them wrap an arm around you with giddy smiles. “It was all Minho’s idea,” says Chan. “If you wanna thank anyone, thank him.”

“Or you could help, instead.” Minho teases from behind the kitchen counter, sliding over a can of cranberry sauce.

“Oh my god!” You squeal and come around to grab it. “Where did you find this? I didn’t think any stores in Korea sold this!”

Minho hums happily and stirs a pot on the stove. “There’s an American store a few blocks away. It’s where I got most of the groceries for today.”

A timer beeps at the same time the door swings open. 

“Hot bird coming through!” Felix calls into the room. “I have a turkey too!”

Everyone gives Felix a pity laugh as briskly walks towards the kitchen and places the cooked turkey onto the counter. The smell that wafts through the house is heavenly. 

Jisung hands you a glass of sangria with a wink. You clink glasses and take a small sip. 

Changbin walks through the door after Felix, holding a stack of about three pies in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. 

“Happy Thanksgiving!” he calls inside as he kicks his shoes off.

Everyone responds with the same greeting. 

 “Minho, where do you want desserts?” 

“Just put them on the side by the main table for now!”

There’s more hustle and bustle next to you while Jisung attempts to use the can opener for the cranberry sauce. 

“Y/N, could you help me? I don’t think I’ve ever made mashed potatoes before…” Jeongin trails off in front of a pot of boiled potatoes. 

You beam at him and skip over to his side. “I absolutely can, it’s a lot easier than you think!”

Chan walks over to the living area with the couches. 

“What do you usually have on the TV at home?” he calls in to you.

You’re dumping all of the potatoes into a mixing bowl while you answer him. “Typically, my dad commandeers the TV and has football playing all day, but I really don’t want to watch old football reruns.”

Jeongin watches over your shoulder as you shake the bowl to settle the potatoes. “Could you grab the butter and milk from the fridge?” You ask him and he nods and walks off.

Seungmin comes in with Hyunjin, both of them holding trays of food.

You greet the two of them happily.

While Jeongin is gathering the ingredients from the fridge, you take a moment to look around at all of the boys in your apartment. 

They must have looked up ‘What to wear to Thanksgiving’; each of them is in a sweater and dress pants. Some of them have turtlenecks underneath the sweater, some don’t, but they all look like the same font as one another. 

“What can I do to help?” Seungmin asks, him and Hyunjin further crowding the kitchen.

“Go set the table with Hyunjin.” Minho points to the long dining room table, shooing them out of the already small space. Plates, napkins, forks, knives, glasses– everything you can think of, is placed on the corner of the table in stacks and piles.

“I’ll help too!” Felix chirps and makes his way over with the two men.

“Y/N!” Changbin calls your attention. Both him and Chan have beer bottles in their hands, bodies facing the TV. The two of them look like dads with the way they’re standing. “What about a Christmas movie? Is that allowed on Thanksgiving?”

Jeongin plops the milk and butter on the counter next to you. 

You call back into the living room. “Yeah, that’s fine! But make it a good one– a classic! Oh! What about Christmas Vacation? That’s my favorite!”

“I’ll find it, don’t worry!” Chan responds. 

Another timer beeps, Minho opens the oven and pulls out a tray full of fresh rolls. Jisung finally wrestles the can of cranberry sauce open. 

Your heart grows three sizes. 

“Ten more minutes on the Pineapple Bake.” Minho says to himself but you hear it.

Your head snaps around so fast it might tumble off your shoulders. “Pineapple Bake? You made Pineapple Bake?”

A flush crawls up Minho’s neck to his ears when he turns and meets your sparkly eyes. 

“You had mentioned it…” he trails off and finds something else on the counter to fidget with.

“How did you get the recipe?”

“Ah, well,” he rubs the back of his neck nervously. “I have your mother’s number from when you first moved in and all.”

“You texted my mom?”

“Is that alright?”

The hustle and bustle of the seven other bodies around your apartment fades into the background. Even with Jeongin standing directly next to you, he seems to disappear. 

“You texted my mom and asked for her Pineapple Bake recipe?” You choke out again, your eyebrows raising, lips parting in an emotionally shocked expression.

Minho visibly gets a bit more nervous at your repeated question. His jaw clenches and he plays with the tie of the apron. “Did I overstep?”

Without any warning, you cross the few steps of the kitchen towards him and throw your arms around your roommate, burying your face into his shoulder. Small tears of joy well in the corners of your eyes, throat constricting with so many emotions.

After a moment of hesitation, Minho wraps his arms around you and rests his cheek on top of your hair. 

“Thank you, Minho,” you whisper to him, squeezing him even tighter. 

Minho’s shoulders visibly react from your hug, relaxing from the tension of the past few moments. 

He smells like the holidays, the softness of his sweater is so comforting against your cheek. You just want to bury your nose in it and drown in the scent.

“This means so much to me.” Your words are so sincere, he could cry from hearing them. His arms tighten around you, eyes closing to relish in your hold.

He basks in it. Despite a third timer screaming in his ear, he continues to hold you like if he let go, you would disappear forever.

Having you in his arms like this has always been the equivalent of drinking warm tea before bed. It sends a wave of comfort and safety through his entire being.

The timer continues to beep.

“You can thank me after you eat.” 

You giggle, any sadness he’s ever felt disappears for a split second.

Hyunjin calls into this kitchen. “Can you please turn that thing off before I go insane?”

Minho sighs, the air blowing into your hair. He keeps you close for a few more heartbeats before letting go.

“It’s time for dinner anyway.”

----------------------------------------------

Everyone was quiet, the TV still playing Christmas movies in the background. The streaming service that Chan had put on had autoplayed movie after movie while you ate dinner and then dessert.

The last surprise Minho had for you was that he also had asked your mother for her Pecan Pie recipe two nights ago. 

Everything about today left you floored and speechless. Your heart has never felt this full in your life. 

All eight of them sat around the table looking uncomfortably full. The table that was once filled with every side dish known to Thanksgiving enjoyers, every dessert you could dream of, was now littered with empty dishes. 

“We should just be thankful for being together. I think that’s what they mean by Thanksgiving, Charlie Brown.” Marcie’s animated voice rings through the apartment.

Again, your throat tightens up with so many happy emotions, you clench your jaw to keep them down.

From directly next to you, Minho must’ve noticed your expression, his hand reaching under the table and resting on your knee, squeezing it once to comfort you.

You look over at him.

His heart catches in his chest.

There’s that sparkle in your eyes. The one that disappeared two nights ago, he got it back. His entire face softens as he stares at you as if you hung the moon and vice versa.

“I need a nap,” Felix groans from his chair.

You hum and look over at him. He’s slumped in his seat, head back, eyes closed. 

“That’s the best part of Thanksgiving, sleeping with a full stomach.” You tell him.

“Full is an understatement.” Jeongin adds.

“I think I found a new favorite holiday…” Changbin trails off.

“Ditto,” adds Chan.

“Yeah? Well maybe we can have a Friendsgiving next year and do it all over again.” You tell the table.

Minho groans. “I’ll need more help next time, then!”

Everyone grunts in agreement.

You reach under the table and take a hold of Minho’s hand still on your leg. Your fingers wind together and you beam at him again with that dazzling smile. 

“I would do anything to do this again.”

----------------------------------------------

“I still can’t believe they took that many leftovers,” Minho mutters, dipping the sponge in the sink.

“I can’t believe we had that many leftovers.” You dry a dish with the towel and place it on the other clean ones. 

The exhaustion from eating is still heavy in your bones; but both you and Minho decided it was better to get all the washing out of the way so that you could just relax for the rest of the night.

It felt like you’ve been washing dishes for hours. 

Soft twinkling of Christmas music plays through the speakers of the TV from the movie. 

“Minho?” You ask suddenly, your voice is a bit weak and unconfident.

He looks over at you with his undivided attention, one eyebrow raised.

“There’s one more Thanksgiving tradition I didn’t tell you about.”

His eyebrows furrow more and he puts the dish down in the sink full of sudsy water. “What is it?”

Smiling, you put the towel down.

“Will you dance to Christmas music with me? To ring in the Holiday Season.”

Minho’s taken aback for a moment, he laughs– almost in disbelief. “Really?”

You bite your lip nervously, nodding once.

With a playful smile, he grabs the towel and dries his hands. “You want to dance? We can dance, Y/N.”

Squealing, you happily skip to the living room. “Alexa, play Christmas music!” You call out and she immediately begins to play music at the perfect volume.

Frank Sinatra’s ‘I’ve Got My Love to Keep Me Warm’ plays through the speaker. The happy saxophones and trumpets blare and your spirits lift even more than you thought they could.

You bounce on your heels to the beat a few times, swaying with the rhythm in a silly way. 

When you turn around, you see Minho stepping towards you to the beat. One of the happiest looks ever on his face. His hair still slightly styled from this morning, just a bit more relaxed as the day went on.

His sweater is so cozy with a black turtleneck underneath, heather gray dress pants on the bottom. Lee Minho looks like the Holidays wrapped up in a warm, cable knit package, and he’s currently dancing towards you.

Once he is up on you, he takes your one hand and places the other on your waist. Both of you look like absolute goof balls, swaying and bobbing to the rhythm of Frank Sinatra in your living room. 

The scent of Thanksgiving dinner still hangs in the air; the warmth from the ovens and stove hasn’t faded one bit.

Minho leads you all around the living room in a beautifully clumsy dance. The smiles on your faces never drop, even for a moment. They only grow with each giggle passed from one to another.

His eyes stay locked with yours the entire time. Nothing could interrupt your moment,

You mouth the lyrics to him; it’s English, so he’s not really able to keep up as much. But the emotion is there. And just the idea that you’re singing to him makes his heart soar. 

“What do I care how much it may storm,” you sing, “I’ve got my love to keep me warm.”

Minho spins you around, you squeal with happiness with your arm above your head. He brings you back in and grabs your waist with both hands, lifting you into the air and twirling more as the music swells. You place both of your hands on his shoulders for balance.

He gently places you back on the ground, the song ending and fading into the next one. 

Michael Buble’s ‘I’ll Be Home For Christmas’ follows it up. The rhythm of the song slows down the energy in the room dramatically.

Neither you nor Minho let go of one another. Instead of backing away, the two of you step even closer. Your arms wind around his neck, his hands interlock on your lower back.

Your eyes look all around his perfect face, meanwhile his stay locked on your eyes. He’s so enchanted by you, it feels like you placed him under some sort of spell.

If he could, Minho would do this entire day over and over again until he died, just to see this beautiful look in your eye each time, to hear your glee filled laughter after each surprise. 

Instead of moving around the room, the two of you simply sway side to side in time with the beat of the song. Minho spins the two of you very slowly in place.

A beautiful, festive, Christmas bubble begins forming around the two of you. 

“I cannot even begin to tell you how much today meant to me, Minho.” You break the silence between the two of you.

He chuckles. “I’m glad I was able to do it for you, Y/N. I don’t think I’ve ever run to the store that fast in my life.”

Mirroring him, you laugh softly. “I can only imagine what you looked like trying to get everything together.”

He moves his head side to side. “I had a lot of help.”

You shake your head. “This was quite possibly the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“You deserve it.”

Another laugh from you. He just watches you. He watches each emotion cross your face with such admiration, with such a fond, sweet gaze, it could rot your teeth. 

Piano keys tinkle in the music. Michael Buble’s smooth voice wrapping around your private bubble.

“I am endlessly thankful for you, Lee Minho.” 

His gaze softens even more. 

You’re his soft spot. You– beautiful, wonderful, joyous you– are Lee Minho’s weak point. 

Slowly, the swaying to the song begins to slow down as you both get lost within one another. Everything about the scene was like a movie, down to the storm swelling outside your window.

Minho’s eyes flicker down to your lips for a split second.

You grin. His heart thuds in his chest.

“I don’t suppose you got any mistletoe?” you ask cheekily.

His eyes widen for a second, but he quickly catches on to your joke. “That wasn’t on any of the Thanksgiving websites I found.”

“Oh well.”

Without another word, and with the goofiest of grins on both of your faces, you pull Minho in for a kiss. 

His entire world stops when his lips meet yours, everything pauses and the only thing that exists is you. Nothing else matters except for the girl in his arms.

The world could end right now and he would be the happiest man on Earth.

Both of his arms tighten around you, one hand comes up to cup your cheek, cradling it softly. 

Your arms around his neck bring him even closer to you.

His kiss is everything, it’s sugar cookies rising in the oven, it’s a sunrise on the beach, it’s waking up to the smell of cinnamon rolls on Thanksgiving– everything.

It’s everything you’ve always needed. He is everything you’ve always needed.

Eventually, the two of you pull away from one another, but not without a last few stolen pecks on the other’s lips. 

The kisses end up short, you both keep smiling and pulling away, too happy to continue. 

Minho keeps his eyes closed, his thumb brushes over your cheekbone. “I think I have a new favorite holiday.” Another peck to your lips. 

You giggle and kiss him again and again, “Me too, Lee Minho.”

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

42. "I can't do this anymore." + Carmem (The Bear) + Smut :)

Denial.

42. "I can't do this anymore."

Author's Note - this is a drabble written as part of my 500 Followers Celebration!! find that post here. always happy to write a carmen request. man, those biceps. i've been a jeremy girl since shameless and it's so wonderful to see his evolution <3

Pairing - Carmen Berzatto x Female Reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - smut!! + cursing

Word Count - 775

Masterlist. 500 Follower Celebration Masterlist.

It isn't unusual for the two of you to be the only ones left in the restaurant.

Carmen's cleaning the kitchen, while you're mopping front of house. Between you, you'll be done in record time.

He emerges from the back to stand in the doorway. You can feel him staring at you from where he's leaning against the frame, eyes burning into the back of your body. You try not to turn around for as long as possible, but it's becoming unbearable.

"Quit staring, creep."

He chuckles, and the sound makes you smile.

"I'm not."

"So now you're a creep and a gaslighter?"

He laughs, and you can picture it perfectly, even with your back to him. Head thrown back, gorgeous neck exposed, chest vibrating.

You continue your mopping, very aware of the eyes on you. You finally turn around, and he's closer than you thought. He's silently moved to perch against a booth table, still looking at you intently. You meet his gaze, and shudder instinctively. There's a look in his eyes you've never seen before. He looks hungry.

His eyes are dark and reflective, boring into you intensely. His eyelids are hooded, body weirdly relaxed. He's borderline feral.

"So, I figured something out a minute ago."

"Oh yeah?" you question, propping your mop against a table. "And what's that, Carmen?"

"I can't do this anymore."

He stalks towards you, all cleaning abandoned.

"... Can't do what?" you whisper.

Carmen twirls a strand of your hair around his finger, moving so he's almost pressed to your front.

"I can't keep pretending that I don't wanna rip your clothes off everytime I look at you."

You're rendered speechless. You've had the most ridiculous crush on Carmen since you started waitressing at the restaurant, almost 2 years ago. You've had one too many dreams about him saying these exact words to you.

"So why don't you?"

With that, he lunges at you, ripping open your blouse and tearing his shirt over his head. He scrambles to unbutton your pants, slipping his hand into your underwear.

"Oh, fuck. Are you this wet from me just looking at you?"

If you weren't so turned on, you'd probably be embarrassed. You can't bring yourself to care.

Carmy grabs your thighs, and hoists you onto the table. You become suddenly aware of how wrong this is.

"Carmen, you can't fuck me on this table. Customers eat here."

"Watch me, honey. It's my restaurant. My fucking table."

He shoves his trousers down and pulls himself out his underwear. You take one look at him, and your mouth waters. He must see it on your face, because he chuckles.

"Not now, baby. Another time, okay?"

"Okay," you whine, breathy and impatient.

"You ready?" he asks, lining himself up between your legs.

You nod frantically, hands clawing at his shoulders.

"I need to hear you say it. Use your words, sweetheart."

"I'm ready, Carmy," you whinge. "Please, please. Fuck me. Now."

That was all the confirmation he needed. He slides home in one careful thrust, and both of you groan in unison.

"Oh, fuck. Better than I ever dreamed."

"You've dreamt about this?" you ask breathlessly.

"All. The. Damn. Time."

He punctuates each word with a thrust of his hips, knocking you backwards on the table. He places one hand at the base of your throat as an anchor point, the other grabbing at your thigh to hitch it up.

He doesn't break eye contact once, his gaze full of lust and hunger. You've never seen this side of Carmy. Usually, he's a little avoidant, sometimes shy, always conscious of taking up too much space. But now, he's possessive. He's open, he's commanding, he's confident. He's so sexy.

"You're close, aren't you?" he teases.

You can only whine in response, grabbing at his forearms for leverage.

"It's okay, baby. Let go. Come for me. I want it. Give it to me, that's it. Atta girl. You got it."

He's rambling, babbling nonsense as you squeeze and clench around him. Your whole body tightens, back arching off the table, and it sends him over the edge. Both of your climaxes are white hot and electric, mixed groans reverberating around the restaurant.

You're panting, his chest heaving, breathing into each others mouths. After a minute, you speak.

"Carmy?" you ask.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Will you kiss me?"

"Of course I will," he grins. "I can't believe I waited this long."

He presses his lips to yours, tongue moving to tangle with your own. You've never been kissed like this. It's electric, it's instinctive, it's so right.

There's no point denying it any longer. Everything's fallen into place.

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Kathryn Grayson (Anchors Aweigh, Kiss Me Kate)— Gorgeous brunette whose singing voice was one of the best. Could've been an opera star.

Setsuko Hara (Tokyo Story, Late Spring, The Idiot)— "'The only time I saw Susan Sontag cry,' a writer once told me, his voice hushed, 'was at a screening of a Setsuko film.' What Setsuko had wasn’t glamour—she was just too sensible for that—it was glow, one that ebbed away and left you concerned, involved. You got the sense that this glow, like that of dawn, couldn’t be bought. But her smiles were human and held minute-long acts, ones with important intermissions. When she looked away, she absented herself; you felt that she’d dimmed a fire and clapped a lid on something about to spill. Over the last decade, whenever anyone brought up her lips—'Setsuko’s eternal smile,' critics said, that day we learned that she’d died—I thought instead of the thing she made us feel when she let it fall." - Moeko Fujii

This is round 1 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Setsuko Hara:

One of the best Japanese actresses of all time; a symbol of the golden era of Japanese cinema of the 1950s After seeing a Setsuko Hara film, the novelist Shūsaku Endō wrote: "We would sigh or let out a great breath from the depths of our hearts, for what we felt was precisely this: Can it be possible that there is such a woman in this world?"

One of the greatest Japanese actresses of all time!! Best known for acting in many of Yasujiro Ozu's films of the 40s and 50s. Also she has a stunning smile and beautiful charm!

Linked gifset

Linked gifset 2

She's considered by some to be the greatest Japanese actress of all time! In Kurosawa's The Idiot she haunts the screen, and TOTALLY steals the show from Mifune every time she appears.

"No other actor has ever mastered the art of the smile to the same extent as Setsuko Hara (1920–2015), a celebrated star and highly regarded idol who was one of the outstanding actors of 40s and 50s Japanese cinema. Her radiant smile floods whole scenes and at times cautiously undermines the expectations made of her in coy, ironic fashion. Yet her smile's impressive range also encompasses its darker shades: Hara's delicate, dignified, melancholy smile with which she responds to disappointments, papers over the emotions churning under the surface, and flanks life's sobering realizations. Her smiles don't just function as a condensed version of her ever-precise, expressive, yet understated acting ability, they also allow the very essence of the films they appear in to shine through for a brief moment, often studies of the everyday, post-war dramas which revolve around the break-up of family structures or the failure of marriages. Her performances tread a fine line between social expectation and personal desire in post-war Japan, as Hara attempts to lay claim to the autonomy of the female characters she plays – frequently with a smile." [link]

Leading lady of classic Japanese cinema with a million dollar smile

Maybe the most iconic Japanese actress ever? She rose to fame making films with Yasujiro Ozu, becoming one of the most well-known and beloved actresses in Japan, working from the 30s through the 60s in over 100 hundred. She is still considered one of the greatest Japanese actresses ever, and in my opinion, just one of the greatest actresses of all time. And she was HOT! Satoshi Kon's film Millennium Actress was largely based on her life and her career.

[submissiveebrat]

When you're a star, they let you do it. You can do anything." He adds seconds later: "Grab them by the pussy. You can do anything." — Trump in a previously unreleased recording made by "Access Hollywood" in 2005, published Friday by The Washington Post and NBC News

"If Hillary Clinton can't satisfy her husband what makes her think she can satisfy America #MakeAmericaGreatAgain." — Trump tweeted in April 2015. He later deleted the post.

"It must be a pretty picture, you dropping to your knees." — Trump to a female contestant in 2013 on an episode of "Celebrity Apprentice."

"Did Crooked Hillary help disgusting (check out sex tape and past) Alicia M become a U.S. citizen so she could use her in the debate?" — Trump tweeted in September 2016. He was referring to former Miss Universe winner Alicia Machado, whom he publicly shamed for gaining weight when he owned the contest

"It's certainly not groundbreaking news that the early victories by the women on 'The Apprentice' were, to a very large extent, dependent on their sex appeal." — Trump wrote in his 2004 book, "How To Get Rich."

"All of the women on 'The Apprentice' flirted with me — consciously or unconsciously. That's to be expected. A sexual dynamic is always present between people, unless you are asexual." — Trump, also from "How To Get Rich."

"You could see there was blood coming out of her eyes. Blood coming out of her wherever." — Trump in an interview with CNN in August 2015, referring to Fox News Channel anchor Megyn Kelly.

"Look at that face! Would anyone vote for that? Can you imagine that, the face of our next president? I mean, she's a woman, and I'm not s'posedta say bad things, but really, folks, come on. Are we serious?" — Trump in a September 2015 interview with Rolling Stone, speaking about then-primary rival Carly Fiorina.

"It doesn't really matter what (the media) write as long as you've got a young and beautiful piece of ass." — Trump in an interview with Esquire Magazine in 1991.

"A person who's flat-chested is very hard to be a 10, OK?" — Trump in an interview with shock jock Howard Stern in September 2005.

"I saw a woman who was totally beautiful. She was angry that so many men were calling her. 'How dare they call me! It's terrible! They're all looking at my breasts.' So she had a major breast reduction. The good news: Nobody calls her anymore — nobody even looks — and not only that, it was a terrible job." — Trump to Stern in 2008.

Congratulations America, this is who is now president AGAIN. A misogynist, sexist, vile pig. Good Job. 👏👏

[deliciousangelfestival]

Let Me Love You - 8 || End

Character: college!Bucky x Female!Reader

Summary: On a mysterious, rainy night, Bucky witnesses a distressing encounter involving his crush.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7 , Chapter 8.

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Please let me know what your thoughts are. I'd love to hear your feedback. Thank you once again.

You only muttered a noncommittal "hmm" when you heard your father's words. Matthew, on the other side of the phone, could only sigh.

Before the divorce, you would chat with him, sharing your thoughts and feelings. But now, your responses were short and distant: "I'm fine," "Yeah," "No," and "Thanks."

"I'm sorry. It's all because of my mistakes," Matthew said, his voice heavy with regret.

'That's right,' you thought bitterly, your grip tightening around the phone.

Matthew's voice softened, filled with a sadness you couldn't ignore. "Don't think about it. Get some rest."

You nodded silently, even though he couldn't see you, feeling the emotional chasm between you both widen further.

After ending the call with your father, you felt lonely. Just then, your phone buzzed with a message from Bucky: "Good night."

Despite the earlier conversation, a small smile tugged at your lips, a warmth spreading through you. Bucky's simple message felt like a lifeline, a reminder that someone cared.

🎓

The next day, you felt a knot of nervousness in your stomach as you stepped onto the university campus. The thought of facing everyone, especially after the recent events, was daunting.

Bucky was beside you, his presence a comforting anchor in your anxiety. He glanced at you, noticing the tension in your expression.

"Hey," he said gently, "you've got this. I'm here with you."

You gave him a small, grateful smile, trying to draw strength from his support. "Thanks, Bucky. I don't know what I'd do without you."

He nodded, his eyes full of reassurance. "You don't have to worry about that. You're not alone in this."

While walking to class, you and Bucky noticed that nobody even glanced your way. It seemed like everyone was absorbed in their phones, gasping and starting animated discussions.

Suddenly, a cheering scream erupted from afar. You looked around, puzzled. "Something to celebrate?" you asked, glancing at Bucky.

Steve joined both of you, a wide grin on his face. "It's for the football team. Especially Ari." He held out his phone, showing you the photos.

You gasped, your eyes widening as you read the article.

"They chose Ari Levinson instead of Lloyd," said Steve. The headline and accompanying photos detailed the unexpected turn of events.

Bucky leaned in to get a better look, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "Wow, that's a big change. I wonder what happened."

The campus football team had two standout players: Lloyd Hansen and Ari Levinson.

Lloyd was the main star, possessing a charisma that the camera loved. He thrived in the spotlight, his confident demeanor drawing attention on and off the field.

In contrast, Ari preferred quiet, shying away from the limelight. Despite his reserved nature, his skills on the field were undeniable.

But how did such a sudden change occur when everyone knew Lloyd was the chosen one?

You remembered what your father had said the previous night.

Reaching for your phone, you called him. "Dad?"

Matthew answered, his voice calm yet firm. "No one will underestimate you this time."

Unbeknownst to you, your father was at the campus, standing in the headmaster's office with the football coach and Lloyd. He looked out from behind the blinds, looking at you from afar.

Matthew ended the call and turned his attention to Lloyd, who sat with his head down, looking pale and defeated.

Matthew stepped closer, his voice low and stern. "Is this how you repay me? You promised to protect my daughter."

Lloyd clenched his fist, his knuckles white with tension. He knew Matthew's history as a former NFL player and the football coach at their previous high school. He had never anticipated that Matthew had the power to derail his path to the professional league.

Matthew's presence was imposing, a silent reminder of his authority.

It was Matthew who had trained Lloyd and provided the recommendation that helped him secure the scholarship. Some called him biased since Lloyd was dating his daughter, but as long as Lloyd made you happy and showed big potential, Matthew was willing to support him.

But now, this kid had cheated on his daughter. This sinful mistake reminded Matthew of his own past missteps.

He decided to teach Lloyd a valuable lesson. Not everything could go as he planned.

Matthew adjusted his jacket buttons and looked at Lloyd with a steely gaze. "You're good. Keep training. Perhaps another team will scout you."

With that, he turned and left the room, leaving Lloyd to ponder the gravity of his actions and the consequences they had brought upon him.

Lloyd clenched his fists, frustration boiling as he punched his knees in anger. His life felt crumbling before his eyes, all because of that woman.

Where the heck was she now?

Nicky stood in the bustling airport, a knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach. She had paid the hacker to erase her digital footprint, to free herself from the consequences of her actions. Yet, despite her efforts, an ominous sense of impending doom lingered in the air.

As she went to the priority lounge, her phone buzzed with an incoming call. With trembling hands, she answered, her voice barely above a whisper. "Hi, Dad."

The voice on the other end was filled with disappointment and anger. "You still brave enough to talk? You idiot. I thought you had quit from those bullying things. Your mistakes will ruin the company."

Nicky gasped, feeling the weight of her father's words like a physical blow.

"I've received the files of your bad deeds," her father continued, accusing. "What the heck is wrong with you, Nicky?"

Desperation flooded Nicky's senses as she tried to find the right words to explain. "Dad... wait. I can explain—"

But her father's voice cut through her protestations. "You want to leave the country. Good. Don't ever come back."

The line went dead, leaving Nicky feeling as though her world had crumbled around her. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she struggled to process the magnitude of her father's words.

As if on cue, the cashier at the priority lounge interrupted her thoughts with a grim announcement. "Miss, your credit card has been declined."

Nicky's heart sank further, the realization hitting her like a ton of bricks. Everything she had planned, her escape from the consequences of her actions, was slipping through her fingers.

Nicky wondered who had orchestrated this downfall and who had made such an effort to help Y/N.

It was all because of Bucky.

He had chosen an investigation team to find out, just as he had predicted. And the culprit was none other than Nicky herself.

Instead of resorting to public humiliation, Bucky had chosen a different path—blackmail. He understood the power dynamics at play, knowing that hitting Nicky where it hurt the most—her privileged lifestyle and her father's reputation—would be the most effective form of punishment.

Nicky had always been a spoiled princess, shielded from the consequences of her actions by her doting father. But now, with her pillars of support crumbling around her, she was left vulnerable and exposed.

Bucky remained at the university, orchestrating events from behind the scenes. He calculated his moves carefully, knowing that Nicky's downfall would have far-reaching consequences.

As Nicky's world began to crumble, Bucky couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. Justice had been served, and he had played a crucial role in ensuring that the truth came to light.

Karma has hit her like a ton of bricks.

🏈

After the aftermath, you resumed attending classes like usual. However, you couldn't help but notice Lloyd's somber demeanor as he walked through the halls like a mere shadow of his former self. It tugged at your heartstrings, prompting you to take action.

A few days later, as you and Bucky walked side by side, you unexpectedly crossed paths with Lloyd. This time, there was a subtle shift in his demeanor. As he drew closer, he whispered a heartfelt "Thank you."

A small smile graced your lips in response.

The reason behind Lloyd's gratitude stemmed from your intervention. You had reached out to your father, pleading for Lloyd to be given a second chance. Lloyd received an offer from another team.

You understood that everyone makes mistakes, especially in their youth, and you couldn't bear to see Lloyd lose his passion and purpose.

Having grown up alongside Lloyd, you knew that football was more than just a game to him—it was his life and his dreams. If it were taken away from him, he would be left adrift, without direction or purpose.

So, you did what you could to help him reclaim his footing and pursue his aspirations once more.

You couldn't bear the thought of being the one to crush his dreams, not after everything you and he had been through together.

It was the least you could do to offer him this final gift, a chance to reignite the fire within him and pursue his aspirations once more.

🎓

As time passed, graduation day finally arrived. The campus buzzed with excitement as every student donned their caps, gowns, and proudly held their diplomas.

Amidst the sea of graduates, you watched with pride as your boyfriend, Bucky, took the stage as the valedictorian to deliver his speech.

It was a moment of triumph, made even sweeter by the journey you both had taken together. Bucky's patience and unwavering support had finally won you over, and he now held a special place in your heart as your boyfriend.

Turning around, you spotted your parents sitting together in the crowd. Despite the awkwardness that lingered between them, you were grateful that they managed to put aside their differences for this important day.

Your gaze then shifted to Lloyd, who had undergone a noticeable transformation. Gone was his once-smug attitude, replaced by a newfound humility and maturity.

Though you only caught glimpses of him from afar, you couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for his growth, silently wishing him the best in his future endeavors.

And as for Nicky, rumors circulated that she was stuck in another country, working hard to find her way back home. While her fate remained uncertain, you couldn't help but hope that she would find redemption and a path forward.

As the ceremony drew close, you couldn't help but reflect on the tumultuous journey that had led you to this momentous day. From the heartbreak of discovering your first love's betrayal to the humiliation inflicted by his other girl, it had been a path fraught with pain and challenges.

Yet, amidst the darkness, there were glimmers of light—your father's unwavering support and the gentle presence of your new boyfriend, who was a beacon of sweetness and kindness in your life, like an angel sent from above.

Despite the trials and tribulations, you felt a sense of optimism. With the scars of the past serving as reminders of your strength and resilience, you looked towards the future with hope and determination.

Each step forward was a testament to your courage and resilience, and you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them head-on, guided by the love and support surrounding you.

-end-

Thank you for everyone who reading this stories🩷💙🩷

@bagoffeelings

@darkofimagination

@starsofcloud

@cherrybubblebullet

@winterslove1917

@thezombieprostitute

@xcaptain-winterx

@namoreno

@sagebarness

@tenaciousathleteoperatorgarden

@unaxv

@missvelvetsstuff

@kjah97

@hopeful-daydreaming

@freshlemontea

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@kandis-mom

@scott-loki-barnes

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@differenttyphoonwerewolf

@arunabraganza

@ordelixx

@vicmc624

@blackwood-bodecker-housewife

@mostlymarvelgirl

@musicandbooksaremyhappyplace

@buckybarnessimpp

@charmedbysarge

@almosttoopizza

@sapphirebarnes

@daddysfavoritesexkitten

@rebeccapineapple

@cjand10

@pigeonmama

@almosttoopizza

@sukaibg

@matchat3a

@cakesandtom

@angelbabyyy99

Author Note:

Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account. Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating. Only if you feel like it!

Here's the link: Ko-fi

Thanks a bunch for being fabulous followers!

[equalopportunitysolas]

Equal Opportunity Solas week

Taking Place Oct 6th - Oct 12th

Equal Opportunity Solas Week seeks to promote the Solas romance as inclusive and diverse. We wish to celebrate the possibilities of the Solas romance for characters of all races, gender identities, gender expressions, sexual orientation, and disability.

The event supports content involving:

Solas rare-pair romances

Solas romances with queer characters

Queer Solas romances (in which Solas himself is queer)

Asexual & aromantic Solas pairings

Solas romances involving characters with mental or physical disabilities (beyond missing anchor arm)

Due to the tendency within the fandom to view the Solas romance within heterosexual and cisgendered norms, the event will exclude all depictions of heterosexual cisgendered (cishet) fem!Lavellan

Queer representations of fem!Lavellan or female-presenting Lavellans are valid and encouraged within this event, including:

poly romance with Solas and another character(s)

aromantic or asexual relationship with Solas

bisexual Lavellan

nonbinary Lavellan

trans Lavellan

gender fluid Lavellan

See Event Info & Rules for content guidelines as well as Themes for more information!

[ricciardosheart]

Starry Serenade on the Riviera

pairings: Charles Leclerc X female (gf! reader)

The French Riviera basked in the golden glow of the afternoon sun, casting its warm embrace over the luxurious city of Monaco. Yachts gently swayed in the harbor, their sleek forms mirroring the indulgent lifestyle that defined this opulent corner of the world. In a stylish apartment overlooking the azure waters, (Y/N) awaited the return of her boyfriend, Charles Leclerc, the acclaimed Formula 1 driver.

As the door swung open, revealing Charles with a mischievous smile, (Y/N)'s face lit up with surprise. She hadn't expected him so soon. Charles approached with a bouquet of her favorite flowers, the scent of lilies filling the air as he handed them to her.

"Surprise, mon amour," he said, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. "How about a spontaneous adventure this afternoon?"

Intrigued, (Y/N) couldn't help but smile. "An adventure? I'm in. What do you have in mind?"

Charles winked playfully. "It's a secret. Just trust me."

They ventured down to the harbor, where a sleek yacht named "La Belle Vie" awaited them. Charles had arranged a private cruise along the French Riviera—an intimate escape from the bustling world of Formula 1 and a celebration of their love.

As the yacht set sail, the gentle hum of the engine accompanied the laughter and chatter of the couple. They sat on the deck, sipping champagne and enjoying the panoramic views of the coastline. The Mediterranean breeze carried the promise of an unforgettable day.

"I thought we could have our favorite meal together," Charles revealed, unveiling a picnic basket filled with delicacies. The aroma of truffle-infused dishes mingled with the salted sea air, creating a sensory symphony.

(Y/N) couldn't hide her delight. "You think of everything, Charles."

He grinned. "Only the best for you."

Their lunch turned into a culinary journey, with each bite a testament to the pleasures of indulgence. They laughed, shared stories, and savored the flavors of their favorite dishes, creating memories against the backdrop of the azure sea.

As the yacht cruised along the coastline, Charles suggested watching a movie under the open sky. A cozy setup awaited them on the deck, complete with blankets and a projector. They nestled together, the gentle rocking of the yacht adding to the cinematic experience.

The movie played, but their attention often wandered to the stars above. Charles pointed out constellations, weaving tales of the cosmos. Time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves in the magic of the moment, wrapped in each other's company.

As the afternoon sun began its descent, casting a warm hue over the sea, Charles spread a blanket on the deck. They lay down, hand in hand, gazing at the sky as if trying to capture the essence of the French Riviera in their hearts.

"I wanted today to be about us, away from the pressures of the racing world," Charles confessed. "You're my anchor, (Y/N), and moments like these make everything worthwhile."

(Y/N) smiled, her eyes reflecting the love she felt. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else, Charles. This is perfect."

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in a riot of colors, Charles and (Y/N) remained on the deck, the French Riviera embracing them in its timeless allure. The yacht continued its journey, carrying the couple through the twilight of the Mediterranean.

In the quiet of the evening, with the city lights of Monaco twinkling in the distance, Charles whispered promises of more adventures and shared dreams. (Y/N) nestled closer, feeling the heartbeat of their love resonating with the gentle rhythm of the sea.

The yacht sailed on, leaving behind a trail of shimmering reflections on the water—a testament to a love that found solace in the beauty of the French Riviera. Charles and (Y/N), wrapped in the serenity of the moment, sailed into the night, knowing that some memories are destined to linger like the stars in the Mediterranean sky.

As the night deepened, Charles and (Y/N) found themselves in the heart of the Mediterranean, far from the city lights. The yacht glided through the calm waters, the only sound being the gentle lapping of the waves against its hull. Above them, a canvas of stars stretched endlessly, creating a celestial spectacle that mirrored the depth of their connection.

Wrapped in a blanket on the deck, Charles and (Y/N) traced constellations with their fingers, lost in the vastness of the night sky. The quietude of the moment allowed the whispers of their hearts to become the only conversation that mattered.

"I never imagined Monaco could be so peaceful," (Y/N) mused, her eyes fixed on the stars. "It's a different world out here."

Charles nodded, his gaze reflecting the shimmering reflections of the stars. "Monaco is known for its glamour and excitement, but there's a serene beauty to it when you escape to the sea. Just like our love—thriving in the quiet moments."

They lay in silence, the yacht gently rocking them in a cradle of tranquility. The hum of the engine became a lullaby, and, in that cocoon of peace, they felt like the only two souls in the universe.

As the night progressed, Charles guided (Y/N) to the yacht's prow, where the vast expanse of the Mediterranean stretched before them. The moon, a radiant pearl in the velvet sky, cast a silver trail across the water, inviting them into its nocturnal dance.

"Shall we dance?" Charles extended his hand, a playful glint in his eyes.

(Y/N) laughed, taking his hand. "Why not? A moonlit dance under the stars—it sounds like a dream."

The yacht became their ballroom, and the soft music playing in the background set the rhythm for their dance. In the embrace of the night, with the stars as their witnesses, Charles and (Y/N) swayed to a melody that only they could hear.

Time lost its relevance as they danced under the cosmic chandelier, wrapped in the enchantment of the moment. Charles held (Y/N) close, their hearts beating in synchrony with the gentle ebb and flow of the sea.

As the dance came to an end, Charles whispered, "You're my favorite melody, (Y/N)."

They returned to their blanket, savoring the intimacy of the night. Charles reached into a small cooler and produced a box of chocolates—each piece a miniature work of art. Together, they indulged in the sweet symphony of flavors, savoring the richness of both the chocolates and the moment they shared.

With the yacht gently sailing back towards Monaco, Charles and (Y/N) found themselves on the deck once more. The city lights came into view, transforming the horizon into a glittering panorama. The French Riviera, with its blend of glamour and serenity, became the backdrop to a love story that unfolded like a cherished novel.

As the yacht docked, Charles and (Y/N) stepped onto the harbor, hand in hand. The night had woven a tapestry of memories that would forever be etched in their hearts. The adventure, initiated by a surprise visit, had transformed into a journey of love, intimacy, and shared dreams.

They walked along the moonlit promenade, the echoes of their laughter harmonizing with the gentle lull of the Mediterranean. Monaco, with its grandeur and sophistication, embraced them as they strolled through its enchanting streets.

On a secluded terrace overlooking the city, Charles and (Y/N) found a quiet corner to sit. The night unfolded before them—a canvas painted with the hues of their emotions. They spoke of dreams, of the future, and of the enduring love that had guided them through the labyrinth of life.

The city below seemed to hush in reverence as Charles took (Y/N)'s hand and looked into her eyes. "This night was about us, about the simplicity of love and the magic that happens when two hearts are in sync. Thank you for being my partner in this beautiful dance."

(Y/N) smiled, her eyes sparkling with affection. "Thank you for a night that feels like a fairytale, Charles. I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world."

As dawn approached, casting a gentle glow over the horizon, Charles and (Y/N) lingered on the terrace, watching the first light of morning paint the sky. The French Riviera, with its timeless allure, had witnessed a love story unfold—a story that began with a surprise visit and evolved into a symphony of shared moments, laughter, and the quiet magic of the night.

Monaco, with its yachts and city lights, stood as a testament to the grandeur of their love—a love that found beauty in simplicity, thrived in moments of serenity and danced under the stars of the French Riviera. As the sun rose over the Mediterranean, Charles and (Y/N) embraced the dawn of a new day, knowing that their love story would continue to unfold in the enchanting world they had created together.

[lillie98]

An excerpt from a Fic I wrote a while ago centering on Autistic!Mike. I wrote it from my perspective as a late-diagnosed female who found euphoria and purpose from this one little word. I hope you take the time to read it and understand the life-changing power of diagnosis. Autism is not a tragedy. Rather, it is a difference in the Human Condition that deserves celebration.

"Hey…Will, I almost forgot. I need to tell you something important". Will immediately flinches awake and startles, scanning the room for threats.

"What? Is something wrong? Are you okay?"

"No, nothing's wrong," Mike assures him, running his hand down Will's cheek. Embarrassment and shame course through him. He wishes Will’s nervous system didn’t overreact this way. He speaks quietly and clearly, emphasizing his words. "I'm okay. We’re safe.” Will leans into Mike’s touch and anchors himself in the present. He is safe, Mike is safe, and they are together. His eyes slip closed as he takes a few steadying breaths. He then shifts to his side to see Mike better, turning on the small lamp on the nightstand and propping himself up on his elbow. Tears prick the corners of Mike’s eyes as he stares at the ceiling, steeling himself for anticipated rejection. Will places his hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder.

"Hey, whatever it is, you can tell me, okay?” he reassures Mike. “We'll work through it together. You know how much I love you.” Will's words ease Mike's racing heart. Here goes nothing.

"I talk to Robin a lot–just like you–but we don't just talk about boyfriends. We…we talk about…other things, too.”

"What kinds of other things?" Will probes. Mike swallows hard.

"We…we talk about…fuck, this is tough….about my…my brain.” He can't believe he said it. He can almost feel Will slipping away, but his boyfriend stares baffled. They talk about Mike’s brain? What about his brain? The last time Will checked, Mike's brain was perfect. Why does this involve Robin? Mike cannot make eye contact. Will green eyes stare directly into his soul. If he looks back, he will lose his sanity. His hands white knuckle the sheets–anything to ground himself. Despite every cell in his body telling him to abort the mission, Mike forces himself to continue. If Will decides to leave him, he deserves to at least know the truth.

"My brain is…different from most people's.” Mike’s not sure how to explain this without sounding completely insane. “I have difficulty connecting with people and holding on to relationships. I'm blunt and straightforward, and people think I'm rude. That's why making friends is hard for me. People don't understand how to interact with me.” The words are slow and halted, forced out like a reluctant child. Will hangs on every one. He has yet to see the whole picture but will keep listening until he does. Mike continues as bile creeps into his throat.

"I also struggle with change. I need routine and structure; it keeps me safe. When that structure changes, it takes me longer to adjust. Like when you and El moved away, or Max joined our Party.” Words come faster now. He’s held this pain inside for too long. “I don't understand why things change and how everyone moves on while I'm stuck in this perpetual loop. I get scared that everything will change because one thing is changing, and it’s too much to handle. I don't want to be hostile, but my brain tells me to protect myself. Routines also help me not feel overwhelmed by the world. Everything is loud…and bright…and fast. It's terrifying.” Tears spill out, emotions too much to contain. “If I stick to my routine, some of that stuff fades into the background. But as soon as it changes, that all comes rushing back in. My body shuts down, and I can’t stop it. I lose control, and it's scary, Will. It's…It's so scary!"

Mike breaks down and rolls into his boyfriend’s waiting arms. Guilt consumes Will as he processes Mike’s words—He had no idea. How has Mike survived this long—kept this pain lodged deep inside himself as it slowly consumed him? How did he not notice his best friend, the love of his life, was drowning? Will rubs deep circles into Mike’s back, attempting to ground him. He wishes Mike had told him sooner. He would have helped him through it, been there for him when it was all too much. How did he miss it? Something so central to Mike's being unknown to the people he loves most. Will's mind drifts back to their childhoods when Mike would fall apart on the floor. Will would hold and rock him until he calmed down–not dissimilarly to what he did last week at the hospital. Then it clicks. Mike is describing those moments. Nights spent on the kitchen floor crying over a scratchy shirt tag or "wrong foods" touching. He got angry because Will canceled plans they made a week ago, even though his PTSD flared up and he was too weak to go out. Will’s head swirles with examples, and each one makes more sense than the last. He holds Mike's face, wiping tears with his thumbs.

"Mike, I understand. I see how scary those moments are for you. I may not feel what you feel, but I see your pain, and that’s enough. You are not broken, and there is nothing wrong with you. Do you understand me?" Mike tearfully nods. Will’s voice shakes, but he needs Mike to understand. "I love you so much, and I am honored you feel safe enough to share this part of yourself with me. I will always be here to help you, just like you help me. We need each other, and I am so thankful to have you in my life. I do have a question, though. Does it have a name, and why do you discuss it with Robin? Isn't that something a doctor tells you?"

Mike laughs at Will's innocent questions. "You should talk about it with a doctor, but most don't know much about it. It's called autism, and I talk about it with Robin because she has it, too. She's the one who saw it in me. The first time she explained it…I cried, Will. I had never heard a word describe me so perfectly.” As he remembers the moment, new tears form, and a smile radiates through his body. “It was like…I had a missing piece, and Robin found it. She unlocked me. I finally have permission to be myself. All of these struggles, all of this pain, it's real. It has a name. I've never felt this way, and I want you to know so you can feel it, too. I love you so much, Will.”

Autism. Will rolls the word around in his mind. He's never heard it before, but it makes sense. It explains Mike. His bluntness, his temper, his everything. He pulls Mike close and hugs him tightly, tears mingling in their embrace as they celebrate the moment. It is not sad. Instead, it is euphoric.

[briarvalleyarchives]

ꜱᴀᴠᴀɴᴀᴄʟᴀᴡ

╰┈➤ ❝ the lands once overseen by the mighty king of beasts are as vast as they are vibrant. many stories of kings and queens have found their way into the history books, even in the furthest corners of the world, before their voices joined that of the stars. ❞

[f.], [m.] → female / male reader respectively | [pl.] → platonic | [g.] → general / no reader | [sug.] → suggestive | [hc] → headcanons | [os] → oneshot | [sh.] → short scenario | [s.] → part of a series | [a.] → angst

ʟᴇᴏɴᴀ ᴋɪɴɢꜱᴄʜᴏʟᴀʀ

"aw, did you miss me?" [m. | sh.]

"i demand cuddles" [f. | sh.]

2am [a. | os]

anchor [os]

a surprise visit [os]

boyfriend headcanons [hc]

calling him cute [hc]

celebrating christmas [hc]

cheering you up when you're not feeling well [hc]

cuddle time [hc]

dancing with him [hc]

domestic headcanons [hc]

doodles of us [hc]

eating instant ramen at 2am with him [hc]

easily flustered s/o [hc]

everyone loves you (at least i do) [os]

finding doodles of him in his crush's notebook [hc]

finding solace [os | hurt/comfort]

from the eyes of the beholder [os]

hanahaki au [hc]

how he loses you [a. | os]

if he said something insensitive to his s/o [a. | hc]

in a crowd of thousands [hc]

i want to hold the hand inside you [hc]

joining him in the hot springs [hc]

kissing his s/o [hc]

late night driving [hc]

leona as a "bad guy" and reader as a "soft girl" [f. | os]

love languages [hc] [@pyroxeene]

love languages [hc] [@animusicnerd]

mornings with him [hc]

new year's eve [smau]

on your side [os]

poly relationship with jamil [hc]

receiving a rose from the reader [sh.]

redamancy [os]

relationship headcanons [hc]

relaxing with him [hc]

s/o having a nightmare about his overblot [hc]

s/o suddenly being transported back to their world [sh.]

sopping wet cat & love confessions [os]

spy!reader au [hc]

spending valentine's day with him [hc]

study date [hc]

teasing him [hc]

there was only one mystery shop [os]

trouvaille [os | g. | a.]

we just now got the feeling that we're meeting for the first time [os | hurt/comfort]

winter time [hc]

when his s/o tells him he's their favorite [hc]

when you faint because of the heat [hc]

wild roses [os]

with an asexual s/o [hc]

with an s/o who has ptsd [hc]

with an s/o who has social anxiety [hc]

with an s/o who is a vampire [os]

with an s/o who is a writer [hc]

with an s/o who loves rock and is super athletic [hc]

with an s/o who's competitive and fences [hc]

ʀᴜɢɢɪᴇ ʙᴜᴄᴄʜɪ

cuddle time [hc]

easily flustered s/o [hc]

finding out their s/o has cheated on them [a. | hc]

hanahaki au [hc]

having a crush [hc]

love languages [hc] [@pyroxeene]

love languages [hc] [@animusicnerd]

reacting to a sudden ambush [hc]

reacting to s/o sitting on his lap [hc]

sitting on his s/o's lap [hc]

tackling overworked s/o [hc]

with an s/o that blends perfectly into any shadow [hc]

words in the wind [g. | os]

ᴊᴀᴄᴋ ʜᴏᴡʟ

au where he plays twst [g. | hc]

dealing with the bullies who beat up s/o [hc]

doodles of us [hc]

easily flustered s/o [hc]

hanahaki au [hc]

if only you had stayed [a. | pl. or romantic | hc]

love languages [hc]

racoons interrupt your date [hc]

relationship headcanons [hc]

spending time with him [hc]

when he falls in love [hc]

when mc turns into a baby [hc]

[oceansssblue]

100 CELEBRATION – PROMPT 7. MERMAID AU

TECH/ FEMALE READER 💖

WARNINGS: This story alternates between reader's and third person (Tech'ish) pov. Seahorses can survive in cold temperatures in this fic because I say so. Fleeting mention of mer-child abandonment. Very tiny non-graphic shark attack. Otherwhise fluff, fluff and fluff!

Note: this is my third time –second for Tech– writing mermaids for our clones! In this one-shot, both Tech and female reader are mermaids, though from different sub-species. Hope you like it, let me know!

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Below the surface, where the world is a myriad of blues and different marine kingdoms coexist, there are two subspecies of mermaids. Shallow mers mainly live in lakes and ponds; the few that not, never wander too far away into the cold, dark depths of the ocean. Their thin, iridiscent scales are more suited for warmer temperatures; while the thickness of the deep-water mers allows them to travel surprising distances down where the sun can no longer reach. Deep-water mers have strong powerful tails and sharp canines and claws that turn them into dangerous predators; shallow mers, though agile and fast, aren't a comparable threat.

You've never seen one of them.

You've heard the stories, of course; heard of their aggression and how they lurk in the darkness to hunt any poor creature that has dared to enter their waters alone. You've seen the scars that their claws and bites have left on some of your people; deep marks carved deep into scales and skin. They've appeared on your nightmares –when you were nothing but a kid–; bubbles tinged with the scarlet red of your blood. Everyone shares the same opinion about them; they're hostile, dangerous, and you should never, never, never, get close to any of them.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It's a beautiful day. Rays of sunlight reflects the water in a way that makes it sparkle; almost as if thousends of tiny stars had fallen into it. The ocean is cold enough for a dive into it to feel refreshing; but not as much as to bring unpleasant shivers to your skin.

You spend most part of the morning exploring the reef and curiously observing different types of starfishes around the corals; pausing here and there to play with the ocasional mischiveous octopus or angry crab. After so many years living in the sea, you know by now when to interact with them and when to give them space; and you are very careful of respecting the sealife around you. It's a delicate balance for all of you to live in peace.

After a small but satisfying lunch you make your way to your best friend's home; a tiny seahorse you've long decided to name Yellow. Basic, you're aware; but well, your friendship started many, many years ago, when you were finally getting the trick on how to properly swim. When your mother left you. Once a shallow mer gives birth, the mother takes care of her child until the newborn has adquired the knowledge on how to survive on it's own; then, they follow different paths, so the young mer learns to face the difficulties of the ocean on it's own. If he's strong enough, he'll push through; and one day he may reunite with others and close the cycle with a child of it's own. Perhaps for some it may seem like a cruel thing; but that's how it has always been, how your subspecies still exists today. It's a solitary life; but there are so many unexpected places to find friends.

Yellow's home consists in an almost complete circle of redish and orange corals not too far away from the water's surface. There's a lot of plancton in this part of the reef; so it makes sense for the small seahorse to have settled here. He's as chirpy as always to greet you; swimming excitedly around you before anchoring his tail to a strand of your multicoloured hair. You chuckle at the thought of it looking almost like a tiny seatbelt for your hipocampus friend.

"Good afternoon, dear Yellow" you tell him affectionately, the knowledge that he doesn't understand your language never detering you into chatting with him. "What shall we do today, mm?"

You like to go on little adventures with Yellow; explore new parts of the reef or perhaps make new acquaintances together. He's a little energetic thing, and so adorable you never get bored with him.

"Wanna' try to find some parrot-fish?" You propose, and he moves his tiny dorsal fin in agreement.

He may not get your every word; but he can read into the way you move and talk. By the tone of your voice, he knows you're offering some exploring. If he didn't feel like it and he'd prefer to stay closer to home, he'd have let you know by staying completely immobile.

"Mision parrot-fish it is. Hold on to that seatbelt" you smile happily, and slowly begin to swim.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

In the end, your innocent trip turns to be a heartbreaking disaster; an encounter with a triaenodon shark has an unexpected outcome. They're usually pacific creatures, but the blood slowly trickling from one of it's sides has evidently scare the animal enough to react agressively at the posibility of a second predator going in for the easy kill. You've got no time to try to difuse the situation; as the wounded shark inmediately lurches for you. A terrified Yellow abandons the now precarious cover of your hair; releasing air to quickly let himself sink into the ocean and away from the fighting scene.

It's a game of swim-dodge-redirect from there. Finally, to your relief, the shark exhausts herself and decides to cautiously leave; and panting, body aching from the effort, you let out a long sigh of relief. The terrifying part of the encounter isn't the minor wounds you now carry on your skin; not even the fear and adrenaline. No; the real scary part is that Yellow is nowhere to be seen, and you can't seem to find him after an exhaustive search.

Tears in your eyes at the thought of losing your tiny best friend, you continue swimming downwards in the direction you knew he escaped to; so anxiously focused on finding him you don't even notice the way the water darkens around you and the increasing cold that freezes your skin.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"Yellow!" You call him in a happy cry when you finally get sight of him.

In just two quick ondulations of your tail you're floating right next to him; and the little seahorse inmediately goes to hide on your hair.

"Oh, Yellow" a tear finally manages to roll down your cheek. You talk to him in a hushed, tender whisper. "I was so worried for you! I thought I was never going to find you! Oh, dear friend, I think we're gonna' have to take a break from exploring for a while..."

You're so overwhelmed by being reunited with the small hipocampus that you don't even notice the way he seems to shrink away; and tug insistently at your hair. You don't even realise you're not alone anymore until you hear the sound of something big moving too close to you in the darkness of the water.

Fear instantly spreads through your body, and you tense scanning the ocean around you. It's then when you noticed that fuck, you're deep; the cold almost unbearable and your eyes having trouble adjusting to the lack of sunlight. You don't see the creature lurking until it's right in front of you.

It's a deep-water mer.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Tech curiously observes the mer interacting with the tiny hipocampus. She's nothing like he has seen before. There are so many differences between them that the deep-water mer can't help but put a stop in his journey back home to study her. It's highly unusual to find one of them here; it's too cold, too dark, and their bodies aren't enough adapted to be permanently exposed to the depths of the ocean.

Tech has never come across a shallow mer before. Their subspecies live in different layers of their wide acuatic habitat; and shallow mers are incredibly timid, elusive creatures, always opting to flee without further questioning than to expose themselves to any danger. He can understand that; evolution hasn't gifted them with the same resources as deep-water mers. For the rumours he's heard, Tech knows shallow mers lack of pointy canines and their thick, resistent skin; tail also smaller, thinner, and less powerful than theirs. While the shallow mer subspecies had slowly adapted to a tranquil, mostly uneventful life on the surface, deep-water mers had had to perfectionate their hunting techniques; and any useful fighting traits had been inherited through generation after generation to what they are now.

Tech can't really understand her words; they sound similar to their language, though in a higher, more melodious register. Still, he can read the relief and melting worry in her body; the way she seems to sag upon finding the small yellow seahorse, who quickly hides in her hair. Tech observes them curiously; are they... friends?

She has a small heart-shaped face; her big expressive green eyes, plush lips, and button nose giving her an innocent look. Streaks of blue, green, red and yellow paints her long half-braided hair without an apparent order; perhaps trying to imitate the vibrant colours of the corals of the reefs above. Two pairs of small thin fins protrude from the tragus of each ear; probably vestigial and without real function. Her skin is much paler than his; and while deep-water mers have dark blue and black scales, colours shared as well with the tail, shallow mers apparently carry a very different canvas on their body. The scales on her upper chest begins with the same pale tone of her human skin, and transitions to a mint and persian green towards her tail. Tech notices it's much smaller and narrower than his; the flukes aren't as pointy, and there isn't a stinger at the end. It's a mix of the previous greens and some darker emerald colour as well.

Tech's own colours mostly mimetizes him with the depths of the ocean; but even with that advantage, he has remain staring for too long to pass completely unnoticed. At least by one of the two creatures barely twenty feet in front of him; the hipocampus trying to alert her fellow distracted friend.

Tech can tell when she exactly realises they're not alone. Her whole body tenses; eyes quickly scanning the water around them. They pass right over him once; then, her frightened gaze returns to his figure and transforms into terror. She freezes staring at him.

Tech understands her fear; it's only sensitive. She can barely see him from this distance in the depths of the ocean; his blue-black tail dissappearing in the darkness. Tech realises right then that, as much as he has heard stories of shallow mers been shy, mostly innocent creatures, it's possible she has heard stories about them as well; and by the mers reaction, Tech can guess the ones about deep-water mers aren't as pretty.

Still, Tech's endless curiosity hasn't been extinguished after one brief examination; so he very slowly aproaches her until they're nothing but three feet apart from each other. Tech's attention is again redirected to the creature's hair; the small underwater currents softly moving the few colourfull strands that escapes her braid in a half halo around her head. Up close, it holds an almost iridiscent hue; and Tech reaches a clawed finger to carefully trace a strand up and down, enthraced. His eyes scan the shallow mer again, and Tech has a sudden realisation that surprises himself; she's pretty, and he's so confused and lost at his own thoughts he can't do anything else but blink at her. There's endless beauty in the ocean, he has admired it countless of times before; and yet, no creature had personally called to his desires and perception of attraction like this.

Lost in his silent pondering, it takes Tech a few minutes to realise the level of stress the poor creature is experiencing at his presence. The shallow mer is uncontrollably shaking; eyes shut tight and heartbeat speeding at such a pace Tech can hear it in the quietness of the ocean. He had asumed she'd understand he meant no harm by now; but clearly there's another million options that are passing through the mer's mind, and Tech decides to give her space.

Upon the swoosh of his tail, the shallow-mer carefully opens her green eyes again; analysing him in what feels like an eternal second. Tech does his best in appearing relaxed and non-threatening.

The silent mutual observation lasts ten more seconds or so; then, the shallow mer makes an abrupt turn and sprints in a fast swim upwards, clearly running away. Tech can't help but feel dissapointed; but even if he's mostly sure he could catch up to her with a bit of effort -and something inside of him saddens at the thought of never seing her again-, he decides the best course of action is to let her go.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You return to the reef and give your goodbyes to Yellow in a blurred daze. Once alone, the adrenaline of your friend's dissapearance and the encounter with the deep-water mer drops down; and you feel so exhausted and drained you inmediately curl up in the safe, hidden space between the rocks you call home.

That night you go to sleep thinking on him; on how unfairly stronger and powerful he looked with his sharp claws and muscled tail. It's a fitfull dream at first; though as the night advances and the fear grows distant, other details come to light. You suddenly remember his mesmerising amber eyes; how soft his bronze skin looked, tone much darker than those of shallow mers. The colours of his tail, so different to hers; a navy blue mixed with black, with just a hint of details in faded white and cyan. The impresive width of his two tail flukes and the sharp stinger in between. He made a fine mer.

The abrupt thought rips you of your light slumber. You wake up, panting in surprise. Surely you can't find the predator that almost made you have a heart attack atractive, right? He could have killed you; you'd like to think you're a bit more intelligent than that.

But he didn't.

The tiny little thought crawls like an unexpected visitor into your mind; and then, you can't think of anything else. He could have killed you, hurt you, but he didn't. Why?

At first you thought he was going to attack you. When you first felt his dangerous clawed hand reaching for you, you had shut your eyes in terror, waiting for the inevitable doom to come. Claws and canines biting and tearing delicate skin. But nothing had happened; nothing further than a... Could you call that a caress? Was that it?

Now, away from the danger and with your head in a clearer state, you picture the encounter again in your head. You try to remember the expresion on his face; realising there was more genuine, innocent curiosity than vicious agression. And he hadn't even tried to chase you when you had swam away. Could he hold the simple gentle curiosity for you you felt for the smaller creatures you often explored in the reef? Would he... Would he not attack you if you came across each other again?

It's a dangerous thought; and when the new day starts, you can't seem to quieten it inside your head.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

A rush of electrifying excitement zig-zags through Tech's body upon identifying the creature swimming in the distance. He interacts with orcas and whales enough to know the figure is somewhat unique; at least in this depths of the ocean. He hovers in place, patiently observing. He doesn't want to scare her away like last time. What is she doing down here again?

Tech scans the dark water in search for the hipocampus. He had the impresion the shallow mer had followed the small animal here last time; perhaps the situation has repeated itself. After a quick eye-search, though, he brushes the posibility away. She came her on her own. Why? There's no reason why a shallow mer would have to swim this deep.

Tech notices the way she swims in short bursts of energy and how her eyes constantly flicker around; like she's stubbornly looking for something. If not the hipocampus, what could that something be?

It has to be him.

It's the most logical answer; and yet, some part of Tech refuses to believe it, perhaps because he doesn't want to be hurt and dissapointed if it isn't. With a mix of hope and waryness, the deep-water mer swims towards the visitor; slowly announcing his presence to her.

The shallow mer's eyes widen in surprise; just a hint of fear and caution taking a grip on her. She doesn't make any move to run away, though; instead, she floats in place and stares.

Tech resists the urge to get closer and greet her, swim around her and gently brush his tail with hers as he does with his family. He doesn't want her to flee; so he patiently waits for her to make the first step.

Almost as if understanding this, the shallow mer flicks her flutes and cautiously shortens the distance between each other. Coming to a stop in front of him, she takes a deep breath; then, a high melodious voice breaks the silence of the ocean around them. She's talking to him.

Tech's inmediate surprise must be visible in his face. Frowning, he tries to make a sense to her words; but he doesn't get the full meaning of it, just an impresion of what she's saying. Tech thinks -or wants to believe- she's greeting him.

The shallow mer sighs quietly. Observing him for a few long seconds, she makes a move forward; a trembling hand extending towards Tech's face.

He tenses; not a product of fear. She doesn't have claws like him; Tech doesn't think the shallow mer can hurt him much with her bare hands. It's more of a wary reaction. He doesn't know what she wants; and the thought of her touching him admitedly sends a sort of carefull expectation to his body. Tech has shared a few kisses here and there with a female friend from another pod of deep-water mers; but it was sort of an agreement for them both to experience the situation together, and not out of real desire or attraction. Now, this mer... Not knowing where she stands, what her intentions are, being unable to talk to her about it, makes him nervous.

Breathing heavier and without tearing his eyes from her face, he let's her be. He shivers when he feels her soft fingertips playing with his hair; closing his eyes involuntarily before watching her with surprise.

She shows him a shy smile and then repeats the gesture in her own hair; exactly like he had done the day before. It's like she's trying to tell him something with it; and Tech flushes finally comfirming she came back because she's curious about him as well.

Tech nods; and calling his courage, he repeats the gesture on her. This time she just observes; she doesn't flinch.

It's a game of reconnaissance from there. They curiously study the other, hands no longer touching in order to try to respect their space; sometimes asking for a better perspective or trying to ask questions with mimics along the way. At one point, she opens her mouth and points with her index at his teeth, tilting her head. Tech answers showing her his sharp canines, and the shiver she gives him this time is clearly a joke, paired with an entertained smile. Tech chuckles and nods. They could look scary, he supposes. The deep-water mer makes a "no, no" sign with his hands before pointing back at her; indicating a clear "i'm not going to hurt you". The open, friendly smile she gives him is blinding.

They spend almost an hour interacting with each other. When she finally points upwards, signaling her need to return to the surface, Tech feels an instant urge to keep her with him a little longer. He knows he can't, though, shouldn't; perhaps she has other things to do.

He makes a "wait" sign and -upon her nod of acceptance- quickly dives down in the ocean; tail moving powerfully in order to take him to his home as fast as possible and back.

When he returns, he's got a mix of algae and zebrafish crushed scales in his left hand. Zebrafish are an incredibly species; they can regenerate a whole fin amputation and their own heart damage. It's one of the most interesting creatures Tech has spent his time studying.

He tries to convein this to her, his voice gentle and calm while he tries to represent his explanation with his spare hand. She frowns, completely lost at first, glancing down at the mix in his hand and back at his face. Then, he tries to draw a starfish with his index, and upon poiting to the still angry wound on her side and shoulder insistently, an "oh" of understanding washes over her expression. She nods with an appreciative smile.

Tech's hovering so close to her now that he can feel her breathing pattern in front of him; the tiny change of the water movement when it passes through her gills. Tech has them at both sides of his pectorals; while her's are positioned a bit lower, towards the end of her rib cage.

He studies her wounds with critical eye, wondering what could have caused them. There's a few scratches here and there; probably produced by the drag of skin against rocks and corals. A bigger one on one of her sides above the beginning of her tail looks like a shark bite. None are deep or particularly worrying; but Tech knows they must hurt, and if he can help her, he will.

Tech swipes some of the mix in two fingers and gently presses them against the indents of the bite. The shallow mer hisses in pain, her body reflexively trying to shy away; but he makes a soothing sound with his voice and the mer looks at him, breathing through it and regaining awareness of herself. She stays patiently put while he helps her.

Heartbeat speeding inside his chest, Tech slowly dares to trace the pad of his thumb over the scratch on her cheek. He knows the minor wound needs no medicine, it's already healing on itself; but he can't keep his hands to himself. She's beautiful; expresive eyes and cute nose, colourful hair and a elegant, delicate body he wishes he could further explore.

She shivers; but the deep-water mer doesn't detect any fear from her, can't smell anything of the sort in the ocean around them. Her eyes lock with his; and even if no words are exchanged, Tech can't help but feel there's some sort of silent conversation there. Wonder, desire, caution. A longing reflected in the other mer.

The moment has stretched too long, and Tech drops his hand back to his side. He nods, signaling that his work is finished; that she's free to go now if she wants to.

The shallow mer doesn't take her eyes off of him. Tentatively, almost as if testing his boundaries, she grazes her tail with his in a gentle, thankful gesture. Tech's aware that the gesture could be considered flirting in their species; and blushes slightly.

He hears her soft chuckle. Then, she swims up and they grow apart again.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You grow fond of him. It's easy to do so, really; once the frigthening first impression is out of the way, you can see further than that, and every small thing you discover about him apeases you more and more as weeks pass by.

The first few days are just more of those cautious, curious interactions. As you slowly get used to the others presence, you both start to grow more relaxed and playful; Tech –his name is one of the first things he teaches you– eventually inviting you for a long swim, and you happily accepting. You can't help but observe the way he moves; the power and strength in his long blue tail, mesmerised. When he catches you gawking, a tiny satisfied and knowing smirk makes it's way to his face; and though you inmediately look away, embarassed, you can't help but think it looks good on him as well.

A month after your first encounter you ask him to follow you to the surface. You know it's not ideal for him, his scales and skin too thick to cope with such warmth for long periods of time; but you know he'll be okay for a couple of hours, just like you are able to cope with the depths of his comfort zone. Tech nods curiously and explores with you every inch of the reef just like a kid. It's him who stares at you enthraced this time; marvelling at the way the sunlight flickers off of your iridiscent scales, at how shiny and bright the greens become. When you glance at him in confusion as to why he had stopped, wondering if he felt tired, he stares straight at your eyes and whispers one of the few words he has learned in your language.

"Pretty".

It makes you blush and internally swoon for him. You answer with a radiant smile and quickly peck his cheek before swimming away. Tech looks at you in surprise before moving to catch up with you. He affectionately rubs his body against yours as he does and passes by.

He takes you to meet his pod. You're not going to lie, the first fears and doubts about Tech resurface with the intimidating group of deep-water mers; your instinct screaming at you at the obvious disadvantage, at the danger, encouraging you to run away. But Tech –sweet, intelligent Tech– inmediately notices it; and reassures you by constantly standing by your side and giving soft caresses to your hands and back. It helps that his family is openly friendly and accepting; with the exception of Crosshair. Tech brushes his reaction aside, telling you it's normal of him to behave like that. You hope you will grow on him with time.

The way they live, play and hunt is a spectacle to see and experience. Tech tries to give you a thorough explanation on why and how deep-water mers had had to learn and adapt like that; though with the small bunch of words he has managed to learn by now and his irrepresible excitement it's hard to follow him. Tech's patient, though, and you're curious; so with a bit of effort, you both make it work.

After his quiet, surprisingly normal and easy inclusion to his family, you take him to meet Yellow. You point at the small sea horse and tell him two words –"Friend. Pod"–; Tech's amber eyes filling with some sort of melancholic understanding before he's fiercely hugging you towards him. You tremble in his arms and press your forehead against the side of his neck, breathing him in; you haven't had this kind of contact in so long –it has been years since you last came across one of yours–, and it feels so devastatingly comforting you fear you'll grow addicted to it.

Your heart clenches when you see him interacting with Yellow. He's so big, and your friend so tiny; it's an adorable sight, and the way the seahorse quickly warms up to him and the mer gently treats him is simply adorable. With a fond smile on your face, you realise you're starting to fall in love with him.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

One of those nights when Tech can't help but feel alone, even with the knowledge that his pod is sleeping not far away from him, the deep-water mer follows his heart and thoughts and swims upwards towards the sky; towards where the stars seem to fall into the ocean. He knows his way around the reef by now; and with his speed, he's soon carefully peeking his head into the circle of rocks you sleep in and call home. You're curled up in yourself; arms crossed hugging your stomach. You look so small and vulnerable it tugs at the strings of his heart; and Tech carefully swims into your space and lays by your side.

The carefully brush of a tail against yours wakes you up; your gasp quickly growing silent when you realise it's Tech besides you. You look at him in surprise, quietly questioning him; and he answers in small melodious words in your mother tongue.

"Alone" he points at her, then at himself. "Worry. Miss".

You sigh and eliminate the tiny distance between your bodies, melting onto him.

"Miss you too" you whisper against his neck, tightening your embrace.

Tech hums happily and curls his tail around yours, softly caressing your hair. After a few minutes of memorising his embrace, when you stop hiding in his neck and glance up at him, he gently holds your chin in his grasp; amber eyes shinning with an unusual intensity.

"Love" he whispers delicately in front of your lips.

Your breathing hitches. Is he really telling you...?

Tech kisses you; a soft, reverent press of lips on lips that brands your soul with his name. It draws a sleepy, content sigh from you; and you answer him dreamily.

"I love you too, Tech".

You've finally found your mer.

THE END.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Tara! This one was so sweet, hope you' ve liked it, I love merfolk so fucking much!

Next up; prompt 8 with pirate!Hunter !! It might take me a little longer as I'm going on a trip with my friends soon.

Please, interact in tumblr! Wether if it's with a like, reblog or comment, it really helps the community to stay alive and personally make one feel more happy and appreciated. Can't deny I've felt a little ploff about it lately. Don't be a ghost, I promise I'm nice! ;)

See you in the next one. Take care.

Xx,

Blue.

Back to main masterlist here:

[soulofapatrick]

Home, Sweet Home - Peeta Mellark x Female Reader

Summary: You reunite with Peeta after winning the 76th Hunger games and you act on your feelings for him

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: none

Y/N’s POV

The Victory Tour has been an elaborate masquerade, a relentless parade of smiles plastered over a soul still reeling from the wounds of the Games. Every handshake, every fabricated grin, felt like a weight pressing down on me, the agony of pretending to revel in the celebrations when all I truly yearned for was the solace of home. 

The Capitol’s decadence, its opulent celebrations, and effervescent extravagance—it’s all a cruel reminder of the life I’m expected to embrace, the left I’m supposed to relish as a victor. But it’s a facade, a role I’ve been forced to play. My heart remains tethered to District 12, to the quiet streets and familiar faces that offer a semblance of genuine comfort. 

Amidst the sparkling lights and the cheering crowds, my mind drifts back to the memories of the arena, to the mentorship under Peeta, to the haunting absence of Katniss in District 12. 

Peeta Mellark. His name is a lifeline woven into the fabric of my survival. From the moment our paths intertwined, his presence became an anchor amidst the chaos of the Games. His guidance wasn’t just about tactics and strategies; it was a steady stream of compassion and unwavering support that stitched together the shattered remnants of my courage. 

In the heart of the arena, amidst the looming threat of death, he was my solace—the calm in the eye of a relentless storm. His words were a balm to the wounds inflicted by the ruthless Games, and his unwavering belief in my abilities breathed life into the embers of hope flickering within me. But it wasn't just survival that bound us. It was the unspoken understanding, the shared pain, and the unyielding determination to rise above the horrors we were subjected to. Peeta’s presence was a beacon of resilience, a reminder that humanity perseveres even in the darkest of times.

His absence during the Victory Tour amplified the void within me. Each forced smile for the Capitol's pleasure felt hollow without his reassuring presence. The memories of his kindness, his selflessness, and the way he made me feel—safe, understood, and cared for—lingered like an ethereal melody, a symphony echoing in the chambers of my heart.

Every victory in the arena felt incomplete without the prospect of returning home to District 12, where I knew he would be waiting. His absence now is a stark reminder of the yearning that's blossomed within me, a yearning that transcends mere friendship. It’s a yearning rooted in admiration, respect, and an inexplicable pull toward someone who understands the depths of my soul.

As the train hurtles closer to District 12, my mind lingers on the bittersweet ache of anticipation. The knock on the carriage door draws me from my reverie, and when it creaks open, Haymitch stands there, his gruff exterior softened by a knowing glint in his eyes.

“We’re almost home kid.” He tells me, looking for the liquor which Effie had tried to hide but I just point towards the cupboard Effie put it in as he’s gone almost cold turkey the whole tour. He makes a triumphant sound when he finds it and I retreat back into the cocoon of my thoughts, sketching aimlessly while visions of home dance in my mind like fragments of a beautiful dream. Peeta’s words resound, his descriptions of the Victor’s Village painting vivid images of a serene haven—a place that promises solace amidst the remnants of a harrowing past. 

He spoke of the houses with such reverence, a testament to the life waiting beyond the tumultuous journey, “It’s beautiful, you’ll see.” He had assured me with that trademark sincerity of his, as though he wanted to paint the scene for me, to offer a glimpse into eh sanctuary that awaited. I remember his promise, a simple yet heartfelt vow: a cake waiting for me upon my return. The thought brings a smile to my lips despite the weariness clinging to every muscle. It’s a gesture, a small slice of normalcy in the chaos of our lives—a symbol of comfort, of the simple pleasures we often take for granted. 

The idea of stepping into the Victor’s Village, of sharing a slice of cake baked by Peeta in a house that holds the promise of peace, feels like a respite—a chance to shed the weight of the Games and the elaborate facade forced up me during the tour. 

The train's rhythmic chugging signals our imminent arrival. The anticipation swells within me, a mingling of excitement and relief. Home. It's not just the physical place; it's the prospect of being enveloped in familiarity, of finding solace in the warmth of companionship, and, most of all, of reuniting with Peeta—a friend, a confidant, and perhaps something more. 

As the train slows to a halt, the station looms ahead, a beacon drawing me closer to the arms of District 12, to the Victor's Village, and to the person whose unwavering support and promise of a simple joy await me—a promise embodied in a freshly baked cake, a symbol of the comfort and understanding that Peeta Mellark embodies.

Haymitch, ever the gruff guardian, extends a steadying arm, guiding me up from my seat as a twinge shoots through my right calf—a lingering reminder of the games that won’t easily fade. His presence offers both physical support and a sense of familiarity that grounds me in this whirlwind of arrival. 

As the doors of the train slide open, a cacophony of jubilant cheers fills the air, reverberating through the station. The collective uproar, a symphony of gratitude and celebration, overwhelms my senses, but amidst the adoration echoing in the air, my focus remains fixated on finding Peeta. 

Through the sea of faces, my gaze darts around the mass of faces until it lands on him—a familiar silhouette standing slightly to the side, his ocean blue eyes locking onto mine with a mix of relief and unspoken understanding. In that moment, the cheers fade into a distant hum, and everything else blurs into insignificance. The intensity of his gaze feels like a lifeline, pulling me through the tumultuous sea of emotions. 

My heart swells with a surge of emotions, a rush of feelings that transcends the boundaries of mere friendship—a torrent of affection, gratitude, and a love that had quietly blossomed amidst the chaos. In the depth of his ocean blue eyes, I find a reflection of the unspoken sentiments that echo within me. 

The realisation crashes over me like a wave—I’m in love with Peeta Mellark. It’s not just a fleeting infatuation; it’s an undeniable truth that has been silently growing, nurtured by shared experiences, understanding, and the unspoken connection that binds us. Before rational thought can temper the surge of emotions, instinct takes over. Without a second thought, I break away from Haymitch, the thudding of my heart growing out all other sounds. The cheers, the bustling crowd, the very world around us becomes a blue as I sprint towards Peeta, my every stride a leap closer to the person who has become an integral part of my being. 

The distance between us diminishes with each step, the air crackling with an unspoken anticipation. His eyes widen in surprise, a mix of astonishment and a mirrored rush of emotions dancing within their depths as he realises my intent. With an unabashed burst of emotion, I throw myself into his embrace, my arms wrapping around him with a fervour that words could never encapsulate. Peeta’s initial surprise melts into a reciprocated rush of emotions as my embrace envelopes him. His arms, strong yet tender, instinctively encircle me, pulling me closer as though trying to bridge the gap that time and distance had imposed between us. In that shared moment, the world around us dissolved into insignificance, leaving only the raw intensity of our connection. 

“I’ve missed you,” my whispered confession hangs in the air, laden with unspoken emotions and the weight of an unguarded heart. 

His response is immediate, a gentle yet desperate movement as he shifts slightly, enough to cup my cheek with a tenderness that makes my heart flutter. His eyes, a reflection of the unspoken turmoil within, lock onto mine with a raw honesty that needs no words. And in that unspoken exchange, he pulls me closer, his lips seeking mine with an urgency that echoes the unspoken longing we both shared. 

The moment our lips meet, it’s a collision of emotions—an amalgamation of desperation and relief, of aching hearts finding solace in each others embrace. The kiss is a symphony of emotions, a crescendo of pent-up feelings that spill over in a rush of passion and tenderness. The screams and cheers of the District get even louder but also fades away. 

His lips mould against mine, conveying a depth of longing and understanding that transcends words. In that kiss, there’s a separation to erase the distance, to soothe the ache of separation, and to find solace in the shared embrace—a moment of reunion that feels like coming home. Every brush of his lips against mine is a reassurance, a promise of understanding and support. It’s a silent affirmation that speaks volumes—of shared trials, unspoken confessions, and a love that had silently bloomed amidst the chaos. 

My heart pounds in my chest, the world narrowing down to the sensation of his lips on mine, the warmth of his touch, and the overwhelming rush of emotions that threaten to overwhelm me. It's a moment of surrender and acceptance, a moment that feels like the missing piece in the tumultuous puzzle of our lives has finally found its place.

“Come home with me.” Peeta murmurs against my lips and I’m nodding, pressing another kiss to his lips this time chaste. 

“Take me home Peeta.” 

The Hunger Games Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

[divine-knight-hand]

Night of The Maneater

Part 1: The Chase

Part Two || Michael Masterlist || Full Masterlist || Read on AO3 Halloween Triple Feature Masterlist

Pairing: Michael Afton x Ghostface!Female Reader

Summary: Since the destruction of Fazbear's Fright, Michael could finally celebrate Halloween in peace, but with a new serial killer on the loose known only by the name "The Maneater", how long will his night stay that way?

Content Warnings: Stalking, mentions of death and killing, descriptions of fear and creepy scenarios, death threats, sexual themes

Notes: I don't care that FNAF lore says that Fazbear's Fright happened in the future. This fic takes place in the 1990s because I said so... Also, that time is the perfect setting for a slasher moment and no, I will not be taking criticism.

I also just looked it up and the first Scream movie takes place in 1996, so my guts were on point with this one. Trust my judgement, y'all~

Word Count: 4,352

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Halloween season had an air of peace ever since Fazbear’s Fright burned down. This year, instead of fighting for his life against a group of worn-down animatronics–only one of them being corporeal, though not untouched by the stench of death–he only encountered the bright faces that came to his door in search of candy.

Michael was more than happy to oblige, complimenting the costumes of each child as he dropped some candy into their bags. Each child’s parent warmly smiled in appreciation from across the lawn, and he always reciprocated the soft expression. It was nice, seeing parents who took the time to make memories with their children. It filled him with a sense of pride, knowing he could help create that experience for them.

Once he handed out the last of his candy for the night, he turned out his porch light and headed for his kitchen to start making popcorn. He figured he’d spend the rest of the night catching up on the episodes of The Immortal and the Restless he had recorded to his VCR.

As he was searching his cupboards for an aluminum popcorn pan, the radio on the counter switched from lighthearted Halloween tunes to an emergency news report.

“We’re just getting news of a new serial killing taking place here in Hurricane, Utah.” The radio anchor announced. “Police are currently unable to name a suspect. The only information they have is that this killer seems to only target young men in their mid-twenties. They’ve since been codenamed, ‘The Maneater’. Police are advising that all residents make sure their doors, windows, and all other entrances to their homes are locked-”

“And, that’s enough of that.” Michael muttered to himself as he switched off the radio. What a buzzkill…

He rooted around in his cupboards a little longer before finally finding the aluminum pan he was looking for. He’d just put the pan on the stove when the phone started ringing across the room.

He strolled over to where it was mounted and picked it up. “Hello?”

A woman’s voice softly responded. “Hello.” A long pause followed, the only sound Michael could hear being the soft popping of his popcorn, before she asked. “Who is this?”

“Who are you trying to reach?” Michael wasn’t sure why, but he felt the need to dodge the question. Something felt off already, and he hadn’t talked to this person for more than a few seconds. After another moment of silence, he tried to shut down the conversation. “I think you might have the wrong number.”

“Oh, do I?” The voice sounded playful.

“It happens to the best of us.” Michael reassured. “Take care, now.”

He had just moved to return to the stove when the phone rang again. Since when was I so popular?

He smiled to himself as he picked the phone back up off of the receiver. “Hello?”

“I’m sorry.” The same woman’s voice answered. “I guess I did dial the wrong number.”

Michael nervously chuckled. “So, why would you call me back?”

“To apologize.” The woman’s voice was smooth. She spoke lowly and calmly, like she was reading a bedtime story to a child. “I didn’t mean to inconvenience you, tonight of all nights.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Michael breathed a sigh of relief. “It happens all the time. I’m going to go now, okay?”

“Hold on,” The voice suddenly sounded hurried. “Don’t hang up, yet.”

Against his better judgment, Michael responded. “Why not?”

“I want to talk to you for a second.” The woman’s voice purred. It sounded almost… sultry.

Michael felt a shiver crawl down his spine. He wasn’t sure whether to be afraid or enthralled. “I’m sure there are more interesting people you could talk to at this time of night. I should go now. Bye.” As soon as he hung up the phone, it immediately began to ring again.

Michael audibly groaned before picking up. “Hello?”

“Why don’t you want to talk to me?” The same woman’s voice answered, feigning hurt.

Michael was beginning to grow fed up with what he assumed was a Halloween prank call. “Okay, who is this?”

“Why don’t you tell me your name first, handsome?” If the voice didn’t sound provocative before, it definitely did now.

“Michael,” He quickly clapped a hand over his mouth. He hadn’t meant to give up that information so voluntarily. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

“Michael~” The voice sounded borderline pornographic as it tested his name. “Like Michael Myres, from Halloween. I like that.” Michael gulped, the action requiring some effort due to his suddenly dry throat. “What are you up to, Michael?”

“I- I- Uhm-” He stammered. “M- Making popcorn.”

“Making popcorn?” The voice sounded genuinely interested. “I only eat popcorn if I’m watching something. Are you preparing for a scary movie marathon?”

“No, nothing scary.” Michael felt his prior tension easing as the conversation began to seem normal. “Just my favorite show.”

“No scary movies?” The voice sounded playfully appalled. “It’s Halloween! How could you pass up a scary movie on Halloween?”

Michael bashfully scratched the back of his neck. “Not really my thing, I guess.”

“That’s a shame.” The voice sounded almost melodic. “I love a good scary movie.” After a long pause, the voice spoke up again. “So, do you have a girlfriend, Michael?”

He felt his face begin to glow red as his heart fluttered. That question definitely caught him off guard. “I- Well- Uhm- No, not exactly.”

“No need to be shy.” The voice purred. “I’m sure you’re more than a decent catch~”

“Thanks.” Michael struggled to fend off the flattered smile that was tugging at his lips. “So, uhm… Why are you asking me so many of these questions? Are you flirting with me, or something?”

“Maybe~” The voice took on an air of mischief. “I just want to know who I’m looking at.”

Michael felt his heart drop out of his chest. What the fuck?

He cradled the phone in his arms as he ran around the house, checking the windows to see if he could find any suspicious figure looking back at him.

When he couldn’t find anything, he just made sure the windows were locked before he held the phone back to his ear, returning to the kitchen. “What did you say?”

“I said I want to know who I’m talking to, silly!” The voice lightly giggled. “Everything okay?”

“N- no…” Michael breathed, the dread from earlier creeping back into his chest. “That wasn’t what you said.”

“I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree.” The voice spoke in a cautionary tone.

Michael struggled to swallow as he gulped again. “I wish I could say this was fun, but… Well… Goodnight, okay?”

“Don’t hang up on me.” The voice sounded a little more firm than the last time it asked him not to hang up.

Michael shivered. “Gotta go…” He hung up the phone and all but ran to the kitchen to take his popcorn off of the stove. He’d just finished pouring it into a large bowl when the phone rang again.

He rolled his eyes and tossed the empty pan in the garbage before picking up the phone. “Hello?”

“I told you not to hang up on me, Michael.” The voice sounded a lot less playful than before, instead bordering on angry. “That wasn’t very nice.”

“What’s your problem?” He began impatiently tapping his foot.

“I don’t have a problem with you, Michael.” The voice sounded almost as annoyed as Michael felt. “As I’ve already said, I just want to talk.”

“Well, talk to someone else, okay?” Michael hated the way his voice cracked, but he hoped he still got his message across.

“Are you getting scared?” The voice found its playful tone again, using it to tease him.

“No, just tired.” He slammed the phone back onto the receiver, making one last attempt to return to his cooling popcorn before the phone rang again.

Michael growled as he answered the phone. “Listen, I don’t-”

“NO, YOU LISTEN, YOU LITTLE BITCH!” The voice exploded. “If you hang up on me again I'll gut you like a fish! Do you understand me?!”

Michael was at a loss for words. As he tried to find the right words to say, his mouth opened and closed, like a fish filtering water.

“I’m sorry, Michael.” The voice purred after a tense moment of silence. “I don’t normally lose my temper so quickly like that. Especially on pretty boys like you.”

Michael was still stuck in an astonished silence, and the voice took that as an invitation to continue. “I don’t like being hung up on. That was rude…” The voice paused, sighing in disapproval before continuing. “I also couldn’t help but notice you locking your windows. I thought it was really bold of you to assume I wasn’t already inside.”

Suddenly, all the power in the house went out, plummeting Michael into a silent darkness. His blood ran cold as he rushed to one of his kitchen drawers to grab a flashlight.

“Wh- What the hell was that?” His hands began to shake as he clicked the flashlight on. “Is this some kind of sick joke?”

“No, no.” The voice reassured. “Nothing of the sort. I like to think of it as more of a game.”

“I- I’ll call the cops!” Michael attempted a threat of his own.

“Oh, come on, now.” The voice softly tutted. “You’re smarter than this, Michael. You know they’d never make it in time.”

He felt nauseous. “What do you want from me?”

“I want to play a game.” The voice calmly answered. “And if you play the right way, you get to walk out alive.”

Michael scoffed at the voice’s request. “You’re insane.”

“That wasn’t a no.” The voice softly giggled. “Come on, Michael. You know you want to. It’ll be fun~”

“Fine.” Michael spat. “I’ll play your stupid game.”

“Ouch.” The voice teased. “I haven’t even explained the rules yet. But, here they are. We’re going to do a little bit of trivia. I’ll ask you a series of questions. Each time you get a question wrong, I’ll walk into one room adjacent to the one I’m in. Each time you get a question right, I’ll stay put. You can move regardless, but only after you answer a question, and only one room at a time. Oh, and just know that you’ll be moving at your own risk. Got it?”

“You’re insane…” Michael repeated.

“I believe we’ve covered that.” The voice sounded amused at his apparent fear. “I may be insane, but I’m a woman of my word. I haven’t moved an inch since I got here.”

Michael silently shook his head. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“A few last-minute things,” The voice went on. “If you hang up on me, I’ll kill you. If you try to leave the house, I’ll kill you. If you try to call the cops, I’ll kill you. Notice the trend?” The voice chuckled before continuing. “And, if I get to the same room as you? …Actually, let’s keep that a surprise for now.” The voice giggled again. “Are you ready for your first question, Michael?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” He felt defeated, and the game hadn’t even started yet.

“Good!” The voice enthused. “These questions are scary movie-themed, so I’m afraid you’ll be at a disadvantage.”

“Of course.” Michael muttered, bringing a hand up to massage the bridge of his nose.

“First question,” The voice began. “Proclaiming herself to be the ‘Mistress of the Dark’, this character hosted her own ‘Movie Macabre’ before moving on to star in her own self-titled film. What’s her name?”

Michael struggled to find an answer in his anxious mental haze. “I- I don’t know.”

“Really?” The voice sounded genuinely shocked. “What, do you live under a rock? You have to know this one! Men really love her for her huge… ratings! Yeah, ratings…”

Michael cringed at the voice's poor attempt at humor. “I still don’t know.”

“That’s unfortunate.” The voice sighed. “I’ll be moving rooms now, since the name Elvira doesn’t seem to be coming to your mind.” Then, the only thing Michael could hear on the other end of the line was the sound of a door softly opening and closing. “There we go.” 

His mind began to race as he tried to find some strategy to get himself through this game. His house was only one story high, and he only had so many rooms. When moving in, he felt he didn’t need much more than that, since he planned on living alone. He’d originally imagined that the woman was on the other side of the house, but she’d only specified that she was inside. She never told him where she was. That meant she could be anywhere from across the house to right outside the nearest door. Michael decided to stay in the kitchen for the time being. He didn’t want to risk bumping into her just yet… though he’d still be taking that risk if he stayed where he was.

“Alright!” The voice interrupted his thoughts. “Ready for the next question?”

“Let’s do it.” He did his best to summon his courage and clear his thoughts.

“Tell me the name of the killer doll from the film Child’s Play.” The voice directed.

Michael began biting his thumbnail in deep thought. I know this one. It’s that creepy ginger doll. But, what was his name?

“Tick tock, Michael.” The voice taunted. “Neither of us have all night.”

“Chucky!” He blurted once the answer finally came to mind. “The doll’s name was Chucky.”

An agonizing silence passed before the voice purred, “Well done, Michael. You’re more clever than you look. I guess I’ll be staying put this time.”

His mind began whirring again with a million questions. Where could she be? How long would it take for her to find him? What would she do to him once she did? He couldn’t just sit around and find out. Michael took the opportunity to slip from the kitchen into the living room. Since the doorway to the living room was open, he was able to make sure no one was there before entering.

“I see you decided to move this round.” The voice pointed out. “Interesting choice.”

“You know where I am right now?” He shuddered at the possibility.

“Of course I do.” The voice calmly responded. “I’ve been watching you this whole time, Michael.”

He quickly spun around, looking over his shoulder to make sure the owner of the voice hadn’t already found him. “H- How?”

“I don’t want to reveal my secrets just yet.” The voice responded.

Fuck! Michael’s heart began to pound. This obviously put him at a huge disadvantage. He needed to find a way to even out the playing field.

“Well, maybe I’m curious.” A new idea slowly unfurled in his mind as he spoke.

“Well, maybe I want to move on to the next question.” The voice insisted.

“Wait,” Michael felt his resolve slowly growing. “Before we do that, I want to change the rules of the game, just a little.”

A long pause followed, and just when Michael was worried that the voice wouldn’t take the bait, it responded. “Go on…”

“What if I could ask questions, too?” He proposed. “For every question you answer, I’ll stay still, but for every one you refuse, I move.”

This time, the voice let out a hum of consideration. “That sounds fun… I’ll accept, only if I get to move regardless, like you do when I ask questions.”

“Deal.” Michael knew this was a risky plan, but any answers he could get out of this person could help him to escape her. “We’ll alternate asking questions, so it’s fair.”

“Deal.” The voice purred. “After you, cutie~”

Michael felt his face flush as he tried to think carefully about his first question. Now is not the time to get flattered by a crazy killer in your house! …Come to think of it, why is she here?

He decided that would be his first question. “Why did you come here of all places?”

“Hmmm,” The voice paused for a moment before answering. “Because I was looking for a new catch, and you happened to be alone.”

“A new catch?” He was even more confused than before. “What do you mean?”

“Michael, Michael, Michael…” The voice tsked. “You didn’t waste any time before trying to break your own rule.” Michael could faintly hear the sound of a door opening and closing over the phone before the voice continued, softer than before. “I believe it’s my turn to ask a question.”

“Sorry,” Michael gulped. “Go on.”

“Alright, next question,” The line went silent again before the voice found its question. “Name one scary movie that came out this year.”

Michael scratched his head. He knew a lot of horror movies came out this year, but he barely paid attention to the trailers when they came on the television. Think, damnit!

He knew he had to get this one. The owner of the voice could have been anywhere in the house, and the living room had the most doors out of all the rooms.

“Michael, are you still there?” The voice softly giggled. “Oh, who am I kidding? Of course you are! Come on. Don’t keep me waiting.”

He knew there was a sequel to some Stephen King movie. What was it? The Shining? No. It? No… Cujo? No, but he vaguely remembered it involving pets. Wait a minute… Pets! That’s it!

“Pet Semetary II,” Michael breathed.

“Well done,” The voice didn’t pause before congratulating him this time. “That tracks. Looks like I’m not going anywhere.”

Michael quickly ran up to the nearest door, holding his ear up to it to make sure he couldn’t hear anyone on the other side. When he felt confident enough, he entered the room, softly closing the door behind him.

“The laundry room?” The voice sounded condescending. “That seems like a dead end to me, but if that’s what you want…”

“It’s my turn to ask a question.” Michael was anxious to get back to the point. He leaned back against the washing machine, gripping the edge with his free hand until his knuckles turned white.

“Okay, okay.” The voice conceded. “Ask away.”

“What did you mean earlier when you said you were looking for ‘a new catch’?” His voice wavered mid-question.

“That’s a good one,” The voice answered. “Sometimes, I’m not even sure, myself. I’ve chalked it up to this. The ideal catch for me is someone beautiful. Someone who’s willing to play my games. Someone strong enough to put up a good fight. But, above all, the ideal catch for me is someone clever and obedient.” After a heartbeat passed, the voice asked. “Is that a satisfactory answer for you, Michael.”

“I- I think so…” He gulped. He felt weak in the knees. What the hell was this person playing at? What was she hoping to do with him once she caught him? No, I can’t think like that. He mentally chided himself. I can’t lose this. I can’t!

But, at the same time, a new feeling rose within him. His sudden weakness in the knees couldn’t only be chalked up to fear. Hearing this voice compliment him tonight, it did things to him. How many times had she called him ‘clever’? How many times had she complimented his looks? Not to mention the thrill of having her go through all this trouble with the hopes of catching him. Part of him almost began to want to be found. Maybe it was because he hadn’t romantically been with someone in a while, but he suddenly found that the hairs on the back of his neck weren’t the only thing standing upright.

Get a grip! Michael frowned the crotch of his jeans, which was slowly pitching a tent.

A new sound snapped him out of his thoughts. He heard a door open and close, except it wasn’t just over the phone. He heard it in real life. He heard it from the next room. The owner of the voice was in the living room. His breath hitched. Oh, god! It’s over…

“Ready for your next question, Michael?” The voice spoke just low enough so he could only hear it through the phone.

Michael decided to match its volume. “Yes, I’m ready.”

“Alright,” The voice softly hummed as its owner thought of a question. “Okay! I got one. What is the name of the movie where a group of people take refuge in an old farmhouse to protect themselves from a horde of zombies?”

Now, this sounded very familiar. Michael recognized this as the plot to a movie he’d watched with his family when he was younger. It was one of the fonder memories he had with them before everything began to fall apart. But, it had been so long that he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to recall the name of it. What was it called?

“You’re killing me, Michael.” The voice groaned. “Must you take so long to come up with an answer to every single one of my questions?”

Michael’s brow furrowed in concentration. The title was on the tip of his tongue. If only he could recall it. He knew it had something to do with the ‘living dead’, because of the zombies, and it all happened at night… Oh! Duh! I’m a fucking idiot…

“It’s Night of the Living Dead.” Michael answered. “I used to watch it with my family as a kid.”

“How cute~” The voice purred. “And I thought scary movies weren’t your thing.”

“Not anymore…” He muttered.

“Do you have your next question ready?” The voice asked.

“I think I do.” Michael shuddered as he took a breath to steady his nerves. “Are you ‘The Maneater’ that the radio station’s been talking about?”

“Am I ‘The Maneater’?” The voice softly chuckled as it repeated his question. “I believe that is what they call me, yes.” After that, silence…

That was, until Michael could hear growing footsteps. His heart leapt into his throat. He’d forgotten that whenever he asked a question, she could move rooms regardless of whether or not she answered. This was it. She would open the door and kill him. It was game over. Oh god. Oh, fuck…

He couldn’t breathe. He clicked off his flashlight, but he knew it didn’t matter. She already knew where he was. The Maneater was right there.

Once the shadows of her feet appeared under the door, Michael felt tremors work their way through his body. He gulped, the heartbeat in his ears blocking out any other sounds around him.

Then, the shadows disappeared, and he heard the footsteps quickly retreat. Michael let go of the breath he was holding, a fresh wave of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

“Your fear is adorable.” The Maneater softly giggled. “No, that’s an understatement.” Her words grew breathy. “Your fear… it excites me.”

Michael willed his heart to slow down. He was convinced that, had the washing machine not been holding most of his weight, he would have keeled over.

“I could chase you like this for hours.” She ecstatically sighed. “After all this time I spent searching… I finally found the perfect catch.”

Her words were barely registering to him. Did she avoid him on purpose? She had the perfect opportunity to catch him just then. Why didn’t she?

“I have to ask, Michael,” The Maneater went on. “And I’m counting this as my next question… Do you enjoy being hunted?”

“Wh- What?” That fully grabbed his attention again.

“Do you enjoy being hunted?” She repeated. “Does our little game of cat-and-mouse excite you?”

Michael felt his face flush. It was like she was invading his mind, as well as his home. “Wh- What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb.” The Maneater scoffed. “I know you know what I mean.” Her voice grew sensual. “Does being hunted turn you on as much as it turns me on to chase you?”

Michael hesitated. Clearly, his common sense steered him to believe it didn’t. This woman was insane, and she’d killed men just like him. There was no way he could possibly enjoy being in such a dangerous position.

His body, however, heavily disagreed. It didn’t care about the circumstances. It just fell prey to the allure of this woman’s voice and it wasn’t as shy as he was about expressing his sudden libido. He looked back down at the evidence, growing more apparent the longer it strained against the front of his pants.

He decided to respond as vaguely as possible, seeing as he wasn’t too sure of the answer himself. “What does that matter? That doesn’t change the fact that I’m stuck playing this crazy game until you leave me alone.”

The Maneater softly chuckled at his boldness. “I should’ve expected that.”

Michael didn’t wait to hear whether or not she considered that answer correct. He knew he had to keep moving. He had to get out of that laundry room before she cornered him in it again.

He threw the door open, not even checking for The Maneater on the other side. He knew she was just a room away, and all she had to do to catch him was turn around, but he didn’t care. He was willing to take that risk. 

Michael rushed across the living room, stopping by the door to his bedroom. He already knew what his next question was going to be. He was going to ask The Maneater for her name. If she didn’t answer, he’d be able to move into a new room. If she did, then he’d finally know her by name. He just had to ask for her name and-

WHAM! A flash of pain exploded from the back of Michael’s head, and he fell to the floor from the impact. The last thing he saw was the ghoulish, dark empty eyes of a ghost-faced mask looking down at him before his vision went black.

[focsle]

“And all in a hurry to leave but the Captn has not finished his wonderful business”

In which the cooper Mr. Chappell expresses frustration over how long the ship always delays in port because the Captain’s too busy Fuckin.

We have taken our anchors at last and we are now lying off and are waiting the moves of the Captn. He does not like to leave his bedfellows. Some of us are wicked enough to believe he has one. Such things are too fashionable in these ports and the female portion of the community are very forward but I have escaped without being insulted by them and though many of them are pretty yet they have no charms for me. I shall soon be home where I shall not try to keep clear of the Ladies for they were made to be loved and I am bound to love all the virtuous ones but only one in particular. She is 32 years old today. I have thought much of her today though I have not been able to celebrate her birthday

The following day the captain sends a letter to the mate saying he’ll be ready to leave the next day for sure. When the next day passes, however,

“Night has returned and we are still Lying off and on. We have looked hard for the Captn today but I presume he has many reasonable [underlined] excuses. If we could contrive a plan to get the women out of the place his business would soon be closed. I think I shall have many better reasons for staying in port if I ever get into the port of New Bedford.”