#i know i should be grateful to have a roof over my head and food on the table but yeah. the conditions aren't ideal

[robinsnest2111]

cannot wait to get out of this house some day ✌

[xetlynn]

Can I ask for claggor x a piltover reader? She was raised in piltover and is very smart but was never ignorant to the condition of zaun and always tried her best to advocate and help the suffering people. I can imagine she would have a strong sense of guilt for loving claggor because she doesn't really understand the struggles he went through but will always try to help. <33 thank youuuu

Of course, I think I made this a little more dramatic than I meant to😭 but I hope this is good!

Arcane Imagines- Claggor

Mysterious

[arcane] [main page]

Prompt: In which reader is from Piltover and makes a friend in Zaun. Feeling guilty for liking him since she doesn't understand his struggles.

My feet achingly moved seemingly before me. My back hurt as I carried a box full of stuff from Piltover to give to a friend in the undercity.

When I was younger I was so fascinated by the people of Zaun. About the difficulties they’ve been through. My mother was always bitter about them. Going on tangents about how the people from the undercity should be more grateful since everything is better now. And whenever she does that I have to remind her of their struggles to get to this wonderful position they’ve been creating for themselves. Supporting them only pisses her off further than before. She asks what about Piltover’s struggles which is never the point of my argument. 

We’re privileged enough to never know what it’s like going without food, running water and a roof being over our heads. Most of Zaun could or still to this day can not say the same. It’s something I’ve written about in school essays, joining groups to learn more about the undercity. 

As a younger teen I snuck into Zaun, wanting to understand them better, know them rather than read about their history. Hear it from the people themselves. I won’t truly ever know their struggles but I still wish to help them. Advocate for their history and their growth as a community. Help them be one with Piltover eventually without there being discourse of if they deserve it. 

Everyone deserves happiness, love, and a life without ridiculous danger. They deserve peace as much as the next person.

I was reckless when going to Zaun. Sneaking out of my house as a teen and somehow to the undercity without being caught will forever blow my mind. The reason I kept doing it though was after I sat down in this bar. It’s called The Last Drop. I just needed a place to rest after walking for miles. 

Talking with the people there. Not really a scene a young teenager should be in but I didn’t care. I just wanted to listen to their stories. And they always enjoyed having me around. Seeing me as a niece of some sort.  Hearing the first one made me want to hear more. Hence why I kept coming back. And more recently there's a new reason.

I met a new friend. His name I still don’t know. He never properly introduced himself to me. Not by his birth given name but by the first letter. He wanted me to guess. 

It’s been 3 months and he has yet to tell me what it is. Or in his words I didn't guess good enough.

I guess his father was the owner, Vander is his name. I’ve met him a few times but I never sat up at the actual bar. Just in a corner keeping to myself before I went to adventure out into Zaun after hearing random stories.

When I met C he had started working more hours at the bar to help out since it was getting busier and busier after some time with people from the Uppercity decided the place was a hit. I guess he worked earlier shifts so that’s why we never crossed paths when I first started going there. 

C and I hit it off slowly in the beginning.  

It was a rough start since we both had different upcomings. I didn’t know what it was like to have to get my hands dirty and work for things I want or need. I’ve always just… had it. 

Talking about C’s childhood and things he went through as I had nothing bad to say except for the fact that my mother is a witch of a woman. It made me realize how weird I am for being so interested in others' lives. It made me realize I don’t have a life of my own. I want to fix people who don’t need to be fixed. They’re perfect the way they are, no matter what they went through. They don’t need me to stick up for them. I also figured out that I’m falling for a friend, who again… I don’t know the name of and we will never share a similar story. He deserves someone who understands the same livelihood he knows. Someone who can appreciate things more than I ever could.

“[Name]!” A voice shouts, shaking me from my thoughts. “C!” I grin, shimmying the box in my hands. “Is this everything?” He takes it from me with furrowed eyebrows, looking it over. “Mhm, every single thing you asked for.” I place my hands on the back of my hips, stretching to crack my back. Letting out a small sigh of relief afterwards. 

“You alright?” He asks with a chuckle, leading me into his apartment that he and his brother share. “Yeah, I definitely got my exercise in for the day.” I half-heartedly joke, shutting the door behind us and he places the box down on the counter. “What is the food for, exactly?”

When he first requested the stuff from me, he told me it was for an experiment. Not really saying much after that. A few foods and then things you can really only get in Topside. 

“To eat.” He grabs an apple and bites into it. My shoulders fall, not expecting that answer. For some reason I thought it was going to be something cooler. “Oh.” I let out a breathy laugh. “I was hungry when I was putting in that request.” He rubs his stomach sadly. 

I shake my head with a smile. “It’s okay. So can I know what this project is now?” I hop up on the barstool in his kitchen. “It’s a secret.” He says briefly, putting the food away in his counters. I frown. “Dang, keeping another thing from me, C?” I tilt my head. 

“Gotta keep you on your toes, by being a mysterious, interesting man. Don’t want you getting sick of me.” He quipped, now giving me his full attention after placing the box on the ground. I glanced down at it then back to him. “I’ll always find you interesting. Maybe even more if you just tell me your name.” I pout.

Have I mentioned that I don’t know his name? No? Yeah, don’t know it. 

“Soon.” He reaches over and messes up my hair. I smack his hand away. Attempting to fix what he did. “I hope so.” I cross my arms. 

“I wish you could guess it. You didn’t even try hard enough.” He exclaims, my jaw drops at his words. “I can’t think of anything else! It has to be some sort of crazy unique name!” I utter, throwing my hands in the air. He lets out a belly laugh, “It’s not super unique.” He shrugs his shoulders. 

“Whatever.” I roll my eyes, jokingly annoyed. “I told you my name.” I murmur. “That’s because you’re not mysterious like me.” He purses out his lips, doing a little peace sign. “I know almost everything else about you. You are not mysterious.” I point a finger at his chest. “Really? What’s my favorite color?” 

“You tell people it’s blue but it’s actually yellow. Like dandelion yellow.” I raise my brows, making a face that expresses that he should try me. “Okay, pssh, lucky guess. Favorite food?” 

“Halibut, but only when it’s fried because you’re weird.” I tease, his eyes seem to widen at my words. “See, not so mysterious, huh?” I cross my arms. “Two things. That’s all you answered.” He walks away over to the living room. Plopping down on the couch. I stand up, rushing over to him. Bouncing on the cushion beside him. My hands holding his shoulder as I shake him. “Then ask more questions. I have the answers~” I sang out, leaning back. 

“Fine, how old am I?” He raises a brow. I put a finger on my chin, pretending like I was thinking. “21.” I simply say. “Okay, I never told you that. How’d you get that?” He scrunches his nose in confusement. I laugh. “Honestly I truly guessed that time. I’m 21 and I always figured we were the same age.” I snicker. 

“Wow, okay. Next question, how many siblings do I have?” I think back to conversations we’ve had or the time I bumped into his brother Mylo. He always talks about a girl named Powder. I want to say there’s one more though. I just can’t remember…

“... three?” I estimate. “Or two.” I perk up my posture. “Hm, it’s three. You really do listen.” He hums out. “Yeah, it’s Mylo, Powder and I’m sorry but I don’t think I ever got the last one’s name.” I press my lips together, trying to rack it in my head. “Violet. She passed away when we were younger.” He sighs, I look at him through my eyelashes not wanting to make full eye contact as my heart drops.. 

“I’m sorry.” I whisper. “It’s alright, [Name]. You didn’t know.” He gives me a smile. It goes silent between the both of us. “Um… can I ask how? If not I totally understand. I don’t want to push that topic.” I shake my hands at the thought of forcing him to say something he wasn’t comfortable with.

“We were doing a stupid thing in Piltover. Sneaking into someone’s house. Just trying to get a few things for our dad. Extra money in his pocket. Something exploded. The impact unfortunately killed Vi.” He seems spaced out as he tells the story. I reach out and grab his hand.

I remember when that incident happened. It was all anyone talked about for a while. An undercity child passes away in an explosion after breaking into a scientist’s home. My mom… was an ass about the situation. 

“Any more questions?” I make an effort to switch the conversation so he doesn’t get upset due to my questioning of his sister's death like the dumb idiot that I am.

He looks down at my hand that was on top of his. “Claggor.” He suddenly says. I scrunch my eyebrows together. “Claggor?” I question, was that something I had to answer? “My name.” He mutters out. 

My mouth goes into the shape of an 'o.' Claggor... An interesting name for an interesting man like him.

“Hm… cute. It fits you.” I squeeze his hand before letting go. I didn’t even notice the dusty rose color across his cheeks. He mutters out a small thanks before we continue the conversation of me knowing certain things about him.

The entire time I think back to his sister, my chest aching. They were only kids trying to help their father. Not knowing that one of them wasn’t going to make it back home. How devastating. 

“You okay, [Name]?” He sits up, turning his body to face me. I fake a smile, waving him off. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Just thinking. Sorry.” How am I supposed to be his friend if I carry guilt that has nothing to do with me? How can I like him and not be able to understand him? It’s idiotic looking. It makes me look selfish, turning other people's problems into my own. “Thinking about?” 

“Your name. How I never guessed it.” I force out a chuckle that sounds like a high pitched animal making me wince in embarrassment afterwards. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks me again. 

“I’m fine, Claggor.” His name rolls off my tongue easily. Like it was meant to be said from my lips.

“I remembered I have somewhere I need to be. My mom will kill me if I’m late. See you later?” I ask him, blinking tears away as I abruptly get up. “Um, yeah. Tomorrow?” He gets up with me, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ah, I can’t. Family thing.” I lied. “Oh, maybe the next night? Mylo wants me to go to this party where his crush is djing. I do not want to go.” He laughs, walking me to his front door. My stomach flips, not knowing how to respond. “Maybe, I’ll let you know the day of.” I swallow down the lump in my throat. “Okay, okay. I don’t mean to cling. I just like spending time with you.” He smiles softly. I avoid eye contact. “Me too, Claggor.” I whisper before pulling him into an embrace. 

He lets out a small yelp of surprise before his hands slowly snake around my waist. “You’re a good friend, [Name].” He mumbles into my shoulder. Tears begin to threaten my eyes once again. “You’re a better one.” I pat his back before letting go. “See you.” I curtly wave before leaving. 

Man, I’m an idiot. 

It’s the day of the party, I haven’t left my bed since I came home after leaving Claggor’s house. My head racing with a million thoughts about how selfish and ridiculous I am. Cringing at all the conversations I’ve had with my friends about the Undercity. How incredibly obnoxious it always sounded. 

How strange I look just being this upset about everything. I wonder if Claggor thought the same about me. How strange it was that a girl was so wrapped up into his struggles. I would never want to tell him that either because I’m overthinking. I know I am. 

He’s my friend. He would tell me if I was being over the top.

Right? 

Right.

Stop it brain. 

A knock at my door echoes in my room. “Yes?” I call out, not bothering to get up. The door creaks open. “[Name] there’s someone here to see you.” A house worker tells me. I sit up, tilting my head confused on who would be here. “Um, tell them I’ll be right down.” I say, climbing out of bed. “Yes, ma’am.”

I grab my robe from my vanity, throwing it on over my pajamas. I slip my feet into my house slippers. I look like a mess but I don't care. It’s probably just a school mate to ask about some homework we have. 

I exit my room, heading down the stairs. I see Claggor and my body freezes in place. Staring down at him. Shit. I look like a mess! And that is not a school mate. 

He was looking around my home before his eyes locked with mine. His face erupts into a smile. “Just wake up or something?” He teases and my face flushes in response. “Uh- yeah, slept in.” I awkwardly chuckle, walking towards him. “How’d you know my address?” I asked him. “Also, why are you here?” 

“Well, first I bumped into one of your friends I met before. She told me you lived here. Second ouch, I can just leave if you want me to.” He points to the front door and I roll my eyes. “Sorry, sorry. I was just wondering, I was gonna come to you.” I cross my arms, and when I do his eyes flicker down to what I’m wearing.

Suddenly I’m extremely aware of how I look. My hair a mess, face puffy, and wearing a fancy robe with slippers. Weird combination. 

“I felt like when you left yesterday it was a bit… off? You seemed like you were about to cry so I thought I’d come here and maybe talk to you about that.” He fidgets with his hands, I observe his demeanor. He seemed extremely anxious. “Oh, I told you I was fine. Might’ve had something in my eye.” I shrug lying straight out of my teeth. 

“You know how I said you are not mysterious like me?” He asks. “Vaguely.” I smile but not understanding why he’s saying that. “It’s because you aren’t a mystery at all. Maybe I’m not either since you seem to know quite a bit about me. Anyways, not the point.” He lets out a heavy breath. “You don’t hide your emotions well. You’re an open book just by looking at you.” He chuckles and I tense up, feeling a little offended. He notices and sighs.

“What I mean is, when I first met you I knew you were a very empathetic person. Your emotions are what drives you to be who you are. I really enjoy that about you. I never thought someone could cry over a bug they killed until I met you.” He laughs at the memory of when we were hanging out one day at the bar and a bug was on the floor by my foot. I stomped on it and immediately felt bad. Thinking about the fact that it could’ve had a family. 

“You care so deeply for people you’ve never met. Wanting them to succeed even if it means you are risking your own happiness to do so.” He says softer than all his other words. “I hope you know that you have never upset me by asking your questions.” His eyes find mine and I open my mouth to say something but nothing comes out. He read me like a book. He practically studied me. I don’t even know how to respond. 

“I know that’s why you got upset. My sister passing away. I don’t mind that you asked. It happened as unfortunate as it is. You didn’t know and you wanted to. Because you care.” He places a hand on my shoulder. I look down at his arm then back to his face. “Please don’t feel bad for caring.” 

My eyes begin to water and I pull him into a hug. “I don’t deserve your friendship.” I mumble into his chest. “I think you do.” He disagrees. 

“I like you, Claggor.” I told him. “Like a lot. I care for you more than anyone else I’ve ever met. I’m scared that I can’t be what you need. I want to be. Everything and more.” I confess, pulling away from him. “Did you know that? Was I not hiding that emotion well either?” I try to uplift the mood. 

“I didn’t have a clue actually.” He grins. “I like you as well. Like a lot. You are everything I need and more. I promise you that.” He pulls me back into his arms, looking down at me as I look up at him. 

He closes the distance between us, his lips landing on mine. It was a short, soft kiss but it was something I never felt before. Shivers sent down my spine. I flutter my eyelids open, both of us smiling ear to ear like giddy little kids. Taking in the moment for a few seconds.

“Does that mean you’re going to join me at this party that I’m soooo excited about?” He sarcastically asks and I giggle in response. “I guess so. I definitely need to clean myself up first though.” I motion to my hot mess of a state that I’m in. “I think you look beautiful in this. Don’t even need to worry about changing.” He jokes and I lightly hit his arm. 

“What a liar.” I fold my arms. “Hm, maybe a little. Want me to come back to pick you up?” 

“You could hang out in my room while I get ready. Maybe choose my outfit?” I propose and his eyes light up. “Yeah, let’s go.” He happily responds. 

[heartfullofleeches]

Maybe a better idea..... Farmer Flemish giant rabbit Yan catches Foxboy reader, but gives reader the choice that if he becomes the yans malewife he can live.

(That was the plan to some extent in the long run, but the chase is fun, no? Regardless, here's a blurb of the two lovebirds)

Male Flemish Rabbit Yan + Foxboy Reader

Warnings: Imprisonment, kidnapping. Reader's pronouns are not mentioned, but they are thought of as male. The term Wife is used.

-

That bastard....

"Let me out! Let. Me. Out!"

Rearing your legs as far back as the tight space would grant, your knees bump into your chest as you kick out. Metal grates dig at your arms with every slight turn and jostle of your body. Dirt and moulted feathers mat your fur, yet there isn't any poultry in sight for you to feast and console yourself upon.

Damn it... You knew it was too good to be true. That farmer was a fool, but a watchful and cautious one at that. He'd never leave the door to his pens open unless he was sick or injured. Maybe part of you had prayed that he was. Wrong as it may be to wish ill on someone making a living for himself, you were just trying to survive too.

"Let me out.... please.." Your voice wavers as the pains of hunger and stress exhaust what little strength you have left. Your balled fists slap pathetically against the metal cages as tears well in your eyes, daring to spill. You won't let them. You won't let him win.

"I said...GET ME OUT OF HERE!"

The gravel outside your wooden prison shifts.

"In due time, Love. We've got a deal to make first."

Dread consumes the emptiness in your stomach, pinning your limbs to the dirt covered floor as he at sinks to his knees. Your knees curl into your chest once more, body and mind subconsciously making yourself smaller as his larger figure draws into view - blocking your sight of the forest beyond his land. Your home. You don't even realize your crying till his fingers brush the wetness from your cheek. You have half a mind to bite them off as they get stuck between the grates.

You snarl- "If you wanted me gone you could've asked..."

The farmer presses a strong hand to his mouth, suppressing a laugh. "If I wanted ya gone, I would'a taken the sheriff's generous offer of a shotgun the last time I had him over. You know how he is about outsiders."

The bite in your stare remains - still, your legs quiver at the mention. "You aren't going to turn me over to him, are you?

He can't. The farmer is lenient towards your crimes, but that man.. That rabbit... He'll have you hanging from the town hall by nightfall.

"Please... I'll...I'll do anything...I'll work off my debt day and night, I-"

"Sweetheart...." The farmer rest a hand on the steel wall of the coop, gently petting its bars as he would your fuzzy little head once you agreed to be his. "It's okay. Nobody's gonna hurt you or make you do any hard labor."

"Then-" Your cracked tongue wets your splitting lips. "What do you want from me?"

The farmer cranes his head, meeting you eye to eye. The bags beneath his eyes seemed heavier than usual. How long had been out here waiting for you to return?"

"Cute little fox like yourself shouldn't be out here scrounging around for scraps or the occasional unattended hen. You should have a roof over your head, a comfy bed, all the food you could ever want."

What's he going on about? Another trap?... "If I'm not going to work for it... How does this deal benefit you?"

"I want you to be my wife."

"Wha?!- Ouch!-" Your head shoots up, ramming into the low hanging support beams. "Are you crazy?"

The farmer lets a chuckle slip. "Heh, I'd have to have lost my mind not falling for ya. Think about it this way, Sweetheart. You come home with me and I fill that belly of yours full of food. Or I call up the sheriff and he fills it with lead. Your choice."

Your howling stomach betrays any fight you have remaining. You don't have many options in this scenario. Push come to shove, you could possibly make your escape in the dead of night when he least expects it - taking as many of his hens as your arms could carry.

"Okay... I'll.. be your wife."

"Smart fox." The farmer stands - rounding the corner to the front of the henhouse. He lifts the wooden board that had fallen into place as you crawling inside hours ago. Your legs are too cramped and spent from all that kicking to fight him as he pulls you out by your tail and into his well built arms. The farmer presses his nose to your face, nuzzling your cheek as he walks off towards his home - carrying you bridal style.

"Welcome home, Hun."

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Bee Stings and Butterfly Kisses || SV5

Pairing: Sebastian Vettel x wife!reader Summary: Your husband takes nesting to a whole new level with the paradise he’s found to start his family. Warnings: established relationship, pregnant!reader, fluffiness WC: 1.4k

The property Sebastian had chosen to raise his children upon was everything you could have dreamt of and more. There were rolling meadows full of fragrant flowers, forests of conifers and evergreens, and even a lake with an abundance of trout. The house he had designed was built using recycled material and was sustainable to run with the dozens of solar panels on the roof. He had truly future proofed everything to live a life as environmentally friendly as possible.

“Did you know honey is the only food that doesn’t spoil if you store it properly?” Sebastian barely looked up from the old set of drawers he was upcycling into an apiary. “There were pots of honey found in ancient tombs in Egypt, around 3000 years old.”

“I still don't see why we need bees at our home.”

“Because, my love,” he said as he placed his hammer down and pulled you into his arms, “this is our future we are building. Without bees there’s no pollination, with no pollination there’s no flowers, or fruit and vegetables.” His hand splayed across your swollen belly, feeling his son’s kicks against his palm with a smile. “It’s our responsibility to protect our future.”

The outdoor sofa where you were reading was a current favourite place of yours. It was tranquil and warm and allowed you to get off your feet for a little bit while your husband pottered around in the garden. With only a few weeks to your due date everything ached from your neck to your ankles so you kicked your feet up and listened to the birdsong.

The hiss of pain was one you had come to know well recently and it only took a minute for Seb to appear at the edge of the garden, the metal gate squeaking on its rusted hinge. He cupped one hand over his cheek, one eye closed with a wince as he ascended the stairs to the deck.

“You wouldn’t get stung if you used the smoke, love,” you softly reminded him as he took a seat and pulled his hand away. “Oh dear, that’s a big one.”

“We don’t know the long term effect the smoke has on them, it could be poisoning them,” he said as he turned his head so you could use your nails to pull the stinger out without squeezing more toxin into his cheek. “They will recognise me soon and realise I’m not going to hurt them.”

“If you say so.” You loved your husband but you weren’t so sold on the trust building exercise he found himself in. More often than not after going to check the beehive you found yourself in this position, grateful he wasn’t allergic. “How is your queen doing?”

His lips pulled up into a smile and he sat down on the edge of the seat, pulling your feet onto his lap and massaging your swollen ankles. “You tell me, my sweet, how are you doing?”

Emotions swelled in your chest and you cursed as he laughed, leaning closer to wipe away the tear that escaped. “Damn these hormones. You should really stop being so nice so my poor tear ducts can have a break. Can’t you just be a jerk?” His laugh grew and with it the kicks increased. “Yes, yes, daddy’s laughing at me.”

“I would never laugh at your mother,” he chuckled, lifting your shirt to press his lips to your belly. Stretch marks littered the skin and you dared not to think about the other changes that you couldn’t see below the swell, but he still made you feel beautiful. “Everything she is going through is my fault.”

“That’s right,” you agreed with a smile. “Daddy spent a lot of time romancing and seducing me, and now here you are.”

Seb looked up, his long hair hanging in naturally soft waves around his face. “How could I not? You were the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I could hardly concentrate on the race after seeing you.”

“It couldn't have affected you too much,” you said as you tucked his hair behind his ear, “you still won.”

“I had to make a good impression somehow, since I could barely speak a word when we were introduced,” he admitted as he looked out over the garden he tendered.

You followed his gaze knowing he was going to be a great father considering the care he gave to the garden, and you. “It was your eyes I fell for anyway, they looked sweet and kind.”

The rows of plants were just flowering and you traced them to see the little bursts of yellows that all too soon would become bright red ripe tomatoes. Next were the beans, too many varieties to count, all climbing the trellis Seb had made from the wood of fallen trees in the forest. Further beyond were your favourites, the bushes that were brimming with berries of every flavour. Each morning you would amble your way to them with Seb and a bowl, pointing out the juiciest looking berries for him to pick for your smoothie.

Patting his good cheek, you shuffled to sit up and swing your legs off the couch.

“Where are you going?”

With a groan you pulled yourself to your feet and rubbed the straining skin at your sides. “To get some ice to stop that swelling,” you said as you pointed to his face. “You need to be able to see properly if you are thinking about getting back in a race car this weekend.”

“I can get it, you rest.” He followed you into the house even after catching the roll of your eyes and watched you struggle to bend down to reach the ice tray at the bottom of the freezer. Unable to stop himself, his hands caught your waist and straightened you up before he grabbed the tray. “I don’t want you hurting yourself,” he said with a kiss to your temple.

“I said the same thing, but you still went and got stung.”

“But that’s because I have you to kiss me better.”

You smiled at the softness in his tone and gave him the gentlest of kisses to his swollen cheek, barely the touch of a butterfly's wing. “There, is that better?”

“Yes, I don’t even need this anymore,” he said as he turned to put the tray away until you stopped him with an amused look.

“Nurburgring,” you reminded him, grabbing a tea towel to wrap the ice cubes in.

He had been excited since he got the call from Christian Horner to drive the historic track, and in a car modified to run on eco-friendly fuel no less. He was not going to do anything to miss the opportunity to return to the racetrack, even though he enjoyed retirement and the quiet life he had built in the rural settlement. So, he quietly accepted the ice pack and carefully pressed it to his cheek.

“It’s a dangerous track, Seb,” you murmured as you took over holding it, cradling his other cheek with your palm. “Please be safe and come home in one piece.”

His hands came to rest on your stomach, nearly covering it all as he splayed his fingers apart. “Of course, my love. And you need to stay in one piece until I get home.”

You giggled and felt the strong kick responding to his voice. “I have a feeling your son will take his time. Would you resort to one of those dreadful planes if he decides to come early?”

His lips twitched in amusement, used to your jibing over the consciousness of his carbon footprint. “I could probably drive home faster, with a few speeding tickets along the way, but I might be able to lower myself to boarding a plane for him.”

“Ah, that’s a father’s love,” you giggled. “He doesn’t even know what a sacrifice that would be.”

Sebastian lowered the ice pack so he could dip his head and kiss you. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for the two of you.”

“Except get rid of the bees.”

His lips curled against yours in a smile you felt. “Except that.”

[fatalforesight]

am i dragging this forever?

shauna shipman x jackie taylor (shaunahat hinted): An alternate version of s3e1 where Shauna heads into the woods instead of Mari. She wakes up injured in the pit. And with no one coming to save her, it's time to start speaking to ghosts again. Jackie, as always, is vindictive in her deathly appearances.

content: 18+, minors dni, sexual tension, angst, dead!jackie, grief, toxic yuri behavior

word count: 2,688

“You’re not my mother, Natalie. You can’t ground me!”

There is a rage that has lived in Shauna Shipman her entire life. Only now, it takes front and center. Every moment of every day.

Natalie frowns. “I’m not grounding you. I’m–”

“Telling me to go back to my stick hut for a week sounds a whole lot like a fucking grounding,” Shauna spits. Mari is wide-eyed, saliva-stew dripping down half her face. “I made this dinner. I butchered the meat, I stirred the pot. You don’t get to ground me from the dinner I made!”

“You can’t spit in Mari’s food and then–”

Shauna almost screams. “Who cares if I spit in her goddamn stew!” She turns on a dime, stalking towards Mari. “If I did, you should be grateful. You want to have a ceremony in honor of my baby? That baby was me! He was me! Is my spit not holy enough for you, Mari?”

The entire team is silent as they watch the explosion happen. Mari is terrified. Shauna glances around her, locking eyes with each one of them. It’s impossible to know for certain what they’re thinking – do they pity her? Hate her?

“Fuck this. I don’t need any of you.”

She stomps away into the woods, away from the stupid ceremony and the stupid feast. The woods are quiet, but to Shauna, the quiet isn’t eerie. Having ceremonial dinners to honor dead best friends and babies is eerie, but the trees and crickets are static on a warm television. They’re safer than walls and a roof.

Gradually her pace slows. And as the anger cools, Shauna feels that she ought to turn back. But then she remembers the paper lanterns, the gravesite. If she goes back, Lottie may very well be in the middle of mumbling some incantation in French or Swedish over a pile of bones. And for everyone’s sake, Shauna decides it will be better for her to go back in the morning. So she takes another step away from camp, and screams when she realizes she’s falling.

~

Fucker. Fuck. Ow. Fuck.

Pain brings Shauna back to the world. It always does. Sunlight shoots through the canopy of trees, and she winces at the brightness. How long was she out?

And her knee. Her leg. Just a glance tells her that it’s bad. Dislocated? That’s probably the best case scenario. It burns like she’s been bit by a million ants. And she’s in… a hole. A massive hole. Someone dug this hole on purpose, like that kind of massive hole. Between the pain in her leg and the hopelessness of getting out of the ditch, Shauna can’t help it. She begins to cry, and that dumb face flush that happens every time something stupid happens to her is hot in her cheeks. The kind that comes from deep embarrassment, when you’re just embarrassed to be alive. Like when you get into your first car accident, or fall in front of the whole cafeteria, or the cops get called on the bonfire.

“Who digs a fucking hole in the middle of nowhere?” Shauna mutters. Her whole body is trembling now. From fear? Septic shock via dislocated knee?

“Who falls in a hole in the middle of nowhere?”

The words echo through the leaves. They come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. Shauna whips her head upwards at neck-breaking speed to find the voice coming from somewhere above her. But there’s no one. “Hello?” Shauna yells. No response. “... Jackie?” she whispers.

“Shauna,” the voice teases. A soft lilt, like Jackie was hiding just out of sight and beckoning Shauna to come find her. But still, Shauna can see nothing. No one is with her.

Shauna closes her eyes as tears continue to prick in the corners of them. From pain? Surely, but what kind? “Not real. She’s not real. It’s just me.”

“Not real?” Jackie scoffs. “Asshole. C’mon, Shipman. Open your eyes.”

She does. And there’s Jackie. Sitting on the far end of the hole, pressed against the wall, as far from Shauna as she can get. A blush in her cheeks. Her letterman jacket sitting perfectly on her frame, just like it did a year ago. She’s in the pose Shauna used to keep her in–

“Am I dying?”

Jackie just smiles. It’s one of those stupidly perfect smiles, the kind where people say it’s perfect because it’s imperfect. “You have a dislocated knee, Shauna, not a stab wound. Not happy to see me?”

The world seems to spin. One of the first things Shauna feared after Jackie’s death was that she would forget how she looked. She didn’t keep a picture of Jackie in her wallet, so all she had was memory. But the image she sees now is exact. The posture, the makeup, the skinny legs and the part of her hair. Styled, like how Jackie styled herself before the crash. “No, Jackie. I’m always happy to see you.”

The apparition nods. “Likewise.” But Shauna knows that wouldn’t be true. Then she looks around, taking in the hole. “This is strange. It’s like, perfectly rectangular. Dug, not natural for sure. Did one of you do this?”

“No,” Shauna responds. Her eyes are focused on the way Jackie’s lips move, and she’s barely listening to the conversation. Then the lull goes on too long, and ghost-Jackie raises an eyebrow in the silence. “I don’t think so. I guess Coach could’ve, but we’re pretty sure he’s dead.”

“No body, no proof,” Jackie counters. “That’s how all the best set up the plot twist, right? But I think it wasn’t him either. Looks older, if you ask me. Like I know anything!” She laughs, but Shauna doesn’t join in. “This tarp though… mighty suspicious if you ask me!” A painted fingernail taps the blue plastic. “Why are you here?”

Silence again. For a long time, Jackie says nothing, staring at the ground and plucking at the edge of the tarp Shauna had fallen through. When she looks up, she seems to have great concern in her eyes, but she smiles anyway. “Well, Shauna… you’re gonna have to set that knee.”

Shauna gulps. “I don’t need you to tell me that,” she snaps.

“Then why haven’t you done it already?” Jackie shifts onto all fours, crawling slowly to where Shauna sits. The heartbeat in Shauna’s chest accelerates at the image. Jackie comes forward just barely on every word she utters. “All you’ve got to do is… push it back into place. It’ll hurt, but it’ll be fast.”

The sun is right above them now. Seriously, how long had Shauna been knocked out for? Tears are falling fast down her cheeks. She isn’t panicking, but Jackie being this close is making her nervous. “I can’t. I can’t. I just have to wait, wait for one of the others–”“They’re not coming. You have to do this yourself. I can’t help you, they cannot help you. It’s just you. It’s only you.” Jackie is so close now, sitting on her knees just inches away from Shauna’s feet. Close enough to touch, to pull close, but Shauna won’t reach out. Something about this Jackie, this almost-ghost, always seems too fragile to touch. “You’re alone, Shipman.”

Shauna weeps. “I’m not. I’m not alone, shut up.”

“Okay, so you’re not. What you rather our teammates find, hm? Shauna Shipman, pathetic,” the word is like bile coming out of Jackie’s mouth, “begging for someone to take care of her. Or… Shauna Shipman, a leader, who set her own knee before anyone could get to her.” Her breath could be falling on Shauna’s knees if this was happening. If she was real. If it was just the two of them, all alone, in this stupid pit, in these stupid woods. There would be breath, and Shauna could just reach out to tuck the stray piece of blonde hair back behind Jackie’s ear. “Okay,” Shauna sighs.

“You need a stick to bite on?” Jackie murmurs. Shauna shakes her head.

“Put both of your hands on your knee, Shauna.”

Doing as she’s told, Shauna takes a deep breath and settles her fingertips on her left knee.

“On three, you’re going to push.”

Shauna’s chin quivers, tears still coming down against her will. “No, no.”

“Yes. I’ll be here the whole time. I’ll be here when it’s over.”

Hadn’t Jackie just said she was alone in this? Her hands are shaking. Her eyes are squeezed tight. All Jackie is now… is a voice.

“One.”

God, her knee hurts. Did Coach Ben feel it when his leg got crushed? When do you know the leg is past saving?

“Two…”

When do you know someone is past saving?

“Three! Push, Shauna! Push!”

The scream could be heard for miles, Shauna thinks, but she can’t hear it herself. Just feel her jaw ache from opening wide, just feel her body crumple like paper. And, with her eyes still closed, she swears she feels a hand on her face, a body wrapped around hers, an embrace from the most familiar body she knows that is not her own. 

“Bet you wish I was there to say that when the baby came,” Jackie quips. That’s how this falsehood always goes. Both entirely cruel and entirely kind, all at once and all the time. Volleying Shauna’s emotions and perceptions around until she’s dizzy and frustrated.

“Don’t talk about him.”

Jackie just hums into Shauna’s ear. A lullaby. “Don’t open your eyes yet, okay? Stay just like this,” Jackie shushes her. Small fingers glide through Shauna’s dirty, matted hair. Like magic, there’s no tangles in the wake of the finger combing. And the hand is warm, and the hug is warm, and for a small moment, Shauna is only seventeen years old, and nothing matters except for Jackie.

“Is this how Jeff held you?” A shocking question, running over Shauna like ice cold water. Kind. Then Cruel. And again. To balance it out, Jackie’s hand falls until it’s holding Shauna’s tear-stained cheek. “No, probably not. He’s not good at the sweet parts, not really. And nothing can substitute the way girls know how to hold each other. Right, Shipman?”

“Stop,” Shauna begs. “If you’re going to do that just leave me alone.”

“I’m always right here, even when you can’t feel me.” Her face is closer to Shauna’s now. The breath – the breath Shauna could not feel earlier – now lightly dances across her mouth, her nose, her chin. So close. So real. There are smaller fingers, then, tiny, tiny, tiny fingers touching Shauna’s hand. “Oh,” she whimpers, still with her eyes closed. She can’t look. She can’t bear to look.

“I’m taking care of him until you get here. But it isn’t time yet.”

Shauna does not feel peaceful. But for the first time in months, she doesn’t feel alone. “Why not? Why can’t it be time, Jackie? I don’t want to keep doing this.” The frustration pours out. Shauna Shipman does not belong with the other crazy girls and their ceremonies and their prayers and their storytelling. But she doesn’t belong at Brown, or Rutgers, or high school, or her home. She belonged to two people in the entire world, and they’re dead. “I can’t keep doing this,” she sobs.

“Shauna?”

The hands disappear. The warmth of bodies close to hers dissipate, and all that’s left is the heat of the sun. She feels empty again. Not whole, not complete. The world dims and loses its color. It had been brighter, she was certain, just a moment ago. Shauna looks up to where the new voice is, and finds someone standing at the lip of the hole.

“Melissa? How much did you hear?”

Melissa is alone, in her dumb, backwards hat. “I heard you scream. And… I just heard you say you can’t keep… doing something?” She seems to be taking stock as she looks Shauna up and down. Her eyes land on the leg. “Oh, God, Shauna, your knee–”A sigh of relief leaves Shauna before she can stop it. After what happened with Jackie’s body, she tries hard to not let anyone know about moments like that. She doesn’t even write about them in her journals. No input is necessary about whether or not Shauna Shipman is crazy, or connecting with a deity, or whatever.

“I set it. That’s why I was screaming.” Melissa doesn’t reply. “Can you help me out of here or not, Melissa?” Melissa smiles, and Shauna realizes that it’s kind of a nice smile. It’s gentle. Welcoming, even. Not perfect, not imperfect. Just kind. Maybe it’s just the timing, but Shauna considers the fact that Melissa may not be one of the eerie quiets, but one of the static quiets.

“I’m gonna get you out of there, okay? Let me get a stick, or something. Don’t move. Well, don’t try, at least.” Melissa stumbles over every sentence to some degree. Shauna only stares at her in contemplative wonder. One person from the entirety of camp hears her scream, and it’s the girl with the emotional support baseball cap. Strange.

Shauna glances around. No Jackie. No baby. Jackie had said no one was coming to help – but Melissa was up there, trying to help. Rustling through the brush, and looking for a solution. Did you send her? Shauna desperately wanted to ask. But it was pointless, and it’s not like she was going to talk to Jackie with Melissa around.

“So I couldn’t find anything to help, but I think I’m strong enough to pull you out. Can you get to one of the edges and stand?”

“You think you’re strong enough to pull me out without just falling in?”

Melissa frowns. “Carrying stuff is kind of all anyone will let me do around here. Summer conditioning couldn’t even get me this buff,” she jokes.

Shauna just shrugs. She pulls herself to her feet, wincing when she accidentally puts some weight on the injured leg. “Good job!” comes the encouragement from Melissa. She was waiting at the edge of the hole closest to Shauna. The earlier embarrassment returns as Shauna is forced to hop towards the corner Melissa is bending over. “You’re doing great! Now just take both my hands, and try to protect your leg as much as you can.”

Struggling at first, Shauna can only really try to push off with her one good leg to give Melissa any help. But the other girl was right – she is pretty strong. Melissa groans with effort, and Shauna feels her feet come off the ground. “Come on,” Melissa grunts.

And that makes Shauna feel… something. But she can’t put her finger on just what.

Finally, Melissa successfully pulls Shauna out of the pit and drags her onto even land. It isn’t without a price; Shauna’s knees drag near the edge of the hole and she moans in pain. Her hands drop from Melissa’s as soon as possible, immediately cradling her leg.

“Let me look at it,” Melissa offers, and crouches down next to Shauna.

“No!” Shauna yells.

The woods go quiet. Maybe too close to eerily quiet. But Melissa is so close to Shauna now. Just as close as Jackie was. This breath is different. More real. Not just a memory, but a current sensation. And Shauna doesn’t like that she can feel the difference. That she knows there is a difference between how physically real Melissa is and how physically gone Jackie is.

“I mean… I mean I just want to get back to camp. Right now. We’ll look at it there.”

Melissa nods, even though she looks like she may not understand. “Okay, Shipman. Sling an arm around my shoulder and we’ll get you there, um, lickity splat. Or something.”

This is not the kind of girl Shauna would have been caught hanging out with back home. Too awkward, too unsure. But out here, this is the most normal person in the world. Not a sycophant, not a psycho, not an action hero. And decidedly, not too boring either.

“Or something,” Shauna replies. And then she gives Melissa a tiny, tiny smile.

[unabridged-melancholies]

i don’t know if i have earned the right to be mad yet. i don’t know if it is my place to talk about the hurt that comes from people trying to love you the best they can, and this effort later becoming raised, scared, skin. i don’t know if i am allowed to write about it all yet. motherhood is painful at best, at least that is what we grow into, these growing pains that come from not being able to bloom in the flowerpot that has molded at the bottom. it seems ungrateful, the anxiety that rises when i think about it all too much. i had food and it was bowls of fruit that showed up instead of the sorry’s. (𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘶𝘣 𝘴𝘢𝘭𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘴) i don’t know why the shame always coils in the pit of my stomach. subtle discomforts made it hard later. i grew up in the household of fruit, of nourishment, in the physiological sense, i guess. emotional starvation is different. (𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦?) i was about twelve, sure i make stories on the phones to my friends, i fabricate fights that my parents are emotionally absent from regardless. i do the best i can at staging my own pits of suffering so that the feeling bad, can be something other than my ungratefulness. you should be grateful, we always have food (that comes with stipulations of look at what i made for you, are you sure you want that big a serving?) you have people that love you (it’s a good thing that i have friends that are kind to me, i think i was born into the wrong family) you have a roof over your head (a house can be full of love, that is not the right kind of love, it can be a love that is sour, and spilled out from glasses of rotting milk, it’s me; the milk). houses, and homes are not the same, and maybe the point is that i am ungrateful. i am not grateful for all of it, to not seem like it was bad enough.

𝘢𝘮 𝘪 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵? (6. 4. 23)

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

In honor of bret micheals birthday today

You should post a smutty birthday fic..

A/n: Had to write for Bret Michaels birthday I mean come on

Kind of off topic but I do like the way they(poison) treated girls, from what I know they were rather sweet at least in comparison to the other bands at the time

Warnings: Smut, oral (m and f receiving), riding, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

While Poison was just starting out they'd get with girls for a room, a roof over their head, food, survival was just as hard as music, but it wasn't always the hardest.

You met Bret at a club. He'd just gotten off stage and was sweating, out of breath and looking for a drink. You gave him one on the house, as per contract, and he was grateful. You were working and busy but he kept talking to you throughout the night until he talked his way into your apartment.

Really he'd been looking for a place to stay, and with the crowds Poison was bringing in to your bar you were happy to keep this up. They would play every night, or every other night depending on who else was coming in, and in turn they'd get a spot on your couch.

Bret shamelessly worked to get into your bed, and it worked when you were having a bad day. He was a lead singer, the sex couldn't have been that bad, and after a long day it was just what you needed, and he was there.

When Poison started kicking off more you saw less of them until they went off to get their own houses, in which case you'd still see Bret. However, this plan didn't work as well as his previous plans. You'd seen the way he treats groupies, it wasn't negatively, you just knew his whole 'I'll give you love if you give me a place' thing was completely transactional. He was a business man, in your eyes anyway, and it would stay that way.

Until he came in one day, March 15th. Poison had just gotten back from tour less than a week ago, you were working the nightshift and Bret came in. He was clearly tired, still not back from tour, really. He smiled at you and sat down, waving you over. "Hey, doll." He greeted, a shine in his eyes as he looked up at you, head resting on the bar.

"Hi, Bret." You replied, already making his drink. "Tired?" You asked, setting the glass down on the table.

He took a deep breath and shook his head, sitting up. "No, not tired, just... lonely." He said with a soft chuckle. "Missed you." He said, looking up at you, craning his neck to find any semblance of hope, that you'd missed him, that you were happy to see him.

"I miss the crowds you used to bring in, newer bands aren't hitting the same." You said, looking to the band playing now. Bret shot them a look, but he wasn't there for them he was there for you.

"It's my birthday, you know?" He said, smiling lazily at you.

"I do know." You said with a nod. "That's why I'm not making you pay for that one, even though you have the money for it." You snapped the towel in your hands at him, making him flinch but it was a few inches from him.

He shook his head at your antics. "You know, I was thinking-"

"Oh, god, why would you do that?" You asked, a disgruntled look on your face. Bret reached for the towel in your hands but you pulled it back.

He sat back in his seat, smiling at your playful attitude. "You're a bitch." He teased, taking a sip of one.

"You look like one, I guess together we make a real hot woman." He rolled his eyes at you and set his drink down.

He stared at the liquid as it swirled around in the glass. "We could..." He offered quietly. You raised your brow at him, he looked up at you like he hadn't said anything at all. "It's my birthday, do me a favour and let me drive you home?" He offered, giving you the puppy dog eyes that got him in your house in the first place.

You thought for a moment, chewing your cheek before sighing. "Fine, but I better see a nice car out there, not the bullshit you used to drive me around in." He laughed and assured you it was a new car, a nice one.

He waited out your shift, not drinking much but his presence brought in a bigger crowd, when he got on stage with the young band the place filled up nice. He hid behind the bar afterwards but the crowd didn't die down until last call, he'd touch on your legs and you weren't pushing him off, he took it as a good sign.

You looked around his car when you got in after closing and cleaning, it was fancy, expensive but he wasn't gloating. He was asking how you'd been, if you'd been seeing anyone, this that and the other. You noticed quickly he wasn't taking you to your house, when you got to his place he started walking you through it.

His words were starting to slur, he was tired but he was a proper host. "Look, I know you had a good day and all, but-"

"Don't sound too happy." You interrupted, he just smiled at you and opened a door to a guest room for you.

"I'm just saying, like, one night is all I'm asking for." He said, guiding you further into the room. "We don't even have to do anything." He was already taking his clothes off but he could barely keep his eyes open.

Not apposed to the idea you also stripped, figuring worst case scenario he crashes and you get a nice bed to sleep in. "We can do something." You said, he brightened slightly and flopped over onto the bed, you crawled in with him and curled up against his side.

Bret wrapped an arm around you, hand combing through your hair. "Hope you don't mind doing the work." He mumbled into your hair.

You sat you on your elbows, looking down at him. "How many groupies were you with?" You asked, safety first you thought.

"Don't know." He said honestly. "But we were safe, always had a box or two on hand, don't worry about it." He had that tired smirk you remember all those months ago. You missed him, you did, even if you would never admit it.

You started kissing down his torso, starting at his collarbones and working your way down his chest and toned stomach, towards the little trail of hair he kept nice and clean. Finally landing on his half hard cock.

"Come on." He said, reaching for your head, you'd heard the little noises he'd been making, he wanted this as much as you did. "Don't have to do that." His breath caught in his throat as you started jerking his cock, his head falling back on the pillow.

"It's your birthday, and you're tired, I want to do this." You assured, giving his tip a little kiss before taking him into your mouth. He was no fully erect, pulsing down your throat while he choked out moans. One hand held the pillow under his head, squeezing it tight, the other went to your hair, gently guiding your head.

"Oh, fu-fuck..." He groaned, rolling his hips into your face. He did it again, trying to set a pace but you pulled away before he could. "Hey, come on now, can't just leave a guy hanging like that." He said, smiling to hide how desperate and whiny he was getting.

You shook your head, getting up and straddling him. "If you're gonna roll your hips like that might as well be useful with it." He didn't have an issue with that, letting you sink down on him. He was just as much focused on your pleasure that he was on his own, it was just hard to keep both in mind when he was so close.

The hand that had been in your hair stayed mostly in place, now on your hip and guiding you for a moment before he gave up on that strategy and he went to rub your clit instead, finding a much better outcome from that when your thrusts met and you were grinding on his hand. The ball in your gut was tight, it had been a while since you'd been with someone, this was tender and hard, just the way you like it.

"Ah, fuck~" You moaned, pulling your hair back and off your neck. "Fuck, right there." Bret knew your body like the back of his hand, easily finding the right angle to make you scream his name, but you were both tired so it was slowly, each thrust hitting hard but taking it's time getting there. His fingers helped.

You let go of your hair and your hands landed on either side of his head, tugging on his long hair a little. He grunted but just moved faster, making your moans higher. His thrusts started losing their rhythm, he was trying to make you cum so he could but he was closer.

He flipped you over and pulled out of you. You yelped and whined at the manhandling and loss of contact, but he was quick to get between your legs and start eating you out. His tongue was faster than him, licking and swirling around your clit, dipping into your cunt while his nose bumped your clit.

You couldn't see it but he was humping the mattress while he clawed at your thighs, moaning against you. The vibrations sent you over the edge, your eyes rolled back and your back arched off the bed, toes curling while your legs pulled up, thighs squeezing around his head.

Bret whined, letting you ride out your high on his tongue while he kept grinding against the sheets, strings of cum shooting from his aching cock.

He got up a moment later, flopping onto the bed next to you and pulling you to his side, burying his face in your hair. "Don't leave in the morning." He mumbled. "Just don't leave in the morning... Want you here, with me..."

You knew he would've asked sooner if he could, it was always clear how he felt about you, he wanted you different to rockers wanting groupies. "I'll be here, Bret." You waited a moment before looking up at him and finding him asleep, holding you tightly.

[italofobia]

Imagine if you lost any of these precious blessings. That's the reality people have to face in Gaza, people like Mohammed:

Mohammed and his wife Lama have lost their home and their job, they are left on their own and they struggle to survive. On top of that, Lama recently gave birth to a child, but what should be a source of happiness and joy has become a cause of concern due to the horrors they have to face. In it's current state, Gaza is not hospitable for a new, fragile life. The least we could do is help this family to survive 🙏

Donate if you are able, any donation is more than welcome, and share widely with everyone you know. This campaign as of now (3/1/2025) has only reached 28% of its designated goal.

Please help!!!!!

[cottondo]

BUTTERCUP | master shake x reader

— 6. | an ego thing

a/n : I haven’t proof read it enough times yet so I’m sorry I’m advance if there’s errors lmao

  "What you did was irresponsible, rude, and quite frankly, a little immoral!"

 

"Well, what did you expect me to do! You should've known better than to put me in charge. It's anything, it's your fault for not being home!"

"I didn't! I put y/n in charge of the house, and you messed everything up and pissed off meatwad." Frylock crossed his arms, an eye narrowing on Shake.

Yeesh, you really didn't wanna listen to their arguing at your job.

You cringe inwardly, glancing around the small diner to see the few people's gazes starting to focus on your roommate's argument.

"Kay- can we like, not do this here?" You speak up, a little look of annoyance starting to flood your features. "You're gonna get me fired."

"So what? What's a job good for, anyway! You're workin' for the man, and not yourself." Shake looks back to your pleading face.

"Yeah, well, thats how I get to buy things, and live with a roof over my head." You respond, going back to filling up meatwad's glass of orange juice.

Shake looks away. "Pft. Who needs that?"

"Your sorry ass, when he kicks you out!" You gesture towards frylock, who was glaring at shake.

Shake huffs, crossing his arms. He clearly forgot about the situation at hand. "He can't survive without me there. I'm the one that holds that house together, if you hadn't noticed."

Frylock scoffs, and you place the cup of juice back down on the countertop with a little eye roll.

"Right— the minute you leave, is the day I finally get some peace and quiet." Frylock sighs, dulling his eyes.

"You love havin me around!" Shake argues.

Frylock carefully picks up the steaming mug of coffee, and sips it. "Keep it up, Shake. One more slip up, and I'm not gonna feel sorry when your ass ends up on Carl's lawn."

Frylock's tone sounded so done with shake. And rightfully so.

Meatwad side eyed Shake with a little knowing smirk hidden on his face. He took another bite of the chicken tender from his plate.

The look clearly didn't go unnoticed, and shake glares the boy's way. "The hell are you lookin' at?" He asks, leaning over into Frylock's personal space in order to scare Meatwad with a death glare.

Okay, this was going on for too long now.

From under the counter, you dip your fingers in the melted corner of the ice case, and flick it at Shake's face with a little smirk.

He flinches, shooting upward and looking towards you with a look of, 'what the hell was that'.

"Hey!" Shake starts to retort, but you grab his plate and slide it towards you. Oh, he did not like that.

"Leave him alone, and shut up. Eat your food, before I have to take it away." You push it back, leaving him with wide eyes of amusement at your behavior.

Just as he was about to retort, frylock came to the rescue.

He sighs, wiping his face with a napkin, and gives you a thoughtful expression. After all, they were causing a scene at your job. "Everyone, just- - try to behave. It's rude."

"Whatever." Shake shuts up, and meatwad goes back to eating the rest of his meal in a guilty silence.

  "Y/N, what time do you get off your shift?" Frylock asks through an audibly tired voice. He tries to change the conversation, and honestly, you were kinda grateful for it. There was just only so much you could tolerate in one sitting.

"I just gotta finish up those two tables over there, but it won't take me long at all." You respond, a gentle smile on your face.

"I was thinking maybe we should go shopping for some groceries later. It has been a while.." you saw the embarrassment creasing into Frylock's face, so you nod along with a soft smile of reassurance.

Things happen, and life gets in the way. You totally understand how that goes, and choose to empathize with him.

"Sure, yeah. We can do that." You turn your attention to shake and lean your elbows on the counter. "What do you guys want us to pick up from the store?"

Shake smirks a bit, stealing a slight glance down the front of your uniform shirt. It was within seconds that you noticed. "I know what I want, baby—"

"I bet you do." You play along with a light curl of your lip, now earning frylock and meatwad's attention in shock.

"But right now, we need to know what you guys wanna eat for meals and stuff."

You think the last thing that shake was expecting, was for you to enable that situation. He prolly figured you'd just get pissed off, and swat him away. But, his attention was starting to grow on you now, so that wasn't necessarily the case anymore. Why not just let this roll?

Frylock clears his throat, awkwardly, seeing the shocked expression on Shake's face.

He was totally noticing what was up now.

A thought came to Shake as you notice the way his smiles stretches. "Lasagna~! Quattro formaggio," shake makes Italian gestures with his hands. Meatwad grins with amusement, looking up at the male beside him.

"Italian food!"

"I've gotta admit, shake can make a really good lasagna dish." Frylock smiles weakly, holding his cheek in his hand with a tired expression.

"Hell yeah, I do." Shake smiles proudly, eyes drifting up to meet yours. With his arms crossed over his chest, you notice the smug little look of pride he had.

"Carl likes it too. Which is half the reason I make it."

Amused, you crack up a little grin. "You make it for Carl?"

That didn't sound like the Shake you knew. He never did anything for anybody.

Frylock shakes his head. "Don't get the wrong idea. Shake likes to mess with Carl's head. He doesn't actually let him eat any of it."

Confused, you turn to shake for answers.

Shake grins, "I just put that shit on a leash, and let him run. Sometimes he breaks his neck, sometimes he lets me swim in his pool." He shrugs innocently, "It's a win win either way!"

Damn, he was really fucked up for that. But how could you not love that about him—?

"That's messed up," you snicker, taking all three of their empty plates and walking them to the dirty buss pan. "But I'm so here for it."

Shake smiles widely at your response; clearly you piqued his interest. Not just anybody would laugh at the cruel pranks he liked to pull. But you did.

_____________________

 

You peer over Shake's shoulder, an intensifying grin creeping up on your face, as you noticed the little annoyances you've been causing him.

Shake was making up that lasagna dish; something you could only believe if you saw it with your own eyes.

"Do you mind? I'm trying to put together my masterpiece, here!"

You only smirk in a retort. "Shut up, you love it."

"I am pretty hard to stay away from. That's why they call me the chick magnet." He shrugs you off with a nervous smile, and focuses his eyes back down on the sauce he was using. "Now listen- I know that only I can make this taste good, but I'm gonna let you put the cheese on it." He takes a step back, eyeing you. "Since you wanna be apart of this plan."

Wow, he was letting you help him? How thoughtful.

"Don't mess it up! It's a delicacy," His shouting made your ears ring.

"Okay, I got it, Fuck." You snap back. Of course, this only made him glare harder, but whatever. 

Shake was so dramatic, fuck.

Rolling your eyes was the only other proper bodily response you could give, before bumping him aside to place yourself in front of the half prepared lasagna dish. It did look pretty good..

Reaching your hand into the bag of cheese, you begin to sprinkle it around the pasta.

Then, he hands you the other cheeses to put into the pan. "Okay, good. Not as good as what I'd do, but it'll probably be fine." He mumbles, standing over your shoulder.

Dangerously close, you noted.

You turn your head over your shoulder to deadpan him with a look of annoyance, but you couldn't help that butterfly feeling that kept trying to crawl up your throat. Shit.

You caught the feels.

You inhale a soft breath, and look back down to the pasta dish. Just try to ignore him! That was super easy- - right—?

Even though now his hand was reaching in front of you to grab the other cheese— oh shit, his shoulder is totally bumping into yours because he doesn't know personal space even if it whacked him in the face.

"Kay, now what?" You break the silent tension you felt, looking to him. Shake grabs the dish, and throws some seasoning throughout it. "We bake it, then the fun can happen." The smirk was bright and cheery on his face.

"Cool," you chortle.

Shake tosses the pan in the oven, and sets a timer for it. His eyes then set on you, narrowing a little.

You frown, looking up at him. What was he looking at?

"What," Your tone came out a little sour, and you didn't mean for it to. He didn't seem to mind, though.

His gloved hand reaches out, and soon enough, you feel his thumb brushing at your cheek. "You've got sauce on your face, dumbass."

Welp, that's embarrassing.

You can feel the heat in your face rise as he wipes off your cheek, not so gently, and sticks his tongue out with disgust.

"Gee, thanks." You turn away, brushing your cheek off with the back of your arm.

Then, a thought floods it's way back into your head suddenly.

Weren't you supposed to be doing something..? 

"Oh!" You rub your cheek, hoping there wasn't any stain still left on your skin. "I was supposed to post you making that," you pout a bit, gesturing to the fact that he was still supposed to be your fake boyfriend. How could you forget?

He looks at you with a questioning expression. "Huh?"

"Y'know- - My boyfriend made me lasagna," you tease, pulling out the phone from your pocket.

Now it came back to him.

He nods slowly, "Riiight. Right!" Shake smirks proudly, opening up the oven door to crack it. "It's not too late." Heat blows out, and you look inside the crack to see the pan sitting there, trying to bake.

You angle your phone camera on it, but you feel your other hand being grabbed.

What was he doing—?

"C'mere," Looking down, shake forces your hand on the oven door handle, and guides you to grab it. He then puts his hand on top of yours, and holds it. "Come on, take the picture already!"

Your cheeks did that weird thing again where they got all hot and clammy. Shit shit shit.

Oh, and now your heart is speeding up a little? What the fuuuuuck.

You take the picture of your hands on the handle, and smile up at him, though it felt pressured now. "Got it,"

He shuts the door, and suddenly his face was flared up, too. Damn, was he sweating?

"Cool, great, good!" He laughs out, but it sounded awkward. "I bet that asshole thinks I'm sexier than him. Like— what were you even thinking? Going for a guy like that," shake laughs at you. Of course, it was just him turning the situation around onto you again, because why wouldn't he be a narcissist?

You let yourself frown slightly.

"You're too good for him, obviously." Shake then adds onto the statement, though his voice grew a bit more honest. There's another smile lingering in his features when he says that.

Your frown turns upward at him slightly. "Yeah . . I know." Your voice is light; not even defensive, because you knew how shitty you let that guy treat you.

"I know you know!" He says, "If there's one thing I know- it's women. And women want me."

Welp, that ruined the moment.

The smirk on his face was enough to make you laugh at him. In all the time that you've known each other, you didn't see a single girl trying to talk to him. Ever.

If anything, you were the first. And that . . Well, that's saying something.

"Yeah?" You ask through a chortle, "Where are they, then."

Shake quickly frowns with annoyance, and crosses his arms. "Well, obviously they can't come around, if they see you next to me." He defends himself poorly. You shrug in response and laugh a little again.

"Riiight. That makes sense," sarcastically, you nod along to tease him. Does he know you're just teasing him? You weren't sure.

"It does! How else can a hot babe come up to me if I already have one next to me? They'd get jealous, obviously!" Shake rolls his eyes. "And, I don't need any more girl drama. Which is why I keep telling them not to come around anymore,"

His voice was so casual when lying, that it was almost kinda insane.

The other thing insane about that story though, was Shake just called you hot.

Score.

Not that you didn't know that already.

"I knew I was hot," you tease, looking over at him with a little smirk. "Girl drama is literally ridiculous though. You're better off with just me."

His eyes widen a little at your comment. Obviously he took it in the way you meant it.

"Yeah, I probably would be. But y'know, there's still plenty of me to go around." He points his thumbs towards himself, and gives off a cocky smirk.

"Shut up, cup." You laugh him off with a light shove on the shoulder, letting his nickname slip from your mouth. It was something you've picked up from Carl over the years of hangin' around the boys. It never seemed to bother him too much, but you knew he'd prefer a less demeaning name.

"You gotta make me," Shake's smile is innocently bright, and all you can do is stare back with a challenging grin.

Ooh, that was it- -

To your right on the counter, you notice the bowl of pudding Meatwad had left out. When you and Frylock went shopping earlier, you should've expected the two ding bats to go on a binge fest of junk food, because they totally did. They left food out all over the place.

The evil grin on your face was enough to show Shake that you had tricks up your own sleeve.

Not even bothering to care how sticky and slimy it was on your fingers, you dipped your hand into the bowl and quickly smacked the pudding to his face.

The challenge was so on.

His eyes widen, shock taking over his body as the chocolate pudding smears across his cheek and mouth. That was not at all what he expected from you when he meant for you to shut him up.

"Y/N! What the hell!"

You laugh loudly, crouching down in a defense stance as he wipes the chocolate from his face.

"I'll kill you," Without a second thought, Shake lunges towards your laughing figure, hands grabbing yours playfully, and soon you find yourself backed into and trapped against the counter.

With your backside to the cabinets, you look up at him with a pleading smile, still finding it absolutely hilarious that you caught him off his game like that.

"I'm sorry! Shake— I'm sorry, I swear," you wheeze out through laughter, hands up and still being tightly held by Shake's.

"Shoulda thought about that sooner!" His one hand let go of yours, and with one swift movement, snatched the glass of water from the countertop, and splashed it at you with a wild grin.

"Hey!" You squeal out and tense up as the water quickly runs down your cheek and neck.

Game on, bitch.

You push him back as he chuckles under his breath.

"Asshole," There wasn't much time to think it through anymore, so you grab the closest food item to you, and smash it at him. Shake dodged, but it ended up still managing to hit his body anyway.

The two of you now wrestled a bit with each other; hands locked, and push and shoving each other playfully.

Actually, it was probably the most fun you and Shake had together in a long time.

"I swear- - Y/N, if I wasn't letting you win, I'd beat your ass," shake glares up at you from the hold you had on him. You now currently had him pinned down to the floor of the kitchen, food everywhere, sitting on his back. The smirk you had on your face was beaming with amusement as your tilt your head down at him.

"Oh, I'm sorry, letting me win? I own your ass right now."

He grunts, dulling his irritated eyes up at you. "I'm only going easy on you because you're a broad!"

"Pfft— yeah, right. You couldn't beat me if you tr—" the wind almost gets knocked out of you when you suddenly find yourself being flipped over with your back to the floor. Shake smirks, and now holds you down by sitting on you.

"Ugh, oh my god, fatass, get off me!" You wheeze out, glaring up at him. His prideful smile was enough to let you know that, okay, maybe he was sorta letting you win earlier.

"It's muscle weight! And don't smack me with pudding, then maybe I would!" He declares, eyes narrowing now as the pressure of his gloved hands holds your arms down to the floor at shoulder height.

"I'm sorry," You pout playfully up at him, wiggling your wrists out of his grasp, but not to much use.

"Not good enough!" He says. "I think it's time you learned not to mess with the master~!" Shake was totally not bluffing anymore, and you knew he was unhinged enough to actually hit you, or throw more food at your face- which you didn't want.

So, you flinch, wincing up at him.

"Truce!"

Managing to speak with half of his body weight sitting on top of you was actually so hard to do.

"Wait— Is this the part where I kiss you?" He asks, in the dumbest, most casual way only shake could manage.

"Oh my god," you groan. With some thought behind it, you manage to flip yourself to your side, and kick him off you. Shake lands beside you on the floor, and you remember not to take breathing for granted.

You slowly rise up to a sitting position, and glare look at him. "Lose some weight."

Shake glares up at you, and switches to a sitting position as well. "I can't help that my muscles are too big! You're just too weak to handle the weight." The narcissism rolls off his tongue so smoothly. Shake was always good at turning situations or facts around on other people. It was sort of like a really fucked up gift.

You stand to your feet, brushing off any leftover food that clung to you.

"Want me to pin you to the floor again?" Your threat only made his smile grow, and you could imagine why.

"No, because I'm always on top!" His smile stretched, and you roll your eyes at him. "Haha! Boom! Someone should be writing these down,"

The timer on the oven dings, alerting the both of you.

Whoops, you totally forgot all about the lasagna in the oven during all this play fighting.

"Come on, honey, let's go offer our neighbor some food~" you stand to your feet, and hold out a hand for him. Shake stares at it before locking eyes with you, and smirking.

His hand grabs yours, and stands to his feet.

Pulling you into him, shake wraps an arm around your shoulder and smiles. "A little taste of Italy, right to his door. He should be paying us!"

You lean into his hold and find yourself smiling up at him. "Once we get to use his pool, it'll all be worth it!"

Shake laughs and let you go. "As long as I get to see you in a hot bikini, babe."

[voraciousvore]

The Tiny (Chapter 2)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3

Content Warning: Vore themes

Word Count: 1956

------ Chapter 2: The Beginning ------

I’m lonely. 

It’s a bitter pill to swallow. I should be happy, after all. I should be grateful for what I have, and pleased with my humble, peaceful little life. I’m blessed with a career with a good balance, that both pays reasonably well and allows me to pursue my passion. I don’t have to live a hateful existence in the crowded, grimy, bustling city. I’m lucky enough to inhabit a pleasant, rustic little cottage out in the woods. I’m surrounded by acres of fresh air, scenic hills, wildflowers, grass, trees—and solitude. A solitude that at one time I found blissful, but now cuts to my core like a knife. 

I have friends and family, of course. I was never much of a social person, though, and I allowed all my relationships to lapse and languish. And my father—well. The gulf between us may never recover. I can’t forgive him for mistreating me, and he can’t forgive me for being a disappointment. He’s mellowed out a bit since I was a boy, but the frigid, condescending gaze that he always gives me, boring into me with that cyclopean eye of his, wounds deeper than any beatings he bestowed upon me in the past. 

So now I lay here as I do every evening, in my lonely abode, struggling to hold back the tide of despair. Some days, I feel like giving up. I don’t know what I want, really. I suppose, just like everyone else, I want to be loved. I want to be valued, to be someone’s whole world, rather than being a worthless nobody, crumbling under expectations that I can never hope to fulfill. I want this terrible abyss inside me, this ceaseless hunger, to dissolve away. I don’t want to be alone anymore. I sigh as I stare out at the blackened sky, listening to the steady tapping of rain hitting the roof. 

Just as my eyelids begin to droop with resigned fatigue, in the deepest hour of the night, a bolt of blinding blue streaks across the window. I jolt up in bed, as if electrified, while the ominous crash of thunder rolls overhead. That was no ordinary lightning. In a flash as sudden as the light, my need for sleep vanishes, and my hunting drive is awakened. The magical lightning is rare, but it invariably brings bounty. My skin prickles with excitement as I throw on some clothes and boots. I don’t care if it’s raining. I hastily slide into my raincoat as I head out into the storm. 

I journey towards the general direction of where the lightning struck. It must’ve been close, judging by the timing of the thunder. I sniff the air, but all I can smell is water, mud, and vegetation. I huff with annoyance as I prowl through the trees. I didn’t bring a flashlight, for I wouldn’t want to scare off my timid and unwary prey, but I can see well enough through the misty haze. I’m a natural predator, after all. 

My stomach growls with anticipation as I patiently search. I haven’t eaten any fresh human meat in a very long time, since humans are so rare to find in the Land of Giants. They only come with the lightning, transported from their world unaware and unprepared, so they don’t last long with so many hungry giants around. It’s been years since I’ve eaten one, but I’ll never forget their special flavors, unique to each individual. I lick my lips at the reminder and swallow with longing. No other food sates like a live human in your belly. 

I’ve been walking for a long while now. Just as the sour tinge of disappointment begins to settle over me, I spot a faint light, hovering near the ground. I stop in my tracks and observe, not moving a muscle. My blood pulses faster as I recognize the familiar gait of a diminutive bipedal creature. A human. Oblivious to my presence, it walks towards me, the beam of light sweeping side to side. The human is lost and confused, as they always are upon entering our foreign lands. I take advantage of the cover of darkness and lie in wait, observing hungrily. My prey won’t escape my grasp. 

The small figure stops, directing the light down to stare at an oversized leaf beneath its feet. After an extended pause, the flashlight makes another round, illuminating pebbles and sticks that must look like trees to such a tiny being. The beam is too weak to reach me through the sheets of rain, but the human appears to notice my silhouette against the backdrop of the night as its head, smaller than a pea, rotates up. I remain as motionless as a statue, heart beating harder. I watch with fascination as the human approaches closer and closer, failing to show any sign of fear. It doesn’t understand what it’s viewing; it doesn’t know I’m here. 

I resist the compulsion to reach down, snatch up the miniscule being, and stuff it into my voracious maw. The minutest seed of doubt sprouts in my brain, dampening my enthusiasm. As much as I yearn to devour, to rip and tear and drink the blood of my victim and digest its flesh, I am myself torn. I recall the exquisite pleasure, the relief of finally scratching a ceaseless itch, but I know all too well that the satisfaction is fleeting. Such a luxurious and cruel indulgence leaves an aftertaste bitter with sorrow and regret. My father labored to eradicate those doubts from my mind, to raise me to be a proper man-eating giant as I should be, but my pesky conscience never departed. I was always too soft for him: soft and weak, yet not pliable enough to bend to his whims. 

My eyes focus like a laser as the smaller person reaches my feet, its head not even reaching the height of my toe. I’m turbulent with indecision as I watch with fascination. The fearless little explorer holds out a hand and brushes microscopic fingers along the leather of my boot. I can’t feel the delicate touch, but my neurons fire with excited sparks nonetheless. 

The human stiffens as understanding dawns like a sudden spotlight. The flashlight jerks upward, the narrow beam still failing to penetrate the darkness, obscured with drizzly mist, between us. A momentary flash of lightning, and the human bolts. My predatory instincts spring to life and I surge into action, dropping to my knees. The flashlight disappears into the mud while the human is swiftly mired in a murky puddle, with legs entangled in a web of fine roots. I scoop the person up into my hand and bring it up to my face to sate my curiosity. 

It's a young woman: a tiny, helpless woman, drenched in water, trembling violently, and wriggling against the superior might of my fingers. She’s so small; her entire hand is dwarfed by my fingernail as she slides it along the slick surface. I can’t stop a drip of sympathy from dribbling into my center as I behold just how microscopic and helpless she is, less than the height of my pinky. As much as my stomach clamors to be filled, I freeze up.  

I know I shouldn’t hesitate. My father taught me to be ruthless, to consume, to enjoy the hunt and the catch and the rare satiation of my bottomless appetite. I should eat and be fulfilled, and forgot my nagging, troubling qualms. I’m a giant; she’s a human, fit for a meal and nothing more, to be ingested, dissolved, and forgotten. I run my tongue along the inner curve of my teeth, imagining how she would feel inside my mouth, the delights of her flavor. Yet, I am paralyzed. I can’t do it, when I see her fighting for her life in my hand, tears streaming down her face to mix with the rain. 

I decide to keep her. I’ll eat her later. Perhaps I’ll prepare her for my breakfast in the morning. I’ll fry up some bacon and roll her into an omelet with cheese. My salivary glands approve of the suggestion, and I find I’m able to move again as I tuck her under the lapel of my jacket, against the dry warmth of my chest. I wrap my hand firmly around her soggy, shivering form, careful not to squash her into jelly. Like a fruit, I wouldn’t want to bruise her succulent flesh. 

I feel calmer, now that I’ve made my choice. I lumber back through the trees to my cottage, taking my time. The tiny woman squirms against my chest, but settles down as she seems to realize she has no chance of escape. I don’t allow the guilt to worm into my heart and rot it from the inside. No. None of that. She is mine to do with what I please, no longer her own person, merely a piece of meat that still draws breath. For now. 

The trek takes some time, but I finally make it home. The human hasn’t moved beneath my hand for a while, and I begin to worry. Did I hurt her without realizing? Snap her flimsy spine with a momentary pinch, or crush her skull under my thumb? My throat tightens. After I step through the threshold and close the door, I reach underneath my wet coat and cautiously wrap my fingers around her delicate form. She feels warm, yet fragile and small. 

I open my hand so that she’s laying supine in my palm. I hold her close to my face to examine her. I exhale in relief once I perceive the almost imperceptible rise and fall of her chest. I didn’t kill her. The revelation floods over me with an unexpected warmth. She appears to be unconscious—whether from exhaustion, fear, smothering, or a combination of the aforementioned, I cannot be certain. Either way, she is alive, albeit worse for wear: disheveled clothes, tangled hair, pale skin, and muddy shoes. 

I attempt to quash any sympathy I have. I can’t allow myself to feel that way towards my food; my father would be disgusted with me for my weakness of character. A gnawing hunger grows in my core, like a black void. I’m torn apart by potent, conflicting feelings. I’ll sort it out in the morning, with clarity of mind, once I’m better rested. I shed my raincoat and gently wrap the human in a dry washcloth to sop up the excess moisture and mud. I undress, removing my boots and throwing on a light shirt and shorts to sleep in, before laying down in bed. I set the sleeping human down beside me, a safe distance away so I don’t roll over her in my sleep. 

Before I close my eyes, I can’t help but stare at her, mesmerized. All I can see of her is her little head with her damp hair poking out of the cloth. Her fine features are untroubled, smoothed over in slumber. I wonder how she’ll react when she wakes up. Even if she runs away, or hides, she won’t be able to escape me. I imbibe her scent, subdued from the rain yet still potent enough to drive me wild. I will find her if she flees. 

That last thought troubles me slightly. I don’t want her to run. I don’t want her to fear me, to gaze upon me like I’m some sort of monster, even though I’m an obvious danger, and I plan to eat her. It’s an irrational sentiment, perhaps rooted in my deep loneliness, but for some reason I want her to like me.  

How absurd of me, to wish for something so impossible. 

Chapter 3

[s3ra9him]

A Piece in Their Games: Chapter 6

“I’m surprised they allow tributes to come up here. Aren’t they afraid we’ll . . . you know.” I tilt my head towards the steep drop below. Cinna raises an eyebrow. “Been considering it, have you?” I shrug. “Maybe once or twice.” I wonder briefly if I should be admitting this to Cinna, but I don’t really see why the Capitol would punish me just for having the thought. Cinna reaches out a hand into seemingly empty space, but it encounters some kind of barrier. I hear a loud zap, and he jerks his hand back. “Electromagnetic force field. It prevents anything from going over the edge. I guess the Gamemakers have thought about it once or twice, too.” “Well, they wouldn’t want us dying off-camera. Where’s the fun in that?” I say dryly. Cinna looks at me for a long moment. “I’m sorry this is happening to you, Peeta,” he says softly. I look at him in surprise. This is not how we are supposed to think or talk about the Games. Tributes are meant to be grateful for the opportunity to bring honor to their district and to make amends for the wrongdoings of our ancestors. Is he being sincere? He appears so, but I know people can be convincing when they want to be. “Thank you for saying so,” I say carefully, looking back out over the glowing city. “It’s not all bad though. I’ve been enjoying the food. And the company.” I reach up absently and brush the spot on my jaw where Katniss kissed me. It feels a little tender, and I’m confused until I realize it’s the same spot Haymitch punched me earlier.

Chapter 6 of my retelling of The Hunger Games from Peeta's POV, A Piece in Their Games is out now, in which Peeta spirals over the meaning of a kiss on the cheek and has some important conversations on the roof.

[the-expired-tofu]

The Devil's Trumpets | Pt. 1

|| A 'The Glory' fanfic ||

***********************************************************************

************************************************************************

a/n: Hey there, this is my first time writing a fan fiction. I might change a few things in my fictions later on. Also, my English isn't my first language so my writing might lack some fluency. Hope you enjoy :) trigger warnings: bullying, murder, gore, depression, abuse, mature content, violence, sexual themes. pairing: reader x multi

************************************************************************

Y/N

“Y/N DID YOU MESS UP YOUR CUSTOMER’S ORDER AGAIN?” My manager yelled.

 “I’m sorry, I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again,” I apologise as I bow in front of him, followed by a sharp pain of his slap right across my face. Gasps and whispers echoed in the room.

  “Fifth time this month. Do you get what I'm saying? FIFTH TIME THIS MONTH!!! Am firing you next time you do this again. YOU HEAR ME?”

“Yes sir.”

 He begins to walk away as I retreat back to clean the counter.

 "Honey, you should go easier on her," The manager's wife whispered.

  "Look, we are the only ones properly running this restaurant and we barely get any customers. This is the least i can do to atleast get more people.”

"Don't you think he's being too hard on her? She barely got a proper job after her graduation. He should be grateful that she even chose to work here," whispered one of my co-workers.

"I don't know. I heard she ran away from her house. We don't even have any information about her family. Don't you think it's all too suspicious?"

"Is Min-Hee really even her niece? Or is that a child she had out of wedlock?"

And so all the whispers followed. So many rumours yet none of those ever bothered me.

My shift is almost over.

I’ve been working at a fast food restaurant in Seoul for two years now. I live in an apartment few blocks away with Min-Hee, my four year old niece. Her parents were killed in an accident two years ago. Her mother, who was also my sister, had wished for me to take Min-Hee into custody. Quite many people were against this idea since I was financially unstable to raise her on my own. Today, I can say am financially stable enough to get Min-Hee into a school. The restaurant employees, including myself, are not well compensated. Payment of bills and rent is quite difficult for all of us. The money I make from my job was enough for me to manage a roof over our heads. Even though I never wanted to live like this, I am still grateful of the fact that I no longer live in Semyeong.

I finish my shift by depositing the rubbish outside in the restaurant's back yard. I was thinking of buying some noodles for Min-Hee on the way home when I notice a shadowy figure standing at the end of the street.

I didn't give it much thought until the person started walking towards me. Nobody else was on the street except me, and our restaurant had just been closed by one of my coworkers. It was 9:45 p.m. I don’t know where to go. I don’t have anything to protect myself with.

The faint light in the street helped me figure out the person’s appearance. The individual had their hair tied back as a low ponytail and wore a long grayish coat along with long loose pants. As the individual came more nearer, I could finally see the face. It’s a woman.

As she eventually approached me, I could finally recognize her. I felt chills running down my body when she got more closer. I remember who she is.

Moon Dong-Eun. After so many years. I was quite curious to what happened to her after she dropped out. The Moon Dong-Eun I remembered from high school feels like an entirely different person than the one standing right in front of me. But what the fuck is she doing here? How and why did she find me?

“It’s been quite a long time. How are you doing y/n?”

 I didn’t say anything at first.

“You can say am doing fine I guess. I have a job now and…." I paused. I decided to stop blabbering and cut straight to the chase. "What are you doing here? How the hell did you even find me?”

“I will explain that later. I need your favour.”

“Favour?” I crossed my arms as I said so.

“Yes. I’ve been wanting to do this for quite many years now. I can even pay you if you want.”

“Pay me?" That's strange. "Okay. What is it that you need from me?” I ask hesitantly.

She doesn't say anything and looks around. Is she trying to look out for someone?

“I need you to go back to Semyeong.”

My arms dropped to my sides. The silence grew louder between us. I stood right there in disbelief. No, I cant go back there. Not when I have Min-Hee now, no. I worked hard to get away from that godforsaken place. No. I cant go back there.

“Sorry I cant. I cant just go back to Semyeong just because you asked me to. Am not going back even if you pay me. Since you’ve been able to find out where I live, you might already know that I have my niece to take care of. Sorry. Just find someone else.” I raise my hands as I try to dismiss our conversation and retreat away from her.

“I understand your reason. But don’t you think they're living their lives quite easily, after knowing what they’ve done to you? What they’ve done to us? Don’t you want revenge too-”

“Am sorry. I already told you, I cant go back there. I can barely afford anything these days, let alone go back to the hell I escaped from. Sorry, I wont help you.” I nod my head as I gather my things.

“It’s 10 pm. I have to get back.” I say after a pause. I start walking towards my apartment. Min-Hee is waiting for me.

“Yoon So-Hee was murdered.”

I stop dead in my tracks. Yoon So-Hee? Oh I remember her so well. Someone like us. Yoon So-Hee. She disappeared one day out of nowhere. Or so I was told. Nobody was able to find out what happened to her. Yoon So-Hee.

“What?” I turned around to face her.

She shows me a picture of a dull yellowish name tag. On it was carved in black “Park Yeon-Jin”. My mouth went completely dry. Yeon-Jin? She is behind the disappearance of So-Hee? How did Dong-Eun find that out?

“I mailed this name tag to the police right after I dropped out, hoping it would work, I was pretty naïve back then.”

“If you gave that to the police, how do you have the picture with you then?”

“I have my sources, which I can’t tell you yet.”

I keep staring at the name tag, did she really murder her? She willingly went that far to kill someone for her pride?

“After Yoon So-Hee’s disappearance, the police found a body of a girl in her teens with her skull cracked. Maybe she had few of her ribs broken as well. The body was found near the abandoned building of our school. Apparently, they did find a pink lighter at the roof of the building and never informed anyone outside their own people, but because of the snow, they couldn’t trace who it belonged to. The sweater she wore was burned too.”

All this information was just a lot for me take in. I just couldn’t say anything.

Dong-Eun takes my phone out of my hand and dials some random digits on it. She saves the number under her name. I need to put on a phone password.

“Call me if you ever change your mind. I’ll see you later.”

I stood there completely motionless as she walks away to the end of the street. She gets into her car and drives past me, didn’t even bother to look at me. What did she get herself into? How the hell did she manage to get hands on a confidential evidence? What will be her next move? She did mention she had some help in accessing the name tag. Then who’s helping her? Are they even reliable?

The ring of my phone interrupts my chain of thoughts. It’s Min-Hee calling from a telephone number.

“When are you coming home?”

“Almost there. Just crossing the street.”

“Doesn’t your shift end at 9.30?”

“Yeah I was just caught up with some stuff. Do we have food at home?”

“Oh yeah we have the leftovers from today’s lunch.”

“Oh that’s great. I’ll be right home.”

“Okay.”

I slide my phone inside my pocket as I walk up the stairs. Moon Dong-Eun. What the hell are you playing at?

I walk into my apartment. I haven’t stopped thinking about what Dong-Eun told me. She comes out of nowhere, tracks me down, finds out where I live and where I work, and decides to tell me about an information I am in no liberty to talk about to anyone. Are there more people who know about this? Or is it just me? What the hell do I do now?

************************************************************************

[xxxc41n1n3xxx]

I know i should be grateful that I have a roof over my head and food readily available to me but i yearn for the streets. i yearn for the freedom and community of fellow strays.

[alivingolive]

Financial Acrobatics :)

Being the breadwinner in this economy feels like walking a tightrope…and no, obviously, there’s no safety net. From the outside, it probably looks like we’re doing okay. We have a roof over our heads, there’s food on the table, the bills (somehow) get paid every month. So yeah, technically, we're fine. But it’s the kind of “fine” where one unexpected expense… satu aja… could completely mess everything up :')

And tbh, no matter how much we try, it never really feels like we're getting anywhere. Just... floating. Surviving. Even when we try to enjoy small things, a coffee, a new shirt, a dinner out, there’s always that annoying little voice whispering, harusnya tadi ditabung deh, harusnya buat yang lebih penting.

And the thing is, I know I’m lucky. I went to university. I have a job. We’re not starving. Di Indo, that already puts me ahead of a lot of people. I know that. I’m grateful. Really, I am. But still... sometimes I can’t help but wonder, is this it? :/ Is this what we’re supposed to settle for?

It’s this constant push and pull between "save for the future" and "live a little while you can." Sometimes I want to just say, YOLO aja lah, buy the thing, take the trip, eat the nice meal. But then reality hits like, eh, lu yang cari duit di keluarga ini. lu nggak bisa seenaknya. So I go back to cutting corners, counting every rupiah, double-checking every little thing. Every single decision of mine could possibly jadi penentu apakah nanti masih sanggup sewa rumah atau masih bisa makan daging or not lol :") it’s crazy (i’m crazy) 

Even shopping at a physical store feels kinda fancy now. If it’s not something for my parents or an absolute necessity, I usually skip it. Beli online aja lah, lebih murah. It’s ridiculous how much mental energy goes into every single spending decision. And honestly, it gets exhausting.

And yeah, sometimes I feel kinda stupid for thinking about all this so much. I know some people have it worse. I know some people don’t even have the luxury of choosing whether to save or spend. I know. But also... are we really just supposed to keep grinding like this, hoping that someday we’ll magically “make it” and finally get to live without second-guessing everything? :")

Honestly, reading this back is kinda hilarious in a tragic way. It’s so obvious how much I’ve tied my sense of safety, and honestly, my worth, to money. And that's... not good. I know. But when every decision you make ripples out beyond just yourself, "just don't think about it too much" isn’t really an option.

Sometimes, I just wanna know what it feels like to buy something without opening five different apps to compare prices first. To eat at a nice place without immediately calculating, “hmm, ini kalau buat geprek Goldchick dapet berapa porsi ya…” 😭 I know this is normal for most people. I know I should just be grateful. And I am.

But still... one can dream, right? :")

[emmadigitaldiary]

Grateful. Yeah, one word but so hard to do that. Sometimes we forget to be grateful for everything that we have today. We often compare ourselves to people out there who might seem to have the best life. My mom taught me to be grateful for every small thing in life because that's how you can deal with tough situations. She said true happiness comes from a heart that feels grateful for everything.

Even when we have bad times in life, we should be grateful because hard times teach us a lot. They show us how to deal with fake people, how to try again after failing, how to focus on things that bring peace, and how to know people more deeply than before. I believe all of us have something that we can't share with anyone but we keep and try to handle on our own.

Gratitude helps us appreciate what we have, instead of focusing on what we don’t. It reminds us that there are good things in life, even if they are small. We might have a roof over our heads, food to eat, and people who care about us. These are things worth being grateful for.

My mom always said that being grateful helps us get through tough times. When things go wrong, it’s easy to feel down and lost. But if we remember to be grateful, we can find strength to keep going. Gratefulness gives us hope and helps us see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Hard times also teach us valuable lessons. They show us who our real friends are and who we can trust. They teach us patience and perseverance. When we fail, it’s not the end. It’s a chance to learn and grow. Being grateful for these lessons makes us stronger and wiser.

[unhingedoveractivemuse]

Title: Love and Comfort

Pairing: Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz

Tags: Established Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz, Marriage Proposal, Food as a Metaphor of Love

Notes: Flufftober Day 24 Comfort Food

==================================================

If there is one thing that Eddie misses about Abuela being in L.A., other than her presence, it's the food.

It’s not just about the phenomenal flavor she unfailingly manages each time either. It’s the association he has with each and every dish.

It’s sitting under Abuela’s roof eating quesadillas and knowing all his problems can be tucked away. It’s her calm reassurances over caldo de pollo. It’s watching a telenovela rerun with homemade guacamole and corn chips.

He eats well now between his captain and partner, but there’s just something about Abuela’s cooking that screams comfort, and he misses it. Not to the point that he would fly or drive down to El Paso for it frequently. He is not dealing with his parents if he could help it, especially since they're on his case (again) about his chosen partner after Christmas.

Goodness, he can't believe he subjected his other half to that wreck.

But the point is, he craves it. Or, at the very least, he craves Mexican. Homemade, authentic Mexican food.

“Eds! Stop hogging the bathroom!” he hears from the other side of the door.

“Almost done, love!”

Part of him wonders if he can throw a wrench into their plans tonight and have Mexican instead. Christopher is off at a friend’s, so they had planned on a date night at this Italian restaurant and then some alone time that they desperately want.

He's just really missing Abuela's cooking after the call he had with her last night.

Well, it was a call with his parents that Abuela overheard and hijacked, which Eddie is so grateful for because Abuela understands how important his partner is to him inside and outside of work.

She even gave him Abuelo's old ring over Christmas as a blessing for whenever he's ready to propose.

Which is what tonight was supposed to be.

But he really is craving Mexican.

Could he propose at that little mom-and-pops?

But it wouldn't be very romantic, would it?

Before his thoughts could spiral, the bathroom door opens, and in steps his partner in his full glory, wearing a button-up and slacks that accentuate his beautiful body.

Maybe they should just skip dinner and head straight into the bedroom.

“Eddie Diaz, I heard the shower turn off fifteen minutes ago,” Buck tells him. “We’ll be late at this rate.”

He rolls his eyes with unrestrained fondness. While this isn't his boyfriend with a clipboard, this huffy boyfriend trying to get their date just right is just as endearing.

Honestly, everything about his boyfriend - about Buck - is endearing and perfect, and he realizes that he has to postpone satisfying his cravings. He wants to propose with an urge unlike anything he's ever felt. He wants this man to be his in every way possible and be able to proudly announce that to anyone who'd listen.

He can't do that at the Mexican restaurant he wants to go to though. Buck deserves the best, including the most romantic proposal Eddie can give him, which means being in the best setting and atmosphere possible.

Besides, his boyfriend has been looking forward to trying this place out, talking about how good the reviews are, the atmosphere, etc. That's why he had suggested it and booked their reservation in the first place.

He wouldn’t - couldn’t - ruin that for Buck.

“I'm coming, I'm coming,” he says, taking one last look in the mirror before stepping up to his boyfriend and pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

He'd never get tired of doing that.

Buck returns the kiss easily. “I'm going to use the bathroom real quick. Grab my phone for me?”

Eddie nods, stepping out of the bathroom as his boyfriend goes in. He pats his pocket, making sure the ring is still in it and makes his way to track down Buck’s phone.

Actually, why does Buck need Eddie to grab his phone? They weren't on that big of a time crunch. And why does it smell like-

Oh, he thinks when he steps into the kitchen.

Buck made them dinner.

More specifically, he made them Mexican.

“Like it?”

He whips around, wide-eyed, staring at his boyfriend. “How'd you know?”

Strong arms wrap around him, and he finds himself leaning into the hug and pressing their foreheads together in a move they've long gotten used to. “You usually find a way to sneak in some Mexican after talking with Abuela. But you didn't say anything, so I figured I would surprise you instead.”

“How'd you even do all this?” he asks incredulously. “I would have noticed the smell.”

“That's why I didn't make it here. I commandeered Bobby’s kitchen for the day and left the food in the food in the car until you got home from work and went to take your post-work shower.”

“But you were looking forward to that Italian place.”

Their schedules just never aligned with any of the available reservation times for them to go, and Buck had been so excited when they finally got it.

And now he's giving it up for Eddie?

(He’s also giving up a proposal, not that Eddie will tell him that.)

“It'll still be there next time, and I know you'd prefer Mexican right now over Italian even if you're hiding what you want again.”

Oh, Eddie feels the love for this man bursting from every pore of his body.

“I love you,” he says in lieu of anything else. What else could he say to express his feelings?

“Well, save that for after you've tried it. Because I'm not so sure if the results are good.”

“You've cooked Mexican before.”

“This is a new recipe for me. Now come on,” his partner urges, pulling Eddie towards the spread. “Try it.”

He naturally goes for the tamales first, the many years of it being his favorite of Abuela's recipes making itself known, and the moment he bites into it-

It's comfort. It's Abuela's soothing voice, consoling him after he once again failed to do something his parents expected him to. It's Abuela's handmade comforter around his shoulders. It's Abuela reassuring him that loving his best friend isn't wrong.

“Babe?”

Eddie blinks back into reality, almost jumping in surprise when his best friend's hands come up to his cheeks to wipe away tears he unknowingly shed.

“This is Abuela's recipe,” he says in a trance after emotionally finishing the tamale in his hand. It's not 100% Abuela's flavor, but it’s 90-95% there. “How- When?”

“When we went to your parents’ for Christmas.”

Oh. When Abuela and Buck had been holed up in the kitchen all day.

“I thought you were just being her sous chef.”

Buck grins, shaking his head. “Nope. She was teaching me all day. I know it's not exact, but it was as close as I could get it. I might have had her on Facetime when I was cooking today too.”

“She gave you her recipes.”

“Yeah.”

“She never even gave them to my mom.”

“I've been told.”

And looking at his love now, proud smile on his face, in his house, in the home they've built for themselves, Eddie realizes he can't wait.

Screw waiting for a romantic atmosphere.

Eddie surges up, pressing a firm, hard kiss onto the lips that he loves, conveying all the love he can without words. Buck returns it easily, and they stand there holding each other and trading kisses, a table full of Eddie's favorite flavors next to them.

“Marry me,” he says - pleads - when he finally brings himself to pull away. “Please.”

Dazzling blue eyes blink at him in surprise before a delighted, giddy grin spreads on his partner's face. “Yes. Always, Eds.”

Once the blinding happiness subsides enough, he'll realize that it was fitting. It was never quite about romance for them. They can do romance, but their relationship is more heavily characterized by comfort, by family and home, and the ability to be themselves. It’s characterized by lazy walks on the beach, picnics at the park, and fun days at the zoo. So it’s fitting that they'll start the next chapter of their lives in their home with comfort food on the table.

For now, he slides the ring Abuela gave him onto his fiancé's finger and relishes in the taste of comfort with the one who makes him the happiest and most comfortable by his side.